Chapter XIX: Part I: He Sang.(81) (4)

Far be it from me to bring this reproach on any particular individual; but such was the train of thought naturally induced by the unsightly array of house‐linen hung like delusive flags of truce on the balusters of the artist’s home. Early marriage is undoubtedly best for the generality of men in the world, but it is intellectual ruin to artists. Let us wish them the rare fortune of a wife that will be a real helpmate to their higher and better selves, a staff to lean on up the thorny road to Parnassus, and then recommend early marriage; but unless such exceptions be found, let them beware of the fate typified by the prosaic decoration of Van Muyden’s abode at Geneva.

Visions.

The white stars gleamed in the jessamine bush,
And the bright stars up in the sky,
And Gilfillan stood at the garden‐gate,
And so at the gate stood I.

The apple‐boughs bent as we lingered there,
And showered their rosy rain—
Is it all that shall fall in that pleasant path,
If we meet at the gate again?

O Gilfillan gay! why seek away
From lady‐love, kith, and kin
The world’s Well‐done, or ’neath foreign sun
The golden spurs to win?

O womanly heart! be still, be still!
It is threescore years to‐day—
And thou canst throb with this wild, wild tide,
And I all withered and gray!

And Gilfillan’s bones ’neath the kirk‐yard stones
Of a foreign and far‐off land—
No preacher so loud of the coffin and shroud,
And the house that is built on sand!

Oh! a rare, rare castle of human hope
We builded aloft in our pride!
And, oh! woe betide so weary a dream;
For my lover is by my side.

We have known no partings, no weary years,
We have known no days of sorrow;
For I am but seventeen to‐day,
And we shall be married to‐morrow!

A Word For Women.

By One Of Themselves.

It has been urged that women should refrain from writing for the public, and busy themselves with interests more strictly within their own domain than those of literature. The demand might claim respectful notice, if all women would give heed to it. Since they will not, is there any reason why those who employ their pens in the production of sensational stories and other demoralizing works should have the field all to themselves? Or is it right that others of equal ability should shrink from entering it in defence of religion and morality?

The space is ample for all combatants. Our learned and venerable doctors, stern champions of truth, who keep their logical and polemical lances ever poised to strike the foe, to demolish error, and force conviction upon minds firmly closed against less cogent weapons, need not fear being jostled by humble handmaidens of the same mistress, who have ventured within the lists. These may do good service, also, with a large class whom their telling blows shall fail to reach.

Our women and youth, who will read and be influenced for good or evil by “feminine literature,” cannot be amused with metaphysical discussions that gain an attentive hearing from men of philosophical tastes, or even by moral essays and reflections, however excellent and edifying.

Unfortunately, it is not a question of forming the tastes of readers. Alas! these are already formed by a vitiated literature, flowing from a godless system of education, and carrying the poison through the whole length of its course.

The only question is, Where shall the antidote be found, and how administered? Certainly not in moral lectures that will not be read, or in fiction of the goody‐goody sort.

Our only hope—and it is a bright one—for the future of our young Catholics lies in the blessed awakening—effected by the clear tones of that infallible voice which never, in any age, gave forth an uncertain sound—that is causing schools for Christian culture to spring up through the whole length and breadth of our country. But what for our children of a larger growth, whose tastes are already perverted?

We think it is unquestionable that, as the daughters of the first Eve, according to the flesh, have aided powerfully in commending the forbidden fruit to the lips of a deluded public, so the daughters of the second Eve, according to the spirit, may do much to remedy the consequences of the fatal banquet.

There are certain influences exercised almost exclusively by women. There are certain subjects to the consideration of which the flexibility of her nature enables her to bend her efforts with graceful success, and to far better purpose than the “stern masculinity” of man’s heart, head, and pen can compass.

Well, then, if women _may_ write, it behooves them to treat of such matters, and in such manner, as shall secure readers. For our people must and will read. Right or wrong, it is a necessity of the age. From the abodes of wealth and leisure, in the metropolis of fashion, to village homes and rural firesides, our people must and will read. Happy for them if the nourishment their fevered imaginations so morbidly crave be at least harmless! A highly‐seasoned sensational literature has stimulated the craving to a degree of frenzy, if not to actual organic disease; happy, indeed, for them could such mental pabulum, such agreeable viands and cooling fruits, be furnished and accepted as would gradually assuage the wild thirst for excitement, until wholesome correctives should become palatable!

To secure success in tilling the field from which so desirable a harvest is to be gathered, the most conscientious writers must be content, however they may deplore the necessity, to sharpen their plough‐shares in the camps of these Philistines of literature. With no blunt implement can the soil be compelled to yield such harvest.

We may furnish entertaining and edifying biographies, and gain a few readers. For this department women are by nature peculiarly fitted, if they will guard against the tendency to exaggeration which is their besetting sin. But for one reader of such a book there will be fifty, even among Catholics, who will prefer the demoralizing trash in cheap newspapers and dime novels to the best biography that can be produced.

Truth should be presented in a sharp and, to use a phrase of the times, _taking_ way which shall compel a hearing. The popular absurdities and glaring depravities of this “enlightened XIXth century” should be set forth with vehement energy and convincing force.

