had been made the occasion of a series of writings exceedingly painful not only to Catholics, who most keenly felt the bitterness and the falsehoods of the remarks with which those writings abounded, but to every one who was animated by the feelings of a generous nature, and held in the highest regard the real honour and the interests of this country. Seeing how much misunderstanding there was on this subject, and how erroneously, and perhaps maliciously, those topics had been presented to the public mind, he had thought it his duty to come forward in a bold and manful way, and state before them, unflinchingly, what was the doctrine and what were the principles that had actuated all parties to this arrangement, and to show how reasonable all that had been done was, and how far there was the slightest ground or right on the part of any one in this country to complain of it. He would speak plainly on this subject, and perhaps they would bear with him if some degree of honest indignation sometimes guided his words. It would almost appear to one who had watched the signs of the times in our day, that the religion of this country required to be kept alive by a perpetual ague fever of terror or amazement, that it was like a cauldron which from time to time must boil over, and spread around it feelings and emotions that inflamed and burnt; or rather he would say, that instead of there being here in England a religion pure and undefiled-a perennial and inexhaustible fountain for sending forth waters that refreshed and invigorated all around, and diffused fertility, joy, and prosperity throughout the kingdom,-there appeared to him to be something more like a volcano, which required for its relief from time to time not only an outburst, which was to be heard almost at the extremities of the earth, but which was to reduce everything around that was pleasant and lovely to look upon to desolation and ashes, to gratify the feelings of those who triumphed in the blaze and the destruction. It would seem as if here at least the savour of charity was not that sweet odour of Christ which, like the Magdalen's spikenard, filled the whole house, and as if from time to time, indeed, the religion of this country must become explosive, and destroy everything about it. It seemed that those who raised their voices to enlighten the public mind, and wished those voices to be re-echoed over the whole world, believed that the greatest weapons they could use were scurrility and brutality, employing, as they did, the most foul epithets towards a body which included among its members many of the most noble and the most worthy of the earth, and indulging in violent declamation, which only created confusion while it did not enlighten-the scornful laugh, the spiteful snarl, and even the most indecent jests and remarks on matters which religion itself had made sacred. This treaty between the emperor of Austria and the head of the greatest church in the world, and which has been the result of the greatest deliberation and care, is spoken of as if it had been some miserable fiction or romance, or a laughable production which some two or three persons had made to amuse the world. And that was thought to be the way to express the mind of a great and mighty nation, which pretended to speak to the ends of the earth, which affected to treat religion always with respect and dignity, and which arrogated to itself the possession of the only true religion upon the earth. Had they yet to learn that there was a dignity in silence, that there was a greatness in reserve, that there was a majesty in grave, solemn warning and counsel? Had they to learn that, if they wished to have their opinions and sentiments looked upon with respect by others, and conveyed to the ends of the earth, they must not be lightly fledged, but possess the qualities of the eagle-the strong, well-poised, slowly-moving action which showed deliberation, and which was significant of strength,-in fine, that great, kingly power which went from nation to nation, giving to each oracles that would be received as wisdom well matured and deliberation gravely perused? But, on the other hand, how could they

