trymen in the market-place of Rome, none, perhaps, more frequently repeat,--Non Angli sed angeli, si fuerint Christiani; not Angles but angels, were they but Christians.'

"Commercial or political prosperity is not the test of moral felicity among men, nor the criterion of a nation's acceptance in the eyes of Almighty God; for a people sated by pride or soured by discontent, are but little qualified to form a just estimate of their actual situation. In both of these predicaments Great Britain would seem to be at this moment. But ere England seeks for religious peace, or moral happiness in Catholic unity, she may have to pass through an ordeal of calamity, more trying than France, or more recently Spain has undergone. Adversity seems destined by the inscrutable laws of Providence, to be to nations as to individuals, the unerring school of more wholesome knowledge. This is a truth to which the history of every people has borne testimony. God grant, however, that England may be an exception to the general rule; and that, profiting by the awful experience of others, she may in time become wise unto salvation. For her attainment of this desired end, every pilgrim, on visiting the sanctuary of the apostle of England, should fervently pray that the efforts of his living successor in the chair of St. Peter for the reconversion of Britain, may be speedily crowned with success; and in the language of the prayer of the student on the Palatine, let his ejaculation be,—O bone Jesu! ut convertas Angliam humillimè supplicat peregrinus Anglus in Urbe! O good Jesus! the English pilgrim in the Eternal City humbly prays for the conversion of England!'"'*

To the author of these "Reminiscences

The following anecdote is connected with this subject. About the middle of the sixteenth century, in the monastery now known by the name of 'II Retiro,' the Retreat, the celebrated Cardinal Howard, of the Norfolk family, established a college of English missionaries of the Dominican order. At present it is occupied by a community of religious, named Passionisti,' from their especial devotion to the passion of Christ. From one of these religious we learnt that the founder of their society, the venerable Father Paul of the cross, never allowed a day of the last forty years of his life to pass without offering up a fervent prayer to God for the conversion of England to the Catholic faith."

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of Rome," we are grateful for much pleasing and valuable information. His matter is good, but we must be allowed, at parting, to offer a remark or two as to his manner. He is evidently a young writer, the poetie fervor of whose temperament requires to be sobered down by the logic of time and experience. He has the besetting sin of young and inexperienced writers, a continual effort to be grand, an affectation of translating the commonest circumstances into the language of metaphor and passion. He has not attended to that remark of an acute observer, that simplicity without elegance is preferable to studied refinement, just as the plain manners of a Quaker are less repulsive than the affectation of a coxcomb." In his determination to be singular, he can neither see nor hear like other people; instead of listening to a strain of sweet music, it must "gently captivate his hearing sense" (vol. ii, p. 81); instead of gazing in imagination upon the chivalrous tournaments of the middle ages, they are summoned to the presence of his mental sight." (p. 79.) He seems afraid of saying common things in a plain and natural way; the evening breeze from the neighboring catacombs, becomes "the plaintive sigh of evening from the proximate catacombal dwellings of the dead" (p. 53); barbarous treatment driving a man mad, is "obtenebrating his mental vision, and impelling him to a fit of despair" (p. 55); a veteran ecclesiastic is "a Nestor of the patriarchal age, over whom the winds of nearly fourscore and ten years have scowled" (p. 227); "Dante, the bard of mysterious song, resplends like a meteor amid the firmament of Italian literature" (p. 56); "a skull enclosed in a chrystal shrine, is venerated by pictorial enthusiasts, as the identical cranium of the divine painter [Raphael]" (p. 70); "during the cholera epidemic, fear came over the healthful youth, and stoutest man quailed like the aspen leaf." (p. 78.)

Sometimes a simple flat-footed fact is made to assume the buskin: the use of olive oil for church lamps, and wax candles for the altar, is thus announced; "the produce of the olive and the bee are made subservient to religious purposes in the Ro

man churches." (p. 87.) Sometimes the grand and the familiar find themselves in amusing juxta-position. Speaking of a college friend, he says, "manhood seemed to have made but little alteration in his mental character; his quiet and unobtrusive spirit was still the same; and such was his delicacy of reserve, as to make it next to impossible for him to elbow his way through the world." (p. 221.)

