Chapter IX · (continued 3)

Gluck was the first to discover the most suitable form in which to Pg 710 represent spiritual voices, and so well has he succeeded that no one has been able to ignore his influence. At the risk of being otherwise either cold or ridiculous, it has been necessary for all to adopt, in this particular, his manner.

“Tremble, ton supplice s’apprête” (Thy doom is even now prepared), says a mysterious voice to Thoas (Iphigenia in Tauris). The phrase, given slowly and softly by voices and trombones in unison, on re penetrates us with a mysterious fear.

In Alcestis, listen to the lugubrious effect of the voice of the oracle, saying on a sustained note: “The king to-day must die, if in his stead none other offers up his life.”[172] It is full of a sombre beauty, and the terrible persistency of the rhythm is very expressive of the antique fatalism.

Must it be added that Gluck has proved by his own example the inevitable absurdity of a melodic phrase in the mouth of a divinity who is made to intervene in human events?

Diana appears in order to save Iphigenia and her brother; the goddess sings her aria, and we see with pain one of the most admirable chefs-d’œuvre of dramatic music finish as miserably as the utterly forgotten Iphigenia of Piccini.

Again, Mozart wishes to evoke the shade of the Commander; the statue becomes animated and speaks:

This phrase, by its harmonies and rhythm, reminds us of the voice of the oracle:

In the same way Wagner, when making gods and genii the personages of his dramas, gives them the accents of the human voice. Mingling among men, they too may well love and suffer, weep and sing.

After Gluck and Mozart,[174] Schubert also makes Death speak; he also accepts as necessary the form given by Gluck. To the young girl’s supplication Death answers by a phrase the rhythm and harmonies of which perhaps too much recall the voice of the oracle in Alcestis.

If we may venture to say so, Schubert seems to have found himself in one of those exceptional cases in which the Gluckist form was not suitable. Why this sombre coloring, when Death was doing his utmost to charm the young girl?

Pg 711 Here a more melodic phrase would appear to us more suitable.

Having no intention of giving a catalogue of the works of Schubert,[176] we will not group together his Lieder, but merely observe that all his melodies belong to one of three divisions, which express either love, or splendor, joy, and triumph, or, lastly, terror. Many combine two of these divisions. In “Marguérite” the principal idea is that of love, and the secondary one the drama; on the contrary, in “La Jeune Religieuse” the drama occupies the first place, and the earthly love is subordinate.

Our notice would be too incomplete without at least a rapid survey of the other works of Schubert besides the Lied, in which he is unequalled, but he has also tried symphonies, operas, and oratorios. Of his operas, which are numerous, two only have obtained some reputation—namely, Alfonso and Estrella, chiefly famous for its reverses, and La Guerre Domestique (The Domestic War), known in France by the name of La Croisade des Dames. This charming opera in one act was played with success a few years ago at the Théâtre des Fantaisies in Paris, and in every page could be recognized with pleasure the author of the Lieder. Its distinguishing qualities are the touching tenderness of the melody, the brilliancy and delicacy of the organ accompaniment, and the perfection in the manner of writing for the voices.

Schubert undertook also some more extensive works, many of which, unfortunately, were never completed, while the rest are lost in consequence of that absence of Faust, and the finale in Sappho. Posterity will say of him that he was deficient in force, but that Marguérite is very enchanting, Romeo and Juliet full of tenderness, and Mireille of poetry; and doubtless as much as this would have been said of Schubert.

In his symphonies and drawing-room music Schubert, no longer carried on by feeling, frequently fails. The subscribers to the popular concerts of the Cirque d’hiver in Paris have not forgotten the fragments of his symphonies which were at various times executed under the able direction of M. Pasdeloup. These selections were taken from the best, and there was certainly here and there a page which breathed inspiration. But praise like this is no small blame, and it is a severe criticism on a symphony to detach merely an isolated portion from it, and condemn the remainder to oblivion.

