The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 45

In the second place, we may take this argument as a method of manifesting the way in which the action of the first cause is shown forth in the universe. The idea of G.o.d is first affirmed, and the due explication of the facts of the universe is then demonstrated to be only an explication of the idea of G.o.d as first cause. The universe is shown to be intelligible in its cause, and apart from it to be unintelligible. Taken in this way the argument is identical with that which we are about to propose a little later.

Taken in the former sense, it is not a demonstration of the existence of G.o.d. Suppose that we can begin to reason without the idea of cause, and we can never establish its necessity by induction. Eliminate the idea of self-subsisting, necessary, eternal being, and suppose it unknown, unimagined; we can never rise above the particular, isolated sensations and perceptions of which we are conscious. If the facts which are called effects are intelligible in themselves, they imply no cause, and none can be proved from them. If they are not intelligible in themselves, they are from the first intelligible only in their cause, and the idea of cause is ultimate in the mind, antecedent to all knowledge of particulars, the first premised of every conclusion.

It cannot then be proved as the conclusion of any syllogism; for all arguments start from it as the primitive idea and first principle of reason.

This method of argument belongs to that sceptical system of philosophy which came in vogue with the theology of Protestantism, and has been ever since working out its fatal results. It is the principle of disintegration, doubt, and denial, transferred from the domain of revealed dogma into the order of rational truths. Kant, the great master of this philosophy, and one of the princ.i.p.al chiefs of modern thought, carried out this philosophy to the denial of all possibility of science, and therefore of all {299} Scientific knowledge of G.o.d, immortality, and moral obligation. Having swept all natural and revealed truths out of the domain of _pure_ reason, he made a feeble attempt to establish their authority in the sphere of _practical_ reason. The individual man and the human race need the belief in G.o.d to keep them in the order required for their well-being. Therefore we may believe that there is a G.o.d. It is needless to say that these dictates of practical reason are not respected by those who carry out consistently and boldly the sceptical philosophy. The ravages made by the principle of scepticism among those who have cast off all traditional belief in Christianity are obvious to all eyes. But it is not so generally acknowledged that the same philosophy has had a wide and baneful influence over Christian theology. Some Christian writers would avowedly sweep away science to give place to faith, not reflecting that faith tumbles to the ground when its rational basis is removed. Others follow the method of a philosophy constructed upon that method, a method which is altogether unfit to be a medium of the rational explanation of Christian dogmas. Hence, there is a schism between theology and philosophy, leaving both these sciences in a mutilated condition. The manifest inadequacy of the common philosophical system brings it into contempt, and induces the effort to transfer the seat of all cert.i.tude and all true science to theology. Theology cannot make the first step without a basis of rational cert.i.tude for faith and for conclusions drawn from premises which are furnished by faith. Consequently her efforts to walk on air result to her discredit, and theology falls into contempt. This ends in adopting Kant's practical reason as the basis of religious belief.

Philosophy and theology, as sciences of the highest order, are deserted. Religion is defended and explained on the ground of its probability and its utility. We cannot have science or make our belief intelligible. It is safe and prudent to follow on in the way the great majority of the wise and good have walked. Let us do so, and silence the questionings of the intellect. [Footnote 49] The language of scepticism! This is the mental disease of our day. Scepticism in regard to the doctrines of revelation; scepticism in regard to the dictates of reason! No doubt, if faith had full sway, and no false philosophy prevailed, theology would be sufficient by itself. For it contains in solution the true philosophy; and the simple, unsophisticated Christian intellect will take it up and absorb it naturally without needing to have it administered in a separate state.

But where the mind has been sophisticated by false philosophy, it cannot take theology until the antidote of true philosophy has been given to it. Here is a lack in our English-speaking religious world.

And this lack is, perhaps, the reason why some of the best writers speak so uncertainly of the rational basis of faith in revealed truths, and even in the truth of G.o.d's existence. While they affirm the cert.i.tude of their own inward belief, yet they acknowledge that they can only construct an argument which in philosophy is probable.

That is to say, they have not a philosophy in which the ground of their inward cert.i.tude is expressed in a distinct formula, and by which they can make their readers conscious of a similar ground of cert.i.tude in themselves. They have no philosophy corresponding to their theology, and therefore, when they address the unbelieving or doubting world, they are at a loss for a bridge to span the chasm lying between it and themselves.

[Footnote 49: These remarks are not levelled against any approved system of Catholic philosophy, but only against those which are in vogue in the non-Catholic world, or among certain Catholic writers of a modern date.]

