descended, it was not long before he felt the necessity of another invention. And so, every evening before lying down, he tied to his arm a strong cord, which, at the fatal hour, stretched itself on a sudden, and jerked him out of bed.

At this point he had arrived. What fresh somnicidal projects he was turning over in his head heaven knows, when he found himself falling asleep for ever. Asleep! No, the fervent Christian judged not thus; and, in spite of his little sin of sloth, full of confidence in Him who pardons, "Ah !" he cried, "I am waking up at last."

M. R.

M

DEAD.

AD pride, that would not stay to hear,
But spoke in an angry gust--

The house was a-building many a year,

In a day it crumbled to dust.

The house was a house where two hearts did dwell,

From the noisy world apart;

But the walls had been builded under a spell

That failed when heart cut heart.

The spell was the spell of loyal trust,
Of each in other, but one forgot
Its faith, and thus, O fatal must!—
The friendship that was is not.

Friendship's flower is easily stirred,

For a doubting thought 'twill shake;
But when thought is wedded to doubting word,
The delicate stem will break :

Will break-has broken! The petals lie

Strewn over a grave fresh-made,

Where our past, in the cerement of tear and sigh,
In unending sleep is laid.

J. F.

NEW BOOKS.

I. Light leading unto Light; A Series of Sonnets and Poems. By JOHN CHARLES EARLE, B. A. (Burns & Oates, London.) We should not like to say how often the venerated name of Dr. Newman has appeared on the dedication page of books on varied subjects and by various authors during the past ten or fifteen years. Aubrey de Vere long ago laid, with reverent affection, a chaplet of verses at the great Oratorian's feet. The first edition of "The Temporal Power of the Pope" was offered to him by Cardinal Manning in a glowingly appreciative dedication. And who that has read Father Faber's book on "The Blessed Sacrament" will ever forget the words in which it is inscribed: "To my most dear father, John Henry Newman, to whom, in the mercy of God, I owe the faith of the Church, the grace of the sacraments, and the habit of St. Philip, with much more that love knows and feeds upon, though it cannot tell in words, but which the last day will show." Mr. Capes, with whose name are linked so many sad associations, "gratefully and affectionately" inscribed his "Four Years' Experience of the Catholic Religion," to the "Father Superior of the English Oratory." To him, also, the late Father Garside dedicated his "Prophet of Carmel," "with affectionate veneration, as a slight thank-offering for inestimable benefits." Canon Shortland's recent record of missionary labours in the far east, and Father Harper's polished sermons, are both published under the shadow of the same great name. The volume now before us is similarly privileged, and the author has made his offering with a grace that has not often been excelled. There are no verses of his which we more gladly and sympathetically quote than the following:

say, This foremost of his age

Is Plato's self baptized.'

"But kindling, weeping, as I read,

And marvel at his pen,

I cry, This Newman is indeed
Augustine come again!'

"Our battles here we feebly fought

And scarce could keep the field,
When like a god he rose and wrought
Our armour and our shield.

"The clouds disperse to clear his fame;
The land begins to own
A prophet in a car of flame
Is mounting to his throne.

"My father, Israel's chariot, look!
And ere thou reach the skies,
Smile once, once only, on my book,
And it has gained the prize."

Poetry and science are not, perhaps, so antagonistic in their tendency and in their influence on the mind as is often supposed, and Mr. Earle certainly contrives to treat metaphysical and scientific subjects in a thoroughly poetical manner, without being either prosy or polemical. He possesses the "divine afflatus" in a much larger measure, it seems to us, than many of the well-known poets of the day; and in his favourite form of versification-the sonnet-he has achieved an excellence which deserves to be generally recognised. We had marked for quotation the sonnets entitled, "Invincible Ignorance," "A Rose Leaf," "Aureoles," "Miss Thompson's Picture, The Roll Call," and "The Music of the Mind;" but as a fair specimen of all, we must be content to reproduce only the last upon the list:

THE MUSIC OF THE MIND.

"I ask for music? nay, there is no need :
Where'er I roam soft numbers fill my ear,

And nature's melodies, how fresh, how clear!

Through finest brain-cells ring with force and speed.
Musical hopes elate me; and my creed

Is harmony itself; and I appear

A denizen of some enchanted sphere,

Where all things in a tuneful train succeed.
And when at evenfall my steps are bent

From wharf, and mart, and jangling far away,
Such perfect psalmody is round me blent,
With breeze and beating surf, that I delay
Upon the shore, a complex instrument

Of music on which minstrel spirits play."

II. The Church and the Empires. By HENRY WILLIAM WILBERFORCE; preceded by a Memoir of the Author by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D. D. (Henry S. King & Co.)

