THE MIRACLE OF ST. FRANCIS. FROM THE SPANISH OF FERNAN CABALLERO. We are not telling a romance, but relating an occurrence exactly as its details proceeded from the mouth of the responsible narrator, who is an oxdriver. He who takes offence at the source, the stream, and the receptacle, that is to say, at the ox-driver, his story, and the recipient who is going to set it down in black and white, had better pass this by; for the thought that we were going to be read with prejudice would change the nimble pen we hold in our hand into an immovable petrifaction. In a town of Andalusia that lifts its white walls under the sky that God created solely to canopy Spain, from the heights of Despeñaperros to the city that Guzman el Bueno defended, upon an elevation at the end of a long, solitary street, stands a convent, abandoned, as they all are, thanks to the progress of ruin. This convent is now, more properly than ever before, the last house of the place. Its massive portal faces the town, and its grounds reach back into the country. In these grounds there were formerly many palm-trees-the old people remember them-but only two remain, united like brothers. In this convent there were formerly many religious; now but one remains. The palms lean upon each other; the religious is supported by the charity of the faithful. He comes every Tuesday to say mass in the magnificent deserted church, which no longer possesses a bell to call worshippers. No words can express the sentiments that are awakened by the sight of the venerable man, in this vast temple, offering the august sacrifice in silence and solitude. One cannot help fancying that the sacred precinct is filled with celestial spirits, in the midst of whom the celebrant only is visible. The church is of an immense height, and so peacefully cheerful that it would seem to have been built solely to resound to the sublime hymn of the Te Deum, and the no less sublime canticle of the Gloria. The high altar, exquisitely carved in the most elaborate and lavish style of adornment, astonishes the sight with the multitude of flowers, fruits, garlands, and gilded heads of angels it displays with a profusion and lustre which prove that in its execution neither time nor labor were taken into account. What use is made of gold in our day? Or of time? Are they better employed? He who can show us that they are, will console us for the suppression of the convents. Until it is proved, we shall continue to mourn that noble choir, those sumptuous chapels, that splendid taber nacle, cold and empty as the incredu lous heart. Incredulity! Grand triumph of the material over the spiritual, of earth over heaven; of the apostate angel over the angel of light! The small square that separates the convent from the street which leads to it is overgrown with grass, and in it, in their hours of rest, the drivers let their oxen loose. Within the inclosure, in place of stairs, a slight terraced ascent, sustained at the sides by benches of stone mason-work, leads to the door of the church. On the right is the chapel of the third order; the path to the left conducts to the principal entrance to the convent. Reader, if you love the things of our ancient Spain, come hither. Here the church still stands; here still flourish, without care, the two palms; here is still a Franciscan friar who says mass in the unoccupied temple. Here are still found ox-drivers who tell tales, in which things humorous and pious are mingled with the good faith and wholesomeness of heart of the child that plays with the venerated gray hairs of its parent without a thought that in doing so it is wanting in filial respect. But hasten! for all these things will soon disappear, and we shall have to mourn over ruinsruins to which the past, in reparation, will lend all its magic. The third day of the week shone pure and gay, ignorant, doubtless, of the unlucky quality which men attribute to it, and very far from suspecting that its enemy-a foolish saying-would fain deprive it of the happiness of witnessing weddings and embarkations.* On a Tuesday, then, that was as innocent of any hostile disposition as if it had been a Sunday, the lady who told us that which we are going to repeat, walked up the long street of San Francisco to the vacant convent to hear the weekly mass in which God himself would fill the abandoned temple with his most worthy presence. She arrived before the priest, and finding the church closed, sat down to wait upon one of the benches that sustain the terrace. The morning was cool enough to make the sunshine agreeable. In sight rose the two palms, like a pair of noble brothers, bearing together persecution and slight, without yielding or hu Martes ni te cases, ni te embarques. "Tuesday, neither marry nor embark."