of the Jesuits in Madrid to send him immediately one hundred thousand pounds. The Superior answers, that he has nothing in the treasury at present. The General replies, " Then get it," and proceeds to pace up and down the apartment, soliloquising.] Spain is a noble land; our glorious founder There first drew breath, and there, as is well known, He daily prayed that we his faithful sons Might ever rule and prosper, and enjoy

All that the world can give of wealth and power,
Of honour, and the smiles of men, and bask
In the bright sunshine of prosperity.
Hail, noble Spain! Land of the Holy Office,
The Inquisition, that device sublime
That sprung from Loyola's inventive brain,—
At once the pledge and instrument of rule.
Ha, the English bell! Oh, that accursed land!
That Bible-scattering race! our deadliest foe!
But I will be its master yet. Yes; let me see.
'Tis vain to work upon a Briton's fears;
He must be courted, reasoned with, convinced
That we love freedom, and the rights of man;
That all the records of our Church are lies,
The base inventions of a venal crowd,
Too shallow to deceive the honest mind
Of England in the nineteenth century.

The bell again! He is impatient, I

Must answer him: Heav'n grant it be good news.

[Goes to the English telegraph, and sends a message to say that he is ready to receive any communication.]

A trusty man is Father Hildebrand,

Our English agent. Some men are born great,
Others their greatness do achieve, and some

Must have their greatness thrust upon them. He
Is of the last and rarer kind; his worth

Is only equalled by his modesty.

[The English bell rings again. Astolfo receives the message, writes it down, and reads.]

"Most Reverend Father, It is my pleasing duty to inform you of the progress of our holy Society in this heretical kingdom. On the whole our affairs are very prosperous. The brethren who have so long assumed the parts of zealous Protestants contrive to play their parts to perfection, and do a vast amount of good to Holy Church and to us. I would especially recal the services of Father Spooner, the member for North Warwickshire, who has done more to bring Pro

testantism into contempt than any man I know of; unless it be Father Zanoni, who, under an assumed name, has so long conducted the Morning Herald newspaper. He speaks English to perfection, and looks the completest John Bull your reverence ever saw. Father Pusey is also still useful, though he has not done quite so much good lately as in former years; but I feel assured it is not his fault. He and others of our holy society who hold livings in the Anglican Church, continue to send me details of the confessions of their various Protestant penitents; and I am preparing a synopsis of the most important particulars, which I shall shortly have the pleasure of transmitting to your reverence. The College of Maynooth is a valuable establishment: seven of the professors are fathers of our society, and are in continual communication with Father Spooner. I have succeeded in placing Jesuit domestics in many respectable establishments. The chief difficulty is with the footmen, who take our money, spend it in the public-houses, and do nothing for us in return. What bad consciences they must have! I have had some interviews with Lord Shaftesbury. I do not altogether despair of him: but his terms are high,—very high, I may say. He makes it a condition that, as soon as he is dead, the Pope shall undertake to canonise him; for he does not like to hold an inferior position any where. If your reverence approves, perhaps you will speak to the Pope on the subject, as his lordship is impatient. Conversions, altogether, proceed satisfactorily; and I have hopes of getting at the highest quarters through a person who I trust will shortly be converted. This is none other than the wife of the prime minister, Lord Brighton. She is an exemplary lady, and the mother of fifteen children. Her connections among the aristocracy are extensive, and she is said to be a great favourite at Windsor. This will indeed be a catch. I shall make a point of receiving her general confession myself, that nothing important may be forgotten; and shall transmit its substance to your reverence without loss of time. I beg your reverence's blessing on me and my humble labours."

Bravo! why, that's my dainty Ariel :

Lord Brighton, too, perhaps; a noble prize

If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly! But Shaftesbury's terms!
They are too high, the Pope will not consent.
But yes, he shall! straight to the Vatican

I'll
go; and in the portals of his ear
I'll whisper soft, "Remember Ganganelli."

VOL. IV.-NEW SERIES.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

[The reception-room in Cardinal Wiseman's house in London.
The Cardinal is discovered seated under a canopy of blue satin
powdered with fleurs-de-lys. His throne is raised several steps
from the foor, and is of the most elaborate workmanship, having
been designed, executed, and decorated by the most distinguished
architects, sculptors, and painters in the United Kingdom. The
feet of the throne are carved in imitation of the Lion and Uni-
corn of the Royal Arms, which are represented as making hide-
ous grimaces, after the model of the mediaval gurgoyles, as an
emblem of the disgust felt by Protestantism at being obliged to
tolerate a Roman Cardinal in England. The Cardinal wears
his mitre and his archiepiscopal vestments, which are of cloth-of-
gold, and sparkle with jewels; this being the custom with all
cardinals at their receptions. The Pope's brass band is sta-
tioned in an ante-room, and executes several morceaux by Pale-
strina and Vittoria, at intervals during the evening.
The room
is filled with priests and monks in the various picturesque con-
tumes of the Romish Church, and with laymen of various callings,
all ranged in order before the archiepiscopal throne. The con-
versation is held in Latin, no other language being spoken at the
receptions; but for the convenience of the general reader it is
here rendered into vernacular English.]