Pg 712 What was the reason of this inferiority in Schubert’s symphonic music? One of the most serious appears to be the fact that he had not made a very deep or advanced study of music. He was preparing to study the fugue when carried off by death. Now, it is precisely symphonic composition that demands the most extensive and thorough knowledge of the science of music. Grétry and Montigny, who were but ordinary contrapuntists, have written admirable operas, but we might seek in vain for a great symphonist who had not at the same time a deep knowledge of music as a science.

Besides, Schubert, whose inspirations, as we have already remarked, were essentially lyric, was not in the habit of working out his thoughts, and lacked the capacity for giving them the powerful developments required by the symphony. Spoiled also by his extraordinary facility, he wrote too fast. In a lyric composition like the Lied

The symphonic music of Schubert will pass away, but he will find a place in the hearts of posterity as the inspired singer of the Lieder, the beautiful completeness of which, as a whole, is the result of his having known how to enshrine in these short poems rapid and living dramas, full by turns of joy and sorrow, love and triumph, or despair He was one of those men whose greatness is rather of the heart than the intellect; and if to others great conceptions are due, few like him have given expression to the deepest feelings of the heart, and the most refined and elevated accents of the soul.

Pg 713

NEW PUBLICATIONS

Theologia Moralis Novissimi Ecclesiæ Doctoris S. Alphonsi. Auctore A. Konings, C.S.S.R. Editio Altera, Aucta et Emendata. Benziger Fratres, 1876.

We have already noticed the first edition of this work, which is certainly a valuable and excellent one in many respects. It has received the approbation of his Eminence the Cardinal, and of many others of the prelates of this country, has apparently been well received by the clergy in general, and it will not be at all surprising if it becomes the standard text-book of moral theology in the seminaries of the United States. This success it goes far to deserve. It supplies a great want in the treatises previously used, by bringing in many points relating to the laws and customs existing among us; and this alone might seem a sufficient reason for its adoption. It has also many other advantages, partly due to the ability of the author, partly to the works which he has taken (as all writers on this subject must at the present day) for his basis. Among these he has principally followed Gury, adhering more, perhaps, to his language than to that of St. Alphonsus.

But, in spite of the many advantages and excellences of the book, we must enter a protest against its use, at least as the sole authority on which the minds of theological students are to be formed. And this protest is on account of the system of equi-probabilism taught in it, which we should be very sorry to have prevail, both on the ground of its unreasonableness, and on that of its bad practical effects.

We should have no space in a notice of this kind to discuss fully this very important and much vexed question. But the point of our criticism can be sufficiently made by simply referring to the author’s definitions of the grades of probability in opinions (p. 27).

The obvious objection to these definitions, which are made the basis of his system, and which must, indeed, be made the basis of any system of equi-probabilism, is that, according to them, an opinion

Now, we venture to think that such a statement as this with regard to probability would hardly be made in treating of any other subject than that at present in hand. Suppose, for instance, the question to be one of physical science,—that, for example, of the solar parallax. Now, we think we are not wrong in saying that it is decidedly more probable that this parallax is greater than 8-8⁄10 seconds of arc than that it is less than this amount. Be that as it may, it is certain that there is some value, perfectly ascertainable by methods of computation on which astronomers would agree, for which, in the present state of science, we could say that the probability of the parallax exceeding this value is once and a half times as great as that of its falling short of it. Certainly in this case it would be decidedly more probable that it does exceed this value than that it does not. Yet who would say that the probability of its not exceeding that value was destitute of any solidity?

We may take a case in which probability is susceptible of exact numerical computation. Suppose two balls, one white and one black, to be together in a box, and that we draw twice from this box, putting back the ball drawn the first time. The probability that we shall not draw the white ball twice is three times as great as that we shall; yet would any one say that there was no solid probability of so drawing it? If it was a question of drawing it five times, then the probability of this, being only 1⁄31 of that of the contradictory, might, indeed, not be “solid.”

The whole case can, as it would seem, be put in the following form: It is agreed, by equi-probabilists, as well as by probabilists, that a solidly probable opinion against the law can be followed. If the former choose to call an opinion only slightly less probable than its contradictory, till its probability becomes so small Pg 714 that it really, in the common judgment of men, ceases to be solid, they depart from the common use of language, but the controversy between them and the latter is merely one of the use of words.

