The Catholic World
Chapter 356 : We have already said that "_Cognosco_" is included in "_Credo_." T

We have already said that "_Cognosco_" is included in "_Credo_." The creed begins by setting before the mind that which is self-evident and demonstrable concerning G.o.d, in which is included his veracity. It then discloses certain truths concerning G.o.d which are not self-evident or demonstrable from their own intrinsic reason, but which are proposed as credible, on the authority of G.o.d. The word "_Credo_" expresses this. "I believe in G.o.d," means not merely, "I affirm the being of G.o.d," but also, "I believe certain truths regarding G.o.d (whose being is made known to me by the light of reason) on the authority of his Word." {585} These truths must have in them a certain obscurity impervious to the intellectual vision; otherwise, they would take their place among evident and known truths, and would no longer be believed on the simple motive of the veracity of G.o.d revealing them. That is, they are mysteries, intelligible so far as to enable the mind to apprehend what are the propositions to which it is required to a.s.sent, but super-intelligible as to their intrinsic reason and ground in the necessary and eternal truth, or the being of G.o.d.

In the Creed these mysteries, foreshadowed by the word "Credo," and by the word "Deum," considered in its relation to "Credo," which indicates a revelation of mysterious truths concerning the Divine Being to follow in order after the affirmation of the being and unity of G.o.d; begin to be formally expressed by the word "Patrem." In this word there is implicitly contained the interior, personal relation of the Father to the Son and Holy Ghost in the blessed Trinity, and his exterior relation to man as the author of the supernatural order of grace, or the order in which man is affiliated to him in the Son, through the operation of the Holy Spirit. These relations of the three persons of the blessed Trinity to each other, and to man, include the entire substance of that which is strictly and properly the supernatural revelation of the Creed, and the direct object of faith.

Before proceeding, however, to the consideration of the mysteries of faith in their order, it is necessary to inquire more closely into the process by which the intellect is brought to face its supernatural object, and made capable of eliciting an act of faith.

The chief difficulty in the case is to find the connection between the last act of reason and the first act of faith, the medium of transit from the natural to the supernatural. The Catholic doctrine teaches that the act of faith is above the natural power of the human mind. It is strictly supernatural, and possible only by the aid of supernatural grace. Yet it is a rational act, for the virtue of faith is seated in the intellect as its subject, according to the teaching of St. Thomas.

It is justifiable and explicable on rational grounds, and even required by right reason. The truths of revelation are not only objectively certain, but the intellect has a subjective cert.i.tude of them which is absolute, and excludes all suspicion or fear of the contrary. Now, then, unless we adopt the hypothesis that we have lost our natural capacity for discerning divine truth, by the fall, and are merely restored by divine grace to the natural use of reason, there are several very perplexing questions on this point which press for an answer. Rejecting this hypothesis of the total corruption of reason, which will hereafter be proved to be false and absurd, how can faith give the mind absolute cert.i.tude of the truth of its object, when that truth is neither self-evident nor demonstrable to reason from its own self-evident principles? Given, that the intellect has this cert.i.tude, how is it that we cannot attain to it by the natural operation of reason? Once more, what is the evidence of the fact of revelation to ordinary minds? Is it a demonstration founded on the arguments for credibility? If so, how are they capable of comprehending them, and what are they to do before they have gone through with the process of examination? If not, how have they a rational and certain ground for the judgment that G.o.d has really revealed the truths of Christianity?

Suppose now the fact of revelation established, and that the mind apprehends that G.o.d requires its a.s.sent to certain truths on the virtue of his own veracity. The veracity of G.o.d being apprehended as one logical premiss, and the revelation of certain truths as another, can reason draw the certain conclusion that the truth of these propositions is necessarily contained in the veracity of G.o.d or not?

If it can, why is not the mind capable of giving them the firm, unwavering {586} a.s.sent of faith by its own natural power, without the aid of grace? If not, how is it that the a.s.sent of the intellect to the truth of revealed propositions does not always necessarily contain in it a metaphysical doubt or a judgment that the contrary is more or less probable, or at least possible? If it is said that the will, inclined by the grace of G.o.d, determines to adhere positively to the proposed revelation as true, what is meant by this? Does the will merely determine to act practically as if these proposed truths were evident, in spite of the lesser probability of the contrary? Then the a.s.sent of the intellect is merely a judgment that revelation is probably true, and that it is safest to follow it, which does not satisfy the demand of faith. For faith excludes all fear or suspicion that the articles of faith may possibly be false. Does the will force the intellect to judge that those propositions are certain which it apprehends only as probable? How is this possible? The will is a blind faculty, which is directed by the intellect, "Nil volitum nisi prius cognitum." [Footnote 128] There is no act of will without a previous act of knowledge. The will can not lawfully determine the intellect to give any stronger a.s.sent to a proposition than the evidence warrants.