There is at present a laudable and {300} encouraging desire manifested by the leading thinkers and writers of different churches to bring out the great fundamental truth that G.o.d is the author of nature and revelation, in such a way as to stem the tide of scepticism. Guizot, who is among the most eminent, if not the very first, of the modern advocates of orthodox Protestantism, in the programme of a recent work in defence of revealed religion which he has published, expresses the opinion that the differences between his own co-religionists and Catholics are of minor importance compared to the great pending controversy with modern scepticism. This, with many other indications of a growing cordiality in earnest Protestants toward Catholics who are similarly earnest, makes us hope to receive from them as well as from the members of our own communion a respectful and candid hearing of what we have to say on this weighty subject.

And now, having done with the disagreeable task of criticism, we entreat of our readers, if they have found the preliminary treatment of the subject we are on abstruse and wearisome, to resume their courage and push on a little further up the ascent toward the summit of truth. The traveller, who struggles through thickets and over rocks toward the top of a mountain is well rewarded by the landscape which lies below and around him, lighted up by the radiance of the full orb of day. So, gentle reader, whether you are believer or sceptic, there is an eminence before us which we can attain, from which the fair landscape of natural and supernatural truth is visible as far as the outermost boundaries which fade away into the infinite. We wish to lead you to this eminence, and to show you this landscape lighted up with the radiance of the primal source of light, _the idea of G.o.d_, the self-luminous centre of the universe of thought. We wish to show you this idea of G.o.d in its absolute truth and cert.i.tude; clearly and distinctly visible in that horizon which is within the scope of the naked eye of reason, but whose boundaries are enlarged and its objects magnified by the aid of that gigantic telescope called faith.

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From Once a Week

A MONTH IN KILKENNY.

BY W. P. LENNOX.

There is little to attract the attention of the traveller between Dublin and Kilkenny, except the fine range of mountains and the Curragh of Kildare. The Newmarket of Ireland is a vast, unbroken, bleak plain, consisting of 4,858 statute acres. It belongs to the crown, and is appropriate to racing and coursing, the adjacent proprietors having the privilege of grazing sheep thereon. The ranger of the Curragh is appointed by the government, and has the entire charge of this celebrated property. Of the race-meetings that take place on this spot it is needless to speak, as they are recorded in the newspapers of the day. Suffice it to say that the arrangements are well carried out, the prizes considerable, the number of horses that contend for them great, and the sport first-rate.

After changing trains at Kilkenny, I reached Parsonstown, where a carriage awaited me, to convey me to Woodstock, the hospitable seat of my brother-in-law, the Right Hon. William Tighe, and my sister, Lady Louisa Tighe.

Inistioge, anciently called Inis-teoc, is a charmingly situated small town overlooking the Nore, which is crossed by a picturesque bridge of ten arches, ornamented on one side with Ionic pilasters. The town is built in the form of a square, which being planted with lime-trees gives it the appearance of a foreign town. In the centre of the square is a small plain pillar, based on a pedestal of stone. This was the shaft of an ancient stone cross, and bears an inscription to the memory of David, Baron of Brownsfield, one of the Fitzgerald family, who died in 1621. The emerald green turf, and the foliage of the trees, in the square, give it a fresh appearance, and form an agreeable contrast to the surrounding stone buildings. Inistioge was once a royal borough, and famed for its religious establishments. It also possessed a large Augustinian monastery. All that now remains of it consists of two towers: one of them is incorporated with the parish church; the other is square at the base and octagonal in the upper stages. Of Woodstock itself, I will merely say that the house contains a valuable library, some good paintings; the gardens can find no equal in the United Kingdom; and the grounds, laid out with every diversity that wood and water can bestow, are perfectly beautiful. At the back rises a wooded hill, to the height of 900 feet, the summit crowned with an ornamental tower; and as the demesne stretches for a considerable distance along the Nore, there are some magnificent views of

"The stubborne Nenvre, whose waters grey, By fall Kilkenny and Rosseponte bend;"

which may be described in the words of the poet of the Thames--

"Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull: Strong without rage; without o'erflowing fail."

One of our first excursions was to Kilkenny, on our way to which city we stopped at Bennet's Bridge, to {302} witness the humors of a horse-fair. This small town is famed as having been the place where the Duke of Ormonde held a review in 1704, and which attracted such hosts of visitors that an inn-keeper is said to have made as much by his beds as paid his rent for seven years. I have attended many fairs in England, Scotland, Wales, France, Holland, Germany, and Canada, but never did I witness such an extraordinary sight as the one that presented itself at Bennet's Bridge. The hamlet itself, and its outskirts, were filled for more than a mile with horses, ponies, and vehicles, attended by a ma.s.s of people consisting of dealers, farmers, peasants, tramps, and beggars. There might be seen some "artful dodger" trying to palm off to one less experienced than himself a spicy-looking thorough-bred nag, whose legs showed evident marks of many a hard gallop, declaring that for speed the animal was unequalled, and that there was not a stone wall in the whole county that could stop him; there might be noticed a gallant colonel of hussars, attended by his "vet," selecting some clever three-year-olds, with which to recruit the ranks of her majesty's service. "Bedad, gineral," exclaims the vendor, "with such a regiment of horses you'd ride over the whole French cavalry, with Napoleon at the head of it."

