What woman could look on with apathy when husband, brother, or child was exposed to certain death, from which her strongest effort might possibly snatch the dear one, or listen to the remonstrance that it was unbecoming and improper for a woman to put forth such effort, and that it must prove a very [pg 279] feeble and faulty one at the best? And shall we ask her to fold her hands in ease, and remain silent in fitting retirement, when the souls of her beloved are exposed to eternal death? No; it is her inalienable right to speak and act when by word or deed she may possibly rescue souls.
Should sentiments of mere human feeling, and affections from which it is most difficult to detach the heart of woman, enter into, imbue, and even control the means she uses to promote interests dearer than mortal life, she has nothing to fear but the critics. Her heavenly Judge will never condemn her for using such weapons as he has endowed her withal in his holy cause.
Honey is sometimes better than vinegar, feminine sentiment often more effective than masculine wisdom, and fervor always to be preferred to apathy.
We need not fear that the Catholic woman will be carried too far by her fervent zeal in resisting the “spirit of the age.” She can never be led into the mistakes of the so-called “strong-minded.” Our vigilant and loving mother, the Holy Catholic Church, arms her daughters with invulnerable shields against all fanaticism. She holds also in her hands the power to sanctify all influences by which souls are attracted to her embrace; to transmute all metals into gold.
If an appeal to the sentimental and emotional element in the heart of a stranger to her fold has drawn the wanderer to her maternal bosom, her gentle, all-prevailing inspiration soon condenses feeling into principle, and the romantic visionary stands clothed in the panoply of a martyr.
If fitting words bravely spoken have called hither a soul from the slough of transcendentalism, spiritism, free love, or from the ranks of the “strong-minded,” there is no fear that it may prove less docile to the genial influence than that of the dreamer, or fail to be speedily invested with all the delicate attributes and simple dignity of the true woman.
All honor to the Catholic women in our own country and in Great Britain who are striving, each in her own way, to promote the interests of a sound and truly Catholic literature. When there were but few of these in America, our sisters beyond the Atlantic reached their hands across the great waters to rescue souls. It will be known only at the great accounting day how many they first attracted to the consideration of eternal verities. From that time they have increased in number, and have continued to enrich British Catholic literature by their contributions, while encouraging their American co-workers.
A feminine Catholic literature may not be faultless, and yet gain numerous readers, and prove a power for good, not only within the church, but beyond her pale. Women are human, and therefore liable to imperfection.
When we notice the faults of female writers, we must not forget the difficulties which encompass them. Few American women who write are exempt from a multitude of vexatious household cares, or even from kitchen drudgery. Many are oppressed with poverty, have no power to earn a subsistence but by the pen, with helpless families dependent upon their literary exertions. Among the most favored, scarcely one can be found who has not some invalid—a husband, parent, [pg 280] or child—who requires her attentions by night and day. It may be safely asserted that such literary leisure as men devoted to these pursuits ordinarily enjoy is unknown to American women. With all their disadvantages, the marvel is, not that their performances should be imperfect, but that they have really accomplished so much under the shadow of the crowding cares and duties which surround them in their various domestic relations.
Let them take courage, then, and persevere in their laudable efforts, striving diligently to make the productions of their pens more and more perfect. And to this end let them bestow their cordial smiles and most graceful bows of acknowledgment upon their best friends—the critics who will take the pains to examine and pass honest and intelligent verdicts upon their productions. Acute criticism is the purging fire of literature, without which it would soon become overburdened with nonsense. As the friend who kindly admonishes us of our faults is entitled to the warmest corner in our hearts, so the critic who frankly sets forth the defects of any production may justly claim the most sincere gratitude of its author.