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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
She has found that Vanderlyn is not the substantial business man
she was at first led to believe. She had thought him a lawyer, and so
he is by education; but, in reality, he is an adventurer and a
speculator, and, although often commanding money easily, he has
no real fortune, and has only a very fluctuating income. This it is
that worries him and takes him often away from home long at a
time. He has not the honesty to deny himself any accustomed luxury
for the sake of those dependent upon him. It chafes him to be
obliged to meet his household expenses, and not always have the
means to do so conveniently. He knows that Agnes will not insist
upon unnecessary expenditure, but he has not the courage to tell
her frankly of his affairs. There is a respect for her in his heart in
spite of all, and he knows that there is an uprightness about her
which would lead her to insist on plainer living and fewer servants.
She is not weakly self-indulgent as he is. He is so unprincipled at
heart that no tie, no obligation, can bind him when it once becomes
irksome. He is a greater moral coward than the woman he has
perverted. And so at last, when her boy is about five years old,
Agnes finds herself deserted. Martin Vanderlyn has gone to
California, and left her with her household effects, and about one
hundred dollars in money—that is all.
She looks her fate steadily in the face. Young enough and strong
enough yet for work, but with a helpless child upon her hands, what
shall she do? She sells promptly her furniture, books, pictures, and
jewelry. For the last she has never cared, but Vanderlyn had lavished
it upon her during the days she was seeking a divorce. Very rarely
has she worn it. With the sum thus raised, she can, for a time, pay
her board until she can find employment, and she seeks the most
retired house she can find for a refuge.
In bitterness of spirit beyond anything she has ever endured
while the honest wife of John Thorndyke, Agnes now feels in almost
overwhelming force the folly of the course she has pursued—almost
overwhelming, but not quite, for she still believes herself to be
Martin Vanderlyn’s lawful wife. Bad as he has proved himself, she as
yet has no doubt that he is her lawful husband, and so, in her
present abode, she calls herself Mrs. Vanderlyn, with no thought but
that she is so honestly, if not wisely.
She has been in her new home rather less than a week, when,
passing along the corridor, she meets, coming from a room near her
own, two Sisters of Mercy, who have apparently just taken leave of
an invalid lady; at least, so she judges from the voice which comes
through the open door, saying:
“Good-by, and come again soon, Sisters,” followed by a cough
that to her experienced ear sounds like consumption. She has heard
that cough in the night when she has been wakeful, and she hears it
again many times this day. She thinks of the invalid often, with her
old instinct of sympathy for the sick—a sympathy which of late years
has not been much called forth in her retirement. The next day,
coming in from her quest for employment, she meets on the porch a
gentleman who, she feels almost sure, is a Catholic priest. He enters
the house at the same time with herself, and, proceeding before her
up the stairs, passes directly and quietly to the room occupied by
her sick neighbor. “She is a Catholic, then,” says Agnes to herself;
“but that does not matter. I wonder if I could do her any good?” And
she acknowledges to herself a very strong desire to see her
neighbor, and offer any service in her power. But she does not act at
once. Her peculiar position makes her shrink from meeting strangers
or forming acquaintances. Still, the cough strikes upon her ear
appealingly, all the more that there comes no sound of any voices
from the room, save when the priest or the Sisters of Mercy are
there. She knows her neighbor must be alone, and, she suspects,
lonely also, for many hours. She resolves to go to see her, and take
little George, thinking, in the fondness of her mother’s heart, that his
pretty ways may divert the sick woman.
But who is she, and what is her name? Agnes asks this of her
