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EEY. A. J. RYAN, Editor-
AUGUSTA, GA„ MARCH 28, 1868.
A SUGGESTION.
The 17th of March, for the world at
large, comes and goes like any other day
of the year, but for the children of the
Celtic race, it is a high and honored
festival. To others it is unmarked by
any especial claim—to them it is the day
of days in the calendar. It is truly their
own day. They have singled it out and
set it apart, and wherever they may be,
trodden down by the at home, or
wanderers abroad, its coming stirs their
hearts, kindles their enthusiasm, meets
with glad greeting, awakens deep senti
ments of patriotism, and deeper of reli
gion, and commands an homage which
they give to no other day. There is not
a laud on earth that does not witness the
power of the 17th of March. It is the
festival of a conquered people ; and how
faithfully they celebrate it! And no
wonder ! They have shrined in that one
day the memories of seven hundred years
of vassalage at home and exile abroad, and
they have dedicated it for themselves and
their children forever to Faith and Father
land. On that day, in every land, the
Banner of Green is waving over hearts
proud of it—proud of its glories in the
past—proud of its mournful history : and
through the streets of a hundred thousand
cities processions follow that Banner, and
the eyes that are dimmed with tears, the
«p S that cheer, the hearts that thrill,
prove how deeply that Banner is loved.
How the Celts have clung to it! It is no
more an emblem of power; it is only a
memory of the past; but who knows how
soon the banuer now borne by exiles
may float in triumph over a liberated
land!
While taking part in the celebration of
the 17th of March, this thought entered
our mind. Should not we of the South
single out a day and set it apart in com
memoration of our past? Can we not,
and ought we not, select a day and dedi
cate it to the memories of our war for in
dependence ? The conquered Celts have
their day; cannot the conquered South
have her day ? Yes, let us, too, shrine
our memories in a festival ; let us keep it
sacredly ; let us teach our children to
keep it; and a day like that, universally
observed, would be more than a mere
memorial day—it would be a power ; it
would preserve, ever-kindled, our love for
the Lost Cause. What day shall it he ?
A. J. R.
GIVE GOD HIS PLACE.
NUMRER TWO.
“What if our civilization would kneel
down and kiss the Cross ?’ ? we asked in
closing our last article—and we ask again,
in commencing this ; for our civilization
has neither the spirit of the Cross in it,
nor the sign of the Cross on it, nor the
law of the Cross before it.
That civilization, certainly presents a
spectacle which may well excite amaze
ment, and which gives signal proof, that
no one can deny, of the vast powers and
energies of man. There is a magnifi
cence about it which awes as well as
amazes. Surely, if ever, mind now con
trols matter. Stubborn as Nature has
been, man is bending' her to his sway.
Among the elements <jf the material
world he walks as a king—commands
their homage— exacts their obedience to
his behests—presses them into his service.
Fire, and water, and air are his vassals.
The lightning is his messenger. Great
secrets, which Nature long and so jealous
ly guarded, have come into his possession.
All her treasures have become the wage*
of his toil and the rewards of his industry.
Into the realms of science he enters—
wanders over every kingdom there—
crosses all the old boundary lines—goes,
with a spirit that feels no fear, from the
certain and the known out towards the
unknown and uncertain— penetrates into
vast, strange regions whither mind never
ventured before, and returns with tro
phies and tokens of uew discoveries, only
to rest awhile, and, gathering strength, to
go back again, in order still farther to
extend the limits of knowledge. He goes
into the world of art, and he adds to its
wonders by new inventions and improve
ments adapted to the new and ever-increas
ing wants of soviet}'. He shrinks before
no difficulty, reeoils at no obstacle,
bounds over every barrier. The accu
mulated experiences of the sixty centuries
of the Past he brings to the service of the
Present, and it is his aim and ambition
to make the Nineteenth Century the
monarch of the ages, and to create a
civilization that shall be the wonder of
future times.
But all this—what is it I —and to
what does it tend ? It is the working of
the human spirit, in the human order,
with human means, towards human ends
The work will be grand, vast, majestic—
but it wiil be only and merely human—
and the human is not enough for man.
