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I used to wish he would help me as he many days, I began to feel sorry for did Lizzy Colton, but I still remembered him. Oh! how sorry! for I knew-I how good he was to pity and help them know-he will see himself some day

“Oh fool! yet, I had rather be a fool with my eyes, but not till I die. Then over again than have imagined-that I I found my lips full of blood one mornam glad of, even now-I did not once ing, and that pleased me, for I knew it suspect.

was a promise of the life to come: now “But one day-I remember every little I should go to heaven, where there aren't thing in that day-even the slow ticking any Mormons. of the clock, as I tied up my hop-vine; "I believe, though, people were kind and after that I went into the garden, to me all the time ; for I remember they and sat down on a little bench under the came and said things to me, and one grape-trellis, and looked at the moun shook me a little to see if I felt; and tains. How beautiful they were all one woman cried. I was glad of that, purple in the shadow of sunset, and the for I couldn't cry. However, after three sky golden green above them, with one months, I was better: worse, John said scarlet cloud floating slowly upward: I one day, and he brought a doctor, but hope I shall never see a red cloud again. the man knew as well as I did-so he Presently, John came and sat by me, and said nothing at all, and gave me some I laid my head on his shoulder; I was herb tea;-tell Aunt Martha that. so glad to have him there-it cured my " Then I could walk out of doors, but home-sickness; once or twice he began I did not care to; only once I smelt the to say something, and stopped, but I did hop-blossoms, and that I could not bear, not mind it. I wanted him to see a low so I went out and pulled up my hopline of mist creeping down a cañon in the vine by the roots, and laid it out, all mountains, and I stood up to point it out; straight, in the fierce sunshine: it died so he rose, too, and in a strange, hurried directly. In the winter John had another way, began to say something about the wife sealed to him; I heard somebody Mormon faith, and the duties of a be- say so; he did not tell me, and if he had I liever, which I did not notice either very could not help it. I found he had taken much I was so full of admiring the a little adobe house for those two, and scarlet cloud-when, like a sudden I knew it was out of tenderness for thunder-clap at my ear, I heard this my feelings he did so. Oh! Unele quick, resolute sentence: . And so, ac- Field! perhaps he has loved me all this cording to the advice and best judgment time? I know better, though, than that! of the Saints, Elizabeth Colton will be Spring came, and I was very weak, and sealed to me, after two days, as my I grew not to care about any thing; so spiritual wife.'

I told John he could bring those two " Then my soul fled out of my lips, in women to this house if he wished: I one cry-I was dead-my heart turned did not care, only nobody must ever to a stone, and nothing can melt it! I come into my room. He looked ashamed, did not speak, or sigh, but sat down on and pleased, too; but he brought them, the bench, and John talked a great deal; and nobody ever did come into my room. I think he rubbed my hands and kissed By-and-by Elizabeth Colton brought a me, but I did not feel it. I went away, little baby down stairs, and its name by-and-by, when it was dark, into the was Clara. Poor child! poor little house and into my room. I locked the Mormon child! I hope it will die some door and looked at the wall till morning, time before it grows up; only I should then I went down and sat in a chair till not like it to come my side of heaven, night; and I drank, drank, drank, like for it had blue eyes like John's. a fever. All the time cold water, but it " Then I grew more and more ill, and never reached my thirst. John came now I am really dying, and no letter home, but he did not dare touch me; I has come from you! It takes so long was a dead corpse, with another spirit —three whole months, and I have been in it-not his wife-she was dead, and more than a year in the house with John gone to heaven on a bright cloud. I Henderson and the two women. I know remember being glad of that.

