themselves a right to question, and believe themselves capable of discussing and deciding upon subjects in which their forefathers were content to be instructed, and led by those who had studied them deeply. The vaunted" march of intellect," is the watchword and shout of pride with which the present vain-glorious generation pursue their course amid doubts, and experiments, and wild, delusive, and ever-crumbling theories. The past are held to have been ages of comparative darkness, and all that has been enacted therein, the work of men blinded by ignorance, prejudice, bigotry, and error. "The wisdom of our ancestors," is a byeword of mockery and scorn; and the pages of history are declared worthless. The antiquity of an establishment, or set of opinions, consequently, instead of being any recommendation, becomes a reproach, a cause for suspicion and enquiry, whether they be worthy of those liberal and enlightened days. It is worse than useless to sneer at this inquisitive spirit. It is too general to be aught else than formidable, if aroused against any Establishment; and, if a cause be worth defending, this spirit must be satisfied, or that cause must fall.

The result of the first successful attack upon the constitution, whereby the Church of England lost her acknowledged pre-eminence, and has become one among many where she once was paramount, is yet too vivid in the recollection of all to admit of repetition. But there were certain events, in the progress of that inroad, which claim notice here, as they indicate the sort of defence which the "Established Church" may expect in future.

In former discussions upon the too well known question, all the Bishops holding seats in the House of Lords, voted against the admission of Roman Catholics among our rulers, with the solitary exception of Bathurst, Bishop of Norwich, who may therefore justly claim the, now, rare merit of consist

ency. But all those discussions were carried on when the Ministry, for the time being, was understood to be averse to the proposed measure. In the late debates, however, the Ministry avowed themselves in favour of its passing into a law: and then, and not till then, certain of those Bishops who had, previously, taken the contrary side of the question, voted for its enactment. To them were joined others, whose recent elevation, previous insignificance, and other causes, render it somewhat difficult to ascertain what their original opinions may have been. They were, altogether, ten in number.* We will not dilate upon the astonishment which pervaded the minds of men on that occasion. Suffice it to say, that a strong feeling went forth throughout the nation when it was known that ten Bishops had deserted a cause of which the whole bench (save one individual) had, heretofore, been decided advocates. Many severe things were said and written upon the subject, which we have no inclination to encumber ourselves by attempting to rebut. The consequences of these votes are, however, to our purpose. They shook, to the foundation, that confidence, for the protection of their rights and privileges, with which the members of the Church of England were wont to rely on the Bench of Bishops, as members of the Upper House. The splitting, and thus almost neutralizing the votes of their representative hierarchy, upon so important a question, appeared to them a melancholy representation of a spiritual "kingdom divided against itself." It was but a poor consolation that some one or two were zealous for the "established order of things." While the people felt a warm glow of admiration and gratitude toward the learned and venerable Burgess and the uncompromising Law, they witnessed with pain the inactivity of others. And there was one, on whom they had especially relied for support; they had calculated on his eloquence and the energy of his charac

ter; he had previously spoken loudly, and plainly, and vehemently, in his place; and he had, by a constant appearance before the public, and a recent elevation in the Church, drawn the eyes of all men upon him: but when his last speech on that question was promulgated, men looked at each other, and were silent.

The effect of these things remains; for, thereby, the influence which the Church of England might have yet hoped to retain in the highest estate of the realm, is paralysed. From the Bishops collectively what can be expected? The warm friends of the Church fixed their eyes upon them during the important crisis, and beheld." their works that they were neither cold nor hot,"* but "lukewarm." Their ejection from the House of Peers has been already talked of, as a measure suited to the liberal policy of the day; and, if their "candlestick"† should be "removed from its place," where are the mourners to be found?

It would, probably, be far better for the wellbeing of the Church to which they belong, that they should be entirely estranged from public affairs, than that they should be liable to such inferences as many have drawn from their conduct. What they have done" was not done in a corner." It is as much a matter of history as the noble firmness of those Bishops who were committed to the Tower in the days of James the Second; and men will canvass such occurrences, and form their own conclusions, and weigh the characters of actors therein as they think fit. There is nothing in the name of a Bishop that can or ought to exempt his conduct from this scrutiny, which is exercised equally towards all other descriptions of men: but there is a wide difference in the consequences if public opinion pass judgment against him. A general officer may be guilty of cowardice, yet no one will therefore charge our army with a want of bravery. A physician may be pronounced incapable, but no inference will thence be drawn of the ignorance of the profession,-and so through other classes of society ;but not so with a Church, which is a body of men, associated voluntarily, under certain leaders and rulers, ac

cording to whose character it must ever rise and fall, and fluctuate in public estimation. Worthless individuals of other professions bear about with them their merited disgrace as individuals only; but suspicion of time-serving, or "trimming," according to the opinions or wishes of the great, if attached to an ecclesiastic, inflicts a taint upon the church to which he belongs. It matters not whether this suspicion be erroneous or groundless, the injury inflicted upon the Church is real; for its former friends are led thereby to withhold their countenance, and its enemies rejoice and shout aloud in mockery and scorn.

