THE LATE ARCHBISHOP VAUGHAN.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XI, Issue 24, 5 October 1883, Page 23

THE LATE ARCHBISHOP VAUGHAN.

(Sydney Morning Herald, Sept. 21.) The Month's Mind in commemoration of the deceasa of Archbishop Vaughan was held at St. Mary's Cathedral yesterday, in the presence of an immense congregation, which thronged the building to the doors. The ceremony which was performed at the Cathedral last month was repeated, and lasted from 10.30 a.m. to 2 p.m. The celebrant was the Right Bey. Dr. Cani, Bishop of Bockhampton, who was assisted by Fathers Garavel and Ginisty, while Dean Dwyer and Father M'lntyre officiated as masters of ceremonies. The bishops present were the Right Revs. Dr. Murray (Maitland) Dr. Redwood (Wellington, N. Z.), Dr. Lanigan (Goulburn) Dr. Dunne (Brisbane) Dr. Cani (Rockhampton), and Dr. Torreggiaoi (Armidale). Mozart's "Requiem Mass," was efficiently rendered by a choir of about 200 voices and about 30 instrumentalists under the conductorship of Mr. Hallewell. Mr. Banks officiated as organist, and the soloists were Mrs. Riley, soprano ; Miss Stafford and Miss Healy, contraltos ; Mr. D F. Kelly and Mr. J. Einchy, tenors ; and Signor Riccard', basso. The off irt >ry was the Pro Pecoatis (Statat Mater), rendered by Mr. Hallewell, while Mr. C. Huenerbein conducted. The Right Rev. Dr. Redwood, Bishop of Wellington, N. Z., delivered the panegyric. Having announced as his text the words, " As the sun when it shineth, so did he shine in the Temple of God " (Eccl. 1. 7,), he said, These are the inspired words of Ecclesiasticua praising a great man of old, the high priest Simon, and they seem most appropriate to the mournful ceremony which has drawn together this vast assemblage. As the sun is the eye of the world, the joy of day, and the beauty of the heavens for living man, so the great pontiff, whose loss we all feel more than words can tell, was in tbe limited world committed to his care, in this " Temple of God," in this archdiocese of Sydney, nay, in all the Australian colonies, the eye and the joy, the beauty and the pride of the society in which he lived, worked, and ruled, with surpassing grandeur and success. But, oh 1 how sudden, how woeful and appalling is the total eclipse of that bright and glorious luminary ! Our minds naturally and irresistibly revert to that great day which none of us will ever forget. It was but twelve months ago almost day for day. All was then joy and festivity and splendour. This great and noble fane was to be solemnly opened by him whose matchless zeal and ability, with the aid of his flock and a generous public, had brought it to its present state of partial completion. The new Cathedral bells, the Archbishop's gift, rang out merry heart-stirring peals. The sky was bright and cloudless, the air cool and exhilarating, Crowds such as no religious ceremony had ever brought together in this fair city were pouring into the splendid edifice. Who can ever forget the great con - course of people, of all .classes and denominations, under these massive arches and aisles ; the thrilling bursts of masterly music ; the rarity and richness of the clergy's vestments ; the groupings of that throng of ecclesiastical dignitaries on the floor and before the steps of the sanctuary, with the snow-white high altar as a background, and the whole lit up with floods of mellow golden light from the great northern window, forming a scene the beauty, grandeur, and solemnity of which will ever be one of our sweetest memories ? And then that procession— as it passed up the grand nave, through the devout and kneeling congregation ; the acolytes and clerics in their many-coloured robes, with waving banners or silver crosses in their hands ;_the deans and other dignitaries, secular and regular, in theiT respective attire ; the seven mitred bishops in their richly embroidered copes ; and, lastly, the fair and stately figure of the lamented Archbishop, gorgeous in all the insignia of his exalted rank. What grace on his conntenance, what majesty in his bearing, and kingly step !