landlady the first time she finds that everbusy and worried woman
alone.
“The sick lady in the front room? Why, she is your namesake,
perhaps a relation.” And the landlady eyes keenly her questioner,
thinking her curiosity about both of her boarders will now be
gratified, as she slowly adds: “She is a Mrs. Vanderlyn, as well as
yourself.”
Agnes feels herself trembling and almost choking at the swift
rush of conviction coming over her as to who this Mrs. Vanderlyn is:
The priest and the Sisters of Mercy! Martin Vanderlyn’s wife was a
Catholic! She can hardly command her voice to ask:
“Is she a widow?”
“I guess so, but she hasn’t said so,” replied the landlady. “She
has no friends, except them horrid spooks of nuns and that there
sneakin’ priest; I do declare I’m ashamed to see ‘em a-comin’ in and
out o’ my door—but you be’ent a Catholic, be you?” she says, in
sudden alarm, lest her burst of confidence has been misplaced.
Agnes reassures her by saying:
“Oh! no; I am not a Catholic, nor is any of my family; so I think
this lady can be no relative, as my husband was never a Catholic.”
What makes her voice change as she shapes her reply in this
evasive way? It is not altogether the keen, inquiring eyes of the
landlady trying to find if she is wife or widow. She can scarcely tell
herself; but the sharpened sense of expectation of some coming
revelation, or else the nearness of Martin Vanderlyn’s wife, makes
her feel for the first time a sense of guilt in speaking of him as her
husband. Not that she says even to herself as yet that he is not her
husband; but the two wives—if this is his wife—in such close
proximity, impresses her much as the fact of the two living fathers of
her two boys has done. It cannot seem to her quite right for herself
to be Martin Vanderlyn’s wife, while the woman in the next room is
such a reality. As long as the divorced wife had seemed to belong to
the past—perhaps dead—it had not impressed Agnes so keenly as to
be living under the same roof with her; for Agnes feels almost sure
that it is so. Still, her desire to see her neighbor is by no means
lessened; and it is not idle curiosity, but a nobler feeling, which leads
her to ask the landlady to introduce her. That person has, in the
meantime, remarked:
“The lady is a real lady, and, if she is a Catholic, I can’t say aught
agin her. I do hate to see them beads, and crosses, and figgers, and
picturs of folks with Saturn’s rings on their heads, which she keeps in
her room; but, if she gits any comfort from ‘em, poor soul, why, I
can’t begrudge her that. Only I wish she had more light and some
real religion, now that she’s so near dyin’. I do hate to see her sunk
in darkness, without no light o’ the Gospel. But ‘tain’t no use talkin’
to her, she never gits offended; but, when I wanted to send a good
Methodist minister to pray with her, she said her spiritooal needs
was already cared for by. Father what’s-his-name, and she jist give
me back that lovely tract about Going to Hell, as if she warn’t scared
a bit. ‘Tain’t no use, Mrs. Vanderlyn, to talk to her. They’re all of ‘em
so set and superstitious they can’t experience religion or have any
realizin’ sense o’ their sins.”
Says Agnes: “I don’t want to minister to her soul. That is not my
mission. I only thought she was lonely, and I might do her some
good in being a little company for her some of the time, if nothing
more.”
“And so you might, and it’s right good of you to think of it. It’ll
take some off my mind to know you’ll see her sometimes, as I can’t
find time to go in and sit with her as often as I think she may expect
of me.”
And the landlady, followed by Agnes, taps at the door of Mrs.
Vanderlyn’s room. In a minute more, Agnes finds herself face to face
with the invalid, who is sitting in a large easy-chair by the window.
After some words from the landlady, explaining Agnes’ kind intention
and sympathy, that garrulous person withdraws to her pressing
household cares.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER.
 “BEATI QUI LUGEANT.”
FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.
Go; vainly in thy breast lies hid the steel
That pierces. I perceive thy sad estate,
Thy silent fortitude; and for thy weal
I pray thee meet thy fate.

