Lectures On Reason And Revelation.Delivered in St. Ann's Church, New York,during the Season of Advent, 1867.By the Rev. Thomas S. Preston.New York: The Catholic Publication House, 126 Nassau Street.
The Lectures published in this volume were delivered during the Sunday evenings of Advent, in St. Ann's Church. They are five in number, on the following subjects: The Office of Reason, Relations of Reason and Faith, Conditions of Revelation, Revelation and Protestantism, Revelation and the Catholic Church. The author's thesis may be thus stated: The Catholic Church is proved by reason alone, from the evidences of credibility by which the Christian revelation is demonstrated. The Introduction, which is a distinct essay in itself, disposes of two objections; first, that the evidence of Christianity can be applied to pure Protestantism, and second, that the Catholic Church ought to be proved by miracles occurring in every age of her history, as well as at the outset. The Rev. author has handled his topics with great ability, in a clear, neat, and attractive manner, and with a brevity and simplicity which detract nothing from the force of the reasoning, while they lighten very much the task of the reader. These Lectures will be of great service both, to Catholics and to well-disposed inquirers after truth. The typographical execution of the volume is in the best style. As a specimen of our author's method and style, we extract the following passage from the introduction.
"In the following lectures it is the aim of the author to set forth, in a clear and concise manner, a simple argument whereby the claims of the Catholic Church are substantiated by reason alone. In the midst of the excitements of our day some of the plainest truths are forgotten, and men hold opinions or pass to conclusions without any logical grounds whatever. They even sometimes contradict the propositions which are self-evident to reason in their zeal for intellectual progress and emancipation from the thraldom of the past. That which is new is sought after, even though it overthrow the belief of truths heretofore generally admitted. We are not believers in total depravity, and have, therefore, great confidence in the good which still remains in human nature. And as we know that God's grace is ever with man to assist him to the knowledge of the truth, and to lead him in the way of virtue, we have great hopes that the intellectual and moral movements of our day will guide the honest and sincere mind to the true light which is its only illumination. It is a great mistake to suppose that the Catholic Church requires of any man that he should do away with his reason, or cease to exercise those powers which God has given him for the proper appreciation of truth and goodness. To man's intelligence revelation is addressed, and every new light from above only serves to enlarge the thirst for knowledge. The divine ways are ever harmonious, and the supernatural truth will never contradict the natural. The argument of these lectures depends upon the force of reason alone. We briefly explain the nature of human reason and the sphere of its operation. We show how the divine revelation gives its unerring evidence, to which a just intelligence must submit. We vindicate all the natural powers, and defend the exercise of their just prerogatives. God, speaking to man, is bound to give him unmistakable signs that he is speaking, and that no deceiver is imposing upon us. When these signs are given, then we are bound to believe the divine testimony, and entirely to accept truths which the veracity of our Maker vouches for. Private judgment has its full scope, as to it are clearly presented the tokens of every supernatural intervention. The extrinsic credibility of doctrines proposed to faith is thus assured to the full conviction of the understanding. If we go on to say that reason assured of a revelation cannot then be the judge of the intrinsic credibility of a dogma clearly revealed, we only say that reason must act in its own sphere, and that the finite must not venture to measure the infinite.
"It seems to us that no logical objection can be made against such a restriction of private judgment. If man, by his unaided powers, could find out all necessary truth, there would be no need of a revelation. Of things beyond the scope of his understanding, man can certainly be no judge, while it is equally certain that the word of God can never deceive.
"It is also a great misunderstanding to suppose that Catholics are not allowed to use their reason, or that faith has taken the place of our ordinary intelligence. So far from the truth is this supposition, that the aim of the present work will be to show that Catholics alone are the followers of true reason, always yielding obedience to its just dictates, and never swerving in any way from its rigid conclusions. The Catholic faith presents all its unanswerable claims before the mind, and then, as it appeals to our natural sense of truth and justice, it cannot contradict itself by doing away with the very faculty which is made the judge of its pretensions. Reason, rightly understood, leads with certainty to the light of revelation, and that light does in no way extinguish the spirit or vitality of nature. There is full scope for the play of the highest intelligence, not in the contradiction of evidence clearly established, nor in doubting truth already manifest, but in the constant and daily increasing appreciation of the beauties of God's revelation whereby all our faculties are brought into perfect harmony. There is neither manliness nor wisdom in the state of perpetual doubt which appears to be chosen by many as the exercise of a precious liberty. The Catholic believes because he has evidence of the divine power and goodness, and in the very highest exercise of reason bows down to God and him only. No human organization has a right to bind our consciences, and no body of men can form or direct our faith. God alone is our master, whose word is a law to our understandings and our hearts. The church is recognized by us because he has established it, and given to it authority to teach in his name, and we are ever ready to give to any honest mind a reason for the faith we hold and profess."