It is no shadow, but a real, all‐pervading, soul‐destroying power with which the Christian athlete of this day is brought into close conflict. The foe must be met by an attitude as firmly hostile to its evil enticements as it assumes against all good influences. “Beating the air” will win no victory. Seeking to compromise or modify the stern principles of eternal truth held and proclaimed by the Catholic Church from first to last will only ensure defeat.

If our women join in the struggle to resist the forces of infidelity which threaten to overwhelm our sons and daughters in temporal and eternal ruin, and, in their zealous enthusiasm, step beyond the sphere of domestic privacy and humble retirement that is happily their own; if some literary Judith even throws off for the moment the delicate tenderness of her sex, and seems to pass the limits of female decorum to strike off the head a leading Holofernes, let us not cry, Out upon her for such unwomanly act! Let us reflect that it would have been more in accordance with her nature and inclination to have remained quietly in her sequestered home and at her ease, if she could have forgotten the fearful interests that were at stake.

What woman could look on with apathy when husband, brother, or child was exposed to certain death, from which her strongest effort might possibly snatch the dear one, or listen to the remonstrance that it was unbecoming and improper for a woman to put forth such effort, and that it must prove a very feeble and faulty one at the best? And shall we ask her to fold her hands in ease, and remain silent in fitting retirement, when the souls of her beloved are exposed to eternal death? No; it is her inalienable right to speak and act when by word or deed she may possibly rescue souls.

Should sentiments of mere human feeling, and affections from which it is most difficult to detach the heart of woman, enter into, imbue, and even control the means she uses to promote interests dearer than mortal life, she has nothing to fear but the critics. Her heavenly Judge will never condemn her for using such weapons as he has endowed her withal in his holy cause.

Honey is sometimes better than vinegar, feminine sentiment often more effective than masculine wisdom, and fervor always to be preferred to apathy.

We need not fear that the Catholic woman will be carried too far by her fervent zeal in resisting the “spirit of the age.” She can never be led into the mistakes of the so‐called “strong‐minded.” Our vigilant and loving mother, the Holy Catholic Church, arms her daughters with invulnerable shields against all fanaticism. She holds also in her hands the power to sanctify all influences by which souls are attracted to her embrace; to transmute all metals into gold.

If an appeal to the sentimental and emotional element in the heart of a stranger to her fold has drawn the wanderer to her maternal bosom, her gentle, all‐prevailing inspiration soon condenses feeling into principle, and the romantic visionary stands clothed in the panoply of a martyr.

If fitting words bravely spoken have called hither a soul from the slough of transcendentalism, spiritism, free love, or from the ranks of the “strong‐minded,” there is no fear that it may prove less docile to the genial influence than that of the dreamer, or fail to be speedily invested with all the delicate attributes and simple dignity of the true woman.

All honor to the Catholic women in our own country and in Great Britain who are striving, each in her own way, to promote the interests of a sound and truly Catholic literature. When there were but few of these in America, our sisters beyond the Atlantic reached their hands across the great waters to rescue souls. It will be known only at the great accounting day how many they first attracted to the consideration of eternal verities. From that time they have increased in number, and have continued to enrich British Catholic literature by their contributions, while encouraging their American co‐workers.

A feminine Catholic literature may not be faultless, and yet gain numerous readers, and prove a power for good, not only within the church, but beyond her pale. Women are human, and therefore liable to imperfection.

When we notice the faults of female writers, we must not forget the difficulties which encompass them. Few American women who write are exempt from a multitude of vexatious household cares, or even from kitchen drudgery. Many are oppressed with poverty, have no power to earn a subsistence but by the pen, with helpless families dependent upon their literary exertions. Among the most favored, scarcely one can be found who has not some invalid—a husband, parent, or child—who requires her attentions by night and day. It may be safely asserted that such literary leisure as men devoted to these pursuits ordinarily enjoy is unknown to American women. With all their disadvantages, the marvel is, not that their performances should be imperfect, but that they have really accomplished so much under the shadow of the crowding cares and duties which surround them in their various domestic relations.

Let them take courage, then, and persevere in their laudable efforts, striving diligently to make the productions of their pens more and more perfect. And to this end let them bestow their cordial smiles and most graceful bows of acknowledgment upon their best friends—the critics who will take the pains to examine and pass honest and intelligent verdicts upon their productions. Acute criticism is the purging fire of literature, without which it would soon become overburdened with nonsense. As the friend who kindly admonishes us of our faults is entitled to the warmest corner in our hearts, so the critic who frankly sets forth the defects of any production may justly claim the most sincere gratitude of its author.

New Publications.

STATE CHARITIES AID ASSOCIATION. Report of a Committee on a new
Bellevue Hospital. New York: American Church Press Co., 4 St.
Mark’s Place. 1874.

