Chapter VI (2)

"Thy fears are idle fears," he said;
"Love, loyal heart, and generous mind,
Can happiness in lordly halls
As well as in a cottage find.
For this is of the soul, and bound
To no degrees of wealth or state:
Then put thy little hand in mine
And speak the word that seals my fate!
I love thee, Marian, more than life--
Have loved thee, ah! thou dost not guess
How long, unknown to thee, my soul
Hath shrined in thee its happiness.
More precious than the light of day,
Thy beauty is unto mine eyes;
More sweet than all earth's music else
Thy voice that now to me replies.
Oh! would it speak the words I long
More than all other words to hear,
I were the happiest man this day
That breathes the breath of earthly air."

She raised her head, and in her eyes
A tender look his glances met,
But 'twas not love--though kin to it--
A look of pity and regret.

"It pains me more than I can tell
To speak the words I ought; but yet
They must be said; and for your sake
I would that we had never met

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For if you love me as you say,
I can conceive how great the pain
I give when I declare the troth,
I cannot love you, sir, again.
And I should sin a grievous sin,
Should do a grievous wrong to you,
If I should put my hand in yours
Unless my heart went with it too.
Not joy and pride, but grief and shame,
Go with the bridegroom and the bride
Into the house where they shall dwell,
Unless love enter side by side.
And I, because my heart is given
To one I love beyond my life.
Could find no joy in Bromleigh Hall
Am all unfit for Bromleigh's wife:
But did I love you, then, indeed,
Although my state be poor and mean,
I were as worthy Bromleigh Hall,
As were I daughter of a queen.
For love hath such divinity
That it ennobles every one
That owns its mast'ry, and can make
A beggar worthy of a throne.
This I have learned--love taught me this;
The love that is my breath of life:
That will not leave me till I die,
That will not let me be your wife.
Forbear to urge me more, my lord;
It gives me pain to give such pain;
Here let us part, and for the sake
Of both, to never meet again."

"Stay yet a little, Marian, stay!
My heart was wholly thine before.
Or what thou sayst would make me swear
That now I love thee more and more.
A beauty brighter than a queen's,
A mind with noble thoughts so graced.
Among the highest in the land,
Were best esteemed, and fittest placed.
Yes, there thy rightful station is.
Amongst the noble of the earth:
And 'twere a sin unto a clown
To mate such beauty and such worth.
Thou could'st not live thy truest life;
Thy fullest joy thou could'st not find.
Chained to a poor cot's drudgery.
Wed to a dull, unlettered hind."

Then flushed her face with maiden scorn.
And thrilled her voice with proud disdain;
And proudly looked her eyes at him
Who dared not look at her again.

{849}

"For shame! my lord; for shame! my lord;
You shame your rank to slander so
A man, I doubt if you have seen;
A man I'm sure you do not know.
The man I love is no base churl,
No poor unlettered village hind;
But in my soul he lives and reigns,
The wisest, noblest of mankind.
I grant him poor; I know he works
With head and hands for daily bread;
And nobler so in my esteem
Than if a useless life he led.
'Tis not the accident of birth
Though with the flood the line began,
Nor having lands and countless wealth,
That makes and marks the gentleman.
For these are earthly, of the earth,
And by the vilest oft possessed;
But 'tis the spirit makes the man,
The soul that rules in brain and breast:
The generous heart, the noble mind,
The soul aspiring still to climb
To higher heights, to truer truths,
To faith more heavenly and sublime.
These make the noble of the earth;
And he I love is one of these:--
And shall I for a title fall
From such a soul and love as his?
Believe me, no! Ten thousand times,
A cot with him I'd rather share
Than yonder hall with you, my lord,"
And then she turned and left him there.
Off fell the curls and thick moustache
That hid the true look of his face.
A step--and ere she was aware
She struggled in a strong embrace;
Whilst kisses rained on cheek and lips,
She would have cried for help; but, lo!
The voice was one she knew so well,
Not that which spoke awhile ago.

"Forgive me, oh! my dear, true love,
If I have seemed thy love to test;
I knew 'twas good, and pure, and true,
As ever filled a maiden's breast:
But I had something to reveal,
And so I put on this deceit.
Deceit! not so--for now I'm true,
The past it is that was a cheat;
For I this happy twelvemonth past,
This year that gave thy love to me,
Have lived a life not truly mine,
Have lived it for the sake of thee.

{850}

And though I Harry Nugent am,
The master of the village school,
So am I Harry Nugent Vane,
Lord of a higher rank and rule,
The which I left to win thy love;
And now I know that it is mine,
I take it back, my own true wife.
And Bromleigh Hall is mine and thine.

------

ORIGINAL.

WHAT I HEARD ABOUT RITUALISM IN A CITY CAR.

"It ought to be stopped, and it's all nonsense."

"It is all very well to say 'it ought to be stopped,' and that 'it is all nonsense,' but, my dear sir, we cannot stop it, for the people will have it; and I beg leave to differ with you, for I think it is very far from being nonsense."

It was in a Seventh Avenue railway car, and as I sat next to the last speaker, a clerical-looking person, I could not help overhearing the conversation. The other appeared to be one of those old gentlemen who are positive about everything--who, even in the tie of their cravat, say as plain as can be, "This is the way I intend to have it, and I _will_ have it."

