English Sketches.

tempted the life of his brother. The poor fellow was only there for the day, awaiting an order for removal to some government asylum for the insane. He stood bolt upright, without leaning against the wall, with a his hands hanging by his side, and his head bent downwards, the picture of melancholy and sullen despair. We noticed with satisfaction that the warder compassionately avoided passing before the poor creature's railing, and did not even speak within earshot of him.

On re-entering the house, we came

view.

281

under the clenched hands of the prisoner, his body rising and falling in rhythmic movement with the rotation of the crank he is propelling; but the strain upon the spine becomes after while intolerable. This man was a very hardened criminal, and had just undergone seven days on bread and water in the dark cell, twentyfour lashes of the cat-o'-nine tails having proved unavailing; and he was still unsubdued. His misdemeanor in the prison was swearing at one of the warders, and threatening to break his skull against the wall; even after the fearful infliction of the dark cell, he repeated his threat to "do for him."

into a corridor where the air was filled with a grinding noise of ominous import. On either side of us were cells, where the forced labor Coarse-matting weaving is another in its most severe aspect comes into prison employment; it is far less Warders were walking slowly laborious than either of the two up and down, peeping at intervals preceding, yet working the heavy into the cells through a narrow little looms must be a great discipline to aperture in the doors, where the pri- unpractised arms. One man's face soners were undergoing the sentence in this category struck us as different of the law. Some were grinding from the others; it bore the unmiscorn, others were turning the crank- takable stamp of education; pump. found that the weaver was properly a man of a better class, and who, with half the ingenuity he had shown in getting into his present condition, might have been a well-to-do mem

The former is done by a machine which it takes all the strength of the workman's two arms to keep going. In one of these cells, the door of which was unlocked for us to examine closely, ber of society. there was a lad of a little over twenty, of middle height, and with a countenance which, but for the sinister leer of the mouth, might have been called mild and almost prepos

sessing.

we

In the lower basement there are admirably constructed baths, immersion in which is compulsory on the prisoners once a month. The dark cell above referred to is also in these Refractory subjects are consigned to it for three, five, or seven days, as the case may be, for insubordination or idleness.

We were startled to learn lower regions. that this juvenile criminal had been taken up for highway robbery, with attempt to murder.

The cell opposite his was occupied by a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man, who was turning the crankpump. This is the most severe of all the forms of labor in the jail. To a superficial observer it would seem almost easy labor, so smooth is the movement of the crank as it gyrates

It must be a very obdurate spirit indeed, one would imagine, which this awful punishment could leave unbroken. The darkness is like that of the grave, so dense that it is suffocating; and when the warder, to show how utterly every ray of light was excluded from the cell, suddenly went out, and

airy

and

exquisitely

clean.

the body feeds

the

despondency of

All was Warders in official uniforms paced the imagination dwelling on the one leisurely up and down the corridors fixed idea of an interminable perspecand galleries; and though the silence tive of silence and solitude. In the was broken only by their foot-falls case of short periods of incarceration, and our own voices as we conversed the separate system must be regarded with the warder who acted as our as an immense improvement on the guide, there was no oppressive gloom old gregarious one. It prevents the in the atmosphere. The cells open- spread of vice, and protects the comed on either side of the gallery. paratively innocent subject from being They were each lighted by a good- utterly corrupted by the hardened sized sinner. In France, where the gregarious system is in full force, its effect is too plainly visible in the most deplorable results. A youth or a girl goes in a mere novice in iniquity, and, after a short sojourn in the of a small table, a stool, and a midst of the offscourings of society, stretcher-bed, which is rolled up dur- comes out utterly depraved. Noing the day.

window looking on the prison garden and protected by strong iron bars; in one corner was a complete washing apparatus, with a water-pipe over the basin; in another there was a gas-pipe. The furniture consisted

On a shelf were the where is this truth more lamentably prisoner's plate and mug. The Pro- apparent than in those cases that testants are allowed the use of their come under the head of prison préBible and the Common Prayer-Book; ventive, where any suspected person, the Catholics have the Douay edition on the smallest amount of evidence, of the Bible and The Garden of the is thrown into these social sloughs Soul; special good conduct is re- for weeks, nay, months sometimes, and held in hourly contact with thieves, forgers, burglars, and every species of offender. Strong indeed must be the principles, and pure the heart, that come out unshaken and unsullied from such an ordeal. The men were at work on the day

warded by the loan of story-books. Some of the cells were ornamented with prints from the Graphic and the Illustrated London News. A man with a good conscience and sound

health might live comfortably in one of these cells.

The mildest form of hard labor is the oakum-picking. It is performed partly in the open air, partly in the cells, and consists of untwisting old cables, and then tearing them into loose hemp, which is used for caulking the seams of ships.