Poems.By Ellen Clementine Howarth.Newark: Martin R. Dennis & Co. 1868.
Poets are said to deal in fiction, which does not, however, imply that what they sing is false. One may relate a purely fictitious story, and it be "an ower-true tale" for all that. In fact, poetry is the most beautiful form of the expression of truth. Tell the truth in honest plain prose, and the chances are that you tell something very unpalatable. Facts are proverbially hard. On the contrary, poetry (if it deserves the name) is ever charming, winning, and popular. We say without hesitation, few of our living lyric poets have wreathed more charming verses than Mrs. Howarth. Simple and unaffected as they are, every line breathes the purest sentiment, and sends its touching pathos straight to the heart. The reason is plain. She reveals the truth as her own heart has known it. Here she guilelessly tells more of her own life, with all its struggles, toil, and bitter sorrows, than we think she intended. In a word, it is a volume not for the eye of strangers, but for the loving perusal of friends to whom she would wish to speak "eye to eye and soul to soul." We do not wonder, therefore, that, when these poems appeared a few years ago under the title of "The Wind Harp," without any prefatory key to their origin, a few careless critics should have failed to penetrate the hidden depths of their meaning. Our space does not permit us to quote as freely as we could wish. There are some undoubtedly better than others, but there is not one which our readers would not find worthy of particular choice and of special merit.
The first, "The Passion Flower," well deserves its place of honor. We give the opening verse:
"I plucked it in an idle hour,And placed it in my book of prayer;'Tis not the only passion flowerThat hath been crushed and hidden there.And now through floods of burning tearsMy withered bloom once more I see,And I lament the long, long years,The wasted years afar from Thee."
"I plucked it in an idle hour,And placed it in my book of prayer;'Tis not the only passion flowerThat hath been crushed and hidden there.And now through floods of burning tearsMy withered bloom once more I see,And I lament the long, long years,The wasted years afar from Thee."
From a poem entitled "Gethsemane" we cull this most beautiful and truly sublime thought.
"'Tis said that every earthly soundGoes trembling through the voiceless spheres,Bearing its endless echoes roundThe pathway of eternal years.Ah! surely, then, the sighs that HeThat midnight breathed, the zephyrs boreFrom thy dim shades, Gethsemane,To thrill the world for evermore!"
"'Tis said that every earthly soundGoes trembling through the voiceless spheres,Bearing its endless echoes roundThe pathway of eternal years.Ah! surely, then, the sighs that HeThat midnight breathed, the zephyrs boreFrom thy dim shades, Gethsemane,To thrill the world for evermore!"
And who can read the following without emotion?
My Soldier Comes No More"Yes, many a heart is light to-day,And bright is many a home,And children dance along the wayThe soldier heroes come:And bands beneath the floral archThe gladdest music pour;While beats my heart a funeral march—My soldier comes no more.One morn from him glad tidings came,Joy to my heart they gave;At night I read my hero's nameAmid the fallen brave.I know not where he met the foe,Nor where he sleeps in gore;Enough of woe for me to know,My soldier comes no more.Now here they come with heavy tramp,And flags and pennons gay,Who were his comrades in the camp,His friends for many a day.The music ceases as they passBefore my cottage door;The flags are lowered; they know, alas!My soldier comes no more.What care I for the seasons now?The world has lost its light:No spring can clothe my leafless bough,No morn dispel my night;No longer may I hopeful waitFor summer to restore:My heart and home are desolate—My soldier comes no more.