This pamphlet is worth reading by all who are interested in hospitals. The need of reformation in this branch of philanthropic work is only too well proved. The gentlemen and ladies who interest themselves in the care of the sick poor merit both honor and gratitude. All that is written or done, however, by the most zealous and disinterested persons who seek to accomplish their end outside of the Catholic Church only adds to the evidence that the church alone is competent to deal with great social evils and miseries. The state is cold, selfish, and merciless, except so far as it is Christianized. Mercenaries are always lacking in the qualities necessary to secure a truly faithful and charitable care of the sick and miserable. Division among those who are seeking to carry out the precepts of Christian charity, and the want of organization and of religious institutions among those who are out of the one true church, paralyze their efforts. It is only Christian unity which can give the proper remedy for this lamentable state of things, and without Catholic faith and obedience this unity is impossible. Religious orders are alone capable of carrying out great works of charity, and they cannot exist and flourish except in the Catholic Church. If modern society does not return to the bosom of the church, its evils are incurable, however much individuals may do in a partial way. Nevertheless, these partial and imperfect efforts ought to be encouraged; and during this past winter we have had occasion to admire and rejoice in the outflow of a stream of beneficence upon our suffering population in New York which has relieved an immense amount of misery. In so far as the special subject of this pamphlet is concerned, it is obvious that the erection of a new Bellevue Hospital is imperatively demanded, and we trust that it will be accomplished.

UNIVERSITE LAVAL. SIXIEME CENTENAIRE DE SAINT THOMAS D’AQUIN A S.
HYACINTHE ET A QUEBEC. Quebec: Coté et Cie. 1874.

We are rejoiced to see that the six‐hundredth anniversary of S. Thomas was celebrated with due splendor and solemnity in at least these two places on the American continent. The same was done in private at the college of the Jesuits, at Woodstock. The Quebec pamphlet, besides the two excellent discourses of M. l’Abbé Bégin and the Rev. F. Prior Bourgeois, O.S.D., contains a very remarkable poem by a religious of the Congregation of the Precious Blood at S. Hyacinthe. We tender our thanks for the courtesy of the friend who sent us this interesting memorial of a religious _fête_ which does honor to the taste and piety of the devout and cultivated Catholics of Lower Canada.

The two discourses contained in the pamphlet are of a high order of excellence in regard both to thought and diction. We have accidentally omitted to notice among the other discourses that of Professor Pâquèt, which is fully worthy of the brilliant occasion on which it was delivered, viz., the soirée which took place in the evening in the grand hall of the university.

TRUE TO TRUST. London: Burns & Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by The
Catholic Publication Society.)

This story, the epoch of which is placed during the reign of Henry VIII., is almost worthy of Lady Georgiana Fullerton, and its style frequently reminds us of that accomplished writer of fiction. The character of Catharine Tresize is truly beautiful and original. We recommend this story as one of the best which has lately appeared.

IN SIX MONTHS; OR, THE TWO FRIENDS. By Mary M. Meline. Baltimore:
Kelly, Piet & Co. 1874.

The story of the two friends, who are two young Americans converted to Catholicity in Europe, has the advantage of appearing upon tinted paper, in a neat form, suitable to the polished, ornate diction and poetic fancy of the lady author, a near relative of the late Mr. Meline, who was one of our favorite contributors. Miss Meline has a cultivated literary taste and a decided talent for writing stories. She has, moreover, the genuine Catholic spirit of fervent devotion to the Holy Father, and in the present story describes some scenes connected with the invasions of Rome under Garibaldi and La Marmora. We trust Miss Meline will not suffer her pen to lie idle, but keep it busily at work.

DR. COXE’S CLAIMS TO APOSTOLICITY REVIEWED. Right Rev. Bishop
Ryan’s Reply to the Attack of the Episcopal Prelate. Buffalo:
Catholic Publication Co. Price 15 cents.

Dr. Coxe is a prelate who has always been conspicuous for arrogance and reckless assertion in maintaining the pretensions of the High Church party in the Protestant Episcopal denomination, and for his vituperative and defamatory assaults on the Catholic Church. In this temperate but severe criticism, Bishop Ryan has made an end of his claims to possess episcopal character and mission, and has refuted him out of his own mouth. We trust that this able and valuable pamphlet will not be permitted to go into oblivion, as pamphlets are wont to do, but be carefully preserved and made use of by clergymen and others who have to deal with Episcopalians searching after the true church, of whom there are so many in these days.

COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT’S LETTERS TO A SCHOOLFELLOW. 1827‐1830.
Translated from the French by C. F. Audly. London: Burns & Oates.
1874. New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.

Goethe somewhere remarks that many of an author’s best thoughts are to be found in his letters to his intimate friends; written, not for the public, not for fame but from the strong desire to communicate that which is most living within him to a kindred spirit.

In the confidential correspondence of great minds there is a yet greater charm. We feel a kind of personal interest in men who have exercised great intellectual power over us; they become our heroes, and we endow them with imaginary qualities, from lack of more certain information concerning them. The minutest details in their lives become to us affairs of moment. How they looked, how they dressed, what they thought about the most trifling subjects, seem to us to be matters worthy of becoming a part of history. There is a still higher interest in the story of the unfolding of a powerful intellect. It contains a lesson in psychology more instructive than any which can be learned from abstract treatises on this subject. This it is that gives the chief value to autobiographies of philosophers, poets, and theologians. Yet an autobiography can never be a mirror in which we may behold the workings of the human mind. It is an after‐ thought, a reflex judgment, the expression of what men now think they once felt or thought. It does not give us the process of intellectual growth, but a theory concerning what that process must have been; and a theory formed by the individual concerning the flux and reflux of the currents of his own life can never be wholly trustworthy. Autobiography is necessarily subject to all the vices inherent in special pleading.