But if the equi-probabilists refuse to call an opinion solidly probable as soon as its probability becomes what men would generally call decidedly less than that of its contradictory (two-thirds of it, for instance), they depart, as seems evident from the above cases, again from the common use of words, and the statement—the complement of the former one, and on which also both parties agree—that an opinion against the law not solidly probable cannot be followed, has, in their mouths, a new meaning, which the judgment of mankind will, it seems to us, hardly accept, and which will lead to perpetual and most embarrassing changes of doctrine and practice. The author undoubtedly believes that he is following St. Alphonsus in his system; it seems to us that he has, with other equi-probabilists, not rightly apprehended the meaning of certain passages in the works of that illustrious Doctor, which seem certainly at first sight to have such a sense. But to discuss this matter would lead us too far.

The Faith of Our Fathers: Being a Plain Exposition and Vindication of the Church founded by Our Lord Jesus Christ. By Rt. Rev. James Gibbons, D.D., Bishop of Richmond and Administrator-Apostolic of North Carolina. Baltimore: Murphy & Co.; London: Washbourne. 1877.

We have rarely met with a book which pleased us so thoroughly as this little volume of the Bishop of Richmond. It is popular, and is therefore not addressed to the few who are interested in the philosophical and scientific controversies of the age, but to the people, to the multitude, as were the words of Christ. It is a thoroughly honest book, written by a man who loves the church and his country and who is deeply interested in whatever concerns the welfare of mankind. From the start we are convinced of his perfect sincerity. Not to make a book has he written; but he believes, and therefore speaks. It is this that gives value to literature—the human life, the human experience, which it

To the right mind and pure heart it appeals with irresistible force; and therefore the great work of those who labor for God is to put away the mental and moral obstructions which shut out the view of the truth as it is in Christ. In setting forth in clear and simple style “the faith of our fathers” Bishop Gibbons is careful to meet all the objections which are likely to be made to the church. He is thoroughly acquainted with the American people; is himself an American; and his book is another proof that the purest devotion to the church is compatible with the deepest love for the freest and most democratic of governments. Sympathy gives him insight, reveals the matter and the manner that suit his purpose best. The skill with which he has compressed into a small volume such a variety of topics, giving to each satisfactory treatment, is truly admirable. He seems to have forgotten nothing, and has consequently produced a complete popular explanation and vindication of Catholic doctrine. We cannot praise too highly the tone and temper of this book.

The author is not aggressive; is never bitter, never sneers nor deals in sarcasm or ridicule; does not treat his reader as a foe to be beaten, but as a brother to be persuaded. His sense of religion is too deep to allow him to make light of any honest faith. We perceive on every page the reverend and Christian bishop who knows that charity and not hate is the divine power of the church; the fire that sets the world ablaze. It is not necessary that we should say more in commendation of this treatise. It will most certainly have a wide circulation, and its merits will be advertised by every reader. Bishop Gibbons has written chiefly for Protestants, but we hope his book will find entrance into every Catholic family in the land.

Pg 715 Deirdre. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1876.

The poet who ventures on an epic in these days deserves well of literature. To turn from the puling, weak, or nauseous themes which form the subjects of most of the contemporary English poetry is in itself a sign of a strong and healthy temperament. Nevertheless, the venture is a bold one. Pretty and graceful lyric verse may pass easily enough and win a transient popularity without challenging any strong comparison, lost as it is in the crowd of its fellows. But when an epic is mentioned, Homer towers up with Virgil in his train; Dante sweeps along; the shade of Milton oppresses us; we are in the company of giants and breathe reverently. The men who grasp epochs of history and human life, and string them into numbers that resound through all the ages, are few indeed. So we say he is a bold man who would follow in their track; but, at least, his ambition is great, whatever be its execution.

The author of Deirdrè is not a Homer or a Virgil; he is not even equal to those fine English echoes of the great masters—Dryden and Pope; and although we do not know him, and are not sure as to who he is, we have little doubt that no man would be readier to concede what we here state than the author of Deirdrè himself. At least, he will consider it no dishonor that his song should wake the memory of those great singers in our mind.