"I perfectly agree with the Bishop of Oxford," said he. "See here"-- and he opened a newspaper and read as follows: "'I have no great fear that as to the majority of the people there is any tendency toward Rome; and, on the contrary, I believe that in many cases this development of English ritualism tends to keep our people from Rome. It may, however, happen that the tendency of these things is to what I consider to be at this moment the worst corruption of the church of Rome--its terrible system of Mariolatry.' There, you see what it tends to, and it is plain enough, although the bishop did not like to say so, of course, that ritualism in our churches will educate our people to become Catholics; and so he adds, very properly: 'I regard it with deep distress. My own belief is that to stop these practices it will only be necessary for the bishop to issue an injunction to the clergymen to surcease from them--to surcease from incensing the holy table--to surcease from prostration after the consecration of the holy elements--to surcease from incensing at the _magnificat_.' My opinion precisely."

"Have you ever considered the true sense of these things?" inquired his clerical friend.

"Can't see any sense in it at all," tartly responded the old gentleman.

"No?" returned the other; "surely there must be some good reason for this wide-spread desire of both clergy and laity for a more elaborate ritual in divine service."

"Fashionable, fashionable--nothing else."

"It gives dignity and solemnity to public worship."

"Mere show."

"It adds to the apparent reality of the sacred functions of religion, in the administration of the sacraments particularly."

"Ha! ha! yes, it would be an apparent reality for us. I read about that 'apparent reality' lately in the report of the ordination of one of our bishops, and I thought it a very appropriate remark."

{851}

"But you must admit that it tends to edify the worshippers, and afford them more ample means of lifting up the heart to God."

"It don't edify me."

"Then it is, besides, so full of instruction, for every ceremony fixes the mind upon the religious truth to which the ceremony points, as, for instance, making the sign of the cross must keep the truth of redemption forcibly before the mind."

"Make the sign of the cross!" ejaculated the old gentleman, almost jumping out of his seat, at which movement half a dozen ladies, standing up and holding on the leathern straps, made a simultaneous rush for the place.

"Why not?" said the other. "I am ready to do anything that will remind me that my Saviour died for me. Then it is only fulfilling the prophecy of St. Paul to bow or bend the knee at the mention of his holy name, and to genuflect before the altar is very proper and right, if we believe in the presence of Jesus Christ in the sacred elements."

"But we Protestants don't believe it."

"You must not be too sure of that; I know many who do. You know the Scripture is very strong in its favor: 'This is my body--this is my blood;' and I, as a good Protestant, who take my belief from the Bible, may have the right to believe it, may I not?"

"H'm, h'm, but our church don't teach any thing of the kind."

"Not as a church, I grant you, but she has no right to trammel private judgment; and if I choose to believe it, and act upon my belief, what is to hinder me."

"It seems to me that as a minister of the church you ought to _minister_ just what the church teaches and no more."

"If you follow that out, my friend, you will become a Romanist. A Protestant cannot stand on that ground."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed the old gentleman drawing a deep breath, and scratching his head. "I don't know what we are coming to. A man don't want to be a papist, and yet he goes to his own Protestant church and must put up with all the bowings and scrapings and genuflections and candies and flowers, and all the rest of the popish fiddle·de·dees."

"Now you mention candles and flowers," said the clerical gentleman, "what can be more appropriate symbols of joy and festivity? And when the Christian is rejoicing on those solemn and joyful festivals of the church, as, for instance, the birth of our Saviour at Christmas, and his resurrection at Easter, how very natural it is that the sanctuary of religion should be adorned with lights and flowers, than which nothing could express more fitly the joy and thankfulness of the heart. If you crush out all expression of these sentiments in the service of the church you will render it a dull, cold formality; and in this matter the church of Rome has been much wiser than we in retaining all those things which, after all, are of apostolic origin, and used by the earliest Christians."

"Incense, too, I suppose," added the old gentleman with a snarl.

"Incense too," repeated the other, "not the least doubt of it, as is plain from the discoveries in the catacombs, and a beautiful emblem it is of prayer. You know the scripture, 'My prayer shall ascend as incense in thy sight.'"

The old gentleman here looked around the car with an air that seemed to say, Will somebody have the kindness to tell me if I am asleep or awake? Turning to his friend, he said: "Then I suppose that all our protestations on this score against the Roman church have no foundation either in reason or in holy Scripture?"

"That is not only my own opinion," replied the clerical gentleman, "but I have every reason to believe it is the conviction of a very large number of enlightened Protestants of our day."

"A conviction I sincerely deplore," said the old gentleman. "Good morning," and he abruptly rose and left the car.

{852}

"Excuse me, sir," said I, "if I, as a Catholic, have been deeply interested in your conversation just now; but may I ask on what principle those ritualistic forms and ceremonies are being adopted by Protestants, and being introduced into their services?"

"The principle is this, that they are all deeply significant of the different truths of the Christian religion, a visible expression of the faith of the worshipper."

