ranks. There is scarcely a truth free from truculent assault.

It is hard to ask the men toiling in the glare of the camp fires,
to fight the battles and manufacture the shells.

Now, all that is best of French Catholic intellect has been given
to this cause for the past century. The priest who would devote a
few winters to the holy toil of translating this into a shape
suitable to the needs of our fighting millions would do an act of
merit that God alone could measure. Yet what ammunition have we
supplied to our brave soldiers? Scarcely a grain of shot.

[Side note: The Causes of Sterility]

Why this sterility? Why this barrenness? Is it our native
lethargy or our native modesty? or the defective training of our
colleges in neglecting to foster literary tastes?

We will not pause to enquire. That there is one sad cause is
beyond all question--the bitterness of clerical criticism. The
Irish priest who takes to the cultivation of letters ought to
choose St. Sebastian for his patron saint; for he will have an
arrow planted in every square inch of his body.

While we have no word of condemnation for the writers who are
sucking the life-blood of Faith from our people, should one of
ourselves show style in his sermons, or attach his name to a
magazine article, the amount of mordant criticism he has to face
is sufficient to make the stoutest heart sink.