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able falling off from that cause, and forgetfulness of those times when Wishart and Hamilton laid down their lives for the truth. The glorious Revolution of 1688, when both kingdoms, with one voice, declared for civil and religious liberty, casting from them the cords and superstitions of Popery, seems to be entirely forgotten.
Ambition and the lust of power (those vices by which the devil and his angels fell, and were cast out of heaven) seem to be feelings more cherished now than ever, by all ranks and conditions, to gratify which, they hesitate not to barter away our dearest rights, and pander to a power, more deeply imbued, if possible, with these unchristian aspirations than themselves. Need I mention the Pope of Rome, with his dupes, his satellites, and slaves ? Let the electors, when the time arrives (now not far off), look to this, and for the future, as they value their dearest rights here, and their eternal happiness or misery, shun being partakers in the heinous crime of betraying their country, and delivering it bound hand and foot to the tender mercies of the Man of Sin, and his coadjutors, for a mess of pottage.
Judging from the progress which Popery has lately made in these realms, and foreign dependencies, is there not a possibility, at least, that Papists may once more gain the ascendancy, and if so, would not our bishops and church dignitaries, to say no more, be under the necessity a second time, of leaving their native land to save their lives, when they might not have a Geneva to flee to, unless, indeed, the great majority are prepared, as formerly, to follow the humiliating example set by so many in the reign of the Stuarts, and our magnanimous Elizabeth. The Church, in its present palmy state, may view a reverse of fortune as impossible, but let us look at what is taking place in Switzerland, and let them take warning.
No one can tell what a union of Papists, Radicals, and Sceptics may do in Parliament. A Resolution may be passed there as in the Canton de Vaud, which may, as with the ministers there, render it impossible for them to hold their office. But if they would avoid such a painful catastrophe, it is high time that they should be up and doing, and no longer to sit with folded arms, in ominous silence.
When the enemy is thundering at the gate, all must share in the defence of the fortress, or take the consequences of the approaching storm. The way is pointed out to us in Scripture by the Lord himself. To our prayers we must unite personal exertions, if we would hope to retain our manifold blessings, or escape from the manifest dangers which threaten us both individually, and as a nation. In Scripture, in the Exodus, we read, “ The Lord said unto Moses, Wherefore criest thou unto me? Speak unto the children of Israel that they go forward.” Go forward, that although He could at once have wafted the whole host over by a word, yet it pleased (as it almost always has been his will that his responsible human beings should join with his Holy Spirit in using the desired means. I would, moreover, beg to remind the dignitaries of the Church, of the denunciation pronounced in Scripture against the lukewarm, “I will spue thee out of my mouth.” I would adjure the whole sacred body not to allow the candle, lit by Latimer and Ridley, to be extinguished, but to remember, and to rest assured, that if there be any truth in history, if there be any meaning in prophecy, the same power which dragged the abovementioned Protestant Bishop martyrs to the stake, with many others, in the reign of bloody Mary, only waits its time, and the acquirement of power to evince, that it is still as deeply as ever imbued with the same persecuting spirit, with the same unquenchable hatred to Protestantism ; and that not having the love of the truth, it (the man of sin, &c.) will continue to cherish this hatred of the truth until the end ; until “consumed by the breath of the mouth of the Lord, and destroyed by the brightness of his coming.”
I remain yours,
WISHART AND HAMILTON.
ERIN MAVOURNEEN !
ERIN BE FREE! TO THE ROMAN CATHOLICS OF IRELAND. ENGLISHMEN pity your condition. They desire to be of use to you. But neither their law, nor their Gospel, nor their charity can do you any real and permanent good, unless you will be true to yourselves as men, and as free men.
" Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not
Who would be free, himself must strike the blow?" Who are the slaves ? You, the Roman Catholics of Ireland, you are the slaves in body and mind, compelled to act and even to think at the bidding of another.
Who are the slaveholders ; the men who not unfrequently make use of horsewhips to frighten, if not to smite you as beasts of burden ?