And when he mounted his new throne near the holy altar, " he honoured the vesture of holiness," and he stood like a tall " cedar planted in Lebanus, with his priests like branches of palm trees in their glory " around him. But how sad the contrast now ! All around is gloom and sorrow, and signs of mourning and emblems of death. The bells have rung a muffled dirge, poignant grief sits on every brow, and our hearts feel a pang of personal bereavement. The walls, the pulpit, the stately pillars, the throne, the altar have put on sable rotees of mourning, and weep in their way over the loss we have all sustained— a loss which is daily growing upon us, which we have not yet had time to fathom and appreciate ; it has smitten us with the sudden shock of a thunderbolt ; we are still staggered and stunned, unable to grasp the full extent and significance of our bereavement. What depths of woe in those short words flashed across the ocean, Archbishop Vaughan is dead ! " But yesterday he stood majestically before us apparently in the prime of life and vigour, a perfect picture of stalwart manhood, and we shall see his face no more 1 Farewell, a long farewell, to his kindly smile, his helping band, his golden oratory, his beautiful love-inspiringTpresence and king-like mien. How short and frail is human life I To what is it comparable 1 It is a falling star, a passing meteor, the breath of a shadow, a little froth on a running stream, the swift flight of an arrow through the air, the curling track of a ship sailing through the deep. Cruel death came like a thief in the night, and stole away our beloved bishop master, father, friend. «If I lie down to sleep," cried the Job, « I shall say, When shall I arise ? " O awful fulfilment of *iis dread warning ! Our lamented prelate was returning home a laurel-crowned victor from the conflict ; he was revisiting the dear scenes of his childhood and youth, his " alma mater," and the first fields of his priestly zeal ; he was receiving the congratulations of his many admirers and friends ; he was on his triumphant way to Rome to give an account of his successful stewardship; and obtain at the Sw? wiS Cbnst a recompense worthy of his gigantic labours. He lay down to rest, thinking perchance of us, revolving «v! ft Te -T d ft p r fc V ur welfare ' and !<> ' tie touch iiv.nffl,! oi? the l W fttteßS Of "Spring, his spirit soared away unto God. Of the uncertainty of human hopes'! "We all die ce o W?ter ?/s at ww m n ? more ' we fa" down into the earth." K?JL X iTVY '> Whate 7 er b. c . our raQk > distinction, merit, or fame, we have all the same lowly origin and humiliating end. Our years course onward like the waves of the sea : on, O n they flow some farSSJL™ h ? adlon S «*o one abyss, in which kings, warriors, sages, statesmen, priests, genius, wealth, titles, fa me are mingled in a promiscuous pool opening into eternity. Beyond the grave on lj virtue MrXUS** ft! xmmort . alit y oi tlie soul for weal or for woe. But Jwwm^S^S? excessive like those who have no hope. "We are heal and Jhn& t mOf £ im T> OTtan * personage, standing j£l "SLfvi I abo^ his fel]ows ™ sa Catholic Archbishop, thf Iml and l^vr BlV l ne . * isdom ' whicb al ™y fl proportions mfrkf dLf fnr ?w Xtws ,° f its cbosen instruments to the work Tnd PndnJ^, J* 6ir P erforma nce, lavished upon him every talent Seat Id li calc «l, a ted to make him at once the man Bn! Tnn ? * PTelate and *** true a *d gracious Colonel ?1 n^T 7 2' ,18, 183 *' he was the second son of the late of eaUant & * J T"? I*'1 *' Herefordshire, who was a gentleman Irifabl&l dßome face * a &° od scfl olar, a fervent and E^ffiiSS^tJ? 11 ? 18^^ orat °'' and asplendidtype of the Sto b P W i™ ? W £° used to sav > "Mv one ob 3ect in life has bSou of on WX 7 S God " He carae of noble b l°o d sbe was a braved l thoL* .JS °-li eßt families in England, a family which 300 virs rrf -Zt and <?ibbet, and passed unscathed through the fire of mandois whH ° n * Tt ™ 8 founded b 7b 7 Herbert. Count of VerSXSw andw^T T e , r from Normandy with William the Con-thSbrotedC-JJS? W£ to William Eufu8 ' His great-uncle was of Salford l hi* «f2 $ T eld ' his elder brother is the present Bishop of Clifton hl lr ni f e ?. ls bop of Plymouth, and his cousin the Bishop ■Senerv Se «SS? ? 