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BOOKS AND READING 
 
 -BY- 
 I. 
 
 BROTHER AZARIAS 
 
 OF THE BROTHERS OF THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS 
 
 FIFTH EDITION ENLARGED 
 
 New Toek 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION 
 
 123 East Fiftieth Street 
 
 1896. 
 
 C-ixv 
 
^> \ \^^^ 
 
 Copyright by JOSEPH H. McMAIION, 1896. 
 
TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF THE RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 yVlONSIGNOR JaS. yt. pORCORAN, p. P- 
 
 AKE AFFECTIONATELY INSCEIBED 
 By the y9.UTH0{\. 
 
OF 
 
 BROTHER AZARIAS.F.S.C. 
 
 Brother Azarias, ( Patrick Francis Mullany ) who 
 ■died at the Hotel Champlain, near Plattsburg, on Au- 
 gust 2oth, 1893, was a native of Ireland. His parents 
 emigrated to the United States when he was a child, 
 and his boyhood was passed at their home in Deerfield, 
 N. Y., not far from the residence of Horatio Seymour, 
 with whom, as boy and man, he maintained the most 
 kindly relations. It was at the District school that 
 young Mullany's schooling began. There, however, 
 he did not long remain. His parents desired that he 
 should enjoy the advantage of a more thorough course 
 of studies, and of a sound religious and moral educa- 
 tion, and therefore sent him to the Academy ot the 
 Brothers of the Christian Schools, in Utica. Studious 
 and gentle, the youth was a favorite with his fellows 
 and teachers, and earned the affection and good will of 
 Brother Justin, then his teacher, and now Provincial of 
 the Brothers of the Christian Schools. 
 
 The serious character of the youth, his love of learn- 
 
iv. Books and Reading. 
 
 ing, the high ideal he entertained of the calling of a 
 teacher, are sufificiently proved by the sacrifices he 
 made at the early age of fifteen; for at that age he 
 joined the disciples of the great de la Salle. That a 
 man of talent should adopt a profession which promises 
 a comfortable livelihood, leisure, social advantages, 
 the delights of an intellectual home, position, and, it 
 may be, even wealth, is not surprising. But how many 
 youths of fifteen become teachers wholly from a love 
 of others ? This Patrick Francis Mullany did. Enter- 
 ing the Brotherhood of the Christian Schools, he vowed 
 himself to poverty, to obedience to his superiors, and 
 to a chaste community life; and thus deliberately 
 denied himself all the pleasures and ambitions in the 
 pursuit of which men ordinarily place their happiness. 
 The completeness of the sacrifice a Christian Brother 
 makes will impress itself on those unacquainted with 
 the rule of de la Salle, when they consider that, with 
 everything else men cherish, one gives up the family 
 name. At the age of fifteen, then, Patrick Francis 
 Mullany became Brother Azarias. That his youthful 
 ideal of the teacher's calling never altered, that his 
 sense of the duty of a teacher never diminished, that 
 his love of youth and his desire to aid youth to be know- 
 ing and strong never weakened, is proved by the fact 
 that, after thirty years of sacrifice, he was devoted to 
 his community, proud of it, happy in it, and thankful 
 to the good God who had inspired him to give up every- 
 
Memoir of Brother Azarias, F. S. C. v. 
 
 thing material for the sake of the education of the 
 young. 
 
 Pursuing his studies in the Novitiate of the Christian 
 Brothers, Brother Azarias soon became a useful mem- 
 ber of the community. At the age of eighteen he was per- 
 mitted to teach, and during the ten following years he 
 held professorships in several of the more important 
 institutions maintained by the Christian Brothers. To 
 the study of English literature he devoted himself espec- 
 ially, though he did not fail to enlarge his acquaintance 
 with the classics, a.nd to pursue the study of modern 
 languages. If his responsibilities were increased, so 
 were his opportunities also, when, in 1875, he was ap- 
 pointed President of Rock Hill College, Maryland. This 
 office he administered so satisfactorily, that he retained 
 it during ten years, and then he was compelled to give 
 up his charge by failing health. 
 
 A journey through Europe somewhat improved his 
 health, but the eight latter years of his life were years 
 of suffering. Ill-health, however, did not interrupt his 
 studies, which were continued abroad as well as at home; 
 nor did ill-health put an end to his career as a teacher. 
 During the six years immediately preceding his death, 
 he held the Professorship of English Literature in the 
 " De La Salle Institute," New York City. 
 
 At an early age Brother Azarias developed a talent 
 for writing, and this talent he cultivated assiduously 
 during his whole life. Considering his duties as a 
 
VI. Books and Reading. 
 
 teacher, the slight encouragement he received for many 
 years, and his frail health since 1885, both the quan- 
 tity and the quality of his literary work testify to his 
 patience, his perseverance, and his sense of duty; for 
 all his work was done with the aim of instructing, of 
 educating, of elevating those around him. Having 
 read much, thought much, and stored much intellectual 
 wealth, he was impelled to distribute what he had ac- 
 quired. Loving truth, he longed to lead others to love 
 it. Knowing from experience the refining influence of 
 good literature, he desired to excite many to cultivate 
 it, not selfishly, but for the advantage of society. 
 Aware of the injurious effects of loose thinking, of bad 
 logic, and of an imperfect acquaintance with history, he 
 sought to correct common errors and to induce men 
 and women to recognize that study and inquiry should 
 precede judgment. Convinced that only by familiarity 
 with the thoughts of the greatest thinkers and artists 
 can the intellectual elevation of American society be 
 assured, he tried to acquaint many with the thought 
 and the art of the greatest writers of our own time, and 
 of the past. 
 
 Had one no personal relations with Brother Azarias, 
 the motive that inspired him in his literary work would 
 have been apparent to a reader of any one of his essays 
 or books. He wrote nothing hastily. His purpose was 
 always clear. Merely to please the ear or to excite the 
 imagination, he would not have written a line. He had 
 
Memoir of Brother Azarias, F. S. C. 
 
 a lesson to teach, instruction to give; and it is to the 
 teacher that we owe the agreeable and serviceable books 
 and essays which he published during the twenty- 
 years of his career as a writer. His volumes on "Old 
 English Thought," the " Philosophy of Literature," 
 " Aristotle and the Christian Schools," " Phases of 
 Thought and Criticism," have been read with profit by 
 many, with pleasure by all who appreciate style, and, 
 notwithstanding criticism, more or less judicious, will 
 be always quoted by writers who deal seriously with, 
 English Literature. 
 
 Brother Azarias, having knowledge of men, wrote 
 according to this knowledge; and thus appealed, and 
 will appeal, to men, ' according to their knowledge. 
 Having no common knowledge, he will not appeal to 
 common men. Indeed, such was not his aim. Believ- 
 ing in a God, a Christ, a Divine law, a Providence, and 
 a future life, he appealed to the select; not to the select 
 few, but to the select majority, who, perhaps more silently 
 than they should, accept the great truths of natural and 
 and of revealed religion. A staunch Catholic, Brother 
 Azarias was a Catholic from conviction, as his life 
 proved. Catholicity it was that led him to be and to 
 remain a Christian Brother. With his talents and ac- 
 quirements, he might have been the President of a so- 
 called University, a legislator, a Minister at a Foreign 
 court. Men of less knowledge and of less ability have 
 held such places. 
 
viii. Books and Reading. 
 
 Thirty years of study^ and ten years of rule as Presi- 
 dent of Rock Hill College, had made Brother Azarias 
 a prudent man, slow in speech. And yet he was an 
 agreeable talker among his friends. Always modest, a 
 good listener, considerate of others, his conversation 
 pleased because of his kindliness and thoughtfulness. 
 He had no harsh word to say of any man. Ideas, opin- 
 ions, expressions, he criticised, but persons not at all. 
 Criticisms on his own work he read, accepted, or reject- 
 ed, but never answered. Against his critics he had no 
 personal feeling. He was conscious of his own honesty. 
 That his views could not be gainsaid, occasionally, 
 he would not maintain. As his only aim was to be 
 right, he was ever open to correction. For him, to 
 violate the truth would be criminal; still he did not 
 assume infallibility, but only honest good will. 
 
 Brother Azarias had one gift that his writings did 
 not disclose, — a genial sense of humor. AVhy he con- 
 cealed this charming quality, I do not know. Perhaps 
 it was through modesty ; or, perhaps again, he feared 
 lest a display of humor might seem undigniiied in a 
 teacher, and especially in a religious. Whatever the 
 reason, it is notable that his happy sense of humor was 
 known only to his friends. 
 
 As a man. Brother Azarias was of a lovable, genial 
 character ; not only guileless, but generous, hearty, and 
 affectionate. Always simple and unaffected, he made 
 friends everywhere. In gaining them he used no arts. 
 
Memoir of Brother Azarias, F. S. C. ix. 
 
 He was blessed with a soft and gentle voice, and this 
 made a lasting impression on many who met him but 
 once. Among educated men of all religions he had 
 friends, who frequently showed him marks of esteem 
 and regard. He was grateful for all kindnesses, and 
 prompt in showing his gratitude. 
 
 Though Brother Azarias treated of many subjects in 
 his written works, he disclosed only so much of himself 
 as a writer may disclose without being personal. Per- 
 haps we shall have, some day, a life of him written by 
 some one who can control his correspondence. Judi- 
 ciously used, this will tell us more than we have thus far 
 learned of one of our most competent and zealous Ameri- 
 can educators. By education, and in heart and soul. Broth- 
 er Azarias was an American. American life, American 
 thought, American education, American progress, — for 
 these he worked from the beginning to the end; and 
 though with no narrow spirit, yet, as a citizen of the 
 Empire State, and as a resident, during the best years of his 
 life, of the City of New York, it was to New York State 
 and to our Imperial City that he looked, more than all, 
 for the advancement of our beloved country in the way 
 of culture, of taste, of principle, and of truth. His 
 father, I have heard, was a "republican" in politics; 
 but Brother Azarias was a true son of liberty, knowing 
 no party, and hoping only for the freedom and the 
 welfare of all our citizens, whatever their race or re- 
 ligion. All honest men he respected. Good principles 
 
Books and Reading. 
 
 he supported. Of bad principles he was the foe. 
 A talented, capable, right-minded educator is a valu- 
 able servant of the State. The death of such an edu- 
 cator is a serious loss to the State; and therefore Broth- 
 er Azarias will be mourned by all good citizens. The 
 Regents of our University, before whose convocations 
 he has more than once spoken thoughtfully, will miss 
 him. The members of the Concord and Farmington 
 schools of philosophy, among whom he counted sever- 
 al warm friends, will miss him. The " Catholic Sum- 
 mer School," of which he was one of the founders, and 
 in whose behalf he labored so earnestly, will miss him. 
 And yet, in his works, he will live; winning esteem and 
 affection from many who never saw him in the flesh. 
 His fellow-Catholics have an advantage and a satisfac- 
 tion that many outside of their faith may not have. To 
 the Catholic, Brother Azarias is alive, not in his books 
 only, but with a real living life. Catholics may com- 
 mune with him, living; love him, living. From them he 
 is separated, but only for a short time. The hope of 
 meeting one's beloved teacher, to-morrow or the next 
 day, brings joy to the dutiful pupil. And what great- 
 er consolation can be vouchsafed to a friend than the 
 assurance that, — to-morrow or the next day, — he will 
 be again in the company of the friend that regretfully 
 
 he parted from! 
 
 John A. Mooney. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The substance of the present Lecture was read before 
 the Cathedral Library Reading Circle of New York City, 
 at the request of its Director, the Rev. Joseph H. 
 McMahon. At the same request it is now given to the 
 public in book form. The author has not attempted 
 within the limits of a single paper to cover the whole 
 scope of the subject; but the few general rules and 
 principles which he has laid down may be extended, in 
 their application, to any number of subjects. The Lect- 
 ure is reprinted, with a few points somewhat more 
 developed, from the pages of the Catholic World. 
 
 In this Third Edition the author has made revisions 
 and additions with a view of rendering the little book 
 less unworthy of the cordial reception it met with. He 
 has sought to answer a few more questions on books 
 and reading. If he has dwelt at some length upon 
 Wordsworth and Browning, it is in order to diminish the 
 difificulty readers find in grasping the meaning and im- 
 portance of these poets. 
 
 Db La Salle Institute, New York, 
 Pbcembbr 20, 1890. 
 
BOOKS AND READING. 
 
 I. 
 
 I NEED not dwell upon the advantages that are to be 
 derived from a familiar acquaintance with books. If 
 you have made a few choice authors your bosom friends, 
 with whom you seek refuge in hours of anxiety or 
 trouble, who speak to you words of comfort when you 
 are weighed down by sorrow or annoyance, who are a 
 solace and a recreation, cheering you up and reminding 
 you of the better and higher things of life, no words of 
 mine can help you to hold those tried and true friends 
 in greater estimation than that in which you now hold 
 them. And if, on the other hand, books were to you no 
 better occupation than walking or riding, a mere pas- 
 time like base-ball or lawn-tennis, then I fear you could 
 not understand any words of praise that I might bestow 
 upon them, and the eulogies of great men, which I 
 might quote for you, would be to you meaningless 
 phrases. Sufifice it to say that, after the grace of God 
 flowing to us through the channels of prayer and the 
 
Books and Reading. 
 
 sacraments, I know no greater solace to the soul than the 
 soothing words of a good book. Indeed, is not the good 
 book itself a visible grace ? How often has not God 
 spoken to men through the words of the printed or the 
 written page? Thus did He speak to St. Augustine 
 through the random reading of a passage in the New 
 Testament ; thus did He sp&ak to St. Ignatius through 
 the almost enforced perusal of the Lives of the Saints ; 
 thus has He spoken, and does He still speak, to millions 
 the world over through the loving-tender words of that 
 low, sweet voice of humanity, The Imitation of Christ. 
 And so I will take it for granted that you all prize books, 
 and accordingly will endeavor to read you a leaf out of 
 my experience, and such experience of others as occurs to 
 me, as to the best manner of using them, with the hope 
 that out of it all you may be enabled to glean a few 
 practical hints. 
 
 II. 
 
 We are told that " to the making of books there is no 
 end ; " but there is a limit to every maa's reading ca- 
 pacity. We all of us must make up our minds that we 
 cannot read everything ; that the longest life, most 
 rigidly economized, can compass but an infinitesimal 
 portion of this world's knowledge ; that if, in order to 
 keep our intellect from starving, we would store up some 
 available provision therefor, we must confine ourselves 
 to a selection of subjects, small in number and limited 
 
The Scholar and the Desultory Reader. 9 
 
 in range. In making this selection we should consult 
 both our present mental acquirements and our daily oc- 
 cupations. 
 
 It is evident that the class of reading suitable for a 
 scholar of trained mental habits is not the class of read- 
 ing that will interest the desultory reader, who has 
 picked up his knowledge here and there, and has never 
 disciplined his mind into habits of severe thought. 
 The scholar is in position to appreciate the great clas- 
 sics of his own or other languages. He can understand 
 why Shakspere is so esteemed ; he can appreciate the 
 noble grandeur of Milton ; he is prepared to be thrilled 
 by the classic prose of an Edmund Burke or a Cardinal 
 Newman, because he has learned, in the language of 
 Ruskin, " how to form conceptions of proper range or 
 grasp, and proper dignity, or worthiness." * To the 
 
 / desultory reader these authors are dry and uninteresting; 
 he may praise them because it is the fashion to commend 
 them, but he is apt to take more pleasure in the last 
 sensational report of his daily paper, or in the last penny 
 dreadful that has been issued. Only that which takes 
 
 / momentary hold upon his imagination can fix his atten- 
 tion. He may have attained the years of manhood, but 
 so far as reading is concerned his mind is still the mind 
 of the child who reads his book only till he has found 
 out the meaning of the pictures it contains. Well and 
 aptly hath it been said : " Desultory reading is indeed 
 
 * TheEagUs Nest, lect. t, § 8. 
 
lo Books and Reading. 
 
 very mischievous, by fostering habits of loose, discon- 
 tinuous thought, by turning the memory into a common 
 sewer for rubbish of all sorts to float through, and by 
 relaxing the power of attention, which of all our facul- 
 ties most needs care, and is most improved by it. But 
 a well-regulated course of study will no more weaken 
 the mind than hard exercise will weaken the body ; nor 
 will a strong understanding be weighed down by its 
 knowledge, any more than an oak is by its leaves, or 
 than Samson was by his locks." * Therefore we may 
 broadly say, that according to the various stages of 
 one's mental development will one require different 
 grades of reading. No general list of books will cover 
 every individual case. What is one man's meat may be 
 another man's poison. Let each one ask himself, in 
 taking up a book, what special benefit he expects to 
 derive from its perusal. 
 
 Say to yourself : " Why do I take up this book ? Is 
 it simply that I may pass the time, or be amused, or rest 
 my weary, over-wrought brain ? " Be it so. Rest and 
 amusement are legitimate objects, even as the theatre 
 and the opera are legitimate. Amuse yourself with 
 your book. Is the book abounding in wit or humor ? 
 All the better. Only see to it that the wit instils no 
 poison, that it leaves no sting, that you do not rise from 
 its play of shafts with bitterness in your thoughts or 
 callousness in your heart. See to it that the humor be 
 
 * Guesses at Trutht p. 156. 
 
Purposes in Reading. \ \ 
 
 genuine and kindly, and calculated to broaden and deep- 
 en your sympathies with your fellow-man. See to it 
 that after having read the book you can look with 
 greater charity upon human frailty, speak more kindly 
 of your neighbor, and hold his shortcomings in greater 
 tolerance: 
 
 " For, although the distance be 
 Great twixt wise and witless words, 
 Still, 'tis from two different chords 
 Springs the sweetest harmony." * 
 
 Such is the sympathizing humor of Hood ; such the 
 innocent charm of the Pickwick Papers j such the harm- 
 less laughter created by that most genial of humorists, 
 Artemus Ward, who always respected whatever man 
 holds sacred in life, and whom God favored with the 
 grace of the sacraments of the Church on his death-bed ; 
 such the happy thoughts of the present editor of Punch, 
 Mr. Burnand, who has also been blessed with the grace 
 of conversion to the Catholic Faith. In these and such 
 like books you sought amusement, and beneath their 
 genial rays you found moral and intellectual growth. 
 
 Again, you say to yourself: " Is it instruction and 
 self-improvement that I am seeking ? Then must I read 
 with greater care. I must verify facts; I must consult 
 the authorities quoted; I must compare the other ver- 
 sions of the' same event; in all my studies I must have 
 in view to get at the solid basis of truth underlying the 
 
 * Calderon : La Cena de Balthazar^ Sc. I., transl. by D. F. MacCarthy. 
 
12 Books and Reading. 
 
 statements." Here you have undertaken more serious 
 work. Much depends upon the nature of the work, and 
 much upon the manner in which you propose to carry it 
 out. If you would succeed, your subject must be such 
 as not to lead you beyond your depth. Suppose you 
 would study the history of some epoch or some decisive 
 event in any of the great civilized nations of Europe. 
 Let me here remark that the best way to study the whole 
 history of any people is first to master a single epoch, to 
 which you can afterwards lead up all other epochs and 
 events. Select the epoch and the country for which you 
 have most leaning. Procure some outline history of the 
 period. This will give you a bird's-eye view of your 
 subject. In the course of your reading make out a list 
 of the historical authors who have dealt with the period 
 fully and in detail. Prepare also a list of the biograph- 
 ies of the great men who figured in the making of the 
 epoch; any good cyclopaedia will supply you with the 
 standard works on both topics. Then consult with 
 some well-informed friend as to the comparative merits of 
 these works; choose those the most reliable, and read 
 them with care. Read such of the lighter literature of 
 the day as attempts to reconstruct the period you are 
 studying. Tabulate for frequent reference names of 
 persons and places, dates and events. Afterwards take 
 up the leading literary characters that grace the epoch, 
 and go through such of their works as you may relish, 
 especially such as throw light upon the spirit and tone 
 
Method in Historical Reading. 1 3 
 
 of their time. In Macaulay's celebrated third chapter 
 you have an instance of how all kinds of printed matter 
 can be made to give forth the spirit that lurks beneath 
 the cold type. * You have now become familiar with 
 your epoch, you are at home in it, you need no further 
 incentive to study other periods, you are naturally led 
 on to the study of men and of events preceding and fol- 
 lowing. And let me add that one such course of study, 
 thoroughly and conscientiously made according to your 
 lights and your ability, will be in itself a great stride in 
 your education and of far more worth to you than any 
 amount of general and desultory reading, f 
 
 But in all your historical readings hold fast by leading 
 dates and keep your maps before you. Remember that 
 history without chronology and geography is not history; 
 it is merely a romance of the land of Nowhere. The 
 elements of all history are person, place, and time, and 
 these three are correlative. A man's actions are not 
 altogether determined by his environment, but they re- 
 ceive tone and color therefrom. Place him elsewhere, 
 and the outcome of his career will be in many respects 
 different. Let him live at another time, imbibing the 
 spirit of another age, and he will act in another manner. 
 From a practical study and application of this principle, 
 writers of history acquire what I would call the historical 
 
 * History of England, pp. 178-275. 
 
 t I am glad to state that this, in all its details, is the method followed by the 
 Director of the Reading Circle of the Cathedral, New York. See Appendix. 
 
14 Books and Reading. 
 
 instinct, by wiiich tliey are enabled to determine, when 
 confronted with a variety of versions concerning a per- 
 son or an event, which version is most in conformity 
 with the times, the place, and the known character of 
 the person discussed. It is this historical instinct, ac- 
 quired by life-long, patient toil, that makes our own John 
 Gilmary Shea so familiar with the Catholic records 
 of America. It is this historical instinct that enabled 
 Niebuhr, with but the faintest shadow of a clue to 
 guide him, to go back of the myth and lay hands on 
 the solid fact, and hold it up to us divested of the poetic 
 fancies in which it was wrapped, and thus "teach us 
 far more about the Romans than they ever knew about 
 themselves." * It is this historical instinct that leads 
 the historian, groping in the dark, to the sentence, the 
 phrase, the word that throws a flood of light upon the 
 persons or events he would portray. It becomes for 
 him a second sight. But while you may not attain this 
 degree of perfection, still, by following at a distance, you 
 may learn how to handle authorities, how to appreciate 
 events at their true worth, and how to give facts their 
 real significance. In like manner may you by careful 
 study make any one author your own, and hold him as a 
 centre around which to group his contemporaries, and a 
 criterion by which to judge others working on the same 
 lines of thought. 
 
 * Hare : Guesses at TrutH, p. i6o. 
 
The Books to Read. 1 5 
 
 III. 
 
 But there are authors and authors, and I would not 
 have you make any author your bosom friend who were 
 not worthy of your confidence. He should be a man 
 with a purpose, a man who speaks out because he can- 
 not remain silent, a man who has a mission to sing or 
 say to us noble things that have hitherto remained un- 
 said, or that have been only partly uttered, till he grasps 
 their whole meaning and gives them their full-rounded 
 expression. And that expression should make for good. 
 This is the good book whereof Milton speaketh: "A 
 good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, 
 embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond 
 life." * The definition is not overstated. Men write 
 their years, their life-blood, their very souls into their 
 master-pieces. You receive their ideas through the 
 rhythm- of well-polished sentences, and you see nothing of 
 the patient toil and drudgery that those sentences conceal. 
 
 We may lay it down as a general rule that the 
 smoother the polish and the more rhythmic the sen- 
 tence, the more severe has been the study back of it all. 
 Name not Shakspere as an exception. With the different 
 editions of Hamlet — both quarto and folio — before me, 
 each varying in the text, and with Montaigne's Essais 
 and Holinshed's Chronicle, from each of which he drew 
 largely, I find traces of great painstaking in the produc- 
 tion of that wonderful master-piece. The burning 
 
 * Prose writings : Areopagitica^ p. 104. 
 
1 6 Books and Reading. 
 
 eloquence of Demosthenes that would set Greece aflame 
 smelled of the lamp. What is there in all literature 
 more polished than the magnificent sixth book of Vir- 
 gil's y£neid? One would think that he had painted the 
 infernal regions with colors drawn exclusively from his 
 own imagination. Not so, however. Virgil was only- 
 repeating in every detail the traditions of Roman my- 
 thology and the teachings of those who went before 
 him. There are whole lines from his great predecessor, 
 Ennius; there are passages that are almost literal trans- 
 lations from some of Plato's sublimest sentences. Upon 
 the foundation thus constructed does Dante build up 
 that noble cathedral of Catholic song, that sublimest 
 poem ever inspired by religion and patriotism — the 
 Divina Commedia. It were a long story to detail to you 
 the infinite pains, the life-long labor, wrought into that 
 mystic work. Edmund Burke revises the proof-sheets 
 of his Reflections on the Revolution in France twelve times 
 before he is satisfied with its polish. Gibbon strikes the 
 right keynote of his great history only after he has 
 written and re-written his first chapter seven times. We 
 are told that George Eliot read and consulted no less 
 than one thousand volumes while writing Daniel Deronda. 
 And yet, who would think, when reading that bright and 
 laughing letter of the young artist from Rome, or trac- 
 ing the evolution of the character of Gwendoline, that 
 the writer had looked beyond the blank sheet on which 
 she recorded her impressions ? A few years ago Cardi- 
 
The Labor of Book-making. \ 7 
 
 nal Newman wrote an essay on Inspiration. He was at 
 once attacked. In this manner does the Cardinal 
 rebuke his opponent's over-haste: " 'Tis a pity he did 
 not take more than a short month for reading, ponder- 
 ing, writing, and printing. Had he not been in a hurry 
 to publish, he would have made a better article. I 
 took above a twelvemonth for mine. Thus I account 
 for some of the professor's unnecessary remarks." * 
 €ould anything be more scathing? I sometimes won- 
 der to what extent the professor has taken the lesson to 
 heart. Here is one of our most graceful and polished 
 writers, his venerable years enshrined in a halo of 
 reverence, taking over a twelvemonth to write a short 
 magazine article upon a subject that has occupied his 
 life-thoughts. Think of the patient thought and re- 
 search. And when we are reading any great master- 
 piece, and we begin to find it wearisome, let us not give 
 it up ; rather let us brace ourselves anew to the task 
 with the reflection of the years of drudgery the master 
 gave to the gathering together of the materials of this 
 great work, and then the unlimited patience with which 
 he toiled at those materials, transmuting them in his 
 mind till they came forth polished and stamped with his 
 personality, and made current coin for all time. The 
 effort will endear the book to us all the more, and im- 
 print it on our memory all the better. 
 
 * What is of Obligation for a Catholic to believe concerning the Inspiration ol 
 the Canonical Scriptures, p. 7. 
 
Books and Reading. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Should you ask me how to read, I can do little more 
 than repeat rules that I have learned elsewhere, many of 
 which you already know. Bacon seems to me to have 
 summed up all the rules for reading in his own terse style. 
 " Read not," he says, "to contradict and confute, nor to 
 believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and dis- 
 course, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to 
 be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be 
 chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read 
 only in parts ; others to be read, but not curiously;* and 
 some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and 
 attention." f This says everything. I am only putting 
 into other words the counsel of the great sage when I 
 repeat to you : 
 
 I. Read with attention. Attention is the fundamental 
 condition of all reading, of all study, of all work properly 
 done. What is its nature ? It is a concentration of the 
 mind upon an object of thought to the exclusion of all 
 others. It is a habit, and, like all habits, to be acquired 
 only by practice. One may live in a state of habitual 
 distraction as well as in a state of habitual attentiveness. 
 The habit of perfect attention — the habit that we all of 
 us should seek to acquire as best befitting social beings 
 who cannot shirk the claims and requirements of social 
 life — is the attention that can, without strain or effort, 
 break off from one subject, pass on to another, and 
 
 » That is, attentively. t Essays—" Of Studies." 
 
How to Cultivate Attention. 19 
 
 resume at once the thread of one's readings or thoughts. 
 How may such an attention be acquired ? Where the 
 reading-matter is congenial to the reader there is no 
 difficulty; the attention becomes naturally and uncon- 
 sciously absorbed in the subject. But where one is 
 unaccustomed to reading, or where the reading-matter 
 has no special interest, it is with an effort that one learns 
 to control one's attention. I conceive a reader may in 
 the following manner acquire this control : 
 
 (i) Set aside daily, according to leisure or occupation, 
 a given portion of time for reading. The daily recurrence 
 to a subject at precisely the same hour may be irksome, but 
 it soon creates a habit which finally becomes a pleasure. 
 
 (2) Keep up the practice of using that time for the 
 one purpose and nothing else. This induces the habit 
 all the sooner, and renders it all the more profitable. 
 The principle of recurrence pervades nature. The sea- 
 sons make their rounds within their appointed times. 
 The grasses spring up, and ripen, and decay, and in their 
 pre-ordained seasons become renewed. It is the rhythmic 
 recurrence of sound that makes poetry cling so easily to 
 the memory. It is the rhythmic recurrence of a primary 
 note that gives tone to the melody. It is the rhythmic re- 
 currence of wave-vibration— for such is light— that tints 
 the flower, and reveals the beauties of earth, and air, 
 and starry sky. See the waterfall glint in the sun's rays, 
 there also is rhythmic wave-motion. In a recurrence of 
 good or bad actions is the soul made beautiful or ugly, 
 
20 Books and Reading. 
 
 for virtue and vice are habits. And so it is in the daily- 
 recurrence of attention concentrated upon thoughtful 
 reading that intellectual labor is rendered fruitful. 
 
 (3) Focus the attention during the time of reading in 
 such manner that the mind becomes wholly occupied 
 with the reading matter. Better is a daily reading of 
 half an hour made with sustained attention than a reading 
 of two hours made in an indolent, half-dreamy fashion. 
 
 (4) Read with method. Absence of method in one's 
 reading is a source of great distraction. Give yourself 
 the habit while reading of making a mental catalogue of 
 your impressions. Distinguish between the statements 
 that are doubtful, and probable, and certain ; between those 
 that are of opinion, and credence, and presumption. You 
 will find this practice of great aid in sustaining atten- 
 tion. 
 
 (5) Wh'en, in spite of all these precautions, you begin 
 to find your thoughts wandering away from the page up- 
 on which your eyes are set, leave the book aside for the 
 time being, and take up the reading of another subject 
 that is more likely to fix your attention. We are told 
 that Mr. Gladstone — that grand old man of such great 
 physical endurance, and such wonderful intellectual activ- 
 ity — is wont to keep three distinct volumes on three 
 distinct subjects open before him, and when he finds at- 
 tention beginning to flag in the reading of one, he im- 
 mediately turns to another. The practice is admirable 
 for the trained intellect. The change brings rest to the 
 
How to Cultivate Attention. 21 
 
 mind and keeps it from growing wearied. Men wIto are 
 constant brain-workers generally keep before them a 
 favorite volume, in whicli they from time to time refresh 
 their minds when fatigued, or when they find the train 
 of thought they would pursue exhausted. I have known 
 men to find mental stimulation in the study of a Greek 
 or Sanskrit verb; others, again, are wont to discipline- 
 their minds into activity by going over a theorem in ge- 
 ometry or calculus. Mere revery or listlessness is a 
 hopeless scattering of brain-force. It were well for us 
 all to understand that mental inaction is not resting; it 
 is rusting. It is a corrosion of the faculties, and renders 
 them less efficient for future action. In this respect, the 
 law of intellectual, is different from that of physical, 
 repose. Our soul is spirit, and must needs be active; 
 and a wholesome, moderate, well-directed activity best 
 satisfies the laws of our being. Brain-work has never 
 injured anybody. It is excitement, ox taking trouble 
 to heart, or disregarding the primary hygienic conditions 
 of our physical nature, that breaks down the health, and 
 we are too prone to attribute it to mental exertion.* 
 In the natural course of things every great author and 
 great thinker should live to a ripe old age: witness the 
 length of days to which have lived, or are still living, 
 
 * Since writing the above I find the same view maintained as regards insanity. 
 Mr. W. H. Bumham writes : " Griesinger, the great German alienist, says that 
 purely intellectual over-pressure seldom leads to insanity, but among the most fre- 
 quent causes is over-strain of the emotions." {Scribner's Magazine, March, jSSg., 
 p. 314-) 
 
22 Books and Reading. 
 
 Kant and Ranke and Dcellinger ; Gladstone and Man- 
 ning and Newman ; Brownson and Bancroft and Presi- 
 dent Woolsey and Dr. McCosh. These men have all 
 known what intense brain-work means. 
 
 II. Another rule is to take notes while reading. The 
 very fact of reading with pen or pencil in hand stimu- 
 lates thought. Remember that reading is useful only 
 in proportion as it aids our intellectual development ; it 
 aids intellectual development only in proportion as it 
 supplies food for reflection ; and that portion of one's 
 reading alone avails which the mind has been enabled 
 to assimilate to itself, and make its own by meditation. 
 Now, note-taking with running comments is a great 
 means of making clear to one's self how much one does 
 or does not know about the subject-matter of one's read- 
 ing. Hence its value. But note-taking may be over- 
 estimated, and it actually becomes so when it is reduced 
 to a mere mechanical copying and cataloguing of ex- 
 tracts, without any effort to make these extracts the seeds 
 from which to cultivate native thoughts. 
 
 HI. Consult your dictionary. Do not give yourself the 
 habit of passing over words of whose scope and meaning 
 you are ignorant. Such habit begets a slovenly mode of 
 thinking. The ablest writers and thinkers can but ill 
 dispense with their dictionary. It is a friend that steads 
 them in many a mental perplexity. All assimilation of 
 thought is a process of translation. Every intellect has 
 a certain limited vocabulary of words in which it thinks, 
 
Reading with a Purpose. 
 
 and it fully grasps an idea only when it has translated that 
 idea into its own familiar forms of expression. If a great 
 aim of reading be mental growth, and if mental iirowth 
 depend upon' accuracy of conception, then it is of pri- 
 mary importance to know, beyond mere guess-work, the 
 precise meaning of the words one reads. 
 
 IV. Read with a purpose. Lay out for yourself a 
 definite object, and let all your reading converge upon 
 that object until your purpose is attained. This is the 
 only reading that will be remembered. Books perused in 
 an aimless manner are soon forgotten ; indeed, are sel- 
 dom remembered. The mind becomes a mere passive 
 instrument, receiving one set of impressions, which are in 
 a little while obliterated by another set no less tempo- 
 rary. Now this is an abuse. Reason, imagination, all 
 the faculties of rnan's intellect, were given him that he 
 might exercise them and develop them to the full com- 
 pass of their activity. He who lets them lie dormant is 
 in the position of him who buried the one talent that he 
 had been entrusted with. Dante very justly places all 
 such, though living without blame and without praise, in 
 the first circle of hell. * Madam Mohl, that oddest of 
 little women, who for so many years ruled over all that 
 was distinguished socially or politically in Paris, in her im- 
 patience of gossiping women once asked: " Why don't 
 they talk about interesting things ? Why don't they use 
 their brains ? . . . Everybody but a born idiot has brains 
 
 * Inferno^ canto iii., 31-51. 
 
24 Books and Reading. 
 
 enough not to be a fool. Why don't they exercise their 
 brains as they do their fingers and their legs, sewing and 
 playing, and dancing ? Why don't they read ? " * Of 
 those who read to no purpose might we also ask: Why 
 don't they use their brains? Furthermore, reading with 
 a purpose helps to economize time and brain-energy. 
 We soon learn that there are many things we had better 
 leave unread, as so many distractions from the main 
 line of our readings. Then we begin to find out that, 
 after we know all that a book has to tell us bearing 
 directly on our subject, we would be losing time in read- 
 ing farther, and so we put the book aside. With prac- 
 tioe we soon discover the short cuts to our subject, and 
 save ourselves the reading of all irrelevant matters. We 
 become practised in the rare art of knowing when and 
 what not to read. 
 
 But there are works which to be properly appreciated 
 cannot be partially read. They are all works of art — 
 whether of prosaic art, as the novel, or of poetic art, as 
 the epic or lyric or dramatic poem. Such works must be 
 read as a complete whole. As well may you mutilate 
 a picture or a statue or a musical sonata as skip portions 
 of a great poem or a standard novel. Every work of 
 art is one — breathing one ideal, speaking one thought. 
 You cannot reduce the thought to fragments; you can- 
 not break up the ideal. This is a primary law of 
 criticism, and every reader should take it to heart. 
 
 ♦ Madatn Mold, by Kathleen O'Meara, p. 133. 
 
Memory. 25 
 
 Critics have compared Milton with Dante; but in what 
 manner? They have taken one-third— a mere frag- 
 ment — of Dante's great poem — the Inferno— &n& set it 
 beside the whole of the Paradise Lost. These critics 
 never understood Dante. His poem is one. Its parts 
 cannot be separated. The Paradise contains the solution 
 to the Purgatorio and the Inferno. It is simply and 
 literally the keystone to the arch. So also a work of 
 genuine art is not to be run through post-haste and then 
 set aside for ever afterwards. If you would grasp the 
 underlying idea you should read the work slowly, read 
 it thoughtfully, read it frequently. A piece of com- 
 position so read and so mastered is to you a great 
 gain. It is an element in the formation of true culture. 
 You are thereby learning how to penetrate the veil of 
 appearances and to look essences full in the face. 
 
 You complain of the impossibility of remembering all 
 you read. That comes of your reading over-hastily or 
 of your reading aimlessly. When you read with a pur- 
 pose, and take notes, and make running comments, and 
 mark passages or chapters which you re-read, your 
 memory will be retentive of ajl essential points.* 
 
 * Since writing the above I find the following pertinent and practical remarks 
 from the pen of Dr. Thomas Hill, late president of Harvard ; "The books which 
 have helped me most, and which I believe would be most valuable to any reader, 
 are those which are very clear and intelligible in their style, but which, nevertheless, 
 t'rom their largeness and breadth of view and from t\ieir range of thought, lying 
 somewhat above the commonplace, demand close attention and patient study In the 
 reader. Tlic book is none the woi'^c, but rither the better, if it has come down to 
 us, with a high reputation, for Campbell's period of sixty years, or even for many 
 
26 Books and Reading. 
 
 A memory equally strong upon every subject is rare. 
 I have met only one instance approacliing such a 
 memory in all my experience. It is that of a great 
 churchman, who stands foremost as a theologian, a 
 canonist, a scholar, and a critic. He is familiar with 
 several of the oriental languages; he speaks or reads 
 nearly all the modern European tongues; his memory for 
 facts and names and figures is marvelous. I have known 
 him, in published articles, to quote chapter and page 
 of authorities without consulting his books ; I have 
 heard him recite from Italian poets for hours at a time 
 and even give the variations of different editions that 
 he may not have looked into for years. This venerable 
 prelate is the pride and glory of the Catholic Church in 
 America. * But this is an exceptional instance of won- 
 derful memory. For the large majority of us memory 
 is simply confirmed experience in regard to topics with 
 which we have grown familiar. According as our mind 
 becomes active on any subject will our memory grasp 
 the facts and ideas, and even the remote incidents, 
 connected with the subject, Cardinal Newman says 
 
 times sixty. Read such a book through once in order to get a general view of the 
 aim and the method of its author. Read it a second time more carefully, in order 
 deliberately to weigh the value of its parts. Read the more valuable parts a third 
 time, with meditation and reflection, that you may digest and assimilate what 
 nutriment is there. Intellectually man is ruminant, and he gets little permanent 
 benefit from literary browsing unless he thus afterwards chews the cud." ('* Books 
 that have made Me," from the Forum, p. go.) 
 
