band of dreamers, but a crusade against the supremacy of the State, upon the independence of the bench, upon liberty of conscience, of speech, and of the press. Our attitude, therefore, is one not of attack, but of defence. It is not we who have waged war on the Church or its ministers; but they who have attempted to subjugate the Civil Power, and, so far as in them lies, have subverted the constitution. Mr. Lindsey remarks that intolerance, when rigidly maintained and carried out, where practicable, into active operation, is pregnant with effects of the most dangerous kind, and strikes at the root of civil liberty. The second chapter of "Rome in Canada ought of itself to startle those who feel or affect indifference on the subject. The New School, having, at least for the time, cowed and silenced the Gallicans, is now boldly claiming the right to control the State. Those who are not in the habit of studying the French journals and brochures have no idea of the elaborate machinery of aggression at work in the Province. The writers," says the author, "upon whom Bishop Bourget showers his applause, form a motley crowd of journalists, pamphleteers, and authors of more pretensions, priests, Jesuits, bishops," &c; and these men have, during four years, "produced a pyramid of worthless, but not innocuous literature, which probably contains not less than one hundred separate publications." These and the journals which slavishly proclaim the doctrines of the New School are approved by the bishops and pressed upon the faithful from pulpit and altar. The independent press is denounced and starved out of existence, because Catholics dare not buy or even read these papers, when denounced, on pain of eternal damnation. Judges are denounced and threatened, as Judge Mondelet stated he had been; and even Judge Taschereau, of the Supreme Court, stated that he was afraid, as a Catholic judge, to pronounce his judgment after the fulminations heaped upon three Canadian judges already. The Bench has been plainly told that not the law, but the decrees of the Church are to inspire their judgments; and if these conflict? The Bishop of Rimouski, only a year ago, denounced Judge Casault, in unmeasured terms, for his decision in the Bonaventure case. The judgment should have been received with universal reprobation. "It sins by being in'unison with several of the propositions condemned in the syllabus; and he informs all concerned that Catholic judges cannot in conscience administer civil laws such as that which controls Parliamentary elections in Quebec; if they find any difficulties about the oath of office they have taken, he is ready with authority to prove that, in such a case, it does not bind the conscience;" he then proceeds to bully the Legislature, and demands the repeal of the law or a declaration that it does not mean what its words clearly express (pp. 28990.) Most people have heard something of clerical interference at elections, and the defence set up for it by political journals in Ontario. The judgment of the Supreme Court in the Charlevoix case has set that question at rest for ever. Judge Taschereau explained the effect of these pulpit and altar methods on the people, and Judge Ritchie, after conceding to the priest every privilege as a citizen, proceeded thus:"But he has no right in the pulpit or out, by threatening any damage, temporal or spiritual, to restrain the liberty of a voter, so as to compel or frighten him into voting, or abstaining from voting, otherwise than as he fully wills." That has a finer ring in it than the miserable special pleading of partizans in Toronto angling for clerical support in the Province of Quebec. How the system acts, the words of a single witness may serve to show: "I was afraid that if I voted for Tremblay I should be damned." Thus, on the principles of the New School, as sanctioned by the bishop, and practised by the curés, the liberty of the voter, which is one of the sheet-anchors of our representative system, is removed, and a judge, called upon to decide a contested election, has the chance of perjuring himself, under cover of an episcopal dispensation, or of being cast out of the Church. Bishops and ecclesiastics who oppose the New School are treated no whit better than the judges. The late Archbishop of Quebec, VicarGeneral Cazeau, and others in high position who have attempted to stem the torrent of Ultramontanism, were freely denounced by the claqueurs of the dominant party as "Gallicans and Liberals." For the time being they have yielded to the storm; but they are not, by any means, put out of