1S fatber ' 8 roof on the banks of tbe Wye, in /mbfbed tL vf lct »resque and lovely, the bright and spirited boy lEbilitv of S ? Urage and cbivalrous daring, the grace and t iL^T™' . which form tbe martyr and apostle, orSriwS? I pI f * mighty leader of mcD - His mother the first ™ rofc ettant, had, doubtless infused into him siasmofthp^f SBe ? and lessons of childhood the enthuc£L? ans 5? B ? Fedwith the ex «berant grace of the early side conducted ITS* 6811 he ™ tered St. Gregory's College at Downof heroes 7 the / reat Benedictine Order, that ancient nursery array of »£}*■ c otber orders P ut together, and produced such an their name! woni.fm, 111 eVer r line that the ba re enumeration of saints ev^r dl? I ?? volumeß 5 while it boasts especially of two Venerable TW? v c mem ory of Englishmen, Anselm and the admission to tv,t'^ Se i . name onr lamented Archbishop took on his duration hJfcS, moDas t lc life, and whose untiring labours and deep soonXwed KCCeßßfullyemillatedK CCeßßfullyemillated - The quick Ind spirited youth himselfTn a^»L Ue m ettle ;he soon shone as a leader, and made the Seat « (S? T?? S t s f e"ow-students. Then he went to Rome, an^ science? n^ Soul «" the cradle and home of the arfcs and the infallihlA L- i /enerable instructress of nations, where Pleted his S Ot J e P v rita and teaches « There he *c° m " P^cea his philosophical and theological studies, at the

Benedictine College of St. Paul, outside the walls of Rome, and at St. Oalisto, within the Eternal City. He also began to lay by that store of erudition you have so often admired in the famous Monastery of Monte Cassino, where St. Benedict, the patriarch and legislator of the monks of the West, lived, worked, taught, and died, and where his spirit lingers as a fragrant perfume to this day. Ordained by Cardinal Patricci in the grand old Basilica of St. John Lateran, the mother and mistress of churches, the scholarly and handsome young monk returned to England, and laboured with great zeal and fruit, chiefly among the poor at Bath, in the neighbourhood of his " alma mater," his dear college of St. Gregory. His conspicuous qualities of tact, grace, gentleness, learning and eloquence brought him quickly to the front, and after a successful period of professorship in philosophy at the Benedictine College and Monastery of St. Michael, Glehonger, Herefordshire, he became, while a young man of 28, the prior of that important establishment. His position was singularly difficult and responsible, but his genius and virtue surmounted every obstacle, and the young prior governed aged monks and trained young novices with 'equal success, till St. Gregory's became a model of strict monastic rule. The calm tenor of his life of study and prayer was interrupted only by his visits to different parts of England to preach on special occasions— we need not add with what ready, effective, easy, and fascinating eloquence. He was thus preluding the great sermons and speeches which you have been so often privileged to hear, when to his habitual grace and copiousness was joined the majesty becoming an archbishop. Dr. Torreggiani, the venerable and beloved Bishop of Armidale, already the intimate friend of the admired young cathedral prior, could no doubt relate many a striking anecdote illustrative of his power and reputation as a preacher. More than once, we are told, those who came to criticise and scoff remained to admire and pray. His indefatigable activity found time to contribute most valuable articles to the London lablet, the Westminster Grazette, and I believe also the Dublin Beview, There, moreover, he wrote his incomparably greatest work, "St. Thomas of Aquiu, his lite and labours," which was the exhaustless storehouse of the extraordinary erudition you have so often wondered at, constituting as it does the characteristic of all his literary productions. But a higher destiny was being prepared by Divine Providence for the already illustrious Prior. The saintly, patriarchal, silver-haired pontiff, " the beloved of God and men, whose memory is in benediction," was approaching the calm and peaceful close of his long and frmtful career; he needed a mitred brother worthy of himself to cheer his declining days, and to receive, together with his dying benediction, his pastoral staff and the care of his flock. Prior Bx>g er Bede Vaughan, so fair in form, so noble in mind and heart, so accomplished at all mints— a diamond of the first water set m finest gold~a splendid combination of the crusader, monk, scholar and perfect English gentleman-was the man of all men for these high , and holy purpose* Accordingly, Venerable Archbishop Polding petitioned the Holy See to aprorat as his coadjutor the gifted young Benedictine, whom he had already learned to admire and love. Fortunate, indeed, it was for this archdiocesa and Australasia that the Archbishop's petition had priority of claim : for Dr. Brown, Bishop of Newport and MeneviS, had also forwarded a petition to lagging that Prior Vaughan might be appointed coadjutor al^Vbte of succession