My Soldier Comes No More"Yes, many a heart is light to-day,And bright is many a home,And children dance along the wayThe soldier heroes come:And bands beneath the floral archThe gladdest music pour;While beats my heart a funeral march—My soldier comes no more.One morn from him glad tidings came,Joy to my heart they gave;At night I read my hero's nameAmid the fallen brave.I know not where he met the foe,Nor where he sleeps in gore;Enough of woe for me to know,My soldier comes no more.Now here they come with heavy tramp,And flags and pennons gay,Who were his comrades in the camp,His friends for many a day.The music ceases as they passBefore my cottage door;The flags are lowered; they know, alas!My soldier comes no more.What care I for the seasons now?The world has lost its light:No spring can clothe my leafless bough,No morn dispel my night;No longer may I hopeful waitFor summer to restore:My heart and home are desolate—My soldier comes no more.
Judging from such poems as "The Tress of Golden Hair," "Adrift," "The Stranger's Grave," and other pieces suggested by some ordinary accident in life, Mrs. Howarth possesses one of those finely strung natures which, like the AEolian harp, are moved to give forth harmony at the slightest breath that passes. The former title of her book, "The Wind Harp," was, to our thinking, singularly appropriate. The present volume is published in first-class style.
An Epistle Of Jesus Christ To The Faithful Soul.Written in Latinby Joannes Lanspergius, a Charter-House Monk, and translated into English by Lord Philip, XIXth Earl of Arundel.New York: Catholic Publication Society.
This little book will be hailed by the faithful soul who desires to increase very much in the love of God, as if it were, what its title expresses, a letter written by the Saviour of the world himself, and addressed to him personally. It embodies the very, spirit and life of his instructions, and teaches us practically how to carry out in a systematic way the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount. It is easy to read that divine sermon in a sentimental way, to feel somewhat good while reading it, but without gathering much of its meaning, or with any desire to practise it any more than may be convenient. This book will not be very palatable to such persons. It contains the strong meat for vigorous and earnest souls, rather than the light and unsubstantial froth which merely nourishes a sickly sentimentalism. We do not doubt there are thousands of devout persons in this country who would find in this little work an invaluable treasure, and, once possessing it, they would on no account be willing to part with it. They would find its directions plain and simple, and eminently fitted to lift them up out of a low spirituality to the highest state of religious peace and perfection. Would to God this notice may meet their eye, so that they may not be without it. We need just such books now in this country, to serve to make a number of saints and saintly persons, who shall draw down from heaven a benediction on not only themselves, but on the church of God and all our fellow-citizens. May more of them be drawn out of the storehouse of old true Catholic piety and devotion, for our spiritual joy and edification.
It is only necessary to add, that the English of the translation is delightful, while the mechanical getting up of the book, its paper and type, render it most agreeable to read.
1. Napoleon And The Queen Of Prussia.An Historical Novel, by L. Mühlbach.Translated from the German, by F. Jordan.Complete in one volume, with illustrations.New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867. 8vo, pp. 265.2. The Daughter Of An Empress.An Historical Novel, by L. Mühlbach;translated from the German by Nathaniel Greene.Complete in one volume, with illustrations.New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867, 8vo, pp. 255.3. Marie Antoinette And Her Son.An Historical Novel, by L. Mühlbach.Complete in one volume, with illustrations.New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867. 8vo, pp. 301.
On a former occasion we noticed three of the Mühlbach books, all we had then read, as favorably as our conscience would permit; for we wish to be thought capable of recognizing literary merit in books written by others than Catholics. Now, Catholics have at least nature, and, though we do not recognize the sufficiency of nature without grace, we yet do not hold it to be totally corrupt, or count it good for nothing. We are always ready to recognize merit in literary works, by whomsoever written, if able, and true to genuine nature. The Mühlbach novels are written with spirit and ability, a talent almost approaching to genius, with some touches of nature, and with considerable historical information. Having said so much, we have exhausted our praise. The works are true throughout neither to nature nor to history, and their moral tone is low and unwholesome—pagan, not Christian. Their popularity, which can be but short-lived—for it is hardly possible to read one of them a second time—speaks very little in favor of the taste, the knowledge of history, or the moral tone of our American reading public, as far as published. The least faulty, and to us the least repulsive of the series, isNapoleon and the Queen of Prussia, though it shows less ability thanJoseph II.and his Court. We broke down before we got half throughThe Daughter of an Empress, and we have read only a few pages ofMarie Antoinette and her Son. We have had no desire to have our feelings harrowed up by a fresh recital of the horrors of the French Revolution, especially of the wrongs of the beautiful and lovely Queen of France, and the young Dauphin.Napoleon and the Queen of Prussiais, however, a book we can read, and some portions of it with deep interest; but even this is disfigured by namby-pamby sentiment.Adulterous love, self-murders, and horrors of all sorts, enough both to disgust the Christian reader, and to give even a reader of strong nerves the nightmare for weeks after reading it. The Mühlbach is in ecstasy of delight when Napoleon overcomes the virtue of the Countess Walewski, and has no doubt that the self-murderer has ended all his troubles and rests in peace. She seems, through all her books, not to regard adultery, if prompted by love, or suicide either, if inspired by disappointed patriotism, as a sin. Indeed, throughout she writes as a low-minded pagan, not as a high-minded Christian. She apotheosizes persons who die with imprecations of vengeance on their enemies in their mouths, and by their own hands; and even the beautiful and slandered Queen Louisa has no higher aspirations than those of patriotism.