the way. It is not true that all Roman Catholics in Quebec, cleric or lay, are Ultramontanes, in the intolerant sense of the word. They do not all believe with the bishops, in their Circular of 1875, that the State is included in the Church. They have not yet been convinced that it is the duty of rulers, at least in free Canada, to enact laws at the dictation of the Church, and that the Legislature ought to be--what the Quebec Legislature is rapidly becoming-a registry office for episcopal decrees. In Ontario, judging from the utterances of Archbishop Lynch, there is still some freedom for our Catholic fellowsubjects; but they must not rely upon these utterances. The long arm of the New School has reached even his Grace of Toronto, and he will repeat his letter of 1876 to Mr. Mackenzie no more. The party press-but this was before the decision of the Supreme Court-made much of this letter, as if Ontario were Quebec. Quebec, at any rate, did its duty. The Rev. Alexis Pelletier, one of the élite of the authorized pamphleteers of the New School, was upon his Grace's track, as these sleuth hounds are, in every corner, on the instant. D. Lynch was trying to persuade Ontario politicians that the Catholic Liberal indicated in the Syllabus was not the French Canadian Liberal of Quebec; he met a rebuff at once from headquarters, and has held his peace on the subject from that day to this. On the other hand the Courrier du Canada, by advocating the most outrageous doctrines of the School-intolerance, priestly immunity, the subordination of the State to the Church, and the responsibility of Executive, Legislative, Judiciary to the latter, has been enabled to announce that, "Our Father the Pope has accorded to us in our quality of Catholic journalist, the apostolic benediction for us and our family to the third generation, with permission to read the books in the Index without exception" (p. 185). We suppose they can construe gifts of the sort, whence the benediction primarily comes; on earth people would in all probability have no little trouble in deciding how many people will have the right to read Darwin's Descent of Man in the year 1978. A most singular feature in the tactics of the New School would at first sight appear to be the tenacity with which it clings to the dogma, so to call it, of intolerance. The Abbé Paquet, however, and his friends see deeper into the future than most of us. He is instructor of the ingenuous youth who receive their training at Laval University. A complete account of his views on liberty of conscience will be found in Mr. Lindsey's startling Chapter X., entitled, "The Apotheosis of Intolerance." Religious toleration is a gross error, an insult to reason, a blasphemy, and an impiety." "Every where and at all times, the principle of religious or dogmatic intolerance will remain master of the position," because it is truth, and truth is indestructible and eternal-a style of syllogism it may be hoped the élèves of Laval are not taught to regard as valid. Then follow the sentences which give a clue to the zeal for intolerance :"Those who reproach the Church with being intolerant of toleration, reproach her with nothing less than her right of existence." "As the Church cannot renounce her mission without renouncing her existence, she ought always to anathematize this teaching" of toleration (p. 212 et seq.) Father Braun, a German Jesuit, the protégé of the Bishop of Montreal, with the express approbation of three other bishops, ventured to say "It is customary to regard Protestantism as a religion which has rights. This is an error. Protestantism is not a religion. Protestantism has not a single right. It possesses the force of seduction. It is a rebellion in triumph; it is an error which flatters human nature. Error can have no rights; rebellion can have no rights," &c. (p. 216). Could Philip II. or Alva, his lieutenant, desire more? Bishop Pinsonneault's denunciation of Liberalism is noteworthy, as it defines the intangible thing beyond possibility of mistake (pp. 197— 9); but M. O'Donnell, in a sermon in presence of a Bishop, gives us some idea of what will become of all the liberties in Quebec if these gentlemen have their way: "Anarchy, intellectual, moral, and religious, seems to you the fitting complement of these diabolical doctrines. Your liberty of the press is the oppression of the mind and the heart, its weapons lies and immorality; liberty of conscience is equal liberty for truth and error; liberty of speech is anarchy, license, the right of rebellion; and your political liberalism (mark it well!) is