Put the divine element into that civiliza
tion—let it permeate, purify, consecrate
it—let that civilization meet and supply,
not only the material and intellectual
wants of man and society, hut also, and
especially, their religious cravings—then,
indeed, will its blessings be as great as
its grandeur. As it is, it is earthy, of the
earth. But man ueeds more. Higher
wants, and deeper, has society. There
is something of heaven, as well as of
earth, in the make of man’s being.
Bodily, he is like the dust under his feet;
spiritually, he is like the star over his
head. He has physical wants —they are
many; supply them all, if you will and
can—that will be a blessing. He has
intellectual needs—meet them all, and
satisfy them, if you can—that will be a
greater blessing. But he has a religious
nature; that nature has many a deep
want; and all these wants arise from the
deepest want of all—God ; supply that
want —it is the blessing of ail blessings,
the best. You must give man God.
Let him have all things else, he is dissat
isfied, because life without God is incom
plete. Therefore, must God have his
place in our civilization. In it the divine
must meet the human. That civilization
is the form of which religion must be the
soul. Without that soul it is a dead
thing—and, like the corpse, must gener
ate corruption and decay.
Has God his place in our civilization,
and in all that goes to make it 7 Docs it
sufficiently meet ? or, does it take into
account at all the religious wants of man
and society ? Is it anything more ? or,
if more, is it much more than mere mate
rial development? Or, does it simply
ignore that element in man’s nature which
n
reaches beyond earth towards something
higher and better ? The Philosophy,
Literature, Science, Art, Education, Po
litical theories and their application iu
Governments —do all these which go to
make up that complex thing called civili
zation, serve religion, arid help or hinder
man and society in their march towards
their high destiny?
There is a Philosophy that has the
brave humility to walk right up to the
Cross, and ceasing to argue, in order to
pray, bows down and whispers, “I believe
Thy word, oh ! Lord, because it is Thy
word.” There is a Philosophy that deems
it no shame, but honor highest, to kneel
before the altars of Faith. There is a
Philosophy, which though it questions the
arguments of man, calls never into dis
pute the words of God. There is a
Philosophy which approaches Religion
not as a critic to find fault, but as a child
to listen and to learn.
There is a Philosophy which, when
syllogisms fad, lays hold on I aitli and is
saved from despair. Fai diflcient is
the Philosophy accepted and advocated
Iby so-called sages of our age. Their’s
1 battles against Faith, regards Religion a*
Mini ©i fii §©im
a rival, and treats Revelation as an enemy.
And their reason made wise, in its own
way, by their philosophy, but made proud
by its wisdom and made blind by its pride,
assumes, more so now than ever, an atti
tude of hostility towards the grandest
truths of heaven and earth. Renan,
in France, writes the life of Jesus, hurls
his sacriligeous sophisms against the
divinity of the Saviour, and couples the
Holy Name with those of Socrates and
Plato; and his efforts to disprove Christ’s
divinity are applauded ; his work runs
through various editions—is translated
into many languages, aud on thousands
of parlor-tables it is found lying next to
the Bible ; while, for immense numbers,
its pages possess a fascination and interest
which the inspired Book itself cannot
command. In England, aud Germany,
and in this country, a Philosophy is, and
has long been current, which utterly,
and on principle, discards everything
above the reach or beyond the scope of
reason. That Philosophy is as false to
man as it is to God. It puts human
knowledge in the place of divine Faith,
and substitutes the vain speculations of
man for the truths of eternity. Out of
its dead logic it wishes men to derive life.
It puts forth its own reasonings in place
of Christ’s doctrines. In its pride arid
effrontery it sneers at the divine, and
when, along the line of its arguments, it
meets with Jesus Christ, as meet Him it
must, it ignores His divinity, and, like
Pilate, presents Him to its readers and
contemptuously cries out. 44 Ecce Homo?'
There is nothing in Religion too holy to
be trifled with by that Philosophy. In
stead of kneeling like a child at the feet
of Religion, it arraigns her at its own
tribunal, and, like Christ before Caiphas,
false witnesses are summoned to give
testimony against her. Such is the
Philosophy which enters so largely into
our civilization, and is leading it, Christian
though it be called, farther and farther
away from the Cross. And if there were
anything grand in that Philosophy; if
depth of thought, clearness of statement,
honesty of argument characterized it,
while we could not accept its conclusions,
and must repudiate itn propositions, we
might, at least, admire its powers, ill
directed though they were. But it is
shallow and vague. It handles
with great ingenuity, but deep, broad
thought it has not. It criticises, but does
not create. It talks glibly of all things,
hut explains nothing. It goes groping
through the dark, and no wonder, for the
light of God, which is reason’s sun, lias
sunk from its gaze. The Philosophy of
the age, in the main, has ostracized God
It boasts the name of Rationalism. Its
true title is Irrationalism.