HENRY WILLIAM WILBERFORCE was the youngest son of the great anti-slavery reformer, and was born in the year 1807. After a brilliant career at Oxford, he entered, at the advice of his friend and tutor, Dr. Newman, the ministry of the Anglican Church; and in 1843, he was preferred, at the instance of the Prince Consort, to the richly-endowed living of East Farleigh, in Kent, which had been held some years previously by his brother, Archdeacon Wilberforce, who also subsequently joined the Catholic Church. East Farleigh is in the midst of the hop-country, which is yearly visited at the picking season by large numbers of Irish men, women, and children from London and elsewhere. During the gathering of 1849, an outbreak of cholera struck down many of these poor people at their work, and afforded to the devoted Protestant rector an opportunity for the exercise of a charity nothing short of heroic, and fruitful in graces to him and his; for within a year from the day when he threw his house into a temporary hospital, and ministered of his substance to the plague-stricken sufferers about him, he and his family, "through our Lord's mercy, were received into the everlasting home of the Catholic Church." The touching letter of farewell which he addressed to his

parishioners, is widely known, and the admirable simplicity of its style may almost be compared to that of the gospel. "In taking this step," he wrote to his archbishop, who was also his friend and relative, "I feel so many heart-strings breaking that I dare not allow myself to think of the consequences or the cost on earth, either to myself, or to those I love; but there are considerations which leave me no room to doubt: first, what I should wish a stranger to do, were he in my place; secondly, what I should wish to have done, were I upon my bed of death; or, thirdly, were I at the judgment seat of Christ."

Mr. Wilberforce, being a married man, could not enter the Catholic priesthood, which his singular piety and distinguished ability would have so greatly adorned; nor could he by the law of the land, as the holder of Anglican orders, enter any of the professions, especially that of the law, to which he felt naturally drawn, and in which, in the opinion of his biographer, he was eminently qualified to shine. His work, henceforth, was desultory and broken, but whatever or wherever it was-in Dublin, as secretary to the Catholic Defence Association, founded on occasion of the passing of the "Ecclesiastical Titles Act," as proprietor and editor from 1854 to 1863 of the Catholic Standard, afterwards called the Weekly Register, or as the writer of articles in the Dublin Review, and elsewhere-it was always undertaken in the " earnest desire to promote the interests of religion, even though at the sacrifice of his own." In 1871, Mr. Wilberforce became sensible of a serious diminution in his strength, and writing from Malvern, "to her who had," says Dr. Newman, "for so long a spell of years, made him so bright a home," he said: "May God keep his arm over you for good, and unite us hereafter in his kingdom! Coming here, and feeling how much older I am, makes me feel the time is short. The generation of men are like the leaves, as the great poet says; but our Lord Jesus is the resurrection and the life." died in tranquil peace on Wednesday morning, April 23, aged 65. "In his last months," says Dr. Newman, "his very life was prayer and meditation. No one did I ever know who more intimately realised the awfulness of the dark future than he. His sole trust, hope, and consolation lay in his clear, untroubled faith. All was dark except the great truths of the Catholic religion; but though they did not lighten the darkness, they bridged over for him the abyss. He spoke calmly to me of the solemn, unimaginable wonders which he was soon to see. Now he sees them. Each of us in his own turn will see them soon. May we be as prepared to see them as he

was !"

He

Never will those who were present at the funeral of Mr. Wilberforce, forget the touching scene-to which Dr. Newman in this prefatory memoir makes no allusion-which occurred, when, during the service, the venerable figure of the illustrious Oratorian was conducted to the pulpit. After two or three attempts to master the emotion, to which, in the choir, he had freely given vent, he managed to steady his voice sufficiently to say that "he knew the deceased so intimately, and loved him so much, that it was almost impossible for

him to command himself sufficiently to speak of him, as he had been unexpectedly asked to do." Then he spoke of the position of comfort, and all that this world calls good, and the prospect of advancement, if he had been an ambitious man, which his friend abandoned, "when the word of the Lord came to him, as it did to Abraham of old, telling him to go forth from that pleasant home, and from his friends, and all he held dear, and to become"-here he fairly broke down, but at last, lifting up his head, finished his sentence-" for Christ's sake."

a fool

But we have been forgetting Henry Wilberforce the author in the presence of Henry Wilberforce the man; and we have lingered so long over the early, and certainly not the least interesting, portion of this from first to last deeply interesting volume, that we can only_lay before our readers the titles of the seven brilliant essays, viz.: "The Formation of Christendom;" "Champagny's Roman Empire :" "Champagny's Cæsars of the Third Century;" "The Gallican Assembly of 1682;" "The Church and Napoleon I.;" "Pius VII. and Napoleon I.;" "Pius VII. at Savona and Fontainebleau," which are here gathered together under the comprehensive title of "The Church and the Empires."