 * I need scarcely remark that the venerable prelafr** here alluded to was Monsig- 
 nor Corcoran, whose loss we now deplore. 
 
The Art of Forgetting. 2 J 
 
 truly : " In real fact memory, as a talent, is not 
 one indivisible faculty, but a power of retaining and re- 
 calling the past in this or that department of our exper- 
 ience, not in any whatever. Two memories which 
 are both specially retentive may also be incommensu- 
 rate There are a hundred memories, as there 
 
 are a hundred virtues."* And in this connection I 
 would lay down a rule not given in your hand-books of 
 reading. 
 
 V. Learn the art of forgetting. It is a great blessing 
 and a rare art, that of knowing what to forget. It is 
 an art not to be applied indiscriminately. There are 
 many things in books — even in books not professedly 
 bad — that are to be ignored, just as there are many 
 occurrences in daily life that remain unmentioned. It is 
 by a strong exercise of will-power that reason learns to 
 overlook, or to reject from memory and imagination — 
 from imagination, at all events — a certain objectionable 
 sentence or paragraph in a book, or certain scenes and 
 incidents that are neither beautiful, nor edifying, nor 
 entertaining, nor instructive. Frequently the nobler 
 passages so fill the mind that they leave no room for 
 these accidentally unworthy ones. You stand before 
 the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Pans. You admire its 
 vast proportions, its wonderful construction, its mys- 
 terious, overawing impression of prayerfulness. There 
 recurs to your mind the magnificent chapter of Victor 
 
 * Gratntnar of Assent, sixth London edition, pp. 340, 34T. 
 
28 Books and Reading. 
 
 Hugo's novel — Notre Dame de /"aw— translating its 
 manifold beauties into words only little less expressive 
 than its carved stones. Before its grandeur, the vision 
 of physical grotesqueness and moral monstrosity, which 
 the great word-artist would associate with it, drops out and 
 fades away, with as much ease as> the remembrance of 
 the toads and slimy things that find sustenance in the 
 moisture dripping at the base of its walls. You enter, 
 and the sublimity of the structure is forgotten in a 
 view sublimer still. It is that of a sea of upturned 
 faces filling its vast structure, many of whom you recog- 
 nize as leaders in the social, literary, and political world, 
 hanging spell-bound on the utterances of a white- 
 robed X>ominican, * as from yonder historic pulpit he 
 announces to them in irresistible eloquence the great 
 truths of Christian doctrine. You leave, the echo of his 
 thrilling words ringing in your ears. The impression 
 remains, never to be effaced. Beneath the magic touch 
 of such impressions the soul expands. Whatever is 
 good and holy and pure and noble, in word or 
 work, is the legitimate object of man's intellectual 
 energies. This is the secret of the elevating influence of 
 all true art. And here is where Victor Hugo fails. 
 He mistakes bathos for sublimity. In the trail of 
 his genius has followed a school of writers who 
 wallow in filth, admire ugliness, sympathize with de- 
 
 * I had the great pleasure of hearing Pere Monsabre in several of his Lenten 
 sermons, in 1887, under the circumstances here described. 
 
The Art of Forgetting. 29 
 
 pravity, and love horrors. And their readers ? Their 
 inteliigence has strayed from the true ideal — the 
 ideal that lives — to a standard ever descending and to 
 the cultivation of a taste that revels in the realism of 
 Zola, whose beastliness had grown so revolting that his 
 oWn disciples and admirers, in self-respect, were com- 
 pelled to enter public protest against one of his latest 
 books. 
 
 This art of forgetting is not as difificult as you would 
 suppose. Boys of good sense, who are indiscriminate 
 leaders and great devourers of books> practise it uncon- 
 sciously. But as reason develops it takes a strong act of 
 the will to render the brain impervious to certain classes 
 of impressions. Hypnotism has proven how an external 
 agent is capable of lulling certain nerve-centres of voli- 
 tion into torpor, and of causing the mind to become con- 
 centrated upon a single idea to the exclusion of all 
 others, no matter how forcibly they may be pressed upon 
 the attention, and to look at it in the manner the agent 
 desires. Now, that which an external agent can so 
 effectively do, the will, in its own way, can be trained to 
 achieve. The mind's eye may be rendered blind to all 
 else than the subject-matter it is surveying. Biography 
 is filled with the blunders committed by great thinkers 
 —such as St. Thomas Aquinas and Newton— when in 
 this state of total absorption with some predominant 
 thought. Consider the great will-power Mr. James 
 Anthony Froude has brought to bear upon the distortion 
 
30 Books and Reading. 
 
 of history. Note the facility with which he ignores the 
 virtues of Mary Stuart; see the perfections he finds in 
 Queen Elizabeth; and there is that "great blot of blood 
 and grease on the history of England," * Henry VIII.; 
 Mr. Froude can't perceive it; it is to his naind an un- 
 sullied page, and Henry VIII. a humane ruler and a pro- 
 found statesman. In like spirit can Mr. Froude read a 
 quotation until it begins to tell against his preconceived 
 notion, drop out words that damage the view he would 
 hold, garble sentences to suit his purposes, and play such 
 pranks with quotation-marks as to make him the laugh- 
 ing-stock of all conscientious historians. That which 
 Froude can achieve so well, simply that he may present 
 m historical epoch in a novel light, we should be able 
 to accomplish in another direction with the higher aim 
 of keeping out of our soul intellectual and moral poison. 
 This leads us to another rule. 
 
 VI. Be honest in your readings. Cultivate honesty of 
 judgment, honesty of opinion, honesty of expression, so 
 that you may be able to form an honest estimate of 
 books. A book is commended as a classic, and you are 
 unable to perceive its worth. This inability may arise 
 from two causes: either you are not adequately educated 
 up to the point of being able to appreciate such a book 
 or you have grown beyond the need or use of the book. 
 If the book is beyond your grasp, do not attempt to read 
 it; put it aside, and in the meantime read up other 
 
 * Dickens: Ckild' s History of England. 
 
Books that One Outgrows. 31 
 
 matters in which you will find greater pleasure. But do 
 not lose sight of the book. After a year or two try it 
 again, and if yeu have been reading to some purpose 
 your intellect will have expanded to the comprehension 
 of the book that had been formerly beyond your reach. 
 We all of us will find profit in educating ourselves up to 
 a full appreciation of the great world-authors. 
 
 Then there are books that one outgrows. Every 
 mind, acting in its normal state, passes through a proc- 
 ess of development. What delights the child may be 
 insipid to the man. The books of our youth are always 
 pleasant memories to us, but we have no desire to spend 
 our manhood hours upon them. Other books and other 
 subjects, more befitting our riper years, absorb our at- 
 tention. So it is with the different stages of a people's 
 existence. Every age has its own peculiar wants and 
 its own standards of excellence. Thus it not infrequent- 
 ly happens that books which were a revelation to our 
 fathers have become mere commonplaces to us. This 
 may arise from the fact that the thought which was 
 novel when first presented to the previous generation 
 has filtered through the various strata of society till it 
 has become common property ; we have grown familiar 
 with it ; it no longer excites the enthusiasm it did upon 
 its first appearance. The book has done its work. Our 
 age has another set of wants, calling for another set of 
 thoughts, and we prize more highly the book supplying 
 ;ood for our own aspirations. 
 
32 Books and Reading. 
 
 Such I take to be the position of Ruskin. He was the 
 prophet of beauty of design in furniture and architecture. 
 He taught those of his generation how to weave beauty 
 about the home — whether it be a cottage or a palace — 
 and the things in every-day use. He showed them how 
 health and cheerfulness might be promoted by drawing 
 the curtain aside in the dim or darkened room and let- 
 ting in a ray of sunshine. He called their attention to 
 the beauty of the passing cloud, and the blue sky, and 
 the green fields, and the way-side flower. He awakened 
 in them the almost dormant sense of beauty. And his 
 lesson has been well learned. The present generation 
 knows the value of observation, and is trained to take in 
 at a glance whatever it perceives to be striking or beauti- 
 ful. His books, so cleverly written, so intensely earnest, 
 were a revelation to his day and generation, but they no 
 longer evoke the enthusiasm that greeted their first ap- 
 pearance. Not that we cannot still find much to learn 
 from Ruskin. He has nurtured his own" mind upon high 
 thought, and he would have all other minds equally nur- 
 tured. He holds up noble ideals of life. He would see 
 men and women harboring elevating thoughts, pure of 
 heart, honest in their convictions, unselfish in their pur- 
 suits, each extending a helping hand, each living for the 
 highest and best. And these are lessons for all ages. 
 He hates shams with the honest soul of Dr. Johnson ; 
 he scorns the worship of getting-on to the exclusio": cf 
 the free exercise of the higher faculties with the un- 
 
Ruskin and Carlyle. 33 
 
 fettered soul of Epictetus; he loves the Gothic past, 
 and he finds little in our modern world to love outside 
 of Turner's pictures and Walter Scott's novels. All 
 else in modern life is censurable. He quarrels with 
 our railroads, and our smoking manufactories, and our 
 modern methods of money-getting. Pages of his books 
 are as charming as ever grew under the driving pen, 
 but his digressions are more than his subjects. He 
 lacks ballast. There is in him too much of what he him- 
 self has graphically described as " the wild writhing, 
 and wrestling, and longing for the moon, and tilting at 
 windmills, and agony of eyes, and torturing of fingers, 
 and general spinning out of one's soul into fiddlestrings."* 
 So it is with Carlyle. He insistently taught the lesson 
 that the world is moving, that time and tide wait for no 
 man, that what has been done cannot be undone, that 
 the great secret of living is to be up and doing-^doing 
 something — doing well whatever one puts hand to; and 
 that other lesson in his great prose poem, The French 
 Revolution, that neither class nor creed is privileged 
 against the pursuit of a Nemesis, for deeds ill-done, 
 goods ill-got, and responsibilities ill-discharged. These 
 are lessons that cannot be too often repeated, but they 
 were spoken rather loud-mouthedly, and with them 
 were mingled large drafts of cant. He sought to com- 
 pel the world's admiration for mere brute force in its 
 triumphs over right and justice. He was out of joint 
 
 ■* The Queen of the Air, p. 170. 
 
34 Books and Reading. 
 
 with his time, and because men refused to take his 
 rantings seriously, he raved and indulged in nick-names 
 worthy of Billingsgate in its most unsavory day. How- 
 ever tonic may have been his jeremiads m his own day 
 and generation, they have now lost their power. And so 
 Carlyle may step down and out. Our age is hard- 
 pressed with other questions seeking a solution. We 
 also have our prophets, if we would only recognize 
 them ; and if we do not make the mistake of stoning 
 them we may profitably listen to their lessons. 
 
 VII. Be honest in your researches. Read both sides 
 of every human question under proper guidance. In- 
 dividual judgments are misleading, and it is only by 
 comparison of various opinions that you can get at the 
 real state of the case. It is the duty of the historian to 
 go back of a statement to the author first making the 
 statement, and inquire into the spirit by which he is 
 animated. But this duty the historian does not always 
 discharge. And yet, what is of more importance than to 
 know if it is a friend or an enemy of the person or the 
 people who is relating the story ? Under no circumstanc- 
 es is the censure of an enemy to be accepted unchal- 
 lenged and unsifted. Don't be afraid of the truth It 
 may tell against your favorite author, or favorite princi- 
 ple, or favorite hobby. But facts are of more "worth than 
 misplaced admiration or misconceived theory. Let in the 
 light. What we want is the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth. Keep clear of whitewashing 
 
Honest Research. 3 5 
 
 books. Whitewash is not lasting ; it scales off and re- 
 veals the deformities beneath. It were better from the 
 beginning that we know men as they lived, events as 
 they happened, opinions as they were held. We Catho- 
 lics fear no truth, have no apology to make for any 
 truth, have no hesitancy in accepting all proven truth. 
 Our Holy Father, in throwing open the Vatican Li- 
 brary to historical research, has clearly defined the spirit 
 in which history should be written : " The first law of 
 history," says His Holiness, " is to dread uttering false- 
 hood; the next, not to fear stating the truth; lastly, that 
 the historian's writings should be open to no suspicion of 
 partiality or of aniitiosity." *- 
 
 When you find a history, whether of Church or of state, 
 with its chief personages stalking over the page possess- 
 ing neither spot nor blemish of character, making no 
 blunder in conduct or policy, perfect in all things, you 
 may set that history down as misleading. No man is 
 infallible. The life of every man is strewn with the 
 wrecks of his mistakes. The wise man blunders, and 
 from his blunders learns the larger experience and the 
 more prudent mode of action ; the holy man blunders, 
 and out of his blunders builds unto himself a citadel of 
 sanctity that becomes his protection against temptation. 
 The book that would reveal to us a soul passing through 
 all the stages of its existence from the first dawnings of 
 reason, and making of its failures and failings and short- 
 
 * Letter to Cards, dc Lura, Pitra, and HergenrcEther, Aug. i8, 1883. 
 
2,6 Books and Reading. 
 
 « 
 
 comings stepping-stones to higher and better things, 
 would be a priceless boon. But is it not still an unwrit- 
 ten book ? — 
 
 So also, in a study of the clashings of the various 
 schools and systems of philosophy, may you find some 
 scintiHations suggestive of trains of useful thought. But 
 there is one subject which I would urge upon you with all 
 the earnestness of my soul to hold in reverence. It is the 
 most precious inheritance that you possess. It is more to 
 you than broad acres and heaps of gold.; more than knowl- 
 edge and power;, more than fame and human greatness; 
 more than life itself. It is the heritage of your Catholic 
 Faith, that has been nurtured in the blood of your fore- 
 fathers, and handed down to you as a most sacred trust. 
 It is too holy a thing to be trifled with. Put far away from 
 you books calculated to undermine the groundwork of that 
 precious heritage. Cherish it within your heart of hearts; 
 guard it there with jealous care. Do I so exhort you be- 
 cause I think your faith cannot bear the light ? Far from 
 me be such a thought. It were but ill in keeping with the 
 solemn words of the Father of the faithful. He says: 
 " Nor must we pass by in silence, or reckon of little ac- 
 count, that fuller knowledge of our belief, and, as far as 
 maybe, that clearer understanding of the mysteries of the 
 faith, which Augustine and other Fathers praised and 
 labored to attain, and which the Vatican Synod itself 
 decreed to be very fruitful." * During eighteen hun- 
 
 * Leo XIII., Encyclical Mterni Patris. • 
 
Our Catholic Heritage. 37 
 
 dred years and more sophistry in every guise has been 
 attacking that faith, and it shines to-day with greater 
 splendor than ever. There are popular books dissemi- 
 nating plausible objections that might vex and annoy 
 you because you could not answer them satisfactorily. 
 A sneer can sap the foundations of a great religious 
 truth in the unwary mind. Any scoffer can raise objec- 
 tions that only a life-study could answer. It is the 
 absence of such learning that the Psalmist finds good : 
 "Because I have not known learning, I will enter into 
 the powers of- the Lord." * We do not hold our faith 
 merely upon the evidence of reason, or as a matter of 
 private opinion. It deals with truths and' mysteries be- 
 yond the grasp of human reason. We hold it solely and 
 simply on the authority of God speaking to us through 
 His Church. We hold it because God gives us the grace 
 so to hold it. It matters little to us whether certain 
 parts of the Book of Daniel have been written by Daniel, 
 or by Esdras, or by any other scribe or prophet, f Our 
 faith is not grounded upon this or that passage of Scrip- 
 ture. It is based upon' the infallible authority of God's 
 Church, which is the pillar and ground of truth, and the 
 depositary of revelation, and which alone has the key to 
 what is or is not of inspiration in the Sacred Books. 
 This is our stand-by. A recent novel has depicted the 
 sad instance of an Anglican clergyman tortured by 
 
 + P.salms, Ixx. 17. 
 
 t See, for instance, Abbe Vigonrnux, Cosmogonie M(}sazque. Susanne : Cafactire 
 veridique ie, son Histoire, pp. 345-349. 
 
38 Books and Reading. 
 
 doubt, and his faith crumbHng away at the touch of a 
 sceptical hand. It is the story of hundreds within the 
 Church of England at the present moment. And It is 
 so because they hold the most sacred truths of Chris- 
 tianity not with the certitude of faith, but with the prob- 
 ability of private opinion. * The light of faith pene- 
 trates far beyond the light of reason ; having lost the 
 grace of faith, those men can no longer retain their hold 
 upon the truths of faith. 
 
 Vm. Seek to master the book you read. To every 
 book there is a positive and a negative side. In order 
 to get at the positive side place yourself in sympathy 
 with the author. Read the book from that point of 
 view from which he wrote it. Divest yourself, for the 
 time being, of your own hobbies and your own standard 
 of criticism. You thus stand out of your own light. 
 Afterwards look to the negative side of the book. 
 Note how far the author has gone over the ground of 
 his subject-matter, and wherein he falls short in his 
 treatment. There are times when what an author does 
 not say is as expressive as thai which he says. His 
 omissions are an important clue to his frame of mind. 
 They reveal his likes and dislikes, his aptitudes, his 
 tastes and tendencies. Sometimes they reveal how far 
 he falls short in grasping the full bearing of his subject; 
 sometimes they point to his prudence in steering clear of 
 
 * See Cardinal Newman's Grammar 0/ Assent, chap, vii., § 2, 5. 
 
Limitations of a Book. 39 
 
 mooted questions barren in result ; sometimes they 
 prove him an artist of consummate skill, who knows 
 what not to say as well as what to say. Then, again, 
 the omission may be designed suppression. An exam- 
 ple will best illustrate the point I would make. Take 
 the first and last master-pieces of George Eliot. Adam 
 Bede breaks upon the reader with all the freshness and 
 truth of nature. Every element influencing character is 
 expressed in the workings of the very souls of the rural, 
 half-educated folk acting out their lives according to 
 their conscience, their early training, and their personal 
 character. Their beliefs are there, and their lives are 
 colored by their beliefs. Daniel Deronda deals with 
 human nature on lines diametrically opposite. All its 
 men and women, except the fanatical Mordecai and 
 the priggish Deronda, live and move without religious 
 beliefs and religious comforts, the creatures of environ- 
 ment, acting not as they would but as they must. The 
 ordinary reader throws the light of his own religious 
 belief upon the characters as they pass before him, and 
 takes it for granted that the author assumes through- 
 out religious feeling and religious motive. But he is 
 reckoning without the author. George Eliot cast off 
 the shreds of Christianity that had hung about her when 
 she first began to write, and in her later works sup- 
 pressed all Christian influence as false and pernicious, 
 substituting in the stead necessity and environment. 
 Here is the fountain whence flows the poison permeating 
 
40 Bocks and Reading. 
 
 this gifted writer's later works. It is by taking into 
 account these various aspects of authors and books that 
 one learns to master the book one reads. 
 
 IX. In your readings give one another mutual sup- 
 port and encouragement. Therefore read aloud in the 
 family circle. After you have read a chapter, discuss 
 freely the author, the style, the characters, the state- 
 ments. This is a good old custom that was in greater 
 vogue a hundred years ago, when books were scarce 
 and education was not so generally diffused. You all 
 remember how charmingly Goldsmith, in that most 
 charming of classics, The Vicar of Wakefield — a work 
 that contributed so largely towards the awakening of the 
 genius of Goethe — describes the practice at tea-time in 
 the family-circle of Dr. Primrose.* Little did Goldsmith 
 think that he was therein painting a relic of Catholic 
 England, which had passed into a family custom out of 
 the convents and colleges and monasteries of mediaeval 
 days. The custom is improving in many directions, and 
 worthy of being preserved. Another praiseworthy 
 means of mutual help is that of organizing reading- 
 circles among your friends. Let some competent person 
 cut out your work for you ; prepare your portion well, 
 and when the circle meets, enter with all earnestness 
 into the discussion of your subject. You will find this a 
 source of great improvement. 
 
 X. Read perseveringly. Keep at your book or your 
 
 * Chapter v. 
 
Perseverance in Reading. 41 
 
 subject-matter till you shall have finished it. Do not 
 yield to discouragement because you are not making the 
 progress you had anticipated. I have known young 
 men who were too sanguine in their expectations, and 
 who, upon seeing the little headway they were making, 
 would throw up their work. We, all of us, at times feel 
 inclined so to act, and have ample opportunity to fight 
 against this impulse. But fight we must, bravely and 
 manfully. Were naught else to come of this steady 
 reading habit than the mental discipline that follows, we 
 would be the gainers. It would help us to a better grasp 
 of our daily affairs. But the habit brings with it much 
 more. Even should we have read but a single book in 
 the course of the year, and above all, should we have 
 made that book our own, we would be amply compensated. 
 Intellectual progress is not to be measured by the num- 
 ber of pages, or the number of volumes one has read. 
 A short passage may suffice to mark an epoch in one's 
 intellectual growth. He who has let Wordsworth's 
 nobly chiseled Ode to Duty in all the beauty of its 
 classic severity sink into his soul, or who has read and 
 re-read Cardinal Newman's eloquent sentences on the 
 power and awful grandeur of the Mass, till their whole 
 force has come home to him,* or who has imbibed the 
 truth and beauty of George Eliot's magnificent tribute to 
 Thomas a Kempis,f has opened up to him a new vision 
 
 * Loss and Gain, pp. 326-329. 
 
 t The Mill on the Floss, bk, iv., chap 
 
 ). iii. 
 
42 Books and Reading. 
 
 of these subjects. His horizon is enlarged. His in- 
 tellectual sight is strengthened. And such is the edu- 
 cational effect of every masterpiece when it has been 
 diligently read. 
 
 XI. Lastly, remember that that is the best reading 
 which tends to growth of character as well as to intellec- 
 tual development. Every good book dealing with human 
 life in its broader phases has that effect. But we Cath- 
 olics read a certain class of books that are prepared 
 especially for the culture of our spiritual sense. They 
 remind us of our last end ; they probe our consciences 
 and lay open before us our failings, and frailties, and 
 shortcomings; they reveal to us the goodness and mercy 
 and sanctity of God, the life and passion aiid merits of 
 our Redeemer, the beauty and holiness of the Church; 
 they teach us how to prepare for the profitable reception 
 of the sacramentsj they place before us for our model 
 and imitation the ideal Christian life. They rebuke our 
 sins, they soothe our anxieties, they strengthen our re- 
 solves. With such friends we should become very inti- 
 mate. And if I may be permitted to give advice upon 
 a subject that belongs more especially to your spiritual 
 director, I would say to you: Whatever you read by 
 way of spiritual reading, be it little or much, read it slow- 
 ly and reflectively. You are not under obligation, as in 
 pursuing a course of study, to rush through a certain 
 amount. Any passage that comes home to you, or stirs 
 your feelings, or moves your will, dwell upon it until you 
 
What to Read. 43 
 
 shall have absorbed all its sweetness. Cultivate not 
 many, but a few, very few, spiritual books, which you 
 will make it a point to read and read again year 
 after year. * 
 
 V. 
 
 Should you ask me what to read, I could not give you 
 a definite answer. The choice will greatly depend on 
 yourself. Lists of books, except for the pursuit of 
 special lines of study, are valueless. You have before 
 you the whole range of literature and thought, from 
 Alice in Wonderland— a child's book which we none of 
 us are too old to profit by — to that late beautiful creation 
 of a mother's love and a woman's genius. Little Lord 
 pMintleroyj from the primers of science to the Mkanique 
 Celeste of Laplace; from the fairy-tales of boyhood to 
 the great thinkers; historians, poets,' orators, philoso- 
 phers, political economists — all place their wealth at your 
 feet and ask you to make it your own. Before selecting 
 draw the line between the literature of the hour, that is 
 so much foam upon the current of time, flecking its sur- 
 face for a moment and passing away into oblivion, and 
 the literature which is a possession for all time, whose 
 foundations are deeply laid in human nature, and whose 
 structure withstands the storms of adversity and the 
 
 * The indispensable books in every Catholic collection are : I. The New Testa- 
 ment : 2. Tlie Imitation of Christ ; 3. Spiritual Combat ; 4. Introduction to a 
 Devout Life, by St. Francis de Sales. 
 
44 Books and Reading. 
 
 eddies of events. The literature of the hour we cannot 
 ignore; it has its uses; but we may and ought to guard 
 against wasting more time and energy upon it than is 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 The daily press is flooding us with sensation and dis- 
 traction. It were the height of unwisdom in us to devote 
 any but the most limited time to our morning paper. 
 The monthly magazine and the quarterly review also 
 claim our attention. The story is told of Madame de 
 Stael, how she asked Fichte to give her within a short 
 quarter of an hour an idea of his philosophy. The 
 philosopher was horrified at the thought that anybody 
 could in so few minutes take in the meaning of a system 
 that had been for him a life-labor. Well, that which 
 caused Fichte to shudder is now of every-day occurrence. 
 The magazines and reviews come to us laden with ar- 
 ticles on every conceivable topic, in which the learned 
 of the world condense their life-studies; and within 
 little more than a quarter of an hour we are enabled to 
 become familiar with issues that it would take us years 
 to master to the degree of our newly-acquired knowl- 
 edge. Is this a boon? The knowledge so acquired 
 cannot be rightly apprehended unless we have brought 
 to it previous special training. It is simply a cramming 
 of undigested facts. It is not culture. Culture implies 
 severe mental discipline, continuous training, and me- 
 thodical study of the best thought and most polished 
 expression. Magazine articles can be of use when 
 
W/iai to Read. 45 
 
 judiciously selected and read with care. Do not attempt 
 to read all. Choose those only that are in your line of 
 reading. In these remarks I have in view the secular 
 press. But we Catholics must not forget that there is 
 also a religious press, and that it is an imperative duty 
 upon us to support that press. Much good is done by 
 every well-edited Catholic journal. Now, many of our 
 Catholic weeklies are instructive, edifying, and improv- 
 ing. Their editorials serve as an antidote to correct the 
 poisonous effects of the venom frec^uently instilled into 
 the daily press. They determine our bearings as Cath- 
 olics upon the issues of the day. They signal to us the 
 dangers that beset us. This is in a higher degree true 
 of our Catholic magazines. Those published amongst 
 us are few, and are easily enumerated. There is the 
 Ave Maria. Weekly does it place at the feet of Mary a 
 bouquet of flowers, rare and choice, contributed by the 
 most graceful Catholic writers. There is The Catholic 
 World. Every month it comes upon our tables laden 
 down with strong food for reflection and sweetmeats for 
 amusement. You cannot pick up a number without find- 
 ing amid its great variety something to suit every taste. 
 There is the American Catholic Quarterly Revieta, edited 
 by one of the most erudite among scholars, and treating 
 every topic in the light of Catholic theology and Catholic 
 philosophy from an elevated plane of view. It may 
 interest you to know that cultured non-Catholics are 
 among its most constant readers, regarding it as the 
 
^6 Books and Reading 
 
 fullest and most authoritative expression of Catholic 
 opinion in America. * 
 
 Memoirs and biographies and books of travel and 
 manuals ot popular science form the staple of our read- 
 ing, and instructive and entertaining reading they make; 
 but we must bear in mind that the ninety-nine hun- 
 dredths of them are books of the hour, satisfying the 
 wants of the hour and nothing more. They excite a 
 momentary interest^ and are then forgotten. Let them 
 not monopolize all your spare time. The only biography 
 in our language which has passed into the hterature of 
 all time is Boswell's Life of Johnson, f Autobiography 
 
 * Two other monthlies, worthy of mention, are The Messenger of the Sacred 
 Heart and Donohtte's Magazine. 
 
 t There is one biography whch I would like to see in the hands of every Catholic 
 young man. It is Frederic Ozanam: His Life and his Works, by the late Kath- 
 leen O'Meara. I can introduce it to you in no more fitting words than those I have 
 used elsewhere: 
 
 " The second London edition, now before us, has been found worthy of a long 
 and valuable introduction from the pen of Cardinal Manning to what his Eminence 
 calls ' this deeply interesting narrative.' With great firmness of grasp the author 
 handles the salient events of the day, and groups around Ozanam all the leading 
 characters of that most interesting period of French history — interesting above all 
 to the Catholic student — and follows her hero through the whirl and turmoil of Paris, 
 and notes amid the seething of thought that was then going on in all active brains the 
 self-possessed student through ' eighteen years of great intellectual and spiritual in- 
 tensity ' {Cardinal Manning's preface, p. 9), strong, energetic, earnest, carving his 
 way to eminence, and inspiring youthful souls with his own chivalric impulses. 
 Faithfully she traces his footsteps as, weak in body, he wanders through many lands 
 in search of the health that was ebbing fast away from him; but, well or ill, always 
 returning weighted down with erudition gathered from musty tomes hidden away 
 in the recesses of dust-laden libraries ; now picking up legends in Catholic Brittany: 
 now culling flowers of sweetest poesy and song in the garden of St. Francis of 
 
IV/iat to Read. 47 
 
 has been recently most disastrous to the writers thereof. 
 Mark Pattison, who seems to have written in order to 
 vent a personal spite; John Stuart Mill, Carlyle — all 
 wrote themselves down over-estimated idols with feet of 
 clay. The one exception is that admirable piece of 
 soul-dissection, so outspoken, with honesty written on 
 every page; that revealing of a soul to which tens of 
 thousands are bound up by ties of gratitude, love, and 
 admiration — the Apologia of Cardinal Newman, a book 
 which will henceforth rank with the Confessions of St. 
 Augustine. 
 
 And here I would ask you to distinguish between the 
 suggestive book, that sets you thinking, and after reading 
 which you wish for more, and the book that leaves 
 
 Assisi ; now imbibing inspiration in the land of the Cid ; now following the slow 
 and solemn tread of the great Dante, delving into that inexhaustible mine of high 
 thought, the Divina Commedia — glad always and above all things when he could 
 establish a branch of his dear Confraternity of St. Vincent dc Paul, It is all told 
 with an indescribable charm. 
 
 " Had Kathleen O'Meara left no other work from her pen than this bi graphy, 
 she would well deserve the gratitude of Catholics. If we were asked what book we 
 would recommend to be placed in the hands of young men in order to quicken their 
 sympathi-s in behalf of misery and suffering, and aid the good that is in them to 
 bloom out and bear fruit, we should name without fear of demur or contradiction 
 Kathleen O'Meara's Frederic Ozanam. It is a story of great talent utilized and 
 bearing compound interest; an illustration of great opportunities created and seized 
 upon and used to advantage ; a revelation of sweet and charming domestic virtues. 
 In Ozanam we behold the man of the world whose pulse beats in sympathy with all 
 the literary, political, and social moven^ents of the day ; the ripe scholar, the un- 
 wearied student, a'ld the beautiful, saintly soul. The book is strong enough to mark 
 an epoch in the' life of any thoughtful Catholic young man," The Ave Maria, 
 March 6, 1889. 
 
48 Bochs and Reading. 
 
 nothing unsaid, and in a measure does ail yuur thinking. 
 I need scarcely tell you that the suggestive book makes 
 the more profitable reading. It is invigorating ; it is of 
 the highest order of writing. All the world-authors — 
 Plato, Aristotle, Dante, a Kempis, Shakspere, Goethe — 
 are eminently suggestive. They exhaust no train of 
 thought ; they are content to designate the lines on 
 which the reader should travel in order to attain the 
 goal. Between lines you read a sense of power held in 
 reserve. Their utterances, given out in distinct though 
 subdued tones, are the utterances of men holding in 
 control both thought and expression. Hence the 
 libraries of books that have been written, and that will 
 continue to be written, upon each of these great writers 
 without ever e.Nhausting their infinite suggestiveness. 
 The suggestive book may be large or small. A modern 
 suggestive book should be confined within a small 
 compass. Would that I could bring home to writers the 
 ease with which this may be done ! How much weari- 
 ness of spirit the reading world would then be spared ! 
 The process is simple. Let the writer reject from his 
 book whatever there is of padding, of negations, of 
 repetitions of things that have been better said by others; 
 let him eschew all grandiloquent description and what 
 is called fine writing ; let him confine himself to his 
 subject, meeting difficulties and objections in the clear 
 light of the predominant idea, condensing whole chap- 
 ters into paragraphs, whole parapraphs into sentences, 
 
Novel-Reading. 49 
 
 whole sentences into single words and phrases. In this 
 manner may books be written in keeping with the busy 
 life men lead and the many claims that press upon them. 
 In this manner would there be less waste of paper, less 
 waste of ink, less waste of labor, less brain-waste ; the 
 millennium of the reading world would be at hand. 
 The reading of strong and terse writing fires the soul 
 and strengthens the intellect ; the reading of emascu- 
 lated books will make emasculated intellects. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I NEED scarcely tell you that the great bulk of novels 
 of the day are of the lightest froth. It were intellectual 
 suicide to spend one's time and waste one's energies un- 
 raveling improbable plots or watching puppets of the 
 brain — mere wax-works— dance before one through page 
 after page and volume after volume, leaving it difficult 
 to determine which is deserving of most censure, the 
 presumption of the writer in rushing into print, his bad 
 taste, or the mongrel language in which he expresses 
 himself. The British Museum recently made a rule to 
 let out no novels to readers till after the expiration of five 
 years. How many of the novels published in this year of 
 grace will be read five years hence ? Ask the Mudie or 
 any other circulating library what is the duration of the 
 popularity of books for which the presses, worked day and 
 night, were unable to supply the demand. The popu- 
 larity of the hour is no criterion of worth. Ben Hur 
 
50 Books and Reading. 
 
 lay long months untouched upon the publishers' shelves 
 before men awakened to its beauty and power ; Lorna 
 Doom was for years struggling into public recognition ; 
 and who that has read Dion and the Sybils will say that it 
 has yet received a tithe of its full measure of justice ? 
 The popularity of the hour is most misleading. Among 
 living authors the one that bids fairest to become a 
 classic — I regret that I cannot unreservedly recommend 
 him — is one who worked for years in poverty and ob- 
 scurity before obtaining recognition ; even at the present 
 moment his readers are limited. His prose is as repel- 
 lent to the casual reader as is the poetry of Robert 
 Browning. But, like Browning, he is a keen analyzer of 
 human motives ; like Browning also he deals largely 
 with the morbid in human life. Every novel of his is a 
 soul-study, and almost every sentence is an epigram. I 
 allude to George Meredith. A careful study of his 
 Diana of the Crossways — the original of which, by the 
 way, was the Hon. Mrs. Norton — will give you some in- 
 sight into his great power and unrivaled merit. 
 
 But there is no dearth of novels that have passed the 
 ordeal of time and are pronounced classic. Scott is still 
 read, and will continue to be read as long as men will 
 appreciate the spontaneous outpourings of a genius who 
 writes with all the ease and joyousness with which the 
 blackbird sings. There is about his novels the freshness 
 of the morning dew. We Catholics will pardon him the 
 misrepresentations of our monks and the caricatures of 
 
Novel-Reading. 5 1 
 
 our religious practices that disfigure some of his pages, 
 for we know that he bore us no maUce, and had he 
 known better he would have done us more justice. The 
 large majority of his books are wholesome reading. 
 
 But there is now coming into vogue a pernicious 
 species of novel, all the more dangerous because of its 
 insidiousness. It is not openly immoral. It is, as a 
 rule, artistically written, and loudly praised by the critics 
 in sympathy with its principles. It is the novel of Pes- 
 simism. Its spirit is anti-Christian. It represents men 
 and women under the cold and barren influence of 
 Agnosticism or Positivism — either system has the same 
 ultimate result — with Agnostic or Positivist theories fil- 
 tered through their lives and moulding their opinions and 
 characters. Within its pages you look in vain for a 
 Providence, immortality, spiritual existence. Its sum- 
 mary of all life is a natural development of the physical 
 man or woman, happy in the airy fancies youth weaves ; 
 then a crisis which precipitates all illusions ; afterwards 
 hardened feelings, bitterness in speech, and either rail- 
 ings at all life or the resignation of despair, recklessly, 
 hopelessly submitting to the Must-be. You cannot 
 detect its subtle influence till it has left the iron in your 
 soul, and the sweet prayers of your childhood have grown 
 insipid, and the ritual and ceremonies of the Church have 
 lost their attraction, and you no longer think of God and 
 your future with the same concern. It is in steering 
 clear of such novels that direction is especially necessary. 
 
52 Books and Reading. 
 
 Though we have no single great national novel, either 
 Jor America or for England, as Cervantes' Don Quixote 
 is for the Spanish; as Manzoni's / Promessi Sposi is for 
 the Italians; as Tolstoi's Anna Karenina, that great 
 prose epic of Russian life in its good and its bad aspects, 
 is for the Russians; still, in Dickens, in Hawthorne, in 
 several of Bulwer Lytton's — My Novel, for instance, and 
 nearly all his later ones — in the great modern master of 
 novelists, him of the big heart and the generous sym- 
 pathy, that great lay preacher and critic of manners, who 
 has written such classic prose and given us such grand 
 character-studies in Vanity Fair and Fendennis and 
 Henry Esmond and The Newcomes — in all these and 
 many others we can find amusement, instruction, and im- 
 provement. You may be interested to know that 
 Thackeray was in strong sympathy with the Catholic 
 Church. His bosom friend, William B. Reed, of Phila- 
 delphia, in a valuable little book, published anonymously 
 and now very scarce, bears witness to the fact; and I 
 quote his words all the more willingly, for the reason 
 that when this essay of Mr. Reed's was republished in a 
 series printed in New York the interesting passage was 
 omitted. * "Thackeray,"' says his friend, "was in one 
 sense — not a technical one — a religious, or, rather, a 
 devout, man, and I have sometimes fancied (start not, 
 Protestant reader !) that he had a sentimental leaning to 
 
 * Bric-k-Brac Series : Anecdote Biographies of Thackeray and Dickens, edited bjr 
 Richard Henry Stoddard, 
 
Navel-Reading. 5 3 
 
 the church of Christian antiquity. Certain it is, he never 
 sneered at it or disparaged it. ' After all,' said he one 
 night to him who writes these notes, driving through the 
 streets of an American city, and passing a Roman CathoHc 
 cathedral, ' that is the only thing that can be called a 
 church.' " * We will think none the less kindly of 
 Thackeray for this good word. We will censure him all 
 the more lightly for his want of appreciation of his Irish 
 neighbors, and especially for his caricature in the Fother- 
 ingay of the beautiful and accomplished Miss O'Neill, f 
 I know no better antidote against a craving for the trashy 
 stuff that is now flooding the world than to make 
 a thorough study of one or other of the great novel- 
 ists. After one has become accustomed to fare on whole- 
 some food one is not apt to feed on husks and swallow 
 swill. 
 
