ancient popular views of the universe and its contents, the metaphysical and scientific opinions of Aristotle, theories enshrined in the writings of the Fathers-sometimes like the fly in amber-these revealed premises yielded to the busy intellect of the Scholastics a body of conclusions which were accepted as regulative criteria of everything put forth as scientific discovery. At that time, writes Mr. Ward, "overwhelming considerations from faith and sight swept out of view the lesser evidences and smaller facts apparently inconsistent with the general trend of events. Historical and physical sciences were tried at the bar of theology." The old method, he observes, combined the most critical logic with the utmost credulity as to facts. It was interminable in its questions, docile in accepting an answer, provided the answer was coherent. But, to-day, science has broken away from theology, a rebellion which was powerfully promoted by the condemnation of the Copernican system. Now, continues Mr. Ward, "scientific knowledge is no longer sought by the many amid the rays of light which surrounded the chair of the medieval doctor of the church of whom the Liturgy proudly sings: 'In medio ecclesiæ aperuit os ejus et implevit eum Dominus spiritu sapientiæ.' Science now rules in her own Ecclesia. And she has expelled certain visions very dear to our ancestors and closely entwined round their religion"!

Though the "new framework" of knowledge, to employ a phrase which Mr. Ward borrows from Mr. Balfour, has received, at the hands of Mr. Spencer, a form which is condemned by Christian faith, there is reason to hope that when it is properly set forth, it will not only not be inconsistent with, but will require for its perfect form the truths of Revelation. Some of its essential features have already begun to receive the recognition from our apologists and theologians. While maintaining the supremacy of Revelation and dogma, they are willing to concede that conclusions deduced from these principles, through the medium of questionable minor premises derived from fallible human opinion, by fallible human reasoning, may not, after all, claim the same unquestioning acceptance as is due to infallible doctrine. There is much prominence given now to the long overlooked maxim of St. Thomas: "Since the Divine Scriptures may be expounded in many ways it is not right to

tain it after sure reason has proved the statement supposed to be contained in Scripture false; lest on this account Scripture be derided by unbelievers." The exegete now entertains the view that the Bible is not a scientific teacher, and that its quasiscientific statements may be considered as a condescension to ways of thinking that have long since passed away. There is, if we are to believe Mr. Ward, a movement in thought among Catholics in France, Germany, England, and America, "which has been for some years urging, as of vital importance, that the positive sciences should take their full share in the further development of theology, in so far as theology touches incidentally those facts of which secular science takes cognizance." This movement may attain momentum sufficient to carry it into other countries.

The idea of development and organic growth which has proved so dynamic in the modern study of history, biology, and sociology, since its introduction into theology by Cardinal Newman and his disciples has received much attention. In the dominion of theology, however, it is to be applied with prudent reserve, as recent events declare, as it must respect the line of demarcation which divides the human, changeable, and relative from the immutable and Divine.

CATHOLIC ENGLAND IN THE OLDEN TIME.

BY WILLIAM SETON, LL.D.

I cannot but consider a great error, both historically and ecclesiastically, the assumption that the Middle Ages are the model time of Christianity."-Essay on the Spiritual Life of Medieval England, by the Rev. J. B. Dalgairns, Priest of the Oratory, p. i. prefixed to The Scale of Perfection," by Walter Hilton,

ENGLAND five centuries ago was a more picturesque country than it is to-day. Its rivers then flowed brimful of water uncontaminated by the refuse of factory or coal mine; there were miles and miles of woodland where oak-trees grew, which when they were little trees had seen the Roman legions go by, and here and there the sunbeams streaming down through their branches lit up some old-time Roman road which now was called the king's highway; and 'tis as well for the traveller not to be found in these lonesome regions after dark, for then the wolves come out of their dens and so do the robbers.

In the part of England called Shropshire, and in the heart of one of these solitudes, there dwelt Anno Domini 1400 a hermit named Ethelwald. He was pretty old, past ninety, yet except for his bald head and snow-white beard you might have taken him to be much younger. Here let us say that Ethelwald, like other hermits, was a privileged character and might dwell in the forest unmolested. The cave in which he made his home, and where he said his Psalter daily, was occasionally visited by villeins and other folk from the manors of Shropshire, who brought him cheese and milk and fruits, and sometimes a new hood when the old one was giving out, while the skins for his bed were gifts from the free and daring outlawsthe Robin Hoods, who owned no lord except Jehovah. And in return for these good things the hermit would mend the shoes for the poor folk who came to his cave, for he was not a bad cobbler, and he might say with truth, "from the time when I first came into this desert place I have never spent a day without doing something with my hands."* Yet it must be said that all who pretended to lead a hermit's life in those days. Mores Catholici, by Kenelm Digby, Book X., chap. xx. p. 502.

PEASANTS LABORING TO DRIVE A LOAD UP-HILL.

were not true hermits. There were impostors among them, who left their retreats to go begging by the alehouse. But Ethelwald had obtained the sanction of his bishop to lead the life he led, and he observed the rules of poverty, chastity, and obedience

One morning towards the end of October there came to his rocky abode a youth, who evidently, from his sheepskin garb and mien, did not belong to the knightly class. No Norman words were in his speech and his breath was short, for he had run several miles. His name was Wat Tyler, a grandson of the arch-rebel who had been struck from his horse and killed by Walworth, mayor of London, in the great uprising of the serfs in 1381.

"Pray, what has befallen you?" inquired Ethelwald, putting down the shoe he was mending. "You do wear a troubled look."

"To confess the truth, good father," answered Tyler, who knew the hermit, "I was sent by my master, Baron de Courtenay, to help build a bridge over Wolf's Run, for the old bridge has been carried away by a freshet, and hard by me lay a monk's saddle-bags; the monk's mule was browsing half

J. J. Jusserand: English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages, pp. 139-140, Trans

a mile away and the holy man was superintending our work. And of a sudden, while his eyes were turned in the other direction, it did come over me to make for the forest with his saddle-bags."

"Witless wight, the deed may cost you your life," said Ethelwald. "You will be hunted like a wolf, and you know that to steal anything worth more than twelve pence is punished by hanging; and surely what you have stolen is worth more than twelve pence."

"I do not gainsay what you tell me," answered Tyler. "But now, to speak out all that's in my heart, let me Own that I have plighted my troth to a maiden named Mary Gower, the daughter of a miller, who lives at Oakham, a village not far from Baron de Courtenay's manor; and there may be treasure of some kind in these saddle bags, enough to set me up in some work that is better than digging and ploughing for Baron de Courtenay; aye, why might I not by a cunning disguise turn to be an herb doctor? And I might then wed and give my Mary a snug home."

"You turn into an herb doctor!" exclaimed the hermit, laughing outright; he had not laughed so heartily in a twelvemonth. Then his countenance suddenly becoming grave, and lifting his forefinger: "Let me tell you, youthful sinner, that building a bridge as well as repairing a road is considered a pious and meritorious work before God; and two centuries ago a religious order was founded on the Continent (it does not exist here) called 'Les frères pontifes' (or Bridge Friars), whose duty it is to make and repair bridges, and the members of this order have built, I am told, a fine bridge across the river Rhône by the town of Avignon.† And did not our bishop a few weeks ago grant forty days indulgence to all who would draw from the treasure that God has given them, valuable and charitable aid toward the building of this very bridge where you were put to work?" ‡

"Verily, I do now half regret stealing the saddle bags," spoke Tyler in a penitent voice. "And if I am chased where had I best flee to?"

"Make for St. Alban's Church," answered the hermit. "'Tis only nine or ten miles away; for a church, you know,

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Jusserand, English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages, p. 255.

Ibid., pp. 38-39.