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4 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.”