Chapter VIII: Faith And Science Of Progress (5)

This smacks of excess of credibility. If Bismarck wanted really to annex the provinces in heart and soul, he adopted the very surest means of emptying them in the speediest manner, and letting in the Germans, who now, sick of war and of the rumors of war, wish to emigrate in such formidable numbers. Probably the chancellor proposes using the deserted provinces as a safety‐valve for these recreant spirits. One of the most significant signs of the instability of the new empire is the desire of so many earnest workers to leave it just when it has been established in all its glory and power. But glory and power do not last long in the eyes of men who look to a peaceful life and to which side, in a popular phrase, their bread is buttered. Instead of peace, they find the service more rigorous than ever; the money which was won by the blood of their kin and countrymen going to the pockets of the generals, to carry out emperors’ fêtes, and purchase millions of rifles of a new pattern. Evidently _the_ business of the German Empire wears a very martial look. But the artisan and clerk have fought well, and find no returns. Your German is of a logical bent, so he determines on going elsewhere, where he may live at peace, and let Bismarck look after his own empire.

In France, we have had and are having the pilgrimages to Lourdes. Not alone to Lourdes, and not alone in France, but in Belgium and Germany also there have been numerous pilgrimages to various shrines. Of course the wits of the secular journals, with a few honorable exceptions, have had a fine time of it, and have twisted the stories of the miracles of Lourdes and La Salette into every possible shape in which they might squeeze a laugh out of it. They are at great pains to show what we were long ago convinced of—that they do not know what faith means.

Mgr. Mermillod, after a residence of seven years in full enjoyment and exercise of his ecclesiastical functions, has suddenly come to be non‐ recognized by the Swiss government, or, more properly, by the Grand Council of Geneva, and his pension stopped. The Grand Council of Geneva had already expelled the Sisters of Charity and the Christian Brothers. It essays the rôle of Bismarck, and where it purposes stopping we do not yet see. But as the population of Geneva is composed of 47,000 Catholics against 43,000 Protestants, we may presume that the Grand Council of Geneva will very speedily be brought to its senses. Its miserable pension of 10,000 francs was raised to 23,000 in two days by a voluntary contribution set on foot by M. Veuillot of the _Univers_. The Grand Council has incurred the contempt of all rational minds, while Mgr. Mermillod is supported in his action by all his fellow‐bishops, by his Holiness, and by the Catholic world. It may be as well to remember that the Protestant party in the Swiss cantons voted, but were happily outvoted, for union with Prussia. It is not difficult to see whence the persecution of Mgr. Mermillod starts.

Gentlemen who have visited the Alhambra in London, or any one almost of the Parisian theatres, or Niblo’s in New York, are not apt to be squeamish on the score of the decent and moral in theatrical representations. Things must therefore be at a very bad pass when we find the correspondents of the London _Times_ and the other English newspapers, in common with those of our own and the Parisian press, uniting in condemning in the most unsparing terms the pieces which are now in vogue on the boards of the Roman theatres. Cardinal Patrizi addressed an official letter to Minister Lanza on the subject. That gentleman, who is extremely active in suppressing a Catholic paper which dares to caricature his majesty’s government, sends back an answer which, divested of its diplomatic wool, is cowardly, stupid, and insulting. We have been astonished to find “religious” newspapers in this city gleeful over these representations which the good sense, if nothing more, of the secular correspondents of all journals in all countries condemns as odious, detestable, and utterly unfit to be presented in any civilized, or for that matter uncivilized, community. These journals which are religious see in them “a new means of evangelizing Italy.” Another feature in “united Italy” is the utter insecurity of life and property in Rome, Naples, and Ravenna principally, though, in fact, through the length and breadth of the land. Victor Emanuel has held the country long enough now to give some account of his stewardship. The government of the Pope and of the Bourbons, we were told, favored brigandage and every other atrocity; yet the correspondents of the London _Times_, the London _Spectator_, and by this time most of the other anti‐Catholic journals, are furnishing articles which must rather astonish the upholders of the blessings which were to flow from “Italy united.” They picture scenes of rapine and blood before which the graphic Arkansas letters of the _Herald_ pale, while the doers of these deeds, the thieves and murderers, are “well known to the police,” in fact, on excellent terms with them, and walk about in the open day with any man’s life in their hands who dares frown on them. The government is simply afraid of them, afraid to use the only remedy now in its hands by proclaiming martial law, a proceeding which the English journals strongly advise. If such a state of things continues much longer, we fear the inevitable verdict must come to Victor Emanuel, “Now thou shalt be steward no longer.” Of his ill‐ gotten power, indeed, it may be said, “blood hath bought blood, and blows have answered blows.” People are apt to be logical; if a government robs and kills and calls it law, why should not they do the same? Italy will continue in a state of chronic anarchy until religion is restored to it; then order will follow as it is following in France to‐day.

In England, though Parliament has not been sitting, questions of moment have been rife. Mr. Miall has again raised the war‐cry against the Established Church, ably seconded by Mr. Jacob Bright. The _Times_ and _Saturday Review_ and other journals affect to laugh at Mr. Miall, as they and such as they laughed at the Reform Bill, the Act of Catholic Emancipation, and the disestablishment of the Irish Church. We believe Mr. Miall’s measure to be the logical sequence of the last of these measures, a fact which Mr. Disraeli in opposing it foretold. It is an anomaly—a church supported by a majority which does not believe in it. Mr. Miall’s measure is only a growth of time; in fact, it only requires the conversion of such organs as the _Times_ and _Saturday Review_ to bring it to pass to‐day.