Deirdrè is an Irish story of pre-Christian times. Like the Iliad, it has its Helen, who gives her name to the poem, and around her the story centres. The beauty of Deirdrè, like that of Helen, is her curse. Wherever she goes she is a brand of discord. Heroes fight for her, wars are waged for possession of her, great deeds are done in her name, and the end is disaster for all. She is unlike her Greek prototype only in her Irish chastity, pagan though she was. There have been Irish Helens, and the disaster of her race is to be traced to one of them; but they are only remembered to be cursed. Still, the author was at liberty, if he chose, to follow the prevailing taste of the day, and add a spurious interest to his poem by making its heroine unfaithful to her spouse. He has done the contrary. It is the very fidelity of Deirdrè that adds its chief interest to the poem. From the day when first the squirrel

and she obeyed the promptings of her nature and went up, and for the first time looked over the garden wall and saw “the great world spread out,” she lost her heart, for here is what she saw:

These were the three heroic sons of Usna, and the eldest of the three is Naisi, who finds his way into the charmed forest where Deirdrè is kept by the king until she should grow to an age ripe enough to fit her to be made his queen. The young lady objects—as young ladies will do sometimes—to be disposed of in this manner, and Naisi, having first stolen her heart, completes his theft by stealing herself. They fly from Eman, and Clan Usna accompanies them. The rest of the poem is made up of their wanderings and final luring back to Eman, when the king wreaks his vengeance upon them. With the fate of the sons of Usna and Deirdrè the poem closes.

There is much that is admirable in the whole work. The scenes are wonderfully well localized. One never strays into to-day. The author has completely mastered the difficult geographical terminology, and makes it sweet and pleasant to the ear. The men are cast in heroic mould, and a tinge of chivalry added to them that beautifies and ennobles them. Deirdrè is a sweet, pure, and loving woman; her early youth in the garden of the king is in itself an idyllic gem. The battle scenes are strong and vigorous, and not too long drawn out; a sea-fight in particular is wonderfully well described. The glimpses of natural scenery given here and there are varied and picturesque. Indeed, there is everything that is good in the poem, but nothing that can be called great; and greatness Pg 716 is the standard and measure of an epic.

We think the author, too, has been careless in the construction of his verse. It is unequal. Half-rhymes abound: “bird” and “stirred,” “house” and “carouse,” “restored” and “board,” “hum” and “room,” “jollity” and “company,” “heath” and “breath,” cannot be considered good rhymes, yet they are all found within the first three pages. They are to too great an extent characteristic of the whole. Then there is an abundance of weak and commonplace couplets, such as the following:

Now, such lines should never have passed the censorship of one who can give such other lines as these:

“Many a field” is weak, but the picture is very good. Strange to say, the two lines immediately following are these:

The epic spirit contained in the last line needs no comment.

Again, here is a strong picture:

And here a sweet one:

Sometimes we fall upon lines that we fancy we have heard before—as these, for instance, which anybody might claim and not be proud of:

One more objection we must make, and that is to the tiresomely frequent use of the word “full.” It occurs everywhere, sometimes twice or thrice in one page. Feilimid feels himself “full sad” (p. 1). In p. 46 Caffa shakes his head “full dolefully.” In p. 49 “The east and north a strong Wind blew full keen.” In p. 55 Deirdrè grows “full pale”; in p. 58 she goes “to and fro” “full secretly”; in p. 59 she has thoughts “full sad”; while Naisi (p. 62) laughs to himself “full low,” his heart with love’s ardor grows “full warm” (p. 65). Maini watches Naisi “full treacherously” (p. 69), and three lines lower on the same page he is still watching him “full warily.” The loyal wife grasps her babe “full firm” (p. 164)—an expression that, allowing even for poetic license, is very doubtful grammar; “full soon” adorns p. 165; “full stern” shall be the fight (p. 166); “full many” a mile (p. 166); “full many” a festal fire (p. 167); even the very babe crows “full lustily” (p. 131).

