treasure lies in these volumes, for the art-student, the archæologist, the historian, the curious inquirer as to the belief of the Primitive Church, and to the theologian. But apart from their value to these, it is not easy to over-estimate their usefulness to those who would wish to examine the costumes and customs of the early days of Christianity. There we find described and depicted the garments worn at the different periods. The exterior and interior robe, the Phoenician dalmatic, the chasuble, and the open and sleeveless tunic, the toga and the pallium. How interesting for the casual reader to note that the altar vestment worn by the priest in those days differed but little from the costume of daily life, and how, as the fashions of worldly life changed, the Church in her rites, as in harmony with her doctrines, remained unchanged, so that the chasuble of a priest at the altar to-day is but a slight variation from the civil garb worn by men in the early ages of the Church.

When Our Lord, instructing his disciples in the spirit of the missionary's life, sent them out on their career of Apostolic labor, He told them not to take two tunics. As an example of the fact that but one was worn, it is related of St. John that when he gave his tunic to a certain Aristodemus, he had no other tunic, but remained wrapped in his outer garment or pallium.

There we learn how ancient is the custom of cutting the beard and hair: "Clericus nec comam nutriat nec barbam" (398 A.D., Conc. Carth. iv., Can. 44); and whatever the meaning of these words, in many of the paintings the men are represented with smooth faces.

Again, how much light is here thrown upon various expressions in Scripture otherwise barely intelligible, the gestures in prayer, the lifting of hands, the embracing of the feet and knees in sign of adoration or supplication, as when Mary at the Resurrection threw herself at Our Lord's feet, or at Bethany sat in silence there while Martha "was busied about many things." What a source of unfailing delight to turn these beautifully engraved pages, so beautiful in their simplicity, so sublime in the mysterious meanings therein signified, so filled with wonder and interest when one has the key to open up the hidden meanings of Faith. There is about it that exquisite charm for the human mind awakened on meeting some unknown problem of nature, a problem the more interesting from the fact that one has in his power a clue to solve the mystery.

Perhaps these magnificent volumes, this monument of art, this storehouse of history and masterpiece in the annals of archæology, may be inaccessible to our American students. It is to be hoped, however, that this want will be supplied, that a work so valuable

in itself and so replete with interest from so many points of view, will not be reserved to visitors of European libraries alone. The perfection of the plates, their number, elegance, and the skill of execution, make the work a marvel in the art of engraving. Let it be hoped, then, that in all our libraries, or at least in those that pretend to completeness in valuable books, and especially those which take a just pride in their art collections, this work, the basis of Christian Art, will find its place for the instruction and the admiration of all who are interested in religion, art, archæology, and history, and especially in the religion and art history of the earlier days of the Christian World.

IS THE CHURCH GAINING OR LOSING GROUND IN CATHOLIC COUNTRIES?

IT

Tis necessary that we first explain the question, What do we mean by the words "gaining" and "losing"? It is obvious that the Church may gain or lose ground in three senses which are perfectly distinct: first, as to the number of professing Catholics; secondly, as to the force of religion in the national life; thirdly, as to the collective influence of clergy and laity over the civil or political powers of the country. That these three senses are distinct, and may even sometimes be at issue, is made apparent by what we see around us every day. The number of professing Catholics in any country does not indicate the national earnestness or the national sloth. In France there are thousands of persons professing Catholicity who do not trouble themselves with its duties or its obligations. So that our second sense, "the force of religion in the national life," is not commensurate with the numerical force of professing Catholics. And as to our third sense, how is it possible that any Catholic community should have "collective influence over the institutions of the country," if the fashion of the age is to "take religion very easily," or to divorce it from all overt acts of the public life?

A good deal of misapprehension must be necessarily engendered by the political attitude of a (Catholic) government towards the Church. Politics, in their bearing on Catholic vitality, are very intricate and delicate matters for Catholic critics. Theoretically, the general principles of political justice are subjected, and must

always be so, to the Supreme Authority; while, practically, the actual noise of political systems somewhat deafens the popular sense as to their true merits. People are so apt to decry a system as being hostile to the spirit of the Catholic Church, when it is not the system, but the governing minds who administer it, who are responsible for a very painful antagonism. The French Republic, like the ardent Absolutism of Louis XIV., has been very heartily abused by some Catholic critics. Yet has Absolutism or Republicanism been more offensive? Was an absolutism which used religion as its political handmaid-while doing nothing for the practical advance of pure religion-less pernicious than is a republic which sets religion quite aside, or even persecutes its priests or professors? The question is worth asking; because some people think "The Republic" to be the mother of all impiety in modern France. Is it a whit more so than was the religious Cæsarism of Louis XIV., who, while affecting to be the eldest son of the Church, set an example, at Versailles, which was not edifying? Is it not better to have a government which is not Catholic, or which is even anti-Catholic in its temper (and which, therefore, avoids the scandal of hypocrisy), than to have a government which so combines religion with the world that the latter is the senior partner and the director? Is it not better for the clergy, and better for the laity, and better, also, for the outside countries which are looking on? To sail under our own flag is at least ingenuous; and, as to persecution, it does not matter one straw. Persecution is a high wind which freshens the heart; while hypocrisy is a sultry mist which sickens the soul. Open warfare is much better than sham peace. Louis XIV. did more harm to religion than does M. Constans or M. Paul Bert. We know what we are

about with a professed enemy. But a Catholic Cæsarism, which only used the Catholic religion, was a despotism at once spiritual and political.