And weep before me! Cast thy burden down,

I know that sorrow finds a drear relief
In solitude, and wears abroad the crown
Of a majestic grief.

The hand of friendship may not put aside

The heavy folds of the funereal veil,
And on the threshold of an arid pride,
Words seem to faint, and fail.

But days have passed, I come—nay—never start,

Suffer my presence, place thy hand in mine,
Pour thy full soul into my faithful heart
Whose pulses all are thine.

If friendship only bore me to thy side,

I would withdraw before thine icy face,
Obey the teachings of my human pride,
My eager steps retrace.

But I, too, have known sorrow, and have earned

The right to minister before its shrine.
A mighty secret, too, my heart has learned,
Whose sources are divine—
A secret that shall set thy soul aglow
When once its holy meaning I unfold,
And make thee bless its author for the woe
That thus could be consoled.
 JOHN BAPTIST DE ROSSI AND HIS
ARCHÆOLOGICAL WORKS.
FROM THE HISTORISCH-POLITISCHE BLAETTER.

The ruins that lie by the banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates
give us a better notion of the power of the kings of Babylon and
Assyria, of the civilization, religion, and moral condition of the
ancient peoples of these countries, than the writings of historians.
The obelisks and pyramids, the ruined temples and the columns
covered with hieroglyphic characters, tell us more of Egypt than
Herodotus and Manetho. In like manner do the tombs and
inscriptions in the catacombs bear witness to the faith and morality,
the usages and manner of living, of the early Christians.
The study of these catacombs has therefore a double aim: one
dogmatic, the other historical. Considered from the latter standpoint
alone, the discoveries recently made in the catacombs destroy the
theories and appreciations of many historians. It is literally true, as a
distinguished non-Catholic has said, that, “since Rossi published his
works, the history of the age of the Christian martyrs has to be
rewritten.” The distinguished Alfred de Reumont, on page 806 of the
first volume of his History of the City of Rome, says: “No one knows
better than the author how much this work is indebted to the
researches of De Rossi.”
The pontificate of Pius IX., among its other glories, can claim that
of having especially aided De Rossi in his archæological studies; and
on this account alone it would deserve the gratitude of all the friends
of science. Pius IX. has deserved the name of the “second
Damasus,” not only because he founded “The Archæological
Commission for the Investigation of the Ancient Christian
Monuments of Rome,” and aided it with pecuniary subsidies, but
more particularly because he took a lively personal interest in all its
undertakings.
The zeal of Pius IX. found in John Baptist de Rossi, a born
Roman, a most suitable person for the advancement of
archæological lore. And, in fact, Rossi alone, as all acknowledge,
made more progress than all his predecessors. Although he has
been more than a quarter of a century at work, he is still a hale
man; and if Piedmontese brutality or revolutionary barbarism does
not prevent him, he may yet make more splendid progress in his
learned studies. Rossi has wonderful powers of observation, united
with great calmness and perseverance in investigation, ardent love
of science, and vast erudition. He is well versed in all the branches
of his favorite science—in archæology, bibliography, history,
æsthetics, topography, and architecture. With keen discernment,
which his complicated investigations never lead astray, he knows
how to choose and value his materials. We know not which to
admire more—the persevering industry, or the great and unflinching
mental and physical strength, which he displays in assorting the
various materials which come before him. His judgment in forming
hypotheses, in drawing conclusions and consequences, is always
prudent. He prefers to prove too little rather than too much. On this
account, as well as because of his critical acumen, he has obtained
such a reputation among archæologists that Martigny, in his
Dictionary of Christian Antiquities, says: “We can rely implicitly on
every word that Rossi writes.” Rossi never builds a card-house; he
makes no vague, superficial reasonings. All is deeply thought;
monuments and documents are always brought in to corroborate his
assertions; and we know that nothing is more solid and convincing
than the hard marble.
 It is true Rossi has not published the half of his immense
collections; but from what has been published we can perceive that
nothing so important has appeared in the archæological world since
the time of Bosio, perhaps never anything so vast from one
archæologist.
The first great archæological work of Rossi appeared when he
was yet a young man. It was printed in the third volume of the
Spicilegium Solesmense, published by the celebrated Benedictine
Dom Pitra, now cardinal of the church. Rossi always quotes it with
pleasure as his first work. The title is A Letter on the Christian
Monuments bearing the Inscription ΙΧΘΥΣ. Paris, 1855.
The figurative and poetical style of the Sacred Scriptures, as well