[Footnote 129] In a word, it is difficult to show how the intellect has an absolute cert.i.tude of the object of faith, without representing the object of faith as coincident with the object of knowledge, or the intuitive idea of reason, and thus naturally apprehensible. It is also difficult to show that faith is not coincident with knowledge, and thus to bring out the conception of its supernaturalness, without destroying the connection between faith and reason, subverting its rational basis, and representing the grace of faith as either restoring a destroyed faculty or adding a new one to the soul, whose object is completely invisible and unintelligible to the human understanding before it is elevated to the supernatural state. The difficulty lies, however, merely in a defective statement, or a defective apprehension of the statement of the Catholic doctrine, and not in the doctrine itself. In order to make this plain, it will be necessary to make one or two preliminary remarks concerning cert.i.tude and probability.

[Footnote 128: Nothing is willed unless previously known.]

[Footnote 129: This is the statement of an objection, not a proposition affirmed by the author.]

There is first, a metaphysical cert.i.tude excluding all possibility to the contrary. Such is the cert.i.tude of mathematical truths. Such also is the cert.i.tude of self-evident and demonstrable truths of every kind. The sphere of this kind of cert.i.tude is diminished or extended accordingly as the mind has before it a greater or lesser number of truths of this order. Some of these truths present themselves to every mind so immediately and irresistibly that it cannot help regarding them just as they are, and thus seeing their truth. For instance, that two and two make four. Others require the mind to be in a certain state of apt.i.tude for seeing them as they are, and to make an effort to bring them before it. There are some truths self-evident or demonstrably certain to some minds which are not so to others; yet these truths have all an intrinsic, metaphysical cert.i.tude which reason as such is capable of apprehending, and the failure of reason to apprehend them is due in individual cases merely to the defective operation of reason in the particular subject. The operation of reason can never be altogether deficient while it acts at all, for it acts only while contemplating its object or primitive idea. But its operation can be partially defective, inasmuch as the primitive idea or objective truth may be imperfectly brought into the reflective consciousness. And thus the intellect in individuals may fail to apprehend truths which can be demonstrated with metaphysical cert.i.tude, and which the intellect infallibly judges to be absolutely certain in {587} those individuals who are capable of making a right judgment. In this operation of apprehending metaphysical truths there is no criterion taken from experience, or from the concurrent a.s.sent of all men, but the truth s.h.i.+nes with its own intrinsic light, and reason judges by its inherent infallibility.

Next to metaphysical cert.i.tude comes moral demonstration, resulting from an acc.u.mulation of probabilities so great that no probability which can prudently be allowed any weight is left to the other side, but merely a metaphysical possibility. For instance, the Copernican theory.

Then comes moral certainty in a wider sense; where there is probable evidence on one side without any prudent reason to the contrary, but not such a complete knowledge of all the facts as to warrant the positive judgment that there is really no probability on the other side. This kind of certainty warrants a prudent, positive judgment, and furnishes a safe practical motive for action; but it varies indefinitely according as the data on which the judgment is based are more or less complete, and the importance of the case is greater or less.

Then come the grades of probability, where there are reasons balancing each other on both sides, which the mind must weigh and estimate.

To apply these principles to the question in hand.

First, we affirm that the being and attributes of G.o.d are apprehended with a metaphysical cert.i.tude. Second, that the motives of credibility proving the Christian revelation are apprehended, when that Revelation is sufficiently proposed, with a varying degree of probability, according to varying circ.u.mstances in which the mind may be placed, but capable of being increased to the highest kind of moral demonstration. Third, that the logical conclusion which reason can draw from these two premises, although hypothetically necessary and a perfect demonstration--that is, a necessary deduction from the veracity of G.o.d, on the supposition that he has really made the revelation--is really not above the order of probability, on account of the second premiss. It is not above the order of probability, although, as we have already argued, it is capable of being brought to a moral demonstration by such an acc.u.mulation of proofs within that order, that reason is bound to judge that the opposite is altogether dest.i.tute of probability.

