The Catholic World Volume I Part 8

Flourens shows the error of that opinion by referring to the diversity of the nervous system. The nervous system is the foundation of the animal organism; it is the general instrument of vital functions, of sensation, and of motion. If then one archetypal idea presides over the formation of the different organisms, only one nervous system ought to appear in each, more or less developed or arrested. But experience teaches us the contrary. It shows nervous systems differing in different animals ordained to different functions, each perfect in its kind. "Is there a unity of type?" asks this celebrated naturalist.

"To say that there is but one type is to say that there is but one form of {75} nervous system; because the form of the nervous system determines the type; that is, it determines the general form of the animal. Now, can we affirm that there is but one form of nervous system? Can we hold that the nervous system of the zoophyte is the same as that of the mollusk, and this latter the same as that of the articulata, or this again the same as that of the vertebrata? And if we cannot say that there is only one nervous system, can we affirm that there is only one type?"

He speaks likewise of the unity of plan. Every creature is built differently, and the difference is especially striking between members of the several grand divisions of the animal kingdom. The plan then of each is different, and so is the typical idea which prescribes its formation. No animal can then be considered as the proof or outline of another.

"Is there a unity of plan? The plan is the relative location of the parts. One can conceive very well the unity of plan without the unity of number; for it is sufficient that all the parts, whatever their number may be, keep always relatively to each other the same place.

But can one say that the vertebrate animal, whose nervous system is placed above the digestive ca.n.a.l, is fas.h.i.+oned after the same plan as the mollusk, whose digestive ca.n.a.l is placed above the nervous system?

Can one say that the crustacean, whose heart is placed above the spinal marrow, is fas.h.i.+oned after the same pattern as the vertebrate, whose spinal marrow is placed above the heart? Is the relative location of the parts maintained? On the contrary, is it not overthrown? And if there is a change in the location of parts, how is there a unity of plan?"

Muller draws nearer to the consideration of the development of the human embryo, and forcibly ill.u.s.trates the falsehood of the pretended theory. "It is not long since it was held with great seriousness that the human foetus, before reaching its perfect state, travels _successively_ though the different degrees of development which are permanent during the whole life of animals of inferior cla.s.ses. That hypothesis has not the least foundation, as Baer has shown. The human embryo never resembles a radiate, or an insect, or a mollusk, or a worm. The plan of formation of those animals is quite different from that of the vertebrate. Man then might at most resemble these last, since he himself is a vertebrate, and his organization is fas.h.i.+oned after the common type of this great division of the animal kingdom.

But he does not even resemble at one time a fish, at another a reptile, a bird, etc. The a.n.a.logy is no greater between him and a reptile or a bird, than it is between all vertebrate animals. During the first stages of their formation, all the embryos of vertebrate animals present merely the simplest and most general delineations of the type of a vertebrate; hence it is that they resemble each other so much as to render it very difficult to distinguish them. The fish, the reptile, the bird, the mammal, and man are at first the simplest expression of a type common to all; but in proportion as they grow, the general resemblance becomes fainter and fainter, and their extremities, for instance, after being alike for a certain time, a.s.sume the characters of wings, of hands, of feet, etc."

Mr. Milne-Edwards takes the same view of embryonic generation:

"I agree with Geoffrey Saint Hilaire, that often a great a.n.a.logy is observed between the final state of certain parts of the bodies of some inferior animals, and the embryonic state of the same parts of other animals belonging to the same type the organism of which is further developed, and with the same philosopher, I call the cause of the state of permanent inferiority arrests of development. But I am far from thinking with some of his disciples that the embryo of man or of mammals exhibits in its different degrees of formation the species of the less perfect of animate creation. No! a {76} mollusk or an anhelid is not the embryo of a mammal, arrested in its organic development, any more than the mammal is a kind of fish perfected.

Each animal carries within itself, from the very origin, the beginning of its specific individuality, and the development of its organism, in conformity to the general outline of the plan of structure proper to its species, is always a condition of its existence. There is never a complete likeness between an adult animal and the embryo of another, between one of its organs and the transitory state of the same in the course of formation; and the multiplicity of the products of creation could never be explained by a similar trans.m.u.tation of species. We shall see hereafter, that in every zoological group composed of animals which seem to be derived from a common fundamental type, the different species do not exhibit at first any marked difference, but soon begin to be marked by various particularities of constructure always growing and numerous.

Thus each species acquires a character of its own, which distinguishes it from all others in the way of development, and each of its organs becomes different from the a.n.a.logous part of every other embryo. But the changes which the organs and the whole being undergo after they have deviated from the common genesiac form, are generally speaking the less considerable in proportion as the animal is destined to receive a less perfect organism, and consequently they retain a kind of resemblance to those transitory forms."