expect that the judgments they had formed on this matter, and which they intended to react on foreign countries, would have the slightest weight? Here they had two States,-one a mighty empire, which had always been criticised for the slowness of its resolves, and for the multitude of its councillors, with immense resources, not merely of material, but of intellectual wealth,-which drew its councillors from a variety of nations speaking many tongues; and they had an emperor, surrounded by these councillors, going on for two years discussing that treaty, which had but now appeared, clause by clanse, and with the greatest minuteness and care; on the other hand, there was a prelate and a colleague of his own (Cardinal Wiseman's), with whom in early life he sat side by side at the same bench in school,,—a man remarkable, not for what they would call the cunuing of this world, but for real, genuine piety, for grave qualities, for considerable application, and great success in study, of great experience in the treatment of ecclesiastical affairs, who was the chosen nuncio at Vienna. They had there those two Powers; but the second was but the representative of a Power which was far superior to that of any temporal power in the vastness of its aim and exercise. The Pope, with his experienced councillors, with the wisdom of the whole church at his command, was on the other side; and for two years the negotiations which had resulted at length in this treaty had gone on, step by step, in the most deliberate manner between the contracting parties. The document in question came first to this country from the correspondent of a newspaper, who showed in the remarks with which he accompanied it, that he did not know the meaning of the words that were used in it. It was drawn up in the peculiar language of Catholic ecclesiastical diplomacy,-that was to say, the words used in it had a different meaning from that of ordinary Latin in which it was written; and it required a person versed in ecclesiastical Latin and in the principles of the Canon Law to understand it, and interpret its meaning and significance. Yet, though two years were spent in drawing it up and perfecting it, it was not two hours in the hands of a newspaper editor before he, to whom the subject was altogether new, with a dashing and a flowing pen, wrote an indignant article blowing the whole thing to pieces. What could men abroad say of our prudence in this country, or of our justice and common sense? Or how could we reconcile those violent attacks and those flippant remarks with that high tone of superiority for which we placed ourselves above the wisest of men in other countries? On the contrary, would not the conclusion to which all men would come be this:"Well, after all, if there is all this declamation and abuse to be urged against the Concordat, it must really be something very good, and the result of great wisdom and deliberation ?" That was the judgment that would be passed upon our uproar and excitement, and it only surprised him that the thing had not gone further and assumed a systematic formthat county meetings had not been called, or the City, or the Court of Aldermen convened together to protest against Austria obtaining the powers conceded to her by this Concordat.

His Eminence then set forth in most forcible language the absurd inconsistency of English Protestantism, which five years ago so stoutly insisted on the doctrine of noninterference by a foreign power in this country during what was called Papal aggression; and asked how, after that, it could justify its interference in the matter of this Concordat, which was purely an affair between Austria and the See of Rome, with which, he contended, it had nothing to do? Five years ago, when the outery arose against the establishment of the Catholic Hierarchy, it was complained that the Pope had interfered in the ecclesiastical affairs of this country by creating a Hierarchy for the Catholics; yet here was this very country raising an outcry against Austria for settling its own ecclesiastical affairs! If, on any measure affecting the Established

Church of England, one-tenth part of the epithets of contumely and obloquy which had been on this occasion applied❘ to the Emperor of Austria had been used in Austria against the Queen of Great Britain, there would have been a prompt demand for reparation for such coarse scurrility. The Emperor of Austria reigned over as large an empire as ours was, even including its distant dependencies. The population was far greater than ours, and included a far greater variety of races: ours only included three, all of the same language (excluding India): while the Austrian empire embraced at least six, speaking different tongues-all of which the youthful and accomplished sovereign spoke with ease. Yet, with inconsiderable exceptions, all these were united in the same faith and recognised the supremacy of the Holy See. The vast majority of the people owned no other religion than the Catholic, which was the religion of the State. In England, on the other hand, the religion of the State was confined to the Anglican Church. This differed in toto from the Presbyterian, which was the State Church in Scotland; while in Ireland there was the monstrous anomaly well known elsewhere in the world-of a State Church teaching a religion different from that of the great body of the people. In England and Scotland there were the Dissenters, with all their " denominations," the Jews, and other religious varieties; besides, the Catholics form a considerable proportion, and in Ireland the overwhelming majority. So that the State Church only composed a small portion of the empire. Yet this small Church was distracted by different parties-" High Church" and "Low Church," Tractarian and Evangelical; and the "Broad" Church party especially strove to embrace all the other parties. They contended about doctrine and about discipline, about sacraments and about services, about rubrics and about usages, about the inspiration of the Scriptures and the genuineness of its books; and its clergy were even allowed openly to discard some of them without the least censure from any of the bishops. Such was the Church of the State, which assumed to teach another nation how to regulate its Church, and pretended to counsel a nation which engaged a united Church, with unity of faith, and without any religious division-without any discordance of doctrine or disciplinewith the same belief and the same devotions throughout the vast Catholic population. Surely, the retort might well be, "Physician, heal thyself!" The Concordat related, not to any religious dissensions, for happily there were none, but merely to the external relations of the Church with the State, the election of bishops, and so forth. But among us there is a want of far more than a Concordat. Why did not we attempt it? Not a Concordat with the Holy See, that was a sacred thing; but at least some Concordat among ourselves, some means of securing harmony between the different divisions of the State Church, or between the State Church and the great body of the Protestants of the Empire. The Church of England would have this advantage in the attempt--that she had for her head the Queen, and that the spiritual and the civil powers were united in one person. Surely it could not be difficult with such an advantage to bring the State Church into some sort of accord and agreement upon religious questions? But what chance of success would there be for such an effort? Why, the members of the Church would be disputing among themselves as to whether a change was necessary, and if so, of what kind it should be. And even if the Church agreed as to the change, there was Parliament to be consulted. A Bill must be brought in,—and what debates there would be about it! What an opposition! An opposition comprising not only churchmen of every class and dissenters of every denomination, but possibly infidels and unbelievers. This country, therefore, so proud of its privileges, so lofty in its claims to pre-eminence, had met no power able to deal with its State Church and to bring it into harmony and peace. Had it then any right to be the teacher of others? Could it be wondered at if words of scorn and

