diverted his aim. He was direct and open in his speeches. In what he conceived to be his duty, neither personal gain nor the certainty of provoking countless adversaries, had any effect on Windthorst." These words, spoken in 1841, were as true of the great leader in 1891, when he was laid in his last resting place.

To sum up the life and the work of Ludwig Windthorst for future generations, we cannot do better than borrow, with a few alterations, the epitaph of Joseph Görres, written sixty years before: "The star of Rhineland has set; the pride of Germany has fallen. We have lost the trumpet that ever sounded the note of danger; the two-edged sword against deceit and violence; the champion of Liberty, Justice, and Truth; but his name will ever be held in grateful love by his Catholic fellow-countrymen, who will commend his soul to God in prayer."

In conclusion, let us offer the tribute which, of all others, Ludwig Windthorst himself would have most dearly prized. Our Holy Father Pius X., in his letter to the local committee, thus writes: "Windthorst was the great champion and defender of the Catholic Faith and of Justice. His noble and religious character, his prudence, his manly virtue, rendered him a bright example to all."

Windthorst died, as he had lived, a soldier of the cross. Like Constantine of yore, in life and in death he points upwards to the heaven-sent message: In hoc signo vinces !

S. M. M.

SIMON OF CYRENE

HARD was my heart, O Lord,

And bitter ire

Consumed me, when they seized me and compelled
Me from my homeward way

With Thee to stay

To ease Thy burden, and to share Thy load,
-The Cross of shame.

Bitter my wrath, and hard my heart

Against Thee, and that senseless, raging crowd,
That such as I,

To whom Thy Name

Was scarcely known, should tread the road
Of Death; hold back the mob that yelled
And scoffed, and threatened with the sword;
-Lest their insane desire

To kill, should thwart itself. And Thou
Shouldst never reach the brow

Of Calvary's hill, on which Thou wast to die.

But, step by step, went Thou without complaint.

Not once, but many times, I saw Thee fall.

They cursed Thee, and I heard Thee, answering, bless, Or saw Thee, silent, smile.

And, for awhile,

A radiance fell around me, whilst I strove

To ease for Thee the pain

Of that o'erwhelming Cross. And, lo! the loud

Shouts of the people ceased; for through them, faint,
I heard angelic choirs. And Happiness

Seized on my soul, that I should have a part
In aiding Thee. Behold! Thy Love

Conquered my pride. And I who did disdain
Thy Cross, O Christ, then knew Thee Lord of all.

EILY ESMONDE.

H

THE TYRANNY OF TRUTH

AVE you ever tried to avoid talking on a subject that was very near your heart? I mean have you ever consciously tried, for it is possible, to avoid such a topic unconsciously. For instance, if you meet a friend casually, it is only natural that you will talk commonplaces with him— about his health and that of his friends and relations, and so forth. But with a person who is a very personal friend, and who is in your company very much-try to avoid discoursing on some of your pet subjects, and see how you fare-the thing is nearly impossible. It is constantly in your mind, and it must get out for an airing now and then, otherwise it will get musty and moth-eaten from being stored away. It is necessary that it should be brought out in all kinds of climates so that it may be tested and strengthened: the cold may test it, but the warm sunshine will, perhaps, enlarge it and re-vitalise it.

I must confess that it was an understood custom in that particular part of Ireland from which I came that one should never talk about religion to friends; if you met your friend in a train, or on the road, you might talk on any subject except that which was, perhaps, topmost in your mind. And if, unfortunately, you did mention the subject, there was always the feeling that the sooner it was finished with the better. It is not to my purpose to trace this old idea back to its origin― perhaps it was a relic of the old penal times. But there the fact is. It grew up about me as a child and I must say I carried it with me for a long time; maybe, there is a trace of it left still! My experience has taught me that such an idea does a deal of harm among those who are not Catholics, for these people come to the conclusion that Catholics who do not talk of their faith, or are not eager to discuss it, are either afraid to do so (which is partly true, because they think they might offend), or else they cannot discuss it sensibly, which is also partly true, for the very reason that they have got the faith and do not trouble much more about it. If they came out and met the critics they would soon be better able to defend it.

