Tea at Trianon: This is Not the End

John Wilson Croker on Marie-Antoinette

"We have followed the history of Marie Antoinette with the greatest diligence and scrupulosity. We have lived in those times. We have talked with some of her friends and some of her enemies; we have read, certainly not all, but hundreds of the libels written against her; and we have, in short, examined her life with– if we may be allowed to say so of ourselves– something of the accuracy of contemporaries, the diligence of inquirers, and the impartiality of historians, all combined; and we feel it our duty to declare, in as a solemn a manner as literature admits of, our well-matured opinion that every reproach against the morals of the queen was a gross calumny– that she was, as we have said, one of the purest of human beings."

~from History of the Guillotine by John Wilson Croker, 1844

Edmund Burke on Marie-Antoinette

"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely there never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she had just begun to move in, glittering like a morning star full of life and splendor and joy. Oh, what a revolution....Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fall upon her, in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers! I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look which threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded...."

~Edmund Burke, October 1790

Friday, June 8, 2018

This is Not the End

From Life Site:

Rest in peace dear children. Rest in peace dear land.

A nation has voted to kill its children. The Ireland of St. Patrick, O'Connell, Pearse and Plunkett was sacked on May 25th as the sovereign people turned persecutor with the stroke of a pencil. The carefully crafted Constitution was also destroyed by inserting a fundamental right to kill, whilst celebrations that followed were as tasteless as they were cruel. Who among the cheering fathomed the darkness of the deed? Who else could celebrate a nation choosing to kill its own children but a propagandised and vacuous generation, bereft of love for country or feeling for the innocent to be slaughtered. Is there a more treasonous deed than this?

In times of persecution, famine and grinding poverty, the Irish were a resilient people, clinging to faith, hope and love with a lion-hearted defiance. Children were blessings, welcomed and sacrificed for, proof that there was a future despite mortal dangers and hardship. Now, babies of burden, they are threatening and therefore disposable, to be sacrificed if chosen on the idol altars of self-fulfilment and pleasure.

The underlying obstacle to abortion in this country was not the 8th Amendment. It was the spirit of the Irish people expressed so beautifully in the Preamble of the Constitution, affirming a willing devotion to the goodness of Christ and a sure sense of justice, purpose and integrity. As the bright flame of Christ was extinguished in soul after soul, it was inevitable that evil would envelope the land. The ship is sinking, the passengers asleep, and everywhere "the ceremony of innocence is drowned." Nihilism reigns. Christ is mocked. And Barabbas is free.

The level of irrationality was astounding: incessant appeals to equality, compassion and care were enough to convince the masses that this murder most foul was not glaringly discriminatory, barbaric and inhumane, but actually progressive. Little thought was given to a proper application of human rights, with a right to kill sought and sanctioned by popular demand.

But this will not be the last word. Whilst the deconstruction of the island of saints and scholars is nearing completion, the architects in their haste have forgotten to ask: who will inherit the land – is it those who kill their young or those who welcome each as gift?
I know the answer, many know the Truth, but the pain of stamping on the faces of Irish saints, martyrs, patriots and children is too much to witness. The land that kept the flame of western civilization alive on Skellig Michael, in Glendalough and Clonmacnoise has become a savage parody of nobler days gone by. Exiled and dejected, it is to the empty tomb that we turn again. He is Risen and with us, and we will not forget. (Read more.)