ridicule, now so rashly uttered, were afterwards remembered ? Perhaps the sovereign who was once the object of all this obloquy might become hereafter a useful mediator or a powerful ally, and in that case doubtless these scurrilous writers would be ready to fawn upon and flatter him as they had done to another emperor who had been thought worthy of similar vituperation. What business had this country to interfere at all in such matters? Let the Austrians settle their own ecclesiastical affairs; they understood them better than we did. It was said by some of these newspaper scribes that the Austrian clergy were against the Concordat. It was about as likely as that a man whose limbs had been fettered should be enraged at their being set free; or as if a prisoner should be angry at being set at liberty. Then it was predicted that it would prove a source of injury to the Church. So it was prophesied at the time of the definition of the Immaculate Conception that bishops would protest against it and that large secessions would result from it. The event had falsified their prophesies, and would equally falsify the present predictions. In fact, they would be forgotten in a month by those who now uttered them. The Definition of the Immaculate Conception had been received with acclamation all over the world, in Mexico, Chili, and Peru, as well as in France, in Spain, or in Italy. And at the present moment, when the Church was afflicted in some places, it was consoled in others; and Catholics should render the conclusion of this Concordat as a hope of joy and gratitude. The Sovereign of Austria is as well aware that it was unity of faith which formed the bond of his mighty empire, and that this unity was secured by harmony with the Holy See.

The Cardinal, who spoke with greater spirit and power than ever, was listened to with the utmost attention.

A VIEW OF THE BYGONE DAYS: THOUGHTS ON THE MOUNTAINS.

WHAT has become of the days of old! It is a weary look to trace the distance; one would imagine this is not the world we were born in. I remember when the men of old used to show me the good old ways they walked in, scores of years before, how they met their old friends, and sheltered them from a storm. On their lovely lake they skated all day; from their hills they saw the ships returning with victory from foreign war. Men walked quietly together in friendly talk, and went to bed and rose as the sun did; they followed the ancient faith of their fathers,-believed the same creed, read the same books, and believed their posterity would do the same. Old men then wore grey hairs, and saw their children live to a venerable age. But they are all gone : there is a change now with us, we are left doting among the ruins of our youth, and nothing left to us of our carly days. The old crooked grassy byways, where we went to gather blackberries and idle away a summer day, have been gone over by the surveyor's chain, and some straight cut, with prim, bare fences, has run it down. The little stream has been piped over, and where it "babbled o'er green fields" is now a noisy, muddy thoroughfare. Over the green glen, where the hazels nourished their brown clusters, strides an uncasy viaduct. The roaring railway has frighted the linnets from their boughs, and dispersed the feather-tribe from their nests. In the lonely bay, where we have gathered shells, thinking ourselves in fairy-land, and wondering what lay beyond the dim horizon, we now behold the steam-boat roar and splash.

