acquiescence, and many declarations of allegiance and contentment, struggling with amazing ardour against every settled and single establishment, whether ecclesiastical or civil. We look at Ireland, and there we see crime stalking triumphantly through the land, and Popery resisting every check to it, as an infringement of civil privileges, as an insult to the majesty of the people. Nothing there seems safe; and no means, however bold, vicious, or perilous, are neglected to make that apparent danger real and imminent. In our colonies the same course is pursued. Canada and Newfoundland are embroiled in perpetual strife; the stream of emigration is dried up; trade is reduced or destroyed; property is insecure; the power of the mother country is subverted or shaken; and designs the most desperate, projects the most democratic are advocated with vigour and partially with success. In the United States, the only formidable and concentrated body threatening danger to the peace of the republic, is confessedly a Roman Catholic sect. They are taking possession of every wild to which the meagre voluntary principle is unable to penetrate, and are proselyting with astonishing success in other parts where the population is more numerous, and that same voluntary principle equally inefficient. But in that country it is necessary to assume the ultra-democratic form, in order to secure a victory; and without hesitation that appearance is put on, to subserve the artful purposes in view. On the continent of Europe the same policy is pursued. Every month in Prussia adds to the violent excitement of religious parties, and witnesses fresh aggressions, fresh revolutionary movements from the Roman Catholic population. In Hanover the same spirit has commenced working, and with much prospect of triumph. In Belgium it has already succeeded by the expulsion of the Dutch government, under pretences the most frivolous, and on account of grievances the most petty and insignificant; it has succeeded by the aid of foreign intrigue, and to the subversion, not only of Belgium's own freedom and tolera tion, but also of Europe's balance of power. In this revolutionary method is Popery contending for advancement. How far is it sincere in its profes sions? How far is it to be proved that it really intends ultimately to compass the democratic objects which it now affects to advocate? To these questions we have partly replied already, but something more remains to be said on them. We say its Liberalism is false in England, because it makes no concession to advance it; because its avowed principles of action with reference to the opinions of others are the same as ever; and because, above all, it has advocated all the democratic expedients it now sanctions before, and then with the purpose of imposing on the nation the rejected despotism of the Stuarts. Who can deny these statements? What single concession does Popery make? We have shown that in its support of the Ballot, the Voluntary principle and education, its purposes are directly contrary to its declaration; and we may add, that with reference to triennial Parliaments, an extension of the suffrage, and other reforms of that sort, Popery advocated them more than a century ago against the House of Hanover, (knowing the ignorance of the people) as a means of restoring the Stuarts' dynasty. Its object then was a tyranny, and it endeavoured to obtain it by the common and usual process of enabling the people to give it to themselves. Its object may be, and we assert is, a tyranny now, and the means are the same. Anarchy, it knows, must precede any such evil in this land, and anarchy it therefore desires. We repeat, then, what has it conceded? Its plans are the same as ever, and its principles too. For the latter, let Den's Theology, published for "the more sure guidance" of the Irish priesthood, under the sanction of the Popish Archbishops, and three thousand priests, emphatically answer; or let the revived Rhemish notes and the class books of Maynooth speak in confirmation of our statement. We, therefore, laugh to scorn Popery's Liberalism in Great Britain; and more particularly do we ridicule it in that part where Popery is best displayed-Ireland. Popery and Liberalism in Ireland! Who ever heard of an absurdity so ridiculous, a connexion more monstrous and preposterous? Is there Liberalism in Ireland, where toleration is so little understood that the profession of Protestantism is a crime, and where a vote against a Popish candidate is the sig nal for a whole district's execration, and the sufficient cause for a priestly curse? Is there Liberalism in Ireland, where the war whoop of extermination sounds through the land, and every criminal that perishes on the scaffold goes happy to his grave, if his knife drew the life-blood of "a Protestant parson?" Is it Liberalism to intimidate voters, to brave the law, to withhold legal dues, to extort promises of similar conduct, and to force Protestant emigration? If this be Liberalism, it exists in Ireland, and we own it is allied, and closely too, with Popery. But if not, if even the Liberals disclaim principles that lead to these terrible and