When his vulgar and often unintentionally blasphemous exhortations failed to hold the attention of his hearers, and Morpheus was making fight against him in sundry corners of the tent, he would suddenly call in his loudest tones on all present to stand up for Jesus. In cases of very marked inattention, he would summon his hearers, and particularly the children, to write down their names for Jesus in a large book kept for that purpose by the great revivalist. This stroke generally roused the audience pretty thoroughly. But when the children had written their names in the book three or four times, they began to grow tired of the practice, thinking that, if these writing lessons were continued, they might as well be at school.

In the beginning of the second week there were unmistakable signs of impending collapse. The revival received a momentary impulse, however, from the opposition of another “Reverend Doctor,” who challenged Mr. Notext to controversy. This aroused the natural desire to witness a “fight” which lives in the human heart. But the desire was not gratified, owing to Mr. Notext’s refusal to accept the challenge. His failure to exhibit a proper polemical pugnacity was a very great detriment to him. Indeed, the end of the second week showed a marked falling off in the number of persons present at the nightly meetings. Then the sinews of war began to fail. The weekly wage of the great revivalist could not be raised, though he thrice sent back “the best workers” in all the congregations to make additional efforts to raise the stipulated sum.

The Rev. Dr. Notext did not tarry very much longer in Frogtown. He had barely turned his back upon the little town before every trace of the “great tidal wave of the revival” (as the journals called it) had disappeared. The youthful converts had gone back to their peg tops, their kites, and their china alleys, and Alderman Charley Biggs was again taking his whiskey-toddies in the time-honored way.

THE PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE.

The President’s message, so far as it deals with the school question and the taxation of church property, is the sequel to the speech which he delivered at Des Moines. The article on that oration which appeared in our last number was, to some extent, an exposition of our views on the school question.

We are sure that those views, when carefully examined, will be found to contain the only solution in harmony with the spirit of free institutions. We are willing to submit to the fairness of our fellow-citizens, and to wait until time and thought have matured their judgment on the following questions:

1. Who has a right to direct the education of children—their parents or the government?

2. Whether, in a republic whose form of government depends more than any other upon the virtue of its citizens, it is better to have moral instruction given in abundance, or to have this species of instruction restricted to the narrowest limits?

3. Whether it is the design of a free government to legislate for all, or whether public institutions—the common schools, for instance—are to be directed only for the benefit of certain classes?

4. Whether moneys raised by taxation for the common good should not be so applied as to satisfy the conscientious demands of all citizens?

5. Whether taxation otherwise directed than for the good of all is not a violation of the maxim, “Taxation without representation is tyranny”?

6. Whether Catholics have or have not shown zeal for education, both primary and scientific?

7. Whether they have or have not shed their blood in defence of the nation, or furnished any of its great leaders in peace and war?

8. Whether any instance can be shown in which they have entered or inhabited any country on equal terms with Protestants and infidels, and have abused their power to hamper or persecute their fellow-citizens?

9. Whether, in paying their taxes and supporting their own schools to the best of their power, peacefully discussing the question of public welfare and their own rights, Catholics are acting as loyal citizens or as factious disturbers of good-will and kindly feeling among neighbors?

10. Finally, whether, in consideration of the foregoing, our views are not entitled to respectful consideration?

We have no doubt whatever that when the thoughtful and just men of our day and race have duly pondered upon these subjects, we shall fully agree with their deliberate reply.

At no time in the history of our country will it be found that Catholics have introduced religion into the arena of political discussion, and any attempt to do so will meet with failure. In this they are in perfect accord with the principles underlying our institutions and the genuine spirit of this country. If, at this moment, the rancor of ancient bigotry and fanaticism or modern hatred of Christianity has attempted to awaken a political conflict on religious grounds, while it refuses to admit a calm consideration of Catholic claims, we appeal from Philip drunk to Philip sober.

In the meantime, we shall assume, that there are those who wish to hear more with regard to our principles and convictions. We shall endeavor to remove all obscurity on the questions now under discussion, and to reply to whatever reasonable objections may be made against our principles.