The havoc of war, riot, swearing, with the vice and slang of cities, have usurped the quiet haunts of country calm and charity. It is for a coming age all these things are preparing to us is allotted only the vexation and bewilderment. I wish no associations to link me to these evils,-I prefer the old repose to all the vain luxuries they may bring. What is it to me that I can go to the cast or west in so many days

:

sooner; or even if the sun that sets on me to-night should rise for me to-morrow by the Ganges? Here is my emerald isle;" this is my home where my heart is; I have no business with a foreign country. I wish to sit undisturbed by my own fire-side, to enjoy the social comforts of my family and friends, and walk under the old Irish oaks, look on my own fields, and be warmed by my own sun. But I will not be allowed this; they will dig canals through my silent walks of study, and the busy city will pour through these banks its wealthy traffic, and make them echo with the laughter of enriching their treasures. Huge piles have covered the green where I played. The roar of busy streets insults the memory of the green lanes where I strolled at evening. The exile can still listen to the whispering of the woods and waters of his native land; but, alas! he remembers them with tears.

But lo! the mountains yet remain! I can see them from my door and from the city streets. I can climb up their rugged sides, and thank my Creator that no discoverer has yet uprooted them. My heart is with them, for they have not changed. With them I have a feeling of sympathy, for I can look on them and renew the fancies of my infancy. There is not a torrent pouring down their sides, not a crag, nor a bramble, that is not charming in my eye. Come, then, let us fare among them! These noble fronts have never varied. The clouds float here over the same ridges on which the eyes of our childhood rested, and the men of old. The clank of monstrous engines has never yet dismayed their primeval stillness. The skeleton of creation is visible here, and we see the beginnings of the world. This solid granite sparkled in the sun when "the evening and the morning were the first day;" and was as firm and solid to the centre when the world was "without form and void." This whinstone rock has been hardened in some earthquake furnace long since then; and these flints are still new, though they held fire before Prometheus suffered. This soil is the relics of the life and death of a thousand green years, and the fresh bloom that feeds on its decay will nourish succeeding blossoms. The western nations look up here for the dawn, and the people of the east for sunset. Young children look here from their cottage doors at evening, and see, as it were, the portals of Paradise opened, gazing through vistas brighter than imagination, unfolding into the heart of heaven. On these peaks hang the morning and evening stars. The sun and moon come here and do them honour; and they clothe themselves with gold, and azure, and purple, deeper than the Tyrian, to receive their celestial guests. Yes, here in this lovely solitude there is life, and liberty of heart, and sacred peace. No fenced-in space confines me here.

I breathe in a domain as wide as the horizon. The clouds are my fellow-wanderers here, and enjoy with me the liberal bosom of the air. Their ethereal hills and dales invite my fancy to a heavenly country, where I gather all I love around me. Their shadows cover me as they pass over, and I bid "God speed" as they carry refreshing showers down to the thirsting land. No miserable moan of sickness, no sob of long-breaking hearts, no choked sigh, cheated hope, nor woe, alarms here, but rather I behold the wild bee sing among the rich fragrance of the heather bells and thyme, gathering pure honey, fresh from the breath of the immediate sunrise. The larks have their nests among the heath by thousands, and make the whole mountain musical. Many strange insects, born and dying in the hour, that live on dew-drops, buzz by, and a thousand unknown creatures, gifted with voice, inhabiting small twigs, in labyrinths of greenest moss, join in the hymn. The invisible wind, like a ruler of the strings, pours in a sovereign master-note that blends in all one solemn harmony, filling the air till the valleys sing for joy. Here is solitude unforced, and free as the wandering wind. Here is peace, like the summer life of untrodden blossoms; here is a lofty quiet, as of the dreams of the heart over its holy memories; here are everlasting rocks, steadfast as honour and truth;

here is wealth for fancy and a dwelling for imagination. Wide and far as the peaks can seek the heavens, there is no room for debauchery, impurity, envy, or hate, where the glens are vocal, and holy silence compelling the heart to adoration; making a haven for religion among the mighty hills. What a mighty power has heaved up these huge mountains, twisting and folding each into each, away as far as the eye can follow! Starting (as supposed by some) from chaotic trance long before man or his mammoth ancestors, at the creative song of some wandering star messenger, millions of years upon its way.

My heart enlarges here, and recognises an aërial amity with the sky. I am filled with celestial promptings; I am induced to shake off all incumbrance with the earth; I stretch out my arms to the blue vault of heaven, and its breath comes into my bosom as a friend. I find the stir of humanity is dumb beneath me. I leap among the heathy knolls; I sing beside the infant rivers; I shout, and hear answers from the lurking echoes, like the mysterious voices of infinite years; I

drink in the air with

"Fair creatures of the element,

That in the colours of the rainbow live
And play in the plighted clouds."