to his diocese. Meanwhile, the prior of St. Michael's, intent on his books, was in complete ignorance of the between the two prelates. Rome, with her usual P^dence and far-reaching wisdom, had marked out Prior Vaughan for the See of Sydney, and would not alter her decision. The young and stately prelate was consecrated by the Archbishop of Westminster m the church of St. Vincent de Paul, Liverpool, under the title or Archbishop of Nazianzus in partibm infidelium, coadjutor of the Archbishop of Sydney cum jure successions. Erght bishops and 260 priests attended the ceremony, which was the , Rudest ever witnessed in Liverpool. The scene then changes, and the luminous day-star just risen in the ecclesiastical heavens is to pour its i beneficent light on these distant shores. His Grace arrived by the mail steamer Nubia, and you will ever remember bis magnificenyecephon. You remember the gay fleet, of steamers which met him at toe Heads ; you remember the ringing cheers, the furious waving of hats and handkerchiefs, the dipping of flags and countless other demonstrations of courtesy and welcome. Never did your lovely harboi appear lovelier-the weather delightful, the scene romanUc, the strains of martial music on the rippling water vying with J« Jwntt and cheering all rendered that day one of the brightest chapters in the Archbishop's career. That procession of steamers will never De forgotten. The venerable Archbishop received his kneeling coadjutor on the quay in the presence of 20,000 people, and then, , anna the vociferous acclamations of the crowd, the two P rela^s, accompanied by Dr. Vitte, Bishop of Noumea, V™**™* in carriages to the Pro-cathedral for the *f mal . e L tion. In Answering the addresses the young coadjutor sctock «. once the key-note of his brilliant career. He spoke <&. tw ° m * w*w struments for the furtherance of the interests of the Church in flew South Wales-the sincere and hearty worship of God ana magnincent cathedral, and Christian education -both instruments to be wielded by the burning and generous faith of the Irish people forming the vast majority of his clergy and flock. He Pledß**P led ß**> m c self, with God's assistance, to build St. Mary's and save Catholic education; and you all know how f ully, how grandly, be £««*£• his word . What power of speech could adequately describe nifl i^ nificent energy, strength, and zeal ? If we judge the tree by »» «°"J it would be bard to exaggerate theextent of his services to .religion j auu Catholic education during the fhoit— alas, too short— period ot nisauministration. In 10 years he doubled the number of churches^nd tnpwu the number of schools. Twelve thousand five hundred children are now taught in the Catholic schools of the archdiocese, the gw»n» number of which are under the able management of teaching oraero. The future will eloquently tell the immense blessing conferred npon the Catholic community by the introduction of those brothers "» Bisters, teaching not for pay, but for God's love and sake. What a

boon also are the many religious orders of priests brought by his instrumentality into the archdiocese, including the illustrious Society of Jesus. It may be fearlessly predicted that His Grace's most enduring glory, his greatest service to the Church, society, and genuine civilisation in this Colony, will be the results of tha thoroughly Catholic education established in the archdiocese. His masterly and eloquent speeches and pastorals again and again, with undaunted courage and wonderful power of mind and frame, have completely exposed the hollowness, injustice, folly, and auti-Christiau destructiveness to faith and society of the secular system of instruction divorced from religion and sonnd morality. Next, consider his gigantic labours m connection with this splendid structure ; his many cheering speeches at the weekly and monthly meetings, his indefatigable letterwriting—over 3000 penned with his own hand— realising the magnificent amount of £16,409, exclusive of promises. Before his departure for Europe, during the grand, and now sad, farewell caremonies, he could state with grateful enthusiasm that this cathedral had cost £102,763, and that he left it perfectly free from debt. There is an achievement which alone would immortalise his name. Yes, Catholic education and St. Mary's Cathedral fame are the bri^hest jewels in hia crown. And now what shall I say of him as a writer, lecturer, controversialist, preacher and orator ? In all these capacities bis sunhke genius^hone with meridian splendour. He exhibited his literary genius in his master-work, " The Life and Labours of St. JjMkoas Aquin." It is a rich compendium, nay, a