We have heretofore said of the Mühlbach books that they have too much fiction for history, and too much history for fiction; but even a great part of her history is itself fiction, in the sense of being untrue, which fiction never need be. Scott, in his historical novels, commits a thousand anachronisms, mistakes one person for another, and is rarely accurate in the minuter details; but he never falsifies history, and the impression he gives of an epoch or a historical person is always truthful. The impression the Mühlbach gives, even when historically correct as to details, is unhistorical and untrue. We are no believers in the immaculate virtue or high-mindedness of the royal and imperial courts of the eighteenth century, but no one who reflects a moment can believe that the Mühlbach gives a true picture of them. There is no doubt at all times much illicit love, cunning, intrigue, cruelty, vice, and crime, in the ranks of the great, but our experience proves that there is something else there also. At the time of the French Revolution the nobility were corrupt enough, but were they more so than the people who warred against them? Were the murderers and applauders of the murder of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette superior to them in either public or private virtue? If the great are bad, the little are seldom better; and nothing can have a more unwholesome effect on society than the multitude of novels poured forth by little women and less men, professing to describe the manners and morals, but really traducing the manners and morals of the upper classes. Such novels are untrue in fact, and serve only to gratify the mean curiosity and malice of the envious and the malignant. Whoever reads the late book of the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland will find that she and her husband furnished a model of the domestic virtues and affections. Even when the Mühlbach professes to write history, she does not write it, and perverts it quite unnecessarily when by no means demanded by the aesthetic exigencies of her story. We pass over the calumnies of the Jesuits and the private life of Ganganelli, Pope Clement XIV. They please us better than would her praise. But she represents Charles III., King of Spain, as refusing his consent to the suppression of the Society of Jesus after he had expelled the Jesuits from his own dominions, and when he was most urgent of all the Bourbon princes for their suppression. She represents France as in favor of the suppression, but holding back her formal assent till she could secure that of Spain, when it is well known, that the King, Louis XV. and Choiseul, then at the head of the French government, were rather favorable to the Jesuits than otherwise, and gave them up only after a decree of parliament had been rendered against them, and even then only in order to obtain from the parliament, always their bitter enemies, the registering of certain edicts in which the minister believed France was more interested than in preserving the society. The Spanish, French, Portuguese, and several of the Italian princes, demanded of the pope, under threats of schism, the suppression of the order before the Empress Marie Theresa reluctantly consented, at the order of the pope, to allow the Bull suppressing the society to be published in her dominions, as the Mühlbach has herself described in herJoseph II. and his Court.These works are not only not trustworthy in their history, not only in their grouping and coloring falsify it, but they pervert the judgment, prejudice the mind so against the truth that it is able only with great difficulty to recognize it when it comes to be presented by learned and faithful historians.
The real name of the writer of the Mühlbach books is no secret. She is a widow, said to be personally a very estimable lady; and it has been reported that she intends coming to this country and taking up her residence with us, and certainly we would not treat her uncourteously. But if the report be true, it is a good proof that her works are not very popular in Germany, and bring her but small pecuniary remuneration. Her works will not long be popular even in this country; for their popularity here has, to a great extent, been due to their supposed value as truthful pictures of the courts of Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, and Rome, in the last century, not to their weak and sickly sentimentalism, their low moral tone, their worship of Venus or Anteros, or their cynicism in religion. The American people are excessively fond of reading about courts, kings and queens, emperors and empresses, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses; and chiefly because they have no such things among themselves, they see them only as shrouded in mystery. But when they find that the Mühlbach books do not, after all, raise the veil, or give any trustworthy account of them, they will drop them; for they adopt as their motto,Ernst ist das Leben, and can never be long fascinated by the debased paganism of the Mühlbach. We would by no means do the author the slightest harm in character or purse, but we advise her in the future not to make her novels sermons or moral lectures, but to animate them with a real ethical spirit, so that they will make the reader stronger and better, not weaker and worse even in the natural order.