as the discipline of the secret, introduced into the “Church of the
Catacombs” those numerous symbols, so full of meaning, which,
disguised in the simplest pictures or the simplest words, expressed
so much to the initiated. The lamb, the anchor, ship, the stag,
peacock, the cock, the dove, etc., were symbols of sublime Christian
ideas. But the most important of all the Christian symbols was the
fish. It is mentioned as a Christian hieroglyphic all through the works
of the Fathers, and appears on all the old monuments. On these
latter, sometimes the Greek word ΙΧΘΥΣ sometimes the painted, and
some times the engraved, image of the fish, is found. During the
period of the discipline of the secret, especially during the first three
centuries of the church, the most holy mysteries of Christianity were
concealed from the uninitiated under the symbol of the fish.
The fish is the symbol of Jesus Christ. The Fathers before the
IVth century insinuate this in obscure and ambiguous terms, while
those of the IVth and Vth centuries proclaim it plainly. Thus writes
towards the end of the IVth century Bishop Optatus Milevitanus:[110]
“The fish, according to its Greek orthography, Ιχθυς expresses by its
letters a number of holy names, which in Latin are Jesus Christus
Dei Filius Salvator”—Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour—Ιησοῦς
Χριστός Θεοῦ Υἱὸς Σοτήρ. S. Augustine[111] expressly says that, if
you take the first letters, of these five Greek words, and unite them
together, you have ἰχθυς, i.e. fish, which name is a symbol of Christ.
 Some ecclesiastical writers strive to connect the fish-symbol of
Christ with the Sibylline prophecies; other Fathers endeavor to find
in it certain analogies between the nature and acts of the fish and
the human nature and works of Christ. The different passages of
ancient writers on these points are brought together in De Rossi’s
treatise. Rossi himself has beautifully explained the origin of this
symbol.
The fish is the symbol of Christ according to his human nature. In
the figurative language of the church, the present life is likened to a
sea. Ubique mare sæculum legimus,[112] says Optatus Milevitanus.
Ambrose calls men the fish who swim through this life. When the
divine Word became man, he became a fish as we. Hence Gregory
the Great wrote: “Christ condescended to hide himself in the waters
of human nature, in order to be captured by the angel of death.”
More frequently the fish is used as the symbol of the divine
nature of Christ. The large fish caught by Tobias that he might have
food for his journey, use the liver and gall to free Sara from devils,
and restore sight to his father, was considered by the Fathers as a
striking symbol of the divine Redeemer, who by the light of his
doctrine cures the blindness of ignorance, redeems the world from
the power of demons, and feeds us with his body on the pilgrim
route from earth to heaven. Therefore is Christ symbolized as
Teacher of truth in his church; as Redeemer from the power of Satan
by baptism; and as Food of souls in the Eucharist.
Out of the many beautiful and expressive symbolical
representations of the intimate connection between Christ and his
church, we shall select only the two figures numbered 104 and 105
in De Rossi’s tract. In the midst of a surging sea a fish is swimming,
carrying on its back a ship, the symbol of the church. It is the divine
Ιχθυσ, who, according to his promise made to his church, carries her
safely through the storms of the world. The ship is managed by
rowers, the hierarchy of the church. The only pilot and leader of the
ship is the Holy Ghost, represented by a dove sitting on the top of
the mast. In order that no one may mistake the vessel, the scene of
Christ giving the keys to Peter is painted in the foreground exactly as
our modern painters represent it. In order to make this point clear,
namely, that the Holy Ghost is guiding the bark of Peter, the words
ΙΗΣ (Ιησοῦς) and ΠΕΤ (Πέτρος) are written over the picture.
Man is born the child of divine wrath: Christ frees him from
Satan’s power by baptism; makes him a child of God, a new man, a
neophyte.[113] Now, as Christ the Fish scatters these his blessings in
the baptismal font, it was called by the names of baptisterium,
illuminatorium, and, more frequently during the time of the discipline
of the secret, piscina, or fishpond. Therefore Bishop Oriontius of
Auch wrote in the Vth century: “The fish, born in the water, is the
author of baptism.” Therefore were the oldest baptisteries commonly
ornamented with the picture of a fish (Rossi, p. 3).
In many of the monuments collected by Rossi, near the word
ΙΧΘΥΣ we have also the word ΝΙΚΑ. The fish conquers. The
neophyte is freed from ruin and the power of Satan—he is a trophy
of Christ’s victory.
Since the word fish, as well as the picture of it, was perfectly
identified with Christ the Redeemer, it was natural to use this symbol
to conceal that mystery which the pagans so fearfully
misrepresented when they said that the Christians met together at
stated times, slaughtered a child, drank its blood, and ate its flesh.
[114]