 Not but that among novels, as among poems, which 
 have not yet received the sanction of time, we perceive 
 many a gem bringing home to us many a beautiful lesson, 
 and we may humbly and thankfully accept the gift. I 
 find in several of our living writers purpose, style, and 
 art of a high order. ' One of the most successful of 
 them — Mr. W. D. Howells — once remarked to me that 
 he could no more conceive a novel without a purpose 
 than an arch without a key-stone. Various are the ways 
 
 * World Essays,. p. 209. 
 
 t Thackeray himself received no better justice at the hands of Lord Beaconsfield. 
 The spiteful character of St. Barbe in Endymian is far from being the genial and 
 large-hearted Thackeray ss known to his friends, 
 
54 Books and Reading. 
 
 in which the goodness of that purpose may be shown: 
 now it is to place before us an ideal of life in its divers? 
 phases, now to caution us against some of the evils 
 gnawing at the vitals of society, now to bring the past 
 nearer, now to photograph glimpses of an order of things 
 passing away forever.now to put us in presence of higher 
 truths; and we have well-written and powerful novels illus- 
 trative of all these ways. To mention names were tedious. 
 I am not unmindful of the distinctively Catholic novel. 
 It is of recent growth on English soil. That eminent 
 churchman and scholar. Cardinal Wiseman, saw in the 
 Lait Days of Pompeii the model of an idea which, carried 
 out, might prove most fruitful in bringing before the 
 minds of the people a vivid picture of the Christian 
 Church passing through the various stages of her 
 struggles and her triumphs. His fertile brain according- 
 ly projected a series of novels intended to rehabilitate 
 the life of the primitive Christians, and, with his usual 
 versatility, he turned aside from his oriental and scientific 
 studies, and led the way in that delightful story of Fabiola, 
 which continues to be read with unabated interest. Then 
 followed Callista, a classic of iiner fibre and more delicate 
 structure, abounding in subtle traits of character, and 
 penetrated with that keen sense of the beautiful in which 
 the Grecian mind lived and moved. It is a book that 
 grows upon one with every successive perusal. Other 
 works of merit were modeled on these, and though the 
 list is short, it is select, 
 
The Catholic Novel. 55 
 
 Nor am I unmindful of a number of writers of the 
 day professing the CathoHc faith, whose pens, though 
 not devoted to exclusively Catholic subjects, have pro- 
 duced, and still produce, good reading. Two of the 
 most prominent — Lady Georgiana FuUei'ton and Kath- 
 leen O'Meara — have recently dropped out of the list, 
 and have gone to their well-earned reward. So has the 
 chivalric and generous John Boyle O'Reilly. Rosa Mul- 
 hoUand, Christian Reid, Mrs. Elisabeth Gilbert Martin, 
 Mrs. Cashel-Hoey, Richard Malcolm Johnston, Marion 
 Crawford — with some exceptions, — the Rev. John Tal- 
 bot Smith, the outspoken editor of the Catholic Review, 
 and those two honored pioneers of the Catholic novel 
 in America, Mrs. Sadlier and Mrs. Hanson Dorsey, are 
 among those that recur to memory. 
 
 Were we to enumerate the various Catholic authors 
 who in our own day shine in different departments of 
 literature — James Jeffrey Roche, poet and journalist, on 
 whose shoulders the mantle of John Boyle O'Reilly has 
 so worthily fallen; Charles Warren Stoddard, Maurice 
 Francis Egan, who, whether polishing a sonnet, pen- 
 ning an editorial, or etching a scene from life, al- 
 ways pleases; Louise Imogen Guiney, Agnes Repplier, 
 Eleanor C. Donnelly, Katherine Conway, Mrs. Mary E. 
 Blake, Mrs. Margaret F. Sullivan, who wields so ver- 
 satile a pen, whether as journalist, or critic, or eloquent 
 pleader in behalf of Ireland— were we to name all, we 
 could not find space within the covers. of this essay. 
 
56 Books and Reading. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Books of criticism are always read with interest, and 
 are efficient aids in determining the works we shall read. 
 They promote intellectual growth. They cultivate lit- 
 erary taste. They give us other aspects of the books 
 under review than those we would be likely to take 
 from our point of view. The Appredalions of Mr. Walter 
 Pater, though not always clear, and somewhat wordily 
 written, are pitched in a high key of criticism calculated 
 to quicken thought; the Views and Reviews of Mr. W. E. 
 Henley, short and crisp and suggestive, are truly models 
 of good taste and sound literary judgment; the Essays 
 in Criticism of Matthew Arnold contain estimates that 
 are carefully made, and in matters purely literary that 
 author's judgment is almost as delicate as that of his 
 master Sainte-Beuve. The Among my Books of Mr. 
 James Russell Lowell, though occasionally too long 
 drawn out, display much good sense. In the writings of 
 Whipple and Edmund Clarence Stedman, poet of elegant 
 finish and most fair-minded, genial, and sympathetic 
 of critics, and of George E. Woodberry, we find careful 
 guides and stimulators to reflection. And when Aubrey 
 de Vere, in his Essays chiefly on Poetry, discourses to us 
 about his master Wordsworth, and initiates us into an 
 appreciation of the grandeur and beauty and philosophic 
 depth of that great poet's work, we feel as though a new 
 world of thought had been laid open to us. Then, there 
 is Richard Holt Hutton. Literary criticism seems to 
 
Criticism a nd Ph ilosophy. 5 7 
 
 have attained its high-water mark in his Essays. His 
 theological opinions have no value for Catholics. They 
 may satisfy men groping in the dark, unsettled in their 
 ( reed and anxiously awaiting the light. But his literary 
 tssays are greatly valuable for their thoughtfulness, 
 breadth of view, and grasp of subject. In making his 
 estimates he speaks with fine discrimination; his qualifi- 
 cations are apt and to the point; his judgment is evenly 
 balanced; he defines with clearness, and as a rule his 
 summing up is such as we can accept with confidence. 
 He is sensitive to every turn of phrase and expression, 
 and possesses the rare talent of knowing when a thought 
 is fittingly clothed in words. Could it be otherwise with 
 one who has made a life study of the writings of Cardi- 
 nal Newman as the standard of all excellence in form of 
 expression ? 
 
 But the reader who should rest content with learning 
 what others may have to say about a book, without test- 
 ing for himself by actual perusal how far he can follow 
 them in their estimates — relish what they relish, or con- 
 demn what they condemn, or approve what they ap- 
 prove — would be only taking the shadow of knowledge 
 for the, substance. It is Novalis who likens such a 
 reader to him who would satisfy his hunger with the 
 perusal of a bill of fare. 
 
 Then there is an extensive literature of art criticism, 
 which it behooves us not to ignore. Art idealizes life. 
 It leaves impressions for good or ill that are ineffaceable. 
 
58 Books and Reading. 
 
 " Once the verse-book laid on shelf, 
 The picture turned to wall, the music fled from ear — 
 Each beauty, born of each, grows clearer and more clear. 
 Mine henceforth, ever mine 1 " — * 
 
 So sang the poet of art-thought and art-impression. 
 
 Etchings and engravings by various admirable pro- 
 cesses have brought the great masterpieces within reach 
 of all, and it were not to our credit to neglect their 
 study. Under the guidance of the charming volumes 
 of Miss Eliza Allen Starr you find much to admire. 
 Their full meaning will be unrolled before you. She 
 has made art a life-study; and I may safely say that 
 there is not a great painting in Europe of which she has 
 not the key, and which she cannot describe in apt and 
 clear-cut phrase. Then we Catholics must not forget 
 that all great art is pre-eminently Catholic. Its tra- 
 ditions are Catholic. Its whole meaning is determined 
 only by Catholic interpretation. It is for us to read 
 and understand the full sense of the mediaeval works of 
 art. The subjects are Catholic, the masters were Catho- 
 lic, their inspiration was Catholic; and it should be our 
 pride and our glory to be familiar both with the subjects 
 and with the great masters. Why not cherish what is 
 peculiarly our own ? — Why leave it to be distorted and 
 misinterpreted at the hands of strangers to Catholic 
 faith and Catholic traditions ? 
 
 You find the leading magazines and reviews abound- 
 ing in philosophical essays. Herbert Spencer and Profes- 
 
 • Robert Browning, Fifine, p. 400. 
 
Criticism and Philosophy. 50 
 
 sor Huxley and their numerous disciples and co-workers 
 are very active in the field of speculation. It is not at 
 all times easy to perceive wherein their theories err. 
 It is not at all times wise to undertake to sift the truth 
 from the error, except it be under safe guidance. But, 
 where there is leisure and inclination, our Catholic young 
 men and young women might profitably pursue a course 
 of philosophic reading. The Stonyhurst series of philo- 
 sophical text-books, starting with the Logic of Father 
 Richard Clarke, S. J., will be found profitable study to 
 begin with. They impart the principles of scholastic 
 philosophy in as correct English as we can look for. 
 And that they are written by the Jesuit Fathers is 
 in itself a vouchment for their orthodoxy. This series 
 might be supplemented by Balmes' Fundamental Philoso- 
 phy, which has been so well rendered into English by 
 Mr. Henry F. Brownson, and by Father Harper's noble 
 effort to modernize the great work of Suarez in his 
 Metaphysics of the School. In Mivart's Philosophical Cate- 
 chism, in his Lessons from Nature, in his great work On 
 Truth, and its supplement, The Origin of Human Reason, 
 you will find the answer to many a burning question of 
 the day. So also will you' find in Lilly's recent work. On 
 Right and Wrong, a satisfactory refutation of Herbert 
 Spencer's Data of Ethics. Then, Hettinger's Natural Relig- 
 ion, which has been recently so ably translated by Father 
 Sebastian Bowden of the London Oratory, and Quatre- 
 fage's work on the unity of the human race, published in 
 
6o Books and Reading. 
 
 the International Scientific Series — one of the few re-- 
 deeming books of that series from the Christian point of 
 view — will give you the latest word of science upon prob- 
 lems that science will be a long time in solving. Bal- 
 four's Philosophical Doubt and Father Lambert's Notes on 
 Ingersoll show how easily the opponents of Christian 
 revelation may be run to cover. Stockl's History 0/ Phil- 
 osophy, translated by Father Finlay, S. J., will give a fair 
 account of various systems that have agitated the world. 
 
 Nor must I omit the Grammar 0/ Assent. It is a woik 
 that ranks Cardinal Newman with the great thinkers of 
 all time. It is another chapter contributed to the his- 
 tory of human thought. But it is not a book that will 
 fit into any system. Newman was a disciple of no phil- 
 osophic school. He allowed no man to do his thinking 
 for him. He did his own thinking; and the book is the 
 outcome of his own personal struggles. The ever-re- 
 curring problem to his mind was the reconciliation be- 
 tween reason and faith. How can the human reason 
 give assent to a mystery, or a doctrine beyond its com- 
 prehension ? — How can a chain of reasoning every link 
 of which is in itself a probability lead to the certitude of 
 faith ? — These are the problems he attempts the solution 
 of in his great work. You find the author groping 
 after their solution in his Oxford University Sermons, in 
 his Development 0/ Doctrine, and in his Essays on Miracles. 
 They are outlined in the Apologia.* But in the Grammar 
 
 * Part iii. , pp. 6S-73. 
 
Criticism and Philosophy. 61 
 
 0/ Assent they are surveyed in all their bearings, and 
 the workings of the intellect in its various modes of ap- 
 prehending truth are explained with keen analytic power 
 and a wonderful wealth of illustration. His genius pen- 
 etrated depths that only the greatest intellects have had 
 glimpses of. He never read Kant, but he had Kant's 
 insight into the shortcomings of purely syllogistic rea- 
 soning. The key-note to his book may be found in 
 these words: " I had a great dislike for paper logic. For 
 myself, it was not logic that carried me on; as well 
 might one say that the quicksilver in the barometer 
 changes the weather. // is the concrete being that reasons; 
 pass a number of years, and I find my mind in a new 
 place; how? the whole man moves; paper logic is but_ the 
 record of it." * Therefore it was that this acute intellect 
 found the syllogism fall short both of concrete issues and 
 of first principles. To supply the deficiency is one of the 
 chief objects of his book. Newman, be it remembered, 
 never wrote for the sake of mere speculation. He wrote 
 because there was a thought within him burning for ut- 
 terance. His life was all earnestness, and his writings 
 were an essential part of that life. The same earnest- 
 ness of purpose enters into their composition. He knew 
 that there were souls wrestling with the same problems 
 that had for so many years occupied his mind, and he 
 hastened to place before them the solution that had satis- 
 fied his reason. This is the meaning of a book which is 
 * Apologia, Tart iv., p. 206. 
 
62 Books and Reading. 
 
 still, in a measure, an enigma to a large portion of the 
 reading world. And so viewed, this remarkable book 
 stands forth an evidence of the noble charity that in- 
 spired its author in writing it as well as of the luminous 
 genius that dictated it. Cardinal Manning, who did 
 certainly sound the depths of Newman's great intellect, 
 in estimating his influence, thus alluded to the book and 
 the author: " But we cannot forget that we owe to him, 
 among other debts, one singular achievement. No one 
 who does not intend to be laughed at will henceforward 
 say that the Catholic religion is fit only for weak intellects 
 and unmanly brains. This superstition of pride is over. 
 St. Thomas Aquinas is too far off and too little known 
 to such talkers to make them hesitate. But the author 
 of the Grammar of Assent may make them think twice 
 before they expose themselves." * This is a tribute as 
 deserving as it is delicate. Could human tongue speak 
 higher compliment? 
 
 It is needless to enlarge upon the advantages to be de- 
 rived from the study of philosphy. It has always had a 
 fascination for the human mind. Men will never cease to 
 be interested in questions that concern them as intimately 
 as do those bearing upon their origin, their nature, theii 
 destiny, their relations with the outer world and with 
 one another ; questions underlying the foundation of all 
 knowledge ; questions dealing with the first principles of 
 things ; questions on the methods, the definitions, and 
 * Funeral Seimon, London Tablet, Aug. 23, 1890. 
 
Criticism and Philosophy . 63 
 
 the scope of science, literature, and art. They all fall 
 within the province of philosophy. Then, a course of 
 philosophy thoroughly and seriously pursued is a great 
 intellectual discipline. It imparts a habit of mental 
 caution that is inestimable as an aid in sifting truth 
 from error. It enables one to appreciate the supreme 
 forms of literature. Goethe, Shakspere, Dante, Plato, 
 even Tennyson in his In Memoriam, all dwell in that up- 
 per region of thought in which the great world-truths are 
 harmonized in an atmosphere of poetry and philos- 
 ophy. And thus it is that philosophy is the basis of all 
 true culture. Without sound philosophical principles the 
 human mind is ever building upon shifting sands. The 
 principles are, one and all, unchangeable. Systems and 
 methods may and do vary 
 
 " Our little systems have their day ; 
 They have their day and cease to be: 
 They are but broken lights of Thee, 
 And Thou, O Lord, art more than they — " * 
 
 but principles remain ever the same. They are the light 
 of our reason. 
 * /» Memoriam. 
 
64 Books and Reading. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Poetry is also a factor — and an important factor — of 
 culture. It is formative both of individual and national 
 character. Some of the noblest impulses and emotions 
 of the age have found expression in poems that thrilled 
 a whole nation. Such a poem was Hood's fierce and 
 indignant Song of the Shirt, penned in deep sympathy 
 with the poor, starving, underpaid, and overworked 
 seamstress of London; such a poem was that heart-rend- 
 ing sob, The Bridge of Sighs, going out to every heart 
 in earnest appeal to be more humane to erring unfortu- 
 nate ones; such a poem was Elizabeth Barrett Browning's 
 Cry of the Children, that powerful protest against the 
 cruelty of child-labor in manufactories. Even so, gener- 
 ations ago, was Greece educated by Homer, and the Old 
 English by the poems of Beoivulf and The Fight at Fin- 
 nesliurgh. Nor has poetry in these days lost its formative 
 influence over those who read it thoughtfully and symr 
 pathetically. Every one so reading will find in a favorite 
 author an inexhaustible source of thought, amusement, 
 and restfulriess. He who has attuned his soul to the 
 music of Adelaide Proctor, or of Longfellow, till his 
 thoughts vibrate in unison with the clear, simple, and 
 beautiful forms of expression that he has found in these 
 authors, has an unfailing source of recreation and a health- 
 ful mental tonic. He who has soared higher, and peo- 
 pled his imagination with the varied world, and garnered 
 his memory with the suggestive sayings, of a Shak- 
 
Poetry and Culture. 65 
 
 spere, has the wherewith to beguile many a weary hour 
 and to nourish his soul with wholesome food for reflec- 
 tion. The noble grandeur of Milton's stately lines, the 
 clear-cut sense of Pope's polished couplets, the delicate 
 finish of Tennyson's verse, in which thought and expres- 
 sion are so harmoniously blended — these and many more 
 appeal to the cultured mind for careful perusal, and all 
 repay the pains taken to acquire insight into their diverse 
 harmonies. Who does not feel the better that the resig- 
 nation and trust in God so beautifully expressed in 
 Lead, kindly Light, has, through that poem, sunk into his 
 heart ?— How many a soul has risen to higher and better 
 things because it was haunted by a beautiful sentiment ? 
 Of the late General Gordon we are told that these lines 
 from Paracelsus had sunk so deeply into his heart that 
 they might be regarded as his motto: 
 
 " I go to prove my soul ! 
 
 I see my way as birds their tracliless way. 
 
 I shall arrive ! What lime, what circuit first, 
 
 I ask not : but unless God send His hail 
 
 Of blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, 
 
 In good time, His good time, I shall arrive : 
 
 He guides me and the bird. In His good time ! " 
 
 Nobly did the hero of Khartoum live and die in the 
 resigned and humble spirit of these lines. 
 
 Mr. W. T. Stead, late editor of The Pall Mall Gazette, 
 speaking of that powerful poem illustrating the despair 
 and disappointment of a blasted life at the threshold of 
 eternity, the Extreme Unction of James Russell Lowell, 
 
66 Books and Reading. 
 
 says; " It made a deeper dint on my life than any 
 other printed matter I ever read, before or since." 
 Many might recount a similar experience. — Sir Philip 
 Sidney tells us how his soldierly nature was wont to be 
 moved, " more than with a trumpet," whenever he heard 
 the ballad of Chevy Chace* So has many a heart thrilled 
 while reading the daring feats of the Irish Brigade in 
 Davis's stirring ballad of Funtenoy. And who has not 
 been moved at the story of that other Brigade — " noble 
 six-hundred," — headed by the gallant and intrepid Nolan, 
 in obedience to a blundering order, walking into the val- 
 ley of death ? f 
 
 Moreover, the Church has from the beginning made 
 use of spiritual canticles to excite devotion and inculcate 
 doctrine into the hearts of the faithful. The Bemdictus 
 of Zachary, the Nunc Dimittis of Simeon, the Magnificat 
 of Mary ever Virgin, are recorded in the Gospel. Then 
 we have the beautiful hymns of Hilary and Prudentius 
 and Ambrose and Bernard and Aquinas, all consecrating 
 times and seasons according to the spirit of the Church. 
 And who has not felt the power of those two magnificent 
 hymns, the Stabat Mater and the Dies Irce ? — England in 
 her early Catholic days possessed an abundant harvest of 
 Catholic poems in the mother-speech; especially was she 
 
 * Defence of Poesy, ed. A. S. Cook, p. 92.' 
 
 t See the graphic sketch of that charge, and of the gallantry of Cap- 
 tain Nolan, in Kinglake's History of the Crimean War, vol. ii., pp. 
 548-592. 
 
Poetry and Culture. 67 
 
 rich in canticles in honor of Mary Immaculate. Nay, the 
 very springs in the valleys, the very flowers in the field, 
 the very plays and amusements of children were called 
 after Mary, and so great was devotion to the Blessed 
 Mother of God that the whole island was known as our 
 Lady's Dowry.* You all remember Chaucer's two beau- 
 tiful tributes to Our Blessed Lady, the one a transla- 
 tion from the French of Guillaume de Deguileville, and 
 known as The A B C of Queen Blanche; the other, that 
 magnificent translation from the Purgatorio of Dante 
 which introduces The Prioress' Tale. The nineteenth 
 century seems to have caught up some echoes of this de- 
 votion to Mary, and so Keble in his Lyra Innocentium, 
 and Walter Scott in The Lady of the Lake, and Byron 
 in Don Juan, and Edgar Allan Poe, and Wordsworth 
 in his Ecclesiastical Sonnets,— s\\ have paid beautiful 
 tributes to her whom the last-named has so nobly 
 called — 
 
 " Our tainted nature's solitary boast." 
 In Cardinal Newman's Verses on Various Occasions, and 
 Father Faber's Hymns, and Aubrey de Vere's May Carols, 
 we have the out-pourings of the modern Catholic heart to 
 this Queen of Song. Thus it is that poetry from the be- 
 guining has been the handmaid of religion. It is no less 
 the handmaid of patriotism. 
 
 • See Father Bridgett's admirable book, Our Lady's Dowry, 
 passim. The Early English Text Society have gathered many of the 
 poems in honor of the Blessed Virgin. 
 
68 Books and Reading. 
 
 Who can calculate the extent to which Moore's Melo- 
 dies, sung in the drawing-rooms of English society, aided 
 O'Connell in his gigantic labor of securing Catholic 
 Emancipation ? — -What Scotchman can read unmoved 
 Burns's fiery lyrics, especially his Bannockburn? And note 
 the frenzy that possesses French republicans at the 
 singing or reciting of the Marseillaise. Again, when, in 
 the midst of much tinsel and tawdry in Lalla Rookh, 
 Moore is seized with the fire of patriotic inspiration, and 
 he pens The Fire- Worshippers, in which the veil of dis- 
 guise is most transparent — for what is Iran but Erin ? — 
 note how strong and vigorous his lines become; so much 
 so that they deserve to be translated into the mother- 
 speech of another oppressed people, and to become their 
 consoler in the misery that overwhelmed them, and 
 forthwith the Poles take home to their bosoms the great 
 Irish bard.* 
 
 But returning to the individual influence of poetry, let 
 me remark that its range is so wide, and its degrees are 
 so varied, each, according to disposition and mental 
 aptitude, will find somewhere in the poetic literature of 
 the language a strain, a chord, that will awaken in his 
 soul a responsive vibration; his soul will have grown 
 to a more rounded completeness for having found 
 music in that chord. You may say that you do not like 
 poetry, or that you cannot read poetry. It is because you 
 
 " Life of Archbishop Mac Hale, by Mgr, Bernard O'Reilly, vol. ii., 
 P- 634- 
 
Poetry and Culture. 69 
 
 have not struck the right rhythmic note to which your 
 aesthetic sense corresponds. You may find Tennyson 
 too refined, or Browning too obscure, or Shelley too 
 vague, or Milton too ponderous, or Shakespeare too diffi- 
 'cult. Perhaps in the natural glow of Burns's lines — for 
 instance his Highland Mary, or To Mary in Heaven, or 
 Lines on a Daisy, — your soul will become enkindled; per- 
 haps you will catch patriotic fire from the stirring verses 
 of Davis, at the same time so full of vigor and tenderness; 
 perhaps in Mangan or Gerald Griffin you will find the 
 keynote to your temper and thought; perhaps the simple 
 grace and polish of Goldsmith or Parnell will suit you 
 better; perhaps the simple naturalness of Cowper will 
 please you; perhaps the pathetic story of Evangeline will 
 go home to your heart; perhaps in the luscious lines of 
 that" idle singer of an empty, day," William Morris, you 
 will find what shall please you best; perhaps it is the clear- 
 cut finish of Austin Dobson, or Edmund Gosse, or the 
 Rossettis, or Edmund Clarence Stedman, that you prefer; 
 perhaps you will find the simple and placid directness of 
 Coventry Patmore to suit your taste, and you will admire 
 his Angel in the House as ardently as did Ruskin ; perhaps it 
 is the rapid movement of Scott's Lady of the Lake that 
 will stir you; perhaps the pleasant lines of Whittier's 
 Snow-Bound J perhaps the noble heart-throbs of John 
 Boyle O'Reilly; perhaps. ... but why continue ? Some- 
 where the chord exists that will appeal to your nature 
 and disposition with effect, and will evoke a correspond- 
 
70 Books and Reading. 
 
 ing attunement. The vivid imagination that enables 
 children to live in a world all their own, peopled with 
 beings of their own creation; that imagination with 
 which the little girl speaks to her dolls, and fancies 
 them sick, or injured, or naughty; that imagination with 
 which the little boy bestrides his wooden horse, or mar- 
 shals his tin soldiers in battle array, or talks in terms 
 of intimacy with the domestic animals, — that imagination 
 is not extinct in the grown man or wom^an; it is only 
 dormant. It may yet be awakened to construct noble 
 ideals of life subservient to reason and experience. You 
 say you do not like poetry; why, then, are you moved 
 by the Exile of Erin of Thomas Campbell, or the Home, 
 Sweet Home of John Howard Payne ? Here it is heart 
 speaking to heart. * 
 
 It is not always the great poets that will reach the in- 
 ner feelings of your heart. Even eminent authors and 
 thinkers have not invariably taken to the great poets. 
 Shelley admired the spiritual beauty and the noble ideals 
 in Spenser's poetry, and held in slight esteem Ariosto, 
 whom Spenser only too closely followed in his Faery 
 Queene j Byron was an ardent admirer and constant 
 
 * It is pleasant to record that the weary spirit of Payne, after 
 roaming through many lands, found at last a haven and a resting- 
 place in the Catholic Church upon his deathbed in Tunis— and his 
 l)ones have been brought home to his native soil, through the kindness 
 and munificence of his old schoolmate, the late W. W. Corcoran of 
 Washingtnn. 
 
Poetry and Culture. 71 
 
 reader of Ariosto, but could make nothing of Spenser. 
 Nor could Byron appreciate Wordsworth, and yet Words- 
 worth's influence for good is traceable in the last two 
 cantos of Childe Harold. Wordsworth held all his con- 
 temporaries—Coleridge excepted — in low estimation. 
 Newman prized Crabbe in a special manner, even as did 
 that other great master of prose, Edmund Burke, and re- 
 garded his Tales of the Hall vf'sth. an abiding affection, * 
 but never could bring himself to read Dante; and yet, 
 in the tender and serenely classic and highly philosophi- 
 cal Dream of Gerontius, Newman has bequeathed to 
 English literature a poem thoroughly Dantesque in its 
 conception and in its underlying ideas. Still, Newman 
 and Dante were kindred souls in many respects. Both 
 were intensely active in early life, the one in the sphere 
 of religion and the other in that of politics; both after- 
 wards dwelt apart from the world and from their old 
 life; both had no sympathy with what were considered 
 the advanced views of their age; both were men of 
 acute intellects, fond of speculation; both were pro- 
 foundly philosophical. Who but Dante could realize, as 
 Newman did, the separation of soul and body, and the 
 thoughts that might belong to the soul as it steps across 
 the threshold of eternity, still thinking in the grooves 
 of time and space when time and space are no more ? — 
 Considered in this light, the Dream of Gerontius is a mar- 
 vellous poem. 
 
 * See Idea of a University, fifth edition, p. 150. 
 
72 Books and Reading. 
 
 And so, while I would gladly see you familiarize your- 
 selves with the highest and the best in literature, if your 
 tastes lead you by preference to the lesser poets, by all 
 means enjoy them. Indeed, I would recommend to 
 those whose reading in the line of poetry has been limited, 
 to begin with a poet of homely phrase and pleasant 
 thought — some one 
 
 " No singer vast of voice, yet one who leaves 
 His native air the sweeter for his song."* 
 
 Later on, the poets requiring more concentrated at- 
 tention and a certain amount of mental discipline for 
 their appreciation, may clairn your best thought to ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 Be this as it may, I cannot better explain the subject 
 of poetry than by dwelling for a moment, in a manner 
 however scant, upon the three poets that have best 
 caught up and sung to us the message that this century 
 now declining in her last decade would bequeath us. 
 They are all three of them worthy of our attention. 
 Could any remarks of mine lead you to a careful study 
 and just appreciation of them, I would feel well repaid. 
 In their highest and best flights you will find some of 
 the noblest ideals of truth and loveliness ever conceived 
 by human brain. 
 
 * William Watson, " On Longfellow's Death." Wordsworth's Grave 
 and other Paems, London, p. 69. 
 
Wordsworth. 73 
 
 IX. 
 
 I. Wordsworth's influence upon the thought and 
 character of this century has been strong, deep, and 
 abiding. He it was who fired and moulded the poetic 
 genius of Aubrey de Vere. The poet has left us a 
 charming record of the manner in which he first fell 
 under the influence of his great master from the reading 
 of Laodamia. We will let him describe how the reading of 
 that poem weaned him from his extravagant admiration 
 for Byron. " Some strong, calm hand," he says, 
 " seemed to have been laid on my head, and bound me 
 to the spot till I had come to the end. As I read, a 
 new world, hitherto unimagined, opened itself out, 
 stretching far away into serene infinitudes. The re- 
 gion was one to me unknown, but the harmony of the 
 picture attested its reality. Above and around were in- 
 deed 
 
 An ampler elher, a diviner air, 
 
 And fields invested with purpurea! gleams ; 
 
 and when I reached the line — 
 
 Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains, 
 
 I felt that no tenants less stately were fit to walk in so 
 lordly a precinct. I had been translated into another 
 planet of song— one with larger movements and a longer 
 year. A wider conception of poetry had become mine, 
 and the Byronian enthusiasm fell from me like a bond 
 broken by being outgrown." * 
 * Essays chiefly on Poetry, vol. ii., pp. 289, 290. 
 
74 Books and Reading. 
 
 No less true is it — though not so generally known — 
 that Wordsworth helped to mould the character of 
 Thomas Davis. " The ideals he found in Wordsworth," 
 says Justice O'Hagan, "especially the ideal of a pure 
 and exalted love of country, took full possession of 
 him."* His influence upon John Stuart Mill was no 
 less marked. The first reading of Wordsworth's poems 
 was an epoch in that philosopher's life. " What made 
 his poems a medicine for my state of mind," he tells us, 
 " was that they expressed not mere outward beauty, but 
 states of feeling and of thought colored by feeling 
 under the excitement of beauty. I needed to be made to 
 feel that there was real permanent happiness in tranquil 
 contemplation. Wordsworth taught me this, not only 
 without turning away from, but with greatly increased 
 interest in, the common feelings and the common destiny 
 of human beings." f Poetry influencing types of char- 
 acter as distinct as Aubrey de Vere, the poet, Thomas 
 Davis, the patriot, and John Stuart Mill, the philosopher, 
 must indeed contain an element of strength worthy of 
 your serious consideration. 
 
 That influence was not cheaply purchased. Its founda- 
 tions were laid in deep meditation and in life-long study. 
 Wordsworth was a most careful composer. He spared 
 no pains to get the fitting word or strike upon the proper 
 phrase. Caroline Fox, commenting upon what was con- 
 
 * Contemporary Revieiv^ Oct., 1890. 
 t Autobiography f p. 148. 
 
Wordsworth. 75 
 
 sidered the verbosity of Browning, wrote: "Doth he 
 know that Wordsworth will devote a fortnight or more 
 to the discovery of the single word that is the one fit 
 for his sonnet?" * His was the conscientious work of 
 the conscientious teacher. He was wont to say: "Every 
 great poet is a teacher; I wish to be considered as a 
 teacher, or as nothing." From the first, he believed in 
 his mission; through long and weary years, with but 
 scant recognition, he labored at his mission, and finally 
 his genius shone forth through the clouds of prejudice, 
 and he triumphed in the achievement of that mission as 
 a teacher. And what is the lesson he would convey in 
 his noble lines? — 
 
 We should bring to the reading of him a disposition 
 to sit humbly and thoughtfully at his feet, and to re- 
 ceive his lesson in the spirit in which he gives it. And 
 if I can point out to you what you may expect to find, 
 and what not to find, in his poetry, I conceive that I 
 will be making your task all the lighter. But withal, a 
 serious task it is to measure the full length and breadth 
 and height and depth of Wordsworth, and to feel at 
 home in the trains of thought he would evolve. You 
 will meet whole lines, sometimes whole poems, written 
 in a bald and creeping style; you will hit upon the men- 
 tion of a trivial incident, or the employment of a trivial 
 phrase, apparently marring what you would otherwise 
 call a beautiful conception; and it is out of such barren 
 
 * Handbook to Browning's Works, p. 11. 
 
"jG Books and Reading. 
 
 plains of expression that rise up some of the noblest 
 passages in our literature. 
 
 Wordsworth invests the material universe with a new 
 dignity by making it, in his own peculiar manner, the 
 companion of man, a something to be communed with 
 in its manifold aspects. He educates the human senses 
 to a keener perception of vision and sound. Indeed, 
 the poet may be said in a measure to have imparted 
 thought to sense and speech to inert matter. He re- 
 garded Nature with a spiritual discernment, reading her 
 meanings and her teachings as no other poet had read 
 them. The careful study of his poetry in a spirit of 
 sympathy is in itself an education. Mr. Walter Pater 
 says very aptly: " The constant suggestion of an ab- 
 solute duality between higher and lower moods, and the 
 work done in them, stimulating one always to look below 
 the surface, makes the reading of Wordsworth an ex- 
 cellent sort of training towards the things of art and 
 poetry. It begets in those who, coming across him in 
 youth, can bear him at all, a habit of reading between 
 the lines, a faith in the effect of concentration and 
 collectedness of mind in the right appreciation of poetry, 
 an expectation of things, in this order, coming to one 
 by means of a right discipline of the temper as well 
 as of the intellect. He meets us with the promise that 
 he has much, and something very peculiar, to give us, 
 if we will follow a certain difficult way, and seems to 
 have the secret of a special and privileged state of mind. 
 
Wordsworth. 77 
 
 And those who have undergone his influence, and fol- 
 lowed this difficult way, are like people who have passed 
 through some initiation, a disciplina arcani, by submitting 
 to which they becoUiS able constantly to distinguish in 
 art, speech, feeling, manners, that which is organic, ani- 
 mated, expressive, from that which is only conventional, 
 derivative, inexpressive."* 
 
 This estimate, deliberate as it is scholarly, will enable 
 you to appreciate the force of Wordsworth's influence 
 upon those who submit to his spell. He is the poet ^f 
 Nature in a sense distinct from that in which we can 
 ■apply the same epithet to any other poet. He is un- 
 wearied, as so many another poet has been unwearied, 
 in describing every varying shade of expression in his 
 favorite haunts. And these descriptions, unlike those 
 of other poets, are not merely an exhaustive list of what 
 the eye beholds; they are an embodiment of the senti- 
 ment that haunts the place he would describe; they ex- 
 press the outcome of a complex variety of impressions 
 when the human spirit grows in sympathetic touch with 
 the animating principle of Nature. 
 
 In lifting Nature up to the sphere of companionship 
 with man, Wordsworth introduced a new element into 
 modern poetry. He awakened in man consciousness of 
 the expression of Nature, and imparted to him the sense 
 of interpreting this expression. He initiated man into 
 the moods in which he might best hear and best read 
 
 * Appreciations, p. 40, 
 
78 Books and Reading. 
 
 this interpretation. He tells us that he himself learned 
 to view Nature — not as in the hour of thoughtless youth 
 with all its aching joys, and all its dizzy raptures, 
 
 ■' but hearing oftentimes 
 
 The still, sad music of humanity, 
 Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
 To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
 A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
 Of something far more deeply interfused. 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean, and the living air, 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
 And rolls through all things." * 
 
 Let us not become alarmed at some expressions in 
 this magnificent quotation. Wordsworth is no panthe- 
 ist, f His are Christian feelings, and he thinks in a 
 Christian spirit. The presence he recognizes in Nature 
 is that Supreme Power whom he thus apostrophizes else- 
 where: 
 
 " O Power Supreme, 
 
 Without Whose call this world would cease to breathe. 
 Who from the fountain of Thy grace dost fill 
 The veins that branch through every frame of life, 
 Making man what he is, creature divine, 
 
 * Lines above Tin tern Abbey. 
 
 i See Aubrey de Vere's " Recollections of Wordsworth,'' Essays, vol. 
 ii., p. 282. 
 
Wordsworth. 79 
 
 In single or in social eminence, 
 Above the rest raised infinite ascents 
 When reason that enables him to be 
 Is not sequestered." * 
 
 " To that Personal God," says Aubrey de Vera, " he 
 paid dutiful reverence in life and song. Had he lost 
 his hold of Religion, he would have lost Nature also, for 
 to him she would have been Nature no longer. As it 
 was, in all her manifestations, whether in shape or in 
 color, in movement or at rest, from the most awe-inspir- 
 ing of her forms to the most fugitive of her smiles, he 
 recognized divinely-appointed ministers parleying with . 
 man's spirit, the quickeners of its finest impulses. How 
 much the human mind conferred upon Nature, and how 
 much Nature conferred upon the human mind, he did 
 not affect to determine; but to each its function came 
 from God, and life below was one long, mystic colloquy 
 between the twin-born powers, whispering together of 
 immortality." * This is a poet's interpretation of the 
 poet to whom he looked up with sympathy and rever- 
 ence, every line of whose poetry he studied, and every 
 phase of whose genius he explored. 
 
 But the Nature that Wordsworth deals with is Nature 
 as ministering to man and influencing him, apart from 
 all the artificial elements that enter into the moulding 
 of his character and the imparting of false tastes and 
 
 * The Prelude, book x. 
 
 * Essays, vol. i., p. 105. 
 
8o Books and Reading. 
 
 false standards of truth, beauty, and excellence. There- 
 fore does he take human life in its lowliest spheres of 
 action, and weave about it a halo of poetry— or rather, 
 draw out and hold up in artistic form, for all time, the 
 ideal belonging to all such life and action, and inherent in 
 the simplest object of creation. This is indeed to bring 
 our views of things nearer to the Divine vision of them. 
 And so the poet deals by preference with the humblest 
 peasant life rooted in the soil— the life that other poets 
 have thought beneath their notice. Browning tells us 
 that the artist " lifts his fellows, with their half-appre- 
 hensions, up to his own sphere, by intensifying the 
 import of details, and rounding the universal meaning." * 
 He grasps the type and leaves the individual; better 
 still, he describes the individual in relation to the type. 
 Beneath the accidents he perceives the substance. This 
 in an especial manner has been Wordsworth's mode of 
 procedure in dealing with human life. His poetic vision 
 sees beneath the ordinary routine of every-day life a 
 whole world of sensation and emotion hidden away from 
 the prosaic observer: 
 
 "Joy spreads, and sorrow spreads; and Ihis whole vale, 
 Home of untutored shepherds as it is, 
 Swarms with sensation, as with gleams of sunshine^ 
 Shadows and breezes, scents and sounds. " 
 
 A suppressed glow of warmth, all the more forcible 
 for its being held in check, pervades his lines. They 
 
 * Essay on Shelley. 
 
Wordsworth. 
 
 thrill with the sensations he breathed into them. Be- 
 neath the unruffled routine of peasant life, he feels the 
 peasant's pulse, and reads his every thought and inter- 
 prets his every sigh. In this respect Wordsworth is not 
 unlike Millet. 
 