As a corollary to Mr. Miall’s movement comes the annual Church Congress held this year at Leeds under the presidency of the Bishop of Ripon. This annual congress is a curious thing; it is a meeting of everybody, high and low, church and lay, to compare notes and see how the church is getting on—a very useful proceeding, no doubt, if there were only something faintly approaching unanimity among its members. As it happened, unanimity was the one thing wanting, and certain stages of the proceedings were as warm as those of the “Old Catholics” at Cologne. In fact, the account of the whole proceedings reads like an extract from _The Comedy of Convocation_.

New Publications.

THE HISTORY OF THE SACRED PASSION. From the Spanish of Father Luis
de la Palma, of the Society of Jesus. The Translation revised and
edited by Henry James Coleridge, of the same Society. London:
Burns & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication
Society.)

This is the third volume of the Quarterly Series which the Jesuit Fathers are bringing out in London. The series is beautifully got up, and we wish it every success.

The present work on the Passion has a prologue by the author, in which he sets forth the end he has had in view. The prologue is followed by a brief treatise on the method of meditation on the Passion, together with four sections suggestive of aids to the memory, the understanding, the will, and the colloquy. The whole is prefaced by the editor, from whose remarks we transcribe the following: “That he (the author) was a man of sound and deep theological learning is sufficiently proved by the work which is now presented to the English reader.... Everything he has written is of the most sterling value, and has always been very highly esteemed, especially by those who have labored in illustrating and explaining the _Spiritual Exercises of S. Ignatius_.... He tells us (in the prologue) that the book is designed both for simple reading and also for the purpose of furnishing matter to those who are in the habit of practising meditation and of preparing their meditation for themselves. Those who use the book for the first‐named purpose will hardly discover that it is intended also to serve the other; while those who practise meditation, and refer to these pages for matter pregnant with such considerations and suggestive of copious affections and practical resolutions, will not find it easy to exhaust the stores which are here so unostentatiously collected. It may be worth while to point out that the design of the author, that his book should thus serve the purpose of a storehouse for meditation on the Passion, accounts for the only kind of amplification which he has allowed himself. This is the paraphrastic commentary which he generally substitutes for or subjoins to the words of our blessed Lord in the various scenes of the Passion. The meaning of these sacred words is often very fully and lovingly brought out, although the narrative form in which the whole work is cast might less naturally suggest this method of treatment, so valuable to those who desire to feed on the sayings of our blessed Saviour in all their rich fertility and meaning.”

The editor expresses a fear “that the translation will be found to be, at least in parts, rugged and unpolished”; but says he has “tried, on the other hand, to make it as faithful as possible; and to that object has been well content to sacrifice smoothness of style, though the original deserves the most careful rendering in matter and in form.” “Palma belongs,” he adds, “to what I believe is the best age of Spanish religious literature—the age of Louis of Grenada, John of Avila, Louis of Leon, S. Teresa; S. John of the Cross, Louis da Ponte, and other famous writers. In point of style he is, perhaps, not equal to them; but he shares with many of these writers the characteristic of masculine common sense, theological culture alike exquisite and solid, and the tenderest and simplest piety. Happily, these are qualities which do not easily evaporate in a translation.”

He then goes on to say that he has “thought it better not to attempt in any way to edit Father Palma as to points on which he would perhaps write differently were he living in the present century.” We quite agree with his decision; and shall here close our notice of the book, since, after what we have borrowed from the preface, any comments of our own would be superfluous.

ALL‐HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY, AND OTHER STORIES. New
York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.

This book, containing three tales, _All‐Hallow Eve_, _Unconvicted_, and _Jenifer’s Prayer_, while it will doubtless afford much amusement to many readers during the long winter evenings, will, we trust, have other and more decided effects. By contrast, it shows that fiction of the very highest order may be successfully written without the extraneous aid of bad taste and more than doubtful morality, and by example it will encourage our aspiring writers who, now overawed by the shadow of departed genius, are unwilling or afraid to risk their reputations in endeavoring to rival the efforts of those who formerly delighted and instructed us by their compositions. When the Star of the North, Scott, set, it was feared that this species of literature had suffered an irreparable loss; but soon a host of writers sprang up in England, Ireland, and, we may say, America, who not only compensated for the loss, but more than repaid us for the decadence of the historico‐romantic school. When those in turn disappeared, it was confidently predicted that the present generation, barren of imagination and powers of observation and description, could not produce anything equal to what adorned the pages of men like Griffin, Dickens, and Hawthorne. Daily experience teaches us that this was a fallacy. New buds of promise are constantly springing up around us which need but the encouraging voice of the press and the smiles of a discriminating public patronage to warm into full‐blown vigor and loveliness.

