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on trust without accurate search and verification. It is not the practice of our theologians to be loose or inaccurate in laying down principles in a text-book. It is not only the goodness, but also the wickedness of an action that flows from the end proposed ; and none of our theologians has ever failed to state this distinctly, especially in the treatise “ De Actibus Humanis," where the sources and fundamental principles of morality are laid down and vindicated. We gather at random a few examples.

Kenrick says: “Ex fine actus bonitas vel malitia etiam derivatur.” “From the end of an action flows its goodness, and likewise its wickedness." F. Sabetti: “Actus humanus veran moralitatem ? a fine desumit.” “Man's deliberate action takes its real moral character from the end." These, too, are the identical words of Gury. F. Clement Marc * says: “Finis operantis tribuit veram moralitatem actui humano.” “It is the end proposed by the agent that gives its true moral character to his deliberate action.” And that very Laymanné who is triumphantly quoted by the Littledales, Coxes and other pious controversialists of their stamp, as a chief exponent of wicked Jesuit morality, says: “I maintain that this end (the end proposed by the agent) gives to an action a new specific character of goodness or wickedness.” If Busenbaum had written a treatise “ De Actibus Humanis," he would have said the same thing, for it is the doctrine of the Catholic Church.

But does any Jesuit expressly lay down the doctrine that good ends will not sanctify bad means? Yes; all of them, without exception. Laymann says: "Sixthly, the adjunct of a good end does not help an action that is bad in itself, but lets it remain in its simple and thorough wickedness (relinquit simpliciter et undequaque malum)." Gury says clearly: "Omnis electio medii mali est mala." ; "Every choice of evil means is wicked (even where the end is good).” But what is the use of multiplying quotations? Let one Jesuit be produced who has written a treatise “ De Actibus Humanus,” and has either deliberately suppressed or even innocently forgot to put down this teaching, and we will surrender our entire case.

These falsehoods about Jesuit teaching are not new, nor are they confined to the English-speaking countries of Protestantism. The bigot, whose anti-Catholic zeal urges him to misrepresentation and slander, is to be found everywhere. In Germany, the birthplace of the “Reformation,” they have never been wanting. From the day when the patient labor of the Jesuits, under Faber, Canisius and their disciples, first checked the spread of the new heresy, purged southern Germany of its leaven, and drove it back to its northern home, anti-Jesuit calumny became the fashion, and lasted for hundreds of years, until about a century ago, when the Lutheran clergy became skeptics and infidels, and cared as little for Luther as they did for the successor of St. Peter. After this lull, a revival of the no-Popery cry has revisited Germany, and the old, stale calumnies are republished as boldly as if they were new discoveries, and had not been a thousand times triumphantly refuted. What gave the first impulse was the partial freedom gained by the Church after the events of 1848, which aroused the anger of those who had long enjoyed the pleasure of seeing her placed under the yoke of State supervision, and who seemed to regard it as their own loss that she should emerge from the chains of bureaucratic tyranny.

1 Theol. Mor., vol. v., p. 16. Op. cit., p. 19.

2 Moralitas is not our English “morality.” In theological works it has a technical sense, and means “moral relation or character," whether good or bad.

3 Compend. Theol. Mor., Romæ, 1874, vol. i., p. 26.
* Institutiones morales Alphonsianæ. Romæ. 1885. Vol. i., p. 193.
5 Op. cit., Lib. i., Tract. ii., cap. ix., p. 23.
6 Ibid. “ Sexto casu,” etc.

7 Ibid. p. 27.

To revenge their disappointment, the usual contrivance of attacking the Church through the Jesuits was resorted to. Their immoral principles, and, above all, the maxim, “ The end justifies the means,” were made the subject of unnumbered books and pamphlets. Of the bad faith and wicked motives of these writers there can be no question. It is enough to say that amongst the impugners of Jesuit morality we find the name of that holy! man, the notorious Joannes Ronge, the "second Luther," as his fatterers loved to call him. These calumnies, however, were not allowed to go uncontradicted. Father Roh, a preacher of some eminence, at the close of a successful mission in Frankfort (1852), which Lutherans and infidels had tried to impair by disseminating in print the wicked maxim attributed to the Order, read from the pulpit a declaration, to which he begged his hearers, Catholic and Protestant, to give the widest circulation. The substance of it was this: If any witness could produce a Jesuit author who had uttered the maxim, “ The end justifies the means,” literally or in equivalent terms, he would pay him a thousand florins (Rhenish currency). The decision was to rest with the Protestant faculty of the University of Heidelberg, or with the mixed faculty (Protestant and Catholic) of Bonn. This offer he repeated in the Protestant cities of Halle, in 1862, and Bremen, in 1863. Ten years and more had passed, and no one had accepted the challenge. At last a theologian, Maurer by name, took it up and published a pamphlet in which he claimed that he had proved his point and was entitled to the reward. All he could allege was the passage of Busenbaum already discussed about a condemned prisoner's right to escape): “Cum finis est licitus, etc.” Of course, he furnished no context, to explain how or why Busenbaum had used such language. The faculty of Heidelberg would not allow his claim. Nor will it ever be allowed by any honest Protestant. One of them, Büchmann, calls the maxim a perversion or distortion of propositions found in Jesuit moralists. The same is said by another, Wander, in his “ Lexicon of Proverbs." And a third, Hertslet, positively affirms that the Jesuits never held or taught such a maxim, and attributes the hold it has on the popular mind to knavish romancers like Eugene Sue.

