however, be permitted to notice a broad assertion in the text of your letter, that "Catholic emancipation was the price held out to the people, for bartering the independence and exist ence of their country." This is indeed qualified, or rather contradicted in a note; but as hasty readers are in the habit of passing over these appendages, the diminutive type of which does not much attract their observation, I will take leave to say, that the writer of these Remarks remembers the debate in the British House of Commons, in which the late Mr Grattan first exerted his eloquence on that arena, in behalf of the Catholics. On that occasion, Mr Pitt most distinctly denied that any such promise had been made; nor did Mr Grattan, or any other person, offer a word of contradiction; on the contrary, it was admitted by other members, who spoke on the same side the question. The union with Ireland, however it may be represented by those who cannot be called friends to either of the sister islands, was a benefit of a substantive nature. In Scotland, many voices were raised to as high a pitch against the measure which united her to England, in the reign of Queen Anne; but the advantages obtained by our northern fellow-subjects, have long silenced the unmeaning clamour of the loss of independence. There is no doubt but Ireland will gradually become as well reconciled.-But to return to the points from whence I have digressed, which are more immediate ly the object of this discussion. Your Lordship is an enemy to tests, and to all restrictions made on religi ous belief. It might certainly sound better in the ear of a theoretical cos mopolite to announce, that the doors of the British Parliament were thrown open to Jews, Mahometans, and Hin doos, as well as to every sect and denomination of Christians. Some of the wisest men in this country, how ever, have been of opinion, that an established religion is a great public benefit. Without this, we might have very little religion at all. To destroy entirely this divine plant, which is naturally rooted in the human mind, would be impossible; but the innumerable weeds which would spring up in the soil for want of cultivation, would choke its growth, and even injure its nature. We should be conti It is surely sufficient indulgence, that men may be allowed, within their own precincts, to cherish the thistles and the darnel, provided the seeds are not wilfully wafted into their neighbour's grounds. Let them foster the imaginations of their hearts, if they will be contented to do so quietly, and without offence; but to counterbalance these aberrations, let the religion which the State approves, abstaining from the odious means of restraining them by persecution, possess all the advantages of dignity and emolument, and let those who profess it enjoy all those offices, which lead to political power. The Golden Rule of Pythagoras, which enjoins the worship of the gods, σε ως νόμω διακείται,” as by law established, is a very good general maxim. Every rule has its exception; and wherever a legal mode of worship shall be proved to be founded on wrong principles, or to contain absurd articles of faith; when flagrant abuses have perverted the best institutions, so as to render them injurious to the welfare of mankind ;-then is the time for conversion, or for reformation. Such changes have, and will infallibly take place, at similar periods of human affairs. As to the Atheist, who, according to your Lordship's supposition, has a chance of being admitted to those advantages from whence the Roman Catholic is debarred, I acknowledge that a man, who is conscious of no state of retribution hereafter, ought, if possible, to be prevented from having any sway over the conduct of mankind here. But the unbelief in the existence of a Deity is so contrary to the general feelings of men, that it is difficult to imagine many Atheists ever to have existed. It may be truly said, changing a little the language of the Psalmist, "Few fools have said in their hearts there is no God, although several have declared this opinion with their lips; and many have acted as if they thought so." But if such a man should be found, and if this rara avis should contrive to take his flight to the summit of power, one advantage at least would attend his elevation, which might not be the case with a Roman Catholic, he certainly would never harrow up the feelings of the country he was destined to rule, by exhibiting the spectacle of an Auto da fe. I desire to subscribe myself, with due respect, your Lordship's most obedient servant, A PROTESTANT LAYMAN. February 28, 1822. [We insert, without hesitation, this communication from a respected and distinguished correspondent. But we expressly decline stating any opinion for ourselves as to this most nice and delicate question. We leave the subject quite open, and we are sure our Correspondent will be as happy as ourselves to see what any intelligent friend of a different way of thinking may judge fit to send us.