Yea, one would imagine that the curse nor the sweat of the brow has not fallen here, nor aught save the rain and refreshing dews of heaven.

"I shall describe the pagan's belief." He says he stood rapt in mute visions growing into the majesty of the mountains. He spurns decay and time; and shared the enduring strength, that carried lightly the burthen of centuries. He thus continues :-" The mountains swell up around me like a sea with billows. My footfall is inaudible, and I flee to and fro like the unbodied soul of a great poet that makes the worlds it sees. I am still nearer to the angels, and my spirit begins to put forth unaccustomed wings ere I am a devout pagan. The ancient gods still linger here; I am the friend of Plato; I remember the voice of Socrates; I worship the gods reverently, and have come up hither with sacrifice according to the voice of the oracle. I have drank with the Muses at this fountain. Here, under the hanging ivy from the rock, I behold the real Castaly; and wherever the stream may wander it will carry music on its way from divinest voices. From this clump I have listened to Apollo teaching the shepherds. These cattle brousing in the thicket far down the ravine, I stole from Peria. I bear the imperial mandates, and the breeze carries the sound of my eloquence through all the forests. But I aspire to loftier seats. This is the high Olympus; Saturn is baffled, and immortal Jove laughs at the terrible prophecies of the enduring Titan. Let him rend his rivets. Let him melt the heart of Caucasus, or appease the Vulture. Would that I could escape the reproaches of Juno, but it shall rain gold in her lap, and Leda shall fondle in her bosom a snowy swan. Meanwhile let the nectar be poured; the laughing gods surround me; I sit throned amid thunder.

"Lo! to my ears comes up a solemn strain, and the eagle shrieks and flies. The thunderbolt withers from my hand :"The oracles are dum,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof with words deceiving; Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving."

A louder thunder than Jove's has been heard. There is a mountain more venerable than Olympus. Moses went up there to talk with God, and came down with the brightness of the sun in his countenance, bearing in his hand an everlasting and eternal law. That thunder still echoes which shook Babylon, and quelled the Assyrian. The Persian rolled

away before it like a cloud. Egypt, Greece, and pagan Rome, have fled from it for ever.

But lo a greater than Moses has made the mountains holy. A greater hierophant opened up there the law and the prophets. On a mountain the temptation of Satan could not prevail, for he confessed his conqueror. Who shall be properly able to conceive that tremendous hour, pregnant with the fate of man, when the "loving Jesus went up alone into the mountain to pray?" We all know by the eye of faith the all-atoning sacrifice that was offered on the Hill of Calvary. Dublin.

ANDREW GLENNEN.

ONE MORE "LAST WORD" ON ECCLESIASTICAL ARCHITECTURE.

SIR, I have no wish, nor, indeed, any intention to engage in even a friendly controversy on the subject of the rival styles. I have not sufficient confidence in myself to enter the list against so able an antagonist as your Galway correspondent, and, if he will but guaranty the principle of providing suitable accommodation for the poor in our churches, I shall cheerfully relinquish the field.

It must not be supposed, however, that I am indifferent on the subject. On the contrary, it would require no trifling amount of argument to move me from my preference of the ancient-Italian or Grecian-to the medieval style, more especially in the small church or chapel class of buildings, to which I fear we shall have to confine ourselves for some time to come; and most of all in our large Protestant cities, where our highest artistic efforts are looked down upon, and, in a sense, overshadowed by the colossal structures of the dominant heresy; but I am not so ridiculously presumptuous as to imagine that my taste should become a standard for others, and I rejoice to think that so grave a stumbling-block as orthodoxy of style is simply out of the question. If our architectural progress depended on our unanimity-except in so far as a unanimous recognition of the right to differ may be so termed I apprehend we should never get beyond the rudiments. The wisest course, therefore, will be to leave every congregation to chose for itself between the styles, and bring out each to the extent of its means-their respective merits in contra-distinction. For my part, I am determined, if I cannot aid the good work, at least not to impede it by the discussion of a question of mere secondary importance, which, after all is said and done-or rather, all is said and nothing done can only end in a drawn battle.

