works written on both sides: the memory of the Arian controversy is not lost." I was struck by the argument and the parallel. He pressed me. "What do you call the dark ages?"-“ The tenth century is called by Cave, a learned English divine, seculum tenebrosum."—" Berenger of Angers, in the eleventh century, who first taught the figurative sense, found all the world in the belief of the real presence."-"First? you forget the apostles."- It is for you to prove that they taught the figurative sense. St. John Chrysostom, who lived in the fourth age, preached on this subject like a catholic doctor of the present day.—" Really? I have his works; I will refer to the passages."- "Will you give me leave to send you a treatise on this subject, entitled La perpétuité de la foi de l'église touchant l'eucharistie?" As I was going to convert

the Jews by a Bampton lecture, I said I did not wish to engage in reading a great work in old French: I inferred that it was old French from the word touchant. M. Beaumont assured me that it was written in very good French of the present time, as also in a very agreeable style: he told me, that at any rate I should have time to read the tract of Nicole, of a few pages only, stating the argument; that if I did not approve of it, I need not read the Perpétuité by Arnaud, which was the development of Nicole's text. I assented, and he wished me a good evening.

These books and others are read, and produce conviction in a manner which is amply described. The conversion of the Jews is forgotten, and the author proceeds to London to be reconciled to the "really true church."

I told M. Beaumont that, as he was subjected to the alien act, I would not draw on him the responsibility of receiving my abjuration; that I would go to town for the purpose of making it. Subsequent machinations against him proved my apprehensions to have been well-founded. He asked what I meant by my abjuration: "You will abjure nothing; you will continue to believe all that you believe at present: but you can go to London, if you think right, and the bishop will appoint a priest to reconcile you to the church.' On the 17th of May, 1798, I was present at high mass in St. Patrick's chapel: it was the feast of the Ascension. My emotion betrayed itself in tears, which, in a man of my age, might be regarded as rather a violent symptom; but it called forth no indecorous signs of surprise or curiosity in those near me. I forgot to inquire at the sacristy the address of the bishop, and next morning found myself walking in Hyde Park, alarmed at the step I was about to take, and almost undecided. A friend, who was in my confidence, met me by chance, and, out of regard to my tranquillity, though a protestant, encouraged me to persevere. We turned into Grosvenor-square, and up Duke-street: old Mr. Keating informed us that the bishop lived at No. 4, Castle-street, Holborn. "We please ourselves by calling it the castle." I parted from my friend, and proceeded to the castle alone. An elderly, rather pompous, duenna-looking woman, opened the door of the house, for such it was; not the gate of a castle: his lordship was engaged, but I was desired to walk into the dining-room, which, no doubt, served as an anti-room for want of any other. While I waited here, a French priest came in, who, evidently alarmed at his approaching interview with the bishop, from whom probably he had "something to ask or something to fear," inquired of me," Faut-il faire une genuflexion à Monseigneur?” I answered, that I was unacquainted with the ceremonial expected by Monseigneur ; but that he, M. l'Abbé, had better do as he would on being presented to his own bishop. He took me for a countryman, but " my speech betrayed me." He was called for before me; this I thought unjust; but in a few minutes after the bishop came in and addressed me with, "Qu'est-ce que vous demandez, Monsieur?" Again, thought I, my country is about to be lost to me; but let us hope for a better. I told Dr. Douglass the purport of my visit: he, seeing the affair was one not quickly to be dispatched, requested me to walk up stairs. We seated ourselves on each side of the fire in an old-fashioned wainscotted room with corresponding furniture, the floor half covered by a well-worn Turkey carpet. On the walls, yellow with smoke, hung portraits, which, through the soot that incrusted them, I hardly discerned to be ecclesiastical worthies; Cardinal Allen, perhaps, founder of the college of Douay; a Campion, or Arrowsmith, or other martyrs of the Reformation. A crucifix was set in a conspicuous place: over the chimney a little engraving of Pius VI, then a prisoner. The bishop was a tall thin man, between sixty and seventy, of a healthy look, with a lively and good-natured countenance: he wore a suit of black, not very fresh, with a little, close, white whig. Martinus Scriblerus was proud of being able to form an abstract idea of a Lord Mayor without his gold chain, or red gown, or any other accidents. I had no difficulty in detecting the bishop in the plain man before me; for,

being in his own house, he showed without reserve his pectoral cross, and I saw on his finger a ring in which was set an amethyst.