Two Thousand Miles On Horseback.Santa Fe And Back.A Summer Tour Through Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, And New-Mexico,In The Year 1866.By James F. Meline.New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1867.
Really good books of travel have been found so entertaining and successful in time past, that more recently every quarter of the accessible globe has spawned tourists, and journals, and diaries, and "notes," and "visits," of a thousand varieties of vapidness. England, as usual in matters ofsuperficialmediocrity, has been completely distanced by America. We have dozens of diarists who are promising candidates for the compliment some wicked spirit once paid Bayard Taylor—of having travelled more and seen less than any man living. Singularly enough, our own country has fared the worst at our own hands; singularly, because, full of natural wonders of its own, it has not to send its Winwood Reades to Senegambia for interesting material, and its charming, boy-beloved Captain Mayne to swear at the luckless "closet-naturalist" from all the corners of the world. We could turn all the Royal Societies loose along the Mississippi, and furnish them matter for a quarto to each F.R.S. Yet since Porte Crayon sharpened the lead-pencil into the war-spear, and his charming cousins stepped finally out of the carriage, and "Little Mice" sank to the level of a "man and a brother, and possible Congressman," only one traveller worth following has kept the field—the inimitable, the perennial Ross Browne, in Washoe, or Italy, or St. Petersburg, still the prince and paladin of tourists. Thus there is wondrous great room in the upper story of this literature, with a whole fresh young continent to hold the mirror to. Mr. Meline has challenged boldly and well for a good place in the front rank of our books of travel. He has great advantages and great aptitude for the task. His advantages are that, unless our spectacles and his artifice deceive us, he is a thorough good fellow—thesine qua nonof the traveller everywhere—the shibboleth of the brotherhood of cosmopolites. But besides this,mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.If we are not mistaken in remembering Mr. Meline as the same gentleman who was formerly French Consul in Cincinnati, he is a man who has known European capitals and landmarks, and, what is better, galleries and sculptures, and not known them in vain. And apt he certainly is. In the difficult art not to harp on anything, this book displays consummate judgment, and the choice of subjects shows a tact and skill most remarkable in what we understand to be a first book. There is just about enough fact to make the work decently solid, a good deal of fancy and impression, and above all, a light hand. The style as a whole is really good, because it does pretty evenly just what it attempts and professes—sometimes more, seldom less. The descriptions of Denver and Central City, and the account of the Pueblos of New Mexico interested us especially the former for its manner, the latter for its interesting and curious facts. But another reader would call our selection invidious, and cite quite another set of incidents. The fact is, Mr. Meline is everywhere vivid, easy, and suggestive, and we do think we like those two parts best because we have friends in Denver, and take a special interest in the old Poltec question.
Only one thing, barring a little pedantry here and there, we have to growl at in taking a grateful leave of a beguiling book. The author feels it his duty at painfully short intervals to say something funny, and has preserved and dished up the selectest assortment of aged, stale, and stupid jests we ever saw. We suspect him to be one of those terrible people who enjoy a witticism not wisely but too well. The moment he tries humor, his wonted taste and sparkle seem to take flight, and he grows to a dotage of inane merriment. It is hard to say whether the jokes he cracks himself, or those which he rehashes, ready cracked, are the more benumbingly dismal. The most provoking thing is, that the man is not at all wanting in play of wit; there are a hundred good and a few clever little side-hits in his volume. Only he must not force it. The moment he sets out systematically to be jocose, he is flatness itself.
But take him for all in all, Mr. Meline has written no commonplace book on a subject where commonplace has been achieved frequently and fully; and if he will learn to sketch like Ross Browne, or half so well, or else hire one of those private ubiquities, a "special artist," make no more jokes, quote some, if quote he must, that others have made within twenty years, and rely more on his liveliness of style, he has a future before him as a writer of travels.
Golden Truths.Boston: Lee & Shepherd. 1868.
