vileges, even on its own showing of their extent, in abuses the most fearful and souldestroying. Is it wonderful that some who set themselves to gainsay its usurpations, failed, in the corruption which they saw, to find the simple, scriptural original? and under the exclusive worship, mumbled in an unknown tongue, of a mass-and pardonmongering ministry, lost sight of the Christian priesthood and its spiritual sacrifices? Some, not all; for God be thanked, our branch of the Catholic Church of Christ, while it purged away the accumulated errors that had soiled its discipline and worship, retained alike the form of sound words in doctrine, and the golden casket of ritual observances, that it found transmitted, unbroken and unchanged from primitive days and apostolic men." Where was the Church, we ask, before these errors were purged away? Was it the body known as the Catholic Church? It must have been; since that was the only channel in existence through which "the form of sound words" could be transmitted; and if this is the case, how can it be said that this Church of Christ was characterized by a half discarded paganism, an almost blasphemous use of the Eucharistic institution? Are such imputations consistent with the promises of our Saviour to his Church, by which he pledged his word to remain with her "all days to the consummation of the world?"* From what source, we again ask, did the Anglican church receive the "golden casket of ritual observances" and the ministerial succession to which she lays claim? Could it have been from other any source than the Church which existed at the time of the Reformation, that is, the Catholic Church? And if such is the supposition, if she acknowledged the Catholic Church to be a faithful guardian of the ritual observances and ministerial succession, why did she not also adhere to that same Church as a creditable witness of religious truth? Bishop Whittingham informs us that the ministers of the gospel "bear the warrant of Christ to teach, premonish, exhort and rebuke with all authority, a people charged to obey them, * Matth. xxviii. as having rule over them;"* and in installing the Rev. Mr. Johns, he tells the peoplet "Receive him who is now set over you as your pastor, as the representative of Christ." We should infer from this language that he considers the Protestant pastor as having a real authority to instruct his flock in the Christian religion. But if this is his meaning, what signify the remarks that follow? "So far as his teaching is conformable to that rule, (the Bible), hear him, as you would hear his master; for by him his master speaks." The people then are the judges after all; yet the pastor is the representative of Christ!! These contradictions in the bishop's pamphlet, we contend, are totally irreconcileable and inexplicable: and with that spirit of charity which prompts an interest in the welfare of others, we call upon our dissenting brethren seriously to examine these and other difficulties, which are the necessary consequences of their religious system. The bishop of the Protestant Episcopal church in Maryland uses this language: "Is any sick among you,' say the scriptures of the New Testament, let him call for the elders of the Church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord, and the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him!' Is less power here attributed to the elder in the Church of Christ, than the part of the Mosaic priest in the sin-offering implied ?" He therefore supposes that the power alluded to in this passage of St. James' epistle, belongs to the elders of the Church; why then do they not exercise it? If Christ conferred this power for the benefit of his people, why do their ministers withhold the blessings which may flow from it? Again: the bishop declares that sins are remitted in the communion, while Mr. Johns contends that it has no efficacy to procure this remission. Now if the pastor is to be obeyed as the representative of Christ, a serious difficulty will here present itself; which of the two pastors in this instance is orthodox in his faith? In * Priesthood in the Church, p. 26. † Ibid. p. 23. Ibid. 9. P. Prot. Episc. Pustor, p. 17. reference to the Eucharistic institution what doctrine is to be held by the Protestant Episcopalian? Is it that of Mr. Johns who describes the sacrament as a mere memorial, or that of a Layman, who presents himself in defence of the bishop, and pronounces it more than a memorial, and even a mystery?* How will these questions be decided? By reference to the church? But we are assured by a Layman, that the church herself does not pretend to say what is to be believed."