Now the vast body of the non-Catholic world lays claim to the title that they are free-thinkers; that is, they are allowed

VOL. XLII.-No. 495

36

liberty of thought. They tell you they are out for discovery. Very well. Then why not give them an opportunity?

These thoughts came to me as my friend, Fred Milvain, and I settled down in opposite corners of a compartment in a South Eastern and Chatham train from Charing Cross travelling into the Kent country.

Milvain and I have discussed various subjects from various points sometimes we have come to conclusions and sometimes we left off without any apparent success. Once he suggested to me that it would, perhaps, be better if we only discussed such things as we could agree upon, we should then have less disagreements; but, strange to say, on this point we did agree, that we should have no discussions at all if we adopted that principle; it would be dull, and uninteresting, so we decided to continue to discuss as before, but we made a compromise that we should only devote to discussion two in each week of our nights in the train going home. This worked very well for a few evenings, but soon we were riding roughshod over our ownmade rule quite unconsciously. We have thrown our compromise to the winds. So now the only thing that puts an end to our conversations is drowsiness-we sometimes fall asleep.

I had recommended a novel of Father Benson's, The Conventionalists, and he was busy with it. Here and there he would stop to point out to me the parts where he could not see eye to eye with the author.

It may be remembered that a character in this story is seeking a definite form of religious belief, and in his quest he comes to the priest who lays the law down dogmatically. Then, in a sort of apology, Father Benson explains why he was so explicit: "After all, for twenty-two years he had grown up in the protection of a society whose boast is that of free inquiry. Then, against what principle did I or he sin ?-I in giving him a little free information, and he in listening to it?'

Milvain explained this particular scene in the story to me, then closed the book and got ready his guns.

Now, that is what I always find in your Catholic booksthey are all so dogmatic. They seem to think that there is no other side to the argument. We have all the truth, they say in effect, and you are wrong, hopelessly wrong. I cannot stand that!"

I closed my book and put it away. I could see there was to be no more reading that evening. Fortunately, we had the compartment to ourselves for the greater part of the journey.

66

'Have you ever thought," I said, "that Truth is tyrannical? You know, for instance, that there is a certain class of books and periodicals that you would not read, would not even touch, much less would you put them in any other's hands to read. That, then, is dogmatic, it is tyrannical. You recognise that there is a difference between good and bad literature."

"That may be. But there is no necessity to be bigoted about it. You Catholics are so intolerant in some ways about things! "

There was a faint smile on his face. I could not tell whether it was pity or sympathy; it certainly was not delight in a triumph, for he had a soul far above that.

"Well, I think bigotry and intolerance is necessary in this

age!"

I am sure he did not know quite what to make of me. He looked at me in that queer strange way he had, as if trying to get behind and anticipate my thoughts.

Let me explain," I continued. "There is a right and wrong in everything. Truth is somewhere, and we must find it. When we have found it we must hold to it, and it must guide us in every action if we are at all honest; we cannot play with both; if we know what is true and play with the false, we are dishonest, we are hypocrites. You must be intolerant of the false-you must not countenance or tolerate it in any way. In a word, you must be a bigot."

He shook his head. "No, there is no room for the bigot. You cannot convince me that we need be bigots."

"I think you, yourself, are a bigot!"

He looked at me again, half-amused. He has got used to my rough and ready ways of speaking.

Yes, you are a bigot. You correct and chastise your children when they do wrong. You will not allow them to have their own ways. You have more experience than the child, but he does not know that at the time; if he could give voice to his opinions he would probably tell you that you are a bigot. And so on; you can get dozens of similar examples."

Yes, that may be very well for children, but we are dealing with grown-up folk-people who have come to the use of reason. They must be allowed to think, to reason for themselves," he replied.

"Well, surely, that is what you allow your child to do. It reasons, it thinks, but-and here is the point-when it strays