Our reminiscent has the following highwrought passages, which, in the simplicity of his youthful heart, he fancies to be the sublime. He is describing the festival of the "Infiorata," or floral procession in honor of the blessed Virgin. "Yes; long shall I remember the soul-thrilling impression. The luminary of day was about to tinge with his last setting glow of crimson and gold the smiling clouds of the west, and the last words of praise were echoing from the proximate hills. Could I a poet's privilege assume, I might be tempted to compare the music of the rustic minstrels-the beds of variegated flowers, and other joyful accompaniments of their divine procession, to some ideal fête champêtre, or festal rite, annually observed by our first parents in the garden of Eden, had they not sinned!" (p. 98.) In more senses than one this is a curious passage; how an ideal fête could be annually observed, if our first parents had not sinned, is an enigma which it would require a considerable degree of ingenuity to solve.

At p. 296, we have "The Thunderstorm," which is thus described;-"The thunder became progressively more loud and awful; the lightning fearfully proximale to us, in rapid succession flashed with its forked and terrific darts, the rain, as if the cataracts and floodgates of heaven had again burst forth to cover the earth with watery desolation, poured down in overwhelming torrents. Through the liquid mist I could discern a black lowering cloud approaching, &c. It was no small consolation to be near the benign effigy of Mary, the mistic Iris, &c." (p. 296.) The reminiscent and his college friend pay a moonlight visit to the Colosseum; "the moon advancing towards her zenith, emitted rays of lovely splendor.

We roamed through its columned arches, and admired the various shades depicted by the celestial rays of the lunar orb." They retrace their steps homeward, and “the irradiance of a cloudless star-lit sky, with the lightsome beams, though pale and mild of a crescent moon, served to guide us along the solitary streets, while we discoursed, or mused upon profane and sacred love." Such is the night picture, now for a dayscene. They visit the monastery on the Cœlian mount, "the corridor of which is adorned with portraits of men, whose mortified and thoughtful-looking countenances mutely told us of strange, mournful, yet beatific things. We took the liberty to stroll about the solitary garden, where the softness of the atmosphere, the fragrance of the orange, almond, and lemon plantations, and even the incessant chirping of birds delighted us. To harmonize the harsh garrulity of these feathered songsters, the zephyrs would ever and anon agitate the wild shrubs and flowers of the surrounding (proximate?) ruins, and waft occasionally dulcet sounds of more pleasing music in floating music to the ear.' A grove of cypresses accorded well with the melancholy loneliness of the place, and attuned our minds to a poetic feeling." This is what Dean Swift terms the "finical style;" what follows is more in the "Ercles vein." is describing the internal economy of the Roman college :-" Later, the seminarists are summoned by the punctual and inexorable bell-ringer to chapel for night prayers and meditation, after which they sup, and then withdraw to their play-rooms until the time arrives for the enjoyment of sweet dreams and uninterrupted slumbers, during the hours allotted for nocturnal repose. Each one then places his lamp inside his chamber door, and while undressing, responds aloud, as in the morning, to the prayers vociferated by the perambulating hebdomadarian." The following is still more highly wrought. It is the portrait of an unfair antagonist of Catholicity, one "who lays a train to explode the citadel of veracity!" (p. 134.) "Let him summon together his æolian auxiliaries, and triton-fleets of bugbear apprehensions about Popery,

He

to excite or storm against her. Let him arouse those leviathans and monsters of the deep, in the shape of religious jealousies slumbering animosities-and other bad passions, to arm and unite in arresting her peaceful progress. Let him exhaust his hell-guided energies, in order to overwhelm or thin the ranks of her defenders, let him endeavor to conceal her buoyant course amid the fog and smoke of bigotry and slander; his impotent efforts will only tend to make him guilty of atrocious high-treason against the common interests and happiness of his fellow-men. In the meantime, in defiance of human and infernal opposition, confident of divine assistance, the present venerable pilot, the two hundred and fifty-sixth successor of the fisherman of Galilee, will still undauntedly stand at the helm of the vessel, and keep unfurled the meteor flag of Catholic truth, wherefrom will be

emitted rays of supernal light sufficiently strong to pierce the darkest clouds of error, calumny, and misrepresentation, ever raised by-the "Times!"

On listening to such a passage as the above, we can imagine some honest backwoodsman exclaiming; "What a first-rate stump-orator was lost in that man!"