The aim of the above volume is a good one. The purpose of its author is to aid the soul on its way in Christian perfection. The "truths" which it contains are taken from various Protestant authors, and a few from Catholic sources. The selections struck us at first as having been made without any sectarian bias or bigotry. Had we found it so unto the end, we should have given it our approval. But on page 166 we find the following:
"Will the martyrs, who sowed the seed of the church in their blood, have no part in the final harvest? The mighty reformers, who battered down the walls of tyrant error about the ears of wicked priests," etc.
Who G. W. Bethune is, from whose writings the above is extracted, we know not; we would, however, advise him, whoever he may be, when writing for the public, to respect its intelligence more, rant less, and remember there is a commandment which reads as follows,
"Thou shalt not bear false witness."
The aim of this volume was to be acceptable to all readers; the quotations from the above writer omitted, would remove at least what is offensive to some.
It is not often that a neglected catholic truth finds so beautiful an expression as in the following passage by the "Country Parson:"
"There are few who have lived long in this world, and have not stood by the bed of the dying; and let us hope that there are many who have seen a Christian friend or a brother depart—who have looked on such a one as life, but not love, ebbed away as the eye of sense grew dim, but that of faith waxed brighter and brighter.Have you heard such an one, in bidding you farewell, whisper that it was not for ever? have you heard such an one tell you so to live, as that death might only remove you to a place where there is no dying? And as you felt the pressure of that cold hand, and saw the earnest spirit that shone through those glazing eyes, have you not resolved and promised that, God helping you, you would? And ever since have you not felt that, though death has sealed those lips, and that heart is turning back to clay,thatvoice is speaking yet,thatheart is caring for you yet,thatsoul is remembering yet the words it last spoke to you? From the abode of glory it says, 'Come up hither.' The way is steep, the ascent is toilsome; it knows it well, for it trod it once; but it knows now what it knew not then, how bright the reward, how pleasant the rest that remaineth, after the toil is past. And if we go with interest to the grave of a much-loved friend, who bade us when dying, sometimes to visit the place where he should be laid when dead; if you hold a request likethatsacred, tell me, how much more solemnly and earnestly we should seek to go where the conscious spirit lives, than where the senseless body moulders! If day after day sees you come to shed the pensive tear of memory over the narrow bed where that dear one is sleeping; if, amid the hot whirl of your daily engagements, you find a calm impressed as you stand in that still spot where no worldly care ever comes, and think of the heart which no grief vexes now; if the sound of the world melts into distance and fades away on the ear, at that point whence the world looks so little; if the setting sun, as it makes the gravestone glow, reminds you of evening hours and evening scenes long since departed, and the waving grass, through which the wind sighs so softly, speaks of that one who 'faded as a leaf' and left you like 'a wind that passeth away and cometh not again,' oh! how much more should every day see you striving up the way which will conduct you where the living spirit dwells, and whence it is ever calling to you, 'Come up hither!' It was a weak fancy of a dying man that bade you come to his burying-place; but it is the perpetual entreaty of a living seraph that invites you to join itthere."
The Layman's Breviary.From the German of Leopold Shefer.By C. T. Brooks.Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1868.
Whatever may be the merit of the original German, certain it is, this English version flows like a free rivulet. Mr. Brooks is singularly happy in his versification. It might, however, just as well have been entitled by the author, the "Priest's Breviary" as the "Layman's Breviary," for it is quite plain he thinks both of those terms convertible. We search in vain for any trace of faith in the supernatural, and, considering the beauty of the sentiments, are sorry to find it wanting. The lack of it jars upon our Catholic nerves from the beginning of its perusal to its ending.
The Young Fur Traders, A Tale Of The Far North;The Coral Island, A Tale Of The Pacific;Ungava, A Tale Of Esquimaux Land;Morgan Rattler; or,A Boy's Adventures in the Forests of Brazil.By R. M. Ballantyne. New York: Thomas Nelson & Sons.
In these "books for boys" amusement and instruction are admirably combined, the adventures met with being varied and thrilling, while the local descriptions embody so thoroughly the natural features of the regions visited, the productions, atmospheric phenomena, etc., as to render them not unworthy the perusal of children of a larger growth; they are also well got up; good paper, neat binding, numerous illustrations.