From this it appears, both how far reason with its own principles can go in denying, and how far it can go in a.s.senting to revealed truth.

We see, first, how it is, that the truth of revelation does not compel the a.s.sent of all minds by an overwhelming and irresistible evidence.

The first premiss, which affirms the being of G.o.d, although undeniable and indubitable in its ultimate idea, may be in its distinct conception, so far denied or doubted by those whose reason is perverted by their own fault, or their misfortune, as to destroy all basis for a revelation. The second premiss, much more, may be partially or completely swept away, by plausible explanations of its component probabilities in detail. And thus, revelation may be denied.

The influence of the will on the judgment which is made by the mind on the revealed truth is explicable in this relation, and must be taken into the account. It is certain that the moral dispositions by which voluntary acts are biased, bias also the judgment. The self-determining power of the will which decides positively which of its different inclinations to follow, controls the judgment as well as the volition. This is an indirect control, which is exerted, not by imperiously commanding the judgment in a capricious manner to make a blind, irrational decision, but by turning it toward the consideration of that side toward which the volition or choice is inclined. This influence and control of volition over judgment increases as we descend in the order of truth from primary and self-evident principles, and diminishes as we {588} approach to them. In the case of truth which is morally or metaphysically demonstrable, its control is exerted by turning the intellect partially away from the consideration of the truth and hindering it from giving it that attention which is necessary, in order to its apprehension. In the case of divine revelation, various pa.s.sions, prejudices, interests, or at least intellectual impediments to a right operation of reason, act powerfully upon a mult.i.tude of minds in such a way, that the mirror of the soul is too much obscured to receive the image of truth.

But, supposing that reason and will both operate with all the rect.i.tude possible to them, without supernatural grace; how far can the mind proceed in a.s.senting to divine revelation? As far as a moral demonstration can take it. It can a.s.sent to divine truth, and act upon it, so far as this truth is adapted to the perfecting of the intellect and will in the natural order. But it lacks capacity to apprehend the supernatural verities proposed to it, as these are related to its supernatural destiny.

The revelation contains an unknown quant.i.ty. The will cannot be moved toward an object which the intellect does not apprehend. Therefore, a supernatural grace must enlighten the intellect and elevate the will, in order that the revealed truth may come in contact with the soul.

This supernatural grace gives a certain con-naturality to the soul with the revealed object of faith, by virtue of which it apprehends that G.o.d speaks to it in a whisper, distinct from his whisper to reason, and catches the meaning of what he says in this whisper. It is this supernatural light, illuminating the probable evidence apprehended by the natural understanding, which makes the a.s.sent in the act of faith absolute, and gives the mind absolute cert.i.tude. It is, however, the cert.i.tude of G.o.d revealing, and not the cert.i.tude of science concerning the intrinsic reason of that which he reveals. This remains always inevident and obscure in itself, and the decisive motive of a.s.sent is always the veracity of G.o.d. It is not, however, altogether inevident and obscure, for if it were, the terms in which it is conveyed would be unintelligible. It is so far inevident, that the intellect cannot apprehend its certainty, aside from the declaration of G.o.d. But it is partially and obscurely evident, by its a.n.a.logy with the known truth of the rational order. It is so far evident that it can be demonstrated from rational principles that it does not contradict the truths of reason. Further, that no other hypothesis can explain and account for that which is known concerning the universe. And, finally, that so far as the a.n.a.logy between the natural and the supernatural is apprehensible, there is a positive harmony and agreement between them. This is all that we intend to affirm, when we speak of demonstrating Christianity from the same principles from which scientific truths are demonstrated.

Let us now revert once more to Jesus Christ and the pagan philosopher.

The pagan first perceives strong, probable reasons, which increase by degrees to a moral demonstration, for believing that Christ is the Son of G.o.d, and his doctrine the revelation of G.o.d. The supernatural grace which Christ imparts to him, enables him to apprehend this with a permanent and infallible cert.i.tude as a fixed principle both of judgment and volition. He accepts as absolutely true all the mysteries which Christ teaches him, on the faith of his divine mission and the divine veracity. We may now suppose that Christ goes on to instruct him in the harmony of these divine verities with all scientific truths, so far, that he apprehends all the a.n.a.logies which human reason is capable of discerning between the two. He will then have attained the _ultimatum_ possible for human reason elevated and enlightened by faith, in this present state. Science and faith will be coincident in his mind, as far as they can be. That is, faith will be coincident {589} with science until it rises above its sphere of vision, and will then lose itself in an indirect and obscure apprehension of the mysteries, in the veracity of G.o.d.