I shall never see you, but I must speak. "In two days more he had a wife, and I must, even out of the grave; and I I was not his any longer. I staid up keep hearing that old fugue. "The stairs when he was in the house, and Lord is just, is just, is just; the Lord is locked my door, till, after a great just and good!' Is He? I know He NOON AND MORNING.

is; but I forget sometimes. Uncle Field! you must pray for John! you must! I cannot die and leave him in his sins, his delusion: he does not think it is sin, but I know it. Pray! pray! dear Uncle: don't be discouraged-do not fear--he will be undeceived some time; he will repent, I know! The Lord is just, and I will pray in heaven, and I will tell Nelly to, but you must. It says in the Bible, the prayer of a righteous man;' and oh! I am not righteous! I should not have married

him; it was an unequal yoke, and I have borne the burden; but I loved him so much! Uncle Field, I did not keep myself from idols. Pray! I shall be dead, but he lives. Pray for him, and, if you will, for the little child-because -I am dying. Dear Nelly !".

“Are you blotting my letter, young man ?” said Parson Field, at my elbow, as I deciphered the last broken, trembling line, of Ada's story. “Here I have been five minutes, and you did not hear me!" I really had blotted the letter!

THERE are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain; But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts,

And it never comes again!


We are stronger, and are better

Under manhood's sterner reign ; Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth with flying feet,

And will never come again!

Something beautiful is vanished,

And we sigh for it in vain:
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air-

But it never comes again!


ONE of the strong impelling causes of U the current movement against foreigners is, the hereditary aversion of Protestants to the Roman Church. It is alleged, that the doctrines of that Church assert the right of the Pope to interfere in the temporal affairs of kingdoms and states, while they demand for him the exclusive allegiance of its members; and, consequently, that no one professing those doctrines can yield an honest allegiance to any other power.

We propose to inquire how far these positions are true; and, if true, to what extent, and in what way, we ought to resist their dangers.

Before doing so, it may be proper to premise, that we have not been educated to any overweening estimate of the claims of the Catholic Church. On the contrary, our studies, observations, and general habits of thought, have led us into convictions decidedly and utterly hostile to its theories of government as well as to its creeds. It seems to us a singular mixture of fanaticism, tyranny, cunning and devout religion. We are sensible, too, of its many means of influence, and of the vast prestige with which it addresses itself both to the imagination and reason of men. Its venerable age, connecting it with the most ancient and splendid civilizations, Oriental, Grecian, Roman, and feudal; but, surviving them all, amid the fiercest tempests of time, as the pyramids have triumphed over the sand-storms of the desert, where the hundred-gated cities are laid in ruins, its marvelous organization, combining the solidest strength with the most flexile activity, conciliating the wildest fanatical zeal with the coolest intellectual cunning, adapting it to every age, nation, and exigency, and enabling it to pursue its designs with continuous and varied forces;-its imposing ceremonies and pantomimes, which seem like mummery to the stranger, but to the initiated are signs of the mighty conquests it has achieved over the mythologies, the rites, and the persecutions of antiquity, as well as promises of the consoling grace which will again sustain it, should the hand of the enemy drive it once more into the catacombs and the caves; its luxurious, yet discriminating, patronage of art, which has preserved to us so

much of all that is best in art, in the touching music, the lovely paintings, and the sublime cathedrals of the middle-age; and, above all, the unquestionable ability of its priests, with the long line of noble and beautiful spirits, Abelards, Pascals, and Fenelons, who have illustrated history, by their culture, their piety and their geniusthese are elements of greatness and power, which it would be folly as well as blindness in any one to overlook or deride. But, as we are convinced, also, that there are influences stronger than these,—the influences of truth, of the soul of man,of the spirit of the age, in its present developments, of the providence of God, which has established a moral order in history, we are not dismayed by the amount of its ecclesiastical pretension, nor disheartened by any seeming facility or splendr in its temporary successes.

Least of all, shall we allow ourselves to be betrayed, by the chronic terrors of Protestants, into an unjust judgment of Catholics, and the consequent perpetration of political wrong. We are too familiar with the history of religious controversy to be hurried away by the furious zeal of agitators, who regard it as their special mission to arouse the world to a proper dread of the abuses of Popery. They are sincere, we have no doubt; but it is the sincerity of partisans, not of judges. They have worked their impatience of error up to that inflammatory pitch, where conviction becomes passion. Of tolerable selfcomplacency and quietude, in other respects, they are apt to be shaken out of their shoes when the subject of the “Scarlet Woman" is broached. It has all the effect upon them—we say it with reverence—of the red-rag upon some imperious turkey, who, straightway, loses his solemn port and dignity, and rushes wildly to the battle.

E ven the more temperate polemics. on the Protestant side of this controversy, do not always restrain their ardor at judgment-heat. Having convinced themselves that Rome—not ecclesiasticism in general, but the particular branch of it called Rome—is the great Anti-Christ of Scripture, they incontinently belabor her with every variety of Scriptural reprobation. All the monstrous types of apocalyptic zoology, the beasts with seven heads and ten horns, the red and black horses, the eagles, the calves, and the fiery flying serpents, are made to find in her their living resemblance, while she is loudly proclaimed to be the man of perdition, --the mother of harlots,--the mystic Babylon, who makes the nations "drunk with the wine of the wrath of her fornications."


It happens, unfortunately for the Church, that it is not difficult to give plausibility to these views, and, to some extent, a justification of reactionary hatreds, from the records of history Ecclesiastical annals, (and the same is true, perhaps, of all other annals,) tried by the standard of existing opinions, are so full of whatever is insolent in assumption, corrupt in morals, cunning and treacherous in fraud, and detestable in tyranny, that a mere tyro, with a case to make out, might draw pictures from them that would frighten a college of cardinals, and much more a conclave of credulous zealots. Dip into these annals anywhere, but especially into what relates to the doings from the ninth to the fifteenth centuries, and how much wickedness of every kind you meet! What audacity, licentiousness, super stition, ignorance, fraud, uproar, and cruel ferocity of persecution! The dread power of the Papacy, as it is described in the popular histories, seems to bestride those ages, like a gigantic spectre of the Brocken. It rises before us as something awful, mysterious, and desolating. Removed, as we are by many generations, from the scenes of its action, we still see the flash of its lightnings, and still hear the roar of its thunders, as the bolts fall swift and terrible about the heads of emperors and kings. In its quietest times, our eyes are haunted with visions of bloodyhands; the air is sultry with a feeling of oppression, and the soul, in its recoil from the gloom and sorrow that darkens and sobs around it, loses sense of the true proportions of things, and fancies that all was evil then, and nothing good.

But, take up any party or principle, in an unfriendly spirit, to

trace its affinities among the parties and principles of former times, and immediately you may place it in disreputable company. Thus, you may illustrate monarchy by the excesses of the Oriental kings or the Roman Cesars; you may make aristocracy responsible for the nobles of the middle ages; and democracy for the peasant-wars and French revolutions of a later day. A person, opposed to the Church of Eng. land, might say that it is still an unrepealed canon with her that papists and dissenters may be choked to death for their errors. † Another, opposed to Cal. vinism, would show Calvin, Beza, and Melancthon urging the incremation of Servetus. A third would tell us of the Huguenots roasting papal priests, while they were themselves singed with the fires of St. Bartholomew; or of the Scotch parliament, with eight thousand Scotchmen dead at the hands of the Stuarts, decreeing death against the profession of Episcopacy; or, of the good Puritans, flying to the wilderness to escape and to establish spiritual despotism. In short, no sect or party can look with entire complacency upon the deeds of its ancestors, and no sect or party has a right to interpret the great lessons of history in a narrow, sectarian spirit.

Now, it seems to us, that the Catholics are criticised too entirely in this one-sided way. Their opponents, drawing a drag-net through the impure streams of the middle-ages, bespatter them with all the rubbish that the cast brings up. It is forgotten that those ages were ages, in many respects, of the grossest barbarism and blindness; that anarchy and outrage reigned everywhere; that opinion was unformed and authorities at war; and that if the conduct of the hierarchy, stretching across such long periods of general violence, exhibits much that is rapacious, cruel, and malignant, it was often redeemed by the valuable services which the same hierarchy rendered to the cause of learning, of art, of social discipline, of popular progress, and European unity. The representations, therefore, which dwell upon the evils of those times exclusively, are violent daubs or grotesque caricatures, and not historical pictures. They remind us of certain galleries in Italy, where the walls teem with fagots, stakes, gridirons, broiling martyrs, and a horrible array of distorted human anatomy, unrelieved by one sweet face or a single smiling landscape.

* In this application, however, of the great symbols of the Apocalypse to actual events, instead of spiritual truths, they have the illustrious precedent of Dante, Petrarch, Machiavelli, and some, even, who lived in the previous century.

See Arnold's Miscellaneous Works, page 188, Appleton's edition,

We have no disposition to palliate the horrid deeds of ancient churchmen, nor to disguise the lessons of history, but we think that, at this late day, ecclesiastical battles might be fought with other weapons than those the illustrious Molly Seagrim used when she drove her neighbors out of the sacred enclosure with thigh-bones, skulls and bits of old tombstone. History is only instructive when it is read in the light of philosophy. We cannot properly use its events as isolated facts, nor judge of the characters it presents us by the standards of modern opinion. Every age and nation must be viewed in its peculiar relations. Every age and nation has its own methods and its own ideas. The boy is not the man; the man of the ninth century is not the man of the nineteenth ; and the etiquette of the court of Queen Victoria cannot be applied to the court of Queen Pomare. That which might have been good government, in one time and place, would be very bad government in another time and place, and a course of conduct which seems simply impudent and senile in Gregory XVI., may have been exalted and beneficial in Gregory VII.

These remarks, common place as they are, have an important bearing upon the particular question before us—the temporal power of the Popes—which is commonly treated as if the tenth and eleventh centuries could be revived, and old Hildebrand-true son of fire as he was named-start again from the grave where he has rested nearly a thousand years. But this is a grave mistake. That power, as we shall show, is no longer a present terror, but a simple historical phenomenon. It had its origin in the inevitable circumstances and necessities of society, at a particular stage of its progress, and, having served its ends, sometimes salutary and sometimes quite otherwise, it has been dismissed by a kind Providence to the limbo of things not wanted on earth.

This proposition we now proceed very succinctly to illustrate, by reference to a few prominent historical facts, on the origin and culmination of the papal power :

i. The foundation of every temporal

or spiritual enormity, into which the Church was destined to run, was laid in the opinion, which early obtained, that Christ had founded an external institution, to be the medium of the new and divine life. It was not only an unavoidable inference from this, in logic, that such a body should be supreme in its moral authority, but it was also an unavoidable practical deduction that the administrators of its ordinances should become among the most wealthy and powerful personages in secular society.

2. The conversion of Constantine added prodigiously to the temporalities of the Church, but, most of all, by conferring judicial and civil jurisdiction upon the bishops. His successors pursued the same policy, with some exceptions, and anybody who will read the Theodosian and Justinian codes, will see that the elergy, long before the fifth century, were in the possession of large patrimonies, were joined in the civil and financial administration of the provinces, were judges in the courts allowed to decree temporal penalties, and often took part in the imperial councils.

3. In the distribution of ecclesiastical rank, following generally the political divisions of the Empire, the preëminence fell, of course, to the See of the imperial city,—the foremost city of the world. Its local position, fortified by old renown and the traditions of St. Peter's special favor, made it a center of attraction and reverence to the faithful everywhere, but particularly to the churches among the barbarians, which its zeal had planted, and which were ever eager to testify their respect and submission to the venerable mother.

4. When the Empire was transferred to the East-an event that ought to have diminished the importance of the Roman Church-it happened that the distractions of the times turned that event into an occasion of its increasing power. The Emperors, absorbed in their eastern troubles, left the Church almost the only authority in the western provinces. Their representatives, the miserable exarchs, for the most part plunderers and despots, could not rival the priests in the affections of the people. As the imperial authority grew weaker, therefore, the authority of the Roman Bishop grew stronger. The senate, as well as the populace, came to regard him as their true head; so that

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