Where so much is praiseworthy, we are sorry their universal diffusion should be so seriously impeded, or rather utterly destroyed, by a most wanton display of sectarian rancor. In theYoung Fur Traders, for instance, we meet with the following definitions, certainly not according to Webster: "Papist, a man who has sold his liberty in religious matters to the pope;" "Protestant, one who protests against such an ineffably silly and unmanly state of slavery." And inMorgan Rattler, a virulent attack on the Brazilian clergy, who, we are told, "totally neglected their religious duties; were no better than miscreants in disguise, teaching the people vice instead of virtue a—curse not a blessing to the land," etc.
We regret this pitiful outpouring the more that, as books of adventures for boys, they are otherwise all that could be desired.
The Spirit Of St. Vincent De Paul;Or, A Holy Model Worthy Of Being Imitated By Ecclesiastics, Religious, And All The Faithful.Translated from the work of the learned M. Andre—Joseph Ansart, converted Priest of the Order of Malta, etc.By the Sisters of Charity,Mount St. Vincent, New York.New York: P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. 1868.
It is a valuable service to present to the public, as the author of the above translation has done, the pith of other and more compendious lives of the great St. Vincent de Paul. The life of our Saint cannot be read too often by priests, by the people, and by all lovers of their race. His zeal for religion and his love of the poor were unbounded almost; and the extent of his labors, and the good he did to the poor and distressed of humanity, were never perhaps equalled by any other man. To our non-Catholic readers we would say, read the life of this man, great in goodness, if you would obtain a true idea of the genuine and perfect fruit of the catholic faith. No one, whatever may be his creed, can read the life of St. Vincent de Paul without feeling his love for God and his fellow-men increased and inflamed. May it please God to raise up in his holy church in our own country a priest like St. Vincent de Paul!
Rome And The Popes.Translated from the German of Dr. Karl Brandes,by Rev. W. J. Wiseman, S.T.L.Benziger Brothers. 1868.
This is a volume containing, within a small compass, and in a popular style, suited to the generality of readers, a history of the temporal power of the popes, by an author well acquainted with his subject. The translator has done a service to the public, in giving them the chance of reading it in English. Just at present it is quite appropriate as an offset to the ignorant and silly abuse of the papal sovereignty with which the public ears are filled. We recommend it to all our readers who wish to get some solid information on this subject. We must repeat, once more, in regard to this volume, a criticism we have to make too often, that its generally neat appearance is marred by many typographical errors. Cannot our Catholic publishers wake up to the importance of correcting their proofs properly?
Selections From Pope, Dryden, And Various Other Catholic Poets, who preceded the Nineteenth Century: with biographical and literary notices of those and other British Catholic Poets of their class, comprising a brief history of British Catholic Poetry, from an early period. Designed not only for general use, but also as a text-book or reader, and a prize-book for the higher classes in Catholic educational institutions. By George Hill, author of the "Ruins of Athens," "Titania's Banquet," and other poems. Examined and approved by competent Catholic authority. New York. 1867.
Mr. Hill expresses so succinctly in this old-fashioned title-page the real character and aim of his useful compilation that he leaves us, in fact, nothing further to say than that he has made his title good.
The Life Of St. Francis Of Assist, and a sketch of the Franciscan Order. By a Religious of the Order of Poor Clares, (in England.) With emendations and additions, by Very Rev. Pamfilo da Magliani, O.S.F., (Superior of one of the branches of the Franciscan Order in the U. S.) New York: P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. 1867.
Many beautiful lives of the Saints have been written in England within the last few years. This one deserves to be classed among them, and is, on the whole, the best history of the romantic and poetic life of St. Francis we have ever read. The sketches of the history of the Order, especially those relating to missions in heathen countries, and the short biographies of distinguished Franciscans, are of great value. The Life of St. Francis has a charm entirely its own, which never wears out, and his pious daughter has narrated it well. Such a book cannot be too warmly recommended in this age of avarice, worldliness, and luxury. We wish, however, that the proofs had been more carefully corrected.
Claudia.By Amanda M. Douglas,author of "In Trust," "Stephen Dane," etc.Boston: Lee & Shepard.
In this novel, the characters are strongly drawn, the incidents varied and striking, the dialogue well sustained, but the general effect somewhat marred by a vein of moralizing, which, in light literature, unless of absolute necessity and of a high order, always degenerates into prosiness, causing in that vast majority of readers who seek amusement only, weariness, if not disgust.