 The genius of Millet consists wholly in his power of 
 idealizing simple peasant life upon the canvas. And so 
 we find his peasant men and women, with their plain 
 faces and their homely work-a-day clothes, now sowing 
 the seed, now reaping the harvest, now attending to 
 their ordinary indoor and outdoor duties, represented 
 with great naturalness, but also with great dignity. 
 You stand before his masterpiece. The Angelus. There 
 you behold nature in her simple and unadorned aspect: 
 the field stretching far, far away into the horizon, the 
 sky into which the clouds are slowly gathering, the 
 spire of the village church in the distance, the wheel- 
 barrow, the fork stuck in the ground, the man, his 
 hat in both hands and his head slightly bent, something 
 peculiarly sturdy and manlike in his attitude, the woman 
 with hands clasped and eyes bent down — both at the 
 sound of the Angelus bell from the distant spire wrapped 
 in prayer, forgetful of each other and of all around 
 them, forgetful of the toil and the heat of the day. 
 That prayerful attitude of those simple peasants ideal- 
 izes the whole scene. It is no longer the brown earth 
 that is reflected in the sun-burnt features. It is souls. 
 The spiritual world mingles with the material world; 
 
82 Books and Reading. 
 
 heaven becomes blended with earth, and God's presence 
 is felt. 
 
 Even so it is with Wordsworth. In his We are Seven, 
 in his sublime Ode on Immortality, in his Michael, in whole 
 books of The Excursion, you perceive beneath the sim. 
 pie narrative a linking of the spiritual with the material, 
 sometimes a nearing of earth to heaven — the whole uni- 
 verse a shell bespeaking communion with its native sea 
 of God's Immensity and Omnipotence; or, putting the 
 image in Wordsworth's own magnificent language: — 
 
 ■ " I have seen 
 
 A curious child who dwelt upon a tract 
 
 Of inland ground, applying to his ear 
 
 The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; 
 
 To which, in silence hushed, his very soul 
 
 Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon 
 
 Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard 
 
 Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed 
 
 Mysterious union with its native sea. 
 
 Even such a shell the universe itself 
 
 Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times, 
 
 I doubt not, when to you it doth impart 
 
 Authentic tidings of invisible things ; 
 
 Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power ; 
 
 And central peace, subsisting at the heart 
 
 Of endless agitation." * 
 
 As Millet carries the spectator from outward appear- 
 ances to something beyond, so does Wordsworth bear 
 his reader along the majestic flow of his verse, till the 
 
 * The Rxcursion, book iv. 
 
Wordsworth. 83 
 
 reader has entered into sympathy, not only with the hum- 
 ble cottagers, but with the domestic animals that share 
 their cares, and the scenes in which they live. He has 
 shown how dignity and human tenderness are to be 
 found among the squalid poor:— 
 
 " There I heard, 
 
 From mouths of men obscure and lowly, truths 
 
 Replete with honor; sounds in unison 
 
 With loftiest promises of good and fair." * 
 
 He has shown how human impulse and human passion, 
 tears and laughter, commingle with the caring of sheep 
 and the cultivation of the soil. He has shown how 
 meekness and humility, and simple ways and the steady 
 pursuit of duty, are the roads to true greatness. He has 
 shown how strength is not passion, or impulse, or way- 
 wardness — 
 
 "Meekness is the cherished bent 
 Of all the truly great and all the innocent — " t 
 
 but rather that it lies in the subduing, and controlling, 
 and directing of these things. 
 
 We are now in position to understand how difficult it 
 is for one .in full sympathy with the poetry of Words- 
 worth to continue to admire Byron. The methods, the 
 point of view, the temper of soul of each can be brought 
 together only to be contrasted. You follow Byron 
 upon his pilgrimage through Southern Europe. You 
 are at once impressed with the magnificent swing of his 
 
 * prelude, book xiii. t Works, p. 729. 
 
84 Books and Reading. 
 
 lines, the ease and vigor with which he grasps and inter- 
 prets a splendid scene or a great work of art, the vivid- 
 ness and directness of his descriptions, the power with 
 which he gives out the impressions that he receives. 
 You are compelled to respect his faculty of observation 
 and his accuracy of description. But his soul vibrates 
 only to the great, the tragic, the magnificent in nature 
 and art. Rome, Venice, Waterloo; the haunts or homes 
 of men whom he holds in admiration, such as Dante, 
 Rousseau, Voltaire; gigantic structures, such as St. Peter's 
 and the Coliseum; grand or sublime scenery, such as the 
 Alps, the ocean, Lake Leman; the scenes of a tragic 
 story, such as Chillon, or the Palace of the Doges: these 
 are the themes to which 
 
 " He struck his harp, and nations heard entranced." * 
 
 All Europe fell for awhile under the spell of his genius. 
 Even at this hour, you cannot read his finer descriptive 
 passages without feeling your soul thrill. But he was 
 lacking besides in many of all those qualities that go to 
 make up true greatness. He had no steadiness of pur- 
 pose; he had no moral consistency. His philosophy 
 was the musings of a misanthrope. He had the mor- 
 bidness of Leopardi, without the literary polish or the 
 intellectual consistenc}' of the great poet of Pessimism. 
 Those staying qualities that come of severe study and 
 calm meditation were not his; and therefore, in spite of 
 his great natural endowments, and the fitful lights that 
 
 * Pollock, Course of Time. 
 
Wordsworth. 85 
 
 flash through his lurid genius, he has ceased to be an 
 influencing power in literature. He is the poet of wild 
 unrest. On the other hand, Wordswoi th is the poet of the 
 simple, the lowly, the commonplace, and the spiritual in 
 Nature and in human life. His ideals are those of re- 
 pose, cheerfulness, and contentment. 
 
 Wordsworth, though a High-Church Tory, abounding 
 in strong anti-Catholic prejudices, was not aggressive 
 towards the Church in his poetry. Several of his Ec- 
 clesiastical Sonnets are very Catholic. There is a pathos 
 in the tenderness with which he alludes to the old ab- 
 beys. Feeling that he recorded their fall " untouched 
 by due regret," he finally exclaims: 
 
 " Once ye were holy, ye are holy still ; 
 Your spirit freely let me drink, and live ! " 
 
 Catholicity will always be at home wherever there is 
 genuine poetical inspiration. Aubrey de Vere, giving 
 his personal recollections of the poet, says: " Words- 
 worth was .... in his prose mind, strongly anti-Roman 
 Catholic, largely on political grounds; but that it was 
 otherwise as regards his mind poetic is obvious from 
 many passages in his Christian poetry, especially those 
 which refer to the monastic system and the School- 
 men, and his sonnet on the Blessed Virgin. ... He 
 used to say that the idea of one who was both Virgin 
 and Mother had sunk so deep into the heart of humanity, 
 that there it must ever remain fixed." * 
 
 ^ Essays, vol. ii., p. 283. 
 
86 Books and Reading. 
 
 X. 
 
 2. The first thing tiiat strikes you when entering upon 
 a study of Browning is that there are two clearly defined 
 camps into which students of literature are divided re- 
 garding him. The one will teU you that he is little more 
 than a literary mountebank, tricky in expression and mis- 
 leading in idea; that, read him as you may, back or forth, 
 you cannot fathom him; that after spending time and 
 trouble upon him, you have your labor for your pains. 
 The other camp is equally decided that Browning is the 
 only poet of the period worth studying; that he is at the 
 very least the peer of Shakspere; that there are hidden 
 treasures buried beneath his rugged verses, if you will 
 only labor patiently enough and examine carefully 
 enough the matter and form of his poems. Now, with- 
 out going into either extreme, let us deliberately invest- 
 igate the merits of this energetic and voluminous writer. 
 As the result of my own reading, I must say that Brown- 
 ing stands out pre-eminently a great poet. This we 
 may acknowledge without being blind to his shortcom- 
 ings and his defects. The mastering of him is no slight 
 labor, but it is a labor that well repays. However, it is 
 a study that I would not recommend to children in years, 
 or to children in mind. His subject-matter is frequently 
 such as not every one jcan look full in the face. It deals 
 with nearly every phase of the morbid and the abnormal 
 in human nature. But in his treatment of such subject- 
 matter the poet is never sentimental, and never attempts 
 
Browning. 87 
 
 to carry the reader's sympathies along with crime or false- 
 hood. In his mode of handling the most delicate themes 
 there is a robustness that is invigoratmg. Not that the 
 reader can always accept his artistic interpretations of 
 scenes, incidents, or events. So, too, does his form of 
 expression sound rugged and harsh to the ear, and not 
 unfrequently is it long-drawn-out. But the rhythm is 
 complex, and the sense is involved, and this it is that 
 renders it so difificult to decipher his poems. Nor can 
 we quarrel with the poet or his work on that account. 
 If the artistic conditions under which he constructs 
 his poems are novel and do not fit into our present 
 standards of criticism, it remains for us — it is the part 
 of all wise criticism — to sit humbly at the poet's feet and 
 enlarge our standards. A few years ago the music of 
 Wagner was only discord to ears attuned to the music 
 of Mozart and Beethoven; surely, no one will deny to- 
 day that Wagner has enlarged the possibilities of music- 
 al expression. Even so is it with Browning. He has 
 added a new form to poetical expression, in which the 
 very pauses in his thinking, the very checks to the train 
 of his ideas, find their place. It behooves us, then, to 
 study his methods. 
 
 We shall begin with the estimate taken of his intellect- 
 ual workings by no less an admirer than Mr. A. C. Swin- 
 burne, as one leading us to a better knowledge of his 
 mode of thinking and composing: " If there is any great 
 quality," says this master of English rhythm, " more per- 
 
88 Books and Reading. 
 
 ceptible than another in Mr. Browning's intellect, it is his 
 decisive and incisive faculty of thought, his sureness and 
 intensity of perception, his rapid and trenchant resolution 
 of aim. ... He never thinks but at full speed; and the 
 rate of his thought is to that of another man's as the 
 speed of a railway to that of a wagon, or the speed of a 
 telegraph to that of a railway. It is hopeless to enjoy the 
 charm or apprehend the gist of his writings except with a 
 mind thoroughly alert, an attention awake at all points, a 
 spirit open and ready to be kindled by the contact of the 
 writer's. To do justice to any book which deserves any 
 other sort of justice than that of the fire or the waste- 
 paper basket, it is necessary to read it in a fit frame of 
 mind; and the proper mood in which to study for the 
 first time a book of Mr. Browning's is the freshest, clear- 
 est, most active mood of the mind in its brightest and 
 keenest hours of work." * The aptness of these remarks 
 is soon made apparent. 
 
 The mental alertness here recommended by Mr. Swin- 
 burne is called for from the manner in which Browning 
 constructs his poems. The narration is not consecutive. 
 The various parts have an appearance of being thrown 
 together without design. Mr. Hutton has characterized 
 this state as " mere abruptness and hurry, the rapid, 
 sketchy accumulation of a writer of notes from his men- 
 tal note-book, tumbling one after another in a bewilder- 
 ing crowd." f That is the first impression after a first 
 
 " George Chapman: A Critical Essay. 1875. t Essays, ii., p. I73- 
 
Browning. 89 
 
 glance. You perceive the fitness of the various parts 
 only after you have surveyed the whole poem. For in- 
 stance, you must get well into the third book of Sordello 
 before you can grasp the meaning of the first book. 
 Again, through all he says there run two, sometimes 
 three, currents of thought, and the poet sets one up 
 against the other. He is not only asserting his own 
 position, he is also anticipating the remarks and objec- 
 tions of his imaginary listener. Sometimes the remarks 
 are repeated; more frequently is the reader left to infer 
 them from the sudden digression , of the poet. But it is 
 this process of double thinking that gives the clue to 
 Browning's meaning. And it is the effort to follow the 
 various clashing trains of thought that ^ renders the 
 reading of his magnificent monologues such a strain. 
 We will not call it obscurity. It is a new method of 
 presenting thought, and Browning chooses to reveal 
 character through its intellectual processes. 
 
 A source of great disappointment in reading Brown- 
 ing arises from the fact that we seek in his writings 
 something else besides what Browning intends to put 
 into them. We bring to the reading of him precon- 
 ceived notions culled from our acquaintance with Shak- 
 spere, or Milton, or some other great poet. But Brown- 
 ing is not repeating what the great authors have so 
 grandly said. He has his own methods; he takes his 
 own views of life; he utilizes his own experiences of na- 
 ture, and he gives them all forth after his own peculiar 
 
90 Books and R.eading. 
 
 fashion. He has nought to do with the beaten tracks. 
 He is not repeating. What others have well expressed 
 he leaves alone. He has his own message to deliver to 
 his age. 
 
 And we may set it down that that message — the un- 
 dercurrent of all that he sings — is one of cheerfulness, 
 steady hopefulness, and consistent soundness of mind. 
 He is a believer in perfection, and in perfection beyond 
 the grave. He loves beauty and truth, and all art as 
 the expression of beauty and truth. He is a wonderful 
 searcher of hearts and interpreter of motives, and in 
 scathing, unmincing language he reveals the hidden folds 
 of souls. Read that sublime poem called Easter Day. 
 Note the force and beauty and graphic distinctness with 
 tvhich the poet shows how the soul realizes the vanity of 
 existence without the possession of the Highest Good 
 and Supreme Love. Not the good things of this earth- 
 ly life — not artistic work — not scientific pursuits — not 
 mere earthly love — can satiate the soul; these are only 
 shadows of the reality belonging to the Beatific Vision. 
 
 B ut it is not easy to disentangle what is of Brown- 
 ing's own conviction from what is in keeping with the 
 character into whose mouth he puts the words. Thus, 
 Mrs. Orr tells us that the character of Don Juan in Fifine 
 at the Fair is a standing puzzle to Bro ming's readers, 
 " because that which he condemns in it, and that which 
 he does not, are not to be distinguished." * It will 
 
 * Handbook to Browning, fifth edition, p. 150. 
 
Browning. 91 
 
 help us in this instance to make the puzzle less intri- 
 cate, if we bear in mind that Don Juan is an artist be- 
 yond the necessity of working for his art, with all the in- 
 stincts of the Bohemian, loose in thought as he is loose 
 in morals, yet just such a character as would be most 
 likely to mingle with low and vile theories of life some of 
 the sublimest ideas concerning the art of which he is pas- 
 sionately fond. In nearly all Browning's wonderful mon- 
 ologues is to be found this commingling of the high and 
 the low, the true and the false, in such a manner that it 
 takes thought and study to separate them. Amid patent 
 sophistry, and an apparent trifling with his subject, there 
 jets forth a flame of scorching truth that burns itself into 
 the brain. Tzk^JSishop Blougram's Apology. Bishop Blou- 
 gram, as we know, represents Cardinal Wiseman, and Mrs. 
 Orr tells us that " Cardinal Wiseman himself reviewed 
 the poem, not disapprovingly, in a Catholic publication 
 of the time." * You must not for a moment imagine that 
 the explanation here given of the Bishop's faith and of his 
 ecclesiastical position is the one approving itself to Car- 
 dinal Wiseman's own conviction. It is an explanation 
 not to be taken seriously even in the poet's intentions. 
 It is simply a meeting with flippancy and shallow pretence 
 on their own ground. 
 
 " For Blougram, he believed, say, half he spol<e, 
 
 The other ponioii, a'; he shaped it thus 
 
 For argumentatory purposes, 
 
 He felt his foe was foolish to dispute. 
 
 • Browning Handbook, p. 1 72. 
 
 The Cardinal, however, resented the liberty taken with him as an 
 impertinence. See The Rambler, ]^x^., 1856. 
 
92 Books and Reading 
 
 Some arbitrary accidental thoughts 
 
 That crossed his mind^ amusing because new, 
 
 He chose to represent as fixtures there." * 
 
 And yet, in the midst of this trifling with his subject, 
 you come across some wholesome truths clearly ex- 
 pressed. In reply, for instance, to the request to purify 
 his faith and purge it of all so-called modern " excres- 
 cences," such as belief in the liquefaction of the blood of 
 St. Januarius in Naples, the Bishop says: 
 
 " Clearing off one excrescence to see two, 
 There's ever a next in size, now grown as big, 
 Tliat meets the knife: I cut and cut ai;ain ! 
 First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last 
 But Fichle's clever cut at God himself 7 
 Experimcjitalize on sacred things I 
 T ti-ust nor hand 7ior eye nor heart nor brain 
 To stop betivus : they all get dr^mk alike." t 
 
 Destroy belief in miracles — in the power of God — and 
 you destroy belief in God Himself. I need not tell you 
 that the poet here alludes to an expression attributed to 
 Fichte: " Gentlemen, in to-morrow's lecture we will 
 create God." 
 
 Again, take Thi Statue and the Bust. The poet here 
 seems to prefer activity to inaction, even when the end 
 in sight is a bad one: 
 
 " Let a man contend to the uttermost 
 For his life's set prize, be it what it will." 
 
 * Bishop Bloiigram\ Apology, p. 1 14. 
 t Ibid., p. 108. 
 
Browning. 93 
 
 But suddenly, in the last stanza, he turns the tables 
 upon the complacently virtuous, with " the unlit lamp 
 and the ungirt loin," who are content to avoid evil with- 
 out making great effort to do good: 
 
 " You of virtue (we issue join), 
 How strive you? De tefabula." 
 
 And thus does he turn an essentially immoral act into 
 a moral sermon. 
 
 Another feature of Browning adding to our difficulty 
 in understanding him, is that his themes are many of 
 them foreign, and deal with obscure points of history. 
 The humanity underlying these themes, — the love and the 
 hate, the anger and the jealousy, the ambition and the cun- 
 ning, — is indeed of the stamp that makes the whole world 
 kin. He takes it for granted that his readers have trav- 
 elled; that they are equally at home in Florence and 
 Venice, in Paris and Geneva and Rome; that the pict- 
 ure-galleries of Europe are so many books in which 
 they are well-read; that they are acquainted with the 
 sayings and doings of prominent contemporaries; that 
 they possess an intimate knowledge of history, and 
 that they are familiar with the technique of music. 
 Therefore does he claim a large share of culture in its 
 broadest sense as a preliminary to the right understand- 
 ing of his most characteristic poems. We are told that 
 he wrote the Fied Piper of Hamelin for Macready's young 
 son William; we regret that he has not done more such 
 work with children in his mind's eye. 
 
^4 Books and Reading. 
 
 But as Browning is a teacher and an interpreter of life 
 rather than an idle singer of an empty day, it behooves us 
 to know definitely the lessons he would inculcate. To 
 begin with, life is for him a stern reality, a matter of 
 will, and pain, and suffering, — the good of it and the ill 
 of it both essential to enable the soul to reach the goal 
 of perfection. And so the poet exhorts us to welcome 
 the pain, to persist in the strife: 
 
 " Then, welcome each rebuff 
 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go ! 
 Be our joys three-parts pain ! 
 Strive, and hold cheap the strain; 
 Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe."* 
 
 He is an optimist. He finds a place for every sin, a 
 solace for every misery. Gazing on the wretched sui- 
 cides in the Morgue at Paris, he says: 
 
 " I thought, and think, their sins atoned." 
 
 And in the concluding stanza of the same poem the 
 poet thus expresses the hope that what is seemingly 
 beyond repair shall be finally mended; 
 
 " It's wiser being good than bad; 
 
 It's safer being meek than fierce : 
 It's fitter being sane than mad. 
 
 My own hope is, a sun will pierce 
 The thickest cloud earth ever stretched ; 
 
 That after Last returns the First, 
 
 * Rabbi Beit f.zra. 
 
Browning. 95 
 
 Though a wide compass round be fetched ; 
 That what began best, can't end worst, 
 Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.* 
 
 Far from being properly fixed, the value of restraint 
 and self-discipline is almost ignored in Browning's theory 
 of life. His ideal of living is will-power carried into 
 action. True, he would make of the evil in one's life 
 an experience out of which one might rise to good. And 
 so may one within clearly defined limits. But to go 
 farther, as the poet seems to do, and make wrong-doing 
 the essential out of which right-doing may come, were 
 as false in art as it is false in morality. Under no cir- 
 cumstances is the doing of evil to be urged that good 
 may follow. Perfection, with Browning, is not the soul's 
 spiritual growth in holiness and conformity to the will 
 of God. It is rather a taking hold of the goods and the 
 ills of life indifferently as they present themselves, and 
 utilizing them to the best advantage. Without evil 
 there would be no growth of character; therefore does 
 he call evil blessed. f Life, ideal life, he defines clearly 
 enough to mean 
 
 " .-learning to abhor 
 
 The false and love the tfue, truth treasured snatch by snatch." t 
 
 But what is the false, what the true? False and true, 
 instead of being contradictory, are in his philosophy 
 supplementary one to the other. Hence in another 
 
 * Apparent Failure. \ Bishop Blougraiii's Apology. 
 
 \ Fifine, f.i\Z\. 
 
96 Books and Reading. 
 
 place he represents the dying soul as beholding evil 
 merged in good: 
 
 " Over ihe ball of it, 
 
 Peering and prying, 
 How I see all of it. 
 
 Life there, outlying! 
 Roughness and smoothness. 
 
 Shine and defilement, 
 Grace and uncouthness ; 
 
 One reconcilement. 
 * - # ■* ^ * 
 
 " All's lend-and-borrow ; 
 
 Good, see, wants evil, 
 Joy demands sorrow. 
 
 Angel weds devil ! " * 
 
 The doctrine of Browning regarding pain is not to be 
 identified with the pessimism or agnosticism that would 
 sacrifice human nature to the general good without 
 hope of personal advantage or belief in a personal God. 
 Browning believes in a personal and a loving God. He 
 can conceive no other: 
 
 " In youth 1 looked to tliese very skies, 
 And probing their immensities, 
 I found God there. His visible power; 
 Yet felt in my heart, amid all its sense 
 Of the power, an equal evidence 
 That His love, there too, was the noliler dower. 
 For the loving worm within its clod 
 Were diviner than a loveless god 
 Amid his worlds." t 
 * Pisji^nk-SightSj I. t Christmas Eve. 
 
Broivning. 97 
 
 Browning had no patience with the agnosticism of 
 the day. To the last, he retained his belief in certain 
 saving truths of Christianity and in a Divine revelation. 
 The Divintity of Christ is the great solution to all man's 
 world-problems : 
 
 " I say, the acknowledgment of God in Christ 
 Accepted by ihy reason, solves for ihee 
 All questions in, the earth and out of it. 
 And has so far advanced ihee to be wise. 
 Wouldst thou unprove this to re prove the proved? — 
 In life's mere minute, with power to use that proof. 
 Leave knowledge and revert to how it sprung? 
 Thou hast it ; use it and forthwith, or die ! " ' 
 
 That is, he would have men employ the short span of 
 their lives, " life's mere minute," in living out the sav- 
 ing truths of Christianity rather than speculating upon 
 them. And again, in Ferishtah's Fancies, a poem of his 
 old age, written in 1883, he represents the imaginary 
 Persian sage as counselling the disciple who in his blind 
 zeal had cursed, kicked, and cuffed one who said: — 
 
 " God once on earth assumed a human shape,'' 
 
 rather with all humility to hold in awe the great truth he 
 does not understand — 
 
 " Fitlier thou saidst, • / stand appalled before 
 Conception unattainable by me. 
 Who need it most? " t 
 
 * A Death in the Desert. 
 
 t FerishtalC s Fancies, v. The Surf, 
 
g8 Books and Reading. 
 
 Is there not here a covert rebuke to those of the pres- 
 ent day who scorn the saving doctrine ? — 
 
 But the Christianity which Browning championed was 
 too broad in its scope and too indefinite in its dogma to 
 satisfy a sincere Christian soul: 
 
 " One trims the bark 'twixt shoal and shelf. 
 
 And sees, each side. Ihe good effects of it, 
 
 A value for religion's self, 
 
 A carelessness about the sects of it. 
 
 Let me enjoy my conviction, 
 
 Nor watch my neighbor's faith with frelfulness, 
 
 Still spying there some dereliction 
 
 Of truth, perversity, iorgetfulness. '* 
 
 This is a vague creed. It is the creed of indifferent- 
 ism. It is not the steady, unwavering belief in definite 
 dogmas revealed by God, and exactly defined by Him 
 in the teachings of His visible Church. And so, whilst 
 Browning in his own way holds by some truths of Chris- 
 tian revelation, he cannot in any sense or under any cir- 
 cumstances be set up as an expounder of Christian 
 doctrine. At least, we Catholics prefer receiving the 
 teachings of Christianity from our Little Catechism, 
 from the decrees of the Councils, and the decisions of 
 the Popes. Therein may we find the fulness of God's 
 revelation to men so far as is needful for men's souls. 
 Therein might Browning have received light regarding 
 
 * Christmas Eve, 
 
Browning. gg 
 
 many a problem upon which he has left enigmatic utter- 
 ances. * 
 
 And yet Browning seemed to take an especial 
 pleasure in dealing with Catholic ecclesiastical subjects: 
 now it is monks, now it is bishops, now it is legates 
 now it is popes. But his treatment of these subjects 
 is in the main void of sympathy. For a man so 
 bold, so outspoken, and so apparently above human 
 respect, it is astonishing to notice the persistence with 
 which he ignores what is good, and what makes for 
 good, in our Catholic faith, and misrepresents our ritual 
 and ceremonies, our history, our popes and cardinals, 
 our bishops and priests and monks. In Christmas Eve 
 he describes the solemn hush, the awe and reverence ac- 
 companying the consecration of the host like one of the 
 initiated. Elsewhere in the same poem he takes care to 
 tell us what he thinks of it all. Cunning and worldli- 
 ness and deep-laid selfishness are to his mind the lead- 
 ing traits of our churchmen. Mediaeval Catholicity in 
 the poems of Browning is far from being the garden of 
 virtue Kenelm Digby has so glowingly described. The 
 sanctifying influence of the sacraments is beyond his 
 power of realizing. This is all the more astonishing 
 when we remember that Browning spent the best and 
 happiest portion of his life in Catholic Italy. " Italy," 
 
 * See in The Month for February, 1890, a valuable article from the 
 pen of the Reverend John Riclcaby, S. J., on Browning as a religious 
 teacher. 
 
100 Books and Reading. 
 
 said he, " was my university." Except Pompilia in 
 The Ring and the Book, of all his elaborately drawn charac- 
 ters he has scarcely left one in which the spirit of Catholi- 
 city has had a wholesome influence. He never learned to 
 appreciate the earnestness and sincerity of this people's 
 faith; except in the case mentioned, and perhaps in the 
 beautiful character of Pippa, he has given but little evi- 
 dence that he realized how to every Catholic his faith is 
 as much a living presence as the material world. He 
 simply presents those types of Catholics that constitute 
 the stock-in-trade of Protestant fiction. That a man of 
 his intelligence and natural inquisitiveness could have 
 lived his days without ever noticing the flowers of 
 Catholic piety that must have bloomed in every village 
 in Italy, is another instance of the power of prejudice to 
 blindfold the acutest, so that, having eyes they see not. 
 Cardinal Newman told us long ago, as a deliberate 
 opinion learned from his own experience, " that no con- 
 ceivable absurdities can surpass the absurdities which 
 are firmly believed of Catholics by sensible, kind-hearted, 
 well-intentioned Protestants." * 
 
 There are noble exceptions to this imperviousness. 
 Francesca, who has given us the pathetic Story of Ida, 
 Uved in the same town and breathed the same atmos- 
 phere with Browning. Her womanly, sympathetic soul 
 learned to appreciate the inner Catholic spirit that she 
 perceived. She found the beautiful wayside flowers of 
 
 * Present Position of Catholics in England, p. 41, 
 
Browning. loi 
 
 peasant poetry in Catholic Tuscany, so instinct with 
 fervid Catholic devotion, possessed of a fascination that 
 she could not resist, and she gathered a charming bou- 
 quet, fresh with the morning dews of piety, and large- 
 hearted, noble-thinking John Ruskin tied them together 
 with a beautiful ribbon of praise and commendation, 
 and we inhale their fragrance and find it refreshing. 
 And passing from the pages of this simple poesy, which 
 reveals to us genuine Catholic Italian life, and which is 
 so redolent of earth and sky, back to Browning's inter- 
 pretations of Italian sentiment — to his records of crime 
 and sinister motive and rampant passion — is like 
 shutting out the light and air of heaven, and working 
 amid the sickening odors of the dissecting room. The 
 Puritanism of Browning's nature entered into his art and 
 made it as cold and crotchety and narrow in sentiment as 
 the religion of Puritanism itself. His subjects are largely 
 drawn from the Italian chronicles of the seventeenth 
 century. I fear that Browning's friend Stendhal did him 
 but a doubtful service in putting within his reach, and 
 directing his attention to, these revolting tales of crime. 
 No doubt the poet's aptitudes for interpreting certain 
 phases of life were better than- for picturing certain 
 other phases. He had to consult his limitations. We 
 dare say Browning could interpret the soul-workings of 
 a Fra Lippo Lippi far better than those of a Fra Angeli- 
 co, or the grovellings of a sensual and jealous Spanish 
 friar more accurately than the aspirations of a Philip 
 
I02 Books and Reading. 
 
 Neri; or he could concentrate the bad side of the Re- 
 naissance spirit — " its worldliness, inconsistency, pride, 
 hypocrisy, ignorance of itself, love of art, of luxury, and 
 of good Latin," to borrow Ruskin's words * — in his poem 
 The Bishop orders his Tomb, more powerfully than he could 
 the good spirit of that period as illustrated in the words 
 and acts of a Carlo Borromeo. But while we accept his 
 work at its full value, it is proper that we enter protest 
 against his interpretations being taken as the correct 
 measure of Catholic life and Catholic faith. It is proper 
 that, while we may admire his soul-studies — whether he 
 depicts the disintegration of a sordid soul made dizzy 
 by success, as in A Soul's Tragedy, or whether he shows 
 the budding forth of a soul into life and light, raised up 
 beyond the ambitions of place and power at the first 
 touch of true love, as in Colombe's Birthday — we should 
 refuse to accept his spiritual and religious teaching, 
 wherever they in the least diverge from what we as 
 Catholics believe to be true in faith and morals. 
 
 But in spite of all Browning's shortcomings— and his 
 shortcomings are numerous as regards both matter and 
 form — he is still a great poet, the full measure of whose 
 greatness the present age has not yet taken. He is truly 
 many-sided in his themes. He can be tender, and deli- 
 cate, and pathetic. He can be humorous and tragical; 
 he can be lyrical with a melody deep and subtle and con- 
 trolling measures from the simple to the intricate; he 
 
 ■* Modetn Painters, vol. iv., p. 379. 
 
Browning. I03 
 
 can tell a story with a life and energy that specially fit 
 into his verse — witness The Good News from Ghent, and 
 Heme Riel; — he can build up a philosophical thought in 
 his rugged verse. He is the poet of intense passion in its 
 varied moods, from fierce hate to love in all its kinds 
 and in all its degrees. In that lyric tragedy, suggested by 
 a picture of Maclise's, In a Gondola, the dying victim is so 
 absorbed in his guilty love that even the pain of his death- 
 wound is numbed. In Evelyn Hope, one of Browning's 
 most tender and pathetic lyrics, all time is annihilated in 
 the heart of the lover as he sits by his child-love, whom — 
 
 " God's Hand beckoned unawares, — 
 And the sweel white brow is all of her ; " 
 
 and in the intensity of his feelings he claims her as his in 
 the future — 
 
 "You will wake, and remember, and understand." 
 In The Laboratory, note the joy with which the jealous 
 woman in her frenzy gk)ats over the poison that is being 
 prepared for her rival. You can hear the hiss of hate in 
 her voice and feel its scorching in her breath. Was 
 ever passion so concentrated into words ? Every ex- 
 pression in these poems is a passionate spark; every line 
 is a flame. 
 
 Browning is unique as a master of the monologue. 
 Take, for instance, one of the most perfect poems he 
 has written, Karshuh, the Arab Physician. Karshish, 
 "the picker-up of learning's crumbs," writes to a brother 
 
104 Books and Reading. 
 
 physician, "Abib, all-sagacious in our art," an account of 
 bis meeting with Lazarus, who had been raised from the 
 dead. He pretends to treat the miracle in an off-hand 
 manner, as something every physician can explain — 
 
 " 'Tis but a case of mania— sub-induced 
 
 By epilepsy, at the turning-point 
 
 Of trance prolonged unduly some three days." 
 
 Even in such glib words would our own un-Christian 
 medical experts decide upon the nature and cause of an 
 approved miracle at Lourdes. Indeed, Karshish simply 
 mentions the event to fill up his letter, and as part of 
 other seemingly far more important news. But in order 
 to make his report of the case complete — 
 
 " (in writing to a leech 
 
 'Tis well to keep back nothing of a case) " 
 
 he tells how Lazarus regards Jesus as none other than 
 
 God Himself: 
 
 " This man so cured regards the curer, then. 
 As — God forgive me ! who but God Himself, 
 Creator and sustainer of the world. 
 That came and dwelt in flesh on it awhile! " — 
 
 And then, after repeating other sayings of Lazarus, he 
 grows impatient and assumes indifference to him and his 
 sayings as those of a madman! 
 
 " But why all this of what he saith? 
 
 Why write of trivial matters, things of price 
 Calling at every moment for remark ? " 
 And at once he turns to acquaint him of a species of 
 plant that he noticed: — 
 
Browning. 105 
 
 " I noticed on the margin o( a pool 
 Blue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, 
 Aboundeth, very nitrous. // is strange ! " 
 
 The last words show that, his seeming indifference 
 notwithstanding, the story of Lazarus still haunts him, 
 and after another apology for its prolixity — 
 
 "•Once more Ihy pardon and farewell," 
 
 the whole force and truth and sublimity of the Incarna- 
 tion flashes forth in a postscript: 
 
 "The very God! think, Abib ; dost thou think? 
 
 So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too 
 
 So, through the thunder comes a human voice 
 Saying, ' O heart I made, a heart beats here ! 
 B'ace, my hands fashioned, see it in myself! 
 Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine, 
 But love I gave thee, with myself to love, 
 And thou must love me who have died for thee! ' 
 The madman saith He said so: it is strange." 
 
 The power of imagination that created that poem, 
 with all its depth and subtlety of thought, is of a su- 
 perior order. And a greater feat still — the master-piece 
 of Browning's life — is the Ring and the Book. The poet 
 comes across the verbal process of a domestic tragedy 
 that happened several hundred years ago. An Italian 
 nobleman murders his young wife and her parents under 
 peculiar circumstances, and suffers the death-penalty. 
 The poet breathes a spirit into the document and re- 
 suscitates the life of the period. He gives the very throb- 
 bings of the popular pulse under the consternation caused 
 
io6 Books atid Reading. 
 
 by the red-handed act. You have two versions of the 
 ordinary people and their comments upon the motives 
 that led to it, upon the morning after it had been perpe- 
 trated — one favoring the husband and one the wife; you 
 have a third version showing 
 
 " What the superior social section thinks. 
 In person of some men of quality; " 
 
 you have the special pleadings pro and con in the courts; 
 you have the cool and cynical version of the murderer, 
 confident in the prestige of his noble name — biting, sar- 
 castic, thoroughly wicked; you have the pathetic story 
 of Pompilia before her death, the child-wife and mother 
 — parting with her two-weeks old babe— so tender and 
 pure — so docile in her obedience to parents and husband 
 — so strong to resist temptation — so resigned to God's 
 will in her sufferings and her tragic death; — altogether, 
 you have ten different versions of the same event accord- 
 ing to the various points of view and the degrees of in- 
 terest different persons or classes of persons take in it — 
 
 " Learn one lesson hence, 
 
 Of many which whatever lives should teach, 
 The lesson that our human speech is nought 
 Our human testimony false, our fame 
 And human estimation words and wind." 
 
 It is a lesson that Browning has been inculcating from 
 Bordello to Fifine j namely, that words frequently fall 
 short of the full expression of truth, and that the fullest 
 expression is to be found in the representation of art: 
 
Browning. 107 
 
 " It is the glory and good of Art, 
 
 That Art remains the one way possible 
 
 Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. . . . 
 
 But Art, — wherein man nowise speaks to men, 
 
 Only to mankind, —Art may tell a truth 
 
 Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, 
 
 Nor wrong the thought missing the mediate word. 
 
 So may you paint your picture, twice show truth 
 
 Beyond mere imagery on the wall, — 
 
 So note by note bring music from your mind 
 
 Deeper than ever the Andante dived, 
 
 So write a book shall mean beyond the facts 
 Suffice the eye and save the soul beside." * 
 
 Such is the kind of book Browning has been striving 
 to give us all along — 
 
 " A book shall mean beyond the facts 
 
 Suffice the eye and save the soul beside," 
 
 and it is for us to get at the meaning beyond the facts 
 and learn the greater truth. Furthermore, it is because 
 of this deeper meaning, and of the poet's many-sided 
 manner of regarding truth, that he seems so lavish of 
 phrase and clause, each throwing light on different as- 
 pects of the proposition he would state, and employs in- 
 volved sentences with parenthetical side-glances and 
 elaborate digressions. The reading of such sentences is 
 wearisome work, but when the sentences are grasped 
 in all their bearings you find that no line, or clause, 
 or phrase can be spared. Having done his utmost — 
 
 * The Ring and the Book, book, xii., 838-63. 
 
io8 Books and Reading. 
 
 and he tells us that he did his utmost — in the art to 
 which his life was a devotion, he may well say: " Nor 
 do I apprehend any more charges of being wilfully ob- 
 scure, unconscientiously careless, or perversely harsh."* 
 In the long list of his writings, from Pauline with its 
 immaturities to Asolando, in which the poet for the last 
 time runs his fingers along the various chords of his 
 lyre, and strikes clearly and accurately the diverse notes 
 at his command, there is much — however unwilf uUy so — 
 that is obscure and unsatisfactory to the ordinary reader; 
 nay, with his friend, biographer, and admirer we may 
 add, that " of all his faults, the worst is that jugglery, 
 that inferior legerdemain, with the elements of the 
 beautiful in verse;'' f but after making due allowance 
 for his shortcomings, we can still find much in his poetry 
 that is intensely earnest and suggestive, much that is 
 new, fresh, broadening, and formative. | Browning is 
 one of the great forces in English literature. 
 
 Turn we now to an opposite pole from Browning in 
 method of thinking and in form of expression. 
 
 * Selections from Browning. Dedicatory Letters to Tennyson, 1872. 
 
 t William Sharp, Life of Brownings p. 205. 
 
 t Cardinal Wiseman thus concludes his review of Browning's Men 
 and Women: "For ourselves, we thanE Mr. Browning, sceptical 
 and reckless as he is, for a rare treat in these thoughtful and able vol- 
 umes . . . .Though much of their matter is extremely offensive to Catho- 
 lics, yet beneath the surface there is an undercurrent of thought that 
 is by no means inconsistent with our religion. " The Rambler,, Jan., 
 1856, p. 71. 
 
Tennyson. 109 
 
 XI. 
 