In the case of the child brought up in the Catholic Church, the Church, which is the medium of Christ, instructs the child through its various agents. The child's reason apprehends, through the same probable evidence by which it learns other facts and truths, that the truth presented to him comes through the church, and through Christ, from G.o.d, who is immediately apprehended in his primitive idea. The light of faith which precedes in him the development of reason, illuminates his mind from the beginning to apprehend with infallible cert.i.tude that divine truth which is proposed to him through the medium of probable evidence. This faith is a fixed principle of conscience, proceeding from an illuminated intellect, inclining him to submit his mind unreservedly to the instruction of the Catholic Church on the faith of the divine veracity. It rests there unwaveringly, without ever admitting a doubt to the contrary or postponing a certain judgment until the evidence of revelation and the proofs of the divine commission of the church have been critically examined. It may rest there during life, and does so, with the greater number, to a greater or lesser degree; or, it may afterward proceed to investigate to the utmost limits the _rationale_ of the divine revelation, not in order to establish faith on a surer basis, but in order to apprehend more distinctly what it believes, and to advance in theological science.

Some one may say: "You admit that it is impossible to attain to a perfect cert.i.tude of supernatural truth without supernatural light; why, then, do you attempt to convince unbelievers that the Catholic doctrine is the absolute truth by rational arguments?" To this we reply, that we do not endeavor to lead them to faith, by mere argument; but to the "preamble of faith." We aim at removing difficulties and impediments which hinder those from attending to the rational evidence of the faith; at removing its apparent incredibility. We rely on the grace of the Holy Spirit alone to make the effort successful, and to lead those who are worthy of grace beyond the preamble of faith to faith itself. This grace is in every human mind to which faith is proposed, in its initial stage; it is increased in proportion to the sincerity with which truth is sought for; and is given in fulness to all who do not voluntarily turn their minds away from it. If we did not believe this, we would lay down our pen at once. [Footnote 130]

[Footnote 130: The doctrine taught by Cardinal de Lugo and Dr.

Newman, in regard to which some dissent was expressed in a former number, seems to the author, on mature reflection, to be, after all, identical with the one here maintained.]

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From Once A Week.

A DAY AT ABBEVILLE.

BY BESSIE RAYNOR PARKES.

Twenty years ago, we posted into Abbeville by night, and were deposited in an old-fas.h.i.+oned inn, with a large walled garden. In the morning we posted further on across country to Rouen. Since then, many a lime has the Chemin de Fer du Nord borne us flying past the ancient city oft visited by English kings and English men-at-arms; not, perhaps, deigning to stop to take in water; for Abbeville, once upon the highway of nations, now lies just, as it were, a shade to one side; just a shade--the distance between the station and the ramparts.

Yet this is enough to cause the _maitre d'hotel_ to shake his head and say in a melancholy accent, "_Abbeville est presque detruite._"

On asking for the Hotel de l'Europe, I was told that the Hotel Tete de Boeuf was "all the same." Which, however, was far from being the case, as neither the building nor the master was what we had known twenty years ago. _Query_ as to the degree of affinity required by the French intellect to produce the degree of ident.i.ty? In fact, the Hotel de l'Europe no longer existed. The house was possessed by a body of religious, the sisters of St. Joseph, and their large school for young ladies. The Tete de Boeuf had been a small chateau; two still picturesque brick turrets bearing witness of its ancient state.

In the morning I walked over almost the length and breadth of Abbeville, surprised to find it so large and, apparently, flouris.h.i.+ng; and yet, in spite of tall chimneys upon the circ.u.mference, full of the quaintest old houses in the centre. Some of them have richly carved beams running along the edge of the overhanging stories. Such may still be seen in a few English towns; I remember them at Booking, in Ess.e.x. The glory of the place is its great church, or rather the nave, for this is all that ever got completed of the original design of the time of Louis XII., the king who married our Princess Mary, sister of Henry VIII. The choir has been patched on, and is about half the height of the nave. The latter is a glorious upshoot of traceried stone, with two towers; perhaps all the more impressive from having been thus arrested in the very act of creation. It is like a forest tree which has only attained half its development; and one feels as if it ought to go on growing, pus.h.i.+ng out fresh b.u.t.tresses and arches, till its fair proportions stood complete. There is an excellent stone staircase up one of the towers, and from the top a wide view of the town and the fields of Picardy, even to the sharp cliff marking where the sea-line must be. The windings of the Somme may be traced for many miles. I was told that the tide used to swell almost up to the town, and that several little streams, once falling into the river, were dried up. Even now, as there are several branches, one is here and there reminded of Bruges, by the little old-fas.h.i.+oned bridges, crossing a ca.n.a.l in the middle of a street. A broad girdle of water seemed to me to surround great part of the town; but I could obtain no map and no guide-book, though I anxiously inquired at the best shop.