+ Moreover where is the church, or what is it? What tribunal does the church recognize, whose authority may not suffer an appeal? The whole question therefore is wrapped in uncertainty for the Episcopalian. In vain is he referred to the teaching of his church; * A Letter, &c., p. 6. † A Letter, &c., p. 12. "It seems to the writer that the Church teaches, that in a high, mysterious, and if you will, unintelligible sense, the body and blood of our blessed Lord are communicated to us when we faithfully receive the bread and wine.... What the sense of the church is, perhaps nobody can exactly say, &c." This is truly a most extraordinary avowal. Christ's body and blood are communicated to the worthy receiver, although the author declares that they are not present in the sacrament either by consubstantiation or transubstantiation. Then they must be absent. But how can they be received, if they are absent? How can they be present and absent at the same moment? If the Catholic doctrine is a mystery, it is at least no contradiction, as the poet has well observed: The literal sense is hard to flesh and blood, this church, as we have seen, refers him back to his own interpretation of the Bible: it professes indeed to have the right of defining the true faith, and by a most glaring inconsistency it allows the Christian to adopt only that portion of its teaching, which he believes to be conformable to the Scriptures. Will his doubts be settled by the Thirty-nine articles? But the sense of the Thirty-nine articles has never yet been determined; and to thisday it is a disputed point in what sense the clergy of the English establishment are required to subscribe assent to these articles at their ordination.* From the preceding observations the reader will judge that the meaning of the articles is not better ascertained in this country. Questions of this grave import, however, relating to the integrity and purity of the Christian faith, are certainly deserving of attentive consideration, and we leave our dissenting friends to decide, whether they can safely repose in the bosom of a church which claims so high an authority, while its practical operation is evidently nugatory, and realizes no one of those distinctive characters which the Son of God so visibly impressed upon the Church that he established. W. * See Westminster Review, No. 130, American Edition. “A PRINCIPLE. A TALE. "Alas! for those who love, yet may not blend in prayer."- MRS. HEMANS. ND I may hope, dear Ellen," said Arthur Seabrook to a fair girl who was hanging upon his arm, one balmy day in June, as they wandered amid the rich woods, and descended the lofty cliffs which overhang one of the fairest scenes in the west; "I may-I must believe those eloquent looks, even though your words deny their import." There was a short silence; for they were just mid-way up the cliff, from whose bosom gushes forth that miniature cataract in Illinois, known as the 66 falling water" by the Americans, but by the old inhabitants called by its French and more euphonious title of "L'eau qui tombe." The scene was picturesque and beautiful to an eminent degree. A pic-nic party from St. Louis had crossed over to the neighboring state a few hours before, and after driving along the upper road, through the ancient and French-looking village of Cahokia, and resting a few moments at the rural abode of the village priest, had partaken of his hospitality, preparatory to a late breakfast. They had succeeded in persuading their venerable host to join them in a day of recreation, and after continuing their excursion a few miles further, had halted at the stream formed by the little cascade just mentioned. The horses had been taken from the different vehicles, watered and hitched in various places. The cloth had been spread upon a shaded grass plot and the viands carried from the city for the day's refreshment had been partaken of, amid laughter, song, and recitation; the greatest liveliness prevailed among the gentlemen of the party, and the exhilarating ride, the fresh air, and touching loveliness of the novel scene had produced a similar effect upon the ladies. All were in the finest spirits the laugh of childhood mingled with the wild melody of birds-and the varied notes uttered by the human voice to tempt an echo in reply, died away in strange vibrations of disappointment to the ear. The party had broken into separate groups of two and three, as accident or fancy prompted. Some had strayed away among the woods and vines growing thickly around, and others had, as they said, gone to seek the presiding deity of the scene amid its darker recesses. One or two gentlemen, more adventurous than the rest, had ascended to the highest pinnacle of the cliff and stood triumphantly above the gushing stream. Arthur Seabrook at this moment joined Ellen Hudson at the base of the rock, where she was standing wrapt in contemplation of the scene, and apparently unconscious of his approach. She had, however, felt his presence, and the awkwardness of her own position; and turning towards him she said: "Let us seek the Naiad of the fountain at its source; perhaps we may be more fortunate than Mary in her search for a wood nymph, or Mr. F. in his hail for an echo;" and they were ascending the cliff for this ostensibly poetic purpose, when our tale commences. Though Ellen's true object had been action, she did not wish to trust her heart alone amid that quiet scene, beneath its romantic and softening influences, with her elegant and highly gifted admirer. Besides, she had given him not four hours before, when he ment. had seemingly been in great and imminent danger from one of those accidents which but too frequently occur in steamboat navigation, an evidence of affection which she would gladly have avoided, had nature wrought less powerfully in her