 I SHALL not dilate at length upon Tennyson. He has 
 no peer among the world-singers of the day. He is de- 
 servedly popular. He has made his art the earnest 
 study of a long life. From the feeble poetic touch of 
 Oriana (1830) to the firm artistic grasp of Rizpah (1880) 
 the distance in degree of merit far outnumbers the dis- 
 tance in years. But the delicacy and strength and finish ■ 
 in Tennyson's later work came to him after intense 
 labor carried on without intermission for nigh half a 
 century. It is not spontaneous. No poet has been 
 more reserved about himself than has Tennyson. Still, 
 in the comparative study of the various editions of no 
 poet's works can you more clearly trace the development 
 of the poet's mind and the growth in his firmness of 
 artistic touch. You have all grown familiar with his 
 beautiful thoughts, his noble ideals of life, his rare deli- 
 cacy of expression, his exquisite taste, his conservatism 
 in imagery, in propriety of conduct, and in the use of 
 words. Unlike Browning frequently, and Goethe at times, 
 he carries very few enigmas on his sleeve for the reading 
 world to puzzle over. Unlike Wordsworth, he is reticent 
 about self and very sparing in words. ^ Minds open to 
 his impressions and yield to his influence more easily 
 than to the impressions and the influence of Wordsworth 
 or Browning. Unfortunately, the Tennyson that is known 
 to many readers is a traditional Tennyson, the measure 
 of whose genius is determined by a few of his early 
 
I lo Books and Reading. 
 
 poems of exquisite finish, such as Lockshy Hall, or The 
 May-Queen. Such pieces as these are but the blossom- 
 ings of a rich and ripe fruitage. The Tennyson that I 
 would have you know is a poet of thought as well as a 
 poet of sentiment. 
 
 We will not quarrel with his dramatic poems. They 
 are not without great intrinsic merit. True it is, the 
 author places King Edward the Confessor, Queen Mary, 
 and Becket in a false historical light, in which he shows 
 himself as narrow a bigot as Browning. True also is it 
 that the poet's work is to create characters, and not to 
 reproduce history. And no doubt, Tennyson believes 
 that if he chooses to make Edward inane, and Mary 
 hysterical, and Becket at times maudlin, he is acting 
 within his rights as a poet and taking liberties with his- 
 tory that Shakspere and Walter Scott did not disdain.* 
 Moreover, has he not the accumulated prejudices and 
 distortions of history for three centuries to sustain his 
 action .? None the less has he transmitted in the amber 
 of his lines false notions of Catholic historical person- 
 ages that thousands of heedless readers will accept as 
 true history. In this sense he does us an injustice, and 
 beautified injustice is not and cannot be the measure 
 of literary or artistic merit. Read the Becket of Aubrey 
 de Vere by the side of that of Tennyson, and you will 
 
 * 'ae.t Amy Robsart and the Earl of Leicester: A Critical Inquiry. 
 By George Adlard, London, 1870. See also Scriliner's Magazine, 
 December, 1890. 
 
Tennyson. 1 1 1 
 
 see how a great poet can be historically correct, and at 
 the same time create a noble character. 
 
 We will stop at Maud only long enough to say that it 
 is a splendid study of a morbid hysterical character; 
 not as Mr. Richard Holt Hutton would have it, a carica- 
 ture or " an exposure of hysterics," * but the genuine 
 hysterical mood with its screeching falsetto notes ring- 
 ing through extremes of joy and extremes of sadness, 
 till the hero recovers the equilibrium of his maddened 
 brain. 
 
 " 'Tis time, O passionate heart and morbid eye, 
 That old hysterical mock-disease should die." 
 
 In these lines have we the key to the whole poem. The 
 language is not the language of a well-balanced mind — 
 and as such it must needs be imperfect, irregular, and 
 at times unrhythmic. 
 
 Nor will we do more than touch upon another poem 
 that has been greatly misunderstood, and scarcely ap- 
 preciated at its full value; I mean The Princess. It is 
 an exquisite contribution, in playful mock-heroic style, to 
 the vexed and ever-growing problem of woman's place 
 in the modern world. She certainly holds the right 
 place in Tennyson's own heart. And we all of us must 
 feel indebted to the poet, and we must greatly cherish 
 the poem in which we find so beautifully interpreted our 
 deepest thoughts regarding that being whom every man 
 
 * Essays Theological and Literary, vol. ii., p. 308. 
 
1 1 2 Books and Reading. 
 
 tenderly cherishes in his heart of hearts — the fond 
 mother: — 
 
 "One 
 
 Not learned, save in gracious houseiiold ways, 
 Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants ; 
 No angel, but a dearer being all dipt 
 In angel instincts, breathing paradise, 
 Interpreter between the gods and men, 
 Who looked all native to her place, and yet 
 On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere 
 Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 
 Swayed to her from Iheir orbits as they moved, 
 And girdled her with music. Happy he 
 With such a mother ! Faith in womankind 
 Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 
 Comes easy to him, and, though he trip and fall. 
 He shall not bhnd his soul with clay.' * 
 
 Assuredly, our literature is all the richer for so noble a 
 passage. But we must not tarry. 
 
 There is, however, one caution that I would give you 
 in reading Tennyson. It is that you do not mistake the 
 exquisite simplicity of his language for poverty of ex- 
 pression or barrenness of thought. Language is for him 
 the graceful drapery every fold of which all the more 
 distinctly reveals the body of thought which it clothes. 
 The words are so simple, and the rhythm is so musical, 
 you are easily beguiled into the illusion that upon a first 
 reading you have grasped the whole meaning of the 
 
 * The Princess. 
 
Tennyson. 113 
 
 poem. Not so, however. All great art leaves unsaid 
 more than it expresses, and its influence is in proportion 
 to its power of suggesting or evoking the unsaid things. 
 It may be chat occasionally, in his desire for artistic finish, 
 the poet stops short of the word or the line that would 
 remove a certain vagueness which readers of culture 
 feel after the study of some of his philosophical poems. 
 Even the genius of a Goethe — infinitely suggestive 
 though he be, and great word-master that he was — does 
 not always satisfy the student of his deeper poems. We 
 must also bear in mind that the poetical treatment is 
 distinct from the philosophical treatment of a subject. 
 Especially is it to be remembered when reading In 
 Memoriam. This is one of the most representative 
 poems of our age. Its sentiments, its gropings, its as- 
 pirations, its questionings, all find a voice in language 
 as simple and delicate as ever clothed profound thought. 
 The poem is not simply the utterings of a soul bewailing 
 a dear departed friend; it is much more for those who 
 would fathom its vhole meaning; it is the cry of a soul 
 weighed down with the problems of the day, and in the 
 presence of death wrestling with the doubts and philo- 
 sophical shadows that hover over the mystery of the 
 grave — struggling and groping and passing from the 
 darkness of scepticism into the light of Christian reve- 
 lation. 
 
 In like manner, the Idylls of the King, as they now stand 
 completed in their unity of plan and grandeur of design, 
 
1 1 4 Books and Reading. 
 
 are more than mere transcripts from Mallory's Mortc 
 d' Arthur. From out of this romance, and from the 
 Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and from the Ma- 
 binogion as translated by Lady Guest,* the poet had taken 
 the old material and therewith erected unto himself 
 an altogether new temple of song, having a new mean- 
 ing and significance — 
 
 "New-old and shadowing sense at war with soul, 
 Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost, 
 Streams lii^e a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain-peak, 
 And cleaves to Cairn and Cromlech still." t 
 
 The poem shadows forth the soul's moral struggles 
 through all stages of life, from that of unsuspecting 
 S^outh to that of experienced old age. 
 
 And here I would dwell a moment upon the central 
 poem containing the central thought of the Idylls. 
 Though the poet has breathed a modern spirit into his 
 poem, still he could not if he would separate the subject 
 from its Catholic groundwork. He has therefore re- 
 tained the Holy Grail as the centr^ idea of the struct- 
 ure, even as it was the central point of the older Arthur- 
 ian cycle of romances. J 
 
 * Professor Rhuys of Oxford is now completing a new edition cf the 
 Mabinogion, giving the full text in the original Welsh, and in the ac- 
 companying translation supplying the numerous passages omitted by 
 Lady Guest: 
 
 t Idylls of the King: Dedication to the Queen. 
 
 X I have explained the meaning of the Holy Grail in Philosophy oj 
 Literature, sixth edition, pp. 90-96. 
 
Tennyson. • 115 
 
 The Idylls deal with CathoHc times and are rooted in 
 Catholic customs. Comments upon them are numerous 
 enough. But why cannot they be made without casting 
 slurs upon our religion ? Why cannot mediaeval times 
 be alluded to without identifying them with superstition ? 
 Superstition there was then and superstition there is 
 still. Here is an author who, speaking in 1878 of the 
 allegorical and mystical thread running through the 
 Idylls, among many good and beautiful things to which 
 we can subscribe, says of the Holy Grail: "It shows us 
 how our poor fallen humanity — inwardly conscious of its 
 own partial degradation and failure, and yet in its sin- 
 born blindness feeling after higher things with but feeble 
 and uncertain touch — seeks, indeed, to still the cravings 
 of its soul with Religion ; but lowers and degrades that 
 sacred form by confounding her with the fantastic shape 
 of her counterfeit sister. Superstition. ... In this as- 
 pect the poem cuts at the root of all those countless 
 undisciplined and extravagant growths borne by the fair 
 tree of Religion when suffered to run wild." And 
 amongst these growths so cut at the author instances 
 "the whole system of monasticism." * Now, does this 
 author know the . whole meaning of the Holy Grail ? 
 Does he know that in the original intention of the first 
 poet who gave it a place in legend and story, it is an 
 emblem of the Holy Eucharist and an allegory prefigur- 
 ing spiritual perfection ? Is it superstition for Galahad 
 
 * Henry Elsdale, Studies in the Idylls, pp. 58, 59. 
 
1 1 6 Books and Reading. 
 
 and Percivale to break with their present life and seek 
 the higher spiritual perfection ? We fear there are more 
 things in the Holy Grail than are dreamt of in Mr. 
 Elsdale's philosophy. 
 
 Again, in an admirable and suggestive book recently 
 issued on the poetry of Tennyson, I find the beautiful 
 Catholic meaning of the poem ignored and a wholly 
 foreign meaning imposed upon it. " The Holy Grail," 
 says the author, " shows us the strife between supersti- 
 tion, which is a sensual religion, and true faith, which is 
 spiritual. . Out of the mystical twilight which envel- 
 ops the action this truth emerges: that those knights 
 who thought of the Grail only as an external wonder, a 
 miracle which they fain would see because others had 
 seen it, ' followed wandering fires; ' while those to whom 
 it became a symbol of inward purity and grace, like Ga- 
 lahad and Percivale, and even the dull, honest, simple- 
 minded Bors and the sin-tormented Launcelot, finally 
 attained unto the vision." * This is decidedly an un- 
 Catholic interpretation. It is an interpretation that the 
 poem will not bear and that the poet would not sanction. 
 It is not superstition that concealed the vision from 
 Launcelot in the hall ; it is Launcelot's sin — 
 
 " His honor rooted in dishonor stood, 
 
 And faith unfaithful kepi him falsely true " t 
 
 It is not simply because the Grail was " a symbol of 
 
 ^ Henry Van Dyke : The Poetry of Tennyson, p. 184. 
 t Elaine. 
 
Tennyson. 117 
 
 purity and grace " to Galahad and Percivale that .these 
 noble knights had the vision of it, it is because purity 
 and grace dwelt in their unsullied hearts and innocent 
 lives. The light of God's grace descends upon these 
 men of prowess and courtly demeanor, and the fire of 
 God's love becomes enkindled in their souls, and forth- 
 with those amongst them who are pure of heart, and 
 those amongst them who are repentant at heart, leave 
 the gayeties of joust and tournament, and the excitements 
 of knightly adventure, and kingly approval, and lady's 
 smile, to follow the superior spiritual life typified in the 
 quest of the Holy Grail. Nothing can hold them back. 
 Not the cynical sneers of a Modred; not the practical 
 common-sense reasoning of an Arthur. They- lose 
 themselves that they may save their souls. Whither 
 the Spirit of God directs them, thither flee they, heed- 
 less of obstacles. They get shrived of their sins; by 
 prayer and fasting and humiliation and the annihilation 
 of self and incessant struggle with half-maddening 
 passions, as in the case of Launcelot, they prepare 
 themselves to comprehend and to live that spiritual 
 life which they had hitherto neglected. This is the 
 meaning I read in that magnificent poem. And when 
 I go back to the poem as it exists in earlier forms than 
 those from which Tennyson drew, I find this meaning 
 confirmed. " The Voice instructs Joseph of Arimathea 
 as follows: ' Place a cloth upon the greensward. Let 
 thy people seat themselves around. When they shall 
 
1 1 8 Books and Reading. 
 
 be ready to eat, tell thy son Joseph to take the vase and 
 to make therewith a circuit three times. Forthwith 
 those who are pure of heart shall be replenished with all 
 possible sweets. . . . But from the moment that they 
 yield them to the wicked sin of luxury they shall lose 
 the grace whence come to them so many delights.'. . . 
 The repast finished, Joseph replaced the Graal as it 
 had been before." * Surely, it were worth men's while 
 to know whereof they write before putting pen to 
 paper. And here we must part with Tennyson, leaving 
 his lyric sweetness, his studies in the real — witness The 
 Northern Farmer — his genuine humor, his deep scorn, 
 and many other aspects of his poetic greatness un- 
 touched. 
 
 Wordsworth — Tennyson — Browning: — all three gave 
 a long and laborious life to their art and to the maturing 
 of their ideas; all three built upon a philosophical foun- 
 dation; all three made the poetic art subservient to 
 spiritual life; all three tower above their contemporaries 
 as the highest and best representatives of English poet- 
 ry. But each supplements the other two. Wordsworth 
 and Tennyson have the roots of their sympathies deep- 
 ly planted in English soil; Browning is cosmopolitan. 
 Wordsworth deals with the humble and the common- 
 place, teaches us how to make a companion of the 
 material universe, and in his treatment of persons and 
 
 * Paulin Paris, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, t. i., Le Saitit-Graal, 
 p. 198. 
 
Tennyson. 119 
 
 things possesses, in the words of his friend and ad- 
 mirer, "the original gift of spreading the tone, the 
 atmosphere, and with it the depth and height of the 
 ideal world around forms, inciderlts, and situations of 
 which, for the common view, custom had bedimmed all 
 the lustre, had dried up the sparkle and the dew-drpps." * 
 Tennyson, with exquisite art, interprets the comforts and 
 customs and proprieties of respectable English life, and 
 the decorous and the fitting in the present order of 
 things. Poverty and distress and humble living do not 
 inspire him as they do Wordsworth; he has no social 
 theories with which to revolutionize the world like 
 Shelley ; no private grievance to air before the public, 
 like Byron; the present order suits him. To be a 
 member of the Establishment in religion with rather 
 Broad-Church views, an English gentleman, respectable 
 in society and conservative in politics, — this is his ideal 
 of life. Browning has naught to do with the external 
 frame-work of society. His business is with souls — souls 
 happy in their innocence and ignorance of the world, as 
 the beautiful soul of Pippa; souls disintegrating; souls 
 petrifying in inaction; souls restless and running to 
 ruin and wreck ; souls blooming into life and action 
 beneath the rays of true love; sordid souls defending 
 their sordidness; callous souls steeped in sin and crime; 
 souls chafing under their entanglements and yet unable 
 to clear themselves from the meshes — remember that 
 
 * Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biogiaphia Literaria, p. 206. 
 
1 20 Books and Reading. 
 
 plaintive cry of the great painter when he finds his 
 inspiration passing beyond recall under the evil influ- 
 ence of an unworthy wife: 
 
 " But all the play, the insight, and the stretch 
 Out of me, out of me " * — 
 
 souls distorted and souls beautiful; souls strong and 
 souls weak; souls loving their sins arid souls loathing 
 them — souls, souls, always souls; for, says Browning, 
 " little else is worth study." f 
 
 Poetry in its highest and most enduring form is not a 
 matter of mere receptivity of impression, the mere sub- 
 mission of the soul to the luxury of musical sound and 
 bright imagery. The Paradise of Dante is not so mas- 
 tered. Nor can you upon a single reading, or a single 
 witnessing of a play of Shakspere's, fathom the mean- 
 ing of that play. If Shakspere or Dante possessed no 
 other thought than that which a mere surface gleaning 
 could gather, they could never have become the great 
 influencing agencies in literature that they now are. 
 Their meaning runs deeper than a Mother-Goose story 
 or a modern novel. Every great poet can say with 
 Browning: " I never pretended to offer such literature 
 as should be a substitute for a cigar or a game at domi- 
 noes to an idle man." J I heard Mr. Henry Morley tell a 
 class in London, that it was only after thirty-five read- 
 
 * Andrea del Sarfo. f Sordello, Dedication. 
 
 \ .Sharp's Life_ of Browning, p. iSo, 
 
English Literature rooted in Catholic Soil. 12 1 
 
 ings of Julius Ccesar, the central thought of that master- 
 piece dawned upon him. Think you that his pains were 
 not well repaid by this insight into the underlying prin- 
 ciple that gave life and meaning to every line in that play ? 
 — Henceforth, to him and to those who heard his interpre- 
 tation, every additional reading brings with it new light 
 and a deeper source of pleasure. But just here a serious 
 reflection occurs: If one of our most widely read 
 English scholars found it such a task to penetrate to the 
 life-giving principle of what is not by any means the most 
 complex of Shakspere's dramatic pieces, how can we 
 pretend to an understanding of that wonderful master 
 of the human heart upon one or two hasty readings ? — 
 And from this reflection let us take home to ourselves 
 the lesson that it behooves us to bring to poetry in its 
 highest forms our closest attention and our best thoughts 
 if we would learn the whole message it would impart. 
 
 XII. 
 
 It is only within the present century that English- 
 speaking Catholics have begun to build up a distinc- 
 tively Catholic literature. —During the past two centuries 
 our English and Irish missionaries found it difficult 
 to live. The hardships and privations they endured 
 were most exhausting. And yet their pens were not idle. 
 Their people needed plain and solid instruction, and 
 they met the want. They placed in their hands the 
 
122 Books and Reading. 
 
 Rheims-Douay version of the Sacred Scriptures. Bishop 
 Challoner wrote his Catholic Christian Instructed ; Bishop 
 Hay was led into the Church by the reading of an 
 anonymous pamphlet, Papists Represented and Misrepre- 
 sented, and afterwards put out those beautiful works of 
 doctrine, The Pious Christian, The Devout Christian, The 
 Sincere Christian; Bishop Hornihold explained the Com- 
 mandments and Sacraments; Dr. Husenbeth wrote on 
 the Creed; Bishop Milner wrote his admirable End of 
 Controversy; Alban Butler left us that great monument 
 of erudition and repository of learning, his Lives of the 
 Saints. Bishop Walmesley was a man of vast scientific 
 attainments, and was one of the mathematicians employed 
 to regulate the calendar preparatory to the adoption of 
 the New Style in 1752.* This was the nature of the work 
 done by our clergy in the eighteenth century It was 
 not brilliant, but it was solid, useful, and necessary 
 work. These men did not cultivate style. They were 
 obliged to study abroad, and after spending years on 
 the Continent, they returned to England with foreign 
 accents ringing in their ears and foreign idioms slipping 
 into their writings. 
 
 English classical literature, since the days of Spenser 
 and Shakspere, has been Protestant. The authors who 
 have helped to build up our language; the authors from 
 
 + See Allibone's Dictionary of Authors for a list of his religious and scientific 
 'books in Latin, French, and English. Several of his MSB. were burned jn the 
 anti-Catholic riots of 1780, 
 
English, Literature Rooted in Catholic Soil. 123 
 
 whom we cull those expressions that have become part 
 and parcel of our daily thinking ; the authors to whose 
 pages we refer for the allusions in which the writings of 
 the day abound, are, with few exceptions, in spirit and 
 tone Protestant. And yet it is a surprise and a happi- 
 ness to know that outside the domain of history, which 
 has been shamefully perverted by the Burnets, the 
 Robertsons, the Gibbons, the Humes, the Macaulays, 
 and the Froudes, a Catholic can take home to himself a 
 goodly portion of this literature, without having his 
 Catholic instincts wounded or his moral sense blunted. 
 I have strayed into many fields of literature, and culled 
 flowers in many languages, and I can bear witness that, 
 whilst there are certain works in other languages which 
 I appreciate more highly than works of the same grade 
 in our own tongue, still, taking the hterature of various : 
 countries as a whole, there is none of less objectionable 
 character and of more elevating tone than is English 
 literature, in its grand roll of authors from Widsith, the 
 old English gleeman of the fourth century, down to the 
 present laureate. But for this boon we are not to thank 
 the Protestantism of England. It is rather due to the 
 fact that the roots of English literature struck deep in 
 Catholic soil, and the conservative character of the 
 English people kept up the Catholic spirit and the Cath- 
 olic traditions long after the very name of Catholic had 
 become offensive. That Catholic spirit still lingers in 
 the cloistered aisles and corridors of Oxford. It hovers. 
 
1 24 Books and Reading. 
 
 over the vacant tomb of Edward the Confessor within 
 the hallowed walls of Westminster Abbey. It speaks in 
 tower and pillared dome throughout the land, " of which 
 every arch has its scroll teaching Catholic wisdom, and 
 every window represents some canonized saint." * It 
 breathes through the Catholic prayers still preserved in 
 The Book of Common Prayer. It has become transfused 
 into some of the noblest passages in Paradise Lost ; the 
 Arianism and the Protestantism are Milton's own; but 
 his magnificent lines clothe many a sentiment of tender- 
 ness and sublimity culled from the pages of Csedmon, St. 
 Avitus, Andreini, the Catholic mediaeval miracle plays, 
 and Lucifer, the Catholic drama of Vondel, the great 
 Catholic and national poet of Holland, f It lurks in the 
 Pilgrim's Progress, as much of it as John Bunyan chose 
 to spell out of the prose translation of the original Pil- 
 grim's Progress, Le Pelerinage de V Homme of the Cister- 
 cian monk Guillaume de Deguilleville. J It is our Catho- 
 lic heritage of thought and sentiment that has inspired the 
 
 * Kenelm Digby : Mores Catholici, vol. i., p. 22, 
 
 t Francis Junius introduced Milton to Caedmon ; Roger Williams, of Rhode 
 Island, taught him the language of Vondel. See Looten : Eitide littiraire sur le 
 poHe nierlandais Vondel. Bruxelles, 1889. 
 
 % Not The Wandering Knight of Jean de Carthenay, as has been recently as- 
 serted; not even, perhaps, the complete copy of the Pilgrimage of the Lyf of the 
 Manhode^ which I have before me ; but an abridgment of it, which, Mr. Wright tells 
 us, was copied and circulated in MS. in the seventeenth century (Pilgrimage ofihe 
 Lyfrf the Manhode, preface, p. x.). John Lydgate made a poetical translation of 
 the original poem in 1426. There are two copies of his translation in the British Mu- 
 seum, the best of which is in the Cottonian Collection (Vitellius, u. xiii,, fol. a-308). 
 
Orestes A. Brownson. 125 
 
 sublimest passages in our VVordsworths and Tennysons, 
 our Longfellows and Lowells. And whatever Shakspere 
 may have been in practice, the whole spirit of his im- 
 mortal plays is Catholic. Even Carlyle regards him as 
 the flowering of mediaeval Catholicism * " Indeed," 
 says Digby, " a book might be composed on the latent 
 Catholicism of many natives of this country, where 
 everything solid and valuable is, after all, either a rem- 
 nant or a revival of Catholic thinking or institution." f 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I. All honor, then, to those who at many and great 
 sacrifices, and actuated by the pure love of God and their 
 religion, have sought to wrest back for us a portion of 
 our Catholic heritage in English literature. There 
 are names connected with Catholic literature in America 
 that we should ever hold in honor and benediction. Such 
 is the name' of Orestes A. Brownson. J Do we realize 
 all the greatness covered by that name ? America has 
 produced no more powerful intellect than Brownson's. 
 There was no problem, social, political, religious, or 
 philosophical, that he did not grapple with and find an 
 answer for. After trying creed upon creed to find out 
 
 * French Revolution^ b. i., ch, i. 
 
 t Mores Catholici, vol. i., p. 25. Mr. P. O'Shea has made American Catholics 
 his debtors by the publication of this magnificent work, hitherto so long out of print, 
 hard to procure, and expensive. It is a great Catholic classic. The more it is read, 
 the better it will be appreciated. 
 
 % Died, April 17, 1876, a!t. 73. 
 
1 26 Books and Reading. 
 
 the hollowness of each, the aspirations of his strong and 
 generous nature and the invincible logic of iis acute 
 intellect led him into the Church, in the strength and 
 maturity of his manhood. Forthwith he consecrated his 
 pen to the vindication of that Church and the defense of 
 her doctrines against all comers. Mediaeval knight 
 never bore lance with greater singleness of purpose, or 
 with more bravery and determination, in the cause of 
 his lady-love, than did Brownson wield his pen in behalf 
 of the Church. To his dying breath he was faithful to 
 his vow. He viewed, and taught others to view, the 
 doctrines of the Church from an elevated plane, from 
 which they were apprehended as a whole and all their 
 , grandeur and beauty revealed to advantage. Men might 
 differ with him in politics — his political opinions were 
 odious to many among his readers, and yet his pohti- 
 cal principles, in the main, were sound and fully vindi- 
 cated by subsequent events ; men might differ With him 
 in criticism — in spite of his elevated artistic ideal, some 
 there were who regarded his literary canons as narrow 
 and inadequate .; men might differ with him in philoso- 
 phy—his language smacked too much of Gioberti * to 
 please the intellect trained on exclusively Cartesian or 
 Scholastic lines ; he may have been mistaken in matters 
 of theology — in unguarded moments, in the, heat of 
 controversy, he may sometimes have expressed himself 
 
 ♦ Brownson was a warm admirer but in no sense a disciple of Gioberti; he reached 
 his philosophical conclusions independently of the Italian philosopher. 
 
Orestes A. Brownson. 127 
 
 ii. language that a better trained theologian would not 
 employ, or would modify considerably ; but he was still 
 great; there remained in his politics, in his philosophy, 
 in his theological discussions, in his literary and art crit- 
 icism, enough to instruct, elevate, inspire, and compel 
 admiration. * The very ring of his sentences was a 
 trumpet-blast to us of the rising generation. He taught 
 us how to take our stand upon his own high plane of 
 thought, and thence survey the beautiful harmony of our 
 creed with all that is good and noble in the natural world, 
 He brought home, not to us alone, but to the cultured 
 
 + Brownson himself, in his old age, with all the candor and humility of a great 
 and noble soul, recognized his own shortcomings in the following generous sen- 
 tences : " I have always regretted that circumstances not under my control 
 seemed to compel me to appear as a Catholic reviewer on the morrow of my recep- 
 tion into the Church, while almost totally ignorant of Catholic theology, and still 
 more ignorant of Catholic life and usages ; and I have often admired in later years 
 the wondrous charity of the Catholic bishops and clergy in overlooking the crude- 
 ness and inexperience, if not the overweening confidence, of the neophyte, and in 
 giving a generous support to his Review, notwithstanding the manifest inaptness of 
 its editor. It is true, I studied hard day and night for several years, under an able 
 master, to supply my deficiency ; and, also, that I published very little which was 
 not previously examined and revised by one of the ablest and soundest theologians 
 I have ever personally known ; but it was a great drawback upon the usefulnsss of 
 the Review, that its editor and principal writer had not had leisure previously to 
 make his course of theology and to place himself en rapport with the Catholic 
 community, and that he had in every successive number to write up to the very 
 limits of his knowledge, if not sometimes beyond them. I had always to write as 
 an apprentice, never as a master. I have not made much progress in the knowledge 
 of theology, and still less of spiritual life ; I have also forgot much of what I had 
 acquired ; but I have learned this much— not to venture beyond my depth, and not 
 to broach questions which I have not mastered, or', at least, think I have mastered. 
 If I could have done so in the beginning, I should have spared myself and my 
 friends many mortifications. "—Brownson's Works, vol, xix., p. 587. 
 
128 Books and Reading. 
 
 intellect throughout the Christian world — for he had ad- 
 mirers in all parts and among all creeds — the great truths 
 of natural and revealed religion with a grasp, a force, and 
 an energy of expression worthy of an Aquinas. We 
 were led to hold up our heads and to be proud of the 
 faith that could inspire such sublime thoughts and control 
 such a noble nature. His great intellect was only equalled 
 by his profound humility. Once his bishop told him 
 that in consequence of some obj'ectionable tenets in his 
 Review he would be obliged to censure him publicly. 
 The old man's reply was: " Bishop, you may condemn 
 and burn my books if you will, but by the grace of God 
 I shall die a Catholic." * And a docile, pious, believing 
 child of the Church he died. We of America owe 
 Brownson a debt of gratitude that our children's children 
 can but ill requite. 
 
 2. When Brownson was already a leader among men 
 there was wont to sit at his feet a youth whom he looked 
 kindly upon, and who afterwards, growing into manhood, 
 threw aside the shackles of prejudice and error, and enter- 
 ing the Church, became a freeman with the freedom ithat 
 truth alone gives, f To speak of books or of reading 
 and not to mention the name of Father Hecker \ were an 
 
 * I received this incident from the lips of the Most Rev., the late Archbishop Bayley. 
 
 + He says of his conversion : " It was one of the happiest moments of our life 
 when we discovered for the first time that it was not required of us either to 
 abandon our reason or drown it in a false excitement of feeling to be a religious 
 man. That to become Catholic, so far from being contrary to reason, was a supreme 
 act of reason, " — Aspirations of the Soul, p. 286. 
 
 i Died, Dec. 22, 1888, act. 69. 
 
Father Hecker. 129 
 
 •unpardonable oversight. He was a man of generous 
 impulse and noble aspirations, who thought better of the 
 world than the world has deserved. His thirst for souls 
 was insatiable. Having learned how good it was to 
 live within the pale of the Church, he would bring all 
 men to share his peace and his joy. He loved American 
 youths with the eager, hungering love of a father who 
 saw his children in danger of drowning and would save 
 them at any cost. He felt the pulse of the American 
 youth, divined his yearnings, laid bare to him his better 
 aspirations, and showed him where every beat of his 
 heart and every question of his soul would find satisfac- 
 tory response. You could not be in his presence for 
 five minutes without feeling your soul set aflame with 
 the same pure and noble fervor that was ever urging 
 him on to make for the best. He was in an especial 
 manner the apostle of Christian culture. He loved 
 good books ; he encouraged others to read good books ; 
 he inspired many to write good books; he freely dissem- 
 inated good books. The Catholic Publication Society is 
 a standing testimony to his zeal and energy in the cause 
 of good Catholic reading. It was under his fostering 
 hand that The Catholic World grew up and flourished. 
 His own writings abound in that strong common sense so 
 dear to the American mind. Who can number the souls 
 that, weary and parched in traversing the arid sands of 
 philosophic speculation, have stopped and drunk of the 
 pure crystal waters of clear, good sense flowing from his 
 
1 30 Books atid Reading. 
 
 refreshing volumes, and, strengthened, have resumed 
 their journey with a new-founded hope that has cheered 
 them on to a home and a resting-place in the Church of 
 God ? He has passed from amongst us, but his spirit still 
 lives in devoted disciples of his, who are carrying on his 
 work as he would have it carried on, in the spirit of 
 charity for man, zeal for souls, and an abiding trust in 
 the practical good sense of the American people. 
 
 3. And there has recently fallen another whose life was 
 an apostolate sacrificed for the Catholic press. He fell 
 in the breach ; fell fighting till summoned by the death- 
 knell ; fell with aspirations unrealized, plans and projects 
 unachieved ; fell in the noon-day of his life, feeling that 
 while he had done something he had left much more 
 undone. Only the friends that knew him intimately and 
 were favored with an insight into his noble aspirations 
 and the high ideal he always placed before himself, are in 
 position to weigh and measure the solid worth of Com- 
 mendatore Patrick Valentine Hickey. * He also was one 
 of the chosen few who labored in the interest of Catholic 
 literature and Catholic journalism with a singleness of 
 purpose and in a spirit of self-denial and self-devoted- 
 ness truly heroic. Moderate in his views, unbending in 
 his principles, charitable in his judgments, he was a 
 ripe scholar, versed in theology, a clever writer, a fair- 
 minded and honorable opponent in controversy. He 
 might have been imposed on at tim.es ; at times he might 
 
 * Died, Feb. 21, 888, set. 43. 
 
Monsignor Corcoran. 1 3 r 
 
 have seriously blundered ; he was not more than man ; 
 but' he never knowingly did injustice to his fellow- 
 man. Rarely was his paper sullied with personal abuse. 
 He always bore the respect and esteem of the non- 
 Catholic press. Be his memory cherished amongst us as 
 the Bayard of Catholic journalism. 
 
 Let us not forget or ignore such merit and such de- 
 votedness. Let us love the literature for which such 
 noble souls sacrificed themselves. Let us cultivate it, 
 each according to his capacity; let us patronize it, each 
 according to his means. 
 
 IX. 
 
 On the eve of sending out this lecture in its permanent 
 form another great luminary in the world of Catholic let- 
 ters passed from earth. The Right Reverend Monsignor 
 James A. Corcoran died.* His loss is irreparable. Among 
 the American priesthood he towered peerless. His learn- 
 ing was prodigious. He was a lifelong student, ever ab- 
 sorbing knowledge. He was deeply read in oriental litera- 
 ture; he was equally at home in the sacred and profane 
 literatures of nearly every nation in mediaeval and modern 
 Europe; he was unrivaled asaLatinistand wrote the Latin 
 language with classic grace and purity of expression; his 
 knowledge of books and authors extended to the smallest 
 details and the most obscure writers; he was possessed of 
 rare critical acumen; his erudition was profound, but he 
 
 * Died, July i6, 1889, act, 69. 
 
1 32 Books and Reading. 
 
 never permitted it to conceal from him the real worth 
 of an opinion. Authorities had in his judgment the 
 weight of their intrinsic merit, and neither more nor 
 less. He had rare tact in brushing aside as so many 
 cobwebs traditional opinions and traditional quotations, 
 and going straight to the heart of his subject, weigh- 
 ing and measuring it in the light of his trained intel- 
 lect. In all matters of human knowledge he considered 
 facts and principles above mere assertions, how respect- 
 able soever might be the authority from whom they pro- 
 ceeded. He was intolerant of all dogmatism, be it the 
 dogmatism of the theologian who would have men more 
 orthodox than the Church, or be it the dogmatism of the 
 scientist who would obtrude his crude fancies as proven 
 propositions. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mgr. Corcoran began at the time 
 that he assumed the editorship of The American Catho- 
 lic Quarterly Review. The acquaintance soon ripened in- 
 to friendship, and to the hour of his death .that friend- 
 ship grew more cordial and more steadfast. He honored 
 me with an amount of confidence, and treated with a 
 degree of deference the judgments and opinions that I 
 had formed in my own hne of study and thought, which 
 I can account for only by his great humility, but which 
 have been to me, and which shall continue to be an in- 
 centive so to labor as to render myself less unworthy of 
 the abiding trust of such an eminent scholar. Indeed, 
 when one has learned to distinguish the would-be friend 
 
Monsignor Corcoran. 133 
 
 from the real friend, one may well rank the friendship of 
 James A. Corcoran among the blessings for which one 
 should daily thank God. He has passed away, but like a 
 sweet perfume his memory remains to cheer and to refresh. 
 Looking into the clear crystalline depths of his beau- 
 tiful soul, methinks I behold it in all its greatness. Me- 
 thinks I can still see the honest indignation with which 
 that soul would be stirred by the very shadow of sham 
 or pretence. He had an abiding hatred for dishonesty, 
 be its form what it may. He could but ill disguise his 
 loathing of him with the two faces, or of him of the 
 fawning ways, or of the cowardly character devoid of 
 the courage of his convictions. I read therein the per- 
 fect manhood scorning all pettiness and subterfuge and 
 strong and fearless in right-doing. I read the charming 
 simplicity of the character without wrinkle and without 
 guile, — just, upright, straightforward, charitable. I read 
 the profound humility that led him all through life to 
 shun honors, seek retirement, and find happiness in doing 
 God's will in the most lowly occupations. I read that 
 wisdom from above which made clear to him that in -the 
 service of God even the least position is ennobling. I 
 read the simple faith that accepted every jot and tittle 
 of the teachings of the Church with all the docility of the 
 artless child. And the love the child bears the mother 
 only partially measures the love he bore the Church and 
 all things pertaining to the Church — the language of her 
 ritual, her ceremonies, her devotions, her practices, het 
 
1 34 Books and Reading. 
 
 doctrines. He loved them all with a tenderness and a 
 reverence that were touching. This love led him to re- 
 sent any insult offered to her teachings and her practices 
 with all the energy of his great soul. It wounded his 
 sensitive nature fa^ more than could any personal griev- 
 ance. In controversy he was a hard hitter, but he never 
 forgot the courtesy due to an opponent; he could not be 
 provoked by personalities the most bitter and malicious 
 into an uncharitable expression. I have named but a 
 tithe of the many virtues that I read in that beautiful 
 soul. 
 
 Years were pressing upon him, and ill-health was 
 compassing him round, but the joyousness of his spirits 
 rose above his sufferings and infirmities^ and his heart 
 grew young with advancing age. He was the most 
 genial of companions even as he was the staunchest of 
 friends; he had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and I now 
 see the quiet humor dimple his amiable face as he told a 
 good story, or listened to a clever joke, even when made 
 at his own expense. There was no moroseness in his 
 nature; there was no gall in his disposition. Broad in 
 his views, large-hearted in his charity, modest as he was 
 learned, he was among the brightest ornaments of the 
 American priesthood, always a pillar and mainstay <s>i the 
 American hierarchy. 
 
 As editor of a quarterly which directed and influenced 
 the readings of many, Monsignor Corcoran is entitled to 
 a distinguished place in any discourse treating of books. 
 
Conclusion. 135 
 
 He was a firm believer in the apostolate of the press. 
 He loved the good book and recommended it to those 
 under his personal guidance and influence. But the 
 modern books that met with his commendation were few 
 and far between. He preferred to go back to the old 
 masters in literature, the tried ones who had been weighed 
 and had not been found wanting. These were the favor- 
 ites with whom he loved to commune. His acquaintance 
 with Italian literature was especially intimate. Even in 
 Rome he was regarded as one of the greatest Dante 
 scholars living. He saw in the avocation of the bookseller 
 great opportunities for doing good, and he once remarked 
 to him who pens these lines, that if he were not a priest 
 he would follow that calling, and would devote all his 
 energy to the propagation of good reading. Though an 
 elegant and forcible writer, he has left httle from his pen 
 that will live in literature; his name will pass down the 
 corridors of time, a wholesome tradition of great learn- 
 ing and solid piety. When shall we look upon his like 
 again ? — 
 
 X. 
 
 In conclusion, let me add that a great responsibility 
 rests on us in regard to our reading, and we cannot 
 shirk that responsibility. Ours is the duty to develop 
 and make perfect our whole nature; therefore must we 
 look to our intellectual growth and progress. Books are 
 the great means by which we are expected to achieve 
 
136 Books and Reading. 
 
 this. They are the reflectors by which the light of 
 God's truth is flashed into the mind. That light runs 
 through all books; but self, and passion, and prejudice 
 are so many absorbents, leaving but a few rays to glim- 
 mer through the darkness. Let us select those giving 
 out the truth most clearly and convincingly; they will 
 supply us with the needed light and warmth — so far as 
 human agencies can supply us — to walk in the path of 
 right and duty. 
 