the liberal theory of the relation which Church and State should bear to one another." When we recollect what the Ultramontane theory of that relation is, have we not a right to arouse the people of the Dominion to the breakers ahead? We have given but a very inadequate review of Mr. Lindsey's book, certainly; yet should we succeed in attracting the attention of our readers to it, this notice will have served its purpose. Want of space has prevented any reference to the valuable historical chapters on Gallicanism and the attitude of the Church on marriage, education, and other matters fully treated. Mr. Lindsey's work is the only complete, comprehensive, and trustworthy treatise on the subject, and should be widely circulated. META HOLDENIS. By Victor Cherbuliez. Collection of Foreign Authors. New York: D. Appleton & Co. M. Cherbuliez in this capital little story in dulges in a revanche on German manners, which very probably goes far to console him for German victories. The sarcasm is as delicate as it is pointed. Benedict Holdenis, the father of the fair Meta, is a corpulent, middle-aged German merchant of Geneva, who cultivates all the virtues both theoretically and practically among his seven children. The hero of the tale, Tony Flamerin, visits him, and the infants are at once trotted out, and placed "like organ-pipes in a row, according to age and size," while their precocious exploits are recounted. At dinner, the house-father displays an admirable appetite, so much so indeed that Tony fears that he would hurt himself, but excess of feeding does not stifle German sentiment, and what matters it whether one lives in a palace or a hut,' cried M. Holdenis, "provided one keeps a window open to a bit of blue sky?" Tony is charmed with this simplicity of living, and with the games and psalm-singing that follow, for is he not perilously in love with Meta and her two dangerously deep turquoise eyes? The family service that ends the evening is well hit off. 'He opened an enormous folio Bible, and bending his patriarchal head, began to improvise a homily upon the text, 'These are the two olive trees and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth.' I thought I understood him to mean that the two candlesticks represented Monsieur and Madame Holdenis; the little Holdenises were as yet only bits of candles, but with proper efforts were expected to grow into wax tapers." No wonder that after such an idyllic evening as this, Tony appears to his somewhat fast American friend Harris, who has been waiting for him at the hotel, to be rapidly becoming in his turn German and patriarchal. "Out of what holy water font do you come?" cried he; "you smell of virtue half a mile off." And taking a brush he dusts our hero from head to foot. Tony is not without a rival. True, he has the pleasure of painting Meta's portrait, but the Baron Gruneck, a withered old bachelor who suffers from a sort of articulary rheumatism or from an ill-digested cavalry sabre, which Tony wickedly suggests he may have swallowed when young, dangles round Meta in an insufferable manner. However the fates are propitious. Out on a bench in the garden, the lovers half come to an understanding. Meta tells Tony the names of the stars as, one by one, they come shimmering out in the blue. The nightingale sings, and Meta becomes transcendental, speaks of eternity, of Paradise, "where the soul breathes God with as little effort as the plants breathe the air here below." Tony, the flippant dog, puts his arm round her waist, and is about to give a more mundane definition of his Paradise, when they are interrupted and explanations and formal betrothals have to stand over till the morrow. Alas, that fatal morrow! Tony enters the house, steals up to Meta unobserved, and looking over her shoulder sees that the object on which she is gazing with so much ecstasy is a sketch of a wreath of violets, of forget-me-nots, encircling the suggestive words "La Baronne de Gruneck!" Quietly and unnoticed, Tony steals off. One souvenir he leaves behind, for he writes on the frame of the unfinished portrait the bitterly satirical words," She worshipped the stars and Baron Gruneck," and then he makes off like a thiet. Another souvenir, though, he leaves as well, in the shape of nearly all his fortune, which M. Holdenis had borrowed of him purely for his own good. Coming back to his hotel, mad at Meta's perfidy, his friend Harris greets him with the delightful news that the philanthropical German merchant has failed. Seeing Tony's despair, Harris bursts into a tone of laughter. "What, Tony my son," cried