from the partial, one-sided descriptions, which are so common among writers of the hostile camp; common and mischievous errors must be avoided; what is exceptional must not be produced as the rule; a fair transcript of nature, at least, is required. An otherwise excusable desire for effect must not teinpt him to indulge in scenes which have no counterpart in reality, or only at very rare intervals, if any countenance is thereby given to delusions widely spread, and highly prejudicial to Catholic truth.

One example will suffice to illustrate our position; and those who have read Lady Bird will at once anticipate the one we are about to select. The universal belief among Protestants regarding the religious orders of the Catholic Church is, that monasteries and houses of religious women are asylums for desolate and broken hearts, filled with the victims of disappointed affection, of a cruel fortune, or of parental tyranny. They will not believe in the possibility of a free dedication of the young and virgin heart to the Lord of life. A "clothing" is to them a sad closing chapter of a domestic tragedy; a final "profession" the desperate act of one disgusted with the world, and abandoning it in revenge or morbid discontent. The subject forms a staple commodity in most Protestant novels that deal with Catholic matters at all; the Protestant press sedulously keeps alive the delusion; the wide, wide Protestant world devoutly believes and propagates it. One might almost call it the first article of their creed concerning us; their belief in it amounts to a superstition. Yet, spite of all this, it is a delusion, contradicted by daily facts, by the experience of every one in the least acquainted with the true state of the case. It is a delusion, moreover, which a Catholic writer of fiction has many facilities for dispelling, which he can dispel perhaps better than another who wields the more ponderous weapon of controversy. It is a delusion, therefore, which he is in a manner bound to aid in removing, for the sake of truth, of the holy orders of religion, and of the mistaken persons who voluntarily come under the influence of his writing.

But it may be said that such sad histories of disappointment do sometimes occur; mention may be made of instances like De Rancé and Ignatius, and, in our own day, Gentili; men who turned to God after tasting the bitterness of an unsuccessful quest after earthly affection or earthly honours. We admit that the case is not altogether uncommon; we rejoice that for such stricken souls there is rest and peace in the secluded homes of religion. But knowing how strong is the. prevailing opinion in the great Protestant world, that religion is entirely supplied and kept alive by such conversions from

the world, either voluntary or compulsory, we are inclined to maintain that a writer of fiction, who can choose his own model, is, as we have said, bound to take it from the usual, and not from the exceptional, condition of our religious orders; just as an artist, when delineating some object for the benefit of persons who are not very familiar with it, would naturally choose his model among those specimens that are possessed of all the faculties and members proper to the species in question, although other specimens deprived of both might easily be found. If the monastery or convent of nuns is sometimes a haven after shipwreck for the forsaken, disappointed, and weary heart, there are others daily offered to the King of kings within their precincts, in all the freshness of first and heavenly love. If the world sometimes have the first use of what is afterwards surrendered at second-hand to God, there are many bright and costly gems, undimmed by the breath of human passion, transferred to the diadem of the King of Virgins; many rare and precious flowers, in their opening bloom, transplanted into the garden of the Lord, ere their beauty has been enjoyed by the world, or blighted by its pestilential air. Their history may be wanting in the romantic effect which is required for a portrait of fiction; but a Catholic artist should be content to sacrifice this for the fulfilment of the office of religious apologist, which he may be said to have taken upon himself.

We confess that we should have been better pleased with Lady Bird, if its accomplished authoress had concurred in this view of her privilege, and (as we consider it) her bounden duty, as a Catholic writer. In her pages religious vocation is represented as literally going a-begging; first one discarded lover and then another, a lady and a gentleman, failing to secure the respective objects of their attachment, hide their mortification in the vows of perfection; while the only instance of an original vocation, in the mother of the heroine, is described as overruled by some external force, and its abandonment expiated by a miserable life in the world, passed in pain and neglect.

The career of D'Arberg seems to us peculiarly open to objection on these grounds. His character is a very clever portrait, uniting unusual strength with great sweetness, learning and genius with unselfish and heroic philanthropy. He has much in common with Count Montalembert. He is brought before us, curiously enough, with a story of his early life, which is true of the French nobleman's brother-in-law, Mgr. de Merode, now one of the Camerieri partecipanti of the present Pope, of whom it is told, that having accidentally given offence to some officer in Paris, and having been challenged by

him, he refused to accept the challenge, but on the very next day volunteered into the Algerine army, in the dispatches from which he was twice named as a model of a young and brave soldier. * Were this all then, were it only that M. D'Arberg had begun life as a military man, we should not quarrel with our authoress for afterwards making him a priest; but Adrien has been twice engaged to be married, and the power of his affection is portrayed in the very liveliest colours. In his early youth he is attached to a cousin of his own, whose premature death, we may observe by the way, is one of the most affecting passages in the book. When she is removed, he has occasional yearnings after the religious life; but, at the suggestion of his friends, attempts another matrimonial engagement, and once more fails. Becoming acquainted, by means of an accident, with Gertrude Lifford, the Lady Bird and heroine of the tale, they mutually fall in love with each other, and her sick and dying mother then blesses their proposed union. Gertrude's father, however, a proud and inexorable man, discards his daughter's suitor without even consulting her; she flies precipitately from his house, and in an agony of resentment and despair, believing herself deserted by D'Arberg, allows herself to be united in marriage to an impetuous young musician, who, though engaged to another, yet had long loved Gertrude in secret. D'Arberg meanwhile has retired to Paris, and is described by a friend as "in such a frame of mind, that I have little doubt my old prophecy will come true, and that he will end by becoming a priest." After a series of misfortunes, Gertrude and her husband resolve to emigrate, and by accident select the same ship as that in which D'Arberg, still a layman, embarks with a troop of Irish emigrants, to take charge of them and conduct them in safety to their new home. A terrible struggle ensues in Gertrude's mind; her husband discovers her strong and undiminished attachment to D'Arberg, and thinking himself dying, recommends her to follow her inclination when he is gone. She and D'Arberg watch over the sinking youth, and one night she by mistake administers a dose of opium to her wretched husband. D'Arberg succeeds in recovering him from imminent peril; and by the bed of the exhausted youth, takes an oath, in which Gertrude joins, that if her husband dies, they will