"This is a very important step, sir; no doubt you have given it due consideration." I gave a succinct account of my studies and motives. May I ask, have you consulted your family and friends? My parents are not living: I am their only surviving child. For my friends, I know beforehand what they would say." "Are you aware of all the civil consequences? The penal laws are repealed; but you will lose your état civil." I bowed my head. "As you are in orders of the church of England, your conversion will excite more than ordinary surprise, and (I say it only to warn you) ill-will against you." "I trust not; people are sufficiently indifferent about such matters." Perhaps you will lose some ecclesiastical benefice?" "I have proceeded no further than deacon's orders, and therefore have no preferment." your expectations?" "I must live without them."

"But

After a little more probing of this sort, and a short pause,-" There is a business which is very distressing to those who are not used to it, as it is very consoling to those who are; I mean confession: we all go to confession; I, who am bishop-the Pope himself. You know, I presume, that you must begin by that?" "I come to beg of your lordship to appoint me a priest." After a little consideration, "Would you wish your priest to be an old man or a young one?" My lord, you know your subjects better than I do : I leave the choice to you: his age is to me a matter of indifference." Many people think otherwise: however, if you will be pleased to call here to-morrow at this hour, I will introduce him to you." I took my leave without a genuflexion, but with a strong sentiment of respect and kindness for this worthy, amiable, old

man.

Thus was this serious step taken. The convert does not seem to have repented. In spite of much that we cannot refrain from considering folly, we feel a deep respect for him. He is a man of honesty and principle, and loves the truth before all the pleasures, and in defiance of all the pains, of the world. His talents, moreover, are not only respectable, but remarkable in their kind. His mind is peculiarly acute, but not powerful; he is dexterous at combating in detail, but incapable of grasping the whole dispute at a glance; he is, probably, moreover, credulous, somewhat timid, easily worked upon, and fond of the exercise of the reverential feelings. He is learned and ingenious, logical and lively; taking indeed very much after the style of many of the French theological writers, whom he admires, and, perhaps, imitates. The tone of this narrative is singular: he writes the history of this affair, which he must have felt as a most grave and important one, with a half-serious, half-trifling air, as if he were recounting the follies and mistakes of some other well-meaning but misguided person, and not himself.

This narrative is dated at Clermont, in Auvergne, 21st March, 1826. From the time of the author's conversion, to his trip to France in 1818, we know nothing of him; an interval we should be glad to see filled up. It is clear that much had taken place, for the college celebate is accompanied on the continent by a wife and a family of children. The author has recorded his observations on France, made during a four years' residence there, in a very pleasant and agreeable manner. His remarks are those of a man of information and of a playful mind, who knows the world. The great subject of the book is, however, the illness and death of his eldest son, a fine young man, of whom education had made a scrupulous saint, and whom the ignorance of the physicians of Avignon made a martyr.

We will make such extracts from this part of the narrative as will give our readers a complete idea of this young man's character, and of the medical treatment which foreign invalids may expect, or at least

run the risk of, in the provinces of France. The tale is one of deep interest for us who know something of these painful matters.

The author begins with his birth; in the spirit manifested in the following extract was the child received: this spirit dwelt upon him till his death in his nineteenth year.

His birth was announced to me at three o'clock in the morning of the 5th of May, 1801. In anxious expectation of this news I had forborne to retire to rest. It was still necessary for me to wait some little time before 1 could be admitted to see my first-born. I then lived at Bath, in the west wing of Lansdown Crescent; behind each house of this building is a long strip of garden, of the breadth of the house. In the tumult of my new affections I went out into my garden: the twilight of the morning was visible: I offered to God this child, who, by the ancient law, would have been consecrated to him, to serve at the altar, if such were the divine will; praying that, in whatever state, he might so live as to secure his own salvation, and contribute to the edification of others: that if he were not to fulfil this only worthy purpose of existence, he might now die in infancy; but that rather his days might be prolonged, if that were to the glory of God, and the increase of his own merit and reward. My prayer was heard: I returned into the house, and gave a father's blessing to the stranger.

In speaking of the youth's childhood, we have some sensible remarks on teaching children through the medium of plays and games.

Henry Kenelm manifested, as early as the natural character can be manifested, a proud, impetuous, obstinate, angry temper: that he wanted anything was, with him, a reason why he should have it; that any other child was younger or weaker than himself, entitled him, as he thought, to domineer. He had also the good qualities usually opposed to these faults in the same character; he was generous, grateful, confiding, compassionate. As no one, in so short a life, ever more completely subdued than he did the faults of his natural temper, I record them for the sake of doing homage 'to that religion by the aid of which he was enabled to correct them.