sort of encyclopaedia of mediaeval literature. The range and catholicity of its researches are marvellous, while its large and comprehensive handling of the most complicated and abstruse questions stamp 3 the author as a consummate historian. Lucid exposition, sparkling and varied narrative, splendid descriptions, and most ingenious parallels with the greatest men of the middle ages and of all time, Tender this biography the most perfect work of his untiring pen. As a controversialist, his " Advent Conferences "—not to mention other productions—place him in the highest rank ; for never, perhapg, were the same subjects handled in a more masterly and exhaustive manner and never was an adversary more completely overwhelmed and crushed. The torrent of learning was irresistible. His humour, wit, dash, and brilliancy as a lecturer have been your delight again and again. In fact, he excelled in this capacity, some say, more than as a preacher, high as were his merits in that line also, while his innumerable speeches on the most varied subjects, and particularly his grand << O'Connell Oration," proved him to be a finished orator. His splendid figure, handsome, kindly features, commanding presence, clear and ringing voice, chaste and copious diction, and welltimed elegant gestures, made him more conspicuous as an orator than as a writer. His fault as a writer was redundancy and a too profuse display of erudition. In him the intuitive and imaginative faculties P n^ ?Z mm ? te , d«d «° Ver ?e? c } °l lCal l he P roc eeded by brilliant pictures and broad statements rather than by close, terse, and aerried arguments. He shone with the steady glare of an Eastern sun, but he knew not how to focus his rajs m a burning-glass, and intensify their power-he lacked the great classic art of condensation. This is not intended to disparage his merits ; for there are spots in the sun, and and absolute perfection is a stranger to this world. But, take him for all in all, when shall we see his like again ? Who will fill with equal grandeur the void he has left in Australian society ? In his quality of bishop he towered up in our midst as the veiy form of justice the mirroß.of holiness, the pattern of devotion, the assenter of truth, the defender of the faith, the leader of Christions, the friend oE the Heavenly Bridegroom and the devoted guardian of his bride, the pastor of the people, the teacher of the ignorant, the refuge of the oppressed, the advocate of the poor, the hope of the wretched, the tongue of the speechless, the staff of the aged, the glory of the good, the dread of the bad, the "salt of the earth and the light «f the world. He emulated the sun in its unity, in its purity and brightness, in its extent and action, in its elevation, its fixedness, its efficacy, wa-mth, beauty, and fruitfulnoss. «As the sun when it shine?, so did he shine m the temple of God." But we have admired the outward man long enough ; let us reverently lift the veil and look at his inner life. The real stamp of worth is supernatural virtue : a man is truly great— great in the sight of God-by the principles and motives of his actions. His external virtues admired by the world, his large mmdedness, his transparent rectitude, disinterested philanthropy, unaffected indifference to money and fame, and so forth, had their life-roots deeper down in Christian humility, poverty, self-denial, and chanty, known only to a small circle of intimate and confidential friends. Seemingly unconscious of his own fascinating attractions he, cordially hated ostentation. He used to say that he learned much fi\ Ja everybody, and would rather listen than speak, bright and as he could be at the call of duty, edification, or parity His. manly* heart was tender to a degree, and while brave ■Dd patient m his own trials, he readily shed the tear of pity on the -fßet and misfortune of others. The key to the whole of his character was self-immolation to duty. This he called his first rule. « Duty before all," he would say, " well done, and at any sacrifice." Next came his unflinching adherence to principle, which he called his guide. Principle,"— these were his words—" so often laughed at must in the long run prevail over expediency." Again, the man of strict duty and principle was completed by the constant practice of extraordinary self-control, holding in perfect obedience his every sentiment, sense, and inclination. His body obeyed his will, and his wilJ the call of God. He lived for God, and by grace he put all his cnoice gifts of mind and heart at the service of his beloved master, Jesus Christ. The voice of lassitude or pain was sternly silenced, ana no allusion made to his own sufferings, except to express his joy in spending himself for God. Putting his hand to his heart he would say, « We must have all out s '— meaning that there must be no compromise, no Teserve, in the service ot God. He dearly cherished monastic poverty ; his private apartment was that of a monk— bare table, bare chairs, bare floor. SoJX E », mar^ *° incessa , Hfc work > though he knew his advanced stage of heart disease, and often spent whole nights, particularly after his great speeches, in racking torments. Yet he gave no marks