The fish became the symbol of the Holy Eucharist. This could be
done with the greater propriety, since Rossi tells us that, at the
banquets of the wealthy pagans, fish was considered a delicacy, and
it is seldom found on pagan monuments. Hence, to eat the fish, and
to receive Holy Communion, became synonymous expressions.
Prosper of Aquitaine calls Christ the great Fish, who gives himself as
food to his disciples and the faithful.
We cannot enter into details, and shall only consider the
monumental inscription found at Autun in 1839, which has attracted
so much attention from the archæologists. The text begins with the
words: Ιχθυσ οὐρανίου θεῖον γένος ἤτορι σεμνῷ χρῆσαι: “O divine
race of the heavenly Ikthus, guard, after you have received it, the
immortal fountain of grace flowing from divine sources. Bathe thy
soul, my friend, in the ever-flowing waters of wealth-giving wisdom.
Receive the sweet food of the Saviour of the saints; eat and drink
the Ikthus which thou holdest in thy hands.[115] O Ikthus, I have
prepared my hands, I long for thee, my Lord and my Redeemer!
That I may behold thee in happiness, O my mother; I beseech this
favor of thee, O light of the dead. Aschaudius, my father, thou
dearest to my heart, with my sweet mother and my sisters, in the
peace of the Ikthus remember thy son Pektorius.”
The first verse of this beautiful inscription which many of the
learned in the time of Marcus Aurelius and at the end of the IIId
century use, alludes to the grace of baptism; the following sentences
refer to the sacramental use of the Ikthus. In the concluding phrase,
the founder of the monument, Pectorius, addresses himself to his
parents and relatives, with the petition that they would remember
him in heaven, where they enjoyed the peace of the Ikthus.
From this important monument, as well as from many others
collected by Rossi, it is proven that the Holy Eucharist was thought
to be a sacrament by the early Christians. In others, it is equally
clear that they considered it a sacrifice also.
In one of the oldest cemeteries, that of Domitilla, as well as in
that of Callistus, we see a thrice sweet sacrificial table, on which
three loaves and one fish are lying. On each side of the table are
seven baskets with loaves. The meaning of the picture is plain. The
connection of the Ikthus with the bread is clearly shown. “The table
represents the Christian altar. This was usually a portable slab of
marble with brazen rings, placed over a martyr’s grave, and
supported by little columns. But what else could the Christian artist
wish to symbolize by placing the fish beside the bread than the
offering of the divine Ikthus on the altar? We have, therefore, on the
one hand, the invisible presence of the divinity in the fish; on the
other, the visible form of the bread, and then the position of the
mysterious representation. The sacrifice is the table of the Lord, the
Eucharistic banquet. To make this clearer, the seven baskets filled
with loaves surround the sacrificial table. They represent the seven
baskets which were filled with the remnants left after the
multiplication of the loaves in the wilderness—a miracle which has
always been considered a type of Holy Communion.”[116]
Dom Pitra, in his Spicilegium, has added to Rossi’s documents
many found in Gaul. Ferdinand Becker, in the Historisch-Politische
Blätter, vol. lxiii., p. 736 et seq., has written, since Rossi’s time, a
remarkable article on the “Symbol of Jesus Christ under the Figure of
a Fish.” Professor Jacob Becker has published something on the
same subject. Rossi naturally did not treat of the German discoveries
in this line of archæology.
It is singular that the symbol of the fish continued to be used in
Germany up to the middle age. In the Hortus Deliciarum of the
Abbess Herrad, written in the XIIth century, and still preserved in the
Strasbourg Library, there is a representation of the sacrament of the
altar, by means of a small basket with a loaf and a fish. In a picture
in the cathedral library at Einsiedeln, there is the symbol of a fish
whose blood is represented as opening the gates of limbo.
Northern Africa, once so celebrated in the annals of the church,
did not escape the research of Rossi. Léon Rénier has collected, in a
work entitled Roman Inscriptions of Algeria, published at Paris, A.D.
1838, most of those documents which caused Rossi to undertake his
second great work, A Letter to J. B. Pitra, Benedictine Monk, on the
Christian Titles found at Carthage. These documents are very
important as explaining the symbol of the cross. The Christians, for
various reasons, were unwilling at first to represent the cross among
their symbols. The cross was the damnata crux of Apuleius, the
infelix lignum of Seneca, the teterrimum, crudelissimumque
supplicium of Cicero. The Christians, therefore, did not wish to give
the pagans an occasion of insult, nor to give scandal to the weak
faith of the catechumens. Prudent respect, as well as wise foresight,
induced them to conceal their most holy symbol in the interest of the
progress of faith. Consequently, as Rossi proves, we find the cruces
dissimulatæ among the symbols, which, by their similarity with the
real figure of the cross, became Christian symbols, but, on account
of their being also recognized as heathen symbols, excited no
scandal or suspicion. Such concealed symbols, or cruces
dissimulatæ, are, according to Rossi, the Tau or crooked cross, the
oblique or S. Andrew’s cross, the anchor cross, and the monogram
of Christ with all its varieties.
The oldest monogram is the simple Χ, the first letter of Christ’s
holy name. At a later period, the Χ was united with the Ι, the two
together standing for Ιησοῦς Χριστός. Before the time of
Constantine, the monogram was represented by the union of the
Greek letters Χ and Ρ, the two first letters of the word ΧΡΙϹΤΟϹ.
After the conversion of Constantine, when the punishment of the
cross was abolished, and all that was offensive or scandalous in it
removed, the symbol became more striking by the introduction of a
cross-line. In the second half of the IVth century, in spite of the
Julian persecution, the symbol of the cross became more plain. But
when Christianity, in and since the time of Theodosius the Great,