With regard to the taxation of church property, we await the action of the political world. Some politicians, whose “vaulting ambition” is of that kind which “o’erleaps itself,” would introduce this question into political discussion in order to draw off the attention of the American people from the real, present issues in their politics. We ask for no innovations; but if such be made, let there be no discrimination. We stand before the law as do all other religious denominations. “Let us have peace” were the memorable words spoken at a memorable time by a man who to a large extent held the future of this country in his hands. Those words held, and hold still, the germs of the wisest policy. We repeat them now, and add, if we cannot have peace, let us at least have fair play. If the projectors and advocates of this innovation suppose that, in the event of its being carried out, they will thereby worst the Catholic Church, their action in the end will be found to resemble that of the man who cut off his nose to spite his neighbor.

Since these words were written, four letters have appeared in the New York Times under the heading, “Should Church Property be Taxed?” and over the signature of George H. Andrews. The writer is not a Catholic. His clear, concise reasons against the taxation of church property, as recommended by the President in his message, will have the more weight with non-Catholic readers on that account. It is singular, yet natural, to see how his argument strengthens our own position on the question in a number of ways, particularly as regards the suicidal policy of many who, through hatred or fear of the Catholic Church, may be induced to commit themselves to a measure which would prove an irreparable mischief to their own church or churches. Passing by the many able and suggestive points in Mr. Andrews’ letters, we take just such as more immediately bear on the thoughts thrown out by ourselves.

By the census of 1870 the value of all kinds of church property in the United States belonging to the leading denominations was placed as follows:

“From these it appears,” says Mr. Andrews, “that the relative proportion of each denomination to the whole is substantially as follows:

“Methodist, one-fifth of the aggregate; Roman Catholic, one-sixth of the aggregate; Presbyterian, one-seventh of the aggregate; Baptist, one-ninth of the aggregate; Episcopalian, one-tenth of the aggregate; Congregational, one-fourteenth of the aggregate; Reformed, one-twenty-second of the aggregate; Lutheran, one-twenty-third of the aggregate; Unitarian, one-fifty-ninth of the aggregate; Universalist, one-sixtieth of the aggregate.”

And here is the case in a nutshell: “To me it seems obvious,” comments Mr. Andrews, on reviewing his figures, “that the expectation is that those who belong or are allied to other sects will, from dislike to or fear of the Roman Catholic Church, impose a burden upon it, even if in doing so they are obliged to assume an equal burden themselves; or, in other words, that the owners of $294,000,000 of church property will subject it to taxation in order to impose a similar tax upon the owners of $60,000,000 of church property. So that the adherents of every other sect, at variance among themselves about sundry matters of doctrine and practice, essential and non-essential, can be brought to act in concert, and to give effect to a common spirit of hostility to Roman Catholic doctrine, to Roman Catholic exclusiveness, Roman Catholic aggression, and Roman Catholic influence, by placing a tax upon Roman Catholic Church property—in effect, arousing a spirit of persecution, qualified by the condition imposed by the Constitution, that the would-be persecutor must share in the penalty he may succeed in imposing upon the object of his dislike.” Which is precisely what we have characterized as “cutting off one’s nose to spite a neighbor.”

May we presume to ask whether the taxation of church property will reduce the expenses of the general government, render its officials more honest, and purify our legislative halls? These are the duties of the hour. Here are the issues of our politics. But a profound silence regarding them reigns in the official utterance. Are the projectors of the new policy afraid to face them? Does their conscience make cowards of them? Or is it that they are playing the part of the cuttle-fish?

Up to this period the state and all religious denominations have advanced peaceably to prosperity, and there have been no real grounds of complaint on any side. At least we have heard of none publicly. What, then, has brought about this sudden change? Who has called for it? Why should it be sprung upon us at this moment? No danger threatens from this quarter. There is not visible on our political horizon even the “cloud no bigger than a man’s hand.” Catholics, when only a handful, never dreamed of objecting to the exemption from taxation of the property of other religious denominations, or to the aid which their benevolent institutions received. Can it be the rapid development of Catholicity here which has prompted the proposed innovation? Are these exemptions, which have been handed down from the time of our fathers, to be altered because Catholicity has had her share in the common progress? Let truth and error grapple on a fair and open field. Is there fear that truth will be worsted in the struggle?