disastrous results, we know not where to find any thing but pure unadulterated Romanism in the Irish popular party. And if this be the case in Great Britain's domestic possessions, how much more clearly is it so in her colonial dependencies? The struggle in Lower Canada, the "Liberal" struggle, was for tenures suited to the old regime in France, and for the best mode of throwing off the dominion of Protestant England. The Liberalism of Monsieur Papineau and the other valourous rebels, amounted to no voluntary principle, for they had a Popish, and only a Popish establishment; to no educational system, for they left the people in ignorance; to no Ballot, for they preferred open suffrage. Yet they were for revolutionary measures; that is, for revolution. ary measures as distinguished from "Liberal" ones. A party may be, as we contend the Papists are, revolutionists without being Liberals, or may profess liberalism, only as a means to Revolution, with no sort of ultimate view to a democratic constitution. So it was in Lower Canada, so it is at home. And again, in Newfoundland, Popery is in the ascendant, and it is liberal. It is, in that country, so liberal, that a very liberal suffrage is adopted, and for the very good reason, that by means of it Popery returns her favourites and myrmidons to the House of Assembly. But here her Liberalism ends. We hear of Voluntary principle, of no education, while we meet with symptoms not a few, that the democratic House of Assembly, with all its fine and plausible professions, is nothing better than an instrument of despotism in the In hands of the many for the oppression and the overwhelming of the few. In the like manner, Popery's Liberalism in America dictates a deep-laid conspiracy against a Republic which is the pride of the Liberals, and the one bright spot on the earth in which their callous hearts find pleasure. It has chosen that magnificent field of exertion, and already views it, in ima gination, as the arena for a mighty struggle for ascendency, which must terminate in complete success. Europe, hopes of restoration to ancient supremacy are equally inspiriting; and those hopes arise from the use of Liberalism. Popery indulges in Prussia in all sorts of democratic acts and liberal professions, yet the occasions of its chief struggles with the Protestant Government are its interdiction of the marriages of Papists with Protestants, and their common use of schools. So in Belgium, it revolutionized a nation with the declared. intention of giving complete freedom to the people, but with success Liberalism vanished, and commenced a series of petty oppressions and serious annoyances to those who ventured to oppose its doctrines, and to throw light on its corruption, by circulating the Bible. Here then we rest, on this proof of what Popery's Liberalism really means, and has effected, and designs. But other material and interesting points arise, which must be considered, if this matter is really to be placed fairly before the public. It is said by some, and those not unimportant authorities, that the connexion for temporary political purposes between Popery and other Antichristian powers is a sign of the times, pregnant with meaning, and gloomy in its forebodings. For instance, Bishop Horsley, in a letter written forty years ago, which appears from some of its remarkable expressions almost prophetical, boldly speaks out, and very explicitly too, on this most singular question. We should not quote it if the name of the writer stood lower in the list of eminent churchmen, or if his mind were likely to have been easily warped by excitement, or deluded by visionary speculations. As, on the contrary, the authority of the author is of the first character, and as his words, however remarkable, are evidently the result of deep deliberation and thought, we feel it a duty to call attention to it. The passage is as follows: "The Church of God on earth will be greatly reduced, as we may well imagine, in its apparent numbers, in the times of Antichrist, by the open desertion of the powers of the world. This desertion will begin in a professed indifference to any particular form of Christianity, under the pretence of universal toleration; which toleration will proceed from no true spirit of charity and forbearance, but from a design to undermine Christianity, by multiplying and encouraging sectaries. The pretended toleration will go far beyond a just toleration, even as it regards the different sects of Christians. For governments will pretend an indifference to all, and will give a protection in preference to none. All establishments will be laid aside. From the toleration of the most pestilent heresies, they will proceed to the toleration of Mahometanism, Atheism, and at last to a positive persecution of the truth of Christianity. In these times the Temple of God will be reduced almost to the Holy Place, that is, to the small number of real Christians who worship the Father in spirit and in truth, and regulate their doctrine and their worship, and their whole conduct, strictly by the word of God. The merely nominal Christians will all desert the profession of the truth, when