world of matter, nothing which has once come into | fervour of its platform zeal, and the extravagance being can absolutely cease to be. Its form may of its rabid Calvinism. Thirty-six years later the change, its manifestation become impossible, but State was everything and the Church nothing. its essence remains. The sun is behind the mountains, but the stars are in the sky; clouds even and thick darkness may have made "one blot of all the air," but such gloom, even where densest, is but an ineffectual shroud through which the light penetrates at a thousand points. In a world where light has once been, its absolute privation is an impossibility. So, too, of truth. Once received amongst men, it becomes, in one form or another, a possession for ever-a star which, though it may no longer be visible in the firmament, yet diffuses its beams through space, making beautiful and luminous the atmosphere of human thought.

Quousque tandem? for what period is this reaction to endure, and to what point is it to proceed? Such is among the most interesting questions which a watcher of "the tides of time” can address to the Sphinx of Destiny.

separated by an almost infinite distance, both agree of medieval art. But these are the very principles in this. And Carlyle and Guizot have had, may on which the infallible Church can best rear her still have, an extensive though unacknowledged spiritual throne. Hence the revival of her ascendinfluence in the formation of cotemporary opinion. ancy, hence the reappearance in astonished Europe The spirit of the eighteenth century--the spirit of those theories of divine right and political absothat reverences nothing and analyses all things-lutism, whose reign has always been cotemporais brought by both into disadvantageous contrast neous with the ascendancy of the Catholic Church, with that spirit of the middle ages which could ever since the head of that Church has regarded earnestly believe, modestly venerate, and undoubt- the despotisms of Europe rather as the supporters ingly obey. Carlyle, indeed, has never been able of the Catholic faith than as the rivals of the pontito forget that he speaks the mother-tongue of fical supremacy. Ferdinand and Schwartzenberg Milton and Cromwell, and was nurtured in the are the correlatives of Cullen and Antonelli. Neinative land of Knox and of Cameron. He has ther produce, both are produced by, the reactionary never, like the eloquent Frenchman, represented spirit which alone renders them possible, and whose the Roman Church as the civiliser and teacher of duration will prescribe the term of their existence. the modern world, nor prostituted his powers to a deification of the principle of authority as opposed to the principle of self-government. But we are not concerned to draw a parallel or point a contrast between the author of "Past and Present" and the author of "Democracy in Europe." We merely wish to show that two of the minds which have had no inconsiderable share in giving a tone and colour to the opinions of the day have been themselves imbued with principles which, consciously or unconsciously, have helped forward the ecclesiastical and political reaction of the nineteenth century. If from philosophy we turn to literature and art, we shall find the same tendency developed in a more palpable form. Everywhere the nineteenth century, in its protest against the eighteenth, has evoked the ghost of the middle ages as the idol of its preposterous worship. From the delicate homage of the German Overbeck down to the clumsy prostration of our English Pre-Raphaelites, the interval is immense, but the animating spirit is the same. The literature of Young England and the architecture of Pugin have had the same origin and the same tendency. Nay, among the most vehement of the present opponents of the reaction may be found some of its more successful though unconscious promoters. Nor would it be too much to affirm that the medieval fictions of Victor Hugo, and the medieval histories of Michelet, have had at least as much share in investing the Church of the past with the seductions which to certain minds now prove so irresistible, as the ballads of Lord John Manners, or the "Christian Art" of Lord Lindsay.

Subjectively considered, then, the history of the present reaction is briefly this: that the Church has had the skill to turn to her own purposes a movement which she did not create, but which originated out of that principle which, with Luther's permission, we will venture to call the law of spiritual oscillation. The spirit of inquiry, issuing in universal unbelief; the spirit of selfgovernment, pushed to the verge of irremediable anarchy; the spirit of classic art, degenerating into a mere imitative pedantry-such were the dominating powers of the eighteenth century. Certain thoughtful and cultivated minds, in their impatience and disgust at such results as these, have gradually given themselves over to the dominion of the opposite influences the spirit of unquestioning faith, the spirit of absolute authority, and the spirit

If, in endeavouring to answer this question, we were to regard merely with a superficial glance the present aspect of European society, the result would be a melancholy foreboding for the great cause of human progress. By the grace of standing armies Despotism reigns for the moment supreme; nor is her power anywhere more absolute than in that pseudo republic whose principal achievements have been the restoration of the Pope and the annihilation of the Press. Between the fanatics of Socialism and the fanatics of order, between the madmen who would change everything and the madmen who would change nothing-constitutional Liberalism stands silent and ashamed. Majestic over the social chaos rcascends the phantom of the ancient Church. Paramount in Austria, reinstated in Spain, insolent in Ireland, fashionable in France, pushing her conquests into the very heart of Protestant Englandit might seem at first sight that the Papal power is destined to win back in our days all, and more than all, that had been wrested from her in the days of our fathers.

