But take him for all in all, Mr. Meline has written no commonplace book on a subject where commonplace has been achieved frequently and fully; and if he will learn to sketch like Ross Browne, or half so well, or else hire one of those private ubiquities, a "special artist," make no more jokes, quote some, if quote he must, that others have made within twenty years, and rely more on his liveliness of style, he has a future before him as a writer of travels.
Golden Truths.
Boston: Lee & Shepherd. 1868.
The aim of the above volume is a good one. The purpose of its author is to aid the soul on its way in Christian perfection. The "truths" which it contains are taken from various Protestant authors, and a few from Catholic sources. The selections struck us at first as having been made without any sectarian bias or bigotry. Had we found it so unto the end, we should have given it our approval. But on page 166 we find the following:
"Will the martyrs, who sowed the seed of the church in their blood, have no part in the final harvest? The mighty reformers, who battered down the walls of tyrant error about the ears of wicked priests," etc.
Who G. W. Bethune is, from whose writings the above is extracted, we know not; we would, however, advise him, whoever he may be, when writing for the public, to respect its intelligence more, rant less, and remember there is a commandment which reads as follows,
"Thou shalt not bear false witness."
The aim of this volume was to be acceptable to all readers; the quotations from the above writer omitted, would remove at least what is offensive to some.
It is not often that a neglected catholic truth finds so beautiful an expression as in the following passage by the "Country Parson:"
"There are few who have lived long in this world, and have not stood by the bed of the dying; and let us hope that there are many who have seen a Christian friend or a brother depart—who have looked on such a one as life, but not love, ebbed away as the eye of sense grew dim, but that of faith waxed brighter and brighter. Have you heard such an one, in bidding you farewell, whisper that it was not for ever? have you heard such an one tell you so to live, as that death might only remove you to a place where there is no dying? And as you felt the pressure of that cold hand, and saw the earnest spirit that shone through those glazing eyes, have you not resolved and promised that, God helping you, you would? And ever since have you not felt that, though death has sealed those lips, and that heart is turning back to clay, that voice is speaking yet, that heart is caring for you yet, that soul is remembering yet the words it last spoke to you? From the abode of glory it says, 'Come up hither.' The way is steep, the ascent is toilsome; it knows it well, for it trod it once; but it knows now what it knew not then, how bright the reward, how pleasant the rest that remaineth, after the toil is past. And if we go with interest to the grave of a much-loved friend, who bade us when dying, sometimes to visit the place where he should be laid when dead; if you hold a request like that sacred, tell me, how much more solemnly and earnestly we should seek to go where the conscious spirit lives, than where the senseless body moulders! If day after day sees you come to shed the pensive tear of memory over the narrow bed where that dear one is sleeping; if, amid the hot whirl of your daily engagements, you find a calm impressed as you stand in that still spot where no worldly care ever comes, and think of the heart which no grief vexes now; if the sound of the world melts into distance and fades away on the ear, at that point whence the world looks so little; if the setting sun, as it makes the gravestone glow, reminds you of evening hours and evening scenes long since departed, and the waving grass, through which the wind sighs so softly, speaks of that one who 'faded as a leaf' and left you like 'a wind that passeth away and cometh not again,' oh! how much more should every day see you striving up the way which will conduct you where the living spirit dwells, and whence it is ever calling to you, 'Come up hither!' It was a weak fancy of a dying man that bade you come to his burying-place; but it is the perpetual entreaty of a living seraph that invites you to join it there."