We should not have been at the unpleasing pains to write of this book as we have done, did we not see signs in it of a really good Catholic story-writer, who is likely to be spoiled for any future work worthy of the name by the injudicious praise which has been lavished on this, which we take to be her first book. The lady can describe natural scenery well, can touch a tender chord with true pathos, can display strength at times. She only needs more interest of plot, and to avoid scenes and characters of which
she knows little or nothing. All the plot in the present volume consists of the slowly-dragged-out conversion of Mabel to Catholicity—which religion clashes with the creed of the elderly and by no means pleasant parson to whom she is affianced—and the consequent breaking off of the match. Finally he also is converted, and the dénoûment is as given above. To tag five hundred and twenty-five pages of a story on a plot of such very slender device is rather overweighting it. The French scenes are the best in the book, and even they are needlessly marred by what the author doubtless considers a beauty—the supposed literal translation of the French characters’ speech into English, which is a barbarism.
The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac for the United States, for the Year of Our Lord 1877. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1877.
The season would scarcely be itself without this admirable little annual. It is always bright, instructive, and amusing, and the number for the present year shows no falling off in these qualities. The first portion of the Almanac contains the usual calendars, astronomical and ecclesiastical, with the information respecting Catholic feasts and fasts necessary for the coming year. Among the biographical sketches, that of Dr. Brownson claims the first place. It is illustrated by an admirably-executed portrait. There are excellent portraits also of Bishop Verot, Archbishop Connolly of Halifax, N. S., Very Rev. Dr. Moriarty, O.S.A., Rev. Francis Piquet, Pius VII., Vittoria Colonna, all accompanied by brief but interesting sketches. There are, as usual, pictures of old Catholic landmarks in this country, Ireland, and other lands, with pleasing descriptions. Among these, that of St. Joseph’s Church, in Philadelphia, is especially interesting. In addition to the complete and very valuable list of the popes, which was published for the first time last year, and is wisely retained in the present number, there is a complete catalogue of the kings of Ireland, from the Firbholg conquest down to the landing of Henry II. of England. To this is appended some valuable historical remarks. Indeed, there is not a page of this Almanac that can be called
dull, and its cheapness happily places it within easy reach of every reader. We only wish that such cheapness and real excellence could be oftener combined in Catholic books.
The Life and Letters of Sir Thomas More. By Agnes M. Stewart, authoress of Margaret Roper, etc. 8vo, pp. 365. London: Burns & Oates. 1876.
The lot of Sir Thomas More was cast in troublous times. He lived amid storms that wrecked many a noble life, and yet no man ever bore throughout a serener soul or a happier and gayer disposition. His character is a study of the most healthful sort; for it exhibits the rare picture of a man who deemed the sacrifice of power, wealth, place, friends, and life itself, to principle and conscience, too ordinary a duty to excite surprise. On whatever side we view the man, the hero comes to light. He lived in an atmosphere of his own creation, and whoever came within its influence left it a better and wiser mortal. He was, in the best sense of the word, a Christian philosopher and statesman. He would jest with Erasmus in antique phrase as though he had but returned from the portico, while a hair-shirt nettled his skin and his soul communed in frequent ejaculation with its Creator.
As a letter-writer he will ever hold a foremost rank because of his sense, humor, wit, and grace of expression. Even the careless construction of some of his letters possesses a charm; for there you see the man disclosing himself without reserve—careful, indeed, that the picture be a true one, but indifferent as to the setting. What could be more delightful than his letters to his children while these were under the care of a tutor at home and he was engrossed by the weighty concerns of office? He flies to the pen as a refuge from distracting thoughts, and pours out his soul to his little ones with a sweet abandon; he is sportive and grave by turns and veils deep philosophy and wise counsels beneath the garb of a fresh and mirthful phraseology. He evidently believed with Horace:
“Quamquam ridentem dicere verum
Quid vetat?”