The three tales before us are an earnest of this. The story entitled _All‐ Hallow Eve_, the first in this collection, as it is, we think, the first in merit, is a tale of singular beauty, power and truthfulness. In construction artistic without the appearance of art, in verisimilitude it is all that would be required by the most orthodox French dramatist. The characters are few and clearly defined, the plot simple, the scene scarcely changes, the time from beginning to end is short, and the _dénoûment_, though tragic, offends neither our sensibilities nor our sense of justice. Ned Cavana and Michael Murdock are two aged well‐to‐do Ulster farmers whose lands lie contiguous. The former has a daughter Winifred or Winny, and the latter a son Thomas; and the natural desire of the fond parents is to form a matrimonial alliance between their children, and thus unite the families and the farms. Tom Murdock is handsome, attractive, cunning, mercenary, and unscrupulous, while Winny, who is limned with more than a painter’s art, adds to her natural graces a noble heart and keen perception. Edmond Lennon, a young peasant rich in everything but money, falls in love with her, and, besides encountering the secret or open hostility of the Murdocks, he finds an almost insurmountable barrier in the caste pride of the father of his lady‐love. Aided, however, by the gentle and astute Winny, he partially succeeds in overcoming this difficulty, when the machinations of his rival are employed against him, and the result is—but we will not destroy the pleasure of our fair and necessarily curious readers by unfolding the catastrophe. The contrasts of character of the two old men, each in his way aiming at the best, and also between the suitors, are excellently drawn; the interludes, such as the All‐Hallow Eve festival and the “hurling” match, are accurate and lifelike, and the bits of pathos which here and there dot the course of the story are so touching in their very simplicity that we venture to say many an eye unused to the melting mood will be none the less moistened on their perusal. The style adopted by the author is easy and familiar, a little too much so, we imagine, to suit the tastes of the more exacting reader; and herein lies the only defect, if it can be called one, that we can perceive in this story.

_Unconvicted; or, Old Thorneley’s Heirs_, is a tale of an altogether different character, illustrating what may be called a more advanced state of civilization. The scene is laid in London, and the principal personages occupy a high social position. It is a story of suffering and affection, of deep, dark, and unruly passion, and undying love and friendship. It would be vain to attempt to epitomize the plot, which is woven so closely and so dexterously that our interest in the actors is kept constantly on the _qui vive_, and it is only at the very last chapter that we are relieved from all anxiety on their account. The tale opens with the death of old Gilbert Thorneley, it is supposed by poison, and the discovery of his murderer forms the principal theme of the entire narrative. This involves a great deal of legal discussion and analysis, and, for the first time in the history of fiction, as far as our knowledge goes, we have a clear and accurate description of the niceties, quibbles, and profundity of English law. Though more curious and instructive than amusing, this does not, however detract from the interest of the novel as such, but rather acts as an offset to the numerous scenes of connubial and filial affection with which it is replete. The moral is of course unexceptionable and easily drawn.

_Jennifer’s Prayer_, a shorter but no less meritorious story of English life, completes the volume, which, appearing at this season when good books become more a necessity than a luxury in the household, will no doubt be warmly welcomed by those who, from taste or inclination, prefer the attractions of the novel to the more serious study of science and history.

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR THE UNITED STATES, FOR
THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1873, calculated for different parallels of
latitude, and adapted for use throughout the country. New York:
The Catholic Publication Society.

There are something over five million Catholics in the United States, representing over five hundred thousand families. This little Catholic Family Almanac, then, should have a circulation of five hundred thousand. If it has not, the fault is not with the Publication Society, but in the Catholics themselves neglecting to diffuse it each in his own circle. A few years ago such a little annual would have been regarded as an impossibility. Beautiful in typography, with woodcut illustrations which in design and execution rival those of any work issued in the country, it is something that a Catholic can view with pride, and can never blush to open before any one. This is merely taking it at its mechanical value. Its scope is to give the yearly calendar of the church with what is locally interesting to us as Catholics in America, or associated with the trials and triumphs of the church in that Old World to which by some degrees more or less we must all trace our origin.

In this year’s little volume, we find portraits of various ages, with original sketches, telling us of great prelates among ourselves, Archbishop Spalding and Bishop McGill, representative men who knew the necessity of diffusing information among our people; bishops of the last generation like Milner, whose works are familiar to all, yet whose counterfeit presentment few have ever met; or Bishop Doyle, J.K.L., whom Ireland can never forget; or like De Haro, who extended his kindness to American Catholics in their early struggles; or like the illustrious Hughes, whose large mind gave us a national life and position. The Venerable Gregory Lopez will be new to many, great as was his fame in Mexico. Crespel represents the French pioneer clergy at the frontiers in colonial times—a man who saw rough life by sea and land in his missionary career. Father Mathew needs no comment. The likeness is speaking and fine. What part Catholics bore in the days of the Revolution we see in the sketch of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, illustrated with a portrait and a view of the old mansion. With his cousin, a priest, he was laboring to make our cause continental before the Declaration of Independence was debated in Congress.

Mrs. Seton, as the lady of wealth and influence in New York society, while Washington as President resided there, shows the wonderful hand of Providence. Who that saw that young wife then could have said that she would be the foundress of a Catholic sisterhood, and not be deemed insane? Mother Julia, foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame, whom some people may have heard of, and whose schools in this country alone contain sixty thousand pupils.

Next comes the Venerable de la Salle, founder of the Christian Brothers, whose pupils in our land, one might say, “no man can number for multitude.” The portrait and sketch of this servant of God will be read in thousands of American families which owe the Christian training of their boys to his devoted community of Brothers; and, happily in the same work, we have a portrait and sketch of the brilliant Gerald Griffin, who closed his days as a Christian Brother.

