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following year, the degree of doctor of laws from Halle; on which occasion he published his Commentatio de Romanorum pontificum espistolarum decretalium antiquis collectionibus.' Almost immediately after this, assisted by a stipend from the Prussian Ministry of Instruction,' he set out on a tour through Germany, England and France; a tour so remarkable in its consequences, as described by himself in the preface to his work now under review, that we must communicate a short account of it to our readers. This preface is dated November, 1833, four years after he had commenced his tour; and is in the form of a letter to a friend, who had written to him in October, 1832, on the state of his religious opinions. Our abstract of it will necessarily extend to several pages, but those who think it out of place in an article on the continental seminaries are at perfect liberty to skip it.

It would appear that he commenced his travels with a mind very ill at ease, dissatisfied with the principles which had placed him in a hostile position to Rome, but equally suspicious of all influence which savoured of the papacy. He speaks, indeed, of the pure intentions which had actuated him; but the whole narrative shows that religion, as a bond of truth riveted upon the conscience, had no part in him. His letter commences with a description of the state of his feelings at Vienna, just as he had begun to experience the vanity of a religious reform, based chiefly upon a material and pseudo-philosophical theology, and had fallen under the influence of a sentimentalism, not the less sickly because arrayed in the garb of religion.

I preserve a lively recollection of the painful and distressing hours which I passed in Vienna, destitute of faith, yet with an ardent desire to attain it. Notwithstanding the extreme cold and thick snow, for it was the depth of the severe winter of 1829, I never once failed to attend the regular service at St. Stephen's church. I mingled with the pious throng, and leaning against a pillar, I listened at a distance to those celestial symphonies, in the sweet hope that their melodious tone would re-establish the troubled harmony of my soul; and often shed tears of regret over my loss of faith, the christian's most precious treasure. More than once I envied the venerable and devout old man by whose side I stood, as in the vicinity of a refreshing oasis, in order to see if in his tranquil and happy look I could discover the joy and pleasure which the spirit breathes which puts its confidence in God. But I remained too much shut up within myself for such impressions to suffice to reconcile me with myself. I avoided all intercourse with the ministers of our religion by the advice of my own family. Every black gown was an object of suspicion to me. At this time I should have repulsed Fenelon himself as an imposter, if he had come to me to offer his advice. My friends and a portion of my family, dissatisfied with the unexpected impression which the religious life of Austria had

made on my mind, prevailed upon me to abridge my stay in Vienna, and proceed to England (a country, they said, of true religious liberty), postponing for the present my journey into Italy. I was determined, by a remarkable circumstance, to follow their counsel. Two of my best friends in Vienna, men respectable as well for their profound learning as for their position in society and nobleness of character, neglected nothing to dissuade me from going to Rome. They assured me with the utmost seriousness that two Jesuits had introduced themselves into the imperial library, whither I went to work every day, and that having placed themselves opposite to me at the table where I sat, they had secretly taken my portrait to send to Rome. Such a statement, so attested, left me no room to hesitate as to whither I should go, for I did not imagine at that time that the devil would push his infernal stratagems so far.'

It will not surprise our readers that the sentimental simpleton, whose hope thus hovered between the tones of the organ, and the physiognomy of a pious, it may be, but more probably, imbecile old man, was totally unable to appreciate the protestantism of England, or the spirit of English piety. His representation of protestantism is indeed revolting. Protestantism itself would be so, were the representation true. Though quite unworthy on its own account of a place in the abstract we are giving of Dr. Theiner's religious vacillations, we shall insert part of it as a specimen of ecclesiastical portraiture. It is the protestant life of England depicted by a Silesian Romanist; and, strange to say, a Romanist who had spent some of his best years in investigating the enormities resulting from constrained celibacy in that church. The author has been speaking of religious separation, and forgetful of our Lord's words, I came not to send peace, but a sword;' he imagines that by quoting some of Luther's complaints concerning the sectarianism which followed so closely in the train of the reformation, he has disposed of the whole protestant cause. He then adds:

If after this we cast a scrutinizing glance at the social degeneracy of the protestant church in England, we are seized with astonishment at the strange aspect it presents. How common it is to see the dear little children of the pastor of souls clambering up the pulpit to the side of their papa (!) and throw down slips of paper to their playfellows (!) while their father reads tranquilly and undisturbed, his written sermon; his monotonous delivery being diversified by nothing but a few bizarre and ungraceful gestures, or soporific sighs! Meanwhile, his worthy spouse, seated on the pulpit stairs (!!!) is waiting impatiently for the end of his long and wearisome discourse. This ended, the preacher, with his wife and children, passes to a room which they call the vestry, where they begin, like a tribe of shopkeepers, discussing with the parishioners the fees to be exacted for ecclesiastical service (!) The wife attempts to soften the hearts of the faithful, by representing to them the destitute state of her household (!!)

which is but too well attested by the miserable plight of her children's clothing (!!!) Can scenes like this be witnessed without groaning over the condition of a church which drags out a miserable existence in the mire of worldliness, and is so completely embedded in it ?'

We think not. But are such scenes real or fictitious? If real and frequent, they show that our protestantism is in a very deplorable condition. If, on the contrary, they are mere fictions, we must leave our readers to decide whether they are the caricatures of a spiritual humourist, or the retailed slanders current in the circle with which our author was intimate while in England. We fear we cannot class Theiner with Pascal, or ascribe to his sketches the vivacity and truth which adorn the 'Provinciales.' Like Pugin, he has all the low coarseness of the Dutch school without its truth to nature, its profligacy without its power, and must therefore take his place with 'Bishop' Lavington or the author of the Spiritual Quixote. Happily he has employed his pencil on his own religious history, and given protestanism an overwhelming revenge.

