tinued influence to St. Augustine's philosophy in medieval times. Even in the darkest ages, when very little attention was given to psychology, and there was no original effort to think out the problems of mind, this notion persisted that the soul of man is an image of the Trinity, and that by studying the threefold mental life in ourselves we may attain to some imperfect realization of the greatest of Christian mysteries.

There is, it need hardly be said, much more in the philosophy of St. Augustine than his attitude towards the problem of God and the problem of the soul. And besides, his philosophy, is his great, imposing, complex, system of theology, with its discussion of Free Will and Predestination, Grace and Sanctification, the question of Divine Providence, the problem of Evil, the mysteries of the Incarnation and the Trinity and the nature of the Church's Sacramental system. All those have to be passed over, and many questions of philosophy, which it would take too long to discuss. Enough has, I hope, been said to show what manner of thinker St. Augustine was. He was the Plato of Christianity. The Platonic view, as has been said, came naturally to him. It suited his mental temperament, and it satisfied the age in which he lived. One may not dare to say that as a philosopher he improved on Plato, but it may be said, without belittling Plato, that St. Augustine, as a Christian thinker, added much to Platonism by which Platonism was richer, more vital, and better adapted to the needs of humanity. He was a popularizer in the best sense. And this accounts for his influence which was, and is, great even among those who have no special interest in philosophy and theology. He had the genuine humility that goes with true greatness. His great gifts of intellect command our admiration and respect, but, it is the greatness of his heart that binds us to him in love and, if one may say so, in friendship. We admire him in his great effort to systematise Christian truth as he understood it, but we like best to picture the mighty mind, whose struggle was with the giant spirits of heresy and error, condescending to the level of the minds of little children and smoothing over the difficulties that lie in their path of knowl

edge. His manual on how to teach Catechism to the unlettered does him more credit, we think, than all his learned works on philosophy and theology. It was inspired by the same motive that inspired all his efforts. Perhaps the keynote to his complicated character is given us in the sublime words with which St. Monica concludes one of the dialogues on philosophy: "Yes, that is, beyond all doubt, the happy life which we must strive to attain in unshakable faith, enthusiastic hope and glowing love." 6

6 De Vita Beata, 35.

WILLIAM TURNER.

A DEMOCRATIC KING OF THE MIDDLE AGES.

At first blush that phrase of Dr. Walsh "the thirteenth, the greatest of centuries" seems very bold indeed. To the superficial reader of history, to the legions who are duped by the vulgar clap-trap anent the "Dark Ages," to those who consider our modern era as superior to the middle age as is the strong man in the prime of life to the infant in swaddling clothes, the title of the Doctor's work must have seemed only an expression of exaggerated enthusiasm, or an attempt to prove the unprovable. No doubt they received it with a smile of amused contempt― with a feeling somewhat akin to that of the Jews of old when they put their famous question: "Can any thing good come out of Nazareth?" But their amusement and contempt must have simmered down considerably on reading the Doctor's able defence of his thesis; for he has shown, to the complete satisfaction of all unbiased readers, that his favorite cycle was at least very wide awake, not alone in the field of speculation, but in the practical sciences and the useful arts as well.

The present writer has as yet seen no reference to the fact that this same thirteenth century furnishes us with the most striking example in all history of a genuinely democratic régime. Not indeed a democracy in the strict modern sense of the term-with its widely extended suffrage and its (at least theoretical) supremacy of the people-but a democracy nevertheless in a very true sense of the word: in all that makes a democracy worth while: in an administration of the most impartial justice, in the equality of all before the law, and in a ruler who was one of the most thoroughly democratic men of all times.

The assertion will doubtless be deemed as bold as Dr. Walsh's -perhaps even bolder-and far less credible. All wellinformed men know, of course, that there were republics in ancient Greece and Rome. They know too that the Swiss

Republic struck its roots in this very century that we are writing about. They may even know that the little republic of Andorra can trace its origin back to the days of Charlemagne, and that there has been a tiny republic-San Marino-in the Papal States for nearly three centuries. Yet, in spite of their knowledge, it is no slander to say that most Americans believe in their heart of hearts that there never was a real republic, or real democratic rule, until our own glorious commonwealth sprang into existence. With their notions of the much-decried, and ofttimes much-misunderstood, theory of the divine right of kings, they would never think of looking for a type of the best democracy in a European monarch-least, of all, perhaps, in a French monarch, and a monarch of the Middle Ages at that! And yet, paradoxical as it may seem, it is none the less true that one of the most genuinely democratic administrations in the world's history was that of a mediæval French king.

No thoughtful reader can lay down the Memoirs of that honest and lovable old chronicler, the Sieur de Joinville, without being firmly convinced that Louis the Ninth was one of the most democratic, as well as one of the wisest and best, of rulers. The picture the average man forms to himself of a mediæval monarch is that of an extraordinarily high and mighty personage, proud and aloof, difficult of approach, hedged about with a sort of divinity, standing upon a lofty pedestal to receive the homage, and almost the adoration, of his subjects; of a man who acted as though he were a being apart from, and by his very nature superior to, those whom he governed; acting often, in fact, as if he considered himself a being of another and much higher species. To such, no doubt, the caption of this article will look like veriest nonsense. democratic king" is a contradiction in terms. French king" is worse; and as for "a democratic French king of the thirteenth century," the idea is simply ridiculous. Notwithstanding all this, we venture to assert that there never existed a more truly democratic ruler than Louis the Ninth of Medieval France; never ruler more easy of access, never a

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kinder or a more sympathetic. Nor was his democracy a thing of fits and starts. It was absolutely consistent and unvarying. It was not the offspring of a worldly-wise policy, but the result of a genuine affection for his people. It was not founded on expediency or utility, but deeply and firmly rooted in the eternal principle of charity towards God and his fellow men.

When Louis came to the throne he found a rather slipshod method of dealing out justice prevailing throughout his dominions. The great feudal chieftains, or "lords of the manor," were, to all practical intents and purposes, absolute masters in their domains; not only landlords and executives, but also, to a large extent, lawmakers, judges and juries. In the patriarchal state this might do very well; but it was certainly not very satisfactory in the feudal state. No doubt there were many just and upright nobles who would scorn to take a mean advantage of their tremendous power, but the system, or lack of system, left entirely too much authority in the hands of grasping or revengeful petty sovereigns who would not hesitate to abuse it whenever it was to their interest to do so. Louis set himself to remedy this defect by giving his people that wise code of laws known as "Les Établissements de St. Louis," and created a new judicial organization-setting up in the various provinces royal courts of justice, or parliaments, to supersede the jurisdiction of the ofttimes arbitrary and unjust "lords of the manor."

I am not citing this great and good work of the saintly king as the strongest proof of his democracy: for Justinian and Napoleon too gave some very wise and just laws, and certainly they were not very excellent types of the democrat. But, taken in connection with the long and solid array of indisputable proofs that follow, it is well worth noticing. Louis not only framed wise laws, but saw too that they were well and wisely executed. He personally superintended the administration of justice whenever he had an opportunity and-what is most commendable and most characteristic of the man-his methods of dealing out justice were genuinely democratic. Never was there a juster, and seldom a wiser, judge.