"We understand that perfectly as Catholics," said I, "but as your congregations differ so widely in their individual belief, these forms and ceremonies would possess no significance to the half of anyone congregation of Protestant worshippers. Now, with us Catholics, the ceremonies have a universal significance, as all our people are united in one faith."

"We will educate our people to it," said he.

"That is, you would make the faith of your worshippers an expression of the ceremonies you perform, and not the ceremonies an expression of their faith. In the Catholic church the faith is all one to start on, and the appropriate ceremonies follow as a matter of course."

"I acknowledge," returned he, "that we have not paid sufficient attention to the vital necessity of a ritual which would embody and show forth the faith of our church."

"But when you have gotten a ritual which supposes, as it must, certain doctrines, and which, as you said to your friend, instructs the people in these doctrines, are you not trammelling the private judgment of those worshippers who do not believe these doctrines and wish to have a ritual which is consistent with their belief? What right have you to impose a ritual upon them inconsistent with their belief?"

"We do not impose any particular ritual," he replied; "if they do not like it they can go elsewhere."

"But then you would have, or ought to have, as many different rituals as your people have individual differences of belief, and that would end in endless division and dissension."

"It is excessively warm, don't you think so?" said the minister.

"It is," said I, "but I think we are going to have a storm soon; I see it is getting quite cloudy."

------

ORIGINAL.

THE BARREN FIG-TREE AND THE CROSS.

O hapless tree! which doth refuse
Thy fruit to him who thee hath made:
Cursed and withered none may use
Thy barren limbs for fruit or shade.

O Cross of death! which man did make,
Barren and fruitless though thou be,
Thy sapless branches life shall take
From that sweet fruit he gave to thee.

O happy tree! divinely blest!
True, thou hast neither leaves nor root;
Yet 'neath thy shade a world shall rest,
And feast upon thy heavenly fruit!

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{853}

MISCELLANY.

_A Peculiar Conglomerate_.--Mr. John Keily, of the Irish Geological Society, has addressed a letter to the editor of the _Geological Magazine_, describing a peculiar conglomerate bed which is on the shore at Cushendeen, in the county of Antrim. The mass is about fifty feet above the sea, and some thirty yards long and wide. It is composed of round pebbles of quartz rock, from two to four inches in diameter; and they occur so closely packed that everyone is in contact with another, and no room left, except for the sand which cements them, and which fills the openings between the pebbles, when originally heaped together. These pebbles, as just stated, are of quartz rock, and therefore all of one kind. There is no actual rock of the same kind, on the shore, nearer than--(1) Malin Head, or Culdaff, in Donegal; (2) Belderg, east of Belmullet in Mayo, where it occupies the shore for fourteen miles; and (3) in the twelve bins, near Clifden, in Connemara, where it forms bands interstratified with mica slate. This mass is backed by a hill of brown Devonian grits and shales interstratified, which extends from Cushendeen to Cushendal. In both those rocks are a few round pebbles of quartz rock, similar to those in the mass on the shore, but in the rocks of the hill they are thinly disseminated, perhaps six or ten of them to a cubic yard. Mr. Kelly desires to know how the quartz pebbles came together unmixed with any other species of rock. The answer which the editor of the _Geological Magazine_ gives in a foot-note seems very like the correct one. It is to the effect that, in the grinding of the several elements which were being rubbed together to form the conglomerate, the softer ones became reduced to powder.--_Popular Science Review_.

_Old Roman Mines in Spain_.--In the mines of San Domingo, in Spain, some discoveries of Roman mining implements and galleries have been made, which show us the colossal character of the labors undertaken by that ancient nation. In some instances, draining galleries nearly three miles in length were discovered, and in others the remains of wheels used to raise water were found in abundance. The wood, owing, it is thought, to penetration by copper, is in a perfect state of preservation, and there appears to be evidence that the wheels were worked by a number of men stepping on the flanges somewhat after the manner of prisoners on a tread-mill. There were eight of these water-wheels, the water being raised by the first into the first basin, by the second into the second basin, and so on, till it was conveyed out of the mine. The age of these relics has been set down at 1500 years.--_Ibid_.

_Blood Relationship in Marriage_.--At a late meeting of the London Anthropological Society, a paper was read by Dr. Mitchell on the above subject. The conclusions arrived at are: 1. That consanguinity in parentage tends to injure the offspring. That this injury assumes various forms: "as, diminished viability; feeble constitution; bodily defects; impairment of the senses; disturbance of the nervous system; sterility.", 2. That the injury may show itself in the grand-children: "so that there may be given to the offspring by the kinship of the parents a _potential defect_ which may become _actual_ in their children, and thenceforth perhaps appear as an hereditary disease." 3. That idiocy and imbecility are more common than insanity in such cases.

_Gigantic Birds'-Nests_.--Mr. Gould describes the Wattled Talegalla, or Bush Turkey, of Australia, as adopting a most extraordinary process of nidification. The bird collects together an immense heap of decaying vegetable matter as a depository for the eggs, and trusts to the heat engendered by decomposition for the development of the young. The heap employed for this purpose is collected by the birds during several weeks previous to the period of laying. It varies in size from two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyramidal form. Several birds work at its construction, not by using their bills, but by grasping {854} the materials with their feet and throwing them back to one common centre. In this heap the birds bury the eggs perfectly upright, with the large end upward; they are covered up as they are laid, and allowed to remain until hatched, when the young birds are clothed with feathers, not with down, as is usually the case. It is not unusual for the natives to obtain nearly a bushel of eggs at one time from a single heap; and as they are delicious eating, they are as eagerly sought after as the flesh. The birds are very stupid, and easily fall a victim to the sportsman, and will sit aloft and allow a succession of shots to be fired at them until they are brought down.--_Lamp_.