His understanding was quick and lively, and he learned readily and with pleasure. A cause of hindrance and delay that occurred to him in learning to read shall here be mentioned as a caution to parents, institutors, and governesses. To play at learning to read is regarded as a great improvement on the " Reading-made-easy," of less enlightened times. A lady made him a present of a cylindrical ivory box containing counters, on which were inscribed the letters of the alphabet. He trundled the box on the carpet, he threw the letters on the carpet, and viewed them in all directions, sometimes sideways, sometimes topsy-turvy; so that he no longer knew them again when he saw them upright in a book: b and q and d and p more especially puzzled him besides, the placing of letters in words is of great use towards learning their power, and this help his counters did not afford him. To impose on him the task of arranging the letters in verbal order, would have included all the restraint of a formal lesson. The conclusion is, that if children play, they do not learn; and while they learn, they must not play there is a time for all things: their lessons must be short on account of the softness of the brain, but attention must be insisted on; they cannot be cheated as to the nature of the occupation, but they have sense enough to find pleasure in the consciousness of improvement.

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When the boy was twelve years of age he was placed at the Catholic college at Stoneyhurst, in Lancashire, of which a good account is given. After his leaving Stoneyhurst, along with his younger brother, to accompany the family to France, his father observed that he was suffering from a depression of spirits. It soon becomes clear that, as often happens in religious education, the feelings of veneration and spiritual fear have been but too successfully cultivated.

Something remained behind, a reserve, a sadness even, which I entreated him to account for. He gave me his full confidence; and I learned, with very great sorrow, that, for the last eighteen months of his stay in college, his mind had been a prey to scruples. This " pious awe, and fear to have offended," carried to excess through inexperience, and a want of due apprehension that it is by the will only that we offend, -had destroyed his gaiety, retarded his improvement, and doubtlessly much injured his health.

I asked him, "What advice did your director give you?"-" None."- Any other superior?"-" None." Yet his state was sufficiently evident: he joined in no play; he did not seek the company of his brother. Alone, or with one or two companions, he employed the time allowed for play in walking up and down, indulging the workings of his own mind. I regretted that I had not taken him home when he requested, after his illness; I regretted that, instead of taking his brother to college,-a measure so inefficient for his consolation,-I had not come to France a twelvemonth sooner: I regretted the time lost, and the time that was still to be lost in regaining it. But Kenelm's mind was now at ease; feelings, originating probably in a weak state of health, and continued only through want of good counsel and sympathy, were at an end, when he found himself with those whom he loved, by whom he was beloved : his understanding was too clear for him to persevere either in inadequate notions of the divine goodness, or in false judgments respecting duty.

Scruples are, by no means, of the nature of religious melancholy; they are not inconsistent with the Christian grace of hope: they suppose innocence; for the sinner may be hardened, may be penitent, may be wavering, but cannot properly be said to be scrupulous scruples not only preserve from sin, but have also the good effect (the gift of divine mercy,) of purging the heart from all affection to sin, as was manifested in the future life of Kenelm.

While at Avignon the education of Kenelm and the rest of the family is superintended by the author, in whose notions on deadlanguage-learning we entirely coincide.

I was delighted with one of the results of my continental plan,-that my children were now all of them under my own care. To what purpose subject boys to all the privations, restraints, and severities, all the consequences of the ignorances and negligences of the managers of great schools,-that they may acquire a very moderate knowledge of two dead languages, which they generally neglect during the rest of their lives; and this for six years or more? Who doubts but that he could learn to read French in six months? And why should he not be equally capable of learning Latin in the same space of time? And in six months more he may learn to read Greek, which is rather the easier language of the two: he may thus obtain admission to the treasures of wisdom and good taste contained in those languages, in one-sixth of the time now usually thrown away in a vain attempt to that purpose; for, I repeat it, boys are compelled to employ the time of their education in not learning what is of no use to them.

Latin is no longer the language of literary composition, diplomatic intercourse, or epistolary correspondence. It is sufficient that a few men, in every nation, write Latin, like Bishop Louth, or Dr. Martin Joseph Routh. The principal nations of Europe have their classics, formed indeed upon the ancient classical model; and these, therefore, will be better understood and more enjoyed by those who cultivate an acquaintance with that model. Still, however, such previous acquaintance is not indispensable: its advantage consists chiefly in being able to note allusions and institute comparisons.

At length, after much hesitation and reluctance, and many digressions, as if he dreaded to commence his story, the father proceeds to the account of his son's illness. He dwells on every circumstance with extraordinary minuteness; each stroke however tells; and the whole forms, not only a very curious, but a very affecting picture of domestic affliction and youthful amiableness.