the powers of the world desert it. And this tragical event I take to be typified by the order to St John to measure the Temple and the Altar, and leave the outer court (national Churches) to be trodden under foot by the Gentiles. The property of the clergy will be pillaged, the public worship insulted and vilified by these deserters of the faith they once professed, who are not called apostates, because they never were in earnest in their profession. Their profession was nothing more than a compliance with fashion and public authority. In principle they were always, what they now appear to be, Gentiles. When this gen eral desertion of the faith takes place, then will commence the sackcloth ministry of the witnesses. . . . There will be nothing of splendour in the external appearance of these Churches; they will have no support from governments, no honours, no emoluments, no immunities, no authority, but that which no earthly power can take away, which they derive from Him who commissioned them to be His witnesses." Popery, in all times our enemy, often still more powerful than it is now, has always fallen before the determined resolution of the British people; she has failed in suppressing the Reformation, though the land rung with the cries of her victims, and the cities blazed with the fires her cruelty lighted; she failed when her proud Armada sailed to conquer our country, and itself was scattered to the winds; she failed in her political intrigues; she failed in her great effort under the last monarch of the Stuarts; she has been foiled in every conspiracy, disappointed in every insurrection, though assisted by foreign gold and foreign mercenaries, and therefore we may trust that she will once more be struck down and defeated, notwithstanding the treachery of our pretended friends, and the zealous co-operation of Infidelity, and Liberalism, and Dissent. We have triumphed ere this over greater danger, and over foes with whom it was far more worthy and far more perilous to contend; and regarding now the sturdy common sense, the experience, and the awakening spirit of the people, we hope that the day may not be distant when the motley combination of ambitious factions shall be foiled in their endeavours to impose on the country in which they enjoy greater blessings than any others can confer, the iron dominionof a persecuting and idolatrous system. HASTINGS was lying on some straw, under a canopy of blankets and canvass, with a gipsy man and two or three boys beside him, when he was roused by a rough voice exclaiming, "Come, my lad, if you want to see this job, you must be up and stirring.' He then remembered that before his lying down he had settled to accompany some of the men of the party, who were in league with smugglers, for the purpose of helping to land and run a cargo, which, owing to the shortness of the nights, was at this season a difficult undertaking. The party consisted of four men besides Hastings, and it was evident, from their tone and manner, that he had contrived to obtain their entire confidence. They walked for two or three miles at a swift pace till they came out upon the further side of a high bank, from which the dark line of the sea was faintly visible between two cliffs. Here they climbed up a steep ascent, covered with brushwood, at one side of the road, and remained still for ten minutes, till their leader whispered, "Hush-all right," and pointed out a light down below them, apparently from a cottage window. They then crept along a path above the road for a hundred yards, till they reached a point where they again clambered down upon the highway, and after crossing it moved on in a field towards a stile, where they all passed into the orchard of a farm-house, and found there at least fifty other men assembled for the same object. Hastings perceived, by the sounds from a neigh. bouring barn, that it was full of horses. There was a good deal of whispering among the men, and they evidently expected at every moment to receive the signal for rushing to the beach. The gipsy leader felt his way, with his followers, along the orchard hedgefor in the shadow of the trees it was pitch-dark-until they reached the house, where he spoke to a man who stood leaning against the door-post. Hastings could not catch much of the conversation, but found that they were disputing about him. Suddenly the gipsy took him by the hand and pulled him towards the entrance, when the other said, "Come in, then," and opened the door. The gipsy and Hastings followed him, and found themselves in a low unfurnished room, with a candle on the floor. The man, who was tall and bulky, and dressed as a farmer, looked at Hastings, and said, "Who are you?" Hastings answered that he was nothing but a wanderer for amusement, who had known much of gipsies in his time, and continued to make friends with all he met. The man looked at him with a sharp but quiet eye, and said, "Well, I daresay you are honest, but you are running in the way of mischief that does not concern you. up here and make no disturbance." Go So saying he opened a small door at the foot of a narrow staircase, and held the candle to light the way