If the exemption of church property from taxation be so great an evil and danger to the country, those whom Americans generally are content to regard as their great statesmen must have been very short-sighted men after all to pass by, one after another, so glaring an evil. For the growth of church property is not a thing of to-day. In his message the President says that he believes that “in 1850 the church property of the United States which paid no tax, municipal or State, amounted to about eighty-three million dollars. In 1860 the amount had doubled. In 1875 it is about one thousand million dollars.”

Mr. Andrews questions the estimate for 1875 on the ground that it is too high. But let that pass. The following table, given by Mr. Andrews, shows the increase in value, according to the census, of the property of the ten principal churches for the last twenty years:

The gradation, it will be seen, has been pretty steady, and is comparatively no more marked in 1870 than it was in 1860, or than it was, probably, in 1850. In that year, however, the Catholics were led by four religious bodies, and almost equalled by one. Ten years later they stood second, and after another ten years second still. Surrounded as they are by jealous foes, they offer fair game, therefore, to men in search of political prey. All was right so long as the others reaped an advantage over Catholics; but the moment there appears any prospect of Catholics reaping an advantage equally with the rest, the cry is: The country is in danger, and can only be saved by taxing church property. Who so blind as not to see through this flimsy pretext?

Not Mr. Andrews certainly, and no words of ours could be more forcible than his. “Discarding all circumlocution,” he writes, “it is as well to get down at once to the bottom fact, which is that whatever euphemistic phrases may be resorted to, a desire to obstruct the growth and circumscribe the influence of the Roman Catholic Church gives whatever vitality it may possess to the proposition to tax church property.”

But supposing this change to be made, is it to be imagined for a moment that the progress of the church will be stopped by it? That is futile. If, though so few in numbers and at a great disadvantage, the church was able to raise herself to her present position; if, when the exemptions were all in favor of other denominations, Catholics were able to make so great a progress, is it to be supposed that by these changes, and by placing other denominations on an equality with Catholics, the advancement of the Catholic Church is to be retarded?

We have been trained in the stern school of poverty. We are accustomed to sacrifice. Our clergy do not receive high salaries. The personal expenses of his Eminence the Cardinal-Archbishop are much less than those of many a clerical family in New York City. Wherever we have arms to work with, the church of God shall not lack all that is necessary to give it dignity, even if we have to pay taxes for it besides. In Ireland the priests and people have shared their crust in the midst of the famine, and in fear of death, until within a few years. In Germany we are now about to part with our property, under the wicked injustice of the state, rather than submit to its interference in the affairs of conscience. Is any person foolish enough to imagine that a few dollars, more or less, of taxation is going to dishearten or frighten us? If you want to make our people more liberal, if you want to see grand Catholic churches and the cross overtopping roof and spire in every city, just put us on our mettle. Persecution is our legacy. Martyrdom is our life. The cross on our brows is no empty symbol. These are our feelings. We have no alarm whatever.

These proposed innovations are only the entrance of a wedge that, driven home, will disturb the foundations of our government; will create religious strife, and blast the hopes of freedom, not only in this country, but all the world over. They count, however, without their host who think that the American people are prepared to enter on such a career; and the politicians who hope to ride into power by awakening the spirit of fanaticism and religious bigotry among us, if their names be held in memory at all, will at no remote period be pointed out with the finger of scorn and contumely as the disturbers of that peace and harmony which ought always to reign in a just people, and which it is the true policy of all government and the duty of all citizens to foster and maintain. We say nothing at the present regarding the unconstitutionality of these proposed innovations, and of the secret banding together of men to carry them out.

A NIGHT AT THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINT-GENEST.

It is near midnight. I am alone in my cell, awaiting the mysterious guide who brought me hither, and who will return to call me for the office of Matins.