That the clergy of the Church of England yet possess a considerable portion of influence in society, is a fact not to be doubted; and there is as little doubt that the influence of their various opponents has increased, and is yet augmenting. Which are eventually to predominate, will depend upon the zeal, energy, and ability, called into action on either side. Let it, in the mean while, be kept in remembrance, by all who have not learned to despise the lessons recorded in history, that this is not the first time in which the Church of England has had to struggle for its existence. The reigns of Elizabeth, and James, and Charles the First, (particularly the latter,) furnish us with a prototype of our own times, which is often absolutely startling. There we find the fanatic inflated with spiritual pride, denouncing all but his own sect, and disseminating tracts in every house and cottage, to warn men against the dangers of mere morality, and instruct them how alone they may be saved. We have the reckless Church and King man-the thoughtless Cavalier, who, lest he should be suspected of a tendency towards the "New Lights," and of being "righteous overmuch," makes an ostentatious shew of liberty of conscience, and often abandons himself to dissipation and pleasure, for which, perchance, he has really little inclination. There we find the High Church dignitary endeavouring to dispel certain suspicions of subserviency, by a strict attention to outward forms and ceremonies. New churches are consecrated, and those

+ Idem, chap. ii, v. 5.

HONOURED AND DEAR SIR, YOUR eye glancing from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth, perceives with equal clearness, and rests with an equal sense of beauty and delight, on stars in the firmament and dinners in the parlour, as they revolve in their respective courses-on the palm-tree overshadowing the temple, and the daisy beneath the hedge. Nothing in nature, art, or literature, seems to escape your penetrating observation, and I am surprised that so much learning has not made you downright mad, instead of only a little flighty, (you yourself in your lucid intervals confess it,)-verging occasionally on the confines of delirium, but never soaring into the high empyrean of insanity itself. Even of this you need not altogether despair -there is no height of eminence beyond your powers-and when such an emancipation from the thraldom of sober sense is vouchsafed you, how gloriously you will revel in that cloud land of the Imagination-gorgeous land!-Eloquence and wit will gush out in the paroxysms of your frenzy, and the world will draw near in breathless awe, as to some sacred oracle of old, to gather new wisdom and delight from the inspired ravings of Christopher Furens. But till that happy time shall arrive, you must confine your steps to this common-place and unetherial world-take share in its business like other men; and if you do not choose to clip off the wings that would lift you into the realms of space, at all events cover them from common observation by wearing a respectable blue coat. You will perhaps run the risk of being thought a little bent in the back, but off with your disguise when presiding over the "Noctes Conæq. Deûm" at Ambrose's, and soar on your many-coloured pinions till you knock your very head against the stars!

Yours, I am well aware, is a very troublesome office, though it no doubt has its pleasures as well as its discomforts. If, on the one hand, a feeling of natural pity rises in your breast, when duty calls on you to exterminate with one sweep of your critical Ferrara a host of uproarious

drivellers and tailors, like the authors of the Age, the Creation, the Sixth Seal, and other blasphemous productions, on the other, what unmingled happiness you enjoy when you take a man of real genius by the hand, and seat him among his bright compeers, making him at once the cynosure of the nation's eyes, and assuring him an entrance into the Temple of Fame! Such a happiness may well repay the momentary feeling of uneasiness produced by the sufferings of the contemptible crew whom your justice compels you to chastise. But, alas! no punishment seems sanguinary enough to deter others from following their example. The hill, where erst the Muses dwelt, is now vocal with the cackling and cawings of unnumbered rooks and jackdaws, which have expelled, in horror and dismay, the birds of bright plumage and melodious song, which fluttered on glittering wing from tree to tree, and filled all the charmed air with music; and although you have shot some of the hoodies, and hung up their miserable bodies in terrorem, their insensate brothers hop past their decayed and putrid skeletons, cawing as hoarsely, and looking as vain and confident as ever.

In consequence of the multitude of blockheads, great and small, who have betaken themselves to write what they most impudently call Religious Poetry, and indeed poetry of all kinds and denominations, the real masters of the lyre have retired from the contest altogether, and, with the exception of Bowles, I know no true poet who has published any thing for some years. They have managed by a cleverness peculiar to themselves, to degrade far below the level of the most humble prose that ever dribbled from the lips of a maudlin proser, subjects which formerly used to be considered per se poetical;-a ghost is about as terrific as a Quaker in a broad-brimmed beaver and plain-cut coat. The Devil is rather more of an independent clergyman, slightly tinged with methodistic principles, than the dark, undefined, and awful Enemy of mankind which he was anciently considered. He is now made even less appalling than when he used to