The truest history of the intellectual and moral development of a man is to be found in his letters to his intimate friends. There we have, not what in after‐years he thinks he thought and felt, but what he really did think and feel; and in this view of the matter, the egotism which is always so prominent in letters to friends gives them an additional value. Instead of being offended with the writer for talking so much about himself, we are grateful for the weakness which gives us a truer insight into his character.

These considerations will prepare our readers for a favorable criticism upon the volume before us. Few men have lived to whom we more gladly give the homage of admiration and respect than to Charles de Montalembert; and though we strongly condemn certain words which he uttered when his mind was troubled by suffering and disease, and which, had he lived longer, he himself would have been the first to wish unsaid, he was yet so great a man that we willingly forget that he made this blunder.

These _Letters_, of which Mr. Audly has given us an excellent English translation, were first published in the _Contemporain_ (June, 1872, to March, 1873).

They run from 1827 to 1830, and, as the work of a youth from his seventeenth to his twentieth year, are of course fresh, frank, and ardent; but they also reveal in the future orator and historian a depth of feeling and a command of language rarely to be met with in one of so tender an age.

They are addressed to M. Léon Cornudet, whom Montalembert calls the friend of his soul, his dearest friend; to whom he is bound by a common sympathy in every noble feeling and high aim; whom nor time nor absence can make him even for one moment forget. What chiefly strengthens him in his faith in the permanency of this friendship is the fact that it is based on religion, which becomes the immortal mediatrix between his soul and that of his friend.

When he travels and contemplates the beauties of nature, his only regret is that his friend is not near him; when he reads a poem, and his soul is borne aloft on the wings of inspiration, he exclaims, “Oh! if he were but here to share my delight.” He never dreams of the future, of battling for religion and freedom, of victories won and defeats nobly borne, that he does not behold his friend by his side; and when, picturing to himself the vicissitudes of life, he imagines that possibly, in spite of his high resolves and strong purposes, he may fail, may be doomed to obscurity and the contempt of the world, he seeks for consolation in the thought that in the heart of his friend he will find a better world.

His friend is, as it were, his other self, which gives to him a twofold life; making him feel always that “joy was born a twin,” and that all who joy would win must share it, and that sorrow, too, longs to pour itself into the heart of love.

This strong friendship—“the only impulse of the soul admitting of excess”—which, like a thread of gold, runs through all these letters, wins at once our sympathy and our confidence.

There is something noble and great in the youth who is capable of such pure and deep love. After all, it is the heart that reaches highest and deepest, and through it man attains to the best.

Of course there is in these letters much that is immature; were it not so, they would not be the letters of a mere boy; but the infinite faith in the possibility of divine realities even on earth, the lofty contempt for what is mean and ignoble, the self‐confidence that never doubts of itself, the restless activity that no work satisfies, the boundless craving for knowledge, the freshness of the heart that falls like dew upon every lovely thing, giving it health and beauty—all this so charms and delights us that we have no eye for defects.

“A contempt for life,” he writes to his friend, “is, in my opinion, the finest privilege of youth. As we grow older, the more we cling to a frail existence which becomes a burden to ourselves and to others.”

What has experience that can compensate for the loss of

“The love of higher things and better days;
The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is called the world, and the world’s ways;
The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise
Which kindle manhood, but can ne’er entrance
The heart in an existence of its own”?

Young Montalembert, with wealth and noble birth, which gave him the _entrée_ of the highest circles, found no charm in what is called society. His mind was too serious, his ambition too lofty, to permit him to throw away the precious time of youth in frivolous amusements.

“People usually say,” he writes to his friend during the summer vacations of 1827, “that in youth we ought to give ourselves up to the pleasures of society. In my opinion, this amounts to downright absurdity. I should think that in youth we ought to plunge into study or into the profession we wish to embrace. When a man has done his duty towards his country; when he can come before the world with laurels won in the senate or on the field of battle, or at least when he enjoys universal esteem; when, again, he is sure of commanding universal esteem and respect, then I can understand that he has a right to enjoy himself in society, and to mix in it with assurance.”

Montalembert had a passion for labor, which is the only sure road to excellence and power, and which is also the greatest evidence of ability.

We find him, when not yet ten years old, shut up in his grandfather’s library, acting as his secretary, helping him in the designs of his geographical maps, and absorbed in the study of the great English orators; and later, at college, giving up his recreations, and devoting fifteen hours a day to the severest mental discipline. By saving five minutes every morning in his cell at Sainte‐Barbe out of the time allowed to the pupils for rising and dressing, he managed in one year to translate a whole volume of Epictetus. He spent a portion of the summer vacation of 1827 at La Roche‐Guyon, the country‐seat of the Duc de Rohan; and though the castle was filled with guests, for whom the duke provided every kind of amusement, this intrepid young worker is able to write the following lines to his friend:

“While you are idling your time away, pray just hear what I shall have read during my month’s residence at La Roche: in the first place, all Byron, which is no trifling job; Delolme, on the _British Constitution_—a capital and highly important work; the whole of the _Odyssey_, twenty‐four cantos, at the rate of one a day; Thomson, Cowper, Pliny’s _Letters_; the _Lettres Provinciales_; the _Life of S. Francis Xavier_, by Bouhours, which the duke obliged me to read; three volumes of the _Mercure_ newspaper; and, lastly, the poetical part of the Greek _Excerpta_.”