During the three following days he was tolerably well, and, on the alternate days, took his bath in the Rhone, as it had been his custom to do during the summer, in a retired place at a small distance from the town. While bathing the last time, he cried out to his brother, My pulse is gone." A sensation of cold had induced him to feel his pulse, and he was somewhat alarmed at this symptom of its intermission. He appeared to wish to make light of it when he came home, but it must be supposed that his own feelings made him apprehensive of illness. Afterwards it became evident that the predisposition to the fever, of which the chilliness three evenings before had been a sympton, had again manifested itself by this intermission of the pulse.

He now reposed in me a confidence, the purport of which ought perhaps to be numbered among the symptoms of the coming malady, though as yet I was unable to account for it in this way. He said his scruples, such as he had combated and surmounted three years before, had returned, and had distressed him of late, beginning

from a time to which he referred; since which time, and, as he believed, from the efforts he had made, he had suffered from a head-ache and pains in his chest and limbs. Not aware that an illness was at hand which would account for the sensations of which he complained without reference to any mental uneasiness, I endeavoured by reproaches and praises to restore bis tranquillity. "You are indebted for your headache and other pains to allowing your mind to dwell on useless and groundless apprehensions. Cheerfulness, hope, and gaiety are the best things in the world to make the blood circulate and distribute equally the animal heat. Enough has been said to you on the subject of scruples, and you have admitted the reasonableness of what has been said I had hoped they were gone for ever. You are a great comfort and blessing to me be satisfied with yourself. You were at confession and communion five days ago has any thing occurred since, on which you would consult your director?" He replied, "No, nothing." This we afterwards remembered with great

comfort.

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In the evening we went to the promenade, and walked till it was dark. I then asked if he would go home and play a game at chess: he said playfully, "Yes, if you will let me rest my head on my hands, and stick up my shoulders." This posture he had been used to take sometimes in the study-room in college, where it was permitted, being neither a mortal sin nor false grammar: of course he had since avoided and corrected the habit.

The next day the annual distribution of prizes took place at the Royal College. This scene had some attraction for Kenelm, as reminding him of Stoneyhurst. He did not stay to the end of the ceremony, complaining of a sense of fatigue. In the evening he walked out again for the last time: we stopt to listen to some music on the walk, when I observed that he was excessively chill. He said to his mother, "I hope my father will be satisfied with my obedience; I have dragged myself along, cold and tired." I had urged him to walk, in the hope of diverting him. We went home; there was no question of chess; he retired early to rest.

The day following, the last of the month of August, he appeared to be well, and recovered from all sense of fatigue; he announced his intention of bathing in the Rhone as usual. I requested him to give it up, till it should be seen whether the chilliness, that seemed to renew its attacks like the fits of an ague, should again come upon him. To this he assented. He took his lesson of drawing without complaint; but almost immediately after the departure of the master, was seized with a violent shivering; he put on a great coat; then wrapped himself in blankets, lying on the sofa. The sense of cold still continuing, he took soup, and afterwards tea. Towards evening he desired to have his bed brought down from his chamber, and placed in the inner salon; this was done. He soon broke out into a violent perspiration. Nothing more was apprehended, than that he had taken cold at his last bathing in the Rhone.

His malady was however the dreadful typhus, so fatal in crowded hospitals, in camps, and prisons. To an insulated patient, well taken care of, the danger is much diminished; and, but for error, and worse than error, of the medical men who attended, my elder son had probably not fallen a victim to it, and the younger would have been kept out of the way of contagion.

It became necessary to select a physician. A Dr. Roche was chosen, as his practice laid among the best families of the town, (Avignon,) and he was also physician to the hospital and lecturer on anatomy.

The typhus is an universal prostration of the forces of the body; it is no wonder then that Kenelm felt no inclination to leave his bed. For two days he remained there without seeming to himself to have any illness to complain of. M. le Docteur Roche was sent for: he pronounced the disorder to be a catarrhal fever; the symptoms nothing unfavourable; the perspiration beneficial, but excessive; and ordered the removal of some of the bed-clothes. He prescribed at this time no medicine.

As thi sman was considered as devout, and had frequently conversed with us on religious subjects, Kenelm, on account of the effect which he supposed his scruples to have had on his health, and assured that they would not be a subject of ridicule to a pious man, thought it right to confide them to him. The doctor coincided entirely with the reasoning of his patient: he said, "For some time past you have been forming unwholesome chyle: the bowels must be relieved: perspiration, so as not to weaken you, but to carry off the fever, probably caused by the cold bath, must be sustained; all will soon be well again." Kenelm had talked of his scruples in so edifying a manner, as to inspire the devout doctor with great respect for his piety and humility; returning into the first salon, he said to the mother: "Madame, votre fils est un ange: she replied, Pas encore.' This is one of those prophetic expressions launched at hazard, of which so many examples are on record.