And our Literature—what of it ?
What is its spirit, tendency, teachings 7
Through Philosophy, reason searches for
the true. Through Literature, imagina
tion seeks the beautiful. Literature, also,
has alas! forgotten her high and holy
mission. Once her place was beside the
altars of Religion, and her thoughts were
as pure as her heart, and her words were
as pure as her thoughts ; but she has
wandered from the temples and gone after
strange gods ; and she is building shrines
and offering incense to all the vile passions
that defile the soul of man. Not to the
lofty but to the low in man she appeals.
Earthwards, sinwards, she leads him—
not as of old, heavenwards. Swinburne,
in England, out of his own heart, and the
heart of modern society, evokes the sen
sualism that is lurking there, and garments
it with the robes of poetry, and crowns it
with the “roses of vice”; and his words of
witchery and wickedness, and his verses
throbbing with voluptuousness, despite
the protests of those who still love the
pure, meet with welcome from myriads.
His passionate poems are the cries of a
gross Paganism that has hidden itself
behind the veils of our civilization, and is
only waiting to come forth boldly and
openly to gratify its desires; and his nu
merous readers give proof enough that
they, at least, are ready to welcome it.
Novels and romances, songs and stories,
prose and poetry, what is their morale }
—what their ethics ? Noble thoughts, in
noble words, to ennoble mind ? Do they
purify ? Read them—nay! read them
not. They charm, indeed—so do ser
pents. They please—yes, but they poison.
Tainted thoughts from tainted minds, they
sully the purest who read them. Not
clear, pellucid streams are they, the waters
of which may quench the thirst of man’s
imagination without detriment to his
moral health, but foul and slimy streams,
outflowing from sources fouler still, and
in their waters is death.
Many, ’tis true, are worthily serving
the cause of literature. They are those
whose writings lift men to elevations of
thought and sentiment which passion never
could reach. All lienor to them. But
many more are there who pander to low
est tastes and basest desires, and whose
writings are but the masks of the vicious
and the vile. And they are read—read
by millions ; and whoso falls under the
spell of their malign influence, yields the
sentiments which refines for the sensual
ism which degrades. Between writers
and readers there is au intellectual com
munion. The ideas of the one necessarily
influence the minds of the other. Read
ers rise or sink to the moral height or
level occupied by the writers. A pure
literature makes a pure people. Corrupt
it and it will corrupt.
There is a literature which goes from
the study of the writer straight to the
library of the scholar—and stays there.
It is that heavy-thoughted literature,
which, on that very account, can never
become popular—and which, if it he cor
rupt, is restrained in its power of doing
harm, because it is read only by the few.
But: there is another literature, light,
pleasant, captivating, which goes from
home to home, passes from hand to hand,
enters every place, introduces itself to
every one, finds its way into every class
of society, wins a welcome from old and
young, from boy and girl, talks to every
one on any topic, tells them stories,
sings them songs, weaves for them verses,
laughs with them, weeps with them, ex
cites them, quiets them, enters into all
their feelings, makes them think and
dream, brings them uew thoughts,
forms them to uew tastes, evokes, new
sentiments', and, when it tires them, goes
away, to return again, like anew friend
whose second coming is sure to meet
even a wanner welcome than his first,
and whose second impressions will be
stronger than the first; 1 bis is the liter
ature which is powerful for good or for
evil, and that moulds minds as it pleases.
What is the character of this literature
in our times? for be sure its character will
form that of those who read it.
