The countries sometimes inaccurately styled ‘Succession States,’ in allusion to the late Hapsburg Empire, still suffer from the gangrene of a decaying system, as well as from their own inherent defects. A century ago Joseph de Maistre described the existence of Austria as ‘an insult to God and man’; and at a later date, Montalembert, called her the high priestess of oppression who managed to survive by pitting race against race. One is sorry to see the Irish name of Taafe among the prominent Austrian statesmen who upheld the view that this Empire ‘which, did it not exist, would have to be invented,’ could only live by fostering mutual hatreds.

The terse qualification of Austria as ‘the greatest foe of mankind’ was too convenient to be let drop. It is now being currently applied to Poland, on account of its land-bound frontier; to Czecho Slovakia because of its ‘ridiculous’ configuration; to Rumania, because of its absorption of Bessarabia and Transylvania so long held by Russia and Hungaria respectively; to Yugoslavia because of its political reunion of Slavs belonging to different creeds. There is no doubt that the self-styled ‘superior’ races are hard put to it for hewers of wood and drawers of water since the Slavs and Latins were withdrawn from their domination. Poland, however, was a political entity before Rudolf the Freebooter had laid the foundations of the mighty Austria of the future. The Czechs were already an independent community in the tenth century. The Southern Slavs, rampart of Austria-Hungary against the Turks, with dauntless little Serbia as standard-bearer, wrested independence from Turkey by several stages in spite of the ‘Christian Protectors’ who so often shook hands with the Sultan over her bleeding

Anyone who is at all familiar with the propaganda of our public parks will have noticed a significant change during the lifetime of the present generation. There was a time when the largest crowds were drawn by speakers openly anti-religious who quoted Ingersoll, Bradlaugh, Huxley and Haeckel. That day has gone. The last popular attack on Christian dogma in this country is that for which Robert Blatchford, editor of the Clarion, was responsible. But Blatchford differed in one important respect from his atheistic or agnostic predecessors. He was concerned even more with social ideals than with theological iconoclasm. Instead of the hard, unsympathetic rationalism of the champions of ‘Science’ his weapon was humanitarian sentiment which often became maudlin sentimentality. Agnosticism, in the person of Nunquam (Blatchford’s nom de plume), indulged largely in what Americans called ‘sob-stuff.’ He stood as a champion of Humanity against the alleged inhumanity of the Church and its creeds. In this he marks a transition. In place of the definitely anti-religious propaganda of the past, speakers in the public parks to-day are generally engaged in pushing some reform, expressing some ethical ideal or urging a revolution that carries on its banner the magic word ‘Comradeship.’ The parks, in this respect, are symptomatic. The public to-day is not minded to discuss Biblical problems or the conflict of Religion with Science. It has left these matters on one side in order to attend, undistracted, to social ethics and economics. The argument against Christian dogmas is, not that thev are irrational, but, that they are irrelevant.

The purpose of this brief article is simply to draw attention to the new church recently erected at Droitwich, and to suggest that its basilica form is more suitable than the Gothic for small village churches. For there can be no doubt that the great Catholic revival which this century is witnessing will lead to a large increase in their number, and that before the end of it there will be a Catholic church in nearly every village in England. And therefore the type of ecclesiastical architecture with which our Catholic descendants will be made familiar is an important question.

This new church, dedicated to the Sacred Heart and Saint Catharine of Alexandria, can be easily seen by all, for it stands by the side of the high road between Birmingham and Worcester. Its erection is due not only to the pious generosity of its founder, Mr.

W. L. Hodgkinson, but also to his wisdom and ‘vision,’ for the architect, Mr. Barry Peacock, of Birmingham, was instructed by him to embody the idea of ‘the early Christian basilicas as they may be seen at Rome and Ravenna’ ; and this not through any mere artistic preference, but because they are most suitable for a country congregation and provide scope for the mural decoration—the ‘illuminated Missal,’ as Ruskin called it—which is a feature in an Italian basilica. ‘The Mosaics,’ said that great art-critic,

‘were its illuminations, and the common people of the time were taught their Scripture history by means of them.’