took possession of the laws, and ordinances, and customs of the
empire, the symbol became so clear that all could understand it.
Therefore, after the end of the IVth century, and in the beginning of
the Vth, we find the simple figure of the cross on all public
monuments, without any attempt to conceal it.
The progress of this symbol of the cross was not so slow in
development in some of the remote provinces as in the city of Rome
and its environs. In some of the distant provinces, the power of
paganism ceased to control the people at an earlier date than in the
city, and, consequently, allowed the Christians to manifest their
symbols without fear. This happened as early as the IId century in
Northern Africa, where the Christians were powerful at a very early
date. Rossi, in the same work, gives us valuable documents and
proofs to show the important place which the symbol of the triangle
should hold in archæological disquisitions. It was a recognized
symbol of the Holy Trinity.
It is a common custom among certain prejudiced modern writers
to speak of the “hatred of the early Christians for art.” By degrees,
however, the bandage begins to fall from their eyes, and the truth
becomes clearer. To Rossi much credit is due for having labored to
destroy this prejudice also. The attention of the early Christians was
called to works of sculpture rather than to works of painting. And
this was quite natural. The statues were mostly naked. And “among
the entirely naked Aphrodites of the later Greek and Roman artists,
there is hardly one in which the woman does not predominate over
the goddess. Sensuality and grossness are conspicuous in most of
them.”[117] Some of them also knew that the Venus of Praxiteles,
which he represented at first entirely unclothed, was copied after a
model of Phryne.
It is different with painting—after music and poetry, the most
spiritual of arts. “By the blending of light and shade, and the laws of
perspective, it can give a tone of spirituality to the bodily form, and
an ethical appearance to the inanimate. Painting is the art of soul
impressions. Everything great, noble, and refined can be better
expressed on the canvas than in marble.” The Christian muse,
therefore, naturally took to painting. Hence on the walls in the
catacombs we find the first efforts of the Christian painters.
Likenesses of the Mother of God are among the first which we meet.
These pictures, in which virginal innocence, maternal tenderness,
holy worth, tender grace and piety, are manifested, have been
collected and published in 1863 in large chromo-lithographs in his
work entitled Imagine Scelte della B. Vergine tratte dalle Catacombe
Romane.
The earliest likeness of the Mother of God is found in the
catacombs of Priscilla. On account of the many likenesses of the
Blessed Virgin found in them, these have been called the Marian
Catacombs. There is no doubt that these pictures are of apostolic
date, and originated with that Priscilla who was known both to Peter
and Paul, the mother of the Senator Pudens, and grandmother of
the holy virgins Praxedes and Pudentiana. In the arch of the central
crypt, the adoration of the magi is painted. The Blessed Virgin holds
the Infant Jesus in her bosom; before her in the sky is the star
whose light leads the three wise men from the East to visit the
divine Child.
 In another crypt is delineated the annunciation of the angel. The
Blessed Virgin sits on a throne like the ancient episcopal chairs;
before her stands the archangel as a beautiful, ethereal youth,
without wings, dressed in tunic and pallium, his right hand raised,
and the index finger of it pointed at the Virgin. In her face there is a
look of surprise and holy, virginal shyness. On the ceiling of another
grave-niche, in the very oldest part of the catacomb, close to the
graves of the family of Pudens, we find a painted picture of the
Virgin and Child in the pure classic style. Rossi, supported by the
most various archæological and historical documents, places this
picture in the time between the second half of the Ist and the first
half of the IId century. The Blessed Virgin, clothed with many-folded
drapery and cloak, bears on her head the veil usually worn by the
married or betrothed. Over her hangs the star of Bethlehem; before
her stands a young, powerful-looking man, with a prophet’s mantle
thrown over his shoulders. In his left hand he holds a scroll, and
with the right he points to the star and the Virgin and Child. He is
Isaias the Prophet, pointing out the favored Virgin, the branch of the
root of Jesse, who was to conceive and bring forth the blessed Fruit;
and showing the great light which was to shine over Jerusalem. The
beauty of the composition; the grace and dignity of the figures; the
swelling folds of the drapery; and the correctness and spiritual
beauty of the expression, make this, although the oldest picture of
the Madonna, one of the most striking which we possess. The elder
Lenormant did not hesitate to compare it with Raphael’s best
productions.
The picture of the Madonna in the second table of Rossi is of
more recent origin. In this picture, the Mother of God sits on a chair
of honor, holding the divine Child in her lap. The three kings, led by
a star, come to meet her. It is from the cemetery of Domitilla. We
omit the other pictures of the adoration of the magi in the other
catacombs of Callistus, Cyriaca, etc.
The assertion of the Calvinist historian Basnage, that the pictures
of the Blessed Virgin were not introduced into the church until after
the Council of Ephesus, A.D. 431, sinks to the ground in the face of
Rossi’s documents.
He has collected in his works the chief inscriptions to be met with
in the catacombs, and has surpassed all his predecessors in the
completeness of his information and documents. Although, after the
discovery and investigation of the catacombs by the celebrated
Bosio, many authors like Aringhi, Bottari, Boldetti, the Jesuit Lupi,
Marchi, and others, had treated on them, and the relations of their
contents to theological sciences and ecclesiastical studies, none has
equalled the distinguished Rossi, whose ardor, energy, and talent
were always aided by the most liberal sympathy of the Roman
Pontiff.
 A LEGEND OF S. CHRISTOPHER.