Of course repetition is allowable and, if rightly used, a beauty. In Homer Juno is always “white-armed,” Venus “ox-eyed,” Apollo “far-darting,” Agamemnon a “king of men,” Achilles “swift-footed,” the dawn “rosy-fingered,” the sea “hoarse-resounding,” and so on. But we need not dwell on the point that this is a very different kind of repetition from that in Deirdrè, which is faulty and tiresome in the extreme.

The defects we have pointed out are such as might have been easily avoided by care in the supervision. As it is, they seriously mar a work of real power, much promise, and undeniable beauty.

Religion and Education. By the very Rev. Thomas S. Preston, V.G. New York: Robert Coddington. 1876.

There is much matter for thought and reflection in this pamphlet of forty-six pages. It treats of what is now an old subject, yet a subject about which new issues are constantly being raised, not only in this country but all the world over. And as the subject is far from being settled, and is likely so to remain for some time to come, one cannot but welcome the observations and pronounced Pg 717 expression of such a mind as that of the distinguished author regarding a vital question of this and all countries and of all time. The question of education has been treated time and again in these pages. Indeed, many of the articles which have appeared in The Catholic World have been collected and published in book-form (Catholics and Education), and combined make an excellent treatise in defence of Catholic education as opposed to the popular objections of non-Catholics. Father Preston necessarily travels over old ground here, but with a freshness, vigor, and clearness of statement and exposition that will amply repay the reader. His lecture—for such it was—bears all the marks of a strong and trained mind, fully alive to the difficulties that beset the vexed question of which he treats, yet of one who knows exactly where strength ends and extravagance begins. There is, perhaps, no question to-day more open to extravagant demands and declamation on both sides than this of education. The tendency of the times regarding it is in a radically wrong direction. Hot words will not mend matters, but calm reason, such as this pamphlet affords, will in the long run tell. To sincere and rightly-instructed Catholics there is no question at all in the matter. Education is as much a subject of religious discipline as is the guiding of a man’s life, and to banish God from the school is no more justifiable than to banish him from the church or the home. No Catholic dare say to God: We will admit you here, but not there. At the same time we must take into serious account the opinions of men who, having practically lost faith, cannot be expected to look upon everything in the same light as ourselves. More especially is this the case in a country like our own, where all things are still more or less in a state of formation. It is very certain that the Fathers of this Republic, to whom in our emergencies we often vaguely appeal, never dreamed that the whole machinery of a republic which, in its present vastness, power, and future import, could scarcely have flashed even on their happiest dreams, would be perfectly adjusted in a century. We must make the best of things as they exist, work earnestly, untiringly, and hopefully to make them still better, but not slap the whole world in the face for the poor satisfaction Their freedom of conscience recognizes and claims education for their children in the spirit of their faith. To deny this is coercion. To make them contribute to a system of education based on its denial is coercion and extortion. To see how fully enlightened Protestants and enlightened governments uphold this view, we can recommend nothing better in a brief form than the pages of this admirable pamphlet.

Wit, Humor, and Shakspeare. Twelve Essays. By John Weiss. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1876.

There could be no better proof of the large tolerance of literary charlatanism by the American public than that a shrewd Boston firm should in such times as the present consent to publish a book like this. Mr. Weiss evidently has nothing to say which can be of interest to a sensible man, and his style is as bad as his thought. His chief aim, it would appear, is to be odd, unnatural, and barbarous. Like the clown in the circus, he hopes to amuse us by his antics, if not by his wit. But fantastic and affected phraseology cannot hide poverty or barrenness of thought. If a man has nothing to say, grimaces only make him ridiculous in the eyes of the judicious. It would seem, too, that the author is under the delusion that he may succeed in making us believe that he means something by striving Pg 718 to render it as difficult as possible to find out what he means. Here are specimens of his style: “The life-breaths of joy and grief tend primitively to the lungs, and they voice the mother-tongue of all emotions.” “What a wide range of nature’s curious freakery a forest has!” “Only those who are capable of annihilating capricious distinctions by feelings of common humanness are capable of enjoying the union of heterogeneous ideas.”