_The Muscular Fibres of the Heart of Vertebrates_.--We have received from Dr. J. B. Pettigrew, the accomplished sub-curator of the Royal College of Surgeons' Museum, a copy of his excellent monograph on the above subject. The memoir is certainly the finest which has yet been produced; for it is comprehensive, clear, and accurate, and is accompanied by a great number of beautiful lithographs, which have been taken from photographs of actual dissections. The arrangement of the muscular fibres, as demonstrated by the author, sheds much light upon the peculiar movements of the heart. For this reason the essay has a great physiological importance, and, from the circumstance that the anatomy of the heart in the four vertebrate classes is fully explored by Dr. Pettigrew, it is of equal import and interest to the comparative anatomist. We have also received Dr. Pettigrew's paper on the valvular apparatus of the circulatory system, and we commend it likewise to our readers' favorable notice.--_Science Review_.

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ORIGINAL.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

LIFE OF CATHERINE McAULEY. Foundress of the institute of Religious Sisters of Mercy. By a member of the order (belonging to the Convent of Mercy, at St. Louis), etc. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 500. New York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co., 1866.

This biography introduces a new, and hitherto generally unknown, character to the acquaintance, and, we are sure, to the admiration of the English-speaking Catholic public. The anonymous religious authoress has shown herself well qualified for her filial task, and has conferred a great benefit both on her order and on the cause of religion in general. The nearness of the period in which her venerable subject lived, the testimony of a number of the best informed and most trustworthy witnesses who were personally acquainted with her, and the materials furnished by other memoirs and letters, have given the writer of this biography an abundance of the most authentic data from which to produce a truthful and complete sketch of the Foundress of the Sisters of Mercy.

We have had the pleasure of learning something of the history of Catherine McAuley, and of the foundation of her institute, from one of her own earliest and most trusted pupils, who has planted the same institute, and brought it to a flourishing condition in four of the New England States. The portrait of her drawn by her biographer, corresponds with, and completes the preconceived idea of her character we had received from this authentic source.

It is eighty-one years since Catherine McAuley was born, forty years since she made the first beginning of her institute, and twenty-five years since her death. Her period of active life embraced only fourteen years. Yet there are now more than two hundred convents, and three thousand sisters, belonging to the congregation of Our Lady of Mercy, scattered over Ireland, England, the United States, British America, South America, and Australia; although the mortality among the sisters is at the high rate of ten per cent a year.

These facts prove better than any eloquence the value of the life and works of the foundress of the institute. Her personal history is uncommonly interesting and highly romantic. She was the daughter of highly respectable Catholic parents residing in Dublin. Losing her parents at an early age, she came under the guardianship of relatives who were strict Protestants and intensely hostile {855} to the Catholic religion. Consequently, she was not able to receive any instruction, to go to mass, or much less to receive the sacraments, before she became a young lady. Her brothers and sisters were easily induced to give up their minds to the influence of Protestant teaching and example. Catherine, however, steadily refused to attend the Protestant church; and, as soon as she was capable of doing so, made a studious and thorough examination of the grounds of the two religions, which resulted in establishing her forever in a faith which was not only firm but intelligent. She eventually succeeded in bringing back her sister and her nephew and niece to the Catholic church. While still a child, Catherine McAuley was adopted by an elderly couple named Callahan, who were very kind-hearted, very wealthy, and, childless. They allowed her to practise her religion, although quite indifferent to religion themselves, and gave her the means of practising many of those acts of charity to which she was always inclined.

This part of her history is strikingly interesting, as throwing light on the state of the Catholic religion among the higher classes in Ireland, during the latter part of the last century and the former part of the present one. It contains some scenes of tragic pathos taken from domestic life. Few are aware of the hatred, the contempt, the cruelty, the bitter, unrelenting persecution, with which the Catholic religion has had to contend in Ireland. Miss McAuley was once obliged to fly from the house of her brother-in-law, at night, through the streets of Dublin, to save herself from death at his hands. Nevertheless, she conquered, as the holy faith has always conquered, by undaunted courage joined with angelic meekness. The same brother-in-law who had pursued her with a drawn dagger, declared to her on his death-bed, that if he had time he would candidly examine into the Catholic religion, and died repeating acts of contrition, faith, hope and charity, which she suggested to him, leaving his children to her guardianship.

