ally defective, although the author may not incur any severe censure for the warmth of those sentiments which have led him astray.

If a specimen of these little ebullitions were wanting, after what has been already laid before the reader, under other heads, we might refer to his belief, which seems quite sincere,, that the dissemination of the French language has mainly contributed to the overthrow of European independence. He not only declaims against the preference given to a semibarbarous jargon' (as he terms the language of the Henriade, the Jardins, the Heloise, of Bossuet and Fenelon) as a matter of taste; but he complains at great length, and with a semblance of argumentation, of its various political effects. The reader may imagine that these are deduced from its being made the vehicle of Infidelity-of what Mr Eustace calls the voluminous and cumbersome Encyclopedie,' and which he seems to imagine is a mere dictionary of atheism.-But if this were all, unhappily translation would be as effectual as the knowledge of the original. Mr Eustace, however, argues from its influence in negociations; and ascribes to it the assumed fact, that England has generally thrown away at a peace, all she had been gaining by war. This is a large field, and we cannot now enter on it ;-but we believe no proposition is capable of a more clear demonstration than this-That where England has made inadequate treaties, as, Heaven knows, she but too often has done the fault lies, not in the bad French of her ambassadors, nor yet in their want of diplomatic skill (the effects of which are confined to a very subordinate sphere in all negociations) but must be ascribed to the popular form of her government; which, with all its incalculable advantages, has one inseparable drawback, that it stands frequently in the way of successful diplomacy; and this, not only by hampering the Executive, where it should be most ef ficient, nor yet by the publicity which it gives to cabinet measures, but with a view at least to questions of peace, because, after war has continued too long, and the people get tired of it, they hurry their rulers into any treaty whereby it may be got rid of, and lose, in the feeling of present burthens, all recollection either of the original cause of quarrel, or of the successes of their arms. As a remedy for all this, our author gravely recommends, that Latin be henceforth used in negociations; but we believe he would come down a little, and, splitting the difference, take Italian ;-in short, any thing, rather than the jargon which is made an instrument of slavery, and a tool of atheism, the cup of Circe, which makes him who imbibes "it forget his God, his country, his very nature,-and become Epicuri de grege porcus.' (Vol. II. p. 269.)

The most interesting part of the Dissertation relates to the Italian clergy, secular and regular; and, for the purpose of correcting the prevailing errors on this subject, in foreign countries, we shall extract some passages; premising, that it would be quite superfluous to enter into any argument at this day, to show, that the learned author greatly underrates the force of the objections urged against monastic institutions.

The traveller must not confound with the clergy a set of men who wear the clerical habit merely as a convenient dress, that enables them to appear respectably in public places, to insinuate themselves into good company, and sometimes to cover principles and conduct very opposite to the virtues implied by such a habit. The intrigues and vices of these adventurers have too often been attributed, by hasty and ignorant persons, to the body whose uniform they presume to wear, with just as much reason as the deceptions of swindlers might be ascribed to the gentlemen whose names are sometimes assumed for such sinister purposes. It must however be acknowledged, that the clerical body in Italy is too numerous; that many supernumeraries might be retrenched; and that such a reform would contribute much to the edification of the public, and to the reputation of the body itself. But, wherever any profession has acquired celebrity, or any corporation seems to open a wider or a shorter road to preferment, its ranks will necessarily be crowded, and the very avenues to it besieged with pretenders. This evil is now rapidly decreasing. The ecclesiastical profession, since the Church has been plundered and insulted by the French, is no longer the road either to fame or to fortune. The attractions it retains are merely spiritual, and not likely to allure a multitude, or to compensate, in the opinion of many, the restraints which it necessarily imposes.