"A broth of a boy" may now be pointed out, charging a stone wall, with a raw-boned brute that never attempts to rise at it, and who, turning the animal round, and backing him strongly, makes an aperture, at the same moment singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of an Irish song, most appropriate for the occasion--"Brave Oliver Cromwell, he did them so pommel, that he made a breach in her battlements." Next, a ragged urchin, without shoes and stockings, with what might be termed "the original shocking bad hat" and which--on the principle of exchange no robbery--I was credibly informed he had taken from a field, set up to scare away the crows. Then there was the usual number of idlers and lookers-on, and an unusual amount of hallooing, shouting, screaming, and bellowing.

After devoting an hour to the humors of the fair, we proceeded to view the remains of the abbey of Jerpoint, which was founded in 1180, by Donogh, King of Ossory, for Cistercian monks. The monks, on the arrival of the English, had interest sufficient with King John to get a confirmation of all the lands bestowed on them by the King of Ossory; and Edward III., in the thirty-fourth year of his reign, at the instance of Phillip, then abbot, granted him a confirmation of former charters. Oliver Grace, the last abbot, surrendered this abbey on the 18th of March, the 31 Henry VIII. It then possessed about 1,500 acres of arable and pasture land, three rectories, the altarages and t.i.thes of thirteen other parishes; all these were granted in the reign of Philip and Mary to James, Earl of Ormonde, and his heirs male, to hold _in capite_, at the yearly rent of 49 3s. 9d. It is an interesting ruin, and well worthy the attention of the antiquarian.

From Jerpoint we proceeded to Kilkenny Castle, the home of the Ormondes.

Richard Strongbow, by his marriage with Eva, daughter of Dermot, King of Leinster, came into possession of a great part of the province of Leinster. Henry II. confirmed his right, with the reservation of the maritime ports. On being appointed Lord Justice of Ireland in 1173, he laid the foundation of a castle in Kilkenny, but it was scarcely finished when it was demolished by the insurgent Irish. However, William, Earl Marshal, descended from Strongbow, and also Lord Justice, in 1195 began a n.o.ble pile on a more extensive scale, and on the ancient site. A great part of this fine castle has survived the convulsions of this distracted kingdom, and continues at this day a conspicuous ornament of {303} the city of Kilkenny. A rising ground was chosen, which on one side has a steep and abrupt descent to the river Nore, which effectually protects it on that quarter by its rapid stream; the other sides were secured by ramparts, walls, and towers, and the entrance is through a lofty gate of marble of the Corinthian order. Hugh Le DeSpenser, who obtained the castle by marriage, in September, 1391, conveyed it and its dependencies to James, Earl of Ormonde. In later days, the castle has been much improved; the tapestry which adorns the walls of the entrance-hall and staircase exhibits the history of Decius; it is admirably executed, and the colors are fresh and lively. The ballroom, which is of great length, contains a fine collection of portraits, landscapes, and battle-pieces.

From the castle we visited the cathedral church of St. Canice, which is the largest church in Ireland, with the exception of St. Patrick's and Christ church, Dublin. There are a centre and two lateral aisles.

The roof of the nave is supported by five pillars, and a pilaster of black marble on each side, upon which are formed five arches. Each lateral aisle is lighted by four windows below, and the central aisle by five above; they are in the shape of quatrefoils. The origin of this beautiful structure is uncertain, but it is conjectured that it was begun in 1180, when a small church was erected near the round tower.

"Hugh Rufus laid the foundation of a n.o.ble edifice," say the old writers, "and Bishop Mapilton, in 1233, and St. Leger, who succeeded him, completed the fabric." In describing the church of St. Canice, I cannot refrain from alluding to the extreme politeness of Father Kavanagh, a Roman Catholic priest, who devoted his time to my party and myself in pointing out the beauties of this venerable pile.

The Black Abbey was founded by William, Earl Marshal, about 1225, for Dominican friars. The founder was interred here in 1231, and three years after his brother Richard, who was slain in a battle with the O'Mores and O'Conors on the Curragh of Kildare. Henry VIII. granted this monastery to the burgesses and commonalty of the city of Kilkenny. In the time of the elder James it served for a s.h.i.+re-house, and in 1643 it was repaired, and a chapter of the order held in it.