But these anticipations of evil, which not unnaturally suggest themselves to a hasty observer, vanish before a calmer consideration and a more extensive survey.

This fabric of restored despotism glitters, vast and imposing to the eye of the distant spectator; but is its architecture sound? are its foundations secure? Does it rest on the hearts of its subjects, or on the swords of its soldiery; on the firm reverence of instinctive loyalty, or on the hireling support of Prætorian camps? Ask this question of Vienna, Paris, Naples, Rome, Milan, the only present reply would be an ominous silence; when that silence is next broken the answer will be terrible as death and decisive as destiny. So again of those far-vaunted triumphs of Popery and Puseyism. Let those who boast them remember that the days of Cromwell followed swift upon the days of Laud, and that the Church of the Jesuits was swallowed up by the republic of the philosophers. Let them consider, too, that these boasted victories have been chiefly won over the sophisticated victims of a sickly and decrepit state of society. The tedium of artificial life and the feeble

ness of over-culture have contributed to swell the clopædia and the Terror, is creative and beneficent. ranks of a Church whose ceremonial observances Its mission is not only to destroy but to upbuild. afford a refuge from ennui, and whose claims of " Ecrasez l'infâme"-" Mort aux aristocrates" are infallible authority save the labour of speculation. no longer its watchwords. Its ideas are grand, But on the sound and vigorous Protestantism of the middle and lower classes, modern Catholicity, whether Roman or Anglican, has made no impression whatever. Nay, it is a notorious fact that, both in Ireland and Italy, the secessions from Rome amongst the great body of the people have of late out-numbered, beyond all measure of proportion, the loudly-heralded conversions which have been too hastily accepted as conclusive evidence of a great Catholic revival.

We cannot, then, persuade ourselves that either political absolutism or Roman reaction can be of any long date in this rife period of the world's manhood. The age of steam-presses, and electric telegraphs and peace-conventions, is not an age which can much longer be tolerant of military despotisms and infallible Churches. The Liberalism of these later years, unlike that of the Ency

its problems are practical. Its home policy is simply "a due adjustment between labour and the produce of labour." Its foreign policy is comprised in the formula, "The United States of Europe." To produce by a wise combination of the two great principles of competition and association a more equable distribution of wealth, and to put an end for ever to that barbarous system of international warfare which has so long been the curse of Europe, such are the true objects to be pursued by the great party of progress through the sole means of free discussion and extended education. Those who pursue these things are moving with the order of the universe; those who oppose them are struggling against it. What the issue will be can be no secret to those who have watched even with a very moderate degree of attention the progressive development of modern civilisation.

THE GHOST-SEER OF TRESILLION.

BY C. A. M. W.

IT is wonderful," said Dr. Johnson, "that five thousand years have now elapsed since the creation of the world, and still it is undecided whether or not there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it, but all belief is for it."

From earliest infancy I had been regaled with marvellous legends by an old Irish nurse; but her tales were so very wild and wonderful that I soon learned to discriminate truth from fiction. I retained, however, an impassioned desire to meet with some individual who had personally come into close contact with a real spectral visitant; it was always, A friend of mine had a friend who told me so and so;" or, A person of strict veracity related this to me;" but I wished to speak face to face with a person who could solemnly say, "I myself saw or heard so and so."

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The realisation of my wishes certainly came upon me by surprise, and in a form I least expected. During a lengthened sojourn in the west of England, two native ladies of our acquaintance dropped in to drink tea, bringing their workbaskets and also their niece, a fat, good-humoured damsel, whose blowsy cheeks and hearty laugh gave no indication of a ghost-seer. Yet she it was who was doomed to stamp my faith in the supernatural, even by the impress of her own experience.

The winter winds were howling, and the rain pattered against the casement, and, ensconced in a warm room beside a bright fire, the ancient dames discussed many startling narratives with infinite gusto and satisfaction. But their reminiscences made us laugh so heartily that, a little nettled by

our incredulity and hardness of heart, which no authenticated accounts of the "phantom ships," "Gabriel's hounds," "corpse-candles," or "headless miners" could soften, they put forth their sturdy niece, the blooming Lovday, to awe us into due decorum by relating an awful episode in her own career. After much solicitation the girl complied, yet not without tears and a paler cheek than she was wont to exhibit. She frequently became our guest from this period, and I had many opportunities of canvassing the truth of her relation, but always without being able to arrive at any other conclusion than that it was in truth" strange, passing strange, beyond the dreams of our philosophy.'

