our intellect. Morality and religion are thus one and the self-same thing in his view.

Hegel's system was considered by his followers to be the highest evolution of philosophy. To find fault with it was the height of ignorance. It was to be received as complete and absolute wisdom, at least on account of the authority of its sublime inventor, until a higher and immediate insight into it would be obtained by assiduous study. Nobody has indeed brought forth another development of idealism after Hegel. Nevertheless, after having been highly admired for some time, especially in Berlin, he began to be severely attacked, most of all by Arthur Schoppenhauer. Soon his own school went asunder into two opposite parties. One stuck to Hegel's tenets just as they were set forth by him; the other drew the consequences contained in them. This latter party prevailed over the former. Idealism, then, in its strict sense was given up and Atheism, Materialism, and Nihilism was successively embraced. The Atheists, who started from idealism, were headed by Lewis Feuerbach, the Materialists by Charles Vogt, the Nihilists by Edward von Hartmann, the author of The Philosophy of the Unconscious, published from 1868 to 1875 in seven editions. It cannot be denied that idealism gave rise to all these systems, however much it seems to be opposed to them. If God has no reality distinct from the world, or rather if the reality of the world is God himself in his evolutions, it is consequent that there is no personal God. Again, if being and thinking are the same, the Materialists have as much right to begin with matter and to bury thought in it, as the Idealists had to start from thought and to lift up matter to its sphere. Finally, a system which makes being consist of a combination of contradictions, was not without reason turned into Nihilism. It should, however, be remarked, that in our days modern speculation is generally based on Kant, because its tenets are more simply and easily explained by inborn forms and illusions of the mind, than by the abstruse theories of ideal evolution.

Now is it not useless to criticize the systems just expounded, the absurdity of which is so evident to common-sense? We must not forget that they are of the highest importance in modern history, and that our century did not view them in this light. First Idealism spread nearly over the whole civilized world. It originated in Germany, and was not only hailed by Protestants, but also admired by some Catholics. From Germany it was imported into France, and of late also into Italy; it found its way to England and even to America. Then both in science and in practical life it has brought forth highly important effects. There is in this century scarcely any error in Theology or Philosophy, within and without the Church, which has not sprung from these systems commenced

by Des Cartes and completed by Hegel. That Atheism, Materialism, and Nihilism are their genuine offspring, we have just shown. And is it not also a revival of Kant's inborn forms of thinking and reasoning, when modern textbooks and professors of philosophy, at the very outset of their courses, lay it down as an axiom that nothing exists but what we perceive by our senses; that God and the spirituality of the human soul are mere illusions, and that, therefore, metaphysics has no other object than the acts of our mind, and must be replaced by dialectics? But even where the principles of these systems were not admitted, they did not fail to produce harmful effects. They first discredited scholastic philosophy in public opinion, and caused it to be gradually removed from Catholic schools. Then they brought disgrace on philosophy in general and on human reason itself; because the monstrous errors of the modern, and the failure of the ancient philosophers seemed to evidence the incapacity of reason to attain truth. In France this gave rise to Traditionalism, in Germany and other countries to the neglect of philosophical studies. Even the political errors of our time are based on idealism. Revolution is justified by its first moral principle that human reason is absolute, autonomous, and ought not to receive a law from without. But also the absolutism of monarchs and of the stronger political parties is prompted by the theory that the individual ought to be swallowed up by the universal. Above all the tyranny practiced by the political power over consciences and religious associations is not to be blamed, if Church and religion are only inferior evolutions of the absolute to be transformed into the State or philosophy. There is, on this account, no doubt that, though Idealism as a philosophical system is out of date at present, nevertheless many of its principles and its baneful consequences still exist, and poison both the public life and the science of our days. All this considered, I think it will not be without interest to search into the very foundations of these systems, and to inquire whether they are really reduced to that unity which should be looked upon as a proof of their truth, and avert cultivated minds from the study of Ancient Philosophy.

TH

DE LA SALLE: HIS LIFE AND WORK.

HE American tourist who enters Rheims for the first time is generally disappointed. He knows it is a very old city, and one that has played many a bright part in history. He has perhaps fresh in mind a few scraps of the Gallic War, and has probably been musing for some time back on the long procession of kings that came up to the Cathedral Church to receive their crowns from the successors of St. Rémi. His classical reminiscences and historical readings have doubtless forced him to the conclusion that the Rheims which was built before the Franks crossed the Rhine, which witnessed the baptism of Clovis, and the triumphant entry of the Maid of Orleans, must needs be a quaint-looking, oldfashioned town. And indeed his expectations are not altogether vain; for he soon meets with a gate that reminds him of the Roman occupation, and descries a lofty pile that tells of pre-mediaval times. An hour's ramble, however, through the long, broad, and well-paved streets suffices to break the spell, and to show that the veil of antiquity has long since been torn away. The Rheims of the Merovingian kings, those hale monarchs à la longue chevelure, has been mercilessly modernized.

In straying through this seat of active industry our tourist, whose keen eye has been trained to minute inspection, soon finds himself before a spacious and antique-looking building. It evidently saw palmier days. It bears a commemorative tablet, which soon becomes an object of close scrutiny. And well it may; for in that house-once a noble mansion-was born a man of note, a philanthropist of the purest type, a public benefactor, Jean Baptiste de la Salle.