I listen to every sound, seeking to understand its language. During the first hour I still heard steps from time to time in the distance; then I half opened my door and looked outside. At the end of the cloister a white figure appeared, carrying a small light in its hand. It approached at a slow pace, stopped near a pillar, and disappeared under the arches.

Sometimes I have seen other shadows pass along, and have heard a few low-spoken words, … bells which answered each other; then, little by little, everything is extinguished and silent.… There is not another sound, another breath; … but still I listen, and cannot cease to listen.

Is it indeed myself who am in this monastery? Was I, only to-day, yet in the midst of the living? Can one single day comprise so many things? This which is just ending has been so full, so strange, that I cannot well recount all that has happened in it.

And yet it was but this morning that I was at Aix, in the midst of light and noise and gayety.… The children were gambolling around me! All at once some one said: “Suppose we go to the Grande Chartreuse!” It was said just as one would say anything else. We set out, as if for an ordinary excursion, a party of pleasure. Mme. B—— had provisions in readiness, which were increased by the additions of other members of the party, and we start in the midst of lively speeches and merriment.

So long as we proceed along the valley this is all very well. The road rises and descends, running through the vineyards, skirting the rocks, while the warm breath of the south gently moves the surrounding verdure. Then, after piercing the flank of the mountain, it slopes down toward the plains of Dauphine, discovering a horizon all bathed in light.

It is after passing Saint Laurent, at the foot of the Desert, and in perceiving the entrance of the gorge, that one begins to understand something more; … it is then that jesting is silenced and gayety grows grave.

Then, on arriving at the Guiers-Mort, we become altogether dumb. Already we had ceased to laugh; we now ceased to speak, but regarded with a sort of stupefaction this road without issue, which seemed to end in chaos. The mountains rose defiantly before us, overlapping and mingling with each other, and here and there barring the way with huge masses of precipitous rock; the gigantic trees seem to rise to the clouds, and torrents from unknown heights fall as if from heaven, while the rocks crowd upon, before, around, and seem to say, “No farther shall you go.” As we come to a turn, it seems as if all progress were indeed at an end; two immense blocks fallen across each other completely close the horizon.… We approach them, however, and it opens again, the rocks forming a sort of Titanic vaulted roof overhead, and falling again in the form of three bridges, one above the other, the horses continuing to climb a road which the eye cannot take in.

And whilst one is lost in these abysses, what a perfect dream of splendor begins to break overhead! Meadows of the most exquisite green seem as if suspended far above us, silvery rocks jutting out from among their black firs, gigantic oaks grasping the heights of the precipices, their crowns of verdure glittering in the wind.… It is a fantastic apparition. One has visions in one’s childhood of unknown regions, of enchanted forests guarded by genii, but one never thought to contemplate these marvels in reality.

Then, all at once, the mountains separate, the torrents disappear, and in the midst of a gorge rise battlements and spires.… It is the monastery. There it stands, guarded by these lofty sentinels, in this sombre amphitheatre, which would be desolation itself if God had not scattered there all the magical beauties of his creation.

There is not a village, not a cottage, not a wayfarer—nothing; there is La Chartreuse. No solitude can be compared to that!

On the summit of St. Bernard and of the Simplon monasteries destined for the relief of travellers present themselves to the passage of the nations. In the sandy deserts the most isolated convents find themselves in the road of the caravans; but here this road conducts to nothing—it is a silent gorge; it is the Valley of Contemplation; it is the greatest solitude that one can imagine.

And when from those heights one has seen the gradual approach of night; seen these masses of rock and of verdure enfolded in the vast shadows; and, at the summons of the monastery bell, has seen the last of the white robes descend from the mountain, he feels that it is one of those moments in a life which will never be forgotten. Then, after having stayed awhile to contemplate this scene, I rose and came to knock at this door, which has been to so many others as the gate of the tomb.… A Carthusian monk brought me to my cell, went his way in silence, and since then I have been left to my reflections.

