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pelliment were removed, the noble author appears to believe that the pence of the Christian church might easily be restored.

• For neither of the churches believe, that there is no doctrine in either which may not be better explained, and that there are not many other particulars, both in discipline and practice, which may not be altered or departed from, for the satisfaction of such a consi. derable body of good christians as would thereby be reconciled to one congregation, and one communion. And this would easily be done, if sovereign princes would vindicate their own authority and supreme jurisdiction; and, by national councils, take care for the settling all matters pertaining to the church in their own dominions, which, by correspondence with the like national councils under the neighbouring princes will, without any difficulty, sever what is of the essence of religion from what may in the practice of it be permitted,' &c. p. 680.

An ignorant reader would hardly suppose, that the writer of these words, which are so full of moderation and conciliation, had contributed, in a very eminent degree, perhaps in a greater degree than any other man who ever existed, to the perpetuation of the bitterest animosities among Christians, who were subjects of the same prince, and who acknowledged that their differences of opinion did not extend to articles of faith, and the essentials of religion. * The real fact is, that Lord Clarendon, notwithstanding his animosity against the Pope, had no dislike to the Roman Catholic religion in general; and perhaps was more desirous of weakening than of strengthening the Protestant interest, as it is called, in the general affairs of Europe. Such feelings naturally arise out of the principles of the Laudian schoci, in which he had been educated. It is one of the leading tenets of that school, that those points in which the Church of England agrees with the Church of Rome, and differs from the foreign Protestant Churches, are more essential to true Christianity, than those in which all Protestant Churches, including the Church of England, are united against the Church of Rome. In other words, a Roman Catholic #s, upon the whole, a better Christian than a Presbyterian. We cannot give a stronger example of Lord Clarendon's Laudianism, than the manner in which he mentions the great Gustavus Adolphus in the following sentence.

· The blackest action, and surely the least apostolical, that un. happy Pope (Urban VIII.) was guilty of, was, that when the victorious King of Sweden, of whom the world had scarce ever heard VOL. XIX. NO. 38.



* See Lord Clarendon's observations on the unhappy policy of • making concessions to the Dissenters,' in the continuation of his Life, p. 148. Folo

p. 555.

before, had covered all Germany with blood and slaughter, and by fire and sword wrought a greater devastation, almost to desolation, than hath ever been produced amongst Christians by a war between them : This successor of St Peter, whose office and peculiar obligation they pretend is to root out all heretics, and by right or wrong to remove all obstructions which hinder the growth or improvement of Catholic religion, refused to give the Emperor and Catholic party any assistance in money, of which he was known to have abundance, and the other to want nothing else. ' *

When it is considered, how little success has attended every attempt to unite any two Protestant sects, we cannot accede to Lord Clarendon's supposition, that the downfal of the Pope would contribute materially to the reconciliation of Protestants and Catholics, who differ in opinion upon so many points of the highest importance. The correspondence between Wake and Dupin, part of which is printed at the end of Maclaine's translation of Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History, sufficiently de monstrates, that the most lukewarm Catholics will never consent to abandon all the distinguishing tenets of their religion, however strongly they may be inclined to break with the court of Rome.

The mention of national councils in a passage which we have lately quoted, and a paragraph in the concluding chapter of the book, entitled on the margin, National Councils the best Conserrators of Christian Religion, prove that Lord Clarendon entertained a higher opinion of the prudence and moderation of those assemblies, than experience appears to justify. The synod of Dordrecht, the national synods of the French Protestants, and the factious convocations in the reign of Queen Anne, show how little such meetings contribute to the peace either of the Church or of the State. National councils of the established religion seem to be entirely laid aside in every Christian country, in which the power of calling them, or, at least, of preventing them from being held, is possessed by the Sovereign. Catholic princes, in particular, have generally found the Pope to be more tractable and manageable than a synod composed of their own subjects.

Whatever * The Popes have seldom been particularly well inclined to give assistance to their friends in hard cash. Like the infernal deities in Æschylus, AaZiiv au sivous ricin â lesdiéves. There is, indeed, a kind of paper money, called Indulgences, which was formerly in great repute, and of which the Popes, to do them justice, have never been niggardly. The credit of this currency, however, was so much shaken by a kind of Bullion Committee, of which one Martin Luther was chairman, that there has been very little demand for it during the two last centuries.


Whatever ill effect may arise from the conflict of ecclesiastical and secular jurisdiction, in countries in which the authority of the Pope is recognized by law, we are unable to perceive that any considerable inconvenience results from that authority, in countries where it has no legal existence,-except the tendency which it undoubtedly has, to prevent the Catholic inhabitants of Protestant countries from adopting the religion of the State. Perhaps it may be said, that the power of the Pope is dangerous to Protestant sovereigus, from its tendency to excite revolt among his Catholic subjects. This objection deserves to be seriously considered.