Who are the slaveholders, who have possession of your consciences, so that you cannot have peace of mind till they choose to absolve you?
Who are the slaveholders, who have possession of your pockets, so that you cannot feed and clothe your wives or your children, or yourselves, till you have paid them the station-money and the Liberator's rint ?
Who are the slaveholders, who have possession of your wives and daughters, so that no family secret can be kept from them ; and so that, if you wished to enjoy the common liberty of man, to read the holy word of God, you dare not let your own flesh and blood see you, for fear they would tell in the Confessional, and bring you into trouble ?
Who are the slaveholders, who have possession of your votes, so that, if you voted for a good landlord, who is no repealer, you would not get your child christened, your wife churched, or yourself anointed, if you were at the point of death.
Who are the slaveholders ?
“ Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not
Who would be free, himself must strike the blow?”
Charles M'Loughlin * would be free. He struck the blow, and gained his liberty. And now, if he should be persecuted, even unto death, by the slaves around him, at the secret instigation of reverend slaveholders, it is better and nobler far to die a freeman (whom God's truth makes free) than live a slave :
Who hates the Bible? fears the sacred light?
MONTMORENCY.-A CATHOLIC TALE. At the foot of one of those mountains which separate the province of — from — , stood the ancient castle of the house of Montmorency, whose ancestors had signalized themselves in olden times by many a deed of chivalry. The lapse of ages had greatly impaired the fortunes of the noble owners, as well as levelled with the dust many a stately tower of the solid fabric of the old chateau. Much of the building was suffered to remain in ruins, mantled with creeping ivy and haunted by the lonely night-owl, the rest had been repaired, from time to time, and now exhibited a combination of modern taste and convenience with the ancient architecture of bygone ages. It is not our intention to dwell on the former splendour and comparative poverty of this noble house. At the time our tale commences, its present owner, Sir Hubert, after a youth and manhood spent in the service of his country, had retired to enjoy, in the bosom of domestic tranquillity, that repose which his declining age needed, and henceforth to derive his happiness from the society of an amiable wife and two lovely children, the latter of whom, an only son, was looked upon as the sole prop of his house, and early destined to a soldier's life. If fortune had bestowed her gifts with a sparing hand, nature had amply compensated ; his figure was tall and graceful, his countenance strikingly handsome, combining sweetness of expression with strength and dignity. His natural vivacity and ardour of disposition was yet tempered with thought and reflection, and while he entered with
* The report of the trial of M'Loughlin v. Walsh, appeared in a former number of this periodical, and was, as our readers will recollect, an action brought by a Roman Catholic tradesman against his Priest, for damages incurred by a sentence of excommunication.
spirit in the pursuits of those of his own age, he yet preferred the pleasures of intellect and reflection to the gayer sports of his companions, and a solitary ramble amongst the mountain scenery of his native home had charms for him with which his boyish friends could ill participate. By many the young Hubert was considered reserved and proud, some even called him cold-hearted; for they little knew the depth of feeling which lay buried in his bosom, concealed from the gaze of common eyes, yet ready to show itself in every noble deed. His sister, Clara, was in many respects the reverse of her brother. Volatile as the air, warm-hearted, and imprudent, she was yet far from deficient in sense and understanding, but, delighting in gaiety and amusement, she had little sympathy in the graver musings of her brother, and was seldom better pleased than when she had put them all to flight by her native playfulness. Yet there existed between them a bond of union, warm and tender ; the most childish amusement of his sister's was dear to him because it was Clara's, and to wander with her in the forests, chase the squirrels from their nests, and pluck the fairest flowers, was the sweet employment of the happy days of sunny childhood. Too little passed in the domestic circle to merit the attention of the reader. If there was one feeling in Hubert's bosom deeper than another, it was that of devoted affection to his mother. She, and she alone, entered into his every feeling ; she touched his faults with a hand of love so delicate that her chiding, if it caused a pain, never caused a shade of anger. Her approbation was the sunshine of his life, the stimulant to every exertion. She implanted in his heart the love of virtue, as the noblest pursuit of man. She pointed to