There are, then, men who in the morning were in their homes, in the midst of their friends, in life, and stir, and the noise of the outer world.… They have climbed this mountain, they have sought this Desert, have knocked at this gate; it has closed upon them, … and for ever.

They have, as I, sat down at this table; they have gazed at the walls of their cell, and have said to themselves: “Behold henceforth my horizon.” Then they have heard the sound of these bells, the echo of these litanies, and they have said to themselves: “We shall henceforth hear no other voice.”

You see, one reads these things in the works of poets, one sees them represented in the drama; but one must find one’s self actually in a real cell, and one must sleep there, to conceive anything of the reality of a monastic life.

To awake here in the morning; to rise and eat, alone, the food which comes to you through a little wicket, like that of a prisoner; to meet, when one traverses the cloister, other shadows who salute you in silence; to go from the church to the cell, from the cell to the church, and to say to one’s self that it is always and always to be the same!

Always!… All through life; or rather, there is no more life, no more space, no more time. It is the beginning of eternity. One is on the threshold of the infinite, and it seems as if all this nature had only been created to give these men a beginning of eternal repose.

Always alone! The thought crushes one. No more to receive anything from without; to nourish one’s self with spiritualities alone; to meditate, contemplate, and pray. To pray always: … to pray for those who never pray themselves; to pray for those who have shattered your life, and who, may be, have led you hither; … to pray for those who have despoiled your monastery and outraged your habit—even for the impious ones who come to insult you in your very hospitality! And for all this one thing alone suffices: faith.

A bell has rung; it is the hour of Matins. Some one knocks at my door. I open, and they conduct me to the little stall reserved for travellers. At first the obscurity is so great that it is difficult to distinguish anything. The church is empty, and none of the tapers are lighted. Then a door opens in the distance, and the monks enter in procession, each holding a long dark-lantern, of which the slanting gleams dimly lessen the darkness of the chapel. They repair to their stalls, and the Office begins.

It consists principally of a monotonous psalmody of an implacable rhythm, of which one scarcely perceives the first murmurs, and which seems as if it would never end. I gaze at these tall white figures, these motionless heads.… What has been the drama of life to each one? What changes, without and within, have led them there? What have they suffered? And do they suffer still? What has the rule of their order done for them?—and still the psalmody goes on.

At times they rise, uttering what seems to be a sort of lamentation; then they fall prostrate, with their arms stretched out before them; all the lights disappear; there is nothing but darkness and silence; it seems as if man himself were extinguished. After which the lights reappear, the psalmody recommences, and thus it continues.

When the rising sun shone upon the summits of the rocks, I rose from my pallet, exclaiming: “The light at last! Hail to the light!” I open my window and look out.… There is no other place like this; such as it was in the night, such is it in the day. In vain may the sun mount above the horizon to bring warmth into this gorge—the monastery remains cold and, as it were, insensible; in vain his rays dart upon the walls, glitter on the spires, and set the rocks on fire.… There are living men, but one does not see them, one does not hear them; only a wagon drawn by oxen crosses the meadow, followed by a monk, and some beggars are approaching the monastery gate.

Then, without guide or direction, I plunge into the forest in search of the Chapel of S. Bruno. This forest is of incomparable beauty; neither Switzerland nor the Pyrenees contain anything like it. Prodigious trees rise to an immense height, wrapping their gigantic roots about the rocks. In the midst of the waters which murmur on every side unknown vegetations luxuriate, sheltering at their feet a world of ferns, tall grass, and mosses, every dewy feather and spray being hung, as it were, with precious stones, upon which the sun darts here and there rays of gold and touches of fire. There is here a wild enchantment which neither pen nor pencil ever can depict; and in the midst of these marvels rises, from a rock, the Chapel of S. Bruno. There it was that the visions appeared to him, and there he caused a spring of water to flow forth; but to me the most wonderful of all the miracles of his legend was that of his getting there at all—the fact of his reaching the foot of this desert, hatchet in hand, cutting down the trees which barred his entrance, wrestling with wild animals, the masters of this forest, and having no other pathway than the torrent’s bed; ever mounting upwards, in spite of the streams, in spite of the rocks, in spite of everything; never finding himself lost enough, but ever struggling higher and higher still. The miracle is, too, that of his having fixed himself at last upon that spot, and to have called companions around him, who constructed each his little hermitage about his own; that of having, in God’s name, taken possession of these inaccessible mountains, all of which are surmounted by a cross, and to have founded an order which spread itself over the whole Christian world, and which is still existing.