pure and deeply feeling bosom. His danger had been great but instantaneous-Ellen's quick eye alone had witnessed its extent, and when he joined her the next minute, it was to catch her sinking form in his arms, overcome as she was by an emotion of fainting. It was to this he alluded when he addressed to her the opening words of our narrative. They had paused to repose for a moment, and Ellen had turned to look upon the beauty of the scene below. She was a girl whom few would have termed beautiful, for the charm of symmetry was wanting in her features, and the Grecian artist might have turned away from her face in disappointBut the higher charms of intellect, of thought, and of feeling, lent to her every look and gesture a fascination which none could fail to discern. It was this rare combination of heart and mind that had won for her the love of Arthur Seabrook. She was a distant relative of his mother, and had been invited to her house during Arthur's absence from the West the year before. She was an orphan, and about the same age as his sister Mary; and Mrs. Seabrook having been warmly attached to her parents, had offered her a home upon her leaving school, and as her mother had died since she was last in Baltimore, Ellen was glad not to return thither. Having been an only child and in independent circumstances, she was very grateful for the home of love and kindness thus afforded her, and soon became a delighted denizen in the house of her aunt. Arthur, Mary and "Little Sue," a bright-eyed child of five years old, were the only members of Mrs. Seabrook's family. Her kind protectress had not been long a widow, but her sorrows, though deeply felt by herself, were never obtruded upon others. She had invited Ellen Hudson to her house as much to insure her daughter's happiness, as to secure an asylum for the orphan, where her young years might glide on in the tran quil enjoyment of pleasures suitable to her age and station. Mrs. Seabrook, though a strict member of the Church of England, was no condemner of the innocent gaieties of life. She loved to see her children happy and did all in her power to promote their pleasures. Arthur was a noble creature, the pride of his mother and sisters, highminded, enterprising, and accomplished. He had been recalled home from foreign travel, by the death of his father, and embarked as his successor in a large and lucrative mercantile establishment in St. Louis, to the business of which he had ever since devoted a mind of no ordinary capacity, and the energies of a character of no common order. Mary was a sweet, gentle fairhaired girl, whose clear complexion and full blue eyes were ever-betraying the overflowing sensibilities of her heart. Little Sue was the pet and play-thing of the whole family, blending many of the characteristics of each, yet still preserving enough of individuality to render her the darling of all. Ellen's brightened feelings harmonized well with the different members of this charming family, and she had learned to love as deeply as she was beloved by them. There were few topics upon which their sentiments or principles were at variance, and these, by a tacit good taste and good breeding were seldom discussed; and when introduced at all, the innate politeness of each, prevented remarks that could by possibility border upon rudeness. Such were the portion of the pic-nic party to which our story leads, and we return from our long digression to resume the conversation between Arthur and Ellen. Arthur stood leaning against a tree, the bark of which was cut with names and initials in endless variety and number. Ellen was on a rock but a few feet distant above him, and almost within the spray of the fountain. She stood as it were unsupported; her gentle eye was turned to her companion, and her whole figure and attitude were so statue-like that an observer from below might have mistaken her for the Naiad she had sought. She commenced in a clear, low tone, but neither her voice nor manner faltered as she spoke. "Arthur!" she said, "I had hoped this painful subject would never have been broached between us again. But you will have it otherwise-and after the weakness you beheld in me this morning, I can no longer deny that I love you-nay, move not, but hear me. Deeply do I regret that it is so-for, as to myself, I have power to conquer the feeling. My admiration for your talents, and respect for your virtues, I am proud to acknowledge; but the woman's weakness which has permitted me to love where I should not, is as humbling to my pride, as it is painful for me to confess. Let me pray that you will forget it, for I never can be yours!" "And why not mine, Ellen? what is there you object to in one so devoted? My mother and my sisters will glory in my choice and my whole heart—” "Nay, Arthur," said she, interrupting him, "urge me no more. Dear Arthur, it is very painful to hear you; but, you know I am a Catholic." "And is that all ?" said he, with a joyous laugh, whose notes of happiness rung above the sound of the falling waters. " Oh Ellen, was it for such a trifle as this, that you would have discarded me?" and he bent forward as if to take her hand. But there was no answering look of pleasure on her calm and thoughtful face; and