Reason then and experience, theory and fact, philosophy and physiology, agree in protesting against the arbitrary doctrine of the unity of type in the animal kingdom; a doctrine which has its origin in an absence of sound scientific notions and a superficial observation of the phenomena of nature. Through the former defect men failed to consider that if the end of each animal species is different, different also must be its being, and therefore a different type must preside as a rule and supreme law over the formation of the being. By the latter, some very slight and partial a.n.a.logies have been mistaken for ident.i.ty and universality, and mere appearances have been a.s.sumed as realities.

From Blackwood's Magazine.

DOMINE, QUO VADIS? [Footnote 6]

BY P. S. WORSLEY.

[Footnote 6: See Mrs. Jameson's "Sacred and Legendary Art," p. 180.]

There stands in the old Appian Way, Two miles without the Roman wall, A little ancient church, and grey: Long may it moulder not nor fall!

There hangs a legend on the name One reverential thought may claim.

'Tis written of that fiery time, When all the angered evil powers Leagued against Christ for wrath and crime, How Peter left the accursed towers, Pa.s.sing from out the guilty street, And shook the red dust from his feet.

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Sole pilgrim else in that lone road, Suddenly he was 'ware of one Who toiled beneath a weary load, Bare-headed, in the heating sun, Pale with long watches, and forespent With harm and evil accident.

Under a cross his weak limbs bow, Scarcely his sinking strength avails.

A crown of thorns is on his brow, And in his hands the print of nails.

So friendless and alone in shame, One like the Man of Sorrows came.

Read in her eyes who gave thee birth That loving, tender, sad rebuke; Then learn no mother on this earth, How dear soever, shaped a look So sweet, so sad, so pure as now Came from beneath that holy brow.

And deeply Peter's heart it pierced; Once had he seen that look before; And even now, as at the first, It touched, it smote him to the core.

Bowing his head, no word save three He spoke--_"Quo vadis, Domine?"_

Then, as he looked up from the ground, His Saviour made him answer due-- "My son, to Rome I go, thorn-crowned, There to be crucified anew; Since he to whom I gave my sheep Leaves them for other men to keep."

Then the saint's eyes grew dim with tears.

He knelt, his Master's feet to kiss-- "I vexed my heart with faithless fears; Pardon thy servant, Lord, for this."

Then rising up--but none was there-- No voice, no sound, in earth or air.

Straightway his footsteps he retraced, As one who hath a work to do.

Back through the gates he pa.s.sed with haste, Silent, alone and full in view; And lay forsaken, save of One, In dungeon deep ere set of sun.

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Then he who once, apart from ill, Nor taught the depth of human tears, Girded himself and walked at will, As one rejoicing in the years, Girded of others, scorned and slain, Pa.s.sed heavenward through the gates of pain.

If any bear a heart within, Well may these walls be more than stone, And breathe of peace and pardoned sin To him who grieveth all alone.

Return, faint heart, and strive thy strife; Fight, conquer, grasp the crown of life.

From The Month.

CONSTANCE SHERWOOD.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.

CHAPTER I.

I had not thought to write the story of my life; but the wishes of those who have at all times more right to command than occasion to entreat aught at my hands, have in a manner compelled me thereunto.

The divers trials and the unlooked-for comforts which have come to my lot during the years that I have been tossed to and fro on this uneasy sea--the world--have wrought in my soul an exceeding sense of the goodness of G.o.d, and an insight into the meaning of the sentence in Holy Writ which saith, "His ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts like unto our thoughts." And this puts me in mind that there are sayings which are in every one's mouth, and therefore not to be lightly gainsayed, which nevertheless do not approve themselves to my conscience as wholly just and true. Of these is the common adage, "That misfortunes come not alone." For my own part, I have found that when a cross has been laid on me, it has mostly been a single one, and that other sorrows were oftentimes removed, as if to make room for it.

And it has been my wont, when one trial has been pa.s.sing away, to look out for the next, even as on a stormy day, when the clouds have rolled away in one direction and suns.h.i.+ne is breaking overhead, we see others rising in the distance. There has been no portion of my life free from some measure of grief or fear sufficient to recall the words that "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward;" and none so reft of consolation that, in the midst of suffering, I did not yet cry out, "The Lord is my shepherd; his rod and his staff comfort me."

I was born in the year 1557, in a very fair part of England, at Sherwood Hall, in the county of Stafford. For its comely aspect, commodious chambers, sunny gardens, and the sweet walks in its vicinity, it was as commendable a residence for persons of moderate fortune and contented minds as can well be thought of. Within and without this my paternal home nothing was wanting which might please the eye, or minister to {79} tranquillity of mind and healthful recreation. I reckon it amongst the many favors I have received from a gracious Providence, that the earlier years of my life were spent amidst such fair scenes, and in the society of parents who ever took occasion from earthly things to lead my thoughts to such as are imperishable, and so to stir up in me a love of the Creator, who has stamped his image on this visible world in characters of so great beauty; whilst in the tenderness of those dear parents unto myself I saw, as it were, a type and representation of his paternal love and goodness.