Offero (the bearer), afterwards S. Christopher, being proud of his

vast strength and gigantic limbs, resolved to serve—for he was poor
—only the most powerful monarch on earth.
Accordingly, he searched far and near until at last he came to the
court of a king who, as he was told, was the greatest monarch on
earth. To him Offero offered his services.
They were gladly accepted, for his powerful frame pleased the
eye of the king, who knew that no other prince could boast of such a
servant.
Offero, supposing his master to be afraid of no one, was greatly
surprised on perceiving the king tremble and cross himself,
whenever the name of Satan was mentioned. “Why dost thou do
so?” he inquired of the monarch.
“Because Satan is very mighty,” replied his master, “and I am
afraid lest he should overcome me.”
“Then I must leave thee, for I will serve only him who is afraid of
no one,” said Offero.
Again he commenced his wanderings; this time in search of
Satan. One day, on crossing a desert, he perceived a horrible object
with the appearance of great power coming towards him. Offero’s
great size seemed not in the least to startle him, and with an air of
authority he asked: “Whom dost thou seek?”
“Satan,” Offero answered, “for I have heard that he is the most
powerful upon earth. I wish to have him for my master.”
 “I am he,” said the other, “and thy service shall be an easy one.”
The giant bowed low, and joined his followers.
As they pursued their way they came in sight of a cross. No
sooner had Satan’s eyes perceived it, than he turned with evident
fear and haste and took another road, so as to avoid passing the
cross.
Offero was not slow in noticing these signs of alarm. “Why dost
thou do so?” he asked his master.
“I fear the cross,” Satan made answer, “because Christ died upon
it, and I fly from it lest it should overcome me.”
“Then there is one more powerful than thou, and I shall leave
thee and seek him,” replied Offero. With these words, he left Satan
and went in search of Christ.
After much toil and long wanderings, he came to a hermit, whom
he entreated to tell him where Christ could be found.
The holy man, seeing him thus ignorant, pitied and taught him.
“Christ is indeed the greatest king in heaven and on earth,” he said,
“for his power will endure throughout eternity; but thou canst not
serve him lightly—he will impose great duties upon thee, and he will
require that thou fast often.”
“I will not fast,” said Offero, “for that would weaken my strength,
which makes me so good a servant.”
“Thou also must pray,” continued the hermit, taking no heed of
the interruption.
“I have never prayed and will never do so. Such service is for
weaklings, not for me,” replied the giant.
“Then,” said the hermit, “dost thou know of a river whose waters
are wild and deep, and often swollen by rains, sweeping away in its
swift current many of those who would cross it?”
“Yes,” said Offero.
“Then go there and aid those who fight with its waves; carry the
weak and little ones across upon thy strong, broad shoulders. This is
good work, and, if Christ will have thee in his service, he will assure
thee of his acceptance.”
Offero went to the river, and on its banks built himself a hut. Day
and night he aided all who came, carrying many upon his shoulders,
and never wearying in assisting them across the river. A palm-tree
was his staff, which he had pulled in the forest, and which was well
suited to his great strength and height.
One night, when resting in his hut, he heard a voice like that of a
weak child, and it said: “Offero, wilt thou carry me?”
He rose quickly and went out, but, search as he would, he could
find no one; and he re-entered his dwelling; but presently the voice
called again: “Offero, wilt thou carry me?” A second search proved
fruitless. At the third call he rose again, taking with him a lantern.
He searched, and at last found a child. “Offero, Offero, carry me
over this night?”
He lifted him up and began crossing the stream. Immediately the
wind commenced to blow, the waves rose high, and the roar of the
waters sounded like thunder. The child also began to increase in
weight, grew more heavy upon his shoulders, and Offero feared that
he must sink; but, with the aid of his staff, he kept himself up, and
at last succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. Then he cried:
“Whom have I carried? Had it been the whole world, it could not
have been heavier.”
Then the child replied: “Me, whom thou desirest to serve, and I
have accepted thee. Thou hast not only carried the world, but him
who made it, upon thy shoulders. As a sign of my power and my
approbation of thee, fix thy staff in the earth, and it shall grow and
bear fruit.”
Offero did so, and soon it was covered with leaves and fruit. But
the wonderful child was gone. Then Offero knew that it was Christ
whom he had carried, and he fell down and worshipped him.
Thenceforth he called himself Christopher, served his Master
faithfully, holding fast to his new faith through all kinds of tortures
and sufferings.
 King Dagnus of Lycia, after having thrown him into prison, and
not succeeding in turning him from his faith, commanded that he
should be executed.
Arrived at the place of execution, he knelt down and prayed that
all who saw him and believed in Christ, should be delivered from
earthquake fire, and tempest. It was believed that his prayers were
heard, and that all who look upon the figure of S. Christopher are
safe, for that day, from all dangers of earthquake, flood, and fire.
The sight of it is believed also to impart strength to the weak and
weary.
 NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Church Defence. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.