It is Mr. Weiss’ great misfortune to believe that he is witty; and the attempts which reveal this deep conviction might indeed make us laugh, if they did not make us grieve.

“What mutual impression do a dog and a duck make? He runs around with frolic transpiring in his tail, and barks to announce a wish to fraternize; or perhaps it is a short and nervous bark, and indicates unsettled views about ducks. Meantime, the duck waddles off with an inane quack, so remote from a bark that it must convince any well-informed dog of the hopelessness of proposing either business or pleasure to such a doting and toothless pate.” “But as yet no cosey couples of clever apes have been discovered in paroxysms of laughter over the last sylvan equivoque; nor have elephants been seen silently shaking at a joke too ponderous for their trunks to carry.” “We cannot imagine that a turtle’s head gets tired lying around decapitated for a week or more.”

We cannot pardon Mr. Emerson for having made such men as Mr. Weiss possible. He is a morbid product—one of the sick multitude whose disease he has himself diagnosed. “Multitudes of our American brains are badly drained in consequence of a settling of the wastage of house-grubbing and street-work into moral morasses which generate many a chimera.” This is on the twelfth page, and to this point we followed the author with a kind of interest; for it was still possible to hope that he might not be an American. The English critics, however, may find his humor capital, since they think Walt Whitman our greatest poet; and Mr. Weiss finds examples of wit and humor in this country truly Shaksperean:

“There was a man who stood on his head under a pile-driver to have a pair of tight boots driven on. He found himself shortly after in China, perfectly naked

“All these American instances”—we quote the thoughtful and profound observation of Mr. Weiss—“are conceived in the pure Shakesperean blending of the understanding and the imagination.” But one more of them, perhaps the most artistically perfect of all, must suffice. “A coachman, driving up some mountains in Vermont, was asked by an outside passenger if they were as steep on the other side also. ‘Steep! Chain lightnin’ couldn’t go down ’em witheout the breechin’ on!’”

Nothing could be finer than the epigrammatic style in which Mr. Weiss throws some of Shakspere’s characters into a crisp Emersonian sentence: “Pistol is the raw article of poltroonery done in fustian instead of a gayly-slashed doublet. Bardolph is the capaciousness for sherry, without the capacity to make it apprehensive and forgetive; it goes to his head, but, finding no brain there, is provoked to the nose, where it lights a cautionary signal. Nym is the brag stripped of resource, shivering on prosiness.” We are quite prepared, after all this, to find that Mr. Weiss belongs to the class of enlightened men who, in the name of science, sneer at religion. It is hardly worth while to attempt his conversion.

Poems: Devotional and Occasional. By Benjamin Dionysius Hill, C.S.P. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1877.

In his last sermon on “Subjects of the Day” (“The Parting of Friends”), Dr. Newman exclaims: “O my mother, whence is this unto thee, that thou hast good things poured upon thee and canst not keep them, and bearest children, yet darest not own them? Why hast thou not the skill to use their services, nor the heart to rejoice in their love? How is it that whatever is generous in purpose, and tender or deep in devotion, thy flower and thy promise, falls from thy bosom and finds no home within thine arms?” Pg 719 The author of these poems gives to his Mother the whole—not a part—of a delicate poetic talent that would have found a warm welcome in the world which knows her not. The art in the poems is unaffected and genuine; there is no pretence of artistic ambition, nor any provoking involution of the thought in order to display the tricks and pretty devices of metre which would have come easily to one whose sense of poetic tune is so true. The verse, although by no means monotonous, is uniformly simple; the rhymes are never weak and are always sweet—qualities rarely combined—and the infallible poetic instinct fills the lines with melody, which, at first so subtle and fine that it almost eludes, is soon discovered to be exquisitely and permanently sweet.

The dominant thought is religious rapture. Father Hill was not always under the benign influence which has brought this guerdon to his gifts. He was outside the only church which offers man’s heart an ideal of absolute perfection.

