IN HEAVEN WE KNOW OUR OWN; OR, SOLACE FOR THE SUFFERING. From the French of the Rev. Father Blot, S.J. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1869.
We would call special attention to this delightful little book. The lady translator has conferred a very great service on English-speaking Catholics; nor on Catholics alone, but also on all professing Christians "of good-will," who,
"Here in the feeble twilight of this world Groping,"
in order to satisfy one of their deepest and holiest cravings, and not having known the Catholic Church, nor therefore "the communion of saints," have turned--and _most_ naturally--into paths which only lead to deception and despair.
The book before us supplies to "the afflicted" who mourn the loss of friends a consolation as solid as it is abundant: a proof on unshakable grounds of truths which seem to be forgotten even by some among Catholics; that human ties _do_ survive the grave; that
"There the cherished heart _is_ fond, The eye the same, except in tears;"
and that the knowledge and love of creatures must necessarily form an integral part of the happiness of heaven. The reader will be astonished to see what Catholic saints and doctors have said on this subject; and what a stress they have laid on it as a part of their own hopes and anticipations. To those, too, in particular, who are tempted to despair of the departed, an antidote is here offered for this poison of their rest; an antidote which, we are sure, has long been needed by many an anxious heart.
In commending this book, then, to Catholics, we would urge them to put it as much as possible in the hands of non-Catholic friends. The success of a recent work, entitled _The Gates Ajar_, is evidence enough of the hunger that exists in _all_ souls for food of this kind. And why should any be left to pick up crumbs, when a full table invites them? A perusal of _In Heaven We Know Our Own_ may open the eyes of many to the glorious fact it is our privilege to know--that the Catholic religion embraces _all_ truth, and alone can satisfy _all_ the soul's cravings:
"An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink."
MOPSA THE FAIRY. By Jean Ingelow. With illustrations. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1869.