But the hour of departure has arrived. At the moment of quitting this solitude we again reflect. France and Italy lie spread out beneath our feet; … that is to say, passions, hatred, strife.… Why should we descend again? Why resume the burden of ambitions, rivalries, the harness of social conventionalities? To what purpose is it, since the end at last must come alike to all?

We look around, we reflect, and then, after having well meditated, we all descend.

At the foot of the desert we find again huts, then cottages, by and by a village. With movement and life we find our speech again, and with speech discussion. Overwhelmed until then by the wild beauty of all around us and by the majesty of its silence, the sceptics only now recommence the criticisms which were cut short the evening before: “What services do these monks render to mankind? To what purpose do they bury themselves upon those heights, when there is so much to be done below?”

I answer nothing. These are difficult questions. Later we shall know which has chosen the better part, those who act or those who pray; only I remember that whilst thirty thousand Israelites were fighting in the plain, Moses, alone on the mountain, with his arms stretched out towards heaven, implored the God of armies. When his arms fell through weariness, the Amalekites prevailed; and when he raised them, Israel was victorious; and seeing this, he caused his arms to be supported, until the enemies of Israel were overcome.

While we are debating we cross Saint Laurent, Les Echelles, and the Valley du Guiers. Here is Chambéry en fête, with its flags, its concourse of francs-tireurs, and bands of music; but although we have returned to outer life, we have brought away with us something of the solitude we have left, where it seems as if the earth ended.

Believe me, reader, and do not forget my words when you visit these lands. The sight of La Grande Chartreuse is one of the most powerful emotions here below. To whatever religion you may belong, if your soul can be moved by the thought of the life to come, you will preserve an imperishable remembrance of a night spent in this monastery, and will feel that you are not altogether the same man that you were when you entered its walls.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

The author of this volume has read carefully and seriously a large number of works, by different American, French, and English writers, devoted to an explanation of the institutions of the United States, and to the history and social condition of the country. He shows also a remarkable acquaintance with the magazines and newspapers of the United States, so far as they bear on the subjects of which he treats. His book, indeed, must have cost him years of assiduous labor.

M. Jannet gives a just and impartial exposition of the laws and political principles of our country, as also of its present social condition. Rarely, if ever, has a foreigner displayed so conscientious a study of all that goes to make up American civilization. He professes to have entered upon his study and his work without any preconceived theory—a profession not unusual with authors, and for the most part, probably, honestly made. It is one thing, however, to profess, another thing to adhere to the profession. Were it possible for authors to adhere strictly to the profession made by M. Jannet, literature and all of which it treats would certainly not suffer therefrom: But he who imagines he has attained to so just and fair a position is the least free from illusion. The position is simply unattainable, and M. Jannet is scarcely to be blamed if he has not quite reached his ideal.

Two classes of authors have written about the United States. The one sees almost everything in couleur de rose, the other in a sombre hue. M. Jannet belongs to the latter class. Throughout his volume he fastens upon every symptom that threatens the existence or the welfare of the republic. As an enumeration of these symptoms it is exact, and its perusal would do no harm to our spread-eagle orators.

M. Jannet has evidently aimed at counterbalancing the influence of writers, French writers particularly, who have exaggerated the good side of American political society. He seems fearful lest their tone of thought should have too great a preponderance in France, and influence its present transition-state too powerfully in the direction of the United States. Whether or not this was called for is not a question for us to consider. The book, regarded as an impartial exposition of the present condition of the United States, resembles the picture of an artist, the background of which is painted with a Preraphaelite exactness, while the foreground is left unfinished, and the whole work, consequently, incomplete. Had the obvious purpose of the book been proclaimed at the beginning, we should have read it with a more favorable eye.