At the age of thirty-five Miss McAuley was left, by the death of her adopted parents, both of whom had become Catholics during their last illness, mistress of a fortune, the exact amount of which is not stated, but which appears to have at east equalled the sum of fifty thousand pounds sterling. The whole of this fortune was devoted by her to the foundation of her institute, which was opened about five years afterward, that is, in the year 1827. She does not seem to have cherished any aspirations after the religious state for herself, during her youth, much less to have dreamed of becoming the foundress of an order. In founding her institute in Dublin, she had in view the plan of combining the efforts of charitable ladies for the benefit of the poor, the sick, the ignorant, and particularly servant-girls who were out of place. The community-life, and the whole religious routine, grew up naturally and of itself. After a time, the judgment of prelates, clergymen, and other persons of weight, induced Miss McAuley and her associates to adopt a rule, and take perpetual vows. The scope of the institute embraces choir duties to a moderate extent, almost every kind of charitable work for the poor, a particular care for respectable servant-girls out of place, poor-schools, and high-schools or academies for girls of the middling classes.

The noble woman who planned all this vast scheme of good works, and lavished her fortune with princely generosity to set it in motion, died in the year 1841, at the age of fifty~four, ten years after making her vows as a Sister of Mercy. It is an interesting circumstance that the great and good Daniel O'Connell was one of her warmest friends during her life, and one of her staunchest supporters in her undertakings. These two magnanimous souls who loved their country, their country's faith, and the patient, oppressed, but unconquerable poor of their country, better than all earthly things, could appreciate and honor each other. Our readers will thank us for quoting the following description of the scenes which usually occurred at the great Liberator's visits to the convents of the Sisters of' Mercy:

"In his journeys through Ireland, O'Connell nearly always visited
the convents in his route. On these occasions his reception was a
kind of ovation. The Te Deum was sung, the reception-room hung with
green, the national emblems--harp, shamrock, and
sun-burst--displayed, addresses were read by the pupils, and any
request he asked implicitly granted. His manner at such scenes was
particularly happy. To a young girl who had delivered q flattering
address to the 'Conquering Hero,' he said, very {856} graciously,
that he 'regretted her sex precluded her from that distinguished
place in the imperial senate to which her elocutionary abilities
entitled her.' Then glancing at the girls who surrounded the
oratress, he continued with emotion: 'Often have I listened with
nerve unstrung and heart unmoved to the calumny and invectives of
our national enemies; but to-day, as I look on the beautiful young
virgins of Erin, my herculean frame quivers with emotion, and the
unbidden tear moistens my eye. Can such a race continue in ignoble
bondage? Are you born for no better lot than slavery? No,' he
continued, with increasing vehemence, 'you shall be free; your
country shall yet be a nation; you shall not become the mothers of
slaves.'" (pp. 146-47.)

What a contrast between such genuine heroic characters as these, the true glory of their people, and the mock-heroic charlatans, whose genius show itself only in gathering in money from laboring men and servant-girls, and organizing raids which end only in the death and imprisonment of their most unlucky dupes, and bitter mutual accusations of treachery and cowardice among the leaders. The worst enemies of the Irish people are those who seek to alienate them from their clergy, and to lead them astray from the true mission given them by divine providence, which is identified with their traditions of faith and loyalty to the church. They are like Achaz and the false prophets of Judah, who contaminated the people of God with the false maxims of the nations around them. Men and women like Daniel O'Connell and Catherine McAuley are the Macchabees and Judiths of their nation. Through such as these, the faith of Ireland may yet conquer England, as the trampled faith of Judaea conquered Rome; and her long martyrdom obtain the due meed of glory from the children of her old oppressors.

We recommend this book to all those who claim kindred either in nationality or in faith with its subject, and who wish to rekindle their devotion or renew the memories of their ancestral home. We recommend it especially to our wealthy Catholics, that they may meditate on the example of princely charity given them by this young heiress, who gave away a fortune more readily than most others would give one twentieth of a year's income. We request our fair young readers also, to lay aside their novels for a while, and read the life of one who was beautiful, gifted, highly educated, beloved of all, rich in worldly goods, and with all earthly happiness courting her acceptance; and who, amid these allurements and the severest temptations to her faith, shone forth a bright model of all high Christian virtues to her sex. We wish that all those who are prejudiced against the Catholic faith, and who nevertheless have the candor which pays tribute to virtue, conscientiousness, and self-sacrifice, wherever seen, might also read it. The history of Catherine McAuley and her institute adds another to the many practical, living proofs, more powerful than any speculative arguments, of the truth and power of the Catholic religion. Such a history never has been or will be possible outside the fold of the Catholic church. Its occurrence in our own times shows that the church is now, as of old, the fruitful mother of saints, and that the old Catholic ideas which once made martyrs of young maidens, and raised up Claras and Teresas, retain all their power over the souls of those who have inherited the same faith. We have no fear of incurring the displeasure of Urban VIII. or of his successor, in giving our judgment that Catherine McAuley was a true Christian heroine, a woman of the same high stamp of character with St. Teresa, whom she resembles in many striking respects.