My father was of an ancient family, and allied to such as were of greater note and more wealthy than his own. He had not, as is the manner with many squires of our days, left off residing on his own estate in order to seek after the shows and diversions of London; but had united to a great humility of mind and a singular affection for learning a contentedness of spirit which inclined him to dwell in the place a.s.signed to him by Providence. He had married at an early age, and had ever conformed to the habits of his neighbors in all lawful and kindly ways, and sought no other labors but such as were incidental to the care of his estates, and no recreations but those of study, joined to a moderate pursuit of field-sports and such social diversions as the neighborhood afforded. His outward appearance was rather simple than showy, and his manners grave and composed. When I call to mind the singular modesty of his disposition, and the retiredness of his manners, I often marvel how the force of circ.u.mstances and the urging of conscience should have forced one so little by nature inclined to an unsettled mode of life into one which, albeit peaceful in its aims, proved so full of danger and disquiet.

My mother's love I enjoyed but for a brief season. Not that it waxed cold toward me, as happens with some parents, who look with fondness on the child and less tenderly on the maiden; but it pleased Almighty G.o.d to take her unto himself when I was but ten years of age. Her face is as present to me now as any time of my life. No limner's hand ever drew a more faithful picture than the one I have of her even now engraved on the tablet of my heart. She had so fair and delicate a complexion that I can only liken it to the leaf of a white rose with the lightest tinge of pink in it. Her hair was streaked with gray too early for her years; but this matched well with the sweet melancholy of her eyes, which were of a deep violet color. Her eyelids were a trifle thick, and so were her lips; but there was a pleasantness in her smile and the dimples about her mouth such as I have not noticed in any one else. She had a sweet womanly and loving heart, and the n.o.blest spirit imaginable; a great zeal in the service of G.o.d, tempered with so much sweetness and cordiality that she gave not easily offence to any one, of howsoever different a way of thinking from herself; and either won them over to her faith through the suavity of her temper and the wisdom of her discourse, or else worked in them a personal liking which made them patient with her, albeit fierce with others. When I was about seven years of age I noticed that she waxed thin and pale, and that we seldom went abroad, and walked only in our own garden and orchard. She seemed glad to sit on a bench on the sunny side of the house even in summer, and on days when by reason of the heat I liked to lie down in the shade. My parents forbade me from going into the village; and, through the perverseness common to too many young people, on account of that very prohibition I longed for liberty to do so, and wearied oftentimes of the solitude we lived in. At a later period I learnt how kind had been their intent in keeping me during the early years of childhood from a knowledge of the woeful divisions which the late changes in religion had wrought in our country; which I might easily have heard from {80} young companions, and maybe in such sort as to awaken angry feelings, and shed a drop of bitter in the crystal cup of childhood's pure faith. If we did walk abroad, it was to visit some sick persons, and carry them food or clothing or medicines, which my mother prepared with her own hands.

But as she grew weaker, we went less often outside the gates, and the poor came themselves to fetch away what in her bounty she stored up for them. I did not notice that our neighbors looked unkindly on us when we were seen in the village. Children would cry out sometimes, but half in play, "Down with the Papists!" but I witnessed that their elders checked them, especially those of the poorer sort; and "G.o.d bless you, Mrs. Sherwood!" and "G.o.d save you, madam!" was often in their mouths, as she whom I loved with so great and reverent an affection pa.s.sed alongside of them, or stopped to take breath, leaning against their cottage-palings.

Many childish heartaches I can even now remember when I was not suffered to join in the merry sports of the 1st of May; for then, as the poet Chaucer sings, the youths and maidens go

"To fetch the flowers fresh and branch and bloom, And these, rejoicing in their great delight, Eke each at other throw the blossoms bright."

I watched the merry wights as they pa.s.sed our door on their way to the groves and meadows, singing mirthful carols, and bent on pleasant pastimes; and tears stood in my eyes as the sound of their voices died away in the distance. My father found me thus weeping one May-day, and carried me with him to a sweet spot in a wood, where wild-flowers grew like living jewels out of the green carpet of moss on which we sat; and there, as the birds sang from every bough, and the insects hovered and hummed over every blossom, he entertained me with such quaint and pleasant tales, and moved me to merry laughter by his witty devices; so that I set down that day in my book of memory as one of the joyfullest in all my childhood. At Easter, when the village children rolled pasch eggs down the smooth sides of the green hills, my mother would paint me some herself, and adorned them with such bright colors and rare sentences that I feared to break them with rude handling, and kept them by me throughout the year, rather as pictures to be gazed on than toys to be played with in a wanton fas.h.i.+on.

On the morning of the Resurrection, when others went to the top of Cannock Chase to hail the rising sun, as is the custom of those parts, she would sing so sweetly the psalm which speaketh of the heavens rejoicing and of the earth being glad, that it grieved me not to stay at home; albeit I sometimes marvelled that we saw so little company, and mixed not more freely with our neighbors.