* One day, when retreating under a heavy fire from the Arabs, the Count de Merode passed a wounded Frenchman; on which he dismounted from his horse under a perfect shower of bullets, lifted the wounded man to his own saddle, and bore him safely out of danger.

This again is an incident taken from real life; the life of an Irish gentleman of family, whose charitable exertions for his poorer fellow-countrymen have since been rewarded by his reception into the One Fold.

bid each other adieu for ever. At the conclusion of the voyage the ship takes fire; the shock is too much for the worn-out frame of Gertrude's husband, and soon after he is carried a-shore, he dies. Here, however, we must enter a very strong protest, en passant, against the following scene, which (it appears to us) could never, under any circumstances, be justified as in accordance with the principles of Catholic morality. There are three persons present, a husband, his wife, and another man. The husband, believing himself to be at the point of death, speaks thus:

"Hush, do not interrupt me now. The time is short, and I have something to say to you both. First, dearest Gertrude, tell her whom I loved before, and only less than you, that in my dying hour I have blessed her; that here, round my neck, I have always worn the little medal which she placed there the first time that we parted. Tell her that, through all my sins and my sufferings, I have never omitted to say every day the short prayer she then gave me. Take it, Gertrude, and let Mary have it. And now listen, both of you, to my last words, my last wish, my last request. There is a thought that would give me inexpressible consolation in these my last moments. Adrien ! Gertrude! I have stood between you and happiness during my life. Oh, let it not be so after my death! Give me your hands-let me join them together-let me feel that you will both be happy when I am dead, that the memory of all I have made you suffer will only unite you more closely to each other, and that thoughts of tenderness and pity for one who sinned against you so deeply will be mixed with every recollection of the past.'

666 'Do you think I could ever feel any thing but love and gratitude for you, Maurice?' she murmured, almost inaudibly, and Adrien grasped more tightly the hand he was holding.

"Maurice made a faint attempt to unite theirs, and articulated with effort, but with an imploring expression, Promise me that you will marry.' She shook her head, and passed her arm round his neck. For my peace, for my sake,' he ejaculated; simultaneously she and Adrien joined their hands for one instant, and then bent over him in speechless emotion, for life was ebbing fast, and death approaching. A look of repose settled on his face, a faint smile played on his lips, and his spirit passed away. Adrien and Gertrude repeated the De profundis before they rose from their knees, and then separated, only once to meet again-by the side of Maurice's grave in the cemetery of New York."*

It is true, indeed, that they do not marry, because, as we have seen, they have previously vowed not to do so; nevertheless a Catholic's sense of propriety is certainly offended by the very idea of a second marriage being contemplated, and even made the subject of conversation, whilst the first mar*Vol. iii. pp. 244-246.

riage is still undissolved. What sort of sponsalia could these be called? and yet, in form at least, they were real. If a man invite two persons who are free to contract sponsalia, to promise to marry one another, and they in token of acquiescence join hands in his presence, they are undoubtedly betrothed. And this betrothal, in the sight of the Church, has many important consequences.

To return, however, to the sketch which we were giving of the plot of the whole story: Gertrude, now a widow, devotes herself to the assistance and relief of poor emigrants; and with her only child returns in a few years to England, where, we are told, though she has "no intention of becoming a nun," yet she "leads the life of a Sister of Charity." The last that is heard of D'Arberg is, that he is a father of the Society of Jesus, preaching with great success, and amidst many dangers, in the land of martyrs in Eastern Asia.

Mary, whom Redmond deserts, after a long engagement, to marry Gertrude, and whose character is perhaps the most pleasing in the whole work, in like manner becomes a Sister of Mercy when her hopes of happiness in this world close for ever.

If a Catholic authoress of the high and sterling stamp of this noble lady can find no better materials than these for a work of fiction, what wonder that a crowd of Protestant novelists, who try their hand on a portrait of Catholic manners, should rise no higher than a caricature? We expect better and truer things from one who has already merited so well of the Catholic body as Lady Georgiana Fullerton; and we feel assured that her mature judgment and undoubted ability will, sooner or later, repair the unfavourable impression made by the general tenour of her recent work. To our mind, no criticism of ours can convey a severer reproof than the eulogium of a Protestant contemporary, who remarks, "One feature in the present tale is, that all the chief characters are Roman Catholic; but the peculiarities of papal belief or practice are little introduced; and the passions and sentiments, the virtues and vices, are those common to human nature."

What we have hitherto said about Lady Bird has been said with reference to its claims upon our attention as a Catholic novel. Let us now look at it merely as a story, considered apart from its religious aspect altogether. Even in this point of view, we are not inclined to rate it so highly as either of its predecessors. We regret to observe traces of haste in the composition, which alone could account for such an offence against language as the following (vol. i. p. 39), "It may be right for you to read such books; it would not