time, when their worldly interests clash with the interests of their flocks, they must necessarily be degraded in a country where free discussion is permitted, where wealth is jealous of all encroachment on its prerogatives, and where the spirit of trade and industry wages continual war against all kind of spiritual domination.

LETTER XLV.

TO THE SAME.

I ACCOMPANIED my friend, the young clergyman, on a visit to a little village, of which his father is rector. This worthy old man, who is sincere in his faith, and scrupulous in the observance of his duties, wins the hearts of his flock by persuasive good humour. He is fervently attached to the established church; but at the same time he is very tolerant in his principles. While his son and he went to pay a visit to a friend, I took a seat in the library, and amused myself by looking over a book entitled the Velvet Cushion. This title at first somewhat puzzled me, and perhaps it may not be perfectly intelligible to you without a little explanation. I must inform you, then, that the pulpits of the English churches are

each furnished with a cushion of velvet, on which the preacher lays his hands when in the attitude of prayer; and the little work to which I have just alluded, purports to be the history of one of these cushions, which, since the reign of Mary, has survived all the vicissitudes of the catholic, protestant, and dissenting faiths, and at length finds a place in the pulpit of a country church. The author of this innocent satire, which is not very remarkable for invention, supposes that, being suddenly endowed with the use of speech, the apostolic cushion becomes its own historian.

This novel piece of autobiography is, at the same time, a gallery of portraits. That of the vicar, to whom it is addressed, presents several traits which I immediately applied to my host. I recognised the tranquil and regular habits which his son had described to me, and of which I was myself a witness on the day which I spent in his house. Every morning the good clergyman reads a chapter of the bible; he then joins in prayer with his old housekeeper, the gardener, and another servant, and gives them his blessing. After dinner, he employs himself in preparing his sermon for the succeeding Sunday, or he visits some of the neighbouring cottages, to administer consolation to the afflicted, to stimulate and encourage piety, and to censure neglect of duty. Unfortunately, his limited income prevents him from indulging the charitable feelings of his heart to any great extent. All his sensual enjoyments consist in a pinch of snuff, a nap after dinner,

His great

and occasionally smoking a pipe. source of grief, to which he alludes with truly christian resignation, is, that God was not pleased to suffer his wife to accompany him to the close of his mortal pilgrimage. Sometimes, when he looks out at the window, and perceives, at a little distance from the rectory, the marble tomb, beneath which her ashes repose, a deep sigh escapes him; but he recollects that his son is still with him, and, banishing unavailing regret, he turns towards him and affectionately presses his hand.

I returned to London delighted with my excursion, and fully convinced that the character of the worthy vicar of Wakefield is not yet extinct among the English clergy.

is more am

He duly appre

The son of the rector of H bitious than his father ever was. ciates his father's virtues, but he acknowledges that he feels himself destined for a more distinguished career. He occasionally indulges in the dream of Dr. Syntax.

If this young man should ever be made a bishop, he will be indebted for his preferment to the patronage of the friends he has made at Cambridge, where he has formed an intimacy with the sons of some of the principal nobility. He has won the good graces of the present Bishop of London, of whom he entertains a higher opinion than of the venerable Porteus, his predecessor. Bishop Porteus* was one of the most active apostles of the

* During a debate in the House of Lords in the year 1794, some lines were quoted from a poem on war, by Bishop Porteus, in which

English church. He instituted several useful ecclesiastical regulations, and some establishments for the education of the poor. He constantly exerted himself to oppose the corruption of morals, and the alarming progress of new dissenting sects. In his zeal he scrupled not to address remonstrances to princes. To secure the scrupulous observance of the Sabbath, was one of the objects he had most dearly at heart. It was the custom among many of the nobility in London to give concerts on a Sunday evening, and the bishop wrote to several of the principal families, representing the impropriety of this proceeding. The Prince Regent himself was in the habit of meeting a party of friends every Sunday evening, at the house of a lady of rank; but Bishop Porteus obtained from his Royal Highness a promise, that the party should take place on Saturday, instead of Sunday.* This prelate was one of the founders and the president of the famous Society for the Suppression of Vice. In France such an institution would soon sink under the shafts of ridicule. It must be confessed that this voluntary police is

the reverend prelate observes, that a single murder makes a man an assassin, but that a thousand make him a hero. The bishop was present at the time. He was in the constant habit of voting with the ministry. A noble lord asked him whether he was really the author of the excellent lines that had been quoted. "Yes," he replied, "but they were not intended to apply to the present war.”

* A nobleman who was accustomed to attend these parties, being in better spirits than usual one Sunday morning, was met by a member of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who made free to tell him that he was setting a bad example to his inferiors. The nobleman replied, like the Count Almaviva's gardener: C'est un petit reste de la veille.

an exquisite example of moral cant. Even its apologists have been forced to acknowledge its abuses. But thanks to the blessing of practical liberty, which is enjoyed in England, this Areopagus for protecting morality and religion, is not more formidable than was the holy inquisition in Spain, during the reign of Charles III. The English are so fond of declaiming against the poor heirs of Torquemada, and the jesuits of our police, that we may be permitted to laugh a little at the expence of this insular inquisition.

Offences of the press are prosecuted by the Society for the Suppression of Vice; and it is, in consequence, the terror of the publishers of blasphe. mous works. It is, however, to be regretted, that the legislature is frequently incompetent to check the poison which is disseminated by mischievous publications.

LETTER XLVI.

TO THE SAME.

THE ceremonies of the English church are not sufficiently pompous to excite interest, and when a church is filled, all the merit of attracting the congregation rests with the preacher. Happy the minister who has a private chapel to himself, and who collects the money that is paid for the