The Cardinal. Have they all sworn?

First Priest. They have, your Eminence.

The Cardinal. 'Tis well! Now is the winter of our discon

tent

Made glorious summer by the Russian war.

But now to work! Bring forth the neophytes.

[The brass band plays soft music, and three gentlemen are introduced, recently converted; one of them a baronet of immense fortune, and the other two distinguished clergymen of the University of Oxford. They kneel three several times as they approach the throne, and then stand with meek countenances before the Cardinal.]

The Cardinal. Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors, We bid you welcome. We are well assured,

By those who have examined you, and heard
Your frank confessions of your lives gone by,
That you are well devoted to the cause
Of Peter's boat, and only now desire
To spend your sustenance and all your days
In furthering our glorious aims, and rooting out
The curse of heresy from this benighted people.
Most reverend father, is it so?

[Turning to a Jesuit beside him.]

The Jesuit. 'Tis so, an please your Eminence.

The Cardinal. 'Tis well; then, by the virtue of our sacred

office,

We hereby do accord you full permission

To break the Ten Commandments, on the terms

Set forth in these Indulgences.

All Three. We thank you.

[He hands them a paper.]

The Cardinal. Then now receive our orders. You, Sir

George,

Must be content to occupy the station

You long adorned while yet a heretic.
Frequent the clubs, the opera, the palace;

And show the gay and giddy world how sweet
And soothing is the ancient creed of Rome.
Your two companions go in other paths:
One is to be a priest. Good Father Capuchin,
Be kind enough to take him, and instruct
His pliant mind in all the subtle lore
Of Suarez and of Dens, of Bellarmine,
Aquinas, Scotus, and the rest of those
Of your great order, who have laid

The deep foundations of our morals and our fame.
The Capuchin. To hear is to obey.
The Cardinal. And you, my son,

The third of this devoted three,—for you
I have another task. Set up a magazine,
And call it by some old Johnsonian name;
And give your nights and days to ceaseless toil,
In combating our foes.

Third Convert. Your Eminence, I will;
But I perceive that it will be expensive,

And

money I have none.

The Cardinal. Take courage, sir;

I'll give you money. My Lord Fauconbridge,

Lend me ten thousand pounds for this great work.

[Lord Fauconbridge goes to a side-table, and writes a cheque on his banker for ten thousand pounds.]

Fauconbridge. Accept it, noble Cardinal. A gift
It is; would it were more: it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

[A loud noise is heard on the staircase; scuffling and loud talking, and a clatter of many men's feet approaching the reception-room. A voice with a broad Scotch accent is heard above all the rest, demanding to be admitted instantly into the traitor's presence.]

The Cardinal. Why, what is this?
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks, whoever knocks!

[The door is burst open, and enter Dr. Cumming, surrounded by
several "Evangelical" Admirals and Colonels, all armed with
cutlasses and revolvers, and wearing the look of men resolved to
sell their lives dearly. With them various policemen, flunkies,
and some of the guests who had arrived late. Dr. Cumming
forces his way through the priests and others who attempt to hold
him back, and advances to the foot of the Cardinal's throne,
brandishing a pocket Bible handsomely bound.]

The Cardinal. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee. "Who art thou, man?"
Dr. Cumming. I'm Dr. Cumming!

The Cardinal. Humph! And what d' you want?

Dr. Cumming. Right reverend sir, where is your Breviary?
The Cardinal. My Breviary?

Dr. Cumming. Ay, that accursed book,

That has the oath whereby you bind your dupes
To hate and murder heretics, when you confer
Your orders, as you call them; but which I,
A stern and stout disciple of the Kirk

By Calvin founded, scorn and scatter from me.

The Cardinal. Bring him the Breviary! The caitiff lies; There's no such oath administered.

[The Breviary is brought out: a large folio volume, magnificently bound in purple velvet, with a cross in diamonds on the cover, which the Cardinal generally carries in his pocket, and from which he says his morning and evening prayers, called, in the language of the Romanists, Mass and Completorium. Dr. Cumming seizes it, while the Admirals and Colonels lift up their eyes in astonishment, and whisper to each other, in awe-struck tones, "What blind idolatry!" Dr. Cumming, after a great deal of difficulty, finds the Office for Ordination, and sees some oath with a pen drawn through it, and a note saying that it is not in use. He looks disgusted, and confers with his friends. They whisper together; while the Cardinal also whispers to his friends, some of whom go out stealthily, casting deadly looks of hatred at the sound Protestants before them.]

Dr. Cumming. 'Tis a trick!

I have it now! That oath has been erased
Within the last half-hour. O Cardinal,
Repent thee of thy sins; I'm up to thee!