fatality each time that a Government has sought to destroy the Concordat. The religious investiture of the priests and bishops cannot belong to the State, nor must we, under any circumstances, be obliged to go to Notre-Dame to worship the Goddess Reason or the Supreme Being, according to the fancy of the triumphant faction. We must oppose all theocracies, and separation, such as is proposed, is nothing less than the application of the theocratic doctrine. True liberty springs only from the distinction and union of the two powers. Oppression would follow if they were consolidated.

The French mind is so imbued with the profound influence of the Church that for centuries France has been the Catholic Nation rather than a Catholic Nation. The Kings protected the temporal independence of the Popes, and the Popes granted to the Kings supreme power in the East. Even during the most trying periods, when the two forces seemed to be separated for ever, when the King expelled the Pope from his States and the Pope excommunicated the King, the force of truth triumphed, and the Pope, the King, the Church, and France sought each other to sign a compact which for years reestablished harmony between them, and through them the peace of the world. History and its practical results cannot be lost sight of. France is not merely a strip of land; it is also a moral personality holding the highest rank, and essentially Catholic. It is Catholic to such an extent that it is as impossible to separate the idea of Catholicity from France as it is to separate the idea of Mohammedanism from Turkey.

To seek to disintegrate the organism of France means engaging in an enterprise of which the consequences are easy to predict, while throughout the world other nations are growing, and watch us with a jealous eye, ready to take advantage of our dissensions and to seize the spoils. The German Empire, although Protestant, is ready to take the place of the Kings of France in protecting the Popes. The Pope represents an undeniable moral influence corresponding to definite material advantages in the East and in the Far East. William the Second seeks to continue the work of France, and accepts its advantages and disadvantages. In this way France will lose, not only in Europe, among the Latin races which have remained so firmly attached to their secular faith, but throughout the world, the influence, authority, prestige which arise from her traditional rôle as the Protector of the Pope. Her moral strength and her prestige will be affected, and we shall perhaps witness the sad view, to use Lacordaire's expression concerning Napoleon, of seeing France, like a burnt-out star, drop in the deep waters of the Atlantic.'

Within the country it would mean anarchy or oppression; anarchy if the separation resulted in the unlimited liberty of the Church; oppression if, dominated by the Jacobin spirit, the separation should

be effected without allowing sufficient liberty to the Church; if, through winding roads and diverging paths, we return to the confusion of the religious and temporal powers, or to a theocracy.

It may be contended that this doctrine is disproved by the example of certain countries, like the United States, where the Church is not officially organised, and expands freely under common-law rights. Circumstances there are not the same, owing to the differences of origin and races, and it would be unfair to establish a comparison between the two countries, one new, the other counting fourteen centuries of existence. In the first place, it is incorrect to say that the United States do not take the Church into account, or, at least, do not recognise religion. The existence of God is officially proclaimed there, and the American Federation is not hostile to religions or to religious belief. The legal measures which are proposed to us are only an incident in the strife directed against the Catholic faith. The United States are made up of the alluvion of all nations. The aboriginal race has successively disappeared before the afflux of population coming from all points of the earth. Even though the majority belong to the Saxon race, of which the language has been retained, the immigration from Germany, Italy, and all parts of the world has been considerable. In the presence of this confusion of races and religious diversity the State was bound to remain impersonal. Absolute and complete liberty was the necessary rule of law. Nothing was to be feared from a domination over the State by the Universal Church, as a majority of the people were dissident Christians. So long as liberty was guaranteed to each and every persuasion and sect, the law accomplished its purpose.

In France, in spite of the geographical divisions of the old régime and of physiological differences among the inhabitants, the senti ments of national union and national solidarity date back many centuries. They were developed by the King and Catholicism, and it might almost be said that our national formation in the intellectual order is the direct work of the Church, as she is, in the moral order, the direct work of the King. Consequently we cannot separate these two forces without exposing ourselves to the risk of dissolving the cement which maintains the solidity of the French national edifice.

We are in a situation unique in the world. Whatever may be claimed or desired, we are Catholics, if not in the theological sense of the word, at least through our intellectual construction, our method of thought, our way of looking at things, and the French Jacobins themselves derive that spirit of domination which is their own from their Catholic ancestry. Under such conditions, to separate the Church from the State would be to disintegrate the nation, to give it

over to anarchy and enslave consciences. France does not require an oppressed Church, nor a State religion or irreligion, nor a Church completely independent of the State, of which the all-powerful action might, at certain periods, essentially alter our national spirit. Separation, such as it has been conceived and proposed, will lead the nation to religious oppression, to revolution and civil war.