up. Hastings saw that resistance would be useless, and walked up the stairs till he found himself in another small room, where there was hardly a trace of light. He heard the door locked at the bottom of the staircase. Feeling about him, he found that there was no furniture within his reach; and his next object of interest was the window. Through this he saw the grey line of the sea and the mass of cliff on one side, but could distinguish nothing more. The waves were plainly to be heard beating at regular intervals on the beach. He had not spent five minutes in the room when he heard a whistle and then a swift trampling of men and horses, and the whole throng seemed dashing downwards to the shore. Then came a pistol-shot, and then several, and then a roar of voices. The rush sounded as if returning nearer and nearer to the farm-house. Again some scattered shots were fired, and now Hastings thought he distin guished the voice of an officer giving orders. Here the tumult approached close to him, and it flashed upon his mind that if the smugglers should retreat, and he be found in their head, quarters, his position as a gentleman and a naval officer would be very disagreeable. He, therefore, forced open the window, leapt out at a venture, and fell among a crowd of people, spraining his leg so violently as to give him severe pain. There were many voices loud around him, and clamour and curses expressed the astonishment that his fall had occasioned. But he had sufficient presence of mind to ask for help in the gipsy speech, and the consequence was, that one of his former companions recognised him, and called another to his assistance. Between them they lifted Hastings up, and carried him off at full speed through the retreating hurly-burly. The king's men still hung upon their rear, and prevented them from relaxing in their pace. But most of the loaded horses had gone on before, and the remainder now dispersed in different directions as the roads opened on either hand. Still a body of more than a dozen men held together about Hastings, and twice his bearers were relieved. The pain now became so sharp that he begged they would leave him at the first house. Two or three of the leaders consulted for a moment, and then they all went on again in silence for a quarter of an hour. It was now twilight, and Hastings could see that they stopped at a small gate, which they opened, and followed a short brick-paved path up to the door of a respectable house. They seated him on the bricks at the door, with his back against the door-post, knocked violently to rouse the inmates, and then all ran off. Their alarum succeeded, and in a few minutes a servant came to the door and opened it, accompanied by her master, wrapped only in a dressing-gown. When he saw a man lying at the door in the weak light of dawn, he enquired who he was, and what was the matter. Hastings told his name, and said that he was a friend of Sir Charles Harcourt, had met with an accident, and was in so much pain he would beg to be taken into the house, and to be allowed to reserve his story for another time. The gentleman said that his name was Musgrave, and that he was the clergyman of the parish, and promised to do all in his power to relieve the sufferings of the stranger. He helped to carry him in and lay him on a bed, and, on hearing of the injury to the limb, sent for the nearest surgeon. He, on his arrival, pronounced that the recovery was likely to require several days, during which the patient must remain where he then was. He also ordered the proper applications. After he was gone, Mr Musgrave earnestly assured his new guest that he was most happy to have an opportunity of assisting any human being in distress, and that he need be under no uneasi ness as to remaining there so long as it should be convenient to him. Hastings was now a little more at ease, and could thank him for his kindness, which he gladly accepted. CHAPTER II. Mr Musgrave was an unmarried clergyman, whose whole look and manner bore the impress of devotion. Delicacy, purity, gentleness, fervour, were combined in his countenance with a shade of pensive melancholy. A thin ascetic-looking face, a high narrow forehead, a slight and bending figure, and a demeanour of the most careful politeness; over these was thrown an air of abstraction, which kept him apart from intimacy with any circle of society. The Bible was the world he lived in, and from it he looked out into the actual world as we look from the earth into the dim atmosphere, or from an island over the sea. Hastings felt himself, he knew not why, rebuked in the presence of Musgrave, although the clergyman spoke to him but little, and that with the most courteous and even friendly goodwill. But, while the traveller felt that his host had no sympathy with his pursuits or character, he perceived in him an elevation and self-denial which made it impossible to regard him as an inferior, insensible to some higher kind of excellence. He did not attempt to speak on religious, or, as Hastings would have termed it, professional topics. But it was obvious that nothing local and temporary interested him strongly, and yet that |