upon the mind: thought blends with thought with a force and
subtleness unknown in matter. Watch the principle in action. Let
any man habitually read good books--and by good books I mean the
production of any person whose mind is illumined by faith and
whose heart is fed by the sacraments--it matters little in what
shape such books reach us, let it be a novel or a book of poems
or essays. No man can invariably read such works without growing
imperceptibly better. His Catholic principles grow more robust;
he becomes more fearless in expressing them; each volume leaves
an aroma behind and imparts a new flavour to his life. Fresh oil
is poured into the lamp of his piety, its flame burns brighter,
he feels an unction in his prayers; he has a holy relish for the
sacraments. His very interests in life change: he looks on
everything with supernatural eyes, he becomes touchy about the
interests of the Church, anxious about the foreign missions, and
feels an insult to the Holy See as a wound.

The food his brain is living on is leavening his whole life,
giving colour, tone and trend to his existence.

[Side note: Brownson]

This literature, on which he nourishes himself, has been
admirably described by the mastermind of Catholic America--Dr.
Brownson:--"Catholic literature is robust and healthy of a ruddy
complexion, and full of life. It knows no sadness but the sadness
of sin, and it rejoices for evermore. It eschews melancholy as
the devil's best friend on earth, abhors the morbid
sentimentality which feeds upon itself and grows by what it feeds
upon. . . . It washes its face, anoints its head, puts on its