From England our author passed over to Belgium, but discovering there, in all its nakedness, the republican and sanguinary genius of Calvinism,' he proceeded to France in the hope that the church of Bourdaloue, Bossuet, Fléchier, and Massillon, would offer a medicine for the healing of his religious faith. As he says, 'the time selected for this visit did not seem to be the most favourable for his object. He arrived just before the revolution of July, 1830, broke out.' But it was just this solemn epoch of trial and crisis which at length revealed to him, 'with the aid of heaven, the mystery of the true position of the catholic church in the history of the world.' He must, he says, avow that it was in France, and above all at Paris, that he began to learn true politics and true religion.' We suppose we must regard it as an avowal when he says, 'it was not from religion itself that I derived my religion, but I realised it and formed it within me by the study of the political events which passed under my eyes.' It is impossible, however, to follow the author through all the details of his progress. Here and there a good thought occurs, a good principle is maintained, but, oh! how miserably misapplied. The living faith of the Gallican church is proved by the throngs of dying persons who, during the raging of the cholera, pressed into the receiving houses opened under the direction of the clergy; by (what we must admit to be a favourable symptom, as far as it goes,) the paternal intercourse which subsists between the superior and inferior clergy, and (credat Judæus) by the holy veneration entertained for the pope!

I have more than once had the opportunity of assuring myself of it by the most touching proofs. I have seen with profound veneration the tender care with which the bishops preserve the letters of encouragement which they had received from Pius VI. and Pius VII. in the course of the first revolution. They related to me, with a joy and satisfaction which was diffused over each of their countenances, that they had not parted with these letters for an instant during their emigration; that they had taken them with them every where; that they had served for their consolation and support in the time of their trials, when, far from their dear country, deprived of all means of subsistence, and without other shelter than the vault of heaven, they announced the word of the Lord on the banks of the Mississippi, and were obliged sometimes to abandon their apostolic functions to obtain. a little bread by giving lessons in language. In the midst of these privations they would have renounced life itself rather than have lost these briefs of the pope, which they have brought back with them to their own country, where they keep them still as a holy palladium. They are even now unable ever to look at them without shedding tears, so much of these beautiful and lofty recollections does the mere sight of these writings recal! What inexpressible consolation I derived from their affectionate and heavenly discourses! I was often profoundly moved, and one day I could not refrain from replying to a bishop, who was complaining of the irreligion which then menaced. France afresh. 'It is not possible that Providence can abandon a country which numbers among her bishops so many worthy and holy men, every one of whom deserves to be called the successor of Fenelon.'

We presume that these fair speeches were made towards the close of Dr. Theiner's residence in France, for he afterwards tells us that the terrible scenes of the cholera, which struck such a general terror into the consciences of the gay Parisians, and brought back so many unbelievers within the pale of the church, were insufficient to shake him. 'I had even determined,' says he, 'in case I fell a victim to the epidemic, to present myself at the gates of eternity without being reconciled to the church, and, consequently, without being reconciled to God.' Attacked at length with the evident symptoms of the malady, with death in near view, his mind still preserved its tranquillity; but he was restored by medicine.

Among the persons with whom Theiner became intimate in France was the celebrated Abbé de Lamennais, so celebrated once for his efforts to exalt the papacy, but since for his political writings. How great a change has this singular man experienced in the favour of the Roman church! A few years ago, it is said, the only pictures which adorned the closet of the pope, were one of the Virgin, and another of him: since then his 'paroles d'un croyant' have procured him the distinction of two Bulls of condemnation. Neither the personal kindness of

De Lamennais, however, by whose invitation Theiner spent eight months in the college of Juilly, near Meaux, nor the edifying example of his great piety, were sufficient to induce our author to open his heart to him. 'False theories,' said he, 'and, in this instance truly, had been my ruin, and it was not by theories equally false that I was to be recovered to the truth.'

At length, driven hither and thither in the sea of doubt, he resolved to peruse without prejudice the master-pieces of the catholic literature of France, that he might, if possible, recover his long lost tranquillity, and renew his former attachment to the holy Roman church. He immediately expended all his means in the purchase of the complete works of Bossuet, Fenelon, Bourdaloue and Massillon: and shut himself up to read them. Bourdaloue and Fenelon, especially the latter, were scarcely ever out of his hand. Even when he took his evening walks on the Mount Calvary he carried some volumes with him, that he might lose no time. With the 'Lettres Spirituelles' of Fénélon, which made a particular impression on his mind, he began and ended every day. A protestant in his circumstances would have gone to the Bible, but this avowed enemy of the right of private judgment must neglect those inspired records to which the divine Spirit of God himself imparted a miraculous unity of doctrine, to be guided by the private writings and mould his views according to the private opinions of merely human teachers.

Dr. Theiner's theological studies soon had the desired effect of reconciling him to the principal doctrines of the Roman church, though he was still harassed by doubts if the Roman clergy were themselves convinced of the truth of their religion. He could with difficulty persuade himself that even Fénélon and Bossuet were believers. Another difficulty also embarrassed him, which we must state in his own terms. 'They,' Dr. Theiner is speaking of Fénélon and Bossuet, had unfolded the most difficult dogmas of the church with such admirable and marvellous clearness, as to make them evident to the least observant eye; but for the same reason they had left nothing for faith to do. Things appeared to me too clear to be denied, but also too clear to be believed. How frightful is this state of the soul!" True: but also how absurd and ignorant. Yet, incredible as it may appear, it is the all but universal sentiment upon the subject in the Roman church, that faith and reason are inconsistent with each other, and that the more luminous the conviction, the more deadly the snare. The case is well known of the Romanist who when pressed by a protestant with the absurdity and physical impossibility of transubstantiation as fixed by the council of Trent, replied: 'it is for that very reason that I do believe it, because it is impossible.'