God called him

and within the consecrated precincts of the priesthood he discovered a gracious light upon his imagination—the light of Our Lady. So he has proved her poet; and the tributes that he lays at her feet are rich and warm with the full beating ardor of manhood’s love. The pure sensuousness which gives strikingly what the painters would call “fine flesh-tint” to the poems will prove a strong attraction to the fervent hearts of thousands who, like Father Hill, love the Mother of our Lord with an uncontrollable intensity of human affection, but who, unlike him, are unable fittingly to express that affection to her, or even to define it to themselves or to others. Father Hill is literally the knight of Mary, and he does more than the obligations of knighthood required; for, in addition to loving, fighting for, and seeking his reward from her, he sings her praise. He gives her at once his sword and his lyre. The beauty of this chivalry of the soul is not easily to be understood by the shallow or the thoughtless; yet even the irreverent will acknowledge its holiness, and the commonest mind will be unable

“TO BE FORGIVEN.

This exquisite piety is entitled “Love’s Prisoner”:

Those whose imagination is without devotion, or whose devotion lacks imagination, will look upon the author of these poems as one indeed “set apart.” Yet even Dr. Newman, the giant intellect of modern thought, looked upon Keble, as he tells us himself, with awe, simply because Keble was a true religious poet; and these two came to love each other with a tenderness that did not expire, but was rather increased, when the one passed within the gates of Mother Rome, and the other, faltering in tears, sadly loitered, then suffered himself to be led away. So many a lesser Newman will learn to love this lesser and more melodious poet within the sanctuary, and his glowing soul will distribute some of its own warmth into the hospitable recesses in which this little book will find nooks the hosts never thought of.

Pg 720 Life of Mother Maria Teresa, Foundress of the Congregation of the Adoration of Reparation. By the Abbé Hulst. Translated by Lady Herbert. London: Burns & Oates. (For sale by The Catholic Publication Society.)

To many people there is no reading so pleasant as a biography; but when, as in the life of a great servant of God, solid instruction and sweet devotion are found united in the details of personal history, the work becomes a hand-book in a Christian’s library. Of this kind is the present work, which, although only a small volume, contains a great deal of matter, and is written with all that ease and naïveté which are so often found in French biographies. It is translated into English by Lady Herbert, who is thoroughly competent for the task.

Theodolind Dubouché was born at Montauban, in France, on the 2d of May, 1809; but her mother was of Italian origin, and it is a little singular that the daughter’s portrait prefixed to this Life bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Dante. Neither of her parents was more than a nominal Catholic, and Theodolind grew up in a cold and formal atmosphere of morality which would have chilled for ever the heart of one less naturally generous, pure-minded, and energetic, and over whom God had not extended a particular protection. Her path to perfection was long and beset with many dangers—although not at any time of the grosser sort—but the Lord was her shepherd, and she was led on, step by step, to the crowning-point of her career, which was the establishment of an Order for women whose special object should be the perpetual adoration of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, and the continual reparation to his divine Majesty. Theodolind assumed the name in religion of Maria Teresa, and her congregation, which was originally engrafted on the vigorous and venerable stem of Carmel, was begun at Paris on the 6th of August, 1848. In the year 1853 it received a Laudatine Brief from the Holy See. This was the first step towards the

The Order will certainly continue to spread, and we hope to see it introduced into this country, where devotion to the Blessed Sacrament is comparatively cold and scattered. We recommend the present work to all the holy spouses of Christ and true lovers of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist.

Githa of the Forest; or, the Burning of Croyland. A Romance of early English History. By the author of Lord Dacre of Gilsland, Royalists and Roundheads, etc., etc. London: D. Stewart, 1876. (For sale by The Catholic Publication Society.)

This is just one of those books that are in every way to be commended. It illustrates an early and most interesting period of English and Catholic history with remarkable power and vividness. It is a constant wonder to us that Catholics who have a taste for the writing of fiction do not more frequently take up such epochs as this, which are full of heroic deeds and romantic episodes, instead of vainly attempting to weave a romantic interest about the commonplace subjects and persons of the day. The history of the world for the last eighteen centuries is theirs to choose from, all its interest centres around Christianity; and we are not quite so much in love with to-day that we cannot thoroughly enjoy a trip back into the past when led by so skilful and true a hand as that of the author of Githa.

Pg 721

THE