The Northwestern standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1885-1886, 1886-03-27

OUR NEW DErA-kIUhh.
We present to our readers to-day the
first enlarged edition Of The STAND
ARD and promise to give them oe5ter
paper in every succeeding issue. we
trust our efforts will be duly apprecl-
ated by the Irish Am orleans OF the
great Northwest in whose interest we
labor. and we will give them the worth
of their money in a varied assortment
of reading matter suitable for the nome
and the fire-side. This journal will ex-
clude frou.its columns all matter calcu-
lated ii, the remotest degree to lnlure
the faith, morals and nationality OF the
Irish people. It will be their champion
on all occasions, and it is needless 70
urge upon them the necessity OF giving
it their patronage. In the past our
people in this region had to read the
sensational magazine, the idle tale,
the foolish romance, the infidel news
paper, all engaged after their way
ia the world wide battle against truth
and right.
If the reading Of such publications
we're simply dull Or silly, insipld OF
uninteresting, we could bear the evil,
and qroan silently under the inf1lctlon,
but sad to say they are
nearly all irreligious and anti
Catholic. with such easy flow and
happy description as aims to please the
careless and superficial reader. In the
fiction departments Of these Journals
referred to, what lover Of reading is
there who does not recognize in all the
varieties the same wonderful family
likeness. Are not the heroines all
beautiful, with large eyes and long
eve lashes, pellsve expressions, ivory
compilations, ruby lips and all the
other qualifications never TO be met
but in those wax figures which adorn
the hair-dressers window.
Is not the hero always a powerful,
bearded man, with rsaned features!
He generally bites his lips until the
blood spurts forth when ne is angry.
Near the+end of the tale ''he looks one
Of his old looks" and then he picks up
the villain of the piece AS if he was
newborn babe, and with the old dra-
matte cry of ''be-lud, be-lud,'' he filings
him into earth, air, fire or water, ac-
cording to the wishes OF the author.
But for double-dyed villains in stories
oynn. or,,,, ,onnH nc RI tho nl6
mythical creature of romance, the
Jesuit. We know that such a being
never existed in the heavens above nor
the earth beneath, but what novelist
dare set him asideI The general reader
calls for a Jesuit, and a Jesuit must be
had. and had with vengeance. He
plides into rooms without being OBJ
served, he appears suddenly when least
expected, and when he does not appear
at all he is certain to be somewhere
close at hand, piously employing HIM
self in eayes-dropping He handles
his beads and his dagger with equal
dexterity; he commits muir
der and matrimony with the
same old pious smile and breaks the
most solemn vows with prayer upon
sips. What matter, if we Catholics
believe that the Jesuit is man who
would rather die than dishonor God or
His law, that he never oxides" nor
s.disguises,a but while he works for
Gods honor and mans good, is full Of
life, aud spirit and fun. Our friends,
the noyelists. will have it the other
way, and, to an uncritical world,
what everybody says must be true. =
Then with what an air OF rustic simpl-
city these latest novel-makers renew
their shameless attacks upon religion,
There is sSthe dear old church with its
ivy clad walls, the white robed choir,
the Christmas decorations, and the
bright spring flowers at Easter tide, all
as back ground for that terrible Jesuit!
What full description too of sylvan
cottages. bedecked with honey suckles
and iessamine, of trinkling rills, silver
forests, golden skies and mill-Wheels.
How tho gray haired reader laughs
away down when he reads of golden
skies and old mill wheels. 7 Has he
not seen that mill Wheel'a thousand
times before, and yet there it is as fresh
and active as in the olden time, two
hundred years age.
Here too is the NUM- Goodness grac
ious! how our modern female noselists
do ring the changes on that simple
word Nun Do You not recognize in
Sister Clare the once beautiful Aman
da Fitzallen, disappointed in love and
now Imprisoned within the gloomy con
vent cell, never more to smile. but IS she
& ..,nutters her prayer on the midnight
air, the echo whispers down the silent
corridors sad refrain Of : AL is lostln
Poor, poor echol
Well did the poet Burns write, Some
books are lies frae end 70 end. and