No person can be weak and timorous enough to suppose, that the Pope will ever excite Catholics to rebel against a Protestant sovereign, unless he is of opinion, that there is a considerable probability that the rebellion will be crowned with success. Nor will such Catholics, admitting them to be as devoted to the court of Rome as the Jesuits were, listen to the voice of their chief pastor, unless they are convinced that they are likely to derive advantage from following his advice. In every country where the Catholics know that they form so sınall and inconsiderable a body, as to render resistance to the government perfectly hopeless, it is both their interest and their inclination to recommend themselves to the State, and to their fellow-citizens, by their peaceable and loyal demeanour. As we do not ascribe any merit to this conduct in such circumstances, perhaps we may be allowed to say, that the English Catholics have given little or no cause of complaint to the government for the last two hundred years. The most lion-hearted Popes know very well how to assume the meekness of lambs on proper occasions.

On the other hand, in countries where the Catholics form so large and powerful a body, as to afford the prospect of successful resistance to the government, we are willing to admit, that the Pope will not be remiss in instigating them to try the experiment. This admission may appear at first sight to be fatal to our cause; but we strenuously maintain, that, in such circumstances, the conduct of all sects always has been, and always will be, nearly the saine. We except those sects, the members of which, from any cause, happen to be destitute of personal courage. The patience of the Greek Christians, for instance, under the yoke of the Mahometans, must not be ascribed to the purity of their religious principles, but to the levity and cowardice which have been inherent in them for so many ages. In every country which has an established religion, the honours and advantages which arise from the establishment, are the na. tural property of the strongest sect, which, it must be rememG g 2


There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools!
Yes -honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Vain sophistry !-In these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts—to what?-a dream alone, &c.
Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame;
Fame, that will scarce reanimate their clay,
Though thousands fall to deck some single name.
In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim
Who strike, blest hirelings ! for their country's good,
And die, that living might have prov'd her shame;

Perished perchance in some domestic feud,
Or in a narrower sphere wild rapine's path pursu'd.' p. 28-30.
The following is in a more relenting mood.

* Not so the rustic-with his trembling mate
He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar,
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
No more beneath soft eve's consenting star
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet :
Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar,

Not in the toils of glory would ye fret ;
The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and man be happy yet!' p.31.

After this, there is a transition to the maid of Saragoza, and a rapturous encomium on the beauty of the Spanish women; in the very middle of which, the author, who wrote this part of his work in Greece, happens to lift up his eyes to the celebrated peak of Parnassus--and immediately, and without the slightest warning, bursts out into the following rapturous invocation, which is unquestionably among the most spirited passages of the poem. • Oh, thou Parnassus ! whom I now survey,

Not in the phrenzy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,
But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty!
What marvel if I thus essay to sing ?
The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by

Would gladly woo thine echoes with his string,
Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing.

Oft have I dream'd of thee! whose glorious name
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore;
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas ! with shame
That I in feeblest accents must adore.

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When I recount thy worshippers of yore
I tremble, and can only bend the knee ;
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,

beneath thy cloudy canopy
In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee !

Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave !
Some gentle Spirit still pervades the spot,

Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious Wave.' p. 38-39.

The author then finds his way back to his subject; and gives us an animated picture of the loose and wanton gayeties of Cadiz, and the divertisements of her Sabbath, as contrasted with the sober enjoyments of a London Sunday. This introduces a very long and minute description of a bull-fight, which is executed, however, with great spirit and dignity ; and then there is a short return upon Childe Harold's gloom and misery, which he explains in a few energetic stanzas addressed To Inez.' They exemplify that strength of writing and power of versification with which we were so much struck in some of Mr Crabbe's smaller pieces, and seem to us to give a very true and touching view of the misery that frequently arises in a soul surfeited with enjoyment.

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,

Alas! I cannot smile again ;
Yet heaven avert that ever thou

Should'st weep, and haply weep in vain.
It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low ambition's honours lost,
That bids me loathe my present state,

And fly from all I priz’d the most.
It is that weariness which springs

From all I meet, or hear, or see :
To me no pleasure beauty brings;

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me.
It is that settled, ceaseless gloom

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore ;
That will not look beyond the tomb,

But cannot hope for rest before.' P. 50-52. There are more of those verses; but we cannot now make room for them. The canto ends with a view of the atrocities of the French; the determined valour of the Spanish peasantry; and some reflections on the extraordinary condition of that people,

Where all are noble, save Nobility ;
None hug a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry!'


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