The Queens Of American Society.By Mrs. Ellet, author of "The Women of the American Revolution," etc.New York: Charles Scribner & Co.
This volume is a signal illustration of one of the prevailing passions of the nineteenth century; a craving which brushes the bloom from the lives of our lovely young girls, and makes our charming matronscommon; a passion for notoriety; a morbid desire to peep into other people's windows, or engage them in the improving occupation of looking into ours. Here we have theentréenot only into theminutiaeof the drawing-rooms of thesequeens, but into their bedchambers, and stand beside their toilet-tables, and descend into their kitchens; in short, there is no part of the houses of these ladies living and moving in our midst, unransacked by the gossiping pen, save thenurseries, and we are left to doubt if these sumptuous homes contain such old-fashioned apartments. But the gossiping spirit of this book is not the only exceptionable feature; it is extremely snobbish. To have descended from the nobility, to have a thick volume of genealogy to fall back upon, (by the way, we may all have even a more ample chronicle than is here given us of these noble scions, if we will look at the records of the garden of Eden for our pedigree,) to be decked in velvets, point-lace, and diamonds, to have given "select dinners," or "lavish and gorgeous suppers," seems to be the most apparent end and aim of the majority of these living "queens." A sprinkling of pietism and charitable deeds is interpolated through the volume, apparently to give an "odor of sanctity" to the otherwise sensuous details. A catechism for the use of the rising generation of queens might be compiled from the pages before us. Here are two or three questions and answers taken at random from the proposed text-book:
"Q. What is the chief end of one aspiring to be a queen in American society?"A. To be clothed in purple and fine linen, and to fare sumptuously every day."Q. How many gods are there in the 'best society'?"A. Three."Q. Which are they?"A. Genealogy, gold, and good eating."Q. What directions are given for dress?"A. Whose adorning let it be the outward adorning, wearing of gold and pearls, and putting on of apparel."
Other questions and answers will readily suggest themselves.
The Comedy Of Convocation, in the English Church. In two scenes.Edited by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D.New York: Catholic Publication Society.
This unique work, of which a notice appeared in the last issue ofThe Catholic World, is without doubt one of the most remarkable satires ever penned. The thorough knowledge it displays of the Anglican establishment, its incisive argumentation, the purity of its style, and its irresistible humor have never been surpassed in any essay of its kind.
These characteristics have led many critics in England and in this country to attribute its authorship to Dr. Newman; but while we think it in every respect worthy of that great writer, we feel disposed, from a more careful study of it, to believe that it has not emanated from his mind, while at the same time we are obliged to confess that we know of no other man in England who wields such a mighty pen. It has given the Anglican Church an herculean blow, and we cannot see how an honest member of the English Church or of its sister denomination, the "Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States," can rise from its perusal without an utter loss of confidence in the discordant, illogical, and unauthoritative system to which they have hitherto given their adherence. The baseless fabric crumbles at the touch of this literary giant, and sinks to a level where it can hardly elicit the admiration of its most zealous partisans.
Sadlier's Catholic Directory, Almanac, And Ordo For The Year Of Our Lord 1868: with a full report of the various Dioceses in the United States and British North America, and a list of the Archbishops, Bishops, and Priests in Ireland.New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.,31 Barclay street. 1868.
The Catholic Almanac for this year makes its appearance a little earlier than it has for some years past. From a cursory glance at its contents, we think it is more correct in its details than some of its predecessors. It is gotten up with an eye to the strictest kind of economy.
We have received from THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, where they are for sale, the following new works just published in England:
The Monks of the West, by Count Montalembert, Vols. IV and V.Saint Louis, King of France. The curious and characteristic life of this monarch, by De Joinville, translated from the French.The Story of Chevalier Bayard, from the French of the loyal servant, M. de Berville and others.The Life of Las Casas, by Arthur Helps.Learned Women and Studious Women, by Bishop Dupanloup.Cradle Lands: Egypt, Syria, and the Holy Land. By the Right Hon. Lady Herbert of Lea, illustrated.The Round Towers of Ancient Ireland, by Marcus Keane.The History of Irish Periodical Literature, from the end of the seventeenth century to the middle of the nineteenth century: its Origin, Progress, and Results. By Richard Robert Madden. 2 vols. 8vo.