Even in Stockholm, whither he went in 1828 with his father, who had been appointed French ambassador to the court of Sweden, he is able, in the midst of the endless and tiresome routine of court etiquette, to devote six or seven hours a day to study. “In the morning,” he writes, “I read Kant, whom I study deeply, not finding him over‐difficult in the beginning. At night I plod in detail over Northern history. In the afternoon I devote all the time I can catch to my correspondence, to reading a few German poems and novels, and to certain statistical or political studies.”

Not content with working himself, he seeks to rouse the flagging energies of his friend by pointing out to him’ what great things he may be able to do for God and his country. The ruling passion in Montalembert’s heart, in these early years as during his whole life, was the love of the church and of freedom.

“Religion, liberty,” he writes—“such are the eternal groundworks of all virtue. To serve God, to be free—such are our duties. In order to fulfil them, we must use every resource, every means, which Providence has placed in our hands.” And again: “I have succeeded in preserving my faith in the midst of one hundred and twenty infidels; I hope that God will not allow me to lose my independence of mind in the midst of half a dozen absolutists.”

And then he pictures to himself the great good which might be accomplished by a writer who, bidding defiance to the prejudices of youth and the public, would raise a bold and eloquent voice in defence of freedom and the church. “What a noble part he would have to play!” he exclaims. “What blessings he would confer upon mankind! What services he would render to religion! Ah! wherefore has not God deigned to give me talent? With what passionate ardor I would have embraced such a glorious future!” Who does not perceive here how the thoughts of the boy were father to the deeds of the man?

No author of our time has written more feelingly or eloquently of Ireland than Montalembert. He was drawn to her by a double attraction—he loved her for her faith, and he sympathized with her because she was wronged. The finest portion of his history of _The Monks of the West_ is that devoted to the Irish saints. Nothing could be more beautiful or more consoling than the noble pages which he has devoted to this subject. As his _Histoire de Sainte Elisabeth_ opened a new path across the vast field of Catholic history, his studies on S. Columba and S. Columbanus called attention to the wealth of religious poetry and Christian example which was suffered to remain buried in the archives of the early Irish Church. In these letters we perceive the first awakening of his love for Ireland, and are able to trace the causes which led him to study the history of that most interesting but unhappy land.

“By reading the admirable speeches of Grattan,” he writes in 1828, “I have discovered, as it were, a new world—the world of Ireland, of her long‐ sufferings, her times of freedom and glory, her sublime geniuses, and her indefatigable struggles. The universal interest now felt for Ireland, and the remarkable circumstances in which she is placed at present, have tempted me to unfold before the eyes of those Frenchmen who care for Ireland the highly interesting annals and the sundry revolutions of her history. My Irish parentage on my mother’s side, my deep knowledge of English, and my acquaintance with several families in that country have confirmed my first ideas on this matter, and I have determined upon writing a history of Ireland from the year 1688, and to do it as soon as possible, in order that it may be published, if that can be done, before the vital question of the emancipation is solved. There is perhaps no country presenting such a plentiful harvest of events equally interesting and unknown.”

Montalembert was in Sweden when he wrote this letter, and he at once sent to England for books, that he might without delay set to work on his proposed history of Ireland. In addition to this, he proposed at the end of the year to visit Ireland itself, that he might consult libraries and make a thorough study of the people and country. This somewhat ambitious project of the youthful Montalembert led to no other immediate results than an article on Ireland in the _Revue Française_, and a journey to the Emerald Isle in 1830; but to it we are no doubt in part indebted for the eloquent chapters on the Irish Saints in _The Monks of the West_. His first letter from Ireland to his friend is full of the enthusiasm with which the history of that country had inspired him:

“As for the Irishwomen,” he writes, “they are bewitching. They form the most beautiful female population I ever beheld. But I reserve all my remarks on the country and the people for our conversations in Paris. For the present I must simply beg of you to pray that my passion for Ireland may not become criminal, for it threatens really to lead me astray from the lawful object of my affections; and I am but too often tempted to turn away my thoughts from our France to a country so completely responding to my beliefs, my tastes, and even my most trifling prepossessions.”

He visited the county Wicklow in September, 1830, and wrote to his friend from the “meeting of the waters in the vale of Avoca.” “No, never,” he exclaims, “in France, England, the Netherlands, or even in Germany, have I met with anything comparable to the wild and picturesque defiles of this Wicklow County.... Only figure to yourself the grandest and yet the most lovely landscape; torrents abounding in numberless cascades, struggling to make their way through perpendicular rocks; forests of almost fabulous depths; meadows and swards full worthy of the Emerald Isle; and then old abbeys, modern residences, and lodges built in the purest Gothic style. Place, moreover, in such a landscape, the most pious, most cheerful, most poetical population in the world. Then, again, say to yourself that Grattan passed his childhood here; that he meditated his speeches along these torrents; that one of these residences was bestowed on him by his fatherland, and that therein he lived in his old age; that all these beautiful lands were sanctified and immortalized by the Rebellion of 1798. Well, figure to yourself all this, and you will still have but a faint idea of what I have felt for the last few days.”

As in his eyes Irishwomen were the most beautiful, and Irish scenery the most lovely, he was prepared to admire enthusiastically the men of the country. At Carlow College he dined with the celebrated Bishop Doyle and several of his professors, who, he says, received him with a truly Homeric hospitality.