-C. N.] STANZAS TO AN OLD FRIEND. Tandemque nobis exsulibus placent CASIMIR. COME here's a health to thee and thine; Like that famed hill in western clime, That tinges still, at vesper time, With purple gleam the evening air; So there's a joy in former days, In times, and scenes, and thoughts gone by, As beautified their heads they raise, Bright in Imagination's sky. Time's glass is fill'd with varied sand, As the hush'd night glides gentlier on, Aud tell of pleasures that are gone, And that creative breath, divine, Shall waken many a slumbering thrill, And call forth many a mystic line Of faded joys, remember'd still. Again, the moments shall she bring And, as the mariner can find Wild pleasure in the voiced roar The spirit of our former sighs. We'll hear the strains we heard so soft, In life's first, warm, impassion'd hours, As summer dews on summer flowers; E'en in our morn, when fancy's eye Glanced, sparkling o'er a world of bliss, When joy was young, and hope was high, We could not feel much more than this: Howe'er, then, time our day devours, Why should our smiles be overcast, Why should we grieve for fleeting hours, Who find a future in the past. T. D. AUTUMNAL TWILIGHT. A Sonnet. To I stood at sunset on a little hill, O'erhung and garlanded with tall beech trees; I gazed upon the waters-on the flowers- And all the joys that then, loved friend, were ours. A Noctes Ambrosianae. No. I. CHRISTOPHER NORTH, Esquire, Solus. Enter Ensign MORGAN ODOHERTY. EDITOR. I am glad to see you, Odoherty. I am heartily glad of the interruption. I won't write any more to-night-I'll be shot if I write a word more. Ebony may jaw as he pleases. The Number will do well enough as it is. If there is not enough, let him send his devil into the Balaam-box. ODOHERTY. I have just arrived from London. EDITOR. From London ?-The Fleet, I suppose.-How long have you lain there? ODOHERTY. I have been out these three weeks. I suppose, for any thing you would have advanced, I might have lain there till Kingdom-come. EDITOR. I can't advance money for ever, Adjutant. You have not sent me one article these four months. ODOHERTY. What sort of an article do you want?-A poem ? EDITOR. Poems! There's poetry enough without paying you for it. Have you seen Milman's new tragedy? ODOHERTY. No; but I saw the proofs of a puff upon it for the next Quarterly. He's a clever fellow, but they cry him too high. The report goes, that he is to step into Gifford's shoes one of these days. EDITOR. That accounts for the puffing; but it will do a really clever fellow, like Milman, no good. ODOHERTY. It will, Mr North. I know nobody that puffs more lustily than yourself now and then. What made you puff Procter so much at first? EDITOR. It was you that puffed him. It was an article of your own, Ensign. ODOHERTY. By Mahomet's mustard-pot, I've written so much, I don't remember half the things I've done in your own lubberly Magazine, and elsewhere. At one time I wrote all Day and Martin's poetry. They were grateful. They kept the whole mess of the 44th in blacking. EDITOR. Then you wrote the World, did not you? I never heard of such a thing. postors are abroad. ODOHERTY. They've been quizzing you, old boy. Im◄ EDITOR. Then somebody has been sporting false colours about town. ODOHERTY. Like enough. Set a thief to catch a thief. EDITOR. You've been writing in Colbourn, they say, Master Morgan ? ODOHERTY. Not one line. The pretty boys have applied to me a dozen times, but I never sent them any answer except once, and then it was an epigram on themselves. 6 EDITOR. Let's hear it? ODOHERTY. Now! By Jupiter, I have forgotten the beginning of it. I think it was something like this: Colbourn, Campbell, and Co. write rather so so, But atone for❜t by puff and profession— Every month gives us scope for the Pleasures of Hope, EDITOR. How do they get on? Heavily, Ensign ? ODOHERTY. D-heavily! They lay out a cool hundred on advertisements every month; but Campbell does very little-at least so it is to be hoped-and the Subs are no great shakes. They have a miserable set of bullaboos about them-broken-winded dominies, from the manufacturing districts, and so forth. Even Hazlitt does the drama better. EDITOR. O, Hazlitt's a real fellow in his small way. He has more sense in his little finger, than many who laugh at him have in their heads, but he is bothering too long at that table-talk. Proper humbug! ODOHERTY. EDITOR. Did you see any of the Cockneys? What's the gossip about Murray's, Ridgeway's, and so forth? Did you make a tour of the shops? ODOHERTY. Of course I went round them all with a bundle of discarded articles you gave me to line my trunk with, when I went to the moors last year. I passed myself off for a country clergyman, wanting to publish a series of essays. I said I had a wife and seven small children. EDITOR. You have some tolerable big ones, I believe. ODOHERTY. Which you never will have, old boy. The booksellers are a very civil set of fellows: Murray took me into a room by myself, and told me about the row between him and the Divan. What row? and with whom? EDITOR. ODOHERTY. Why, they call Murray Emperor of the West, and Longman and Company the Divan. They've fallen out about Mother Rundell's book upon cookery. I told Kitchener the next day, that I thought his own book as good a one. EDITOR. Shameless fellow! Don't you remember how you cut it up? I wonder you could look the doctor in the face. ODOHERTY. By jing! he thought I was a doctor myself. I had a black rose in my hat, and talked very wisely about the famous mistake touching a Mr Winton of Chelsea. I'll tell you about that, too, some other time. EDITOR. The Bishop's first two volumes are not quite the potato. I hope the others are better. ODOHERTY. Who cares? I shall never read them. Have you seen Horace Walpole's Memoirs ? EDITOR. I have. A most charming book. A most malicious, prying, lying old fox. |