Who will say that it is not corrupt,
fearfully so ? Who will say that it is
not demoralizing our youth 7 The fact
is potent. All know it. And still, and
still, that literature is accepted—its influ
ence is increasing—its readers are be
coming more and more numerous, A cry
of thousands goes up to the writers:
“Write us more, write us more.” Aud
they write—and in their words are
thoughts that poison ; and they are read
with an interest that is almost an infatu
ation; and thus the work qf corruption
goes on. God help the people who have
such a literature. God pity and save
the boys and girls who are under its in
iluence ! Itself a corruption, it is a marked,
unmistakable sign of the decline of moral
ity. In this country, that literature, in
the main, is of Northhrn growth. But It
is finding its way into the South. Their
swords conquered us- in the name of
God, let not their literature corrupt us.
Far from our homes and our children,
let us keep that demoralizing literature.
We, for one, intend to wage war against
it, and in our own humble sphere, and
through our journal, whatever we shall
write or select will Le in the interests of
purest morality. The literature, then, of
our age is almost without God in
it.
M hat of science, art, education, politics !
Have they, too, ostracized God and ban
ished the divine ?
I. a.
OUR BOOK TABLE.
Thb Catholic World— A Monthly
Magazine of General Literature and
Science. New \ ork . Latholic Pub
lishing House.
The April number of this excellent
magazine lies before us. We have had
time only to glance over its pages, and
we find them replete with interest and
instruction. It is a magazine which im
proves with every number, and in style is
without a superior in the country. The
original articles arc ehuractci ized b}
marked ability, and the selections are
very happily made. We heartily com
mend the magazine to our readers, who
will find every line ot it high-toned, inter
esting, instructive and elevating It pre
sents us with the very literature which our
people want.
J. I). Kavanagh, Esq., ia Agent ot the
magazine for Augusta.
Life or Jefferson Davis By Al
friend.
Our thanks are due W iu. S. Hogan,
Esq., for a copy of the above work. It
is a volume of especial interest to the
people of the South. Jefferson Davis will
stand in the forefront of the history of the
late war. He was our chosen leader, and
whatever may lie said against his admin
istration of our Government, he was
true to us and faithful to our cause. His
conduct, since the war, has won the ad
miration and sympathy of the world. The
above biography is ably written. The
author claims “that no statement is to be
found in the volume which is not generally
conceded to be true, or which is not a
conclusion amply justified hv indisputable
evidence.”
“The Blessed Eucharist oi k Greatest
Treasure. 7 ’ By Michael Miller, C. S.
S. R. Baltimore : Kelly & Piet.
We have read this beautiful book; we
have tasted the sweet ness of its thoughts,
and we arc reading it again. There is a
humility about its style so like His
humility who dwells ,; ith us in the Holy
Sacrament. Deep thoughts in plain
word?—doctrinal sublimities in language
so simple that a child, without effort, may
understand. It is, indeed, a book of
piety, and ii will till many a heart with
love for the great Mystery of the Altar
M. Gerome has recently executed n
picture which differs greatly from those
by which he has earned his great popu
larity ; moreover, he has treated a grand
subject, the Crucifixion, in a truly origi
nal manner. The figures of Our Saviour
and the two thieves are not brought for
ward on the canvass, but are seen only in
their shadows thrown on the ground,
while the spectators and mourners are
grouped together in the foreground with
much dramatic power and effect, fn the
distance is a view of Jerusalem.
At Sehaus 7 rooms, New York, there is
a very noticeable painting by Oerifd >
entitled the “Rock of Ages.” In the
midst of a raging sen rises a massive
cross of rock, to which a woman, in lone,
dripping white robes, is dinging for
safety. The expression of her features
fs peaceful and happy. Below, the angry
waters arc roaring and dashing, and a
man’s hand and forearm, just lifted above
the surge, shows where a strong swimmer
has gone down, without being able to
reach the rock upon which is safety.
The Rev. Dr. Newman, the celebrated
Oxford convert to Catholicism, has
recently published a collection of his
poetical writings, entitled '‘Verses on
Various Occasions/ most of which
are as remarkable for the perfection of
their art-finish as for their earnestness and
sincerity of purpose. ‘‘The grandest of
them,” observes a London weekly, “re
minds us of the chorusses in Ihe old
Greek tragedies, with the exception
that the thought therein is ‘of a higher
mood/ 5 The volume also contains “The
Dream of Gerontius,' 5 which was origi
nally published about two years since
and was very much praised at the time,
as if should Inna* a noble
production.”