COMTE DE CASTELLANE,

Député des Basses-Alpes.

THE NEED FOR NATIONAL NURSERIES

I WISH to give in this article, in as vivid a manner as possible, some description of what is now going on inside elementary schools, and I shall start with the assumption that my readers are entirely ignorant of the subject. I will begin with large town schools, and reference will be made to some of those which I have actually visited in my official capacity. My object is a very simple one. I am anxious to interest women in these little children. Only women can deal satisfactorily with the present difficulties, and most of the evils I describe are produced by the absence of the quality known as 'motherliness.' Under existing regulations children of three years old cannot be refused admittance into elementary schools, and the attendance of all children over five is compulsory. The infants attending schools in this country numbered in 1903 no fewer than 2,044,902. Their number has, of course, now increased. I am unable to say exactly what proportion of these children would be under five years of age, but, judging from some statistics obtained in Manchester, I think the estimate of one-fourth would be a fairly accurate one. The usual age for promotion to schools for older children is between seven and eight, but as the Government has hitherto given a bigger grant per head on attendance for older scholars, there is a distinct desire on the part of the local authorities to promote at as early an age as possible. In Manchester the rule is that all children who will become seven before the expiration of the school year must be promoted at the beginning of the school year, unless special circumstances exist to prevent the arrangement. We therefore often get children of only six years and three months old who are being taught in schools for older scholars, and are thereby deprived of every opportunity for manual employment or Kindergarten occupations.

To return to the infant schools. If my calculation is correct, there were last year some 500,000 children under five years of age who were attending school regularly. In the eyes of both central and local authorities a school is a place where children learn to sit still, to obey orders, and where they receive instruction in reading, writing, and arithmetic; for the little girls the extra subject of needlework is added. Besides these, it is now customary to provide what are

known as varied occupations, and on this topic many words of wisdom are spoken, and even books are published. The theories of great men, such as Pestalozzi and Froebel, are built upon them, and the teachers who can produce a certificate saying that they have passed an examination in Kindergarten methods have a better chance than their fellows of preferment or of head-teacherships. The old-fashioned manager or inspector looks upon these things as 'fads'; the beginning and end of elementary education in his eyes is 'Teach 'em to read,' and the amount of time devoted to other things in any particular place will depend practically upon his personal bias.

Let us now follow the baby of three years through part of one day of school life. He is placed on a hard wooden seat (sometimes it is only the step of a gallery), with a desk in front of him and a window behind him, which is too high up to be instrumental in providing such amusement as watching the passers-by. He often cannot reach the floor with his feet, and in many cases he has no back to lean against. He is told to fold his arms and sit quiet. He is surrounded by a large number of other babies all under similar alarming and incomprehensible conditions, and the effort to fold his arms is by no means conducive to comfort or well-being. They are too short in proportion to his body to be placed anywhere but in a tight crossbar over his chest. The difficulty of breathing in this constrained position is considerable, but he hunches his shoulders bravely to make his arms longer, and his back assumes the pleasing shape of a curved bow. He is very shortly attacked by the sensation of pins and needles in his legs, due to the lack of support for his feet, and the cap and coat which had reconciled him to this new venture in life are removed and hung on a peg out of sight. I heard of one motherly teacher who, realising the value set by the child on these possessions, allowed him to have them hung well within view till he was accustomed to his new surroundings. Why a baby should attach this importance to his cap I cannot say. Whether it is a guarantee that his present state of life is temporary, and that he will one day, by placing it on his head, return to the mother who made it, I know not, but so it is. A new-comer will always settle down more patiently if allowed to hug, or at least see, his out-of-door garments. Without these he has no protection from the gaze of his fellows, and the bigger brother or sister who escorted him to school has disappeared into another room. He is alone with strangers, and must endure existence as best he may. He usually spends the first day or two in tears, rising at times to sobs of so disturbing a character that he has to be sent into the playground, in charge of an older scholar, to make a noise where it will not interrupt the work of the other children. If he cries quietly, he becomes aware of the following proceedings. A blackboard has been produced, and hieroglyphics are drawn upon it by the teacher. At a given signal every child in the class begins calling out mysterious