her manner repressed his ardor. "I will wed with none who holds a different faith," she said, in the same deep, earnest, heartfelt tone. The answer was so firm that it startled him; and, he could only gaze upon her for a moment, in wonder and uncertainty; but she moved neither limb nor feature, and seemed almost a part of the rock she stood upon. It is principle that sustains her, was his first conviction; admiration followed in its wake, and then came the rapid hope to win her from her purpose. After a pause of several minutes, he slowly moved towards her; his look subdued, his manner tender and deferential-" Let me hope," said he, "dear Ellen, and it shall be as you wish. I will concede every thing to you I will respect your principles, and never interfere with your practice”— "It cannot be," she replied, " Arthur, I have heard you wonder how any one could be a Roman Catholic; you have jested with me on my blindness; in short, I cannot hope to see you a practical and believing Catholic, and none other can I marry." She was still firm, though a tear had risen to her eye, and her lip quivered, memory was busy at her heart. Arthur mistook her emotion for yielding, and pressed his suit more closely. "Listen to me, Arthur," said Ellen, as she now seated herself upon one of the fragments of rock which lay around them. "I will tell you a tale of my childhood :— :-My father was one of the most urbane, elegant, and intellectual men I ever knew; his general deportment was all amiability and affection. My mother was the most gentle and devoted wife, yielding to her husband on all subjects, but one, and anticipating his every wish and pleasure. He had been educated an Episcopalian, she a Roman Catholic. At the period of their union, they were both young. My father soon rose to eminence in his profession; and my mother having much leisure, devoted the hours of his absence to the investigation of religious truth; for she saw that my father had begun to wish, she I could unite herself to the communion of that church of which he was a member. Faithfully did she fulfil her duty as a wife, in trying to divest her mind of all the prejudices of education and the predilections of her youth. There was no work which she could obtain, that she did not patiently peruse, and carefully compare, until three years had passed away in her labor of love. The result was to confirm her in the tenets of the Church in which she had been educated, and to enable her to instruct me in the faith she so firmly cherished. Impressed with the vast importance of her subject, my dear mother's reading had rendered her deeply pious. The world became altogether of secondary interest to her, eternal life her chief object in this; and child as I was, I well remember the eare she took to impress the solemn truths of religion upon my infant mind. My father who had also become more attached to his church as he advanced in life, beheld these efforts at first with sorrow, but for a long time forbore to remonstrate. My mother was so gentle he could not bear to wound her by differences of opin ion. At first, a passing jest in my presence upon the subject, then a sarcasm, and then a positive command that I should not be taught the mummeries of popery, were the gradations which marked his increasing displeasure. My mother, who seldom opposed him, had let the joke pass unnoticed—the sarcasm she met with tears-but the command aroused her to a sense of the higher duty which she owed her Maker, and she expressed her determination to resist the command of her husband, and to instruct her child, the only one committed to her care, in the only true faith, as she professed the Catholic to be-I was at this time about ten years old. But though I distinctly recollect the scenes that took place-you must pardon me, Arthur, if I forbear to repeat them. Our house, from having been the literal abode of peace and happiness, had as literally become that of discord and anarchy; differences in religion led to differences on other subjects; harsh words, and bitter feelings sprung up between those who had vowed to love, to honor, and to cherish; forbearing the foibles of each other, and clinging together until death. Oh, Arthur, what would have been my fate, had not my father at this time, in a moment of irritation at my mother's perseverance, placed me at a Presbyterian boarding-school? Already religion had become to me the most fearful of words; its mention by either of my parents gave rise to such dreadful scenes-such angry words and unkind looks-I began to doubt, to dislike, and to dread having any part in that which made those who possessed it so disagreeable, and so different to what they had formerly been; and I was happy to get into a school where I could escape it altogether, by fixing my mind upon my lessons, or other subjects, during the long extemporaneous prayers daily offered by our well meaning teacher. Three years passed in this manner, and I was summoned to my father's funeral. An accident had snapped the cord that bound him to existence. My mother had closed his eyes; but there had been no words of forgiveness between them; for he was speechless when she reached him. The agony of my mother's mind was only increased by the large for |