of sourness or impatience ; he rejoiced in his painful victory over self. An exact reader of character, his affectionate disposition, perfected by charity, made him a ready admirer of the gifts, accomplishments, and virtues of his fellow-men. In conversation with his friends he often expressed his esteem and admiration of the eloquence, ability, scholarly acquirements, and other social qualities of many gentlemen in Sydney in and out of his own flock, and he would sometimes say, " They must think me very stand-off and reserved, and I would fain know more of such men, and of my own children, peisonally. But " (he would add with characteristic modesty) " I really have not that ability which would enable me to become all to all in every sense ; and when I have performed my most 'important duties there is no time left for lighter and more enjoyable ones." Finally his whole life may be fitly summed tip in the programme which he traced in a conversation with a bosom friend during his novitiate in 1853, and which he faithfully carried cut. " I want," he said, "to save my soul, and Ido not want to do it by halves. Otherwise I would not have entered the cloister. I wish to give all in. order to gain, all, and all is little in comparison with God. la religion alone we can shake off all impediments to our onward course. There will be some hard work, but the object in view — the possession of God — is the noblest of all, and worth fighting for. All else is beneath contempt." Such was the man we have lost before we had learned to appreciate his full worth ; such the bright and glowing sun in whose beams we have basked and rejoiced for the last ten years. But now that glorious orb has set, and, oh, sad and overwhelminp thought, we shall see his face no more till we meet him in the unveiled presence of the Eternal. Keenly we feel, deeply we mourn our loss as disconsolate orphans ; but our comfort is the hope that he now wears a brighter crown than mortal hand can weave. Peace to thy soul ! Farewell I since such ia heaven's high behest. Farewell thou great and noble pontiff, our joy and pride, farewell. Thy memory is enshrined in our love. Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand — three fair young queens in robes of mourning — with tearful eyes and aching hearts surround to-day thy sepulchre to lay upon it their immortal wreaths of veneration, gratitude, praise and affection. They proclaim thee a leader fit for God's designs on a great people — wise, learned, high-minded, honourable, and untiring in thy labours, strong in conflict with thy adversaries. Enemies we hope thou hadst none, for thine was the nndefiled conflict of principle, duty, truth, and justice, aud in thy zeal there was no bitterness. The treasures brought by thee to the service of the Church and thy fellowmen were the strength of tby faith and the power of thy genius, combined with the highest qualities of a superb specimen of a magnanimous, straightforward, generous, highly cultured, handsome, and kindly English gentleman. Thy broad, humane, and Christian sympathies held out the hand of brotherhood and help to the longsuffering children of the Irish race. Thou shalt live in the hearts and the deeds of a grateful people, whose offspring thou hast saved from the Moloch of Secularism. Thy clergy aud flock will remember, thee for ever in the sacrifice and worship held in this great temple, the last magnificent donation made to them by the zeal and labours which hastened the close of thy glorious career. Sudden, but not unprovided, was thy summons from the battlefield to the halls of everlasting victory. Thither we hope ere long to follow thee and to be, many of us, thy especial joy and crown. Thy name is not merely inscribed in the golden book of the world's annals, thy name is not written in water. Thy "praise is in the Church," the only true shrine of immortality, the God-built temple of never-ending fame for time and eternity. The " Dead March in Saul " was played as the procession of bishops, priests, and acolytes entered the building, and also as they left at the close of the service.