The view of old S. Mary’s, the cradle of Maryland, the Catholic settlement founded by the Ark and Dove, is alone worth all the _Almanac_ costs. And this is but a portion of its contents. We have a stirring incident of the early missions, the Rock of Cashel, the Church of Icolmkill, the Cathedrals of Sienna and Chartres.

Every Catholic of means should feel it a bounden duty to order a number of copies of this _Almanac_, and distribute them among the families less likely to hear of its merits. In this way much is yet to be done in the diffusion of popular Catholic literature. Our laity have to feel that there is an apostolate incumbent upon them. _Fas est et ab hoste doceri._

TRADITION. Principally with reference to Mythology and the Law of
Nations. By Lord Arundell of Wardour. London: Burns, Oates & Co.
(New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)

This is a work in which the chronologies, mythologies, and fragmentary traditions of many nations are gathered together and made to do service in the cause of Revelation.

The opponents of revealed truth not unfrequently assume this department of knowledge to be their exclusive possession—they have been foremost in working this mine, all it contains is theirs, and must be made to sustain their theories. Lord Arundell’s book shows how utterly groundless is this assumption. Here we have facts and figures, arguments and inferences, taken from their own writings, which go to establish the truthfulness of the sacred Scriptures from the very standpoint whence it has been sought to convict them of falsehood. The first chapter in Genesis is a key to every cosmogony. The rudest code of barbaric laws bears some impress of the Almighty Finger of Sinai. Traditions, however distant and vague, point in one general direction. These facts have long since been established. Lord Arundell proves them anew, and brings forth much new matter in his proofs. Indeed, while in many books we often have occasion to note the absence of data and ideas, this, we may say, is crowded with both.

We doubt not that this book will forward greatly the interests of truth, and thus the zeal and devotion of its noble author will be fully requited.

GOD AND MAN. Conferences delivered at Notre Dame in Paris. By the
Rev. Père Lacordaire, of the Order of Friar‐Preachers. Translated
from the French by a Tertiary of the same Order. London:
Rivingtons. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)

The translator has already given us two volumes of the great Dominican’s Conferences, and promises more in the same readable form. Persons as yet unacquainted with Lacordaire will find his papers kindle their enthusiasm beyond, perhaps, those of any other author—that is, if they can at all appreciate the originality of his argument, together with his giant grasp of thought and diction. And especially do we commend these conferences to earnest thinkers outside the church, with whom the supernatural is the question of questions.

Indebted as we are to the translator, he must not think us hypercritical if we complain of bad punctuation, a comma being sometimes found where a colon or even a full stop ought to be; or if we take leave to remind him that, to render French idiomatically, it will not do to preserve the sudden changes of tense which are forcible in that language, as in Latin, but sound very strangely in English.

THE HYMNARY, WITH TUNES: A Collection of Music for Sunday‐Schools.
By S. Lasar. New York and Chicago: Biglow & Main.

We could recommend this hymn‐book to Catholic schools, and, on account of its intrinsic worth, would have been glad to do so, if the compiler had excluded the few hymns, of no special merit in themselves or in the tunes adapted to them, which are anti‐Catholic in doctrine. Poison is dangerous, and we cannot offer it even in the smallest quantities to our children.

THE ISSUES OF AMERICAN POLITICS. By Orrin Skinner, Philadelphia:
J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1873.

Attracted by the title of this book, the fact of its dedication to a distinguished citizen of New York, and by its comprehensive table of contents, we took it up and read it from cover to cover. In all candor, we must say a more confused, ungrammatical, and shallower book it has seldom fallen to our lot to peruse; and why any respectable publishing house should have been induced to bring it out in such good style, or in any form at all, passes our comprehension. To grapple with the great issues of our American politics, to state each leading question clearly and fairly, and to draw deductions therefrom that will stand the test of justice and reason is a task requiring infinitely more experience, judicial ability, and knowledge of our language than the author displays or evidently ever will possess. Judging from this production, Mr. Skinner has not the faintest conception of the principles upon which rests the framework of our government. Though a lawyer, he is sadly ignorant of law as a science; and, though ambitious of authorship, he seems unable to write a paragraph intelligibly. For instance, take the following, snatched at random:

“The deduction from this criticism constitutes, of course, an advocacy of intelligent suffrage. The plea is here urged that an unrestricted suffrage is its own incentive to the education of those who exercise it. The assertion betrays an unpardonable ignorance of one of the most prominent characteristics of human nature. Frail humanity is so constituted that, when it has presented to it two ways of effecting its purposes, one with effort and the other without, it invariably chooses the latter. Equality as a fundamental element of republican institutions is also urged, Let such a sciolist read his conviction in the quotations from Burke already cited.”

It were, however, useless to further attempt to criticise this most pretentious and least readable of books, and the best wish we can afford the author, and one that we have no doubt will be gratified, is that it will be read by few and soon forgotten.

A MANUAL OF AMERICAN LITERATURE: A Text‐Book for Schools and
Colleges. By John S. Hart, LL.D. Philadelphia: Eldridge & Bro.
1873.

Mr. Hart has gathered considerable fresh material on American literature in this volume. There is still much which he has omitted. With the same industry and care which he has already bestowed on this manual, he may render it complete. There is a personality in some of his remarks which is uncalled for. In spite of these defects, this is the best work of the kind with which we are acquainted.