It is superfluous to say that this biography will be a most useful book in religious houses. Example is more powerful than precept, and a recent example is more powerful than a remote one. It were to be wished that similar biographies were more numerous. There are materials in the recent history of other orders, as well as in that of the institute of Mercy, which might be used to great advantage. The history of the American foundress of the Order of the Visitation would be worthy of a place, even in the annals of that ancient order. Books of this kind are not only instructive, but, when well written, superior in that charm which captivate's the feelings and imagination of the young, to the romantic tales over which their time and sensibilities are too often wasted. The present volume is written in that lively and piquant style, with a dash of humor to flavor it, which makes a biography most readable and entertaining. Religion wears its most cheerful and attractive countenance in {857} these pages, and even the couch of the dying sisters are lit up with gayety. Mother Catherine's life was a perpetual _Laetare_ Sunday in Lent, spiritual joy ever decking with flowers the altar of sacrifice, and changing the violet of penance and self-denial to rose-color. Her tranquil and benignant countenance, as represented in the portrait which graces her biography, expresses this type of spirituality which she communicated to her order. The mirthful laugh of the common-room resounds through the pages which relate of the unremitting labors and continual prayer, whose effect decimates the ranks of the Sisters of Mercy every year. We are not treated to any prosy disquisitions or abstracts of ascetic treatises, which make some of the lives of saints such tiresome reading, especially to young people. But we have something better; a picture of virtue, of piety, of devotion to Jesus Christ, in their most heroic form, blended with a joyousness to which, the boudoir and the drawing-room are strangers, and which may well attract pure and generous hearts to imitate such an engaging model of sanctity.

There are numerous episodes and sketches of the many persons with whom Mother Catherine was associated, such as that of her little niece Mary; of the good Welsh sister from Bridgenorth; of the English earl's daughter, who entered the convent with her two waiting-maids; of the accomplished but somewhat eccentric authoress of Geraldine; and the inimitable Dr. Fitzgerald. Some of these are pathetic, and others comic in the extreme. We have but one criticism to make, which is, that a little more restraint and forbearance toward some who are deemed to have erred in their duty to the order, would have added another grace to the narrative. There are also some faults of typography and slight clerical oversights, which will doubtless be corrected in a second edition.

We hope we have piqued the curiosity of our readers enough to make every reader buy the book, or tease papa to buy it. And if the desire to read it is not enough to wake up our somewhat apathetic Catholic public, let them remember that by buying the book they are contributing to that unfailing spring of mercy which flows from the convents of Catherine McAuley's daughters to relieve the poor.

ROBERT SEVERNE, His Friends and his Enemies. A Novel, by William A. Hammond. Philadelphia. J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 369.

This novel has the merit of being written by a scholar and a man of science. The first part of it is well done, and excites no little interest; but as we progress, it is plain that the author has permitted his facile pen to have pretty much its own way. The general impression, therefore, left on the mind is that as a novel it has been hastily written. The characters are too perfect both in virtue and in vice; and although the author is at great pains to describe his characters, we are obliged to differ with him in our opinion of them. The hero is brought before us as a hard student, yet we have quite another idea of him from his words and actions. He is in effect a wealthy gentleman, who moves easily in polite society, and has a fancy for purchasing rare old books at ruinous prices: finds a Cabaña or Partaga cigar equally at hand in Europe and in his elegantly furnished study at home (where it is true he consumes a great deal of brain and time over his books), but we do not find the student in him when he comes to play his part before us. He has been unfortunate in a first marriage, and becomes violently misanthropical and suspicious. His first act, however, is marked by surpassing benevolence and verdant innocence. He is swindled in the street out of a ten-dollar gold piece by a prostitute, who feigns poverty, and instantly conceives a violent affection for this totally unknown person, and most unmisanthropically determines to catch her, reform and educate her. We may remark, by the way, that when our hero does "tip" anybody he does it in true Monte Cristo style: it always is a ten-dollar gold piece, or a hundred-dollar bill. Of course he falls violently in love with the heroine at first sight, and loses his misanthropy with his heart. Sal Tompkins, who is to be his _protégée_, turns out to have some unusually good points, and having come to warn the heroine of a premeditated attack upon her grandfather's house by a gang of burglars, of one of whom she is the mistress, the utmost cordiality and intimacy springs up between herself and the heroine; and, in fact, we are led to believe, from a remark made by the grandfather, {858} that these two ladies occupied the same room that night, if not the same couch. The heroine's father was a bad man, and Sal Tompkins is also a daughter of his, which may satisfy the reader, but should not the parties concerned, seeing they knew nothing of the fact. Sal becomes a very lady-like person in an incredibly short space of time, and the discovery of her left-hand relationship is received without the slightest remonstrance or disgust. The villain of the story is the hero's lawyer and factotum; a pretty good villain, as far as his language and intentions go; but he is represented as so violently villainous that we are led to believe the author is prejudiced against him. He makes use of a written confession of murder penned by the hero while laboring under hallucination of mind (a real tit·bit of science, which the distinguished author could illustrate much better in another department of literature than he has done here), and on the strength of it arrests him in England, whither Severne arrives after a telegraphic journey around the world. The way in which our author here dispatches messengers to Suez and Constantinople from England, quite takes our breath away. The imprisonment, trial, acquittal, and subsequent disgrace of the perjured lawyer quickly follow, to the utmost satisfaction of the reader, who being behind the scenes (as he is always kindly permitted to be), suffers no pangs of anxiety for the results. The author says the heroine showed no emotion whatever of surprise or annoyance when the self-accusation of murder written by her affianced husband was shown to her, undoubtedly genuine as it was. Here again we are sorry to differ with him. Of the other characters little need be said. There is a portrait of "a lady" in Grace Langley; an attempt at an imitation of Chadband, the renowned apostle of "trewth," in Brother Jenkins; and a Mr. Goodall, who is introduced, as it would seem, to play a part which he does not find. The story of Ulrich de Hutten with his wonderful unique copy of an old book, and his magic pentagramme, is made to link in with the principal events of the story, but from its peculiarly romantic character, has no unity with it: the best proof of which is that the whole of it could be erased from the book, and the reader would not miss it. What moral we are to draw from it we are also at a loss to divine.

