its bold and vivid outline and attitude, and bright with its lasting colours. Look, then, we ask our readers, upon this picture, as well as on that; hang them together, as two vast antitheses upon canvass.

If there be a religion which has almost elevated a creature to the throne of the Creator, and withdrawn the Cross of the Redeemer behind the picture of Mary; if it violate the injunction of St. Paul, to "do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him," by substituting for the name of Jesus the name of his mother; if it mutilate the grandeur of the Intercessor, by the invocation of saints; if it blaspheme the Divine Presence, by affirming that He contracts his glory to dwell in the Elements; if it cherish idolatry by image-worship, and desecrate the Lord of Heaven by a familiarity so dreadful, that, more than a century since, a scoffer beheld a representation of Him over the altar of a chapel, in a fullbottomed wig, well powdered; if it replace the Atonement by penance, and repentance by Purgatory; if it make the word of God to be of none effect by tradition, and expound, not the gloss by the Gospel, but the Gospel by the gloss; if it proclaim the infallibility of a ruler, and bracket the council-chamber of Trent with the upper room of the Apostles; if it uphold the sanctity of relics and the fitness of falsehood; if it encourage persecution, and preach with the fagot; if it has been ever animated by an imperial heart, and looked upon conversion and conquest as convertible terms; if it has stooped only to rise, and worn the horse-hair only to make sure of the purple; if it has cast over all this variety of superstition and error, the splendour of enthusiasm and the allurements of poetry; if it has combined the noblest achievements with the basest designs; if it has helped to decorate and to defile the world, to illuminate and to darken it; if it created a Bonner and a Fénélon; if it has fostered Raffaelle, and imprisoned Galileo; if it erected St. Peter's, and invented the Inquisition; if it elicited all the wonders of genius to emblazon its home, and

paid for them by the traffic in Indulgences; if it kept the torch of Virgil burning in the night of civilisation, and closes the Bible to the eyes of the weary; if it exhibits the martyr who perished in triumph, and the bandit who purchases absolution with his plunder; if there has ever been, if there be at this time, such a religion as this, magnificent and sordid, true and false, divine and human, it is not very unlike what Romanism may be proved to have been, as it rose from beneath the plastic hands of its successive developers, and as it has been, and continues to be now, in every stage of its disastrous, its splendid, and its tremendous career.

We said of Mr. Newman that in his plunge into infidelity, he caught at Romanism. Since that page was written, we find that our apprehension is shared by others,-with this difference, that our remark upon the leader is expanded to embrace his party:

:

"If they stay long enough to take in a fresh supply of moving power, it is quite as much as their friends in the eternal city should venture to reckon on. Their pilgrimage seems destined to the fate that Milton tells of:

'St. Peter at heaven's wicket seems
To wait them with his keys;
When, lo!

A violent cross wind from either coast Blows them transverse a thousand league away

Into the devious air!'"*

It is quite clear that no system of belief, however elastic, can contain the rapidly enlarging proportions of Onc Mr. Newman's speculation. more spring, such as he has just made, and the Roman Catholic Directory will not hold him. He must have a red book to himself. He cannot be supposed to be blind to the imminence of his peril. He is travelling to Germany by way of Italy, and enjoying the picturesque before he settles down in the commonplace. He may take Berlin after Rome; and, perhaps, as Voltaire proffered his services to interpret Pascal, so

in like manner, some aspiring Neologian may be destined to find his translator in the priest of Littlemore. For the present, he distinguishes developement from Rationalism :

"To develope is to receive conclusions from revealed truth, to rationalise is to receive nothing but conclusions from received truths; to develope is positive, to rationalise is negative; the essence of developement is to extend belief, of rationalism to contract it."*

If this parallel, or contrast, be not particularly lucid, we must patiently await its commentary. At all events, the Neologians have no cause to despair; nay, scepticism is looking up. The infidel's commodity rises in the market. Three hundred years, and the labours of modern writers have done much for its cause. For this we have a competent witness. Infidelity itself," writes Mr. Newman (p. 28), “is in a different, I am obliged to say, in a more hopeful position, as regards Christianity." Such a result might reasonably have been expected from recent efforts; and we cannot doubt that the new theory of composing lives of saints, after the manner of Butler or Scarron, and giving us Hudibras in a martyrology, must have proved highly effective. A great step has also been taken in the discovery (p. 73), that men may pass from infidelity to Rome, and from Rome to infidelity, "from a conviction in both courses, that there is no tangible intellectual position between the two." Moreover, illustrious examples are not wanting to keep changers in countenance; they only require developing. "St. Augustine was nine years a Manichee; St. Basil for a time was in admiration of the Semi-arians; St. Sulpicius gave a momentary countenance to the Pelagians; St. Paula listened, and Malaria assented, to the Origenists." (P. 245.)

If, therefore, this ingenious author should at a future time perceive his Romanism developing into Neology, he will only have to treat his present essay, as he has handled his former lectures on the superstition which he now professes; reverting

* Essay on Developement, p. 83.

with momentary self-reproach to his association with Dr. Wiseman and his reverence for Trent, and heaving a deeper sigh for his earlier abode among the corruptions of Protestantism, its fellowships, and its friends.