THE MARBLE PROPHECY, AND OTHER POEMS. By J. G. Holland. New York:
Scribner, Armstrong & Co.

When our holy church, with its venerated head, its divine sacraments and sacred ceremonies, is chosen by a writer of merit as the object upon which he feels himself moved to pour forth his scathing abuse or stinging ridicule, we bear his ponderous strokes or parry his keen thrusts as best we may, confessing to the pardonable weakness of feeling complimented at being called to the lists by an adversary of some strength of arm or sharpness of weapon; but, when one from the common crowd of chance‐ assembled knights, like our quondam _Timothy Titcomb_, presumes unchallenged to invite the attention of that respectable audience—the American public—to _his_ little tilt against the giant of centuries, and, in his overeagerness to take a share in the fray, disports himself upon such a sorry steed as the “Marble Prophecy,” laden with “other poems” as a makeweight, we at once look about us to see if we have not a serviceable cane at hand for the use of the same discriminating public, _et voila!_

ROUNDABOUT RAMBLES IN LANDS OF FACT AND FANCY. By Frank R.
Stockton. 1 vol. small 4to. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.

This is an instructive work, compiled with much judgment and good taste from various authors, and is beautifully illustrated, making it a very desirable holiday present for the young folk.

NIAGARA: Its History and Geology, Incidents and Poetry. With
illustrations. By George W. Holley. New York: Sheldon & Co. 1872.

This is something more than a mere _Murray_, or guide‐book, at the same time that it serves as a valuable reference to the intelligent tourist. Besides some historical and topographical descriptions, for which he draws on the works of Shea, Parkman, Marshall, the Relations of the Early Jesuit Missionaries, and State Documents, in addition to his own observations, he indulges in some geological speculations which will attract the attention of scientific readers. The whole is interspersed with anecdotes, incidents, and poetical scraps which will serve to relieve the tedium of travel, and hotel life.

A HIDDEN LIFE, AND OTHER POEMS. By George Macdonald, LL.D., Author
of “Within and Without,” “Wilfred Cumbermede,” etc. New York:
Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1872.

There is true poetry in this volume. The author possesses, in our judgment, powers of a high order. His mind, too, is of a deeply religious cast; and we wonder how he can remain a Protestant after his struggles with doubt on the one hand, as shown in the poem of “The Disciple,” and his attractions to Catholicity on the other, as evinced especially in his poem on “The Gospel Woman,” and most in the opening one, “The Mother Mary.” But then he has a laudatory sonnet “To Garibaldi.”

The “Catholic Publication Society” has in press, and will publish simultaneously with its appearance in England, from advance sheets furnished by the author, a new work, entitled, _My Clerical Friends_, by the author of _The Comedy of Convocation_. This will be the only authorized edition published in this country.

Books and Pamphlets Received.

From KREUZER BROTHERS, Baltimore: The Catholic Priest. By Michael Müller, C.SS.R. 18mo, pp. 163.—The “Our Father.” By the same. 18mo, pp. 221.

From J. A. MCGEE, New York: Sister Mary Francis’ (the Nun of Kenmare) Advice to Irish Girls in America. 12mo, pp. 201.

From BURNS, OATES & CO., London: Reflections and Prayers for Holy Communion. From the French. With a preface by Archbishop Manning. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) 18mo, pp. xii., 498.

From R. WASHBURNE, London: A Dogmatic Catechism. From the Italian of Frassinetti. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) 18mo, pp. xix., 244.

From JAMES DUFFY, Dublin: Sermons on Ecclesiastical Subjects. By Henry Edward Manning, D.D. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) pp. viii., 456.

From GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, New York: The Moral of Accidents, and other Discourses. By the late Thomas T. Lynch. 12mo, pp. xviii., 415.

From T. & T. CLARK, Edinburgh, and SCRIBNER, WELFORD & ARMSTRONG, New York: Biblical Commentary on the Books of the Kings. By C. F. Keil. 8vo, pp. viii., 523—Sermons from 1828 to 1860. By the late Wm. Cunningham, D.D. 8vo, pp. xxxvi, 416.—The Old Catholic Church. By W. D. Killen, D.D. 8vo, pp. xx., 411.—Biblical Commentary on the Book of Psalms. By F. Deleutzsch, D.D. Vol. III. 8vo, pp. 420.

From HOLT & WILLIAMS, New York: Fly Leaves by C. S. C. 12mo, pp. vi., 233.

From the AUTHOR: Key to the Massoretic Notes, Titles, and Index generally found in the margin of the Hebrew Bible. Translated from the Latin of A. Hahn. With many additions and corrections. By Alex. Merowitz, A.M., Professor of the Hebrew language and literature in the University of New York. New York: J. Wiley & Son. 8vo, paper, pp. 22.

From ELDREDGE & BROTHER, Philadelphia: A French Verb Book. By E. Lagarde, A.M. 12mo, pp. 130.

From P. O’SHEA, New York: Month of the Holy Rosary. By Rev. P. M. Chery, O.P. 18mo, pp. iv., 200—The Scapular of Mount Carmel. By Rev. P. Tissot, S.J. 24mo, pp. 105.

From the AUTHOR: The Irish Republic. A Historical Memoir of Ireland and her Oppressors. By P. Cudmore, Counsellor‐at‐Law. St. Paul: Pioneer Printing Company, 1871.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 94.—JANUARY, 1873.