he, "sweet child of Burgundy, has this unctuous sharper found a secret way into your indigent means?" and, rolling himself on the floor, he exclaimed, "Oh, primitive candour, sweet union of souls, I adore you! Oh, patriarchal virtue! are these the tricks you play?" Tony quits Geneva, plunges into a mud-bath of dissipation to allay the horror he had con ! ceived of virtue, and loses his last penny in the process. His upward career again we will not disclose it will be enough to hint that he and Meta meet again under very different circumstances, and our interest in the heroine is sustained till the very last, so carefully has M. Cherbuliez refrained from letting us be certain whether we have grasped the true clue to her character or not. There are some delightfully expressed and incisive passages in this tale. Thus: "It is only the lazy people who complain of weariness that are blameworthy;" or again, "Whatever arithmeticians may say to the contrary, nothings added to nothings grow sometimes into somethings." The canvass is well filled with other figures, all effective and well drawn, and the events crowd together quite rapidly towards the end of the story. By a true touch of French sentiment, one of the love scenes takes place in 'the loveliest of cemeteries," flowery and grassy, with a "large weeping willow casting a soft shadow, in which the sun was making silver lace." This is probably the most interesting story that has yet appeared in this series, the publishers of which are to be congratulated on the happiness of their selections. By William Black, in conjunction with an American writer. Montreal: Dawson Bros. 1878. A HANDBOOK OF REFERENCE AND QUOIATION. A MOTTOES AND APHORISMS FROM SHAKESPEARE. Arranged alphabetically, with a copious Index of Words and Ideas. Second Edition. London : John Hogg. 1877. Toronto: James Campbell & Son. PRACTICAL GUIDE TO ENGLISH VERSIFICATION, with a Compendious Dictionary of Rhymes, an Examination of Classical Measures, and Comments upon Burlesque and Comic Verse, Vers de Société, and Song-writing. By Tom Hood. A new and enlarged Edition. To which are added Bysshe's "Rules for making English Verse," etc London: John Hogg. 1877. Toronto: James Campbell & Son. THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN: A Christmas Yarn. By Edward Jenkins, M. P., author of Ginx's Baby, etc. Illustrated by Wallis MacKay. Montreal: Dawson Bros. 1878. Authors of 'Ready-Money Mortiboy,' 'The Golden Butterfly,' 'By Celia's Arbour, etc., etc. "SIR CHAPTER III. IN THE CITY. JACOB ESCOMB." The name -by itself? no "and Company," no statement of trade or calling-was on as large a brass plate as you might see any where in the City. The plate was not one of those which modestly retire and seek to efface themselves from the sight of man; it did not lurk in the shadow of a dark entrance hall, or hide its presence on a staircase lighted only by windows never cleaned. Not at all. It stood well displayed facing the street, just below the level of the average human eye, so that those who ran might read, and those who read might wonder. Sir Jacob begin life on a certain day with a definite sum which becomes historic. "He was a factory hand, and he is not ashamed of it. Now he is worth, it is said, more than a million. Ah! what a country we live in! And such a good man! Foremost in every philanthropic or charitable attempt. Did you read his speech at the Hammerers' dinner last Thursday? It showed how men of wealth who desire to do good must henceforth hand over to paid workmen the practical details of charity, and exercise for their own part a wise rule over benevolent and charitable efforts by means of cheques and donations. Such men as Sir Jacob cannot be expected to waste their time in personal investigations. As good as a sermon that speech was. A million "SIR JACOB ESCOMB." Those who ran, of money, and all made out of nothing! those who walked, and those who lounged What a man! And such a good man! read the name and sighed with envy. Such | Hush! There he is getting out of his as had with them country cousins or persons carriage. Look at the bundle of papers in ignorant of the City would stop them, when his hand. I have heard it computed that they came to the spot, to point out this when he was constructing the railways for Plutocratic name. "Sir Jacob Escomb," Two Eagle Land, he had as many as five they would say, in the trembling tone of hundred thousand men in his employ at reverence, "is one of those men who began once." life with a fourpenny-piece." All men like Fortunate Sir Jacob! His offices were built up