1 He died a few weeks ago in obscurity, despised or forgotten, unrepentant and unshriven, as generally happens to apostate priests.

It is a proud distinction for the Jesuits that their enemies can find no valid weapons against them, and are compelled to resort to falsehood and slander. They are in this point faithful representatives of the Church of Christ at this day, as she is of the primitive Church of the Apostles. Are our Protestant friends aware that they are repeating against us the identical slanders that were hurled at the Church in the days of St. Paul? Then, too, wicked Jews and lying Pagans charged her with holding the blasphemous maxim, that evil may be done for a good purpose. (Rom. iii. 8.)

I Geflügelte Worte, Berlin, 1882. “ Eine Enstellung Jesuitischer Satze." This popular book has reached a thirteenth edition. Quoted in “Geschictslügen,” Paderborn, 1885, p. 532, a valuable little book, which we hope to see translated some day into English,

2 Leipzig, 1889, quoted, ibid. 3 Ibid.




WHY is it that we care so much for anything merely because

we shall never see it again? Why do we recall the memories of places which have done little else than weary us, and of people who have done little else than worry us, with a regard almost amounting to tenderness, for no other reason than that the last time we encountered them was some thirty or forty years ago? Why, in especial, does such a lustre play about the remembrances of that most unsatisfying and unsatisfactory period, the time of youth? It cannot be because boyhood is the season of enjoyment, and manhood of care; for the cares of manhood, even of struggling manhood, are, except in very peculiar cases, the salt of life, while the cares of boyhood create only a feeling which is of all sensations the most miserable. Take the case of a broker out for a holiday, or a lawyer, or a physician, or a contractor, or any one engaged in any business whatsoever, except, perhaps, that of legislator or professor; and mark how happy they are when they can get hold of some one with whom to talk “shop,” even if they cannot do real business; and how wearily goes the day for them when they have nothing to do except to enjoy themselves. On the other hand, if anybody wants to know what despair is like, let him take up a Hebrew or Sanskrit grammar and conjure up the sensations he would experience if his whole future fortune depended upon his appreciation of Hiphil and Hophal or his progress in the Bagho Behar or the Puranas. Shall we say that youth is the period when health and strength are at their zenith, and that no enjoyments of later years can compete with those of vigorous life and an elastic frame? Unfortunately the facts are all the other way. There may have been a time in former days when young people were strong, just as there may have been a time when May was a delightful month for others besides poets; but as matters go now, it is the young whom consumption and rheumatism seem to favor with their particular attention. Is it, then, to an early friendship that we look back with pleasure, as that romantic cynic, the late Lord Beaconsfield, was wont to maintain? It may be so, for one real diamond will redeem a vast quantity of paste, and one sprig of lavender will keep a whole wardrobe sweet for many a year; but for our own part, we are much more inclined to believe that our regret for the past is a kind of grateful reaction from the well

grounded expectation of boredom, which under the present conditions of civilization appears to be the inevitable accompaniment of any anticipations for the future.

However this may be, we must confess to having detested the public school where we spent six or seven of the most formative years of life, with as perfect a detestation as our natural faculties would permit; nor would we even now for any earthly consideration again go through a single month of that ceaseless oppression and never-ending worry, where, term after term, year in and year out, we never had a moment to call one's own, nor a foot of ground where one could read or write or think in peace. And yet no sooner did we resign all right which we possessed or ever had possessed “in the College of St. Mary of Winchester, near Winchester," and stripping off our scholar's gown bid farewell to those venerable precincts, than a sense of loneliness fell upon us, even though we were still of Wykeham's sons and were but proceeding to the sister College at Oxford, and a love of the time-worn walls took possession of us, stronger than any affection we have ever felt for our own home, either in London or in the country; stronger than that love which came to us for Oxford, the Hesperides of the soul, "where the golden fruits for ever burn," stronger than for Australia with its glowing climate,

" Where the bright Air pours high her living wine,"

stronger than for Italy, with those old-world associations, and for Jerusalem with its sacred localities.

“Me nec tam patiens Lacedæmon
Nec tam Larissæ percussit campus opimæ.”

No scene that we have ever visited, and no experience we have ever undergone, has left upon us anything like the mark impressed during the years that we spent at the College of Our Blessed Lady of Winchester, near Winchester.

The town of Winchester, where, five hundred years ago, our founder, William of Wykeham, exercised the offices of bishop of the diocese and high chancellor of England, is one of those charming old-world places, the delight of such writers as Hawthorne and Anthony Trollope, and, in fact, is not, improbably, the original of the famous “ Barchester." Nothing seems to move there, yet nothing exactly stagnates. Life flows along placidly, with a calm, lucid stream, like its own silvery Itchen, and centuries glide away with less rush and disturbance than is crowded elsewhere into as many years. The college, itself one of the most recent additions to the town, celebrated its quincentenary a few years ago, and

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