A Son Of The Crusaders.

... “On his breast a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead, as living, ever him ador’d:
Upon his shield the like was also scor’d.
For soveraine hope which in his helpe he had,
Right faithful true he was in deede and word.”—SPENSER.

One day in the month of November, 1833, a stranger descended from the lumbering _Schnellpost_ at the little town of Marburg (Electoral Hesse), on the pleasant banks of the Lahn. Looking around him, he discovered but a single object of interest—the old cathedral of the place, a noble Gothic edifice, which, although stripped and cold in its modern dedication to the Lutheran service, still preserved the salient features of its inalienable beauty and majesty of form.

The traveller, a young man of twenty‐three, a Catholic, and an enthusiast in his intelligent and cultivated admiration of the grand architecture of his church, recognized in the building a monument celebrated at once for its pure and perfect beauty, and the first in Germany in which the pointed arch prevailed over the round in the great renovation of art in the XIIIth century.

Contrary to Lutheran observance, the church happened on that day to be open, in compliance with a traditional custom, for the cathedral bore the name of S. Elizabeth, and this was S. Elizabeth’s Day. The stranger entered. There was no religious service. There were no worshippers, and children were at play among the old tombs. He wandered through the vast and desolate aisles, which not even the devastation and neglect of centuries had robbed of their marvellous elegance. Naked altars from which no ministering hand now wiped the dust, pillars, defaced statues, nearly obliterated paintings, broken and defaced wood carvings, successively struck his eye and attracted his attention. All these remains of Christian art, even in their ruin telling the story of their origin in days of fresh and fervent faith, appeared also to picture in a certain sequence the events of some devout life. Here was the statue of a young woman in the dress of a widow; further on, in painting, a frightened girl showing to a crowned warrior her robe filled with roses; yet further, these two, the young woman and the warrior, tearing themselves in anguish from a parting embrace. Again, the lady is seen stretched on her bed of death amidst weeping attendants, and, later, an emperor lays his crown on her freshly exhumed coffin.

It was explained to the traveller that these pictured incidents were events in the life of S. Elizabeth, queen of that country, who, that very day six hundred years ago, had died in Marburg and lay buried in the church. A silver shrine, richly sculptured, was shown to him. It had once enclosed the relics of the saint, but one of her descendants, turned Protestant, had torn them from it, and scattered them to the winds. The stone steps approaching the shrine were deeply hollowed by the countless pilgrims who, more than three centuries agone, had come here to kneel in prayer. “Alas!” thought the stranger, “the faith which left its impress on the cold stone has left none upon human hearts!”

He desired to know more of the saintly patroness of Marburg’s cathedral, and leaving the church sought out a bookseller, and asked for a life of S. Elizabeth. The man stared at him, bethought himself a moment, and then went up into a garret, from which he presently emerged with a dust‐covered pamphlet. “Here it is,” he said, “the only copy I have: no one ever asked for it before.”

The traveller resumed his journey, reading his pamphlet to beguile the tedium of his way. Although written by a Protestant in a cold, unsympathizing, matter‐of‐fact way, the essential charm of its mere record of youthful self‐devotion laid a powerful spell upon him. His artistic enthusiasm, his heart, his piety, were all touched and aroused. Just emerging in sorrow from one of the most trying ordeals of the battle of life, with repelled longings and disappointed hopes, his pent‐up youthful energies were now seeking some outlet for escape, some fresh field of action. Uncertain what this field, this outlet, might be, he had vowed that, with the choice before him of several different objects to pursue, he would decide for that which was the most Catholic. He had found it. “To S. Elizabeth he would,” in his own words, “sacrifice his fatigue and his hopes.” He would write her life, and strive to place on record its touching story—at once a tender love‐legend, a page of mediæval romance, and the hallowed tradition of a saintly career. At the first stopping‐ place he left the diligence, and, taking a return carriage, went immediately back to Marburg.

This traveller, this young stranger, was Charles, Count de Montalembert, peer of France. His sudden impulse, his enthusiastic vow, were not as words written in water. To what would at this day seem to many an inconsiderate, quixotic rashness, succeeded the deliberate realization of an undertaking full of labor and difficulty. He ransacked libraries, sought out chronicles, legends, and popular traditions, read old books and long‐forgotten manuscripts, and travelled far and wide throughout Germany, wherever a locality offered the attraction of the slightest association with the name of S. Elizabeth. The charm and fascination of his theme grew upon him with every additional fact he learned regarding her. Beginning at the famous old castle of Wartburg, where Elizabeth came a child, the daughter of a race of kings, from distant Hungary, he made a veritable pilgrimage, taking for his route the itinerary of his heroine’s life—to Kreuzburg; to Reinhartsbrünn, where, a young wife and mother of twenty, she parted in anguish from her husband, a crusader setting out for Palestine; to Bamberg, where she was driven by persecution; to Andechs, to Erfurth, and finally to Marburg, “whither,” as he says, “he returned to pray by her desecrated tomb, and to gather with pain and difficulty some remembrance of her from the mouths of a people who have renounced with the faith of their fathers the regard due to their benefactress.”

Bow down your heads, O generation of stockbrokers and speculators in provisions and railway shares, to the memory of this Montalembert, who, in the flower of his youthful manhood, for years went up and down the world with an idea in his head and heart!

