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New Zealand Tablet, 4 March 1920, Page 26

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Protestant Literature We are -not going to deal here with that filth and scurrility which in New Zealand has come to be known as “Protestant Literature.” Our remarks concern the laughable efforts at fiction made by Protestant authors who try to portray with some show of truth the Catholic Church. The books that these people write are in matter of fact humorous books. Possibly those for whom they were written see no fun in them, but for the most ignorant Catholic reader who is foolish enough to go through them they abound in ridiculous absurdities. Once in a while it is good to have a laugh: Horace told us so. long ago, and even St. Thomas Aquinas agrees with him. Favte dr mieux, let us enjoy those dear simpletons who write from abysmal depths of ignorance concerning us. f “The Bonfire * The other day we picked up a book called The Bonfire. The picture of a stern, Torquemada-looking Jesuit on the wrapper urged us to look through it. It was a treat, It tiled to describe life in a Jesuit collegefrom a quasi-sympathetic point of view too. But ignorance shrieked aloud from every page, and a more grotesque book could hardly be written/ We mention a few examples. Describing a Benediction Service, we get: “The priest followed with slow, majestic steps. He was arrayed in a silken chavsilde, which shone like purple or gold in the light while jewels sewn on it glittered like little eyes. His large square-toed boots showed now and then beneath the white lace which adorned the hem of his cassock.”

We say no more than that we offer in all seriousness a large leather medal to the first reader who will run down for us a priest who gives Benediction in a chausible, or wears lace on his soutane. Again, a Jesuit is giving the boys a lecture on the Blessed Ashes used at the beginning of Lent : “I daresay you wonder where we get the ashes from. Well, we get them by poking the refectory fire. Then we put a little oil with them and bless them. Second prize for that! If he had only told us whether he used castor oil or cod-liver we would have given him first. Once upon a time a lady asked Dr. Johnson’s opinion on a poem. He handed it back silently. “I have more irons in the fire, Doctor,” she said. “Put that there too, madam,” replied the scholar. Like to like the fire for the Bonfire too. Protestant Poetry After that sample of Protest ant prose, let ns have a verse or two for a change. The Jesuits again, by all means! Here they are, as described by a wonderful poet named William Marshall: In pulpit and pew, and at barrack and bar, And in cabin and in court. And in senate and shop, and on staircase and road, And on ocean and in port, The Jesuits long had in every guise Through the country been going about, To crumble the oneness of Protestants In order to put them to rout. The Dominicans get a turn too, from a poet, mimed Guiness (not the good man who makes good Stout, of course) : He was enrobed as a Dominican, In yellow-white [ Excuse the interruption, but he must have forgotten to have a clean habit on for the reception of the Guiness man.] In yellow-white, a proud and portly man : His head was cowled, upon his breast he bore A golden cross: his ruddy visage wore An angry aspect ; furrowed was his brow, And firm his mouth: I think I see him now ! Here is how Cardinal Vaughan was put in Ids place by a lineal descendant of Shakespere, or, perhaps, the man on whom Milton’s cloak fell; Heed not the glamor of a Cardinal — Roman ecclesiastic— is all. Our bishops Protestant throughout the land Above all Papal functionaries stand. [Let us give the poet a breather here to remark that as a rule they stand in the shoes of the old Catholics whom the royal Head of the Church of Martin plundered so piously.] The President of the Wesleyan Conference More honor merits tho’ of less pretence ; The Chairman of the Congregational Band Is higher than a Cardinal in this land. A Moderator Presbyterian O’ertops all agents of the Vatican. That Cardinals are so pampered in high places Is one of pur incongruous disgraces. While our readers are thinking on other “incongruous disgraces,” such as the selection of Anglican bishops by that holy Welsh Baptist, David Lloyd George, another bard comes forward with a new song on the awful Romish practice of the LIME-PIT. (P.pt ASSES, please copy for future use.)

No father and no mother knows The DEPTH of our distress You saw our basement builded with Its coffin-like recess; You KNOW there comes no funeral Without the convent gate; You THINK there may be PITS and LIME Where INFANTS LIE IN STATE!! * ' Let us remark that the poet who wrote that magnificent Protestant poem was a general in the English army. He was a credit to his country 1 With reference to this gem, James Britten, K.S.G., is uncharitable enough to say: “Whether or no 'infants lie in state, it is evident that some Protestant poets lie in statement. It is of course obvious to all our readers from the foregoing that the Reformation which produced such talented and scholarly writers in prose and verse had very special blessings from- Providence on its beginning and its end. Talk of Dante, of Ariosto, of Dry den, or of Chaucer compared with those glorious liotcsfant authors! You will, at any rate, know now where certain editors go for their style.