That the author can write well is evident enough, both from this book and from others of a high order of merit which he has contributed to the department of science; but that he has accomplished as a novelist all that he is competent to do, Robert Severne does not, in our humble judgment, bear worthy testimony.

THE SCHOOL OF JESUS CRUCIFIED. From the Italian of F. Ignatius of the Side of Jesus. Passionist. New York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co.

To meet with a book like this among so much that is cold, speculative, and heartless in the publications of our day, is like meeting with a blushing red rose in a cotton bale. Its beauty and its sweetness possess a double charm. Its every page glows with that tender piety and warm devotion which is the expression of a devout Christian head, and it cannot fail of kindling a like holy fire in the soul of him who loves to learn the lessons taught from the summit of the Cross. The worthy translator speaks thus in the preface: "The school of Jesus Crucified! What Christian would not wish to study therein? to learn wisdom and patience and resignation to the divine will, from the example of a God-man, who came on earth and assumed our frail mortality to be to us a model, as well as a Redeemer?" A question which, we think, will serve to interest very many, and induce them to procure and use this sweet little book. The very appropriate style of its publication is quite a noticeable feature about it, and commends itself to all lovers of well-printed and well-clothed books.

THE FRENCH MANUAL. A new, simple, concise, and easy method of acquiring a conversational knowledge of the French Language, including a Dictionary of over Ten Thousand Words. By M. Alfred Havet. Entirely revised and corrected from the last English Edition, with a new system of pronunciation. D. Appleton & Co., New York.

{859}

This is certainly an advance on the old progressive system of Ollendorff. It fully realizes all its title proposes, and is evidently the work of one who is a successful teacher of the French language. We commend it to the notice of all professors of French in our colleges and schools, by whom, if we do not mistake, its merits will be duly appreciated. We observe an error among the rules of pronunciation, however, that should not pass unnoticed. The Parisian would not take our sound of _wa_ in _waft_, _wag_, and _wax_, to express the sound of _oi_ in _fois, soif_, etc. We presume the author has been accustomed to hear those words pronounced wóft, wóg, and wóx, as he dates his preface from Edinburgh.

THE PHYSIOLOGY OF MAN. Designed to represent the existing State of Physiological Science, as applied to the Functions of the Human Body. By Austin Flint, Jr., Professor of Physiology and Microscopy in the Bellevue Hospital Medical College, etc., etc. Vol. i., 8vo, pp. 495. D. Appleton & Co., New York. 1866.

This work has lain on our table for some time. The delay in writing the notice has been from no lack of admiration or appreciation of the book or its author, but from a desire to write more than an ordinary book notice.

This we will defer till the work is completed, and in the mean time we hasten to express our hearty approval of a literary and scientific enterprise, which reflects the highest honor on the profession of medicine and on the literature of the country.

Prof. Flint, the young author, has devoted his life to the study and teaching of physiology. He steadily refuses the allurements and emoluments of practice, and steadily and successfully pursues the object of his ambition. His present work, if completed in accordance with the first volume, will reward him for his past toil, and ensure him an honorable and most enviable future among the leading minds of his profession in this country and the scientific world.

It will be out of place to enter into any scientific discussion in the pages of a journal devoted to general literature. It is sufficient to say that Dr. Flint has presented, in elegant language and graphic style, a correct view of the science of physiology to the time of writing. He displays great erudition, a thorough grasp of the subject, and a sincere desire to appreciate and communicate the exact truth. It is the best book on the subject for college libraries, and is an almost indispensable necessity to the physician.

We hope the publication of such works will renew the habit of studying the philosophy of medicine as part of a liberal education, draw closer the bond between the intellectual classes and the profession of medicine, and in this way advance the interests of science, humanity, and civilization.

This work is issued in an elegant form, worthy of its eminent publishers.

KING RENÉ'S DAUGHTER. A Danish lyrical drama. By Henrik Hertz. Translated by Theodore Martin. New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1867.

This is indeed a poetic gem of the first water, and we venture to assert that few critics will contest our judgment. The author of the introductory sketches repeats twice that it is lovely, and we think we might repeat it twice more and it not be too often. He who will commence reading it, and not finish it at one sitting, we pronounce one of those beings so detested of Shakespeare, who has no music in his soul.

It forms but one act in seven scenes, but is replete with events, "stirring, surprising, yet harmonious." A bit of philosophy peeps out here and there to interest and charm the most unimaginative thinker; for instance, when Martha, the guardian of Iolanthe, the king's' daughter, reasons upon her unconscious blindness:

"May it not be, sir, while we darkly muse
Upon our life's mysterious destinies,
That we in blindness walk, like Iolanthe,
Unconscious that true vision is not ours?
Yet is that faith our hope's abiding star."