The De la Salles held a goodly rank among the nobility of Champagne. For years they had figured with distinction on the bench, and worn the highest civic honors. Their hotel was noted for its bon ton, and was a favorite resort for men of letters, men of the gown, and the fashionable society of the place. The spirit of chivalry and adventure was not alien to the family. It shone out brilliantly in Marquette, one of the pioneers of American exploration, and in three brave young fellows who fought by the side of our raw provincials in the War of Independence.

But the charming evening parties of the Hotel de la Croix d'Or did less to perpetuate and popularize the name of De la Salle than the less brilliant but more enduring achievements of the great educator, whose life and work we shall now endeavor to sketch.

Jean Baptiste de la Salle was born on the last day of April, 1651. His fond mother emulated the saintly Blanche of Castile in her

solicitude for her son. She strove to mould his dispositions to gentleness and piety, and every night besought Heaven to bless her endeavors. When only eight years old the boy was entered at the University School of Rheims, where he soon gave signs of real talent. Time showed that his was not the precocity that flashes out meteorlike only to be prematurely quenched in mediocrity. He never acquired the unenviable distinction of a little. prodigy. He was always a hard and steady worker, trusting more to application than to his versatile endowments.

His academical success was especially gratifying to his father, who was not slow in forming high hopes and ambitious projects. He was easily convinced that his son would make his mark at the bar, and that he would ultimately win a distinguished place in the magistracy. But Heaven ruled it otherwise, and the boy was as docile to its call as the young Samuel of old. It was soon noticed that the promising student did not relish the warmly-colored schemes of his father. He aspired to something higher than family aggrandizement and civic honors; and, every evening as he knelt before his little altar, he recommended his cause to the Queen of Heaven. We can readily conceive the mute disappointment and the vexation of M. de la Salle on learning that his eldest son seriously thought of embracing the ecclesiastical state. But the future Levite was as constant in his resolve as he was amiable in urging it. His gentleness and perseverance finally overcame all obstacles, and M. de la Salle, fearing to cross the ways of Providence, gave in his acquiescence.

At nineteen, De la Salle had completed his course of philosophy and taken his M.A. degree. Without loss of time, he proceeded to Paris to study theology in the most famous schools of the kingdom. He chose the Seminary of St. Sulpice for his residence, in the hopes of finding in its strict discipline a safeguard against the distractions of a frivolous Capital. He clearly saw that study, to be thorough, must be done quietly and sequentially. For this purpose, he treated himself with Spartan severity, cutting off even legitimate pleasures, and eliminating every cause of disturbance and distraction. Like Gregory and Basil at Athens, he knew little else of the gay and noisy world outside than the dingy streets which led up to the theological schools, the famous Sorbonne. Nothing could be more in harmony with his task than this studious seclusion. It formed a golden period; but unfortunately, like. all temporal enjoyments, it proved very evanescent. The young theological student had scarcely accustomed himself to his new mode of life before he was abruptly summoned home by an event which never fails to overwhelm a loving heart with grief. In July, 1671, he lost his beloved mother; and in the following April he received VOL. IV.-41

the dying bequests of his father. The twofold blow was severe. Adversity is pre-eminently the school in which firm and energetic characters are moulded and tempered. After passing through it, one is able to bear without breaking the strain of honors and success, as well as the stress of disappointment and humiliation.

The young De la Salle keenly felt the bereavement, and at once realized the responsibilities of his new position. For a moment his vocation seemed to quiver in the balance. The dilemma was certainly trying. He had just turned twenty-one, and found himself head of the family, a noble family too; he had to direct the education of his brothers and sisters as well as to superintend the administration of a rich patrimony. Many would have found in such duties a plausible pretext for relinquishing all further aspirations to the priesthood; but not so with De la Salle. His vocation was not a whim, it was not the outgrowth of an impulse. It was a call from Heaven, a grace. He would not trifle with so sacred a thing. It is true he did not well see his way out of present embarrassments; but he trusted in Providence, and set to ordering his household affairs. He drew up a regulation for the juvenile community of which he was the acknowledged head, and insisted on its faithful observance. The youthful legislator instinctively recognized that "Order is Heaven's first law," and he was thoroughly convinced that a mild but steady discipline is by far the best kindness for children, just as method is the best economizer of time' and the surest passport to success.

His new occupations did not, however, divert his attention from his favorite studies. He regularly devoted his leisure hours to reading works on divinity. He had a praiseworthy ambition for theological honors, and hoped one day to win the doctor's cap. The chapter of the Cathedral Church of his native city had for ages been renowned for the learning of its Canons. Several had worn the tiara, and many more attained the highest ecclesiastical dignities in the kingdom. It had even grown into a custom that at least three-fourths of its members should be Doctors in Divinity. The young De la Salle, whose recognized merit had gained him admittance into this distinguished body at the early age of sixteen, daily endeavored to make up by his culture, refinement, and amiability for the peculiar grace and dignity which years alone can give. At twenty-seven he went in for his licentiateship in theology, and obtained it. At thirty he brilliantly defended his thesis before the faculty of the Rheims University, and was admitted to the Doctor's degree. In the meantime the clouds that darkened the horizon had broken, and his path was lit up once more with a cheerful beam. He had advised with experienced directors, and succeeded in putting his family affairs into good working order