We now come to the regular clergy, so called because they live under certain rules or statutes, and take upon themselves obligations not connected with the clerical profession. This body is very numerous, exhibits a great variety of dresses, and strongly attracts the attention of an English traveller, who, if a zealous Protestant, is apt to feel, at the sight of one of its individuals, an aversion or antipathy similar to that which some hypochondriac persons are said to experience in the presence of cats and other domestic animals. The regular clergy may be divided into two great classes, Monks and Friars, who, though they are bound in common by the three vows of Poverty, of Chastity, and of Obedience, yet live under very different regulations. The former, under various appellations, follow almost universally the rule of St Benedict, who, in the sixth centu ry, attempted to regulate the monastic life which had been introduced into Italy and the Western Church in the age preceding. His rule is rather a treatise of morality than a book of statutes, as it recommends many virtues, and prescribes fow regulations, which re

gard principally the disposal of time, and the order of the psalms, the duties of the two principal officers of the abbey, and the practice of hospitality. It enjoins manual labour, and presupposes the existence of a library in each monastery. Much is left to the discretion of the Superior; particularly the dress, in which the prudent founder recoinmends plainness, and cautions against singularity. The truth is, that in their hours, their habit, their diet, and their employments, the first monks nearly resembled the better sort of peasants. The cowl, a long black gown or toga intended to cover their working dress, and to give them a decent appearance in church, was, at first, the only external distinction. In process of time, the general promotion of the monks to holy orders, their application to literature, and, above all, their adherence to the forms, the hours, and the manners of the age of their institution, made the distinction more striking, and at length marked them out as a peculiar and separate tribe.

It would be unjust to pass over in silence, two circumstances highly creditable to this Order. In the first place, the Benedictins have ever been averse to innovations, and have endeavoured to retain, in the liturgy, and in the public service of the Church, the forms and the order that prevailed in the times of their founder; and thus, by discouraging petty practices and whimsical modes or expressions of devotion, invented by persons of more piety than prudence, they have in a certain degree preserved, unadulterated and undegraded, the purer and more majestic ceremonial of the ancients. In the next place, in political struggles, the monks have either observed a charitable neutrality, befriending the distressed, and allaying the animosities of both parties; or, if forced to declare themselves, they have generally joined the cause, if in such cases either could claim to be the cause, of their country and of justice. In scholastic debates, which have not unfrequently been conducted with great rancour and some mischief, they have acted with the coolness of spectators unconcerned in the result, and seem occasionally to have laughed in secret at the furious zeal with which the contending parties supported or attacked air-built theories and visionary systems. Even in the more important contests on religious articles, which sometimes burst forth before the Reformation, and have raged with lesser or greater, but always with most malevolent animosity, ever since that event; in contests which have ruffled the smoothest minds, and soured the sweetest tempers, the Benedicting alone seem to have been exempt from the common frenzy, have preserved their usual calmness in the midst of the general tempest, and have kept strictly within the bounds of christian charity and moderation. Among them we find no inquisitors, no persecutors. Though plundered, stripped, insulted, in most reformed countries, they seem rather to have deplored in silence, what they must have considered as the errors and the madness of the times, than inveighed against it in public; and, content with the testimony of their own

consciences, they appear to have renounced, with manly piety, the pleasure of complaint and of invective.' II. 539-547.

Of the mendicant orders of friars, our author speaks very dif ferently. After enumerating several of their classes, he says,