The innocent confession of the hitherto inexperienced passion of love which springs up in the heart of Iolanthe, at the presence and sound of the voice of her unknown betrothed, is a passage of rare beauty and originality. He asks her to place her hand upon his head to mark his height, that when he returns she may remember him. She answers:

"What need of that?
I know that few resemble thee in height;
Thy utterance comes to me as from above,
Like all that's high and inconceivable;
And know I not thy tone? Like as thou' speakest
None speak beside. No voice, no melody
I've known in nature, or in instrument,
Doth own a resonance so lovely, sweet,
So winning, full, and gracious as thy voice.
Trust me, I'll know thee well amidst them all!"

{860}

The final tableau, in which Iolanthe, with restored sight, recognizes her father, and she and Count Tristan, her betrothed, each other, is full of dramatic power. We promise the reader a pleasure in the perusal of this poem such as he seldom enjoys.

OUT OF TOWN. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 311. New York: Hurd & Houghton.

This is a sprightly book wrought out of a common and everyday subject: a change from a city to a country life. The story is told in an easy, off-hand, and peculiarly attractive way, and engages the attention of its readers, particularly those of the rising generation. The writer contrives to invest the most ordinary topics with a zest which keeps alive the interest of his reader to the close. It is a perfect _pot pourri_ of fun and humor, dished to suit all palates and all ages. But it has a fatal blemish in our judgment:--a perpetual parade of decanters and pipes. The writer seems to think that there can be no such thing as conviviality or good cheer without intoxicating libations. Why cannot those who write books for the young avoid this rock of offence? Surely there is small need, in these days, of such temptation. Everyday life reeks with the disgusting and pernicious habit of tippling. Why does it become necessary that every new book for our children should be redolent of the fumes of the bar-room? Are our book-makers aware what an impetus they are imparting to that wave of desolation which is swelling over the fair face of our beloved country, and which threatens, more than any other one thing, to submerge and sweep away all those barriers of virtue and morality on which rely our hopes for the protection of religion and a healthy morality?

SADLIER'S CATHOLIC DIRECTORY, ALMANAC, AND ORDO, for the year of our Lord 1867. New-York: D. and J. Sadlier & Co.

This volume consists of about 647 pages of matter of which 290 pages are devoted to the Church of the United States, 100 to the Church of British North America and Ireland, and 257 to advertisements. As a popular Catholic Directory for the United States it may be said that at least one half of it is but of partial interest.

The portion devoted to the United States is apparently very full, and as accurate, no doubt, as the publishers have been able to make it. We observe however, that the Church statistics of Ireland and British America possess a valuable little summary at the end of each while no such summary is given for the Church of the United States.

If one would look anywhere for it we think it would be in just such a publication as the one before us, and we must confess to being disappointed in not finding it here.

MR. P. O'SHEA, New-York, has in press a new edition of The Gentle Skeptic. By Rev. C. Walworth.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From D. APPLETON, & Co., New-York. Joseph II. and his Court. By Mrs. L. Mühlbach. With Illustrations. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, $2 00.

From LEYPOLDT & HOLT, New-York. King René's Daughter, a Danish Lyrical Drama. By Henrik Hertz. Translated by Theodore Martin. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 100. Price $125.

From M'GILL & NOLAN, Georgetown, D.C. The Messenger of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a monthly bulletin of the Apostleship of Prayer. Price $2 per annum.

From BENZlGER BROS. Alte Neue Welt, an Illustrated German Catholic Magazine. Price $3 00 per annum.

From HURD & HOUGHTON, New-York. Essays on Art By Francis Turner Palgrave. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 330. Price $1 75.

From D. APPLETON & Co. The French Manual: n. new, simple, concise, and easy method of acquiring a conversational knowledge of the French language, including a Dictionary of over ten thousand words. By M. Alfred Harve. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 188 and 112.

From D. & J. SADLIER & Co., New-York. Life of Catherine McAuley, Foundress and first Superior of the Institute of Religious Sisters of Mercy. By a member of the Order of Mercy. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 500. Price $2 50. Sermons by the REV. THOS. S. PRESTON. Revised and enlarged edition. 1 vol. pp. 581. Price $2 50. The School of Jesus Crucified. From the Italian of Father IGNATIUS, of the Side of Jesus, Passionist. 1 vol. pp. 334. Price 75 cents. The Christian armed against, the World and the Illusions of his own Heart. By FATHER IGNATIUS of the Side of Jesus, Passionist. 1 vol: 32mo, pp. 320. Price 50c.

From J. D. LIPPINCOTT & Co., Philadelphia. Robert Severne, His Friends and his Enemies. A Novel. By William A. Hammond. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 369. Price $1 75.

MUSIC RECEIVED.

From J. L. PETERS & BRO., St. Louis &. Cincinnati. Shamus O'Brien, an answer to Norah O'Neill. By William S. Hayes. Let the Dead and the Beautiful Rest. Little Beauty. Pink of Perfection. Mary's Waiting at the Window.

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