There is an interesting passage in one of Cardinal Newman’s letters from Milan, quoted by Mr. Wilfrid Ward :

‘MEDIAEVAL theology allowed itself, by the misuse of dogmatic authority, to obscure the real meaning of our Lord’s humanity. The truth came to us in such a book as Ecce Homo, and from countless other teachers, with a fresh thrill of delight. The Gospels and the New Testament have come to live again. One of the most vital districts of Christian truth has been restored to us. But it has been restored to us wholly, or almost wholly, by writers alien to the Roman Church, and often alien to the Christian Creed.’ These foolish words of Bishop Gore (Catholicism and, Roman Catholicism, p. 35) proclaim his ignorance both of mediaeval theology and of Catholic exegesis. It seems incredible that anyone should consider himself entitled to pass judgment on mediaeval theology without having read the Summa Theologica of St. Thomas : yet that Bishop Gore has not read the Tertia Pars, at least intelligently, is patent; no one who had done so could have brought the above charge against that theology of which it is the finest fruit. From the Tertia Pars, not from the often false sentimentalism of Ecce Homo, comes to us the truth about the human nature of Jesus Christ; how poignantly sometimes, a reading, say, of the eighteenth question on the two wills will show. It was not perhaps St. Thomas’s primary concern to bring into relief what we might call certain particular accidental realities which accompanied that humanity in its earthly life. Therein lies one of the differences between the theologian and an evangelist such as St. Mark, a difference well expressed by Pere Lagrange several of whose recent works have, unfortunately, as yet received no notice in these pages.

Mrs. Humphrey Ward was one of the best-known of recent English writers, though perhaps not the greatest. Genius she had not; talent, yes.

There are two writers both of whom survived her, though one has been lately taken from us. Mrs. Meynell and Mrs. Margaret Woods. They are less known than Mrs. Ward, but to them was given the divine gift of genius—their work will endure. But Mrs. Ward was a great woman, and no one can read her account of her gallant struggle with ill-health, of her extraordinary industry, of her wonderful philanthropy, of her love for home, and her patriotism, without admiration.

Mrs. Ward was singularly fortunate. Her childhood was perhaps the childhood of a ‘misunderstood’ arid rather tiresome little girl. Her father, a most attractive and unworldly son of the great Headmaster, Dr. Arnold, wavered between the Establishment and the Catholic Church, but finally found his peace and refuge in the Church, to the great dismay of his wife and daughter. The Oxford of the seventies and eighties, which has been well described by Mrs. Ward in her Reminiscences, was a world in itself. The Thomas Arnolds lived there for some years. There was Pater, who horrified the orthodox Dons until he wrote Marius the Epicurean. And there was Mr. Creighton, then a young tutor, so clever, so cynical, destined to write the History of the Papacy, and to become Bishop of London. His wife was, in her own way, quite as clever and capable as himself and quite as incapable of suffering fools gladly. There was the future Professor of Greek at Edinburgh, Henry Butcher, and his wife, both of them beautiful and loveable, and destined to die prematurely.

When taking up such a work as Father Joyce’s Principles of Natural Theology a Thomist naturally turns to the chapters on ‘The Divine Intelligence’ (Chap, xi), and on ‘Conservation and Concurrence’ (Chap. xvi). These chapters spoil an otherwise most excellent book : a perusal of them will show that Fr. Joyce abandons the doctrine of St. Thomas and chooses to follow a doctrine which had its beginnings in the middle of the sixteenth century. But Fr. Joyce does not embrace this new doctrine entirely,—he is eclectic. He does not adhere to the doctrine as expounded by the Spanish Jesuit, Molina, nor to that as expounded by Suarez. He admits a scientia media but is unwilling to admit the explanation that Molina, who originally published it, gives, and correctly refutes the explanation of Suarez. The position of the author consists in this that scientia media must be admitted, but he frankly confesses his inability to give any explanation of it (pp. 357 and 360). God knows future conditioned free acts antecedently to, and independently of any decree of His will: this knowledge is called scientia media; but, he argues, it is impossible for the human mind to throw any light on the manner in which God, by this knowledge, knows our future conditioned free acts: pre-determination of any free act is destructive of freewill. But pre-determination implies necessarily an act of God’s will, or His decree,—therefore a free act must be independent of God’s decree : God therefore cannot know a future conditioned free act in His decree. His knowledge, therefore, of a future conditioned free act must be antecedent to and independent of His decree :—this knowledge is called sdentia media.