Do we write these things of a learned and an eloquent man, without feelings of poignant regret and commiseration? We do not. Such a capacity, so strengthened by exercise, so brightened by reflection, so enriched by labour, who might not honour; and for its enchantment and its obscuration, who can refuse to mourn? If his mind be viewed only on that side which intellect illuminates, it will be found to be full of beauty contain and light. His sermons thoughts that Hooker might have brooded over, and images that Augustine himself might have loved. He touches the most familiar object with a pencil, that gives life as well as colour. If he animates new ideas, he adorns old. How happy is the comparison of baptism to the "effect of the sun's light in place of twilight, removing the sameness or the dulness of the landscape, and bringing it out into all sorts of hues, pleasant or unpleasant, according as we profit by it or not." And who will not lament that the writer of these admirable remarks upon the value and use of excited feelings in religion, did not ponder over them with his own eyes, and endeavour to practise the lesson which he taught?—

"When sinners are first led to think seriously, strong feelings usually precede or attend their reflections about themselves. The view of their manifold sins, their guilt, &c. breaking upon them, strikes, astonishes, agitates them. Here, then, let them know the intention of all this excitement of mind in the order of Divine Providence. It is not religion itself, though it is accidentally connected with it, and may be made the means of leading them into a sound, religious course of life; it is generally designed to be a set-off against the distastefulness and pain of doing their duty. Learn, therefore, to obey promptly these strong feelings, and as it were, the graceful beginnings of obedience-graceful and becoming in children-but in grown, spiritual men ludicrous and unseemly, as the

+ Sermons, vol. vi. p. 77.

sports of boyhood would be in advanced years. Hasten to use them while they last (for soon will they die away), and you may have made an effectual commencement in reformation. Many and grievous are the mistakes of men upon this head. Some look upon the turbid zeal, and fervent devotion which attend their repentance, not as, in fact, the corrupt offspring of their previously corrupt state of mind, and partly a providential provision, only temporary to encourage them to set about their amendment, but as the substance and real excellence of religion. They think to be thus agitated is to be religious; they indulge themselves in the luxury of these warm feelings as long as they last; and when they begin in nature to subside, they resort to the more powerful stimulants of new doctrine and strange teachers, while no advance has been made in practical religion. Others, again, on their awakening, despise plain obedience as a mere unenlightened morality, and think that they are called to some high and singular office in the Church of Christ. These mistake their duty, as those already described neglect it; they do not waste their time in mere good thoughts and good words as others, but they are impetuously led on to wrong acts; and that from the influence of those same strong emotions, which they have not learned to use aright, or to direct to their proper end. Now, the error of both these classes of persons is the error of the restored demoniac (Luke, viii. 38), who 'besought Jesus' in vain that he might continue with him.' They desire to keep themselves in Christ's immediate presence, instead of returning to their own home' (as he would have them); i.e. the common duties of life. They must learn to live by faith, which is a calm, deliberate, rational principle, full of peace and comfort, and which sees him, and rejoices in him, though sent away from his presence to labour in the world. Let them return to their old occupations and pursuits; they did them all before, when they lived to the world; let them do them well now, and live to God. Let them do their duties, little as well as great, heartily for Christ's sake; go among their friends; shew them what God has done for them; be an example to them, and teach them."

Our readers will not have forgotten a former expression of hope on our part that the Tractarian movement, having in its earlier stages promoted the cultivation of ecclesi

astical learning, and contributed to raise the standard of church principles, might subside into dignified tranquillity. We trust that the agitation of Dr. Pusey will not interfere with that most desirable consummation. Yet his proceedings may well excite alarm in the minds of reflecting men. An enemy might suggest that, having provided for the religious improvement of his readers by the adaptation of Avrillon, he was about to furnish them with an enchiridion of Christian morals in a similar abridgement of Macchiavelli. He has already spoken of his friend, as only gone to labour in another part of the vineyard. This is significant. Does Dr. Pusey remain behind to get his portion of the ground into better cultivation, to complete a line from Christ Church to Oscot, and then to follow leisurely with the luggage-train? It does not fall within our present design to dwell upon his theology. It may be true, or it may be false; we only assert that it is not the theology of the Church of England. It insults her Articles, it contradicts her Liturgy, it violates her authority, it tampers with Scripture. Are these things to be suffered? are they to go on? are they to develope? If so, let us know it and be prepared. Already Mr. Newman hints at the lawfulness of persecution. Such hints are certain to possess the characteristic of a true developement, and be conservative of the original idea. Men who utter such sentiments have the Inquisition in their eye. Already the most influential journal in Europe has called public attention to this startling revelation.* They, who smile at a confessional-box in the Oxford cathedral, should think for a moment of the terrible apparatus it would bring with it. Such keys, as Dr. Pusey talked of, are turned with a muscular wrench. They open and shut Purgatory as well as Paradise, and rule the familiar, not less than the family.