But this book, this life of S. Elizabeth. you object, was, after all, a mere pious legend of dubious trustworthiness? On the contrary, it was a work of the highest value, even judged by the severest canons of historical criticism. Its introduction alone is sufficient to make the work classic. Sainte‐Beuve, high academic and critical authority, calls it majestic,(186) and reviewers of all nations have contributed their verdicts of approval.

This was Montalembert’s first literary production—a success, as it deserved to be, worthy forerunner of his yet greater work, _The Monks of the West_, and the first‐fruit of a splendid literary and oratorical career, whose main inspiration was always drawn from the sources of Catholic truth and Catholic faith.

Montalembert died in March, 1870, leaving a name and a reputation which for all time to come will remain one of the proudest illustrations of France.

We are fortunate in already having an admirable memoir of his life,(187) written by one of the most distinguished women of England. It cannot but be gratifying to all who cherish the memory of Montalembert that the task should have fallen into the hands of one so eminently capable as Mrs. Oliphant. Personally intimate with his family and on terms of friendship with his wife (_née_ Comtesse de Merode), thoroughly familiar with the language, modern history, and politics of France, and the successful translator of _The Monks of the West_, it would have been difficult to find a writer better fitted, in knowledge and in sympathy, to record the life of Charles de Montalembert. Let us add here that, for reasons which the intelligent reader may easily divine, we are glad that the biography has been written by a Protestant. Although to a Catholic reader it would be more pleasant to read a life in which nothing could be found which is not in perfect harmony with the spirit of faith and loyalty toward the church, yet, for the public generally, the testimony of a fair and candid Protestant in respect to certain very important events in the career of Montalembert will be more free from the suspicion of bias, and therefore of more value in establishing the fact of his essential devotion to the Holy See to the end of his life.

We trust that the ladies of Sorosis and of the various wings and vanguards of the grand army of “The Rights of Women” will not take offence if we endeavor to compliment Mrs. Oliphant by saying that we especially admire the style in which her memoir is written, for a tone and quality which—turn whither we may—we cannot otherwise describe than as “manly.” Making due allowance for the almost inevitable partiality of the biographer for his hero, there is a directness, a solidity, a sound common‐sense view of practical questions, and an absence of mere sentimentality, all eminently to her credit and in admirable keeping with the dignity of her subject. Mrs. Oliphant’s modesty, too, equals her ability. Referring to her translation of _The Monks of the West_, she tells us: “We are sorry to add, to our personal humiliation, that Montalembert was by no means so much satisfied with at least the first part of the translation. He acknowledged that the meaning was faithfully rendered; ‘but,’ he wrote, ‘I cannot admire the constant use of French or Latin words instead of your own vernacular. My Anglo‐Saxon feelings are wounded to the quick by the useless admission of the article _the_ or _a_; and by such words as _chagrin_ instead of _grief_, _malediction_ instead of _curse_, etc.’ The proofs of the translation came back from him laden with corrections in red ink—a circumstance which communicated to them a certain additional sharpness, at least to the troubled imagination of the translator; and the present writer may be perhaps allowed here to avow in her own person that up to this present moment, when she happens to have the smallest French phrase to translate, she pauses with instinctive alarm, hastily substituting _freedom_ for _liberty_ when the word occurs; and will cast about in her mind, with a certain sensation of fright, how to find words for _authority_, _corruption_, _intelligence_, etc., in other than the French form.”

Charles Forbes René de Montalembert was born in London on the 15th of May, 1810. His father was a noble French _emigré_; his mother, the daughter of James Forbes, an Englishman of distinction. The first nine years of his life were spent principally in England under the immediate care and in the personal companionship of his maternal grandfather, and, dating from this period, the English language was always to him a second mother tongue. At the age of fourteen we find him at the college of S. Barbe in Paris. The fact may be discouraging to many young gentlemen of the present day now at school and in sad possession of a class of ideas too generally accepted, to the effect that men become useful and distinguished by reason of the possession of some unaided special gift rather than by study and the laborious acquisition of knowledge—we say the fact may be discouraging to them, but nevertheless it remains a fact that the young Montalembert laid the foundation of his future distinction as a man of letters, an archæologist, a great orator, a great writer, an eminent political leader, and the ornament of the Chamber of Peers, in close, unremitting, laborious application to his studies while at school. After he had completed his college course and entered society, we find him writing to a friend: “It is usual to say that youth is the time for the pleasures of society. I look upon this opinion as a complete paradox. It seems to me, on the contrary, that youth should be given up with ardor to study, or to preparation for a profession. When a young man has paid his tribute to his country; when he can appear in society crowned with the laurels of debate or of the battle‐field, or at least of universal esteem; when he feels entitled to command respect, if not admiration—then is the time to enter society with satisfaction.”

Soon there came for him the period of _illusions perdues_, which, commencing with the entrance into life of every intelligent and ambitious young man, accompanies him with more or less persistence to the edge of the grave. Young Montalembert spent some time in Sweden, at whose court his father was the ambassador of Charles X. On his return to France, he wrote an article upon that country which M. Guizot, the editor of the _Revue Française_, advised him to cut down to half its length. He complied, sent in his abbreviated article, and the editor suppressed the best portion of what remained!