Only a history of Abbeville was dug out of the museum at the Hotel de Ville, which building had a strong but plain tower reported of the eleventh century. {591} The Abbevillois care little apparently for their antiquities, though they are many and curious.

This ground, though somewhat bare and barren in appearance, has been thickly occupied by humanity from the earliest ages of history. Keltic barrows have been found here in abundance, and though many of them have been destroyed in the interests of agriculture, enough remain to delight the antiquary by their flint hatchets and arrows, their urns, and their burnt bones. One such barrow, near Noyelles-sur-Mer, when opened, was found to contain a large number of human heads, disposed in a sort of cone. In 1787, one was opened at Crecy, and in it were found two sarcophagi of burnt clay, in each of which was an entire skeleton. Each had been buried in its clothes, and one bore on its finger a copper ring; its dress being fastened likewise by a brooch or hook of the same metal. Endless indeed is the list of primitive instruments in flint, in copper, in iron, in bronze, found hereabouts; likewise vases full of burnt bones, not only of our own race, but of various animals--mice, water-rats, and "such small deer;" and in the near neighborhood, of boars, oxen, and sheep. Succeeding to these wild people and wild animals came the Romans. Before they pounced down upon us, before they crossed over to Porta Lymanis, and drew those straight lines of causeway over England which make the Roman Itinerary look something like Bradshaw's railway map, (only straighter,) they settled themselves firmly in the north of France; notably, they staid so long near St. Valery, (at the mouth of the river which runs through Abbeville,) that they buried there their dead in great numbers, whereof the place of sepulchre is at this day yet to be seen. Their own nice neat road also had they, cutting clean through the Graulic forests. It came from Lyons to Boulogne, pa.s.sing through Amiens and Abbeville, and was in continuation of one which led from Rome into Gaul! And wherever this people of conquerors travelled, thither they carried their religious ceremonies and their domestic arts, so that we find still all sorts of medals, vases of red, grey, or black clay, little statuettes, _ex votos_, and sometimes larger groups of sculpture, such as one in bronze representing the combat of Hercules and Antaeus. Carthaginian medals have also been turned up here, brought from the far sh.o.r.es of the Mediterranean; and those of Claudius, Trajan, Caracalla, and Constantine. This long catalogue is useless, save to mark the rich floods of human life which have successively visited the banks of the Somme.

In the first year of the fifth century the barbarians made their way up to the Somme, fighting the Romans inch by inch. Attila burst upon this neighborhood, and fixed his claws therein; the tide of Rome rolls back upon the south, and new dynasties begin, and with them comes in Christianity; not, however, without much difficulty. The faith appears to have gradually spread from Amiens, where St. Finius preached as early as 301; but even 179 years later, St. Germain, the Scotchman, was martyred, and St. Honore, the eighth bishop of Amiens, labored daily, for thirty-six years, in conjunction with Irish missionaries, to infuse Christianity into the minds of people equally indisposed, whether by Frankish paganism or Roman culture, to accept the doctrines of the Cross. Indeed, the learned historian of this part of the country, M. Louandre, believes that even Rome itself had never been able to destroy the old Keltic religion. He says that, as late as the seventh century, the antique trees, woods, and fountains were still honored by public adoration in this part of France; and St. Rignier hung up relics to the trees to purify them, just as in Rome itself the old pagan temples were exorcised. And after a time the old G.o.ds of all sorts were known either as idols or demons; no particular distinctions being drawn among them; they lie as _debris_ beneath the religious soil of this part of Picardy, just as the bones of those who adored them are confounded in one common dust.

