THE RAMBLER.

VOL. IV. New Series.

JULY 1855.

PART XIX.

PRIESTCRAFT.

More

WE are acquainted with a certain family, whose members, though they occasionally squabble about minor matters, are remarkably well agreed on all important things, and distinguished by an entire satisfaction with the fundamental state of their domestic affairs. Father and mother, sisters and brothers, servants in-doors and out-of-doors, are unanimous in the opinion that no such happy and united a household is to be found elsewhere on the face of the earth. They love each other, and admire each other, and (making due allowance for human infirmities) are perfectly contented with the manner in which each member of the family fulfils his or her duties to the remainder of those who live in the same house. over, they consider that this very house, with all its appurtenances, is absolutely unrivalled in suitability to the wishes and needs of its inmates. It is warm, comfortable, airy, healthy, handsome, well-furnished, gracefully decorated, and neither too big nor too little. There is plenty to eat and drink, of a wholesome and nutritious kind, and suited to the different constitutions of the different members of the family. The gardens and grounds are delightful; and, in fact, on the whole, the household looks upon itself as favoured by Divine Providence in a wonderful degree, is never tired of thanking God for its possessions, and is always wishing that every body else was equally well off.

But the oddest thing in the world is, that when the various members of the family go out of doors-nay, sometimes even when they receive company at home-they are perpetually. told that they are miserable, wretched, quarrelsome, enslaved, degraded, ignorant, immoral, hypocritical, bloody-minded, deceitful, and regardless of the Divine Giver of all their blessings. "My dear fellow," says an anxious-looking gentleman to one of the sons of the family whom he has just seized by the but

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ton, "I am sorry to tell you so, but your father is the greatest scoundrel unhung. Your mother is an unnatural parent; always disputing with your father, who beats her dreadfully— (but then every body says she drinks, and deserves it);—she hates you and your brothers and sisters, and starves you, and cheats you, and locks you up in the cellar, and won't let you learn the commonest rudiments of education; she won't even clothe you decently for your position in life;"-(here the son looks more astonished than ever, for he considers himself particularly well dressed, and he knows that the tailor's bill is very large)" and you are taught to hate me and every body not in your house, and you have dungeons, and racks, and bowls of poison, and daggers; and, in short, every body saysand you know that what every body says must be right-every body says that if you had a particle of spirit, or the least knowledge of Scripture, you would take the first opportunity to run away from your miserable prison and enjoy the free light and warmth of day."

"how

The amazement of the youth in question is an exact picture of the state of mind of Catholics, when they are forced to listen to the tirades of the world against the doctrines, discipline, customs, and clergy of the Church to which they belong. Molière's M. Jourdain, who talked prose all his life without knowing it, was nothing at all compared to us. "Dear me!" cries some worthy old soul, who was brought up in a convent, and has passed a whole life in the extremest Popish' debasement, going to confession, muttering' over her beads, gaining indulgences, preserving relics, and adorning images," dear me!" she cries, when she first learns the wickedness of Popery from some Protestant newspaper, book, or stranger, very singular it is! I never was taught any thing wrong in the confessional; all the priests I ever knew have been most respectable gentlemen; I never was told not to read the Bible; I always was told that prayer that did not come from the heart was good for nothing; I never heard of such a thing as an indulgence to commit sin, or of buying absolution. I was always told that idolatry was a damnable sin, and that images were made of wood, or stone, or (the inferior kinds) of plaster, and certainly it never entered my head to think they were gods; I always heard that the Blessed Virgin was redeemed, just like myself, by Jesus Christ, and was not a goddess, or any thing of that sort: how very odd it is that these good Protestants should know so much more about my religion than I do myself. Well, we can but live and learn! But in the mean time I shall go on in my old ways, and die as I have lived, and thank God for it."