About this time he met Lamartine, became intimate with Victor Hugo, “then the poet of all sweet and virtuous things,” and numbered among his friends Sainte‐Beuve, who then shared Montalembert’s religious enthusiasm and his belief that Europe was to be regenerated by the church. Ireland, too, came in for a full share of his sympathy. He wrote an article on that country which Guizot allowed to go in entire. A friend tells him that his article on Sweden is dull, and that on Ireland commonplace. “Disappointing,” writes the young author in his diary, “but better than if my friend had praised me insincerely.” O’Connell, then in the fulness of his powers and his popularity, greatly attracted him. He would go all the way to Ireland to see him. And he did. Crossing the two channels, and traversing England, he made the journey over the mountains of Kerry on horseback, with a little Irish boy for his guide. He visited O’Connell at Derrynane, prepared and anxious to discuss with him the great subjects which filled his mind. The Liberator received him kindly, and after dinner—looking at the ingenuous face of twenty before him—did what he thought precisely the proper thing to do—ushered him at once into the drawing‐room, where the young count was thrown on the tender mercies of a crowd of pretty and gay young Irish women. _Encore une illusion perdue!_ He had crossed seas and mountains to discuss freedom, the church, English rule and Irish emancipation, with Ireland’s greatest man, who, without listening to a word from him, thrust him into another room amid a bevy of laughing girls!

After Montalembert’s return from Ireland came his intimacy with Lacordaire and Lamennais, and the joint literary enterprise of the three in the establishment of the _Avenir_, whose motto was “God and Liberty.” Its first number was issued Oct. 15, 1830. We will not dwell on its history, so familiar to all Catholics, except to refer to the holy war waged by it and its friends against the monopoly of education by the government. Under the law, every private school, every educational institution not licensed and regulated by the University of Paris, was absolutely forbidden. Utter irreligiousness then pervaded the colleges and schools of France. The generation which passed through those schools bears witness to their evil influences, and confirms Lacordaire’s own record, who says that he left college “with religion destroyed in his soul,” and that he, like almost all the youths of his period, “lost his faith at school.”

Montalembert’s picture of these evil influences was everywhere recognized as truthful. “Is there a single establishment of the university where a Christian child can live in the exercise of faith? Does not a contagious doubt, a cold and tenacious impiety, reign over all these young souls whom she pretends to instruct? Are they not too often either polluted, or petrified, or frozen? Is not the most flagrant, the most monstrous, the most unnatural immorality inscribed in the records of every college, and in the recollections of every child who has passed as much as eight days there?”

To test the law forbidding freedom in education, Lacordaire and Montalembert opened a free school for poor children at Paris in the Rue des Arts. They were indicted for the offence, and tried at the bar of the Chamber of Peers. The audience, as may well be imagined, was made up from the nobility and intelligence of the land. The prisoners defended their cause in person. Lacordaire, who spoke first, referred to the fact that the government had lately impeached the previous ministers by virtue of power in the charter not reduced to a special law. “If they could do it, so could I,” said the brave priest, “with this difference, that they asked blood, while I desired to give a free education to the children of the poor.” He ended by recalling to his judges the example of Socrates “in the first struggle for freedom to preach.” “In that _cause célèbre_ by which Socrates fell,” said Lacordaire, “he was evidently culpable against the gods, and in consequence against the laws of his country. Nevertheless, posterity, both pagan and Christian, has stigmatized his judges and accusers; and of all concerned have absolved only the culprit and the executioner—the culprit, because he had failed to keep the laws of Athens only in obedience to a higher law; and the executioner, because he presented the cup to the victim with tears.”

With this proud and plain warning ringing in their ears, the judges next heard Montalembert. He was just twenty‐one, and by the recent death of his father but a few weeks in his place as a peer of France. Sainte‐Beuve saw that his youth, his ease and grace, the elegant precision of his style and diction, veiled the fact that it was a prisoner—not a peer—who spoke, and his judges were the first to forget it.

“The entire chamber listened with a surprise which was not without pleasure to the young man’s bold self‐justification. From that day M. de Montalembert, though formally condemned, was borne in the very heart of the peerage—he was its Benjamin.” The sentence was a gentle reprimand and a mild fine of a hundred francs.

The _Avenir_, it will be remembered, had incurred no censure from Rome. Nevertheless, it had not prospered, and it was resolved by its founders that they would appeal to the head of the church for his explicit approval. Accordingly, the publication of the paper was suspended, and its last number announced “with pomp,” as Lacordaire says, that “the purpose of its editors was to suspend it until they had gone to Rome to seek sanction and authority for its continuation.” The biographer well remarks that “neither from primitive Ireland nor romantic Poland had such an expedition set forth.” They asked the head of the church “to commit himself, to sanction a new and revolutionary movement, to bless the very banners of revolt, and acknowledge as pioneers of his army the ecclesiastical Ishmaels who had carried fire and flame everywhere during their brief career.” There could, of course, be but one result—failure. The _Avenir_ was condemned. Lacordaire and Montalembert at once submitted to the decision. Poor de Lamennais did not, and unhappily persisted in his sad mistake. In connection with this subject, we cannot here refrain from repeating at length some reflections which, coming as they do from an intelligent Protestant, have a peculiar force and value.

They are from the pen of Montalembert’s biographer, and present so admirable, so eloquent a _résumé_ of the question of apostasy, that we have not the heart to curtail the passage containing them by so much as the omission of a single word: