Perhaps the most attractive quality of Hopkins’ poetry is the total commitment to the seriousness of man in the world of God. Hopkins is never content to accept things as they seem, he is always seeing then1 anew as they are. In the working out of his Christian vocation as priest and Jesuit he found the deep-down truth of things in their enjoyment of Christ:

A similar Ignatian response with the fulness of man, in every sense, to the oneness of Christ, is manifest in the work of Professor Karl Rahner. Rahner too has the feel of all things working together for good, even when we and they appear most eunuch-like. This is evident in the group of papers issued in English as Mission and Grace.

As s Priest, with the small authority of a priest that can be humbly accepted by higher authority, or quietly ignored, I should like to submit proposals for the form our celebrating mass might now take. To suggest changes at all, without offence, is difficult. All likely readers of this page will know the mass as an important, cherished and familiar ceremony in its present form, with roots deep in feelings and imagination, the sense of history and art, one's Catholic upbringing and loyalty. A whole tissue of potent, unrealised emotion attaches to the tiniest details and circumstances, making us shudder to think of change for the sake of change, or of any 'Playing about'. Brother Choleric's tense, aristocratic, is intellectual nun, hands up in revulsion at the mention of dialogue mass, is so funny because so true—of us all.

It is cruel to analyse a favourite spiritual book: ‘Philosophy will clip an angels wings’. Nevertheless last summer I tried the experiment on boot Chapman's spiritual letters. I had long been dissatisfied with Dom Roger Hudleston's presentation. He arranged the letters according correspondents, distinguished by quaint anonymous titles—‘To one living in the world’, ‘To a literary man’; he separated the letters to ‘lay folk from those to religious, and he put last of all the ‘Letters to a Jesuit’ which in fact, begin first. As a result the reader, having to jump backwards and forwards in time, is reminded of Eyeless in Gaza.

In this concluding article on St Augustine's great masterpiece, as well as seeing how he finally completes the many subtle patterns of his thought, we must also recapitulate and try to get a comprehensive view of the work as a whole. In his closing book, xv, he himself provides the reader with a recapitulation of the earlier books. But first we must see how in books XIII and XIV he finishes what we can almost call the history of the divine image in man which he began in book XII. In so doing he also brings to a conclusion the analysis of this image which he had begun much earlier in book IX.