It will not, I hope, be deemed inconsistent with this resolution if I conclude my last letter on this interesting subject with an observation or two on the remarks of "J. K. L." who seems neither to have caught the purpose of my letter, nor-if he will pardon a trifling liberty of speech-to have any definite purpose in his own. He must have read the former very carelessly indeed, not to have seen in it a somewhat higher aim than that of a mediator between two belligerent parties, however manifest the desire to soften down the asperities of extreme opinion on both sides. It contained a few of those stubborn things called facts, not one of which he has attempted to disprove; and there is no very damaging force in the side wind by which he endeavours, no doubt with the best intentions, to get rid of them. He "does not think my knowledge in acoustics is so limited as to suppose every person in an assembly can hear equally well with those immediately in the vicinity of the speaker." I believe that by a judicious arrangement in the preparations of the building, all may be enabled to hear distinctly; but admitting the hypothesis that a result so satisfactory cannot be obtained, and that some must of necessity be placed at a disadvantage, it ought not, of a certainty, to be that portion of a congregation which is most in want of religious instruction, and whose lives are

but too likely to furnish the most damaging,-not to say damning,-evidence of that want. Why not reserve a few of those back sittings, nicely cushioned and comfortable, for the accommodation of our dillettanto church-goers, who keep bustling irreverently into the house of God from beginning to end of His solemn service, making that awful occasion one scene of confusion and scandal, to say nothing of the indecent haste with which they leave, the moment the "Ste missa est," or at most the priest's blessing, is pronounced, their time being so immensely valuable even on the sacred Sabbath day, that they cannot wait for the few additional words of the last prayer, or the ceremony of the holy sacrifice; so irksome, that they cannot stretch their endurance to the extent of devoting two hours out of the seven days of the week to the service of God and the salvation of their souls?

In reference to the use of galleries which I suggested as a pis aller, he asks, "What is to become of the people under the gallery?" My knowledge in acoustics is, I confess, so limited, that I can see no sufficient reason why, with the pulpit at a suitable distance, the exhortations of the preacher should not reach the ears under the gallery, provided it be not disproportionably low, as is too commonly the case; and if the fact is against me, we have churches and chapels with galleries in Lonoon to prove it without going all the way to the House of Commons for an example. The Sardinian church, in Lincoln's-inn-Fields, certainly no model of beauty, has two galleries, or rather tiers of galleries, one above the other, and I cannot learn that the occupants of the pews underneath are thereby inconvenienced.

"But," he goes on to say, even though the loss might really turn out as a gain in the case specified" (meaning the Reporters' Gallery), we cannot adopt it in the internal arrangement of our churches."

The meaning of this sentence is not very plain, but it conveys something very like an opinion that the instruction of the humble and the ignorant is by no means a matter of primary importance; and so this widely-scattered element, so powerful for good or evil, must remain a scandal to the Church, and an obstacle to the English mission, because we cannot have the fine united effect of our massive oaken roof and solemn aisles marred by a gallery. In his proposed plan of removing the pulpit of the Oratory to a more central position, he has overlooked the fact that such an arrangement would place the occupants of the front pews-the most respectable portion of the congregation, by the way-back to back with the preacher whom, it is natural to suppose, they would like to see as well as to hear.

The notion, which prevails to a certain extent among your correspondents, that an evil of serious magnitude should be let alone because some three or four churches happen to be in progress of being built, is worthy of the money-grabbing times in which we live; some four or five hundred souls may be lost in the darkness of ignorance through an obstinate adherence to an erroneous system. It is a very sad thing, to be sure, but it cannot be helped; but when we come to contemplate the probable sacrifice to principle of a few hundred pounds sterling, the case is materially altered. Whether this policy of non-interference is to continue for a year or a generation, is a matter more of chance than of opinion, the chance being, that before the buildings now in progress shall have been completed, the foundations of as many more will be laid. I shall not occupy any portion of your space in discussing the propriety or practicability of holding the Catholic press în leading-strings on subjects not strictly doctrinal. You are yourself the best judge whether you will be guided in the conduct of your luminary by expediency or truth.

"J. R. L." is somewhat hypercritical on the subject of his closing quotation from my letter. The first ages of the Church numbered surely more links in the chain of time than the epoch of the caves and catacombs; and the words "colossal and columned ruins," not "niches," indicated