“I really don’t know,” he writes, “which I ought to admire most, the people or the clergy. I feel confounded at the sight of this people, equally faithful—as I said in my article, whilst myself hardly believing it—equally faithful to its old misery and to its old faith, who, of all the possessions of their forefathers, have preserved nothing but their religion, the only relic snatched from the conqueror, without ever allowing themselves to be carried away by the invincible attraction of imitation.... As for the priests, they are all model priests—manly, open, cheerful, energetic. No hypocrisy, no assumed reserve, to be read on their candid and serene countenances; they talk of freedom with all the buoyancy of a Paris school‐boy, and of their country, of their dear and unfortunate Ireland, with an accent that would melt a heart of stone. One can see that over their hearts religion and patriotism hold equal sway. Indeed, in order to comprehend fully what patriotism is, one must hear an Irish priest talk of his country.”

It is a mistake to affirm, as has been done, that Montalembert made this journey to Ireland merely, or chiefly even from a desire to see O’Connell.

The great Liberator had indeed fired his young heart with enthusiasm, and he rode sixty miles through a dreary country to have the pleasure of talking with him; but from these letters it is evident that a feeling, higher and more general than any which could be inspired by an individual, however great, had drawn him to the Isle of Saints. At Derrynane he found O’Connell, surrounded by his twenty‐three children and nephews, looking like a plain country farmer. “I was struck,” he writes, “but not dazzled, by him. He is by no means the most interesting object in Ireland.”

He heard O’Connell speak, and, in spite of his enthusiastic and impressionable nature, was disappointed.

“He is but a demagogue,” he tells his friend, “and by no means a great orator. He is declamatory, inflated, full of bombast; his arguments are loosely strung together; his fancy is devoid of charm or freshness; his style harsh, rough, and choppy. The more I see of him, the more I hear him, the more I am confirmed in my first opinion—to wit, he is not stamped with the mark of genius or with true greatness. But he defends the finest of all causes. He has before him no mighty antagonist or rival, and circumstances—as is the case with many others—will stand him in lieu of genius.”

We have given our readers but a faint idea of the warmth, and glow, and freshness that pervade these letters; of the frank and unaffected candor with which their youthful author lays open his whole heart to his friend; of the deep spirit of religion and reverence which runs through them; of the noble sentiments and generous resolves which, as from an inexhaustible fountain, well up from young Montalembert’s heart. In reading them, we have felt our own heart grow younger and kindle with new fire; we have seemed to catch the accent of the olden time, when men lived for honor, and were glad to die for faith and truth, rather than the metallic tone of this age, “when only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie.”

We know of no book which we would more gladly see in the hands of our Catholic youth who lack enthusiasm and are without the courage which a noble and high purpose in life can alone give.

They need the education which will lift them above low and petty aims, and cause them to take an interest in things of an unselfish kind. They must learn that worth is more than success, and honor better than wealth; they must be taught to outgrow the narrow, calculating spirit of the huckster and the shopkeeper, the disposition to sneer at enthusiasm and to depreciate high principles of action; and to this end we know of nothing that is likely to contribute more effectually than the example and writings of such men as Montalembert, who devoted the labor of a lifetime to high aims and noble purposes; who loved the truth for its own sake, and freedom, not for himself alone, but for all men; who never worshipped the rising sun or paid court to success, but fought for the just cause without stopping to reflect whether he would win or lose.

“Let us never forget,” said Montalembert, towards the end of his life, speaking to his friend—“let us never forget that Rio, when we were young, cultivated enthusiasm within our souls, and for such a blessing we must be bound to him by the deepest gratitude.” This is a debt which many a Catholic to‐day, not in France alone, but throughout the world, owes to Charles de Montalembert.

THE CONSOLING THOUGHTS OF S. FRANCIS OF SALES. Gathered from his
writings and arranged in order by the Rev. Père Huguet. Boston:
Patrick Donahoe. 1874.

This work is really beyond the scope of the reviewer or the critic, as it is made up wholly from the writings of a great saint. To every one who knows the works of S. Francis of Sales, it will be a fresh pleasure to see such well‐arranged parts of them in an English dress. Père Huguet has had the happy thought of choosing from the saint’s spiritual treatises everything that could console the sorrowful, strengthen the weak, and encourage the doubtful. The translator made it a labor of love to put these thoughts within the reach of many millions of English‐speaking people. S. Francis has been read and admired by every one, within or without the church; and there is between him and the modern mind a peculiar sympathy which makes him essentially welcome to men of our day. Non‐Catholics would call him a thoroughly _reasonable_ saint. Everywhere his counsel will be found on the side of moderation. The “smoking flax” and the “bruised reed” need not fear him; his gentle touch is the very thing they require. The care with which Père Huguet has made this compilation is apparent; for though the sentences that compose one page may, as he says, have been taken from twenty various treatises, they all follow each other in admirable order. The author has also supplemented them with footnotes, consisting of appropriate passages from other spiritual writers, ancient and modern, bearing on the same subjects as those treated of by S. Francis. A few of these notes are signed with no name, and are probably the adapter’s own. S. Francis has a wonderful power of expressing spiritual truths in little terse sayings that might well be called proverbs. A few quotations will give an idea of this peculiarity of his style:

“Persecutions are pieces of the cross of Jesus Christ; we should scruple very much to allow the smallest particle of them to perish.”