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Late in the seventh century appears St. Rignier, a great saint in these parts. He was converted and baptized by the Irish missionaries, and thereupon became a most austere Christian indeed; only, says his legend, eating twice a week--Sundays and Thursdays. King Dagobert invited the saint to a repast, which the holy man accepted, and preached the Gospel the whole time they sat at table--a day and a night!

We must now take a great leap to the days of Charlemagne, because in his days the Abbey of St. Rignier, near to Abbeville, was very famous indeed, both as monastery and school, and contained a n.o.ble library of 256 volumes; the greater part whereof were Christian, but certain others were pagan cla.s.sics; let us, for instance, be grateful for the Eclogues of Virgil and the Rhetoric of Cicero. Of this library but one volume remains; I have seen it, and with astonishment. It is a copy of the Gospels, written in letters of gold upon purple parchment. It was given by Charlemagne to the Count-Abbot, Saint Augilbert. This one precious fragment of the great library is in the museum of Abbeville.

The school was, indeed, an ecclesiastical Eton and Oxford. The sons of kings, dukes, and counts came here to learn the "letters," of which Charlemagne made such great account.

Now the town of Abbeville first gets historic mention in the century succeeding Charlemagne. It is called Abbatis Villa, and belonged to this great monastery of St. Rignier; wherefore I have introduced both the good saint and his foundation. It grew, as almost all the towns of the middle ages did grow, from a religious root--a tap-root, striking deep in the soil. Of course, having thus begun to grow, its history has made interesting chapters a great deal too long to be copied or even noted here; it will not be amiss, however, to look for its points of occasional contact with England. Firstly, then, it was from St.

Valery, the seaport of the Somme, that William the Conqueror set out for England. Then, in 1259, our Henry III. met St. Louis at Abbeville, and Henry did homage for his French possessions. Then, in 1272, our great King Edward I. married Eleanor, heiress of Ponthieu--she who sucked the poison from her husband's wound; and the burgesses of Abbeville, misliking the transfer, quarreled violently with the king's bailiff, and killed some of the underlings. Eleanor's son, Edward II., married Isabel, the

"She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs.

That tearest the bowels of thy mangled mate."

This unamiable specimen of her s.e.x lived at Abbeville in 1312; but during her reign and residence, and that of her son Edward III., the inhabitants of Abbeville ceased not to kick indignantly. The King of France, her brother, struck into the contest "_pour comforter la main de Madame d'Angleterre_." The legal doc.u.ments arising from these quarrels partially remain to us. So they go on, quarreling and sometimes fighting, until the great day of Crecy, when Edward III., the late king's nephew, tried to get the throne. The oft-told tale we need not tell again. In 1393, France being in worse extremities, we find Charles VI. at Abbeville, and Froissart there at the same time.

Perhaps, in respect of battles and quarrels, those few notices are sufficient; I only wished to indicate that Abbeville was on the borderland between the English and the French, and came in for an ample share of fighting. Two royal ceremonials enlivened it in the course of centuries, whereof particular mention is made in the history. Louis XII. here met and married Mary of England, in 1514: "_La Reine Blanche_," as she was afterward called, from her white widow's weeds. In the Hotel de Cluny at Paris is still shown the apartments she occupied. Louis was old, and Mary young, when they married; but the French historian recounts her exceeding complaisance and politeness to the king, and his great delight therein.

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In 1657, young Louis XIV. came here with his mother, and lodged at the Hotel d'Oignon. Monsieur D'Oignon, the n.o.ble owner, had everything in such beautiful and ceremonious order for their reception, that he became a proverb at Abbeville--"As complete and well arranged as M.

d'Oignon." A sort of _rich_ Richard.

The antiquarian who goes to Abbeville and dips into the history (by M.

Louandre) at the Museum, will find plenty of interesting matter about the manners and customs of the Abbevillois, rendered all the more striking by so many of the old houses being yet just where they were, and as they were. But few impressions of the book seem to have been printed off, for it is no longer sold, though the obliging librarian did say he knew where a few copies remained at a high price. This for the benefit of any long-pursed antiquary, curious in local histories.

It is such a book as can only be written by a devoted son of the soil digging away on the spot.

In the Revolution, Abbeville fortunately escaped any great horrors; but the trials of the middle ages afford plenty; especially one of a certain student, condemned for sacrilege. Now, it is a peaceful, well-governed town, busy in making iron pots and cans, and other wrought articles from raw materials brought by the railway. It proves to be only in respect of the hotel interest that _Abbeville est presque detruite_.