-Spanish saying. miliating themselves. The oxen lying down within the inclosure ruminated measuredly, but with so little motion that the small birds passing poised themselves upon their horns. The efts, gazing at all with their intelligent eyes, glided along the walls in a garden of gilly-flowers and rose-colored caper-blooms. Light clouds, like smoke from a spotless sacrifice in honor of the Most High, floated across the enamel of the sky-if it is permitted to compare that with enamel with which no enamel that was ever made can compare. It was a morning to sweeten life, so entirely did it make one forget the narrow circles in which we fret our lives away, and in which living is a weariness. Two drivers seated themselves upon the same bench with the lady. Your Andalusian is never bashful. The sun may be eclipsed; but, in the lifetime of God, not the serenity of an Andalusian. Sultan Haroun Alraschid might have spared himself the trouble of the disguises he employed when he mingled among his people without causing them the least diffidence, if he had ruled in Andalusia. Not that the people despise or cannot appreciate superiority; but they know how to lift the hat without dropping the head. Therefore it happened that, although the lady was one of the principal persons of the place, and although there were other benches to sit on, that one appearing to them the pleasantest, on that one they sat down, without thought or care as to whether their talk would be overheard. In the northern provinces, where the people are entirely good, and as stupid as they are good, they think little and speak less; but in Andalusia thought flies, and words follow in chase. These people can go two days without eating or sleeping, and be little the worse for it; but remain two minutes si lent, they cannot. If they have no one to talk with, they sing. "Man," said one to the other, “I can never see that chapel without thinking of my father, who was a brother of the third order, and used to bring me here with him to say the rosary, which the brothers recited every night at the Angelus." "Christian! and what sort of man must your father have been? There are no stones out of that quarry nowadays." "And how should there be? My father-heaven rest him!-used to say that the guillotine war of the French upset the cart. Men nowadays are a pack of idlers, with no more devotion than that of San Korro, the patron of drunkards. But to come back to what I was telling you-a thing his worship once told me, that happened in this very convent. "All the people of the barrier used to send to the friars for assistance to enable them to die in a Christian fashion. In these times the majority go to the other world like dogs or Jews. Every night, therefore, one of the fathers remained up, so as to be ready in case his services should be wanted. Each kept watch in his turn. One night, when it was the turn of a priest named Father Mateo, who was well known and liked in the town, three men knocked and asked for a religious to succor a person who was at the point of death. The porter informed Father Mateo, who came down immediately. Hardly was the door of the convent closed after him, when they told him that, whether it pleased him or not, they were going to bandage his eyes. It pleased him as much as it would have pleased him to have his teeth pulled. There was nothing for it, however, but to drop his ears; for although he was young, and as tall as a foremast, with a good pair of fists to defend himself with, the others were men of brass, all armed. Besides, neither could his reverence neglect his ministry; and only God knew the intentions of those who had come for him. "So he said to himself, 'Rome wi have this matter to look after;' and let them blindfold him.” "No one can know what streets they made him walk; into this and out of that, till they came to a miserable den, and led him up a flight of stairs, pushed him into a room, and locked the door. "He took off the bandage; it was as dark as a wolf's mouth, but in the direction of one corner of the room he heard a moan. "Who is in distress?' asked F1ther Mateo. "I am, sir,' answered the dolefu! voice of a woman; these wicked men are going to kill me as soon as my peace is made with God.' "This is an iniquity!' "Father, by the love of the Blessed Mother, by the dear blood of Christ, by the breasts that fed you, save me!" "How can I save thee, daughter? What can I do against three men that are armed ?' "Untie me, in the first place,' said the unhappy woman. "Father Mateo begun to feel about. and, as God vouchsafed him deftness. to undo the knots of the cords that bound the poor creature's hands and feet; but they were hard, he coul not see, and time flew as if a bu had been after it. "The men were knocking at the door. Haven't you got through, fàther?' asked one of them. "Ea! don't be in a hurry!' sa the father, who, though his will was good enough, could hit upon means of saving the woman, who was trembling like a drop of qu silver, and weeping like a fountain. "What are we to do?' said the poor, perplexed man. "A woman will think of an artifice if she has one foot in the grave, and it entered into this one's head to hide herself under Father Mateo's cloak. I have told you that the father was a man who couldn't stand in that door. 'I would prefer another means,' said his reverence; but, as there is no other, we must take this, and let the sun rise in Antequera.'* "He stationed himself at the door with the woman under his cloak. "Have you ended, father?' asked the villains. 