“Our Clerical Friends” appear to be suffering pain from the strong

sinapisms of Dr. Marshall. At least, we suspect they must be in pain,
from certain suppressed, inarticulate cries and moans of the Church
Journal, Churchman, etc. Their doctor is inexorable, however, and
has already applied another blister. Their internal disorder is too
deeply seated and obstinate to allow of any milder treatment. They
have been seized with such a violent madness of fancying
themselves priests and playing at Catholic that argument is lost on
them, unless plentifully infused with ridicule. Church Defence is
unmerciful in its ridicule, like the Comedy of Convocation, but it is
also perfectly genteel and polished in its style, and as overwhelming
in argument as an essay by Dr. Newman. Those who have laughed
over the sparkling pages of the classic Comedy, will enjoy another
laugh over this new drama, and those who have been thrown into a
rage by My Clerical Friends will be at a loss for epithets wherewith to
give vent to their pent-up bosoms when they read this new amiable
discussion, which they will and must do, in spite of themselves. Dear
friends and would-be Catholics, you might as well laugh with the
whole world that is laughing at you! Your little farce is played out. It
is a small business to be trying to cheat poor girls who are
entrapped by your counterfeit Sisters, by pretending that you are
Catholic priests and can give them sacraments. Something else is
wanted besides acolytes and nicolytes, candles and high
celebrations, mimicry of our sacerdotal dress, and high collars or
high altars. You are outdone even in counterfeiting Catholicity by the
little Greek schismatical chapel, where there is a better Signor Blitz
than any of your feeble imitations. Do, if you please, try something
new for the amusement of mankind, and let the curtain fall on the
Anglo-Catholic farce!
The Progressionists, and Angela. By Conrad von Bolanden. New York: The Catholic
Publication Society. 1873.

The second of these novelettes by the most popular writer of

fiction among the Catholics of Germany is really a charming story.
The character of “Angela” is remarkably well drawn, and is the type
of a perfect Christian woman, in the three phases which are so full
of moral and poetic beauty, as maiden, bride, and mistress of the
household. The first one is very different, dealing with incidents and
scenes which are not so pleasing, but unfortunately equally real. As
both are reprints from the pages of this magazine, our readers will
remember them, and no doubt be glad to get them in a separate
form. Those who have not read them will find them not only
entertaining reading, but full of thought and instruction on most
important and practical topics of modern life.
Life of J. Theophane Vénard, Martyr in Tonquin; or, What Love Can Do. Translated by
Lady Herbert. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

Life of Henry Dorié, Martyr. Translated by Lady Herbert. New York: The Catholic
Publication Society. 1873.

These two works are translations from the French by Lady

Herbert, for the benefit of S. Joseph’s Foreign Missionary College at
Mill Hill near London, to which she has been a warm friend and
liberal patron from the beginning. Americans cannot help feeling a
great interest in that institution, for the first band of missionaries it
sent forth came to labor among the colored people of our Southern
States.
Nothing could be better calculated to stimulate the fervor of the
aspirant to the missionary life than the example of these two young
Christian heroes worthy of the primitive ages of the church—worthy,
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