It is strange that non-Catholics have been, as a rule, the stoutest defenders of what is called "the divine right of kings." Indeed, Cæsarism is modern; it is not Catholic. The Emperor of all the Russias (like two of the Stuarts of England, and also like Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth) is supreme autocrat of souls as well as of bodies. There is, of course, a reason why this should be so. If a potentate claims to be a pontiff, he may consistently demand and receive reverence. "I am to you in the place of the Pope," says Alexander III. to his subjects; and so said Queen Elizabeth and Henry VIII. But no Catholic sovereign can say this. For above the Catholic sovereign is the Supreme Pontiff, to whom he, like his subjects, is submissive. Now, if we consider what must be the effect on a Catholic nation of the attitude of its government

towards religion, we easily apprehend that the aspects of that attitude may be to them (and to us) very delusive. A people is apt to be judged by its government; or is supposed to create the tone of its government. This really is not true in Catholic countries. That France is republican is an accident of past mistakes; that the Republic is a mixed quantity,-half Catholic, half infidel,—is an accident of the political circumstances of the times. That the French republic might be wholly Catholic, and might be the most desirable government for the French, we can easily believe, if only the Catholics of France were as earnest about politics as about religion. But they are not so. French Catholics are not much busied with politics. That is to say, they feel an interest in politics; but prefer the quiet of their religion to demonstration. The free-thinkers are the real political agitators. And once in power, they have a bad trick of persecuting the very Catholics who have lifted them up to their position. But the Catholics are very reposeful in their politics. They talk of them in their homes, and among their friends, but they do not hurry into the arena of political combat. They deplore every government attack upon religion, but they do not rush to take up arms against the aggressors. They read, with an impassioned interest, every Catholic journal or brochure which takes the side of the Catholic faith against the free-thinkers; yet they stop short at such honest literary enthusiasm, and rather hope than struggle manfully for better days. This characteristic of the vast majority of "good" French Catholics produces, necessarily, a wrong impression on the outer world. American, English, Irish Protestants naturally jump at the easy inference that a Catholic nation which patiently suffers an un-Catholic government cannot be really Catholic at heart. Hence the assumption (which we see expressed in Protestant newspapers) that "the Catholic Church is losing ground in Catholic France." Political power it is quite certain that the Church has lost; a Catholic government it is quite certain France has lost; yet if we compare the France of to-day with the France of Louis XIV., she is more Catholic to-day than she was then. Leaving out of the reckoning the peasantry of France, who have always been what they are now, intensely Catholic, the upper classes and the upper middle-classes are higher-toned Catholics to-day than they were when vulgar Cæsarism used the Church. The bishops are higher-toned, because they rebuke an infidel government, instead of shutting their eyes and ears to an immoral government. The aristocrats are higher-toned, because they keep their religion and their politics two distinct, and not two impossibly-mixed classes. The business classes are higher toned, because they have their principles differentiated, and know exactly which is the Church, which the devil. In the old Versailles

days, the world, the flesh and the devil were all in active fraternity with the show of Faith. This was rotten. We may hail the present antagonism in the French nation, between religion and the de facto governing authorities, as a healthy and manly substitute for that most detestable of all hypocrisies-the using of the Catholic faith as a political bulwark.

While speaking of France, we must remember, also, that its literature has to be taken account of quite as much as its Government. Yet, whether we take the Catholic literature or the infidel literature of to-day, there is nothing in either to make us conclude, with despondency, that the Catholic Church has lost ground in Catholic France. The French Catholic literature, solely in the sense of Catholic journalism, is abundant in bravery as in circulation. No one expects that what are popularly known as "religious papers" can equal in number the "all round" papers of the same country; because the "all round" papers generally include religious news, while religious papers generally exclude secular news. Yet, of the 1568 Parisian journals, and the 2506 provincial journals, the vast majority are most respectful towards religion; the small minority are equally blatant and atheistic. And this is a healthy sign that religion and irreligion have their separate and openly hostile literary camps; trimming or hypocrisy being no weakness of the French character, as it is of the English journalistic leadingarticle character! Indeed, in all Catholic countries there is this thoroughly wholesome trait: that the two camps, the two standards, have their flags. They nail their flags to the mast, and do not give their left hand to the enemy while giving their right hand to those who "increase their circulation." The English Protestant press is chameleon in its religiosity; so that while advocating Christian virtues in rounded periods, it pats the Pagan Mr. Herbert Spencer on the back, or approves the "daring honesty" of Mr. Bradlaugh. To find out the religious principles of the Times newspaper, or, for that matter, of the Daily Telegraph or the Daily News, or even of the so-called religious English newspapers, would tax the powers of the most subtle analyst of human writings, because the affirmations are mostly constructed out of the negatives. But it is not so with the French journalists or French essayists. If they are skeptical, they do not pretend to be pious; if they are infidel, they do not pretend to be Christian.

An American or English Protestant will argue plausibly: “The French nation is quite obviously infidel, because so many of its journalists profess impiety." These reasoners ignore the fact that French writers say what they are, whereas a leading article writer in the weathercock London Times writes outside himself or his own opinions. He poses in a fictitious attitude of superiority,