our readers may gather how valuable this volume is both for personal instruction and as a weapon against the attacks that are nowadays made on the Catholic doctrine of miracles, a doctrine which is obviously of fundamental importance. "The subject," writes Father Joyce in Chap. VII. “ is one of the highest moment, and in regard to which all compromise is impossible. For on this question hangs the issue between Naturalism and Supernaturalism. There can be no such thing as unmiraculous Christianity." A recent addition to the same excellent Library is the second volume of Bl. John Fisher's Commentary on the Seven Penitential Psalms edited by Professor J. S. Phillimore, M.A. We have already, in reviewing the first portion of the work, remarked on the high merits, literary as well as devotional, of this series of discourses. The Catholic Library is published by the firm of Herder, and the volumes cost a shilling net each.

5. We now have the four Epistles of the Captivity: Ephesians, Colossians, Philemon and Philippians, in the new Westminster version of the Sacred Scriptures; the two former being by the Rev. Joseph Rickaby, S.J., and the two latter by the Rev. Alban Goodier, S.J. An Introduction of twelve pages deals briefly with the circumstances under which they were all written, and afterwards each is discussed separately. Then comes the translation with notes. The greater clearness and intelligibility often to be found in this new translation, as compared with the old version, are undoubted merits; but it is difficult at first to rid oneself of the attraction of old associations which always tell so much in favour of the old form of words. The difference is at times rather disconcerting at the first view; for example instead of "to reestablish all things in Christ" (Eph. I. 10) we find " to bring all things to a head in Christ"; and another familiar text, "Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God" (Phil. II. 6) is changed to, "For he, though he was by nature God, yet did not set great store on his equality with God." Of course the reasons for such changes are given in the notes, reasons well worth considering whether one is persuaded or not that the new version is quite satisfactory in such cases. The get up of the little volume is attractive, and the price moderate: ninepence in paper

cover, and one and three in boards. The publishers are Messrs. Longmans, Green and Co.

6. Golden Lights. By E. Gallieme Robin. London: R. and T. Washbourne, Ltd. (Price 2s. 6d.)

The golden lights of the title are the torches of love and faith, kept alight in the soul of Marion Martyn, and eventually showing her the way into the Catholic Church. Marion, though she was educated at a convent school, was a Protestant. The book tells the story of her life in the years after she left school, tells of the young men who loved her and their careers; of the conversion of her old friend, the Vicar of Port Jacob; of a wreck on the Cornish coast and a romance resulting therefrom. There are faults of construction in the book, and we imagine the author would have succeeded better if the story contained fewer psychological problems. But it will find many appreciative readers.

7. A very useful penny pamphlet from the office of the Irish Messenger, is Shall I be a Priest? by Rev. William Doyle, S.J. The good work done by the author's Vocations is here followed up to excellent effect. No one can read it without being moved to increased love and reverence for the sublime office of the priesthood; and it will, we believe, encourage many a generous heart to take up the most divine of all divine works, the saving of souls. Another new 'Messenger' booklet that will be heartily welcomed by religious souls who have learned something of the treasure contained in devotion to the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity is Pentecost, a series of meditations on the Holy Ghost, written by the Rev. Joseph McDonnell, S.J.

GOOD THINGS WELL SAID

1. We always weaken whatever we exaggerate.-La Harpe.

2. He injures the absent who contends with an angry man.-Publius Cyrus.

3. I am persuaded that every time a man smiles-but much more so when he laughs-it adds something to this fragment of life.--Sterne.

4. The most painful part of our bodily pain is that which is bodiless or immaterial, namely, our impatience, and the delusion that it will last forever.-Richter.

5. Few persons have courage enough to seem as good as they really are.-Hare.

6. It is hard for motorists to be meek of heart.-W. Dwight, S.J.

7. Not to show one's feelings is as much a drawback sometimes as the wearing of the heart upon the sleeve.-Mgr. Benson.

8. The way the will becomes strong is by doing small things you've made up your mind to do, however much you don't want to do them at the time.-The same.

9. To trust a friend is not to believe that he can do no wrong; we must trust no man like that; for all fall at times. -The same.

10. A clear proof of worth is to be able to honour your enemy.-Calderon.

11. To face trouble is less desolating than to fear it. -The same.

12. I have never known a very bad man who had not something good about him.-William Blake.

13. Men are frequently like tea; the real strength and goodness is not properly drawn out of them till they have been for a short time in hot water.-Anon.

THE IRISH MONTHLY

JUNE, 1915

WHEN THE WOOD IS GREEN

By MADGE Blundell.

CHAPTER I.

No one would have thought of comparing Lieutenant Graaf Andreas van Govaerts to an eagle even had he been seen "poised," as he told himself he was, on the white crest of the Piz Gruss. But no one did see him. He was alone in the high solitudes-that was the most eagle-like part of it. He leaned on his alpenstock, his knees trembling under him after the strain of the arduous climb; but he mopped his round face and enjoyed the thought that he represented for the time being the flag of Holland, for no man had stood on this peak before-at least not in winter.

“Vraiment je plane par dessus le monde," he said, drawing a gusty sigh of deep satisfaction. Always to be armed with the fitting word was one of the inestimable advantages of being a linguist.

The world over which the gallant lieutenant's glance strayed was one of mountains-in summer arid and rugged, but now softened, rounded, glittering white and fair in its clothing of virgin snow. He had indeed gained a lofty elevation, and he looked down on many an inferior height, but still it was desolate snowfields and many-sized and manyshaped mountain heads that bounded his view on every side.

VOL. XLIII.-No. 504.

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For month after month of the year it was a country of stillness -only the wind stole about, now piping, now sighing, here tracing patterns in the snow, there busily piling up a drift; twisting some little stunted pine from the crag to which it had clung precariously for a generation; moulding the great winter burden of the hills in preparation for the spring avalanches, everywhere the freakish magician invisibly working changes. The woods were all far below the ski-runner: he had left behind even the occasional stormbattered shrubs that contrived to live above the timber line: here only huge icicles, hanging from the brows of some veiled rock, broke the monotony of the snows and revealed the whereabouts of a torrent silenced now. This aspect of nature had no charms for the young man except in so far as it offered him reason for self-congratulation: did he not dominate the scene? What he really enjoyed was the sense of triumph over his fellow-men that a glance into the valley whence he had come afforded him.

There in what seemed to be a hollow in the snows lay Adlersdorf, the cluster of hotels appearing no bigger than the buildings of a child's toy farm-yard; he could see sleighs crawling like flies on the road but not a tinkle of their bells, not the loudest shouts of the curlers on the Palace Hotel rink, not the most violent language of the bandy-players on the frozen lake, could reach his ears. His eyes followed the tracks left by his ski in the ascent-he had chosen his way carefully with a view to the downward run; to follow those tracks would be to circle round rocks and ravines, to leave dangers on his right hand and on his left, to fly down, down, down with ever increasing speed. The climb had taken him five hours; he wondered excitedly in how many minutes he could accomplish the descent, and hoped that when he swept down on to the road he would find someone there to congratulate him. He scraped the long lithe sole first of one ski, then the other, with the point of his staff, and munched his wedge of mountaineer's chocolate in supreme content. He was in no hurry to start on the downward plunge; he wanted to wait until on-coming evening should make haste not only a pleasure but a necessity. The dazzle of the snow increased tenfold about him: