and his gloomy aversion to all that is glowing, chivalric, and gentle, render him the most repulsive of all authorities where human character in its nobleness, its vigour, or its passions, is concerned. We must wait for the coming of some fourth historian, who shall be able, by combined learning and sensibility, by sound philosophy and true eloquence, at once to discover the truth, to bring it before our eyes in all its muscular proportions, and robe it with an eloquence which shall adorn its natural beauty, without impeding its force, or overloading its grandeur.

We are unquestionably no apologists for Innocent III. In his actions, his principles, and the effects produced by both on the state of Europe, we scarcely recognize a human being. He, in fact, takes a stand wholly above the class of figures which form the ordinary pageant of history. He is of a different species from the routine of minds which fill the higher offices of society in embroidered coats and sceptres, the race of sitters upon hereditary thrones. The circumstances of his time and the faculties of his nature make us rather look for his resemblance in one of those wanderers from some higher star, a strayed spirit, dropped by accident among us, and in the garb of man allowed to follow his original propensities, and do either good, which astonishes human benevolence, or evil, which throws human malignity into the shade, by powers which in all cases exceed the dimensions of human nature. Without charging the Pope with being altogether a demon, it must be acknowledged that some of his actions nearly approached the character. On the other hand, we must remember the strong temptations placed before a mind conscious of its own ability, reckless of its purposes, and born for the possession of power, in the time at which he ascended the papal throne. At the head of all that called itself Christianity, the master of that throne looked round the world, and saw no rival to Rome. The Gothic nations, who had swept paganism from throne and altar, had been broken by successive wars, until they lost the strength of the savage without acquiring the wisdom of civilized life, and were now sullen bigots or rapturous devotees. The Greek church, once supreme in wealth, talent, and authority, had lost its emulation with its national safety, and was now, like its own temples, rapidly dismantling under the influence of neglect, poverty, and time. Mahometanism, then in its transition period, with the first wild fervours of its enthusiasm decayed, and its imperial splendour still only in remote prospect; lingering in the Asiatic desert, and convulsed by the feuds of Turk and Arab, was nearly forgotten; and the papacy stood alone, superior to all on which man could cast his eye, not merely in its scriptural assumptions, but in its actual magnificence; not merely as the teacher of Europe, but as the exhibitor of all that was brilliant,

novel, and costly, in the inventions of the age. It was a palace in the midst of a forest of banditti and wild beasts all desolation and crime, savageness or silence, without, and all pomp and beauty, lavish art and solid opulence, all sounds of music and displays of princely banqueting, within. It is true that the barbarian traces were still discoverable even in that palace; and many a desperate crime and many a scandalous indulgence disgraced its walls. But the contrast still held; and the Italian sitting in the Vatican must have regarded the surrounding circle of kingdoms as his natural tributaries, his strong-built drudges, his iron mercenaries, or his intellectual slaves. The still higher source of power was unquestionably in the Romish claims of the altar. Priestly possession was irresistible. Europe, emerging from a sea of blood, partly still covered by the surge, and all desperately wasted by the storm, saw in its centre a shrine, which declared itself to be an Oracle, which assumed infallibility, engrossed all knowledge, and demanded that all should reverence it as the especial dwelling of Deity. We can scarcely wonder that its wild tribes should have submitted to the delusion, listened to the response, and obeyed the spell. But what limit could be placed to the influence of a mind of genius and ambition, invested with such powers, speaking through the lips of the Idol, and uttering the prediction, directing the whole machinery of the subordinate priesthood, and using them all for the purposes of human aggrandizement. That Innocent gave way to the whole temptation is one of the most universally admitted facts of history. In M. Capefigue's eloquent "History of Philip Augustus " he thus in a few words characterises the power of this Pope: "We can now scarcely form an idea of the power exercised by this throne; raising armies by bulls and indulgences, directing the polity of kingdoms, mingling itself with the government of France, England, and the Empire; and doing all this by the sole ascendency of opinion." All this was perfectly true, and it ought to be remembered by those who speak of the principles of the Popedom as consistent with the independence of kingdoms. Its boast is, that those principles never change, and its invariable practice has been, to take possession wherever possession can be obtained. Sismondi, certainly a witness who ought to be listened to on the subject of Italian character, sternly charges him with personal insincerity and public spoil. But one of the most curious testimonies is that of the Popish historian among ourselves-Lingard, who, in the face of all British history, in neglect of all proof, and in equal disdain of facts, has undertaken the general defence of Rome. The English reader will remember the tone of this writer. In all instances where an irregular seizure of power, a violent ambition, or an unlicensed spirit of usurpation, has been charged

on his communion, he labours to show the meekness, simplicity, and unworldliness, of his church. Thus admitting that those ought to be the qualities of a religious teacher, he toils with hopeless equivocation to show that all the continued impeachments brought by the protestant writers are opposed to the facts of Romish conduct. But there are times when, in his enthusiasm, he forgets his artifice; and, exulting in the power of the Vatican, he betrays the secret of its usurpation. It is in this candid arrogance and haughty triumph that his candour describes the supremacy of Rome under Innocent III.

At a period when all ideas of justice were formed on the feudal jurisprudence, it was soon a received doctrine that princes by disobedience [to Rome] became traitors to God, and that as traitors they were liable to lose their kingdoms, those being fiefs which they held of God; and that it belonged to the Pope, as vicegerent of Christ on earth, to pronounce those sentences. By such means, the "servant of servants" became the sovereign of sovereigns, and claimed to himself the right to judge at his tribunal, and to transfer crowns according to his pleasure.

We are to remember that this is an apologist, that his task has been to gloss over the usurpations of the papacy, and that he has performed this task in general without the slightest hesitation.

The Cardinal Lothaire, having distinguished himself by his knowledge of the canon law, and probably having become still more known by those habits of vigour and flashes of intellect which he so amply displayed in his higher station, fixed all eyes on himself in the declining days of Pope Celestin. There were powerful interests against him among the great families of Rome, and among the sovereigns who have always regarded the papal election as a matter giving peculiar room for intrigue. But the still stronger interests of self-preservation prevailed. The State was in peril. France and Germany, with their multitudes of half-savage soldiery, were on the point of breaking into Italy; and the papal states, opulent, exposed, and tempting, were naturally marked as the first prey by both. A man uniting temporal ability with ecclesiastical reputation was felt to be the only pilot to whom the helm could be trusted while the horizon was thus heavy with storm: and Cardinal Lothaire, the learned, the vigorous, the ambitious, and the able, was hurried forward, through the old and decrepit ranks of the high-born, the intriguing, the indolent, and the luxurious, to the throne, from which he was to hurl swords and firebrands upon the nations.

Yet in Rome nothing is to be done without a miracle. The elevation of this remarkable man was not to be achieved solely by the force of his own qualities, or the necessities of the time. Heaven was to interpose-in the shape of three pigeons! But this deserves to be recorded in M. Hurter's own words.

* History of England, v. iii. We translate from the French.

During the election, three pigeons, we are assured, were remarked to fly round the place where the Cardinals had assembled. But, when the votes of the electors agreed on Lothaire, and he separated himself, according to custom, from his colleagues, to go to the spot where the elected was to stand, one of the pigeons, the whitest of the three, immediately took wing towards his right band.

This must have been convincing; and his heavenly inauguration was thenceforth as plainly settled as his earthly one. From this period commenced a domination, during which the Popedom was the supreme sovereignty of Europe, and Innocent III. the virtual sovereign of all its kingdoms: its monarchs his vassals; its people his subjects; and its priesthood his agents, his ministers, and his slaves. So vast an authority was never before accumulated on the head of man. Imperial Rome, Asiatic thrones, the brilliant dominion of Alexander, or the solid Sovereignty of Charlemagne, vast and magnificent as they were, could lay claim only to the corporeal submission; the Pope claimed both body and mind, the supremacy of the earth, and the exclusive entrance to those loftier and limitless regions to which man looks for his reward.

But death, the great settler of all questions, came in the midst of this bold and busy career. While in the full excitement of arousing Europe to a new crusade, rushing through the Italian provinces, reconciling the rival states in their desperate design, and already marshalling sovereigns and nations under his banner for a war of persecution, he was suddenly seized with a tertian. The strength of his constitution, less than the vividness of his mind, threw it off for the moment; but some neglect of his own, or some ignorance of his physicians, brought it back again with keener symptoms. A few days of severe suffering ended in paralysis; he fell into a state of insensibility, and soon after breathed his last, (July, 1216) in his fifty-sixth year, and after having filled the papal throne eighteen years and six months. The fabric of the papal power had grown slowly; but the life of Innocent saw its fullest luxuriance. The Roman tree, springing from among the ruins of the Pagan empire, and watered by the blood of the barbarians, had now arrived at its full height and breadth. But the tempest was soon to be let loose, which shivered from it many a stately branch, and scattered its leaves on the earth. The German emperors first assaulted the papal supremacy; the French kings, alternately raising and tearing down its banner, yet continually enfeebled its European superiority. A long interval followed, in which its temporal influence on thrones seemed to have sunk into total neutrality. But our age exhibits a new shape of power in the Vatican; and the most singular portion of the phenomenon is, that Popery is making its chief progress to power in the country most habitually guarded against its ambition, most hostile to its principles,

and most certain of utter ruin in the day of its success. It is not less remarkable, that this progress in England is wholly unconnected with the old sources of Romish influence, that it now owes but little to doctrinal delusions, to the arts of the priesthood, or the credulity of the people. Its progress is wholly in the region of public power; its influence stalks forth in the robes of office; disclaiming its old appeals to the follies of the vulgar, it now addresses itself to the cupidity of the great, and, like the eruption of a volcano, ascends to the summit, before it rushes down to consume the land.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF EATING.

Vorlesungen über Esskunst. (Lectures on the Art of Eating). By Antonius Anthus. 8vo. Leipzig. 1838.

What have we here?-one of those precious pieces of literary manufacture which, under the name of Book of Etiquette, Guide to Housekeeping, or, however else the trash may be denominated, are got up "expressly" for the market; most sorry "made-tosell" stuff, which may find buyers, but never finds readersnone at least who confess to the delinquency of having studied them? Quite the contrary; a work replete with humour, learning, pleasantry, and mystification; half ironical, half in earnest; pungent in its satirical traits, and abounding in lively allusions, amusing anecdote, and most entertaining apropos; spicy, racy, capitally seasoned; in short, a book that is itself a most delicious morceau, admirable in flavour, exquisite in its sauciness. Still we will not be quite sure that it will not be thought to possess too much haut-gout to be to the taste of ordinary English palates. By no means is the wit of a kind to please the "groundlings;" there is nothing of that "capital fun" in it that so tickles the genuine John Bull, who, if he exerts his risible faculties at all, is satisfied with nothing less than a horse-laugh, which may be classical enough, because, we suppose, it was after that fashion that the centaurs of antiquity used to cachinnate.

The book recommends itself by its very title, which is happily characteristic of the playful satire that seasons it throughout. Vorlesungen! Lectures! is not that a palpable hit? In this age of lecturing and lectures-and that it should be so is strange, seeing that people can obtain information through their eyes just as well as through their ears-every thing has been descanted upon ex cathedra, except the art of cookery and that of eating; although the latter recommends itself by its antiquity, being, in one sense at least, the oldest of all the arts, either polite or vulgar. Perhaps it will be said, it comes so naturally that instructions with respect to it are quite superfluous. No teachers for it are