In his last chapter, however, M. Jannet holds out some hope for the future of the American Republic. In our present commercial depression, in the recent success of the Democratic party, in the number of families who have preserved the primitive virtues and customs of our forefathers, and in the progress of Catholicity he sees a ground for this hope, and concludes his work by saying: “Men are everywhere prosperous or unfortunate, according as they observe or despise the divine law. All their free will consists in choosing between these two terms of the problem of life, and all the efforts of the spirit of innovation only break against, without ever being able to destroy, the eternal bounds set by God to the ambitious feebleness of the creature. Therein lies the lesson that the young republic of the New World sends from beyond the ocean and across the mirage of its rapid prosperity to the old nations of Europe, too inclined to believe in the sophisms of the great modern error, and to mistrust their own traditions.”

M. Jannet’s work is worthy of a more extended notice, which will be given it at a later date. The book may be ordered directly from the publisher in France.

This is a new volume in the series which is intended, when complete, to include the entire life of Jesus Christ. We have already commended the preceding volume, and can only, at present, renew the expression of our concurrence in the unanimous verdict of competent judges, which awards a very high meed of praise to Father Coleridge’s work, so far as it is as yet given to the public.

It is likely to become extensive when fully completed, since the present volume is filled up with the author’s introductory remarks on the missionary life of Our Lord, and the exposition of one portion of the Sermon on the Mount—to wit, the Beatitudes. It is a work which is, strictly speaking, sui generis in our language, and indeed in all modern literature, and one hard to describe in such a way as to give an accurate notion of its quality and scope to a person who has not read some portion of its contents. The author has drawn from the most various and from the purest sources, and has himself meditated in a very attentive and minute manner upon the rich materials furnished him by the sacred lore of his studies. He proceeds leisurely, quietly, carefully, like the patient illuminator of a manuscript text, filling his pages with large and small figures, all elaborately finished. The present volume gives us a sketch of Galilee, the scene of the preaching and miracles of our divine Redeemer during his first year of public ministry, which makes at once the idea of that ministry, of its extraordinary laboriousness, its extent, and the multitude of wonderful works comprehended within its brief period, ten times more vivid than it can be made by a mere perusal of the Gospel narrative. In this respect it is especially interesting and instructive for those who are themselves engaged in missionary labors. We have a picture placed before our minds of the real nature of Our Lord’s public life and ministry, and grouped around it are other pictures, as illustrations, from the lives of the great missionary saints. When the author approaches to his principal theme in this volume—the Sermon on the Mount—he makes the whole scene and all its circumstances appear before us like a fine dioramic view. He is not, however, of that meretricious school to which Renan and Beecher have given a false and momentary éclat, as unworthy of the divine subject as the homage of another class of witnesses on whom Our Lord frequently imposed silence. The poetic, literary, and picturesque charms of Father Coleridge’s style are subservient to his theological, doctrinal, and moral exposition of sacred truths. It is the pure doctrine of the Scriptures, and of the fathers, doctors, and saints of the church, which we are invited and allured to drink from the ornamented chalice.

Whoever, after reading the title of this book, thinks that a treatise of this kind would be useful and helpful, and wishes to find such a book as may really do the service promised by the title, will probably be satisfied with the book itself. It is standard and approved, and has been well translated by Mr. Thompson, whose preface contains some excellent and timely remarks of his own.

This little book purports to be a simple sketch of the life of the Prince of the Apostles. It will serve to recall the principal events in his life, and therefore will possess a certain amount of interest for Catholic readers. The binding, type, and paper are neat and elegant. The object of the book is evidently pious, and therefore we shrink from criticising it too minutely. The style also is pleasing and readable. It is to be regretted, however, that the author did not take a little more pains with his task. It is a good thing to have plenty of books on Catholic subjects; and those who are gifted with power, and who can command the leisure, are, to a certain extent, bound to write. But they are also bound to study consistency and order, and, in sending forth their productions, to show a proper respect for those who are expected to buy them. Good-will does not excuse slovenliness, and we heartily wish that “W. D. S.” had shown a deeper sense of this truth. The fact that a book is small and easily read does not free the writer from a thorough analysis of his subject and employment of all sources of information regarding it. The present work is serviceable as an introduction to a real treatise on the position and office of S. Peter. It is nothing more; and we are sorry that it is not.