In conclusion-let us not be understood as offering these remarks in an ill-natured or captious spirit. Nothing can be farther from our intention. In pointing out the faults into which this young writer has fallen, we would hold them up at once as a warning to the student, and as no unfriendly hint to the reminiscent, of whose talents we think so favorably as to feel anxious to meet him again in the field of letters, and to felicitate him upon that more matured taste which added years will be sure to bring.

Born at Fontaines, in Burgundy, 1091; educated at the college of Chatillon, 1106; embraces a religious life, 1113; made abbot of Clairvaux, 1116; assists at the council of Sens, 1140; preaches the crusade, 1142; confutes the errors of the famous Abelard, 1145; dies at Clairvaux, 1153; canonized by Pope Alexander III, 1165.

WITH the more prominent features of St. Bernard's life, and with the influence he exerted upon the age in which he lived, and which he illustrated by his talents and his virtues, every reader of general history is acquainted. The object of the present sketch is to furnish the lovers of personal history with a few anecdotes and characteristic traits, drawn from St. Bernard's own writings, and from those of his contemporaries, and thrown into chronological order. It is hoped that they will lead to a more intimate acquaintance with the man, and tend to inspire a deeper love and reverence for the saint. In a former

sketch we traced St. Bernard to the foundation of the celebrated abbey of Clairvaux, and to his appointment as abbot of the same. In a few years, the fame of this monastery, and of the extraordinary man to whom it owed its origin, was spread throughout Europe. The widely extended influence of Bernard's example, and the practical value, not to say attractions of the rule of life which he laid down for the community under his direction, may be estimated by the number of influential men of the time who sought admission into the order. The gentle and amiable Peter of Clugni, though alienated for a time from our saint by contending interests, became united with him in the bonds of the sincerest affection. Hear what he says in one of his epistles to Bernard: "I have constantly wished to escape from my charge, that I might be at liberty to live united to you till death. To

be attached to your holy person by an indissoluble bond, I should consider as a more precious possession than any earthly crown; yes, I would rather pass my life with you, than enjoy all the kingdoms of the world; since to serve you would be agreeable not only to men but to angels."

In the same spirit of devoted affection, Hildebert, archbishop of Treves, repaired to Rome to entreat Pope Innocent's permission to resign his mitre, in order that he might live at Clairvaux. The Pope, however, refused his consent; "which," says Hildebert, "I pray God to forgive him!" Bernard's friend, Gregory, abbot of St. Thierry, to whom he was much attached, having proposed to leave his abbey for the same purpose, Bernard thus wrote to him: "My worthy friend, I should desire this quite as much as yourself; but reason requires that laying aside both your will and my own, I should advise you agreeably to what I believe to be the will of God. I feel my conscience at ease in proposing to you this counsel, and you will find peace of mind in following it: stay where it has pleased God to place you."

We

But Bernard's activity of mind was not limited to his own convent; it took a wider range, and embraced the interests and wellbeing of many of his contemporaries. will particularize one among other instances. The order of Clugni had, like that of Citeaux, originated in a project of conventual reformation, by restoring the observance of the Benedictine rule in all its primitive austerity. The convent was at first distinguished for the severity of its discipline, and the fervor of its religious exercises. The fame of this attracted the reverence and secured the liberality of the people. A succession of eminent men had presided over the order, whose counsels and participation in affairs of moment had been solicited by popes and sovereigns. The charitable purposes to which the convent applied its large resources, excited general esteem and affection. But increasing wealth and power produced their usual results,relaxation of discipline, and gradual departure from the spirit of the founder. The convent, richly adorned, had now become

the seat of arts and learning; but these too were perverted into active causes of evil. Under Pontius, a young and worldly minded man, who, in the year 1100, was chosen abbot of Clugni, the laxity and disorder of the convent had become so notorious as to reach the ears of Pope Calixtus II, who addressed an admonition to Pontius. In consequence of this, the superior abdicated his post, and undertook a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. But after two years, moved by ambition, and regretting the step he had taken, he endeavored by violent means to reinstate himself as head of the order. In the meantime, Peter, a descendant of a noble house in Spain, had been chosen abbot of Clugni. He was a man of cultivated mind, and he commanded universal esteem by the frankness and gentleness of his character, and by the winning courtesy of his manners. Pontius, however, whose character was far more suitable to the general inclinations of the monks, forced his way into the convent, during the absence of Peter, and seized upon the treasures belonging to the monastery, not even sparing the sacred ornaments of the church, costly crucifixes, golden reliquaries, and the more valuable of the sacred vessels of the service. These proceedings led to the greatest confusion in the order; till at length Pope Honorius II interfering, by his authority put an end to the strife, and, in the year 1125, reinstated the Abbot Peter in his office. It was at the call of the friends of order and good discipline, and more particularly of William, a Cluniac abbot, that St. Bernard composed his celebrated " Apologica ad Gulielmum abbatem."