All these, and others of less note, were originally intended to act as assistants to the clergy in the discharge of their parochial du. ties; but in process of time, the auxiliaries became more numerous than the main body, and not unfrequently excited its jealousy and hatred by trenching upon its prerogatives, and by usurping part of its credit and of its functions. In fact, they had contrived, first, by pontifical exemptions, to shake off the legal authority of their respective bishops; next, by similar concessions, to acquire some share of their apostolical powers; and, lastly, by certain privileges annexed to their oratories, to gather congregations, and to draw the people away from the regular parochial service. These were great abuses, and in towns, where the Friars had numerous convents, tended not a little to divert the attention of the public from the spirit and the simplicity of the ancient liturgy, to shows, images, and exhibitions. However, to compensate, if any compensation can be made for such evils, the mendicant Orders produced several great men: each, in its time, had roused the age from a lethargy of ignorance, and had awakened, partially at least, a spirit of inquiry and of improvement. Besides, in small towns, in numerous villages, and in lonely or distant provinces, they still continue to fulfil their original object, and, as I have hinted above, to afford a necessary assistance to the ordinary pastors. They are, in general, considered as too numerous; and from the frequency with which they meet the eye in certain capitals, I am inclined to admit this conclusion. But, as the population of Italy is very great, amounting to eighteen millions at least, and as all that immense population professes the same religion, the surplus may not be so excessive as is usually imagined. At all events, this evil is daily diminishing, and the succeeding generations in Italy, as in most other countries, will probably have reason to lament the want, rather than complain of the number, of religious ministers.' II. p. 550, 551.

And in a former passage of his book, we find language on this subject, strong enough to satisfy even our strong Presbyterian antipathies. The mendicant orders, he says, (vol. II. p. 245), are every where remarkable for absurd practices, childish forms of devotion, and pious trumpery of every kind, to amuse the populace, and attract them to their churches.'

6

The Appendix, as we have already observed, contains the most curious particulars of the Romish hierarchy to be met with in this work. Indeed we know not that any book on the subject lets us so much into the secret, especially of the papal court. Our limits will only allow of one extract, relating to this singular

subject; and, with this, we reluctantly close these volumes,once more expressing our unfeigned respect towards the author, and our gratitude for the pleasure he has afforded us.

Whenever he (the Pope) appears in public, or is approached even in private, his person is encircled with reverence and with majesty. In public, a large silver cross raised on high is carried before him, as a sacred banner, the church bells ring as he passes, and all kneel in his sight. When he officiates at the patriarchal Basilicæ he is carried from his apartments in the adjoining palace to the church in a chair of state, though in the chancel his throne is merely an ancient episcopal chair, raised only a few steps above the seats of the cardinals or clergy. In private, as the pontifical palaces are vast and magnificent, there are perhaps more apartments to be traversed, and greater appearances of splendour in the approach to his person, than in an introduction to any other Sovereign. In his antichamber, a prelate in full robes is always in waiting, and when the bell rings, the door of the pontifical apartment opens, and the Pope is seen in a chair of state with a little table before him. The person presented kneels once at the threshold, again in the middle of the room, and lastly, at the feet of the Pontiff, who, according to circumstances, allows him to kiss the cross embroidered on his shoes, or presents his hand to raise him. The Pontiff then converses with him a short time, and dismisses him with some slight present of beads, or medals, as a memorial. The ceremony of genuflection is again repeated,

and the doors close.

'The pomp which environs the Pontiff in public, and attracts the attention so forcibly, may perhaps appear to many, a glorious and enviable distinction; but there are few, I believe, who would not, if accompanied by it in all the details of ordinary life, feel it an intolerable burthen. Other sovereigns have their hours of relaxation; they act their part in public, and then throw off their robes, and mix in the domestic circle with their family or their confidants. The Pope has no hours of relaxation; always encumbered with the same robes, surrounded by the same attendants, and confined within the magic circle of etiquette, he labours for ever under the weight of his dignity, and may, if influenced by ordinary feelings, often sigh in vain, for the leisure and the insignificance of the college or the cloister. A morning of business and application closes with a solitary meal; a walk in the gardens of the Quirinal or the Vatican, a visit to a church or an hospital, are his only exercises. Devotion and business, the duties of the Pontiff and of the Prince, successively occupy his hours, and leave no vacant interval for the indulgence of the taste, or the arrangement of the affairs of the individual. What honours can compensate for a life of such restraint and confinement!

Í have said, a solitary meal,-for the Pope never dines in company, so that to him a repast is no recreation; it is consequently short and frugal. Sixtus Quintus is reported to have confined the expenses of FOL. XXI. NO, 42. E..