to the brass but the only son of an obscure house. As plate, so to speak. Behind such a plate his father, too, was dead long since, there ordinary offices would have been mean. might seem no reason for maintaining his Your old-fashioned firms can afford to do Christian name. Mr. Gower, plain, might their work in dingy rooms. A new house have done. But it did not. Somehow or ought to proclaim its prosperity by its in- other the name of Reuben did not die out. ternal fittings. Those of Sir Jacob's con- Everybody called Sir Jacob Escomb's secresisted of three stories above the ground floor. tary, manager, or right-hand man, Reuben— There the rooms were appropriated to clerks. tout court. Even the clerks addressed him On entering you found yourself opposite a as Mr. Reuben. It was the custom of the mahogany counter, not intended, as in a office, and as Reuben was not offended, no shop, to exhibit merchandise, or, as in a one else had the right to complain. Reuben bank, for the handing backwards and for- Gower: he was the same age as Sir Jacob, wards of gold. It was solely for the re- with whom he had grown up as a boy, with ception of visitors. A clerk appeared be- whom he had worked in the same factory, by hind the counter on your entrance: he the side of whom, and for whom, he had stepped noiselessly the whole house was fought the battle of life. Reuben Gower, on carpeted with some thick and noiseless stuff the second floor, had only one waiting-room. -from his table, and took your card. Then It is a theory among City people-I mean, he vanished, and you were left in a room especially, City people in financial interests fitted with one heavy table and a dozen com--that if Smith and Jones both together fortable chairs till he returned. Sometimes it happened that you had to go away, the press of previous appointments being too great; sometimes it happened that you were invited to see Mr. Reuben Gower, instead of Sir Jacob; but if you came by appointment you were asked to walk upstairs at the very moment of the time named. Upstairs you might see Sir. Jacob himself, or you might be put off upon Mr. Gower. In the former case you were handed over to a clerk, quite a young and embryo sort of clerk, who took in your card and showed you into a waiting-room. There were three waiting-rooms round Sir Jacob Escomb's private apartment, and the clerk was a Cerberus who protected each room from the invasion of those who had no appointment. The waiting-rooms-one was large enough for a deputation, and one was small-were furnished in the same way-one table, with leather top, blotting-pad, pens, ink, and paper, and massive chairs; the windows were painted over because the view was bounded, the carpets were thick, fires were burning if the weather was cold, the chairs were like dining-room chairs in some great house, and the table was one of those regulation office tables made of strong shiny mahogany. Suppose you had no appointment with Sir Jacob or your business was comparatively unimportant, you turned over to Mr. Reuben Gower, his Secretary. Mr. Reuben Gower was not the younger son of a noble house, want to see Brown, and if Smith sees Jones, or Jones sees Smith, either will at once find out the other's business. Hence the three waiting-rooms round Sir Jacob's private office, where Smith, Jones, and Robinson would all lie hidden, each waiting his turn to see the chief. Above Reuben Gower's, on the third floor, is the Board-room, also used by Sir Jacob and his friends as a luncheon-room. A discreet door hides what is, practically, a cellaret. There are choice wines in that cupboard, and many a bottle of chablis, sauterne, champagne, and hock have been cracked with due solemnity in the luncheon-room, preparatory to or after serious business below. But it is very well known in the City that Sir Jacob will not take wine during business hours. A glass of sherry with a sandwich for luncheon if you like; but, if you press him to have more, he will tell you with a soft, sad smile that he comes into the City on business, that he is occupied all day long on business, and that he cannot, most unfortunately, drink wine while he is attending to business. After dinner, on the other hand, it is notorious that Sir Jacob Escomb's finest speeches are sometimes made when he has put away enough wine to make a Barclay and Perkins' drayman blind drunk. capacity for wine is not the least of those qualities for which City men envy Sir Jacob. His It was a house in which all the offices were solid and even splendid; well-lighted, well-furnished, well-fitted; provided with an |