6 "I have ended,' answered Father Mateo, with as calm a voice as he could command. "Do not forsake me, sir,' moaned the poor woman, more dead than alive. "Hush! Commend yourself to our Lord of the forsaken ones, and his will be done.' "Come,' said the men, 'be quick; we must blindfold you again.' And they tied on the bandage, locked the door, and all three descended into the street with the father in custody, for fear that he might take off the blind and know the place. "They turned and turned again, as before, till they came to the street of San Francisco; then the rascals took to their heels, and disappeared so quickly that you would have thought they had been spirited away. "The minute they were out of sight, Father Mateo said to the woman, 'Now, daughter, scatter dust, and find a hiding-place. No; don't thank me, but God, who has saved you; and don't stop; for when those brigands find the bird flown, they will come back and perhaps overtake me.' ⚫Y salga el sol por Antequera. A common saying, equivalent to, And let the sky fall; let the consequences be what they may. "The woman ran, and the father in three strides planted himself inside of his convent. "He went right away to the cell of the father guardian and told him all that had happened, adding that the men would surely come to the convent in search of him. "The words were hardly out of his mouth when they heard a knocking at the door. The guardian went down and presented himself. Can I serve you in any thing, gentlemen ?' he asked. "We have come,' answered one, 'for Father Mateo, who was out just now confessing a woman.' "That cannot be, for Father Mateo has confessed no woman this night.' "How! he has not, when we have proof that he brought her here?' "What do you mean, you blackguards? brought a woman into the convent! So this is the way you take to injure Father Mateo's reputation, and cast scandal upon our order!' "No, sir, we did not say it with that intention; but-' "But what?' asked the guardian, tive could he have had in bringing a very indignant. 'What honorable mowoman here at night?' "The men looked at each other. "Didn't I tell you,' grumbled one, that the thing wasn't natural, but miraculous ?' "Yes, yes,' said another; this is the doing of God or the devil-and not of the devil, for he wouldn't interfere to hinder his own work.' "In God's name go, evil tongues!' thundered the guardian; and take heed how you approach convents with bad designs, and lay snares, and invent calumnies against their peaceful dwellers, who, like Father Mateo, sleep tranquilly in their cells; for our you for St. Francis. It is better so; holy patron watches over us.' "You can't doubt now,' said the most timid of the three, 'that it was the very St. Francis himself who went with us to save that woman by a miracle.' "Father Mateo,' said the guardian when they had gone, 'they are terribly frightened, and have taken for they are wicked men, and they are furious.' "They honor me too much,' answered the good man; but give me leave, your fathership, to depart at daybreak for a seaport, and from thence to America, before they have time to think better of it, and hang upon me this miracle of St. Francis.' THE FIRST ŒCUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. NUMBER EIGHT. THE proceedings of the Vatican Council have reached a stage that allows us to witness again its external splendor and imposing presence. Grand and most august as it certainly is, still every thing that strikes the eye fades away as one thinks of its sublime office, of its important, unlimited influence and effect. The nature of the subject it has just treated will necessarily make that influence overshadow all ages to come, and that effect cease to be felt only with the last shock of a world passing away. The question that for more than a year has agitated all circles of society, that for the past three months has been a subject of exciting debate among the fathers of the council, could not have been of greater weight. It is one of those truths essential to the existence of the church, and had it not been practically acknowledged among the faithful throughout the world, Christianity, unless otherwise sustained by its Author, would have been an impossibility. The vital point examined was the essence of the union of the church, of the union of faith, to determine dogmatically in what it consists, who or what is the person or body that can so hold and teach the faith as to leave no doubt of any kind whatsoever regarding its absolute divine certainty. Up to the present day the infallibility of an cecumenical council, or of the whole church dispersed through. out the world, has been recognized as the ultimate rule by all who lay claim to orthodoxy; but with that council, or with that church dispersed throughout the world, as a requisite sine qua non-was the communion and con sent of the sovereign pontiff. Where he was with the bishops, there was the faith; no matter how many bishops might meet together and decree, if Peter was not with them, there was no certainty of belief, no infallible guidance. Nay, their decrees were received only in so far as approved by him. Ubi Petrus, ibi ecclesia, |