Its towers are light and elegant, and some of the windows are most artistically executed.

St. Mary's church contains some very interesting monuments, among them one in memory of Sir Richard Shee, dated 1608, with its ten sculptured figures at the base. There is one also to his brother, Elias Shee, of whom Holinshed wrote that he was "a pleasant-conceited companion, full of mirth without gall." On an unpretending tablet of black and white marble appears the following inscription:

"FREDERICK GEORGE HOWARD, SECOND SON OF THE EARL OF CARLISLE CAPTAIN OF THE 90TH REGIMENT DIED A.D. 1833, AET. 28.

"Within this hallowed aisle, mid grief sincere, Friends, comrades, brothers late young Howard's bier; Gentle and brave, his country's arms he bore To Ganges' stream and Ava's hostile sh.o.r.e: His G.o.d through war and s.h.i.+pwreck was his s.h.i.+eld, But stretched him lifeless on the peaceful field.

Thine are the times and ways, all-ruling Lord!

Thy will be done, acknowledged, and adored!"

The above lines are from the pen of the late Earl of Carlisle, who never went near Kilkenny without paying a visit to the tomb of his brother. Poor Howard was killed by leaping out of a curricle, which was run away with between the barracks at Kilkenny and Newtownbarry, where his regiment was quartered. Another monument attracted my attention; it bore an inscription to the memory of Major-General Sir Denis Pack, recording the military career of this distinguished soldier. I knew the deceased officer well during the Belgian {304} campaign, and a thousand recollections sprang up in my mind when I saw the bust, by Chantrey, of as brave a man as ever served in the British army. But to return.

Although the salmon fis.h.i.+ng in Ireland has in many rivers sadly degenerated within a few years, there is still excellent sport to be had in many of the rivers and lakes. The Nore, which flows through the county of Kilkenny, would be a first-rate river for salmon and trout were it not for the number of weirs and the illegal destruction of the fish by cross-lines and nets. At Mount Juliet, the romantic seat of Lord Carrick, and Narlands, the river is partially preserved; and here, as at Dunmore, the property of Lord Ormonde, the angling is excellent. The general run of salmon flies suits the Nore; they should be tied with dobbing of pig's wool, and a good deal of peac.o.c.k in the wing. For trout, the ordinary run of flies will be found to answer well.

Among other fis.h.i.+ng localities in Ireland may be mentioned Lough Ree, a fine sheet of water about twenty miles in extent, studded with numerous islands, around the sh.o.r.es of which, and on the shoals, trout abound. The lake of Allua, about ten miles above Macroom, in the county of Cork, was once famous for trout and salmon, which have of late years diminished considerably, in consequence of the introduction of pike, the tyrant of the waters. The lakes of Carvagh, in Kerry, of Inchiquin, of Currana (near Derrynane), Lough Kittane (four miles from Killarney), Lough Brin (in Kerry), Lough Atedaun, Lough Gill (in Sligo), and Lough Erne, are well supplied with trout and salmon; while the far-famed lakes of Killarney will furnish sport to those who seek pastime, in addition to the enjoyment of witnessing the most beautiful and romantic scenery that is to be found in the Emerald Isle. The rivers, too, abound in fish. Among the best are the Liffey, Laune, Tolka, Bann, Blackwater (in Cork), Suir, Annar, Nire (a mountain stream rising in the Waterford mountains), Shannon, Lee, and Killaloe (remarkable for its eels, as also for the gastronomic skill of the inhabitants in dressing them).

I must now turn from the "gentle crafte" to otter-hunting, a sport still carried on with spirit in Ould Ireland. The mephitic nature of the otter renders him an easy prey to his pursuers, and his scent is so strong that a good hound will at once challenge it. The lodging of this subtle plunderer is called his _kennel_, or _couch_, and his occasional lodgments and pa.s.sages to and fro are called his _halts_.

So clever is he as an architect that he constructs his _couches_ at different heights, so that, let the water rise or fall, he has a dry tenement. Spring is the best season for otter-hunting, but it is carried on during the summer in the Emerald Isle; and a day with the amphibious tyrant of the finny tribe in the river Nore, which I enjoyed last September, may not be uninteresting.