 Let your readings be such as shall imbue you with ex- 
 alted ideals of manhood and of womanhood. Eschew 
 those authors who would destroy the roseate hues of 
 the morning of life, and leave the soul to be consumed 
 in the comtemplation of a parched and arid waste of 
 human nature, from which all good has been extracted 
 and upon which the dews of heaven no longer fall to 
 freshen the flowers of virtue; for according to these 
 men, there is neither virtue, nor a heaven, nor a God. 
 It brings no good, and may work great injury to young 
 people, to wade through the miry pages of a Zola, to 
 learn from an Ibsen the disenchantments of life's most 
 sacred relations, or to sicken over the stench proceeding 
 from the ulcerous sores a Tolstoi has been probing and 
 laying open to the public gaze. These men call them- 
 selves social physicians. But the respectable physician 
 confines his lectures and experiments to the dissecting 
 room, where they are understood and appreciated. It is 
 only your quack who goes into the public shambles, and 
 
Books and Reading. 137 
 
 under pretence of enlightening men, spreads the germs 
 of disease among those who are attracted around the 
 putrid corpse he would openly dissect. What else are 
 those men? — They tell us with Ibsen that "all the 
 spiritual well-springs of our life are poisoned, and our 
 whole civic society rests upon a soil infected with the 
 pestilence of lies." Not so, my friends. Faith, and 
 Hope, and, greater than all, the Love of God and of our 
 neighbor, are life-giving fountains of spiritual life still 
 flowing in abundance. Christian manhood and Christian 
 womanhood the world over draw healing waters from 
 these Divine sources. The literature that brings there- 
 from strength and firm resolve to the soul to rise higher 
 and higher into the more perfect life, is the wholesome 
 literature wWch our young people should cultivate. 
 
HOW TO READ DANTE. 
 
 I have been requested by the Reverend Director of 
 the Cathedral Library Reading Circle to outline a 
 course of reading on Dante. Dante is so many-sided 
 it is difficult to outline a single course that will compass 
 all phases of his genius; the tastes of the readers and 
 the extent of their previous readings will go far towards 
 determining the line of studies to be pursued. 
 
 It is refreshing and encouraging to see a Catholic 
 Reading Circle take up the study of Dante. Such a 
 circle, if in earnest, has already gone far beyond the 
 stage of the frivolous and the amusing in its readings. 
 It has entered the domain of serious study. All the 
 well-known and recognized Dante societies in the 
 United States have been organized and are flourishing 
 under non-Catholic auspices. It is high time that a 
 Catholic Dante society should be organized. Dante 
 was Catholic in his life; he is Catholic in his teachings; 
 in his broadest influence he is thoroughly Catholic. 
 He is ours by every right and title. In his marvelous 
 poem he has embodied Catholic philosophy and Catholic 
 theology. There is no phase of Catholic thought that 
 does not find expression in those sublime pages. Every 
 soul with a conviction will thrill responsive to some one 
 or other note in his sacred song. 
 
 139 
 
140 Books and Reading. 
 
 I. 
 
 Volumes have been written to prove Dante a heretic 
 teaching the esoteric doctrines of the Cathari, Paterini 
 and Albigenses. Men have found in his very orthodoxy 
 a cloak to conceal the heresy beneath." The praises he 
 has for Mary ever Virgin, are translated into blasphem- 
 ous laudation of the mother-church of the Albigenses. 
 Volumes have been written to prove him a Mazzini of 
 the thirteenth century, a hater of the priesthood, the 
 Church, the Pope, and the Catholic religion. Volumes 
 have been written to prove him the Luther of his day. 
 Volumes have been written to make him the propagator 
 of nearly every fanciful theory that could enter the brain 
 of man. In the perusal of all such volumes the student 
 of Dante is only following will-o'-the-wisps rushing rapid- 
 ly to some quagmire, in which he becomes enmeshed. 
 
 That Dante should have interpreters representing so 
 many phases of opinion, only proves how far above the 
 reach of ordinary intelligence he sits in the serene re- 
 gion of thought and song, whither only a favored few 
 can travel. His Divina Commedia is a work to be read 
 with awe and wonder and admiration. It represents 
 the most profound study and the most intense concen- 
 tration of the highest form of human genius. The scien- 
 tific precision that enters into its wording, the mathe- 
 matical accuracy with which it is constructed, the mar- 
 velous grasp of subject by which the poet, in so many 
 lines calculated beforehand, was enabled to condense 
 
How to Read Dante. 141 
 
 thoughts tender and thoughts severe, thoughts ab- 
 struse and thoughts of daily life, thoughts historical 
 and thoughts political— all embodied in words having 
 at least two meanings, a literal and a figurative — these 
 are traits that confront us upon a superficial reading of 
 the poem. Is it any wonder that men should find it so 
 difficult to measure the vastness of Dante's genius ? 
 
 II. 
 
 In studying Dante, one is studying the whole genius 
 and spirit of the Middle Ages. In his great poem 
 rightly interpreted, one has the key to these ages. It is 
 the poet's mission to embalm in his verse the noblest and 
 best aspirations of his day and generation. This Dante 
 has done in a manner to challenge the admiration of 
 all times, and to know the poet one must know the age 
 in which the poet lived. Dante is a sealed book to any 
 man not familiar with the history, the thought, and the 
 politics of the thirteenth century. The student, before 
 touching the writings of the great poet, should first fa- 
 miliarize himself with the history of his times. He 
 should form unto himself a clear conception of the re- 
 lations of Church and state, of the Holy Roman Empire, 
 of the universities, of the literary and artistic growth 
 and development of that period. The outline of Church 
 history sketched by Darras or Alzog will be of service 
 to him; Bryce's Holy Roman Empire he will find to be 
 useful in throwing light upon a greatly misunderstood 
 
142 Books and Reading. 
 
 subject. Cesare Cantu, in his Histoire Universelle, will 
 clear up other points. Standard biographies of the 
 great men of the time will also be found helpful. Re- 
 member the wonderful religious, artistic, and literary 
 activity and fertility of the thirteenth century. It was 
 a century of intellectual giants when Duns Scotus and 
 Thomas Aquinas gave fixity to scholastic philosophy; 
 when the universities with their teeming life were cre- 
 ated and organized under the protection of the papacy; 
 when the Miracle-Play and the Morality were enacted 
 with all the solemn pomp and gorgeoiasness which the 
 ingenuity of the Franciscan Friars could devise, and the 
 devotion of the trade and craft guilds could furnish; 
 when the Gothic cathedral rose in the great cities of 
 France and Germany, a forest of stone embodying one 
 of the sublimest conceptions of human genius; when 
 national literatures began to make classic the language 
 of the people; when song and story were crystallizing 
 around the great truths of religion; when A^incent of 
 Beauvais wrote his Encyclopsedia, and Roger Bacon and 
 Albert the Great placed physical science upon its true 
 basis of experiment and observation; in a word, it was a 
 century of noble aspiration and magnificent achieve- 
 ment. If you would form some conception of the intel- 
 lectual life ofthat period, look through the volumes of the 
 Histoh-e Littcraire de la France, which after more than six- 
 ty years' labor on the part of the immortal forty of the 
 French Academy upon that one century, has not yet been 
 
How to Read D.mte. 143 
 
 able to exhaust it. Note the whole library of volumes 
 belonging to that period published in the Fatrologia of 
 Migne; afterwards take up the two bulky tomes of Ec- 
 hard and Quetif, giving a detailed list of the Dominican 
 writers who distinguished themselves, turn to the 
 five folios of Luke Wadding performing the same ser- 
 vice for the Franciscan writers, and mark the enormous 
 bulk of literature that emanated from these two orders 
 alone. In the publications issued under the supervision 
 of the Master of the Rolls, and by the early English 
 Text Society in London; in the volumes of Muratori 
 and Tiraboschi in Italy; in the volumes devoted by 
 Flores and Masden to the literary history of the same 
 period in Spain, you will get some slight inkling of the 
 work done in that century, and you may then con- 
 ceive all that teeming life and thought concentrated in 
 the genius of Dante. That century is still our educator. 
 St. Thomas molded for us, and indeed for all time, our 
 philosophical and theological language; the Gothic cathe- 
 dral is still the school of architects; Dante has for this 
 age as wholesome a lesson as he had for his own. 
 
 III. 
 
 Having formed a clear conception of the historical 
 background from which Dante looks out upon us, the 
 student's next step is to familiarize himself with scholas- 
 tic philosophy. This form of mediaeval thought is inti- 
 mately wrought into the Divina Commedia. It is the 
 
144 Books and Reading. 
 
 groundwork on which figures what is highest and no- 
 blest in dogma and morals. Indeed the poem, from its 
 first line to its last, embodies a complete treatise on 
 morals. Nor is there a great truth of our holy religion 
 that IS not to be found embedded in the amber of its 
 pages. " He anticipated the most pregnant develop- 
 ments of Catholic doctrine," says Mgr. Hettinger, 
 " mastered its subtlest distinctions, and treated its hard- 
 est problems with almost faultless accuracy. Were all 
 the libraries in the world destroyed, and the Holy Scrip- 
 tures with them, the whole Catholic system of doctrine 
 and morals might be almost reconstructed out of theZ*/- 
 vina Commedia." Therefore it is that Dante can be but 
 ill understood by one not familiar with scholastic philos- 
 ophy, especially with the Summa of St. Thomas Aquinas. 
 Two eminent Jesuits, Fathers Cornoldi and Liberatore, 
 have done much to show the intimate relations of Dante 
 to the schoolmen; Father Cornoldi in his valuable edition 
 of the text with notes, and Father Liberatore in the in- 
 structive monograph that he devoted to the poet. The 
 eminent Dominican, Father Berthier, who is recognized 
 as one of the greatest students of Dante living, is now 
 issuing a sumptuous edition of the Divina Commedia in 
 which nearly every line of the poem is traced back to 
 a parallel passage in the writings of theAngelical Doc- 
 tor. 
 
 Dante is not only a scholastic; he is also a mystic. 
 There is a sense purely mystical and spiritual running 
 
Hoiv to Read Dante. 145 
 
 through his poem. His novitiate with the Franciscans 
 was not misspent. He then learned how to commune 
 with God in holy meditation; he then studied the dif- 
 ferent stages by which the soul ascends from the period 
 of her conversion, through her state of purgation into 
 the illuminative way, until she finally enters what masters 
 of the spiritual life call the unitive state, where her will 
 becomes one with the will of God in all things that can 
 befall her in this life. And this whole course of spiritual 
 life has been so clearly and beautifully traced through 
 Dante's sublime poem as to merit for it the title of Di- 
 vine. Therein, beneath the veil of allegory are por- 
 trayed the struggles of a soul snatched from the clutches 
 of sin and passion and evil habit, through the trials and 
 temptations of life, until she ascends to the fruition of 
 union with the Divinity. Let us not think for a moment 
 that Dante has in this delicate work bhndly groped his 
 own way; on the contrary, step by step he follows in the 
 track marked out by St. Bonaventure, St. Bernard, and 
 the Hugos of St. Victor's. Familiarity with spiritual life 
 as based upon the writings of these great mystics will 
 help us to appreciate this aspect of the Divina Comme- 
 dia. 
 
 The poem of Dante is constructed according to the 
 science of his day. Its whole machinery is based upon 
 the Ptolemaic system of astronomy. How many there 
 are who read the poem, for instance, oblivious of the fact 
 that it is constructed upon an astronomical basis; that 
 
146 Books and Reading. 
 
 every moment can be timed; that the days and hours 
 spent in any of the three regions through which the 
 vision bears him, may be accurately measured ? And 
 yet volumes have been written entirely upon this scien- 
 tific aspect of the poem. Read, for instance, the pains- 
 taking observations of P. G. Antonelli, in Niccolo Tom- 
 maseo's three-volume edition, and you will conclude with 
 the commentator that '• Alleghiera has proved himself 
 no less a geometrician than a poet." A most interesting 
 study it is to trace the progress of the poet from that 
 memorable Holy Thursday in 1301, when he enters the 
 gloomy wood, all through the remainder of that week, 
 and of Easter week, till on Low Sunday he ascends to 
 the Empyrean. In the light of times and seasons you 
 understand those outbursts of song drawn from the bre- 
 viary, and much that would otherwise seem random 
 proves to be intentional, and its full meaning becomes 
 clear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The poem of Dante was written under the influence 
 of art in its highest ideals, and it in turn influenced art. 
 Giotto and Brunelleschi, Ghiberti and Donatello, must 
 ever be coupled with the name of Dante. Their master- 
 pieces render more bright many a page in the Divina 
 Commedia. Read that beautiful and touching passage 
 in the Paradise descriptive of St. Francis wedding 
 poverty: 
 
How to Read Dante. 147 
 
 "A dame to whom none openeth pleasure's gate, 
 More than to death, was, 'gainst his father's will. 
 His stripling choice; and he did make her his, 
 Before the spiritual court, by nuptial bonds, 
 And in his father' s sight: from day to day. 
 Then loved her more devoutly." 
 
 Afterwards study Giotto's frescos of the same sub- 
 ject in the church of St. Francis of Assist, remember- 
 ing that Giotto (1276-1336) was tiie friend of Dante, 
 and that it is to him we are indebted for the por- 
 trait of the great poet which has been transmitted to 
 us. 
 
 The student of Dante should have before him photo- 
 graphs or engravings of these and the other great alle- 
 gorical frescos and paintings that have been preserved. 
 There are the frescos of Simone Memmi, the friend 
 of Petrarca, (1280-1344) in the Spanish chapel of 
 Santa Maria Novella, Florence, interpreting the glories 
 and triumphs of the Church militant over heresy. Note 
 the important place occupied by St. Dominic and his 
 disciples represented by keen-scenting greyhounds; 
 note how those hounds chase the wolves; note above 
 all how Benedict XI. accepts them to be the guar- 
 dians and protectors of his flocks, and in the light 
 reflected from those pictures read the following lines 
 regarding the she-wolf that threatened to devour 
 Dante: 
 
148 Books and Reading. 
 
 ***** "This beast, 
 At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none 
 To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death, 
 So bad and so accursed in her kind. 
 That never sated is her ravenous will, 
 Still after food more craving than before. 
 To many an animal in wedlock vile 
 She fastens, and shall yet to many more. 
 Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy 
 Her with sharp pain. He will not life support 
 By earth nor its base metals, but by love, 
 Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be 
 The land 'twixt either Feltro." 
 
 Here we have a whole flood of light thrown upon what 
 has hitherto been an obscure passage.' 
 
 Again, turn to Orcagna's frescos in the Campo Santo of 
 Pisa. Orcagna (1325-1385) wrought out his Last Judg- 
 ment and his Triumph of Death under the inspiration of 
 Dante. The same is true of Pietro Lorenzetti's repre- 
 sentation of the Fathers of the Desert. Before leaving 
 Pisa, let us enter the church of St. Catherine ; observe 
 that splendid allegory of Traini, (civ. 13-14.) wherein St. 
 Thomas Aquinas is '■epresented as prostrating Averroes, 
 and in the person of Averroes all error, by the bolt of truth. 
 
 ' Father Berthier, O. P., follows Father Cornoldi, S. J., in re- 
 garding Benedict XI. as il Veltro. [Cfr. in connection with this 
 passage Bollinger's Essay on " Dante as a Prophet," translated 
 into English recently and issued as a portion of the volume, 
 " Studies in European History." — J. H. M.] 
 
How to Read Dante. 149 
 
 When to these we add La Disputa of Rafaello and the 
 sublime frescoings of Michelangelo — his Last Judg- 
 ment and his wonderful allegory on the ceiling of the 
 Sistine chapel — we possess a commentary upon the 
 Divina Commedia that is more valuable than half the 
 volumes that have been written. Charles Lamb tells 
 us that Milton should be read within hearing of the 
 deep and solemn tones of an organ. Dante should 
 certainly be read within sight of these allegorical pic- 
 tures that breathe his spirit, and are so many interpre- 
 tations of his poem. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Divina Commedia palpitates with the politics of 
 Dante's day. The poet spoke to his own age and his 
 own Italy. He had a message for his times and for his 
 country. His message was one of political regenera- 
 tion as well as moral regeneration. We may not agree 
 with his views; historical justice compels us to con- 
 demn the estimates he formed of many of his con- 
 temporaries; he was in some respects too fierce a parti- 
 san, and refused to see merit in an enemy or wrong in 
 a friend, but we are in duty bound to become familiar 
 with the personages of whom he speaks, and put our- 
 selves at his point of view. All this implies an earnest 
 study of contemporary events, and familiarity with the 
 lives and politics of contemporary personages. Then 
 shall we find that every epithet, every allusion, every 
 
ijo Books and Reading. 
 
 figurative expression applied to men, has a meaning 
 that was understood and appreciated at its full value in 
 Dante's day. He would be lost in the mazes of Dante's 
 poem, who knew naught of the feudsbetweea Guelf and 
 Ghibelline, and which was which. Take the last five 
 cantos of the Purgatorio. Mr. J. A. Symonds under- 
 takes to analyze them, and finds them " archaic, mediae- 
 val, and obsolete," " so vast and to our taste so weari- 
 some an allegory.'' We are not surprised. Mr. Symonds 
 is too imbued with the spirit of the Renaissance — the 
 spirit of cold form, — to understand and properly appreci- 
 ate the earnestinspirationofthe thirteenth century, still 
 less the intense earnestness of Dante. The carefully- 
 wrought allegory of these five cantos is insipid to Mr. 
 Symonds because he missed their meaning. They 
 embody Dante's doctrine upon the relations of the 
 Papacy to the Holy Roman Empire. Both the Empire 
 and the Papacy are of divine institution; both are the 
 means by which, in the designs of Providence, the 
 world is to be governed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here I would caution the student of Dante against 
 another shoal that he is in danger of striking. It is 
 not enough that he find a meaning for each allegorical 
 expression in itself; the meaning must also harmonize 
 with the other expressions, and be of one piece with 
 them. It must throw additional light upon the sense of 
 
How to Read Dante. 1 5 1 
 
 the whole allegory. In the Inferno we find that Dante 
 inflicts the same punishment upon treason to State 
 that he does upon treason to Church. He places in 
 ihc Giudecca those who were guilty of the murder of 
 Caesar with him who betrayed the Saviour. 
 
 " That soul up there which has the greatest pain," 
 
 The master said, " is Judas Isoariot, 
 
 With head inside he pUes his legs without, — 
 
 Of the two others who head downward are. 
 
 The one who hangs from the black jowl is Brutus ; 
 
 See how he writhes himself and speaks no word. 
 
 And the other who so stalwart seems, is Cassias.'' 
 
 [Inferno, xxxiv. 60-67.] 
 
 This picture is in keeping with his conception of the 
 union of Church and State making indeed two heads 
 with but a single body. 
 
 Hence it is that Dante is to be studied with a careful 
 eye to the exact word employed. The more literal the 
 translation the more useful does it become for thestudent. 
 Carlyle's prose version of the Inferno, and Butler^s or 
 Norton's prose version of the whole poem are indis- 
 pensable. Of the translations in verse Longfellow's is 
 the most literal, though it lacks at times grace and flex- 
 ibility. His inversions are sometimes forced. Cary was 
 thoroughly imbued with the spirit of Dante, and sel- 
 dom missed the poet^s meaning; but there is a Miltonic 
 swell about his lines — I might say almost a Miltonic 
 mannerism — that is not in accord with the scientific 
 
152 Books and Reading. 
 
 precision of Dante's own style. Because of this pre- 
 cision no author suffers more by translation. Through- 
 out the whole extent of his poem there is not a random 
 word. He held every expression under complete con- 
 trol. Well might Dante himself say that " never for 
 the sake of a rhyme had he said other than he meant 
 to say." No literary monument has ever been so con- 
 sistently realized. His is the masterly grasp of genius 
 over words and forms of expression. As a model of 
 style he ranks with his guide and master, Virgil. Ac- 
 cording as occasion requires, he is tender and pathetic, 
 or harsh and severe, sweet, musical and elegant, or rude 
 and strong, always suiting language to sense. He that 
 would learn the mode of condensing great thoughts in 
 words few and simple^ should make a careful study of 
 the Divtna Commtdia. 
 
 Nor is Dante to be overlooked as an educator. He 
 who had wandered from university to university — who 
 had been in Paris and sat at the feet of those'who had 
 themselves received the teachings of St. Thomas Aqui- 
 nas from his own lips; who had probably been in Oxford 
 and passed from hall to hall in School street, — with his 
 observant eye must have noticed differences in educa- 
 tional methods, and held to the best. And so, from 
 the pedagogical point of view, a complete educa- 
 tional method may be constructed out of his great 
 poem. 
 
How to Read Dante. 1 53 
 
 VII. 
 
 The student would now like to know the books that 
 will best serve as an introduction to the stud)- of Dante. 
 Here I shall confine myself to those that are most ac- 
 cessible. Macaulay's brilliant essay on Dante is deserv- 
 ing of mention. It was one of his first literary achieve- 
 ments, and was actually the first note of praise intro- 
 ducing Dante to modern English readers. The essay 
 is fervid and replete with enthusiasm, but lacks histor- 
 ical accuracy and critical discrimination. Dean Church 
 published an essay on our poet in the Christian Remem- 
 brancer, January, 1850, and republished it in a separate 
 form in 1879, under the title Dante. This essay gave 
 impulse to the study of the great Florentine. It is a 
 model piece of criticism. It is only lacking in one thing 
 to reach the level of Dante's greatness, and that is, pos- 
 session of the fulnegs of Dante's faith. This lack leads 
 the Dean to a misunderstanding of the attitude of 
 Dante towards the Church. Otherwise it is one of the 
 most scholarly, reverent, and sympathetic studies of 
 Dante that we possess in English. , 
 
 Mr. J. A. Symonds in A Study of Dante, has given us a 
 pleasing introduction replete with suggestive thoughts 
 and happy remarks. But he leaves much to be desired. 
 He attempts to present us only with the artistic side 
 of the poem. Its philosophical depth is beyond his 
 reach; he sometimes misses its allegorical meaning; be 
 
1 54 Books and Reading. 
 
 is lacking- in sympathy with the poet and his epoch; 
 the poet's allegory he calls " frost-bitten; " his theology 
 he calls " a rigid methodistical theology." Now, the 
 man who so talks knows not whereof he speaks. He is 
 at sea without chart or compass or rudder to guide his 
 ship. He is certainly not a trustworthy guide. Miss 
 Susan E. Blow of St. Louis has written another volume 
 bearing the same title, A Study of Dante, which the 
 student will find helpful in interpreting the moral sense 
 of the poem. Miss Blow has many beautiful thoughts 
 concerning Dante and his religion, and though not a 
 Catholic herself, she has led many a wandering soul by 
 the hand to that home of safety and rest, the Catholic 
 Church. Another lady who is more Catholic still, and 
 who has written about Dante in a more helpful spirit, 
 is Maria Francesca Rossetti. Her Shadow of Dante is a 
 charming volume well calculated to lead one to the sub- 
 stance. You will find some quickening thoughts in 
 Carlyle's lectures on the poet in his Heroes and Hero- 
 worship. More lengthily drawn out, with much that is 
 clever, and some fine-spun threads of thought, and an 
 occasional misapprehension, is James Russell Lowell's 
 essay on Dante, which is to be found in his Among my 
 Books. 
 
 The work which Catholic students should make their 
 handbook is Dante's Divina Comviedia, by the late Mon- 
 signor Hettinger. This volume has been elegantly 
 done into English and edited by Father Sebastian Bow- 
 
How to Read Dante. 155 
 
 den of the Brompton Oratory. And though liberties 
 have been taken with the German text, and portions 
 omitted that had better be retained, still the book is 
 invaluable for the Catholic reader who could not mas- 
 ter it in the original. Cardinal Manning wrote to Fa- 
 ther Bowden upon the completion of his task: "You 
 have conferred a true benefit upon us by publishing 
 Dr. Hettinger's work on Dante. It will be not only a 
 signal help to readers of the Divina Commedia, but it will, 
 I hope, awaken Catholics to a sense of the not inculpable 
 neglect of the greatest of poets, who by every title of 
 genius, and by the intensity of his whole heart and soul, 
 is the master-poet of the Catholic faith." This is de- 
 serving commendation of Father Bowden, and censure 
 of our Catholic writers. We are grateful in having 
 within reach so safe a guide as Mgr. Hettinger's book. 
 It is scholarly, and a model of scientific criticism. The 
 only book approaching it in merit is Ozanam's Dante et 
 la Philosophie Chretienne, an English version of which 
 was prepared several years ago, but still remains in 
 manuscript for want of a publisher. * 
 
 There are various biographies of Dante in English, 
 but there is only one that I can recommend with any 
 degree of safety. Even that one is not all that it 
 
 * [Note. — This version, made by Madame Lucia D. Pychow- 
 ska, is now (Dec. 1893) publishing in serial form in The Semi- 
 nary of New York, and will later be issued in book form by the 
 Cathedral Library Association. — J. H. M.] 
 
156 Books and Reading. 
 
 should be to be truly worthy of the man. It is Count 
 Cesare Balbo's Life of Dante, which has been translated 
 into English by Mrs. Bunbury. Scartazzini, who is 
 ^hary of his praise for any but a German, and who has 
 himself written a most exhaustive biography of the poet, 
 pronounces Balbo's work " hitherto the best of this 
 kind," and considers its success " great and well-de- 
 served." Scartazzini's Dante Handbook as translated 
 and supplemented by Professor Thomas Davidson, is a 
 valuable aid to the student, no matter how advanced 
 his studies may be. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Taking for granted that the student has prepared 
 himself by a course of preliminary reading to enter 
 upon the study of Dante, it may be asked how shall he 
 best and most profitably go about his work? To this 
 I would reply, presuming that the Circle is reading the 
 poet in English: 
 
 1. Take up some good translation. Longfellow's will 
 be found the most satisfactory as a handbook. 
 
 2. Let there be at least one member in the class who 
 is familiar with the Italian, and let that member have 
 the original text with which to compare the translation, 
 and by which to give the exact literal rendering where 
 there is question of making the interpretation of the 
 allegorical expression. I would recommend Bianchi's 
 text, the eighth edition of 1885, as clear, simple, and 
 
How to Read Dante. 157 
 
 handy. It is the outcome of a lifetime of reading and 
 study. The notes in it will be found most helpful. 
 
 3. Keep in view the meaning of each canto in itself 
 and in relation to the whole. 
 
 4. Where the passage is obscure, refer to one or other 
 of theliteral translations already mentioned. Even these 
 should be compared with the text. 
 
 5. Seek to explain Dante by his other writings. Have 
 by you especially the translations of his letters, the Vita 
 Nuova, the Convito, the De Monarchia. 
 
 6. Remember that in every translation the music of 
 the original is lost; therefore, that one of the chief po- 
 etical attractions having disappeared, the reading of the 
 poet must needs be dry and wearisome. Even in the 
 original, Dante no more than our own Browning, never in- 
 tended that his poem should be a sub.stitute for a game 
 of cards or an after-dinner smoke. He wrote with a 
 serious purpose, and he is to be read in a serious and a 
 studious spirit. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Let us take a random glance of a few English ver- 
 sions of Dante. Here is a bran-new translation of a 
 large portion of the Purgatorio, which Mr. Walter Pater 
 commends as breathing the atmosphere of Dante. The 
 translation is from the pen of Mr. Charles Launcelot 
 Shadwell. Mr. Shadwell makes the experiment of ren- 
 dering the terza rima of Dante into the stanza employed 
 
1 5 8 Books and Reading. 
 
 by Andrew Marvell in his Horatian Ode to Cromwell. 
 Both metres he considers not unlike. He finds in both 
 a common principle of structure; their capacity is, in 
 his view, about equal; that capacity, be it remembered, 
 consisting of the number of syllables contained in a line 
 — as though the capacity of languages as distinct as the 
 English and Italian could be measured by syllables! — 
 and furthermore Marvell, like Dante, introduces "images 
 and ideas which belong to learning and science.'' Here 
 is an anomaly in literary criticism. Think of Marvell 
 airing his pedantry in an ode on a popular subject, 
 compared to Dante inditing a grave and all-embracing 
 poem that includes both heaven and earth, the plainest 
 truths with the sublimest doctrines ever reached by 
 the human reason. Starting out with a theory so funda- 
 mentally erroneous, the translator must needs land in 
 disaster. But we may best judge of his work by some 
 specimens. Let us take the opening lines of the Pur- 
 gatorio. 
 
 To traverse fairer waters the Per correr miglior acqua alza- 
 
 bark of my genius now le vele omai la navicella del 
 
 hoists sail, leaving behind mio ingegno, che lascia die- 
 
 her so cruel a sea: tro a se mar si crudele: 
 
 And I shall sing of this second E cantero di quel secondo 
 
 realm wherein the human regno, ove I'umano spirito 
 
 spirit is cleansed, and be- si purga, e di salire al Ciel 
 
 comes worthy to mount to diventa degno. 
 heaven. 
 
How to Read Dante. 159 
 
 Now here is Mr. Shadwell's rendering of this simple 
 introduction; 
 
 O'er fairer flood, with sail on high, 
 yiy fancy's bark her way doth ply 
 
 That cruel sea unkind 
 
 Forever left behind. 
 With that next realm my song begins 
 Where human souls are purged /ri;»z sins, 
 
 And, all their guilt forgiven, 
 
 Grow fit to mount to heaven. 
 
 This is a feeble translation. The word fancy does 
 not express the great creative mind of Dante. When 
 the poet called the sea cruel, he called it more than un- 
 kind. Unkind is superfluous. There is no mention 
 in the text about leaving that %&3. forever. Only sin can 
 stain a soul; and Dante leaves as much to be inferred. 
 Note the wordiness and the tautology introduced into 
 the next line — 
 
 And, all their guilt forgiven. 
 
 It is an interpolation of the translator. If Mr. Walter 
 Pater finds this translation Dantesque in any sense, it 
 is to be feared that his idea of Dante is anything but 
 adequate. 
 
 Turn we now to another version of the same passage. 
 Mr. John Augustine Wilstach about five years ago is- 
 sued a rhymed translation, " governed by the con- 
 viction," he modestly tells us, " that only thus can one 
 hope to approximate a reproduction of the effect created 
 
i6o Books and Reading. 
 
 by the original; that the form is so inseparable from the 
 soul of the work as to compel the translator to accept 
 all the risks involved in the effort to represent it." 
 Now let us note the flavor of Mr. Wilstach's transla- 
 tion: 
 
 " And now o'er better waves directs its helm 
 The light bark of my genius, glad to sail 
 Far from a sea where horrors such prevail. 
 
 Shall sing my grateful notes that second realm 
 Wherein itself the human soul doth purge. 
 And then its flight to heaven doth worthily urge." 
 
 These lines are written with spirit and freedom. 
 There is little lost in the translation beyond the terse- 
 ness of the original. The substitution of the helm for 
 the sail does not weaken the figure. The same is true 
 of the rendering of the words mar si crudele, by " a sea 
 where horrors such prevail." The terseness is lost, but 
 the effect remains. Even the introduction of the word 
 grateful notes makes pleasant reading. It is only in the 
 last line that there is a falling off. Dante knew his 
 theology too well to represent a soul in purgatory urg- 
 ing its flight to heaven. The soul may yearn for 
 heaven, but it is in a state completely resigned to the 
 will of God, and would not leave its place of suffering 
 till it had become worthy of admission to the Divine 
 Presence. 
 
 Now, let us read Gary's version in blank verse: 
 
How to Read Dante. i6i 
 
 " O'er better waves to speed her rapid course 
 The light bark of my genius lifts the sail, 
 Well pleased to leave so cruel sea behind; 
 And of that second region will I sing, 
 In which the human spirit/ro»z sinful blot 
 Is purged, and for ascent to heaven prepares." 
 
 Here we have a nearer approach to the original text. 
 The word ra/i'if weakens the first verse; the words from 
 sinful blot are, as has been seen already, needless, still 
 the passage reads smoothly. Let us see how Long- 
 fellow translates the passage: 
 
 " To run o'er better waters hoists its sail 
 The little vessel of my genius now, 
 That leaves behind itself a sea so cruel; 
 And of that second kingdom will I sing 
 Wherein the human spirit doth purge itself, 
 And to ascend to heaven becometh worthy." 
 
 This is very literal; it is almost stiffly literal. The 
 inversions are too numerous. In neglecting the theolog- 
 ical sense, the translator makes a grave blunder. 
 Apparently the words si purga might be rendered " doth 
 purge itself." But no; the one thing that the soul is 
 unable to accomplish in purgatory is the purgation or 
 cleansing of itself. It is purged; but not by its own 
 merits or its own efforts: only by the assistance of the 
 faithful on earth and the saints in heaven. 
 
 The results here obtained from a random specimen 
 will hold good throughout the translations we have been 
 
1 62 
 
 Books and Reading. 
 
 considering.* Another thouglit occurs. If in the intro- 
 ductory lines these eminent scholars so easily go astray 
 from lack of theological knowledge, how must they not 
 err in those abstruse passages that are almost literal 
 translations of a Bernard and an Aquinas ? If this is 
 done in the green wood, what must it not be in the dry 
 wood? 
 
 "^ [Note. — On a scrap of paper Brother Azarias had written 
 the subjoined passage as a further illustration of the weakness 
 of Shadwell's translation. — J. H. M.] 
 
 Now is the hour when de- 
 sire returns to those at sea, 
 and the heart becomes tender 
 what day they said good-bye 
 to fond friends; 
 
 The hour was come that on 
 the sea 
 
 Softens the heart with mem- 
 ory, 
 
 The day on voyage sped 
 Farewell to f ri ends was said ; 
 
 Then, if he hear the distant 
 
 bell, 
 That seems the dying day to 
 knell. 
 Its sound hath power to 
 
 move 
 The new-bound pilgrim's 
 love. 
 
 The unity of design is broken in this version. 
 You do not see what the poet is aiming at. He 
 is at once reduced to the level of a second-rate versi- 
 fier. Dante's sweet thoughts preparatory to the sweeter 
 song that is to enrapture him, are all lost in this version. 
 
 The hour that pricks the 
 new-bound prilgrimwith love, 
 if he hears the vestry-bell from 
 afar tolling the knell of the 
 dying day. 
 
Hotv to Read Dante. 163 
 
 X. 
 A relish for Dante and an appreciation of the beauty 
 and grandeur of his noble poem form the high-water 
 mark of culture. The human intellect has no more 
 sublime truths to feed upon than those growing out of 
 the underlying conceptions of the Divina Commedia. 
 Language conveys no sweeter notes than those that 
 Dante sings betimes. Words never reached the heart 
 of a subject more readily than did his words. Human 
 conception was never more clearly unrolled; human 
 genius never soared into sublimer regions; human 
 vision never saw more distinctly; human expression 
 never portrayed the spiritual and the invisible in firmer 
 lines. Well and aptly has the poem been called divine. 
 Its influence is far-reaching. Dante has become an ed- 
 ucator of Italy as Homer had become an educator of 
 Greece. He has molded Italian literature, Italian 
 thought, and Italian politics. Revolutionists have pored 
 over his words, and have fancied that these words spoke 
 to them in the accents of revolt. Men of law and order 
 have made his pages their own, and have imbibed from 
 them a deep and an abiding love of Italy in keep- 
 ing with the fundamental principles of right and justice. 
 Popes have honored his memory, and established chairs 
 for the expounding of his poem. Pius IX. in 1857, 
 placed a laurel wreath upon his bust. Leo XIII. has an 
 unbounded admiration for the poet, and is said to know 
 the Divina Commedia by heart. Last year. His Holiness, 
 
164 Books and Reading. 
 
 in a Brief, commended the poem. Would that his en- 
 thusiasm were to overflow and fill the heart of every 
 Catholic student! 
 
 It is not to be forgotten that from the sixteenth to 
 the nineteenth century the Divina Conimedia was all but 
 a sealed book to the generations that lived and read 
 and wrote. It was so in Italy, as well as in France, 
 Germany, and England. Only with the dawn of the 
 present century did men awaken to the true grandeur 
 of the cathedral of song that had been erected on the 
 basis of philosophical truth and divine faith. We are 
 told that over two hundred editions of Dante have ap- 
 peared in this century. (Ferrazzi; Manuale Dantcsco 
 t. v., p. 700.) French criticism has been especially slow 
 to understand the genius of Dante, for the reason that 
 French criticism has not yet shaken off the thraldom of 
 Voltaire's spirit. Now, Voltaire regarded the Divina 
 Commedia as a bizarre work, sparkling indeed with nat- 
 ural beauties, but in which the author only occasionally 
 rises above the bad taste of his time and of his subject; 
 a work which will be hardly read, and which will there- 
 fore continue to be praised. ' Chateaubriand rises no 
 higher in his conception of the poem; indeed, he only 
 repeats Voltaire. He speaks of " the bad taste of the 
 author," and calls the poem a bizarre production — une 
 production bizarre. He inspires the reader of his Genie 
 
 ' Sa reputation s'affirmira toujours parce qu'on ne k; lit 
 gufere. Dictionnaire Philosophique. Art. Dante. 
 
How to Read Dante. 165 
 
 du Christianisme with greater esteem and more enthu- 
 siasm for Milton than for Dante. Chateaubriand never 
 understood the great Italian. Lamartine never under- 
 stood him. He regarded him solely as " a person- 
 al and local poet." Lamennais never understood 
 him. The introduction Lamennais placed before his 
 translation of the Purgatorio is lamentable reading to 
 the Catholic heart, and unworthy of the structure it 
 would grace. Even Sainte-Beuve never understood 
 Dante. He failed to grasp the intenseness of the spirit 
 and genius that inspired the Divina Commedia. Consult 
 the Encyelopxdie Catholique and you will find the Voltar- 
 ian epithet bizarre. The first French critic strong 
 enough and learned enough and broad enough to raise 
 himself above Voltaire's estimate into a clear concep- 
 tion of Dante's greatness was Frederic Ozanam. That 
 Dante now finds not merely admirers, but appreciative 
 readers throughout Christendom, is an encouraging sign 
 of the elevation of good taste and serious scholarship. 
 I would add one more remark. If I have succeeded 
 in impressing you with a sense of the intense force of 
 Dante's genius and the numeroias difficulties that are to 
 be overcome in order to appreciate his masterpiece ; if, 
 furthermore, I have taught you to become impatient of 
 any man or woman who, upon a superficial reading of 
 an imperfect translation of the great Florentine, will 
 tell you there is nothing in him but obscure names and 
 scholastic hair-splittings; and if, finally, I have nerved 
 
1 66 Books and Reading. 
 
 a single person now listening to me, to undertake a 
 careful study of the Divina Commedia — and let me add 
 that no poem will stand minute investigation and grow 
 upon one's affections with careful study more rapidly than 
 will the Divina Commedia — and to make the poem and its 
 epoch a familiar subject, then, I have not given this 
 chat in vain to-night. 
 
THE MOTIVE OF GEORGE ELIOT'S 
 NOVELS. 
 
 BY BROTHER AZARIAS. 
 