“It is not with spiritual rose‐bushes as with material ones; on the latter, the thorns remain and the roses pass away; on the former, the thorns pass away and the roses remain.”

“It is necessary that all these sentiments should sink deep into our hearts, and that, leaving our reflections and our prayers, we should pass to our affairs sweetly, lest the liquor of our good resolutions should evaporate and be lost, for we must allow it to saturate and penetrate our whole soul; everything, nevertheless, without strain of mind or body.”

Some very beautiful thoughts will be found on death, and the sorrow of the living for the loss of their dear ones; also some merciful and encouraging conjectures on the number of the saved, which S. Francis thinks will be the greater number of Christians.

SERMONS, LECTURES, ETC., ETC., OF THE REV. MICHAEL B. BUCKLEY,
(LATE) SS. PETER AND PAUL’S, CORK. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1874.

This volume, containing the literary remains of the lamented F. Buckley, will, we have no doubt, be well received by his numerous friends both here and in Ireland. Though a young man, he had earned a high reputation as a speaker and a writer; and the contents of this volume prove that his reputation was not undeserved.

The subjects of the sermons and lectures are varied and interesting, and are, for the most part, well handled. The memoir of the devoted young priest attached to the volume will be found edifying and instructive, and the whole book we deem well worthy the careful perusal of both clergy and laity.

NOVENA TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE APPARITION.
From the French Edition. Approved by the Bishop of Tarbes.
Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1874.

The devotion to Our Lady of Lourdes has spread so rapidly, and miraculous favors coming from it have become so common, even in this country, that this little book is extremely welcome, and will, no doubt, be very popular. It cannot fail, also, to do much good by making the apparition more generally known, and increasing the love of the faithful for Our Lady, and their confidence in her intercession.

MEDITATIONS ON THE HOLY EUCHARIST. By Brother Philippe, Superior‐
General of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. Translated from
the French. West Chester: New York Catholic Protectory. 1873.

All who are acquainted with other meditations by the lately‐deceased and much‐regretted Brother Philippe will not need to be assured of the excellence of the present work. We have eighty‐two meditations on the Eucharist, admirably chosen and thought out. Among them we are delighted to see one entitled “The Holy Eucharist and the Most Blessed Virgin,” and another upholding “Frequent Communion.”

Subjoined to these meditations are some on the Sacred Heart of Jesus, by the same author. These are twenty‐four in number, and will prove of service for instructions and conferences to sodalities of the Sacred Heart.

May our glorious Lady, to whom this volume is dedicated, secure it the reception it deserves. We have never seen anything to surpass these _Meditations_, which Brother Philippe has left us as a precious legacy.

SNATCHES OF SONG. By Mary A. McMullen (Una). St. Louis: Published
by Patrick Fox, No. 14 South Fifth Street. 1874.

There are several reasons which incline us to speak favorably of this book of poems. The first, perhaps, is the appearance of its printed pages, which are neatly executed upon tinted paper. We notice, also, that the red on the edges does not rub off on our fingers, which is a great source of satisfaction to one who is obliged to handle new books. On turning the book over, it occurs to us that green muslin does not form a pleasant contrast with red edges; but as we notice a gilded harp and shamrock on the cover, the arrangement of color is perhaps intended to be typical of the sentiments of the authoress.

The book‐noticer—for we shall not claim the august title of critic—pauses with instinctive reverence at sight of the works of a poet, and, above all, of a poetess. The rhymes must be either good or bad. If good, how shall he condense the ecstasies, the harmonies, of one volume into the prosaic compass of a notice? If bad, how shall he run the risk of breaking by rude treatment the strings of a lyre which is perhaps just working into tune, or inflict a wound on those gushing hearts which sing with the birds or bubble with the brooks? In the present instance, we are glad to be able to say that the verses are not bad. The writer has talent. While there is no marked or striking originality in the subjects chosen, and not much of deep and moving pathos, there are many well‐turned and pretty stanzas, and at times quite a wealth of imagery and illustration. The lines on “The Nightingale,” “To Cashel,” “The Wayside Shrine,” will furnish instances of this; and the volume will be found agreeable to lovers of poetry. The writer deserves to be encouraged. We wish her success in the fortune of her volume.

There is, however, a tone in some of the strains which grates somewhat upon our ears. Although no one suffers from the abuse of arbitrary power as greatly as the holy church, it is not her spirit to seek relief by violence, nor is this permitted to her children, even under oppressive tyranny, excepting when it promises to be a true remedy. There is much more to be feared in these days from the spirit of lawlessness and rebellion than from intelligent submission to governments, even when imperfect in form and unjust in practice. Our Holy Father, while branding with his apostolic eloquence the iniquities of which he is the victim, has forbidden violent resistance, for the time being, to the oppressors of Italy. The Catholics of Germany, under the most diabolical tyranny, have not sought relief by agitating insurrection. And while we do not propose to submit to injustice, or to call bad things by good names, we will never wilfully stain our hands by unnecessary bloodshed. Under these circumstances, the “Hymn to Liberty,” page 39, strikes us as a piece of heated declamation.