The Reading jail is worked entirely when we arrived at the jail, so we saw on the isolated system, each prisoner the penal system in full operation. being virtually as much alone amidst two hundred fellow-captives as if he were the only inmate. It is urged against this system that it frequently leads to madness, total solitude being the most cruel form of punishment, and the one against which the human mind is, by its very essence, least calculated to bear up. But the theory breaking. One side of a yard is walled off into separate compartments, with a railing at each end, and from these the ring of the pickaxe resounds dismally for many hours

applies in its chief force to solitary confinement, where the sound of the human voice and the sight of his fellow-creature's face never intrude

The next category was the stone

upon the tomblike silence of the in the day. One of these cages was dungeon; where complete inaction of occupied by a lunatic, who had at

287

are the opening lines (the punctuation is the author's): "A goodly Galilean house in the suburbs Of the town-a 100m in the rear of the house-A sweet, retired and pleasant room. Jacob pious parents Of Saint Joseph-contemplating their firstborn."

And

Susannah-the

New Publications. unlooked-for ending, leaving her once more free; and again, when the hostile prelates of the "national church, and even her own countrymen and supporters, almost procured her forcible removal out of the land in which God had cast her heroic lot, again Providence stood her friend, and summoned her away to the only home for which she could joyfully leave England. This work ought to be a stimulus, in one sense, to the missionary spirit of English Catholics. for since so many holy souls were drawn to help their forefathers to keep the faith, they should be ready now to do something themselves toward the preservation of the same faith, endangered in many southern lands by doctrines sprung from the Reformation.

PRONOUNCING HANDBOOK OF 3.000 WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. By Richard Soule and Loomis J. Campbell. Boston: Lee & Shepard.

The idea of this book is good, and, so far as we have noticed, well carried out. Of course, the point upon which such a selection is always open to criticism is the precise set of words selected as worthy of attention; but it is much easier to criticise than to actually do the work better; and something must always be sacrificed to brevity in a work of this kind. There can be no doubt that it will prove quite useful.

THE HOUSE OF GOLD, AND THE SAINT OF NAZARETH. A Poetical Life of S. Joseph. Rosa Mystica Series. Vol. III. By Marie Josephine. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1873.

It is painful to us to find fault with a work intended to promote devotion to S. Joseph, especially when the author is able to produce five courteous "Approbations," "Recommend” (sic), an couragement," and a "Blessing."

a

66

En

But

we have no fear that the august spouse of Our Lady will fail to attribute the fol

lowing strictures to a zeal for his greater glory.

We remark, then, that had the book been written in sober prose (there is plenty of "prose run mad"), its execution might have been on a par with its intention. As it is, we do not remember to have seen a "Life" calling itself "poetical" in which it was so impossible to discern a single poetical feature. We choose a few passages at random. Here

"

young

(p. 1.)

Again : "Joseph standing (sic) yet still upon his knees, The still, illuminative sky flashing

All over his rapt, beautiful countenanceSweet saint-man, almost divining, yet not.'

Now for a lyric:

"

(p. 35.)

"There is a saint on the hills of Galilee, His fervor, this morn, it is fervor to see: Oh! ever the morning has dappled the east, He is up and away for this mystical feast.

Up and away, though he knows not why The shadows of night so hasten to fly, Why the beams are out ere the morn hath rose And the east aglow as an opal or rose.'

Another:

(p. 33.)

We need quote no further. But as we close the volume, and look again at its handsome cover, we feel more inclined for tears than for laughter; for is it not sad that so well-mearing a person should not only be suffered by her friends to imagine she can write poetry, but should even find a publisher for her doggerel? And, again, is it not still sadder that books such as this should be countenanced for a moment, when, instead of promoting faith and piety, they can only bring ridicule on Catholic devotions? For the love and honor of Our Lady and S. Joseph, let us have no more of the "Rosa Mystica Series."

VOYAGES AUX MONTAGNES ROCHEUSES ET SEJOUR CHEZ LES TRIBUS INDIENNES DE L'OREGON. Par le R. P. De Smet, de la Compagnie de Jésus. Nouvelle Edition; revue et considérablement augmentée. Bruxelles: Victor Devaux et

New Publications.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

The Lute with the Broken String.

285

THE LUTE WITH THE BROKEN STRING.

I TOOK the lute I had prized so much

In my day of pride, in my day of power, And wiped the dust with a tender touch,

And wreathed it gaily with ribbon and flower.

And the tears from my heart were falling fast

For the bloom that had faded, the fragrance fled, As I thought of the hand that had wreathed it lastThe hand of my darling now cold and dead:

And I put it aside with a passionate fling,

And something was broken—a heart or a string.

And again I essayed, when the tears had dried

And the tumult of sobs in my bosom was still,

To touch it once more with the olden pride,

That the hearts that yet love me might hear it and thrill:

But a soft low note, with its melting power,

A tone of deep pathos, had trembled and gone; And my hopes died out in that silent hour, And left me in darkness and sorrow alone. What wonder, beloved, that I cannot sing of the heart with a broken string?

A song

What worth is the lute when its music hath fled? What worth is the strain when its alto is lost? What worth is the heart with its tenderness shed, And all its warm feelings laid waste by the frost ? But love cannot die.

There is comfort in this,

That Love is eternal, though passion controls. And what, then, is heaven, with its glory and bliss, But the union of hearts and communion of souls

When saints shall be minstrels, and angels shall sing, And lutes shall have never a broken string?