At about eleven o'clock on a bright sunny day, with a refres.h.i.+ng breeze blowing on us from the south-east, we met at Coolmore, the seat of Mr. P. Connellan. The harriers--belonging to my host, and consisting of about six couple of handsome, well-sized hounds, about seventeen inches high--met in a field close to the house, attended by a whipper-in, admirably mounted. The pack seemed to possess all the qualifications of good harriers--fine heads, ear-flaps thin, nostrils open, chests deep, embraced by shoulders broad but light, and wen thrown back; the fore-legs straight, clean, bony, terminated by round, ball-like feet, the hind-legs being angular, and the thighs powerful.

The beauty of the day had attracted a large party of both s.e.xes from the neighborhood, some of whom, and one young lady in particular, managed a cot so ably, that she drew forth the following complement {305} from one of the bold peasantry: "Bedad, miss, you'd do honor to Cleopatra's galley." The princ.i.p.al part of the sportsmen and sports-women were on foot, although a few were mounted, and among the fair equestrians was a young lady whose seat and hand were perfect, and who evidently wished to emulate the prowess of the Thracian huntress. This modern Harpalyce, combining courage with feminine deportment, was prepared to fly like the wind across the country, had an occasion presented itself by the accidental discovery of a fleet hare. Arrived at the river's side, two Saxons with loaded guns kept a good lookout for the lurking prey, while the hounds swam across to a small island, where an otter had been tracked by his _seal_ Shortly a hound was heard to challenge, but on the approach of the pack the "goose-footed prowler," having been hunted before, left his couch, and diving under the water made head up the stream. Now every eye on sh.o.r.e is intent on watching his _ventings_; his muzzle appears above the surface for a second; again it disappears; and he can be tracked alone by the bubbles of air he throws out. The sport is now exciting. One of the police, armed with a primitive spear, which he had taken from a river poacher, consisting of a three-p.r.o.nged fork fixed into the end of a long pole, is ready to hurl the weapon which has proved so fatal to many a salmon, should the otter appear in view, while the staunch hounds are close on the scent. "Have a care there," cries a keen sportsman to the preserver of the peace. "Don't strike too quickly, or bedad you may transfix a hound instead of the marauding animal." But he is not doomed to die so inglorious a death as that caused by a rusty fork, for before the crude spear is hurled the hounds have seized him, and, after a desperate struggle, in which many of the gallant pack were bitten, shake the life out of the captured prey.

While enjoying the sport of the morning, my attention was attracted to a young lady on the opposite bank of the river, who, wising to join our party, entered a small cot, and gallantly paddled herself across the fast-flowing stream. So admirably did this "guardian Naiad of the strand" guide her fragile bark, that I could not fail to congratulate her upon her prowess. My compliments, however, fell very short of one uttered by a ragged boatman, who exclaimed:

"Ay, and sure, miss, you must be one of the queen's company. Bedad, miss, you are worthy of taking a cot into the Meditherranean."

While upon the clever sayings of the Irish, I must give an anecdote which was told me by Sir John Power, of Kilfane, than whom a finer sportsman or more hospitable man never existed. It seems that the complaints made against the vulpine race by owners of poultry are not confined to England, and upon one occasion a genuine Irishman, "Pat Driscoll by name," claimed compensation for damage done to a turkey and duck. This was awarded to him, when a week afterward he waited upon the owner of Kilfane, and asked him for compensation for "a beautiful cow killed by that nasty varmen, a fox." "A fox kill a cow!"

said Sir John; "impossible!" "Fait and sure he did," continued Pat.

"I'll tell you how it was. My cow was feeding in the meadow close to my garden, and was eating a turnip, when up jumped a baste of a fox, and frightened her so much that bedad the poor creature choked herself." The good-humored baronet could not fail to be amused at Driscoll's ready wit, but declined paying for the loss of the animal, upon which Pat, not at all taken aback, remarked, "Well, Sir John, it's rather hard upon me; but in future, instead of advertising your meets at Kilfane or Thomastown, perhaps you will name _Kilmacoy_"

(p.r.o.nounced "Kilmycow") "as more appropriate to case."

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Chapters could be filled with Irish sayings, but s.p.a.ce prevents my giving more than one, which was told to me by a friend in whose veracity I have perfect confidence. An English gentleman dining in the house of an Irish lady, was greatly surprised at hearing the Butler ask, "please, ma'am, will I strip?" "Yes", was the reply; "all the company arrived." Turning to a neighbor, he inquired the meaning of the expression, when he found it applied to taking the covers off the dishes, and was quite foreign to the usual acceptation of the word "strip."

[ORIGINAL.]

BANNED AND BLESSED.

"And the Lord G.o.d formed man of the slime of the earth; ... .

Cursed is the earth in thy work.

"And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us."

Bud out, glad earth, in beauty, Ring out, glad earth, in song; The funeral pall is lifted That covered thee so long: The heavy curse laid on thee For Eden's primal wrong.