 It is a matter comparatively easy of accomplishment to 
 create a taste for reading. But to direct that taste in the 
 right channels is a task delicate as it is difficult. What 
 shall we read ? What shall we not read ? These are ques- 
 tions that can only be answered individually, and the 
 answers are determined by environment, temperament, 
 actual state of intellectual development and personal 
 character. What were food to one mind may be poison 
 to another. What were pleasant to one palate may 
 be disagreeable to another. Now, in these days of pro- 
 miscuous and desultory reading, there are few who do 
 not read novels. Generally, each has his own favorite 
 author. There are still to be found men possessing 
 the heart and spirit of youth, who enjoy the Leather- 
 stocking series of Cooper with all the relish of their 
 boyhood fancy. There are others who with Ruskin 
 never outgrow their love for the Waverley Novels. 
 Others again never weary of finding pity in their hearts 
 for Little Nell, and Paul Dombey, and Little Dorritt, 
 and so many other pet characters in Dickens. And 
 there are others still who find nothing in modern fiction 
 to compare with Colonel Newcome and Major Pendennis 
 
 167 
 
1 68 Books and Reading. 
 
 and the other truly human creations of Thackeray. So 
 also are there those who find a charm in George Eliot. 
 Now as George Eliot is an author the whole of whose 
 meaning and purpose it is difficult to understand, a few 
 words upon her writings may not be amiss. 
 
 To begin with: There is much to admire in the nov- 
 els of George EUot. Her characters are many of them 
 real, genuine beings of flesh and blood, and have 
 become part of the literature of the English-speaking 
 world. The Poysers and Adam Bede, and Dinah Morris, 
 and Maggie Tulliver and her brother Tom, and Bob 
 Jakin, and the aunts and uncles in the Tulliver family, 
 and Silas Marner, and Dorothea and Casaubon, so 
 grave in pretention, so silly in achievement, and poor 
 Gwendolen and scoundrelly Grandcourt and enthusias- 
 tic Mordecai Cohen, and so many others, all take rank 
 among our mental furniture, and their very sayings 
 have become part of our thinking. No modern author 
 has left us more epigrams to be remembered and re- 
 peated than has George Eliot. She is evidently a close 
 observer of men and things. She has the creative im- 
 agination of genius. And though her portraits are 
 drawn many of them from the life, still to such a degree 
 has she recast them in the crucible of her own mind, 
 and so deeply has she impressed upon them the stamp 
 of her own creation, that she can afterwards tell us that 
 none of her characters are purely personal or drawn 
 immediately from portraits of her acquaintances. 
 
The Motive of George Eliot' s Novels. i6g 
 
 But when we have spoken thus much in praise of 
 George Eliot, we have exhausted our stock of commen- 
 dation. Much remains to be said against her novels 
 both as works of art and in regard to their moral ten- 
 dency. Her most perfect piece of art as a pure creation 
 of unconscious genius is Adam Bede.. It is a book into 
 which the author threw all that was bright and beauti- 
 ful together with all that was tragic and terrible in her 
 remembrance of the provincial life amid which her early 
 years were rooted. She has here presented human na- 
 ture pure and simple as Shakespeare might have pre- 
 sented it. She has held the mirror up to, nature and 
 sketched the ways and workings, the thoughts and as- 
 pirations of a provincial English community as it lived 
 sixty years ago. It is a book abounding in humor and 
 pathos and tragic power. The Mill on the Floss is 
 in parts very beautiful, and in parts shows a wide 
 range of sympathy, but as a work of art it has not the 
 finish of Adam Bede. We seek in vain for a hint, an 
 influence or a motive to prepare us fqr the catastrophe 
 with which it terminates. Still it ranks with Adam 
 Bede among her artistic works. These volumes, with 
 the Scenes of Clerical Life, belong to the period when 
 she reproduced her reminiscences without some ulterior 
 object. In the books written thereafter you perceive 
 that the author is growing more conscious and begins 
 to feel the responsibility of a self-imposed mission. As 
 her thoughts grew more subtle and her opinions more 
 
1 70 Books and Reading. 
 
 scientific, her sentences became more complex. Hence- 
 forth novel after novel reveals more clearly this mission 
 and degenerates accordingly as a work of art. Even in 
 Rotnola, the historical romance is made subservient 
 to a complicated character-study. And what is the 
 mission that weighed down and burdened her genius ? 
 George Eliot wrote with a purely anti-Christian pur- 
 pose. She threw off the shackles of the Calvinism in 
 which she had been brought up, and not knowing any 
 better form of Christianity, concluded that she could find 
 more truth in Positivism. She therefore adopted the 
 tenets of Comte. Humanity is her only religion. But 
 while formally casting off Christian belief, she still re- 
 tains in her expression the forms of Christian dogmas. 
 She speaks of religion and of religious life in a sense far 
 different from that which is our accepted meaning. 
 When Daniel Deronda declares to Gwendolen: "The 
 refuge you are needing from personal trouble is the 
 higher, the religious life, which holds an enthusiasm for 
 something more than our own appetites and vanities," — 
 from the point of view of George Eliot, religious life 
 means a far different thing from its meaning when re- 
 garded from the Christian's point of view. Religious 
 life here means loyalty, not to God and conscience en- 
 lightened by God, but to humanity and the hereditary 
 experience of altruism. She was a woman endowed 
 with an intensely religious nature; but she was also as 
 impulsive and passionate as her own Maggie TuUiver, 
 
The Motive of George Eliot's Novels. 1 7 1 
 
 and she easily yielded to the un-Christian influences 
 with which she had come in contact. And so, though 
 we happen upon her with Newman's writings in her 
 hands, still we do not find any trace of their impression. 
 The poison of irreligion had penetrated her soul, and 
 her thoughts ran in other grooves. In one of her letters 
 she envies a friend who enjoyed the privilege of hear- 
 ing the late Cardinal Newman preach at Birmingham, 
 and expresses a desire to go and hear him. Had she 
 done so, had she fallen under the spell of this great 
 genius that enthralled so many noble intellects, what 
 might not have been the result, and how different might 
 not the verdict of criticism be upon her later works! 
 
 George Eliot read Newman because she read every- 
 thing; she placed herself abreast of the world in what 
 the world chooses to call " advanced thought," and she 
 looked upon herself as the medium through which " ad. 
 •vanced thought" should filter into the popular intelli' 
 gence. The science that Darwin was discovering and 
 that Herbert Spencer, and Huxley, and Tyndall, and 
 Clifford were planning and propagating, she was at- 
 tempting to weave into popular thought and make the 
 motive-power of personal action and the main-spring 
 of personal responsibility. A select circle of readers 
 who had also abandoned the chart of Christian truth 
 and were sailing upon the sea of speculation without 
 compass and without rudder, read with avidity every 
 novel she wrote, not as a work of art, but as a criticism 
 
172 Books and Reading. 
 
 "S- 
 
 of life and a guide by which to sail through life's rocks 
 and shoals. This circle regarded her as a species of seer 
 possessing the secret of the application of the new 
 science to life in all -its phases, and beneath the printed 
 page it sought the hidden meaning. She spared 
 neither study, nor thought, nor health, nor pains to sat- 
 isfy her friends and admirers. She avowedly eschewed 
 Christianity as a formative influence from her later 
 novels, beginning with Si'/as Marner. Writing of that 
 book, she said: "It sets — or is intended to set — in a 
 strong light the remedial influences of pure, natural 
 human relations." She ignored the remedial influence 
 of the supernatural order. For her there was no world 
 of grace. Virtue and vice were simply the outcome of 
 temperament and environment. The good or the bad in 
 a man was the inheritance he derived from his ancestors 
 like the cast of his features or his physical stature. 
 Man was what heredity and his surroundings made him 
 — a creature of necessity — working out the behests of 
 nature whether he will or no to a life of misery or hap- 
 piness. No free will, no God, no soul, no supernatural 
 life. " The will of God," she tells us in the Spanish 
 Gypsy, " is the same thing as the will of other men, 
 compelling us to work and avoid what they have seen 
 to be harmful to social existence.'' These are the pos- 
 tulates upon which George Eliot wrote her laternovels. 
 These constitute their underlying principles. 
 
 So far as she built upon these principles was she 
 
The Motive of George Eliot's Novels. 173 
 
 • 
 building upon a foundation of sand. Hence her par- 
 tial failure. Fortunately for literature, her art has 
 more force than her science. She never could, as did 
 George Sand, make her genius wholly subservient to 
 the full requirements of her speculations. She is not 
 infrequently lifted above speculation, above prejudice, 
 above pet theories, into the purely human atmosphere 
 of the life she depicts. There do her characters invari- 
 ably reap as they have sown. There we perceive no 
 confounding of right with wrong; there are not infre- 
 quently present a deep religious sense and a high spirit- 
 ual ideal. There do we find souls struggling towards 
 the light and attaining calm and peace only after mak- 
 ing sacrifices that sunder their very heart-strings. Law 
 and custom and tradition are respected. " If the past 
 does not bind us," says Maggie to Stephen Guest in a 
 memorable scene, " where can duty lie ? We should 
 have no law but the inclination of the moment." But 
 it is important that we do not mistake the motives. 
 This self renunciation is not the Christian's. The lan- 
 guage is indeed the language of Christianity from the 
 beginning, but the underlying meaning is far different. 
 George Eliot does not look beyond this life for reward 
 or punishment. The only law she recognizes is that 
 which humanity imposes. That which her conscience 
 tells her to be right, has no other sanction than what 
 the experiences of the past recall to her as a promotive 
 of the greater good of the greater number. So insidi- 
 
174 Books and Reading. 
 
 ously is the doctrine inculcated, that its full import es 
 capes thousands. 
 
 But let us not be deceived. There is here only the 
 semblance of a new gospel. The men and women who 
 make sacrifices and renounce self and seek the higher 
 spiritual life, do so through other than the altruistic 
 motives George Eliot would inculcate. Positivism is 
 merely a cold and lifeless aping of Catholicity. When 
 Comte's greatest and most brilliant disciple experienced 
 the craving for real spiritual food, he sought it in the 
 Catholic Church, and the noble soul of Littrd was re- 
 plenished at the fountain of life. Nor has Darwinism 
 any principle of spiritual growth. Any theory of living 
 based upon it is sure to fail. Indeed, whatever assumes 
 to do without God cannot but fail. Men may pretend 
 to get along without Him, but He is none the less pres- 
 ent. In the refrain of innocent and light-hearted Pippa, 
 
 " God's in His heaven- 
 All's right with the world." 
 
 In Him we live, move and are; without Him we are 
 nothmg. 
 
 Standing outside the life she depicts, when discussing 
 religion and morals which are lived and acted out on the 
 old Christian lines, George Eliot must needs make every 
 novel a life-problem to be solved according to the fac- 
 tors her own new science has introduced. In Middle- 
 march, for instance, she undertakes to show us a Saint 
 Theresa, born out of her due time, with noble and gen- 
 
The Motive of George Eliofs Novels. 175 
 
 erous aspirations, yearning to take a hand in some great 
 work, on the lookout for some hero to worship, only to 
 find illusions of life pass from under her touch, and her 
 idols vanish, and her aspirations end in her becoming 
 the wife of Will Ladislaw. " Many Theresas have been 
 born," says the author, " who found for themselves no 
 epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far 
 resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the off- 
 spring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with 
 the. measures of opportunity." This is altogether an 
 outside aspect of things. It is to be feared that George 
 Eliot never grasped the first conception of a Saint Ther- 
 esa; that she never learned the a-b-c of true spiritual 
 life, and that her whole scheme of spiritual growth and 
 development is based upon false assumption. In the 
 Catholic Church a Saint Theresa can always find her 
 true place. 
 
 Regarding her works as so many life-problems we con- 
 clude that her solutions are true or false — and some are 
 correct and some are erroneous — not on account of the 
 Positivist elements that she has introduced into them as 
 factors, but rather on account of the fact that her char- 
 acters work out and live through their careers with more 
 or less probability on the Christian basis of society and 
 in obedience to Christian principles and a Christian 
 criterion of conduct. But the factors that George Eliot 
 introduced were of a scientific nature, and while these 
 interested certain readers of her day and generation, 
 
I "](> Books and Reading. 
 
 they have ceased to absorb the attention of readers of 
 the present time. Scientific issues are now merged in 
 social questions, and unlike Madame Dudevant, George 
 Eliot had never proper grasp of the great social ques- 
 tions. Critics look upon her Felix Holt as a com- 
 parative failure. She has ceased to be regarded as the 
 Cassandra of " advanced thought." Indeed, they are 
 satisfied that the search is not worth the candle. And so 
 Geoge Eliot is gradually sinking in critical estimation 
 to her due proportions as a literary artist and a contrib- 
 utor to the permanent in literature. What- these pro- 
 portions will ultimately become we can better tell in 
 another decade. Then the literature of views and of 
 scientific distortions^the literature based upon mere 
 temporary opinions — may be wholly separated from the 
 literature that reflects human nature as it is. And the 
 literature that embodies human nature in proper artis- 
 tic form is the only literature that will live as long as 
 human nature itself. 
 
 George Eliot, then, is to be recommended to young 
 people with great reserve, and to be read with extreme 
 caution. If hundreds who have read her works have 
 arisen from their perusal unharmed^ it is because they 
 only skimmed the surface and were unconscious of the 
 poison beneath, or they projected into the souls of her 
 characters the Christian motives and principles that 
 formed part of their own existence. But, let it not be 
 forgotten that George Eliot, who translated Kenan's 
 
The Motive of George Eliot's Novels. 177 
 
 Life of Jesus, was a bitter enemy of Christianity, and 
 with all the intensity of her soul and all the power 
 of her great genius she strove to undermine the Christian 
 principles in the hearts and minds of her incautious 
 readers. Her Daniel Deronda, for instance, is not 
 simply a contribution to the solution of the Jewish 
 problem now facing Europe; it is also an effort to 
 raise up the Jew at the expense of the Christian. Gwen- 
 dolen is a spoiled child of society, her better nature 
 overlaid with many layers of selfishness; Grandcourt is 
 a polished English gentleman, observant indeed of the 
 proprieties, but one of the most cold-blooded and in- 
 tensely egotistic characters ever conceived; to both of 
 these in contrast with the spiritual natures of Deronda, 
 and Mirah, and Mordecai, the author seems to point 
 the finger of scorn and say: " See what mortals these 
 Christians be! " Both types are real, but they do not 
 exhaust the whole range, whether of Christian or of 
 Jewish character. The tables might be turned. Though 
 a powerful book, Daniel Deronda is to this extent a 
 dangerous book. The ghost of David Hume flits across 
 its pages. 
 
KATHLEEN O'lMEARA. 
 I. 
 
 "Kathleen O'Meara has gone to her reward." In 
 these words did a Parisian friend announce to us the 
 death of this gifted writer. Great indeed must that re- 
 ward be when measured by the blameless life and ardent 
 devotion to religion and truth that endeared her to all 
 who knew her. Though living in the world, Kathleen 
 O'Meara was not of the world. The Comte de Riche- 
 mont, an intimate friend of the family, who knew her 
 well and admired her every quality of head and hearty 
 writes us, and it is with his permission that we quote the 
 words: " She was above all, unworldly. . . .She loved the 
 visible light, but another light was present and mingled 
 its rays therewith .... She gathered flowers as she passed 
 along, and enjoyed them; but she was careful not to 
 yield to the temptation of seating herself amongst them, 
 as though they were the shade beneath which to find re- 
 pose." She looked above and beyond things of earth 
 for the guiding star of her actions. It was only in con- 
 versation with her that one soon learned how intensely 
 religious was her nature. Still, her piety was without 
 ostentation. Her ideals of living and doing were of the 
 highest character, and could have been drawn only from 
 
 178 
 
Kathleen O'Meara. 179 
 
 the inspirations that came of long and fervent prayer, 
 frequent meditation upon the saints and heroes of the 
 Church, and, above all, of intimate communion with Our 
 Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. 
 
 On the occasion of her visit to Rome in 1887, an 
 American prelate asked her what her pen was then en- 
 gaged upon, and she playfully replied: "Writing novels 
 for the good of my soul." So it was with everything 
 she did; she always sought her own spiritual advance- 
 ment. The great desire of her life seemed to be that 
 in all things she should do God's behest. She envied 
 religious persons the obedience that always made known 
 to them the divine will. In striving to obey that will, 
 she dreaded to put from her any work that came to her 
 hand unsought. Hence the variety of subjects upon 
 which her pen was employed. Whether that fertile pen 
 evoked shadowy beings of fiction, or limned the features 
 of a modern saint, or recorded the varying shades of 
 Parisian society, her motives were always the best; she 
 ever kept uppermost the glory of God and the honor of 
 the Church. 
 
 One who knew her intimately writes: " She had a 
 keen sense to resent any insult to God; it touched her 
 like a personal wrong." The sympathy that went up to 
 God, was also extended to her neighbor. The same 
 loving pen writes : " She opened her heart wide to 
 every form of pain and sorrow." No surprise is it that 
 Cardinal Manning should write to her bereaved sister; 
 
i8o Books and Reading. 
 
 " I had hoped for many years of that bright and holy 
 life, which has taught so many the true way of charity 
 to God and His poor." We all had hoped as much. 
 Better is it as it is. Kathleen O'Meara has gone to her 
 reward! 
 
 II. 
 
 We will not here enter into a detailed account of her 
 writings. They are known wherever the English lan- 
 guage is read. She began writing about 1867 over the 
 pen-name of Grace Ramsay. Her literary labors were 
 not at first crowned with the success that followed her 
 later efforts. The remembrance of her early struggles 
 and failures made her ever ready to extend to beginners 
 on the same course the sympathy and the helping-hand 
 that are then so frequently needed and so rarely given. 
 Throughout her novels — " Mabel Stanhope," " Iza's 
 Story," " Diane Coryval," " The Old House in Picardy," 
 " Narka," — there dwells a wholesome spirit. There is 
 always a truth to be illustrated or a lesson to be given, 
 but it is done in the same unobtrusive manner that 
 characterized her every act. 
 
 We take up " Narka," for instance. It is a story of 
 Russian life. Of its origin she thus writes to a friend: 
 "I once knew intimately in Paris two Polish refugees, 
 and their wrongs kindled a flame in my heart which 
 burned itself out in ' Narka.' " The Nihilist plottings 
 on which the story turns remind us of William Black's 
 " Suqrise." But whilst William Black, with the magic 
 
Kathleen CMeara. i8i 
 
 wand of his descriptive power, throws a glamour 
 over the doings of the Nihilists, and weaves a halo of 
 goodness around the sweet, strong nature of his heroine, 
 Kathleen O'Meara, in a terser and by far a more truth- 
 ful manner makes the presence of Narka light up and 
 reveal the unscrupulous character of other actors in that 
 dread association. And after William Black has pictured 
 scenes and incidents in the vividness of his own pecu- 
 liar coloring, he leaves the problem of human suffering 
 where it was — as great, as helpless, and as hopeless a 
 mystery as ever. Not so Kathleen O'Meara. She 
 grapples with the problem and attempts a solution. It 
 is the solution of Christian charity. Narka's father and 
 brother have been the victims of the petty tyrannies per- 
 petrated throughout the provinces of Russia in the name 
 of the Czar. She is in favor of revolution. 
 
 " ' If you ever make a revolution in Russia,' said Mar- 
 guerite, ' let it be a revolution of love, not of hate.' 
 
 " Narka laughed. ' And burst our chains by kissing 
 them!' 
 
 " ' There is nothing that love might not do if people 
 would only believe in it,' said Marguerite; ' if only they 
 would let it rule the world instead of hatred. If they 
 would let it have its way, like the blessed sunshine, it 
 would turn this world into a paradise.' " * 
 
 It is the soul of Kathleen O'Meara that speaks in these 
 
 * "Narka," Vol I., p. 50. The story first appeared in a serial in Harper's 
 
1 82 Books and Reading. 
 
 words of Marguerite. She afterwards shapes the life 
 of this same Marguerite upon the conviction uttered, 
 and pictures her wielding untold influence in the lowest 
 quarters of Paris as a Sister of Charity, even as did 
 her prototype. Sister Rosalie. And when Sister Mar- 
 guerite takes the larger views of life and poverty 
 and suffering, it is the soul of the author that is going 
 out to God's poor. 
 
 " ' I wish I could think the poor were grateful to you! ' 
 said Narka. 
 
 " ' Who says they are not grateful ? ' demanded Mar- 
 guerite, quickly. 
 
 "' It seems to me everybody says it; it is the con- 
 stant complaint of all the good people who work for 
 the poor that they get no return.' 
 
 " 'What nonsense! I wonder what sort of return they 
 expect? If they gave love, the poor, would give them 
 love back; but they only give alms, and I don't suppose 
 they expect the poor to give them back alms.'" * 
 
 Again it is the soul of Kathleen O'Meara that pleads 
 through Sister Marguerite for the poor dinnerless labor- 
 er that is driven to revolt by the pangs of hunger. " It 
 is hunger that sends the ouvrier down into the street 
 He is not wicked; he is a good fellow if you give him 
 bread enough; but he goes mad on an empty stomach, 
 and that hunger-madness is the worst of all." f 
 
 * Ibid., Vol. II., p. 42. 
 
 t Jbid., Vol. II., p. ?45. Cf. "Lile of Frederic Ozanam," pp. 321-^. 
 
Kathleen O'Meara. 183 
 
 So we might run through all her novels, and diseatan- 
 gle the large-hearted sympathy with poverty and suffer- 
 ing that is woven into them out of the writer's soul; but 
 we must not tarry. She has achieved even greater suc- 
 cess in other fields. 
 
 Her " Madame Mohl " ' is a remarkable book, crisp and 
 bright as the subject. There is not a dull page in the 
 volume. It introduces us into that unique institution that 
 has never been able to flourish elsewhere, the Parisian 
 salon, and brings us in contact with men and women who 
 are still in the flesh, and leaders of the social, literary, or 
 political world. It paints for us in clearest colors a 
 worldly woman, odd to the straining point of oddity, 
 living for the world, her pulse throbbing to no higher 
 motive than that of pleasing the world, yet deserted in 
 her old age by the world; withal a good-hearted and 
 true woman, exemplary as daughter, as wife, and as 
 hostess. It unravels with skill the oddities, the likes 
 and dislikes, the whole puzzle of this " short-skirted, 
 witch-like woman," with her round blue eyes " wide 
 open in a perpetual sparkle of curiosity," her whole 
 bearing expressing " energy, vivacity, and happiness. 
 And," adds the author, "what a charm there is in the 
 mere sight of a happy human face amidst the suffering, 
 discontented ones that meet us on all sides!"" 
 
 Here again it is the soul of Kathleen O'Meara that 
 
 ' First pubUshed In the Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 ■* Madame Mohl: " Her Salon and her Friends," p. 182. 
 
184 Books and Reading. 
 
 speaks. Her large-hearted charity loves to bask in the 
 sunny side of all things. 
 
 A more delicate task still was her " Life of Thomas 
 Grant," first Bishop of Southwark. It tells succinctly 
 and well the story of the restoration of the Catholic 
 hierarchy in England. In preparing it she had the ad- 
 vice of Cardinal Manning and the guidance of the ven- 
 erable Archbishop Ullathorne. Those conversant with 
 the stormy period through which Dr. Grant lived, the 
 delicate nature of issues then raised, the unique character 
 of that saintly but much ill-understood man, can best 
 appreciate the prudence and tact with which Kathleen 
 O'Meara handled the whole subject, and produced a biog- 
 raphy that has won the admiration of competent judges- 
 
 But the work in which her genius for biography shows 
 to best advantage is " Frederic Ozanam: His Life and 
 AVorks." The second London edition, now before us, 
 has been found worthy of a long and valuable introduc- 
 tion from the pen of Cardinal Manning, to what His 
 Eminence calls " this deeply interesting narrative." 
 With great firmness of grasp, the author handles the 
 salient events of the day, and groups around Ozanam 
 all the leading characters of that most interesting period 
 of French history — interesting above all to the Catholic 
 student, — and follows her hero through the whirl and 
 turmoil of Paris, and notes amid the seething of thought 
 that was then going on in all active brains the self- 
 possessed student through " eighteen years of great in- 
 
Kathleen O'Meara. 185 
 
 tellectual and spiritual intensity," ' strong, energetic, 
 earnest, carving his way to eminence, and inspiring 
 youthful souls with his own chivalric impulses. Faith- 
 lally she traces his footsteps as, weak in body, he wan- 
 ders through many lands in search of the health that 
 was ebbing fast away from him; but, well or ill, always 
 returning weighted down with erudition gathered from 
 musty tomes hidden away in the recesses of dust-laden 
 libraries, — now picking up legends in Catholic Brittany; 
 now culling flowers of sweetest poesy and song in the 
 garden of St. Francis of Assisi; now imbibing inspira- 
 tion in the land of the Cid; now following the slow and 
 solemn tread of the great Dante, delving into that in- 
 exhaustible mine of high thought, the Divina Commedia, 
 — glad always and above all things when he could es- 
 tablish a branch of his dear Confraternity of St. Vin- 
 cent de Paul. It is all told with an indescribable charm. 
 It is noteworthy how well Miss O'Meara had mastered 
 Ozanam's most philosophical writings and condensed 
 them in a few pages. M. le Comte de Richemont 
 throws a side-light upon the working of her mind in 
 this regard. He writes: " Her mind was admirably en- 
 dowed. We frequently discussed questions the most 
 philosophical and abstract in connection with the work 
 she would have on hand; she took them in at a glance 
 and assimilated them with a rare facility." He further 
 on notices the humility with which she would receive 
 
 Cardinal Manning, Prelace, p. 96. 
 
1 86 Books and Reading. 
 
 information or the correction of any misconceptions. 
 
 Had Katiileen O'Meara left no other work from her 
 pen than this biography she would well deserve the 
 gratitude of Catholics. If we were asked what book we 
 would recommend to be placed in the hands of young 
 men in order to quicken their sympathies in behalf of 
 misery and suffering, and aid the good that is in them 
 to bloom out and bear fruit, we should name, without 
 fear of demur or contradiction, Kathleen O'Meara's 
 " Frederic Ozanam." It is a story of great talent util- 
 ized and bearing compound interest; an illustration of 
 great opportunities created and seized upon and used 
 to advantage; a revelation of sweet and charming 
 domestic virtues. In Ozanam we behold the man of 
 the world whose pulse beats in sympathy with all the 
 literary, political, and social movements of the day; the 
 ripe scholar, the unwearied student, and the beautiful, 
 saintly soul. The book is strong enough to mark an 
 epoch in the life of any thoughtful Catholic young man.' 
 
 We leave untouched many other works from the pen 
 of Kathleen O'Meara, such as her charming sketches of 
 Pere Lacordaire, Sister Rosalie, and Madame Swet- 
 chine.^ Last summer, while resting in Switzerland, she 
 finished another of this series — a sketch of the Cur^ of 
 Ars — which appeared in the " Ave Maria." Other 
 
 ' There Is an American edition o£ this work published hy the Catholic Publica- 
 tion Society Co. 
 
 ^ The first two of these, also sketches of Pere Beson and Mgr. de S6gur, were 
 written for the " Ave Maria." 
 
Kathleen O'Meara. 187 
 
 literary plans and projects she had. Last year, while 
 translating Armand Ravelet's beautiful " Life of Blessed 
 de la Salle," she conceived so much love and ad- 
 miration for a soul that achieved such great things 
 amid sufferings and persecutions which ceased only 
 with his last breath, that she proposed writing a popular 
 life of the saint, and upon this she was working when 
 she dropped her pen in death. The present writer 
 looked forward to seeing a master-piece from her pen, 
 and into this slight tribute to her worth he would weave 
 the regret that her noble intention remained unachieved 
 before she had gone to her reward. 
 
 III. 
 
 Born in 1839, Kathleen O'Meara was in her forty-ninth 
 year when she died of pneumonia, November 10, 1888. 
 Her passing away has left a void in the social world as 
 well as in the world of letters. She was well known 
 and highly esteemed by some of the most distinguished 
 men and women in France and England. We have be- 
 fore us beautiful letters from a few of those friends; 
 they are all couched in the same terms. They might 
 all be summed up in the words of one who knew her 
 well and intimately: " To the many who admired her 
 she will ever be a gracious memory; but to those who 
 knew her and loved her, a life-long regret."' 
 
 To the venerable Archbishop UUathorne she looked 
 
 1 L.*M. W.-Mrs. Wheelwright, In the Boston Post, Nov. 'it. 
 
1 88 Books and Reading. 
 
 up with all the affection and esteem of a daughter for a 
 father. To him she appealed in every sorrow and anx- 
 iety that might be hers. The writer remembers the 
 glow of enthusiasm with which she spoke of this learned 
 prelate when showing his picture, which held a place of 
 honor in her room, as he himself did in her heart. In 
 return the venerable Archbishop entertained for her 
 the tenderest regard. Her letters were to him a source 
 of delight. " There were no letters I received with 
 more delight than your sister's. She was to me like 
 one of my own dear spiritual children. All around me 
 in this house there is but one feeling of regret for her." 
 So writes this prelate to the bereaved sister of Kathleen 
 O'Meara. 
 
 December 14, 1887, came to her the great sorrow of 
 her life. Her mother died. How intensely devoted she 
 was to that mother it were difficult to describe. "All 
 her labors," writes an intimate friend already quoted, 
 " all her successes, she referred after God, to her moth- 
 er. How often, in the bosom of the family, when she 
 returned from a walk, would she kneel by her mother 
 and kiss her hand, as she used to do when a child." 
 The depth of her affection may be measured by the 
 following glimpse from her journal, with which, through 
 the kindness of her sister, we have been favored: 
 
 " Many and many a time I reminded myself that the 
 day would come when she would not be there to bless 
 me, and I tried to picture my living on without her, but 
 
Kathleen O'MearA. 1&9 
 
 it seemed impossible. She was so completely the life 
 of my life that it seemed as if mine must come to an 
 end with hers — as if my heart could never keep on 
 beating when hers had stopped. She lay within my 
 life as the heart lies within the body, and in going away 
 she seems to have lacerated me as when the flesh or a 
 limb is torn or cut out from the body. And yet I know 
 that it is well with her, and I bid my heart rejoice for 
 her and with her all the day long. We cafti praise God 
 on broken hearts. The agony of our poor broken hearts 
 makes no discord in His." 
 
 The silent, pent-up grief kept gnawing at her heart, 
 and underipined her constitution. The writer remem- 
 bers a conversation in which, speaking of the ease with 
 which some persons forget the death of relatives, she 
 expressed herself with great feeling upon her own cher- 
 ished sorrow for her departed moth'er. " For my part," 
 she said, " as time goes on I only feel more keenly the death 
 of my dear mother, and I cannot imagine the time when I 
 could look back upon it with cold indifference." Tears 
 stood in her eyes, and her voice failed when she spoke 
 these words. This is the love that is stronger than 
 death. We are not surprised that her bereaved sister 
 should write: " The last year of her life was a struggle 
 to live after the loss of our mother; and at last her 
 frame, weakened by grief, sank in a few days from 
 pneumonia." 
 
 Her death was worthy of her life. The same sorrow- 
 
igo Books and Reading. 
 
 ing pen has thus described it: " Her death was most 
 beautiful. No agony, no sign to say all was over. 
 She received Holy Communion and Extreme Unction. 
 She was conscious almost to the last. She said to me 
 two days before her death: 'God's will be done. He 
 knows what is best, and if I am to be taken from you--' 
 when she stopped, and I said as firmly as I could: 'Yes, 
 darling, this will be best ; you accept it, and I accept it." ' 
 It was in this resigned spirit that she passed out of the 
 smoke and fumes of earthly fame into the white light of 
 God's holiness. One can linger over such a death-bed, 
 and feel one's faith grow all the stronger for it. Kath- 
 leen O'Meara has passed away, but the world is all the 
 better for her having lived and labored. Kathleen 
 O'Meara has gone to her reward ! 
 
MR. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL AND 
 
 CRITICISM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mr. Augustine Birrell is always lively, chatty, inter- 
 esting, when he writes about books and authors. His 
 two volumes of Obiter Dicta have had quite a run, and 
 have delighted their readers. His latest work. Res Judi- 
 cata:, bids fair to be no less popular. His is a healthy 
 mind with excellent digestive power, and a keen relish for 
 wholesome literature. It is a scholarly and a trained 
 mind. It is a broad mind. Mr. Birrell revels in the un- 
 trammelled, outspoken, bigoted and hard-hitting pages 
 of eccentric George Borrow, and at the same time appre- 
 ciates to the full the classic flow of Newman's graceful 
 prose, the color and glow of it, the humor of it, the pathos 
 of it, and the fascination that hovers over all the writings 
 of the great Cardinal. Borrow, Mr. Birrell understands 
 — he is a born Borjovian; he tells us 'men are born 
 Borrovians, not made ' — his falsehoods, inconsistencies, 
 his brag, his naturalness; but while his sympathy with 
 Newman is deep and reverent, he has missed the mean- 
 ing of Newman's writings. They form part of New- 
 man's life and are one and inseparable with it. It is 
 asking much of the ordinary critic that he should grasp 
 
 I9;i 
 
ig'2. Books and Reading. 
 
 and analyze the soul that lurks beneath the printed page 
 of every great book. The most expressive author only 
 reveals faint glimmerings of the light that glows within 
 him. Human nature is too complex, human action too 
 involved, human thought too open to various influences 
 from within and from without, to find complete expres- 
 sion in words however full, or in art however finished. 
 Therefore the best criticism is likely to be narrow, 
 rigid, and inadequate. 
 
 Mr. Birrell does not attempt the higher constructive 
 criticism. He does not go deeper than the purely liter- 
 ary qualities of an author. He does not seek the central 
 thought that gives meaning to the book; he is content 
 to impart to you the flavor and bouquet of its style. 
 Herein Mr. Birrell follows the method of nearly all 
 modern English criticism, from that of Matthew Arnold 
 down to the estimates of Mr. Walter Pater and Mr. W. 
 E. Henley. That criticism is of the surface. It deals 
 chiefly with style; occasionally it examines method. It 
 tears from the context a specimen of wit or humor, or 
 of polished construction. What are the chief aim and 
 purport of the book, its underlying idea, its definite 
 place in the literature of the subject, its relative value ? 
 — these are questions unasked and unanswered by mod- 
 ern English criticism. In consequence the reader of 
 such criticism is in no better position to understand 
 the book or the author. Take up one of Sainte-Beuve's 
 critical essays. Many of them are ideals of criticism. 
 
Mr. Augustine Birrell and Criticism. 193 
 
 You are given not only a conception of an author's 
 style and method, but you are initiated into the very 
 mainspring of his action; those traits of character, those 
 mental peculiarities, those historical incidents that 
 colored the author's views, are all made to bear on the 
 book under review; an anecdote is told, a comment is 
 made, a gloss is supplied; your interest is awakened, 
 and you read the book with additional pleasure and 
 profit. Henceforth the author has a definite place in 
 your mental furniture. 
 
 No author can be taken out of his mental environ- 
 ment. Even a Shakespeare and a Goethe have their 
 local coloring. An author's very form of expression is 
 ruled by his times. His very thoughts are influenced 
 by his contemporaries. These are principles of criti- 
 cism that underlie much of Sainte-Beuve's work. Taine 
 attempted to apply them, but sadly failed. Mr. Augus- 
 tine Birrell has no such pretension, and it were unfair to 
 judge him by a standard at which he did not aim. 
 Matthew Arnold endeavored to be an English Sainte- 
 Beuve. He wrote poetry that is superior to Sainte- 
 Beuve's finest verses; in criticism he fell far below his 
 French model. Mr. Birrell tells us; "a perfectly safe 
 critic Mr. Arnold hardly was. Even in this volume he 
 fusses too much about the De Guerins. To some later 
 judgments of his it would be unkind to refer." Mr. 
 Arnold after the fashion of George Sand and Sainte- 
 Beuve did fuss too much over the reliques of Maurice 
 
194 Books and Reading. 
 
 de Gu^rin, a young man with more ambition than brain. 
 His verses are without inspiration and scarcely clever. 
 His prose fragments are poor stuff. George Sand 
 praised them because she regarded their author as one 
 of her circle. Sainte-Beuve spoke kindly of Maurice 
 to please his friend Mr. Trebutien. Mr. Arnold was 
 then a very young man, and caught up the echoes 
 of these writers, and raved over the specimens that 
 they commended. The Journal of Maurice de Guerin 
 reveals a morbid soul wrestling with a diseased body. 
 Not so the Journal of his sister Eugenie. While Maur- 
 ice was in the toils of Lammenais' genius, a wren suf- 
 focating beneath an eagle's wing, Eugenie was thinking 
 of him, dreaming of him, praying for him, living for 
 him, and pouring out to him all the love of one of the 
 most beautiful souls that have ever been unveiled to the 
 gaze of humanity. Open the pages of her journal at 
 random. The reading of almost any paragraph is re- 
 freshing. You are inhaling the cool air of a bright 
 summer morning, and the flowers are blooming, and the 
 trees are a-blossom, and the birds are singing, and the 
 breeze from the upland, laden with the fragrance of 
 flower and blossom, bathes your brow. Whether she 
 descants upon the varying scenes of the nature she 
 loves so well, or upon the last volume of Walter Scott 
 that she has been reading, or upon the feast-day that 
 she has been celebrating, or upon the beautiful religious 
 sentiments that fill her whole being, or upon the home 
 
Mr. Augustine Birrell and Criticism. 195 
 
 and family affairs, you always read behind the page the 
 same calm, delicate, noble soul, so forgetful of self, so 
 devoted to others, so happy in doing good, so content 
 within the narrow sphere of her daily life. Her whole 
 anxiety is for her dear Maurice. From time to time a 
 sob goes out from the page; unconsciously it thrills her 
 fingers as she writes the loving words; and there is that 
 single cry from her heart of hearts giving meaning to 
 the whole volume: ' 'Tis your soul, Maurice, your soul 
 that I love! ' How can we find words to express the 
 loving tenderness of this sister for her wayward 
 brother? — Too much may have been said about Maurice 
 de Gu6rin; one cannot be too enthusiastic over his 
 sister Eugenie. Contrast her Journal with that of 
 Marie Bashkirtseff. The latter even in its fragmentary, 
 shape, with its more unsightly revelations covered over, 
 is a mirror reflecting a soul selfish, ambitious, nervous, 
 restless, and unsettled, dissatisfied with life, hungering 
 and thirsting after the love, the honors, and the fame 
 that this world is supposed to give — a soul devouring 
 itself in its hysterical moods— a soul dying with its 
 yearnings unsatisfied, its aspirations unfulfilled, and 
 passing away enshrouded in the gloom of despondency 
 and agnosticism. Eugenie also had her hours of weari- 
 ness and discouragement; she had her ambitions; hers 
 was the soul of an artist fluttering against the bars of 
 limitations; she had her disappointments and heart- 
 burnings; but see how calmly and beautifully she bore 
 
ig6 Books and Reading, 
 
 with all, and contemplate the lovely garden of virtues 
 that blossomed in her soul beneath the dews of heaven- 
 ly grace. 
 
 II. 
 