heaven, the abode of future blessedness, as the reward of merit. She did this ; she could do no more. She had never heard of better tidings. She had been educated in Romish darkness, and the pure, the bright, the glorious Gospel had never shone on her. Believing that heaven was to be merited by human obedience, she was herself most scrupulous in the performance of those good works which should entitle her to its glories; and if she felt, ás all really sincere must feel, her conscience ill satisfied by her best performances, her fears were quieted by that false peace with which the ministers of the Romish Church so well contrive to lull to fatal silence the anxieties of an awakened soul-a peace which, alas ! is often only broken by the solemn realities of another
A devoted member of the Church of Rome, Sir Hubert would have considered his duty to his family ill performed, had he not engaged as confessor a Jesuit priest, who resided in his house, as spiritual guide to every member, and as bosom friend to himself. It was matter of surprise to many of the humble villagers that, of all the domestics who had resided in the castle for many years, and were looked upon as necessary parts of the establishment, two only were absent, and they the two who once stood highest in favour ; but around their history there hung a shade of mystery to penetrate which had been a vain attempt ; they had been, were not, and, as if by common consent, their names were never heard. It had been noticed, by the more observant, that when the absentees were alluded to, a flush of anger clouded the brow of Father Joachim, (the priest,) whilst the gentle countenance of Lady de Montmorency was saddened by a melancholy so deeply touching, that fear for the former and love for the latter alike prevented the mention of their names ; and in the years that had intervened since their first disappearance, they had been comparatively forgotten. Time passed on, the boy had grown into the youth, and Hubert was pursuing his studies at the military school in Paris. The bitterest tears Clara ever shed, flowed at parting with her brother, but they were soon dried with the elasticity of feeling so natural to her; and, much quicker than her most sanguine hopes anticipated, she clasped again her darling brother to her heart, grown improved in every way, not only thought his fond sister, but even his anxious mother, who dreaded the ordeal which her son must experience in entering the busy scenes of life, and exposed to the dissipation of the gayest city in Europe. Home, and his mother's society, had lost none of its charms to Hubert, yet after the first flush of excitement had passed, his mother's looks excited his painful interest ; to his affectionate inquiries he received repeated assurances that she did not suffer, and he tried to dissipate a vague feeling of apprehension which stole over his heart. Of his father he saw less than usual, and when he did, he conversed but little. Father Joachim, on the contrary, appeared unusually cheerful, and to have gained a greater influence even than he had before over Sir Hubert. One evening the usual hour for family worship had arrived, but Father Joachim did not appear ; his mother, too, was not there, he looked at his father, whose countenance was unusually sad ; he was about to inquire the cause, when both the parties entered. Traces of tears were on his mother's face, and a smile of exultation on that of the confessor, who ran through the accustomed service in a manner less reverential and more absent than usual. For the first time in his life Hubert passed a restless night, and felt really unhappy ; vainly did he question his gentle mother as to the cause of her grief. “ It is gone, my son ; it was but a moment of weak compassion, of sinful rebellion ; ask me no questions, I have much cause for gratitude.” A week more passed, and the day arrived for Hubert's return to Paris. It might have been fancy, but he thought his mother never blessed him so warmly, never smiled so sadly, nor answered so incredulously when he spoke of the certainty of their future meeting. But the horses flew swiftly, the towers of Montmorency faded in the distance, and ere he had recovered his spirits, the streets of Paris were beneath his feet. Youth, happy youth, sorrow with thee is of short continuance, hope has not yet deceived too often to be again believed, when her sunny smiles deck the unknown future in rainbow colours, colours as bright, as beautiful, and transitory, as the bubble which bursts before the astonished eye of childhood, and leaves only the remembrance that it was fair and lovely, yet vanished ere the eager hand could grasp it, The morning's sun dawned brightly on Hubert's sleeping pillow, he awoke, and ashamed of yielding to needless sorrow, roused himself to exertion; the study of his profession, and society of his friends, soon dissipated his melancholy, but above all, a letter received from Clara, confidently assuring him of his mother's health and happiness,