If men will sleep let them sleep in the day, not when the shadows of declining truth begin to lengthen, and the night of superstition lowers over the land. We call upon those

to whom the discipline of our universities is intrusted, to warn their flocks of the dangers that surround them. We say their flocks, because it is in that relation that every tutor in holy orders is bound to regard his pupils. They have not discharged their duty when they have lectured on Aristotle. We call upon them to point out the misery of even the slightest deviation from sincerity and plain dealing.

We demand of them,

in the name of the fathers and mothers whose children they hold as sacred deposits, to repudiate the fearful heresy that, in certain cases, a lie is the nearest approach to truth.* Let the Jesuitical and non-natural sense of signing the Articles be designated by its proper name; let the inexperienced and venturous footstep be deterred from attempting to glide over the frozen stream upon the smooth polish of a sophism by the warning" DANGEROUS !" written in the largest letters of experience.

Lastly, we call also upon the young men themselves-those to whom the poison is administered with the most engaging seduction-to take heed unto their ways.

Circe

has other transformations than those of the companions of Ulysses. Esteem for bright talents, wide attainments, or unblemished sanctity, must not be suffered to conciliate favour for the theories or the doctrines which they are employed to recommend.

* The words of Mr. Newman.

No piety can extenuate, however genius may embellish, a fraud. Already the voice of earnest admonition has been raised in that cathedral, where most especially it ought to be heard.

"I am sure," are the words of Bishop Wilberforce, "that a more deadly blow could not be inflicted on our Church than that the people, of whose character, thank God, sterling honesty is the distinctive feature, should have reason to suspect that their clergy believed one thing while they taught another."t

Every bond of union with such a party ought to be resolutely and immediately broken asunder. Friendship, habit, kindness, personal advantages, what are these to an uncorrupted heart and a conscience void of offence ? Under cover of our own betrayers, Rome advances. Not a moment ought to be lost. Let the separation from the Jesuitism of Pusey and the developement of Newman, be instant and complete. Severe crises demand decided measures.

If private sympathies still weigh down and detain the struggling disciple, if the anchor, encumbered by drifting weeds, will not rise to the hand, then one course only remains, and that is to cut the cables and prepare for action at the signal, which ought now to be making from every high place of education throughout the kingdom,-" ENEMY AT SEA."

My first trip to Paris was made inI have forgotten the year, but it was one in the reign of Catalani, who swayed so long and well the sceptre of the stage, it was the second season of her glory and the first night of "La Tentation de Saint Antoine;" and I made my way through a crowd whose pressure is still in my recollection to the overthronged pit of the Italian Opera. There was no other spot in that vast and splendid edifice where even standing room might be found; for I had come late, and the house had been filling for the last three hours. There I stood, surrounded by half Paris, in an atmosphere of at least 120° Fahr., with scarcely room to breathe, and sundry English suspicions crossing my mind at times touching the safety of my pockets and their contents; but all the crosses and trials of the hour were lost and forgotten as the curtain rose in the rich music and gorgeous scenery of that queen of operas. Now presenting the arid expansion of an Egyptian desert,-its sands, its ruins, and its pyramids, clothed with the burning glory of a southern sunset; and then the luxuriant garden of an Oriental palace, rich in fountains and in flowers, at one moment shewing in the depth of their regal darkness the court and councils of the for-ever-fallen; and the next, with harmonies not all unworthy of their harps, displaying the angel choirs that walk on rosy heights beside the fount of day; and then the dweller of the trackless sands himself, the deeply tried and the strong of purpose, what shapes of beauty, and what forms of fear rose around his worldforgotten solitude, and what voices filled the waste, till, above all, like a crowning glory, swept the still unrivalled tones of Catalani, singing the final triumph of faith and virtue.

"C'est magnifique, monsieur!" said an elderly, but very intelligent-looking Frenchman at my side, as the last burst of enthusiastic applausc gradually died away. The speaker

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CXCV.

was a person who, by his dress and appearance, should have been a frequenter of the front boxes; but a crowded theatre levels all distinctions for the time in France; and he had given an example of his country's hospitality by exerting himself to make room for me. In the course of the evening's performance we had interchanged remarks and snuffboxes; and at this stage of the proceedings our acquaintance had advanced quite as far as that of two English families on the return of the second visit.

"It is indeed magnificent," said I, in answer to his last observation, which was made with all the power and spirit of his theatre-loving people. "Are all your Parisian operas so splendid ?"

Ah, not all," said my new friend, with a look far exceeding in its gratification that with which the first waiter at Mivart's contemplates a golden douceur, [and, readers; I have seen no deeper delight;] but he added, with patriot pride or vanity, "Monsieur knows we have always the best things in Paris." I, of course, assented, and he went on in a graver

tone.

"What a sombre thing it is, after all the late brilliancy, to see the curtain fall! It is strange, monsieur, but I never witness that circumstance without recurring to a singular story well known in my youth, and to which I was actually an eye-witness some years before the revolution." This preface roused my curiosity, for the love of strange stories had followed me from childhood, and, as might be expected, I was earnest in requesting my new friend for the tale. "The house is emptying slowly," said he," and as we will not get out easily for at least half an hour, take a seat beside me, for, thank our stars, there are seats to be had now, and you shall have it, such as it is.'

Down I sat accordingly, and some two or three persons who had lingered like ourselves to avoid the

T