Some lines which we have noted at intervals, and which seem to look forward to the emancipation of Ireland as the work of the sword, though highly gratifying to martial spirits, will not wholly commend themselves to those friends of Ireland who are now seeking it by peaceful means, and tread in the paces of the great O’Connell. There is no beauty without truth; and those who lose sight of it, even in minor details, run the risk of a false inspiration. We are glad to notice, on the other hand, several poems in the volume full of Catholic thought and piety. As for the melodies, harmonies, etc., before alluded to, those who wish for them must lay aside our notice and read the book.

THE PARADISE OF GOD; or, The Virtues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
By a Father of the Society of Jesus. Baltimore: John Murphy & Co.
London: R. Washbourne. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic
Publication Society).

The idea of this book is to show that the lovers of the Sacred Heart find in that “masterpiece of creation” an Eden more beautiful than that from which sin expelled us. The various chapters treating of the “Virtues,” will be read with delight by all who are capable of appreciating them. The book is one of the “Messenger Series,” and uniform with the _Happiness of Heaven_ and _God Our Father_—two works which have been widely read.

Books and Pamphlets Received.

From D. & J. SADLIER & Co., New York: Sadliers’ Catholic
Directory, Almanac, and Ordo for 1874. 12mo.

From the AUTHOR: The Anæsthetic Revelation and the Gist of
Philosophy. By Benj. P. Blood. 8vo. pp. 37.

From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: Circular of the Catholic
Commissioner for Indian Missions, to the Catholics of the United
States. Paper, 8vo, pp. 14.

From COMPTON & CO., Halifax, N. S. The Evil of our Day: A Lecture
by Rev. A. Chisholm. 8vo, pp. 15.

From the AUTHOR: Speech of Hon. N. P. Chipman in the House of
Representatives, Feb. 28, 1874. Paper, 12mo, pp. 31.

From METCALF & CO., Northampton: Sixth Annual Report of the Clarke
Institution for Deaf Mutes. Paper, 8vo, pp. 40.

From C. LANGE & CO., New York: Fourth Annual Report of the
Manhattan Eye and Ear Hospital. Paper, 12mo, pp. 34.

From J. LOVELL, Montreal: The Labor and Money Questions. By Wm.
Brown. Paper, 24mo, pp. 58.

From J. A. MCGEE: Ireland Among the Nations. By Rev. J. O’Leary,
D.D. 12mo, pp. 208.

From P. FOX, St. Louis: Snatches of Song. By Mary A. McMullen
(Una). 18mo, pp. 203.

From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: The History of Greece.
By Prof. Dr. Ernst Curtius. Translated by A. W. Ward, M.A. Vol.
IV. 12mo, pp. 530.

From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: The Paradise of God; or, The
Virtues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By a Father of the Society
of Jesus. 18mo, pp. 365.

From The NEW YORK CATHOLIC PROTECTORY, West Chester: Meditations
on the Holy Eucharist, and Meditations on the Sacred Heart of
Jesus. By Brother Philippe. 12mo, pp. xvi., 508, 153.

From P. DONAHOE, Boston: Holy Week in the Vatican. By Thomas Canon
Pope. 12mo, pp. xxiv., 416.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XIX., NO. 111.—JUNE, 1874.

The Principles Of Real Being. VI. Principles of Nominal Realities.

There are beings which are called _real_, not because they have any special reality of their own, but only on account of their objective connection with real beings. Thus possibilities are called “real,” although the things possible have no formal existence and no actual essence; relations are called “real” when they have real terms and a real foundation, although they are not found to possess (unless they be transcendental) any new and special reality; distinction, too, is called “real” from the reality of those things that are distinct, although distinction in itself is neither a new thing nor aught of any real thing. Hence possibility, relation, and distinction are to be looked upon as entities having only a conventional reality, from which their denomination of “real” has been desumed. Let us therefore inquire what are the principles on which these nominal realities depend.

Principles of possible being.

It has been proved, in one of our preceding articles, that every created being is constituted of an act, of a potential term, and of their formal complement. It is now to be observed that an act, when conceived as ready to be produced and to actuate its term, is called a “first act”—_actus primus_; whilst the same act, when already produced and existing in its term, is called a “second act”—_actus secundus_. In the same manner, the potential term, or the potency, when conceived as ready to be first actuated by an act and to complete it, is called a “first potency”—_potentia prima_; whilst the same term, when already actuated and completing its act, receives the name of “second potency”—_potentia secunda_.(85)

When treating of being as possible, it is evident that we cannot consider its act as really actuating a term; for such a real actuation would immediately be followed by the real actuality of the being. Yet the quiddity of a possible being is always conceived through the same principles and the same ratios through which the quiddity of the actual being is conceivable. For a being is adequately possible when an act is terminable or can give existence, when a term is actuable or can receive existence, and when, from the concurrence of the two, one complete actuality can result. The act, the term, and the complement are therefore implied in the possible no less than in the actual being; with this difference, however: that in the actual being the act and the term are actually existing in one another, whereas in the possible being the act and the term are not really existing in one another, but only mentally conceived as ready to conspire into one common existence. In other words, in the actual being the act is a _second act_, the term is a _second potency_, and the complement is a real and formal _result_; whilst in the possible being the act is a _first act_, the term is a _first potency_, and the complement is a mere _resultability_.