 So much concerning Matthew Arnold and the De 
 Gu^rins. From what has been already said it may be 
 inferred that criticism has its moods and its theories, 
 and not infrequently is it led by fads. It were a deli- 
 cate and a difficult task to discount all the prejudices 
 that influence a critic in forming an estimate. Allow- 
 ance is to be made for degrees of culture and the preju- 
 dices of race, religion, politics, literary taste, that are 
 likely to color an opinion. These are among the Idols 
 against which Bacon warns us. Mr. Birrell recognizes 
 all this and tells us, " Most critics are such savages — or 
 if they are not savages, they are full of fantasies, and 
 capable at any moment of calling Tom Jones dull, or 
 Sydney Smith a bore." Of course, neither Mr. Arnold 
 nor Mr. Birrell is capable of such a blunder. Charles 
 Lamb had a critical instinct that rarely if ever erred in 
 matters purely literary. To a knowledge of history, oi 
 philosophy, or science, he had no pretension. This fact 
 remembered we can accept Mr. Birrell's verdict: "The 
 most striking note of Lamb's literary criticism is its 
 veracity. He is perhaps never mistaken. His judg- 
 ments are apt to be somewhat too colored with his own 
 idiosyncrasy to be what the judicious persons of the 
 
Mr. Augustine Birr ell and Criticism. 197 
 
 period call final and classical, but when did he ever go 
 utterly wrong either in praise or in dispraise ? When did 
 he like a book which was not a good book ? When did 
 either the glamour of antiquity or the glare of novelty 
 lead him astray ? How free he was from that silly chat- 
 ter about books now so abundant ! When did he ever 
 pronounce wiredrawn twaddle or sickly fancies, simply 
 reeking of their impending dissolution, to be enduring 
 and noble workmanship ? " In this verdict are included 
 many useful hints as to what constitutes true criticism. 
 Be it remembered that the book which may be com- 
 paratively harmless for a cultured class of readers, who 
 are familiar enough with the substance and look rather 
 to the form, may work great injury among half-educated 
 people who possess little or no discrimination, and who 
 accept all printed matter in sober earnestness. This 
 latter class have no intellectual perspective. They are 
 not prepared to allow for time, place, and circumstance. 
 They take a distorted view of things. The important 
 is cast into the backgrpund, and the trivial assumes gi- 
 gantic proportions. Here are elements not to be ig- 
 nored in true criticism. The Vicomte de Vogd^ in a re- 
 view of Zola's recent novel of the Franco-Prussian war 
 — LaDebdcle — alluding to the demoralizing effects of such 
 a book among the French soldiers on account of the to- 
 tal absence of an ideal, and the wholly depressing char- 
 acter of the book, makes this distinction: " Everybody 
 knows," says this admirer of Tolstoi, " that there are 
 
198 Books and Reading. 
 
 two modes of reading, which have nothing in common. 
 For us, dilettanti, reading is only a search after success 
 in art; we say: 'This detail is exact and to the point; 
 that other is cleverly imagined; the whole is capitally 
 done.-' For the simple everything printed has the force 
 of the catechism and the almanac; it is a categorical 
 imperative." ' All constitutions cannot thrive on the 
 same kind of food. Food impregnated with deadly poi- 
 son or the germs of disease can scarcely be wholesome 
 for any constitution. What is true of the nutrition of 
 the body is equally applicable to the nutrition of the 
 soul. In a healthy personality mind-culture is not made 
 a thing apart from soul culture. 
 
 Evident as these principles seem, it is strange how dif- 
 ferently they are applied. Here is Aubrey de Vere find- 
 ing in Spenser's Faerie Queene the most perfect ideal 
 in poetry and philosophy; while about ten years ago 
 Mr. Thomas Arnold in The Dublin Review, condemned 
 the work as unfit to be placed in students' hands on ac- 
 count of its sensuous descriptions, and the anti-Catholic 
 prejudices with which the poem is saturated. Which is 
 right ? Each is right from his point of view. In Spen- 
 ser there were two distinct personalities: one was the 
 servile courtier subscribing heartily to all of Queen 
 Elizabeth's whims and fancies, hating what she hated 
 and approving what she approved; the other was the 
 inspired poet with a clear vision of eternal truth and 
 noble ideals steeped in heavenly beauty. 
 
Mr. Augustine Birr ell and Criticism. 199 
 
 It is in commenting upon contemporary books and 
 authors that the critic is in greatest danger of being 
 misled. Public demand is no criterion of merit. Books 
 of a high literary character; books appealing chiefly to 
 iCaders of thought, must needs be limited in their cir- 
 DulatioH. Any printed matter that touches the popular 
 fancy or caters to depraved tastes, is sure to have a wide 
 circle of readers. Now, the critic, as well as the or- 
 dinary reader, may be carried away by that element giv- 
 ing the book its temporary popularity, and may in con- 
 sequence praise it far beyond its deserts. Living in the 
 same intellectual atmosphere with the author, thinking 
 more or less under the same dominant set of opinions, 
 it is not an easy task for the critic to dissociate him- 
 self from time and season, and distinguish between the 
 perishable and imperishable ingredients that enter into 
 the composition of the book under review. We have 
 heard Mr, Birrell tell us that it would be unkind to refer 
 to some later judgments of Matthew Arnold's. We 
 have the same authority assuring us that " Sainte-Beuve 
 was certainly happier snuffing the ' parfums du pass^' 
 than when ranging among the celebrities of his own 
 day." If this be true of the French luminary and his 
 revolving planet, how much more applicable is it not 
 to the critical stars of lesser magnitude ? How mis- 
 leading may not the puffings of a mutual admiration so- 
 ciety of authors become ? Or mayhap it is a coterie of 
 critics who have combined to write down a certain an- 
 
20O Books and Reading. 
 
 thor, damning his noblest efforts with faint praise. 
 Temporary injury may be done the author, but the 
 spite and the maHce aforethought that dictated such 
 criticism ultimately become unmasked; the genuine 
 literary work survives the little jealousies, and shines 
 all the brighter for having passed through the crucible. 
 The severe attacks made upon Keats have not dimmed 
 the lustre of his genius. Jeffreys prophesied that 
 Wordsworth's Excursion would never do. Somehow 
 Tlie Excursion is doing nicely, and the genius of Words- 
 worth is looming up with the progress of time in more 
 magnificent proportions, Jeffreys' prediction to the 
 contrary notwithstanding. There was no gall in Jeff- 
 reys' pen as there was in that of Gifford or Lockhart. 
 It was intellectual purblindness that prevented him 
 from seeing the real greatness of Wordsworth. Some- 
 times a coterie indulges in the practise known as log- 
 rolling; that is, it endeavors to create a favorable opin- 
 ion for the writings of a friend. The recent quarrel 
 between Mr. Churton Collins and Mr. Edmund Gosse 
 revealed a great deal of log-rolling in England. You 
 can seldom be sure of critical judgments of a book in 
 the British monthlies and quarterlies. Their unanimity 
 may be the result of concerted action on the part of a 
 few friends who are manufacturingopinion in favor of the 
 author. Tennyson at first sprung into notoriety by 
 means of the log-rolling process; but in this case the 
 friends who wrote him up showed their discernment pf 
 
Mr. Augustine Birrell and Criticism. 201 
 
 true poetic work. His genius was too great and too 
 well balanced to be spoiled by praise. He continued to 
 delve and study and practice, always profiting by the 
 censures of a Coleridge, and even of a crusty, fusty 
 Christopher North, until he rose to his more recent 
 giant-like dimensions. 
 
 III. 
 
 Speaking of log-rolling, is a reminder that there are 
 shoals from which our Catholic critics have not always 
 steered clear. A Catholic author writes a mediocre 
 book, be it of fiction, or poetry, or history, or biography, 
 or travel — or perhaps it is a spiritual or doctrinal 
 treatise — and our Catholic papers as a rule feel obliged 
 to encourage the book. Are they justified in doing so ? 
 Let us see. The secular press leaves the mediocre 
 Catholic author out in the cold. It ignores his book. 
 From the secular press he need expect no recog- 
 nition. If his own pounce upon him for rushing 
 into print, his is a sad plight. Of course, he may deserve 
 to be beaten with rods, especially if, as sometimes 
 happens, his inferior book blocks the way for something 
 really worthy of the subject. Hitherto, since Shakes- 
 peare's time, the amount of Catholic literature produced 
 in the English language has been limited in scope and 
 quantity. Now, any book from a Catholic pen, con- 
 taining wholesome thoughts, be it ever so mediocre, is 
 beneficial. It is good to spread such a book. So have 
 
202 Books and Reading. 
 
 thought our Catholic critics, and accordingly they have 
 dealt lightly with the harmless book. But as Catholic 
 literature increases in variety and extent, our critics 
 can become more discriminating. It is not necessary 
 to establish two weights and two measures of criticism for 
 our Catholic authors. Recommendation is one thing, 
 laudation is quite'another thing. Catholic reviewers 
 must plead guilty to the impeachment of having been 
 in the past too laudatory of inferior literary work. 
 
 The varying fortunes of some Catholic books would- 
 make an interesting chapter in the history of English 
 literature. Catholics have been not infrequently apathet- 
 ic towards Catholic books of merit, even while their 
 non-Cathulic neighbors showed full appreciation of them. 
 It was not a Catholic publisher who first issued an 
 American edition of Cardinal Wiseman's great work on 
 the Connection Between Scietice and Religion; that book 
 was first printed in this country by the faculty of An- 
 dover College for the benefit of the students. The most 
 searching study of Hamlet ever made on this continent 
 was made by the Catholic poet, George H. Miles. The 
 criticism first appeared in two consecutive numbers of 
 the Southern Review when it was under the editorship 
 of the late Albert Taylor Bledsoe. There is a noble 
 piece of Shakespearian criticism buried out of sight 
 simply because it is not better known. The other works 
 of the same author are no less neglected. Nor is he 
 filone. It took a Ruskin to discover the merits of Th? 
 
Mr. Augustine Birrell and Criticism. 203 
 
 Angel of the House, by Coventry Patmore; how many 
 Catholic readers appreciate the poem ? Catholics — 
 reading Catholics with no slight pretensions to culture 
 — have been known to question- whether Aubrey de Vere 
 was really a poet or only a pretentious verse-maker. 
 The reply made to such was: Ask Longfellow, ask the 
 critics of the London Athenaum the measure of Aubrey 
 de Vere's greatness as a poet. The sanction of The 
 Dublin Review had no weight with these people, but a 
 non-Catholic approval quieted their doubts. So the 
 story runs. We are the last to appreciate our own. 
 Take up the old catalogues of books published by 
 Richardson of Derby, Dolman of London, and Dunigan 
 of New York, and note the number of Catholic books 
 well worth preserving, which died out of sight with the 
 break-up of these houses. Remembering the past, it 
 must be admitted that in the cultivatiorf of a taste for 
 Catholic literature, and in the patronage of Catholic 
 books, there is room for improvement. It is, if you 
 will, an encouraging sign to see Kenelm Digby's monu- 
 mental work. Mores Catholici, published and bought. 
 But let us not forget that half a century before the 
 chivalric and enterprising Mr. P. O'Shea issued his 
 noble edition, an edition was printed and bought and 
 read in Cincinnati. Still, it is something that in our 
 eagerness to be informed concerning the latest literary 
 fads and fashions, from Esoteric Buddhism to the 
 studies of human morbidness of a Mallock ora Thomas 
 
204 Books and Reading. 
 
 Hardy, we do not let slip from our grasp all that is 
 best and noblest among our Catholic authors. It is 
 well that they have not all passed into oblivion. 
 
 Our range and scope of Catholic literature are now 
 sufficiently large for our critics to recommend nothing 
 but the best. Our magazines and reviews should be up 
 to the top notch of excellence. If, after a fair trial, 
 any among them cannot reach that position — if there is 
 no definite reason for their existence — then, why should 
 mercy be shown them? They only block the way for 
 something better. The namby-pamby and the goody- 
 goody have no place in modern thought. Our journals 
 are not under obligation to make their pages recepta- 
 cles of school-boy essays and school-girl romancings. 
 The waste-paper basket is the proper place for such 
 articles. Young writers, be they young in years or be 
 ' they young in the use of the pen, should put in a long 
 and severe apprenticeship before appearing in print. 
 What Pierre Loti has recently said of the higher forms 
 of literary art applies here with equal force: " I do not 
 claim," he says, " that in constructing any work in any 
 manner whatever, a writer can always achieve a real 
 success, even if he is possessed of the keenest sensibil- 
 ity." 
 
A PEEP INTO TENNYSON'S WORK- 
 SHOP. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson has passed from earth. His grop- 
 ings to lift the veil concealing the life beyond the grave 
 are over. He sees the whole meaning of life. In the 
 words of a brother poet who dropped away a little earli- 
 er he can now say: 
 
 " Over the ball of it, 
 
 Peering and prying, 
 How I see all of it. 
 Life there outlying." 
 And now comes home to him the larger thought that 
 he himself so exquisitely wrote, that with God rests a 
 man's past and future. His life-work is measured in a 
 scale of divine making not of human construction: 
 " We pass ; the path that each man trod 
 Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds : 
 "What fame is left for human deeds 
 In endless age? It rests with God." 
 Now that poets are chanting his name and critics are 
 commenting upon his genius and influence, it were pleas- 
 ant and profitable to enter his literary workshop and take 
 note of the manner in which he struck out the beautiful 
 thoughts that filled his poet-soul. It has been our 
 
 205 
 
2o6 Books and Readmg. 
 
 privilege, thanks to the kindness of a dear friend, to 
 study the manuscript of Tennyson's poem, called The 
 Daisy, and to note the changes, and even the very efforts 
 made by the poet before happening upon the best form 
 of thought. Tennyson was pre-eminently a word-artist. 
 If he so excelled, it has been the result of much study 
 and great painstaking. 
 
 No poet could be more painstaking than Tennyson. 
 Every idea was evolved slowly. Note the evolution of 
 Maud irom the stanzas published in 1855, to the version 
 printed in 1856; thence to the edition of 1859, when the 
 poem appeared in two parts, and the final edition when 
 it appeared in its present form. Note the changes, the 
 striking out of whole pages of matter that represented 
 long and weary hours of work. Here are lines that stood 
 in the original proof of J/i2«^, descriptive of the heroine's 
 brother: 
 
 " But hia essences made the Morning sick, 
 And barbarous opulence, jewel- thick, 
 Flashed on his obstinate-fingered hands." 
 
 The phrase " the Morning " is too general. It is only 
 the air that becomes tainted by the perfumes that ex- 
 hale from this rich and vulgar brother of Maud. So 
 he replaces these words by the expression, "turned 
 the live air. " Again, " obstinate-fingered " is an awkward 
 epithet. The poet places a diamond in the brother's 
 breast, and changes the line so that all three read as 
 follows: 
 
A Peep Into Tennyson's Workshop. 207 
 
 "But his essences turn'd the live air sick, 
 And barbarous opulence, jewel-thick, 
 
 Sunned itself on his breast and his hands." 
 This is the final reading. Professor Shepherd has 
 traced many interesting variations in the poem as it 
 was evolved from the poet's brain. * 
 
 The Daisy was written at Edinburgh in 1852 or 1853. 
 It alludes to a trip that the poet and his wife had made 
 in Europe. Their child Hallam, who was torn August 
 ri, 1852, was evidently alluded to in these lines: 
 " So dear a life your arms enfold, 
 "Whose crying is a cry for gold." 
 The argument of the poem is this: The poet finds 
 himself in Edinburgh 
 
 " When ill and weary, alone and cold," 
 with no other companion than a book lent him by his 
 wife. Opening the book, he finds in it a daisy 'crushed 
 to hard and dry,' which he had plucked when ascending 
 the Spliigen and given to his wife, because it reminded 
 them both of their native England. The sight of it re- 
 calls their tour through the sunny South, and he re- 
 hearses in musical lines of rare form the principal 
 scenes through which he passed with his wife. And so 
 he concludes the poem: 
 
 " Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain. 
 Perchance, to charm a vacant brain ; 
 
 Perchance, to dream, you still beside me, 
 My fancy fled to the South again." 
 
 * North American Review, vol. 13«, 1884. Art., " Genesis ol Tennyson's Afaud,' 
 by Richard Heme Shepherd. 
 
2o8 Books and. Reading. 
 
 The metre of this poem is worthy of careful study. 
 It runs as follows: 
 
 ■ — ■ — ■ — --(a) 
 
 --■ -■ (b) 
 
 Of this metre Edmund Clarence Stedman writes: " A 
 winsome, novel stanzaic form, possibly of the Laureate's 
 own invention, is to be found in The Daisy and in the 
 Horatian lines to his friend Maurice."* 
 
 We shall here take note of various readings. 
 
 1. The line that reads 
 
 'Now pacing mute ty ocean's rim,' 
 in the MS. was written 
 
 ' Now pacing mute by ocean's 6rjm.' 
 The improvement is seen at a glance. 
 
 2. Both the MS. and the first edition have this line 
 in the ninth stanza: 
 
 ' Oft we saw the glisten 
 ' Of ice, far ofE on a mountain head.' 
 Here the three words, oft — of — off — in such close prox- 
 imity offend the ear. In later editions the line reads: 
 ' Of ice, far up on a mountain head.' 
 
 3. Now we come to the construction of the most inter- 
 esting stanza in the poem. It is the tenth. The au- 
 thor made no less than seven attempts before he satis- 
 fied himself that he had struck the correct form in 
 which to clothe the scene he would paint. He is de- 
 scribing the Doges' Hall in Genoa. He began: 
 
 * Victorian Poets, p. 174. 
 
A Peep Into Tennyson s Workshop. 209 
 
 (a) That Doges' Hall tho' bare and cold 
 Had shapes of men of hero mould — 
 
 This not suiting him, he crossed it out and started 
 once moret 
 
 (6) How much we loved that Hall tho' cold 
 "Which had those forms of hero mould, 
 
 A princely people's awful princes 
 The grave, severe Genovese of old. 
 
 He is unsatisfied with the first two lines. He crosses 
 out the words ' how much,' and inserts the words ' bare 
 and ' before the word ' cold.' It looks thus in the MS, : 
 
 
 k^ic tsmj. ^t>M „ ^ /!.«„ -7«^t»^r 
 
 ^ ^i'li^.t^ lw%Uii lUv^f*^^ f£u^^z^ 
 
 (c) The author makes another attempt: 
 
 Well pleased that Hall tho' white and cold 
 Such forms were these of noble mould. 
 
 (a) This not satisfying him he changes the first and 
 second lines as follows : 
 
 We loved that Hall tho' white and cold 
 Those niched forms of noble mould. 
 
 {e) The poet still finds something wanting in the 
 second line, and makes another change : 
 
 Such shapes were there of noble mould. 
 
 He now writes out the whole stanza in lead-pencil in 
 the shape that best pleases him- 
 
2 1 o Books and Reading. 
 
 We loved that Hall tlio' white aad cold 
 Such shapes were there of noble mould, 
 
 A princely people's awful princes, 
 The grave, severe Genovese of old. 
 (/) He makes a final correction, which is a blending 
 of (a) and (e). This must have been done in proof. 
 "We loved that hall tho' white and cold 
 Those niched shapes of noble mould, 
 A princely people's awful princes, 
 The grave, severe Genovese of old. 
 Only in the seventh attempt does the poet strike the 
 last form of expression. Here is a rare instance of the 
 poet struggling to fit his conception to appropriate 
 words. In noting the efforts, the changes, the recon- 
 structions, we are, so to speak, silent witnesses in the 
 poet's workshop of the processes by which a thought is 
 evolved and moulded. 
 
 4. In the eleventh stanza, the first verse reads : 
 
 ' At Florence too what happy hours.' 
 and the fourth: 
 
 ' Or walks in Boboh's ducal bowers.' 
 Here the author changed happy to 'golden,' and ' du- 
 cal ' to ' hanging,' but upon second thought restored the 
 word ' ducal.' 
 
 5. The fourteenth stanza was inserted after the poem 
 had been written. The first verse was originally penned : 
 
 And grave and stern (so rare the smiles 
 Of sunlight) looked the Lombard piles. 
 This was improved in the form now printed: 
 And stern and sad (so rare the smiles 
 Of sunlight) looked the Lombard piles. 
 
A Peep Into Tennyson s Workshop. 211 
 
 6. The last two lines of the next stanza were penned 
 as follows: 
 
 The height, the gloom, the space, the glory I 
 The marble mount, with a hundred spires I 
 Those lines now read as then corrected: 
 
 The height, the space, the gloom, the glory I 
 A mount of marble, a hundred spires ! 
 This is a great improvement. 
 
 7. The third line of the eighteenth stanza was written: 
 
 Shower and storm and blast 
 Had swoU'n the lake beyond its limit. 
 This was changed to the present construction: 
 
 Had blown the lake beyond his limit. 
 The word beyond is crossed out in the MS. and 
 replaced. 
 
 8. Now we come to the study of another interesting 
 stanza. In its first form it reads as follows: 
 
 Like ballad-burthen music, kept, 
 As on the Larians crept 
 
 To fair Bellagio's happy gardens, 
 And sweet Tarenna, in which we slept. 
 {a) The third line is crossed out, and over it is writ- 
 ten this: 
 
 And paused at happy quays, and left us 
 {b) Here and is changed to or. 
 [c) The fourth line is made to read: 
 
 In sweet Tarenna, whereat we slept. 
 {a) Again the last two lines are changed as follows: 
 " With pauses made in happy haven 
 To fair Varenna, whereat we slept. 
 
2 1 2 Books and Reading. 
 
 {e) Finally, the poet erases the image of the boat's 
 stoppages, and brings in the more picturesque and his- 
 toric allusion to the castle of Queen Theodolind: 
 " To that fair port below the castle 
 Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept. 
 
 9. The third line in the twenty-second stanza read : 
 
 But ere we touched the highest summit 
 The word touched is changed to reached. The word 
 touching occurs in the previous stanza. The last line 
 of this stanza stands: 
 
 ' I plucked a daisy and gave it you,' 
 but in the first edition it reads: 
 
 'I plucked a daisy, I gave It you.' 
 
 10. In the second last stanza the poet wrote: 
 
 The bitter east, a misty summer, 
 but changed a into the: 
 
 The bitter east, the misty summer. 
 
PANEGYRIC 
 
 OF 
 
 BROTHER AZARIAS.- 
 
" I am Azarias, the son of the great Ananias.'' 
 
 — Tobias v., z8. 
 
 THE parting of friends is always sad. This parting, 
 so glorious for our friend, is especially sad for us, 
 who in the keenness of our sorrow, and in the bright 
 light that in his going he hath left behind, have found 
 that he was indeed to us an Angel of God: "Azarias, 
 the help of God, son of the great Ananias, the grace of 
 God." 
 
 At this time we all realize that silence would best 
 express our sincerest feelings, for words seem only a 
 discord in the sweet music that his passing hath brought 
 into our hearts and minds. But since custom demands 
 that one who has spent his years in public service 
 should not be consigned to the grave without at least 
 an attempt being made at expressing, however imper- 
 fectly, the sense of loss experienced by those who 
 throughout his life he has benefited, we shall try to 
 set before you some slight sketch of our dear departed 
 friend as we knew him personally, as we knew him in 
 his relations to others, and especially as we all knew 
 him in his work for the glory of Holy Mother Church. 
 
 The text that I have dared to borrow from Holy 
 
 213 
 
214 Books and Reading. 
 
 Writ seems to me to express what we all feel concerning 
 the life of Brother Azarias; for the vigor of his mature 
 intellect and the sanctity of his life rendered him beau- 
 tiful; his unquestioning faith made him a true child of 
 Israel; and certainly in speech and in the written word 
 he has led us into the country of the Medes, walking 
 through all the ways thereof, benefiting dwellers there- 
 in, as well as those who yielded themselves up to his 
 guidance. 
 
 In the sorrow of our parting, when the activity of 
 his human life has ceased, and when our hearts and 
 minds endeavor to fill the void that his going has left 
 in our lives, we can best realize his worth, the need for 
 him each individual soul amongst us had, and his value 
 to that Church of God upon earth of which he was so 
 able a defender, and whose doctrines he so luminously 
 expounded. 
 
 In the beauty of his life, as we whose souls have 
 been knit to his soul know it, we see indeed that he was 
 an Angel of God, sent to us to be "Azarias, the help 
 of God." The lesson of his life I conceive to be illus- 
 trated plainly in that name which was his by a curious 
 coincidence. Because, certainly, to one who was famil- 
 iar with that life in its personal, social, and public rela- 
 tions, to one who was familiar with his works, to one 
 who knew him in the printed page that will form his 
 best monument, helpfulness — the helpfulness that 
 springs from charity, the gift of the grace of God free- 
 
Panegyric of Brother Azarias. 215 
 
 ly co-operated with, was the striking characteristic of 
 him whose sudden and sad taking off we humanly de- 
 plore. 
 
 It was in his character of helper of the feeble that 
 first I knew him. I feel that it is under the same char- 
 acteristic of helpfulness that you all have known him; 
 and, when known, the beauty of a perfectly rounded 
 character, instinct with the vital energy that comes 
 from the charity of God, has drawn you to an abiding 
 love of one who, perhaps, in the obscurity of his religious 
 life you knew not personally. The testimony furnished 
 by the condolences that have been received by his be- 
 reaved family and community tells us that indeed many 
 souls throughout the world whom he knew not person- 
 ally have been helped by him, and have been drawn to 
 him as a concrete embodiment of the love of God, dis- 
 playing itself in the highest intellectual pursuits. 
 
 As a man. Brother Azarias commanded not only re- 
 spect, but love. As a man, it was not his mind that 
 appealed most to those who had the good fortune to 
 be in the circle of his personal friends, but it was the 
 purity, the sincerity of his sympathetic love. In these 
 days, when we all must feel that the prophecy of St. 
 Paul is unhappily being realized, and that men are 
 without affection, it is wonderful to study in his life the 
 power of true human love and of divine sympathy over 
 the minds and hearts of others. Whatever his gifts, 
 the casual observer would not discern them. It was 
 
2i6 Books and Reading. 
 
 only in the sweet communion of souls that one who 
 spoke with him felt the sweetness of his character, the 
 broadness of his sympathy, and the sturdiness of the 
 faith that gave him true charity. 
 
 As a teacher, his pupils felt the impress of his per- 
 sonality. Timid, retiring, diffident in ordinary life, 
 when placed upon the platform he was transfigured be- 
 fore his audience, and held them by the magnetic 
 power of his intellectual ability. Gifted with a mind 
 singularly clear, sagacious, and penetrating, a mind 
 richly stored with resources acquired by arduous la- 
 bors, painstaking sbudy, and wide, original research, 
 he brought to the solution of any problem or the eluci- 
 dation of any question, an abundance of information, 
 a wealth of erudition, a perspicacity of argument, and 
 a perspicuity of expression that at once claimed atten- 
 tion and demanded acquiescence. The power of a 
 teacher is best felt, not indeed by those whose minds 
 are capable of thinking with him, but by those whose 
 minds bow in unconscious and instinctive submission 
 to the seal of intellectual authority. That authority 
 Azarias exercised equally over the youngest child whom 
 he instructed in the class-room, and the oldest mind 
 that listened in wonder to the clear stream of precious 
 and eloquent language that poured from his lips. The 
 strongest power that we know is the power of soul over 
 soul. When one is present to us, the impress of his per- 
 sonal appearance, the beauty of his voice, the fire of his 
 
Panegyric of Bt'other Azarias. 217 
 
 eye, the expression of his features, all are concomitant 
 circumstances increasing his power. Remove his per- 
 sonality, and you then have the true test of his abid- 
 ing power. The man, therefore, who commanded the 
 admiration of those who had never seen nor heard him, 
 and who knew him only through the imperfect written 
 word, has the best testimony we can seek of this great 
 power. That admiration has been recorded in every 
 line of criticism written concerning Azarias's work. 
 That admiration has been recorded in the outspoken 
 words of those who, in answer to the promptings of a sin- 
 cere heart, have expressed their deep appreciation of his 
 worth and their recognition of his great intellectual 
 gifts. Often, indeed, God gives intellectual power with 
 the express vocation that, like the silent forces of nature, 
 it be used without being recognized in the world. The 
 life of a teacher is one of the noblest lives with which the 
 earth is blessed. It is a life that reflects the very life of 
 God Himself, because to a teacher God leaves the de- 
 velopment of the intellect that He Himself has fash- 
 ioned, and for which He has made fixed laws. To hu- 
 man instruments God gives the moulding of character, 
 the development of intellectual power, and the educing 
 of the life that, as His own image. He has stamped upon 
 the human soul. The teacher's duty it is, and his priv- 
 ilege, to bring forth into full light the intellectual 
 image of God impressed upon the great faculties of 
 the soul. The teacher's privilege it is to bring into 
 
2 1 8 Books and Reading. 
 
 active operation all the latent powers of the mind, and 
 the teacher who, in the obscurity of the class-room, not 
 content with developing the intellectual man, develops, 
 also, man in his perfection — physical, moral, intellectual, 
 and spiritual, — that man, probably more than any other 
 excepting the parent and the priest of God, has the 
 vocation of reproducing in the world, as far as may be, 
 the creative act of God Omnipotent Himself. There- 
 fore Azarias might have lived and exercised as a mem- 
 ber of his Order, the Institute of the Brothers of the 
 Christian Schools, the high vocation of a teacher ; he 
 might have been instrumental in bringing many souls 
 to God, and he would therefore have justly claimed the 
 reward of shining as a star in Heaven. But God had 
 singled him out not only for that high vocation, but 
 for a public manifestation of his power and ability; and 
 this man, who went down to his grave working; this man^ 
 who unselfishly gave of the best that was in him, in or- 
 der that others might profit by his labors, and might 
 share, in the highest charity, the gifts wherewith God 
 had endowed him — this man was not only the humble 
 teacher of the class-room, but also a teacher who, pub- 
 licly, was called to the defense, the ornamentation, the 
 exposition of the teachings of a Church that he was 
 proud to claim as his Mother. I remember that once 
 our dear departed friend spoke to me of a criticism of 
 his most beautiful work, " The Philosophy of Litera- 
 ture," made by a man of the highest literary ability, 
 
Panegyric of Brother Azarias. 21^ 
 
 but unblest with the gift of the Catholic faith. After 
 a long and enthusiastic tribute to the depth of thought, 
 the widespread research, the sound philosophy, the 
 beauty of style, and the wonderful facility and clear- 
 ness of expression of the book, the reviewer closed his 
 article with an apostrophe to this magnificent thinker, 
 inviting him to leave the sterile bosom of the Church 
 of Rome, and to seek in the brightness of the intellectual 
 light of this century the warmth and the knowledge and 
 the influence that his talents deserved. I remember 
 the beautiful smile that illuminated the countenance 
 of our deceased friend, as he told mc of this expression 
 of a human intellect that had not known the light of 
 faith, and consequently had missed the secret of the 
 power of the author who commanded his respect. To 
 leave the bosom of that " sterile " Mother, the Church 
 of Rome! His life was pledged to the service of that 
 fruitful Mother, of whom he was proud. His every 
 thought was to advance her interests. Every act of 
 his mind as a student and writer was in the direction of 
 explaining to others her philosophy and the soundness 
 of her teaching. From her he nourished the divine 
 spark of inspiration; in her ranks he felt sure of the 
 truths he enunciated, and by her teaching he was en- 
 abled to make clear to others the solution of the prob- 
 lems that in the darkness they could not solve. And 
 an invitation from such a source to leave that Mother 
 was to him only an incentive to redouble his works, 
 
Books and Reading. 
 
 to increase his labors, to spend the little remnant of 
 his strength in order that he might bring others to 
 know, as he knew, the beauty of her truth, the harmony 
 of her teachings, the completeness of her dogma. So 
 that, as I conceive, to one who reads the works that he 
 has left behind, from every page and from every sen- 
 tence there will stand out an expression of the truth of 
 what I say, that he was " Azarias, a help of God," and 
 that the help of God, received by him through the 
 grace of God, he destined for the assistance of his fel- 
 low-men, both within and without that Church from 
 which he drew the inspiration of his genius. 
 
 No writer of the present day, in America at least, 
 has, to my mind, been more in touch with the thought 
 that dominates the century, not only in this country, 
 but in every intellectual centre of the civilized world. 
 He had, as I conceive, two missions in his writing. 
 One was to help those whom he knew were in earnest 
 in the search for the light of truth; the other was to 
 clear away the misrepresentations that, springing, as 
 he conceived it, from misinformation, served to tarnish 
 the lustre and the beauty of the Light of the world. 
 In all his books he has steadily kept these two purposes 
 in view. And those who knew him, especially those 
 who knew him in the intimacy of personal friendship, 
 will testify that all his intellectual activity made him 
 sympathize — not only with the sympathy that came 
 from his religion, but with the deep sympathy that 
 
Panegyric of Brother Azarias. 
 
 came also from his sincere humanity — with the strug- 
 gles of those earnest minds with whom he was in com- 
 munion throughout the entire world. 
 
 Read what he has written, especially about this latest 
 movement, the Neo-Christian Movement in France; he 
 was there — he knew these men intimately, — he realized 
 their sincerity, and, in the broadness of his charity, he 
 sought the solution for their difficulties, found it, and 
 expressed it for those that cared to read. 
 
 His last work was an endSavor to set before the Cath- 
 olic world the true status of the Catholic Church with 
 regard to education; an endeavor to clear away the 
 clouds that prejudice, misrepresentation, oftentimes 
 calumny, had heaped upon our Mother, whom we re- 
 gard as the true enlightener of the world. Those who 
 had the privilege, at the last session of the Catholic 
 Summer School, of listening to his wonderful lectures 
 on "Christian Education " ; to follow with him the de- 
 velopment of the Christian school, and to see limned 
 by his master-hand the picture of the rise and the devel- 
 opment of the Christian school and its influence on the 
 world, will ever be thankful for that privilege, and 
 will go out into the world and endeavor to scatter 
 broadcast the seeds of truth that he communicated to 
 them. Such was the purpose of his life. God called 
 him before the work was completed, according to his 
 idea. But, thanks be to the same God, he has left it so 
 nearly complete that the humblest one amongst us can 
 
222 Books and Reading. 
 
 take it up, and, as we are now doing in the historical 
 world, change completely the tenor of criticism, chal- 
 lenge the statements that hitherto we have accepted, in 
 our ignorance, as truth, and endeavor by patient research 
 to set before the world the Church as she was and is as 
 an Educator. 
 
 His life, therefore, has been rounded out and complet- 
 ed according to God's own plan. There is nothing miss- 
 ing that we could desire in it; he has cleared the way; 
 he has pointed out and traced the lines that are to be 
 followed. It remains only for us to take up the torch 
 that he willingly resigned, and in the brightness of its 
 light, cherishing always its sacred flame, to follow his 
 guidance, and in the intellectual world about us to com- 
 plete the reformation that he indeed began. 
 
 His death, as his life, was edifying. Fortunately 
 for him, being a public man and a religious teacher, his 
 personal life is safe from the feeble words of a panegyr- 
 ist. He rests with his God; he went sweetly and with 
 resignation. His last hours were _only a repetition of 
 the many years of his life — charity, love for God, love 
 for his neighbor, forgiveness of any who had ever done 
 him wrong unconsciously, (for he did not believe it pos- 
 sible that any would wrong him consciously) and a be- 
 seeching of grace and light and strength for those who 
 rejoiced in his acquaintance. We who were associated 
 with him so closely will feel that we indeed have sus- 
 tained an irreparable, personal loss; but as he went 
 
Panegyric of JBrother Azarias. 223 
 
 willingly^ we, too, must bear willingly the sad trial that 
 has come upon us. His family will, of course, miss him 
 most; but they yielded him up years ago as a holocaust 
 to the Lord, and never have they desired to draw back 
 in their offering. His fellow-trustees of the Catholic 
 Summer School of America, who learned to lean upon 
 him and to love him, will feel that in their new work 
 they have suffered a severe blow, from which, perhaps, 
 they will never fully recover. The members of the 
 Community to which he belonged, by their presence 
 here to-day from so many distant quarters, give testi- 
 mony of a loss which they alone can feel and know. 
 The presence in such large numbers of the reverend 
 clergy from different dioceses of this country, the 
 number of sympathetic despatches and ' letters from 
 cardinal, archbishops, priests, and laymen, Catholics 
 and non-Catholics, received by his bereaved family and 
 Community, all tell of the universal esteem in which he 
 was held, and all tell us, too, of the great loss that the 
 Church, as well as private individuals, has suffered. 
 However, his life for the last ten years was only a liv- 
 ing death. To those who knew him, he taught a les- 
 son of resignation— a lesson of resignation in his prac- 
 tical, personal life that he has striven to teach in all 
 his works, and especially which he loved to find in the 
 written words of those for whom he had such a sincere 
 admiration and sympathy; and we would not be true to 
 our friendship to him, we would not be true to the re^ 
 
2 24 Books and Reading. 
 
 ligion that we shared in common, were a single regret 
 to mar the completeness of the sacrifice he cheerfully 
 made. 
 
 His works indeed shall follow him. Prepared by a 
 fervent Retreat on the eve of his last labor, sustained 
 and encouraged in his noticeably feeble health by the 
 deep interest shown in his lectures and the cordial 
 praise of grateful hearts and minds for his unselfish 
 labors in the cause of truth, he went out of the world. 
 This gathering at this season of the year is the best 
 testimony to his worth. It remains for us onlj' to cher- 
 ish the example of his beautiful life, and to pray that, 
 speedily purged from all dross of earthly stain, he may 
 soon rejoice in the beatific vision of eternal life. 
 
 I have not alluded at all to his private, personal life. 
 I have said nothing of the simple, sincere, childlike piety 
 that we knew of, that especially his Superiors knew of; 
 but I cannot close without saying that one of the books 
 that best pictured his own heart was a panegyric of 
 the Queen of Heaven. He was a knight, a true and 
 chivalrous knight of the Blessed Mother; her image was 
 always about him; her chaplet was always in his hand, 
 her praises were always on his lips. Even in his purely 
 critical writings he has known how to bring to her gar- 
 land after garland of beautiful flowers, culled in the gar- 
 dens of the world's literature; in her honor he has 
 gleaned many a sheaf from fields cultivated by Catholic 
 genius. To her kind care we commit him now; to 
 
Panegyric of Brother Azarias. 
 
 his Mother we commit her son and knight. To her 
 gentle power, to the sweet intercession that she will 
 make before the throne of the Master whom he strove 
 to serve, we may entrust, in all sincerity and in all se- 
 curity, the eternal destiny of our dear friend, conscious 
 that through her God will bless him, and that the 
 works that will follow him will be sufficient to bring 
 him to the glory of Heaven, for which he sought. 
 
 The remains were taken, at the close of the ceremon- 
 ies, to Syracuse, where additional obsequies were cele- 
 brated in the Church of St. Mary, Star of the Sea, of 
 which Father Mullanyis pastor. They were afterwards 
 conveyed to St. Agnes' Cemetery, and buried in the 
 grave in which the remains of the father and mother of 
 the deceased Brother are interred. 
 
 ^y^^K. 
 
oo. 
 
 OCT 
 
 89B