St. Bernard had, however, personal motives to join in the feeling of the time against the monks of Clugni, from their conduct in regard to Robert, a son of his mother's sister. This young man having been, at his birth, consecrated to God by his parents, had subsequently been promised by them. to the abbey of Clugni. In his boyhood, however, he had formed a strong attachment to Bernard, and when the latter determined on entering the monastery of Citeaux, young Robert, though at that time only thirteen years of age, insisted on ac

companying him,—a mark of attachment which won strongly upon the susceptible heart of Bernard. Two years later we behold him accompanying and forming one of the infant colony that proceeded to the settlement of Clairveaux, where permission to assume the habit of the order was granted to his earnest entreaties. This gave offence to the monks of Clugni, who, under pretence of Robert's early engagement, procured a decree from the pope, authorising him to pass from Clairvaux to Clugni. Furnished with this document, and availing themselves of the absence of Bernard, the emissaries of the Abbot Pontius gained access to the young monk, and having succeeded in persuading him that he was subjected by Bernard to an unreasonable excess of austerity, they prevailed on him to accompany them to Clugni.

The grief of St. Bernard, when on his return to the monastery he found that he had been thus robbed of the child of his affection, is represented by his biographers to have been excessive. For the space of a year, he ceased not to offer prayers, mingled with sighs and tears, for his restoration. At the end of that time, he dictated the celebrated letter, of which the reader will be pleased to see an extract :

"I have waited long enough, my dear son Robert; nay, perhaps, too long, in the hope that it might please God to soften your heart and my own; inspiring you with sorrow for your fault, and granting to me the consolation of your repentance. But since my expectation is vain, I can no longer conceal my sadness, or restrain my sorrow. Behold me, then, come to ask pardon of him, who ought rather to seek it from me, and contemned as I have been, to recall him who has wounded and insulted me. When suffering under any heavy affliction, we cease to deliberate, or to reason with ourselves; we are no longer sensible of shame, or apprehensive of degradation; we neglect all counsel and rule, all order and measure: all the faculties of the mind are absorbed in seeking how to soften the rigor of suffering, or to recover our lost happiness. But I think I hear you tell me, that you have neither despised nor offended

me.

Be it so. My object is not to dispute, but to put an end to all disputes; and surely the blame must rest with the persecutor, not with him who flies from persecution. Come, then, let us forget the past; I will not stop to examine into circumstances, I would fain banish them from my remembrance. I will speak only of my affliction in being deprived of your society. I do not ask the reasons of your leaving me; I only ask, why you do not return. Yes, return, I entreat of you, and all shall be peace; return, and all shall be well again; I shall again be happy and my heart shall sing with joy, "He was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found!" I am content to take all the blame of your flight upon myself. Yes, I was too strict, too severe; I did not make sufficient allowance for the tenderness and delicacy of youth. It is time, that I might, perhaps, allege in my justification, the necessity of repressing the sallies of youth with a steady hand, so as by due discipline to train the restive to virtue, according to that admonition of holy Scripture, 'Correct thy son, and thou shalt save his soul,’— 'Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth,'— 'Better are the wounds of a friend, than the kisses of an enemy.' But, I repeat it; I am willing to bear the blame. Oh my son! consider the means by which I seek to recall you; not by a slavish fear, but by endeavoring to inspire you with a filial love, which will induce you in all the confidence of affection to throw yourself into the arms of a loving father. I employ no menaces; all the force I use is that of prayers and entreaties, to gain your soul and allay my grief. Others would, perhaps, have adopted a different method; they would have sought to frighten you by the representation of your sin, by the terrors of an avenging God; they would have reproached you with the base apostacy which led you to prefer a handsome dress, or luxurious table, an opulent establishment, to your former coarse habit, vegetable fare, and humble poverty. But knowing your heart to be more alive to love than fear, I have not thought it necessary to hurry him along who is already of himself advancing in the right way; to