A number of the most learned Catholic theologians of Germany have combined together to prepare a complete theological library. The present volume on canon law makes the fifth thus far issued. This library is one which will be very valuable to German priests or those who read German. The names of Hergenröther, Scheeben, and other writers of similar rank who are contributors sufficiently guarantee its excellence.

These and other publications of the Herder publishing house are imported by the enterprising firm of the Benzigers. The first is a convenient and carefully edited text of the acts of the Vatican Council, to which is appended a list of all the episcopal sees and prelatures called nullius in the entire Catholic Church. The second is one portion of the magnificent collection of modern councils published at Maria-Laach, and contains the acts of British and North American councils held during the past century, or, to speak more precisely, from 1789 to 1869.

We cannot speak from personal knowledge of the merit of this translation. Readers of German literature who cannot read Calderon in the original will no doubt be pleased to find some of his great dramas in a German dress, and be sufficiently interested in them to ascertain for themselves how far the great poet has been successfully reproduced.

We have here in two volumes a miscellaneous collection of every kind of folk-lore, in prose and verse, mostly very short pieces which must be very amusing for children and others who like to entertain themselves with curious odds and ends of this sort.

This is a very thoughtful and learned treatise on the Sacrifice of the Mass, and, though not directly controversial, it is a very lucid and satisfactory vindication of the Catholic doctrine on the Holy Eucharist considered as a sacrifice.

The volume contains also essays on “Definitions of the Catholic faith, Existence of the church in relation to Scripture, Tradition as a vehicle of Christian doctrine, The Atonement and Purgatory,” and other subjects, all of them well written, and some, such as the one on “Definitions of the Catholic Faith,” occupied with discussion of questions which are frequently talked of at the present, and upon which it is important to have clear and accurate notions.

We read an account a few days since of four hundred Catholic priests who four years ago were transported from Poland to Siberia by the Russian government; three hundred have died, and the others can survive but a little while. It was only a paragraph in a newspaper. The martyrs die as of old, and we scarcely hear of their sufferings. The missionary work of the church, too, is almost forgotten by her children who are living at ease and in comfort; and yet it is carried on in all quarters of the globe. Our brothers, if we be worthy to call them by this name, are toiling, suffering, dying for Christ and the souls of men in far-off countries of which we seem not to care even to know anything. Here is a book, most interesting and consoling, full of edifying facts and heroic examples, written clearly and simply. It is a history of Christianity in Cochin China and Tonking; and as these two countries form the Empire of Annam, and the history of the church is always one of persecution, of triumph through suffering, the book is entitled The Persecutions of Annam. For centuries Europeans have been excluded from this country, into the interior of which the only strangers who have penetrated have been Catholic missionaries, and they have gone at the risk of their lives. For two hundred and fifty years the apostles of the church have been laboring in Annam, and whoever will read this book will be struck with wonder at the work they have done and the sufferings they have endured. Never anywhere have there been more barbarous or cruel persecutions, and never have they been borne with more heroic fortitude and simple trust in God.

And then what a wealth of instruction in the lives of these Annamite converts! From 1615 down to our own day thousands and hundreds of thousands have received the faith, and, rather than forfeit it, hundreds and thousands have endured every torment, death itself. Their warm piety, their intelligent faith, their dauntless courage, put us to shame.

The last persecution broke out in 1858, and raged until the Christians were relieved by the arms of France, in consequence of which a treaty of peace was signed in June, 1862, which was soon followed by a decree granting religious worship; and we may hope that the soil which has drunk the blood of so many martyrs will yet become the vineyard of Christ.

But we must refer our readers to the book itself, and close this brief notice with the wish that some one of our Catholic houses in this country may republish this most interesting chapter of Catholic history.