To the best of my recollection, I will give it in her own words, as follows: "I am one of a large family, and my father is a farmer well to do in the world, besides being a hill-preacher. I have never been far away from my father's dwelling near the Land's End, and this is the longest journey, to see my aunts, I have ever taken. We were all brought up in the fear of the Lord; but we knew no other fear, nor were any idle fancies tolerated. My father had an old and valued friend, a clergyman of the Established Church; but difference of tenets did not prevent their loving and frequent intercourse. This gentleman was a bachelor, and resided in a lonely parsonage, situate beside a wide and unsheltered grave-yard, wherein stood the mouldering church, round whose tower the ivy hung in rich festoons, and beneath whose eaves the owls found a congenial home. This kind old man often came to see us, for our homes were not more than ten miles apart; he would then take me on his knee,

and call me his dear child, whispering that all he | timid, though we knew not of what; and I felt had would one day be mine. I was his decided ashamed of myself for such unnatural nervousness, favourite, on account of my likeness to our deceased Tammy soon slept, but I had no inclination to mother (for my father has a second wife); he had close my eyes. I lay thinking of the departed, wished to marry our mother when he was a young-thinking of his glorified state, yet sad and sorster, before she knew my father; but she had de- rowful as became my frail humanity, when his cided on never wedding any save a hill-preacher, peculiar footfall sounded quite distinctly in the and her destiny was soon after fulfilled. Old Mr. room above. I knew it instantly; for, as I have Dhad been constant to his first-love and to her said, it was peculiar and heavy. I felt no fear, sweet memory; but he was so sincerely a Christian and I even thought that I should be glad to see that my father, though a fortunate rival, was re-him again. I heard the opening of every drawer garded by him as a beloved brother.

and cupboard, accompanied by noisy rummaging.

The last time I ever beheld our venerated friend | Presently the footsteps descended the stairs, and in life was in my father's house at evening-tide, when with unusual solemnity he declared before the assembled family his determination to constitute me legally his heiress; and his parting words were, "God bless you, my darling; and mind the silver teapot and the twelve silver spoons are yours, Lovday, and 8001. besides, in the bank at P. I'll make a will directly, or Thomas will grasp all, and then, mark me! I shall not rest in my grave."

This said Thomas was Mr. D's brother, also unmarried; a wealthy but selfish individual, residingat P; the dispositions and principles of the brothers were so opposed that they found it better to see as little of each other as possible; Mr. Thomas D—— having amassed a fortune by usury, while our reverend friend deprived himself of many comforts in order to heap up treasure" where the moth doth not corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal."

I saw him trot away on his long-tailed pony as the darkness gathered around, muffled up in neckcloths and overcoats, for the drenching mist was falling over the hills, and on the houseless roads. Next day, my father was hurriedly sent for; old Mr. D had been found dead in his bed.

I intreated to be allowed to accompany him, and permission was accorded; more particularly as Tammy, the ancient housekeeper, was quite alone, and needed some one to console and cheer her. I shared poor Tammy's couch, and the funeral was appointed to take place in five days' time. Mr. Thomas D- -arrived from P, and numerous visitors from far and near, as is the custom at our funeral ceremonies; the open shed at the side of the church-yard being filled with vehicles on the day of interment.

I saw the remains lowered into their last dark home, I heard the hymn sung, and I believed that the dear departed was singing with the angels in paradise. With the exception of two or three individuals, who remained late at the parsonage with my father, all the guests dispersed that afternoon. Mr. Thomas D- returned to P——, taking with him all the valuables he could collect, silver tea-pot, spoons and all, together with some bank notes. There was no will; he was the heir, and his proceedings were summary. My father purposed our returning home on the following day. The chamber I shared with the housekeeper was at the end of a long passage, and beneath the one lately occupied by the deceased. She secured the door for the scenes of the day had made us both rather

came down the long passage leading to the chamber I was in; slowly, very slowly they advanced. My heart began to throb violently, but I knew the door was well secured. Noiselessly he came through it; it never opened. The figure was swathed in its shroud, and one hand, extended, held a taper. This taper threw no light on the objects around, only on the apparition, which stood out as a ghastly, dim white picture in the black setting of midnight, framed in darkness. It opened the closets and wardrobes of this room also, piteously moaning, and shaking its head, oh, so dismally! They were all found open and disarranged afterwards. It then approached our bed, slowly gliding nearer and nearer till quite close, when I distinguished the earthy musty smell of the coffin cerements, of corruption, and the damp grave. I was horror-stricken then, and I woke Tammy. She fixed her eyes on the unearthly visitant, screamed loudly, Master's come back!' and fell from the bed on the opposite side to where the apparition stood, in a paroxysm of terror. At the same moment, just as I was about to address it, the figure sunk gradually down through the floor, still continuing to moan and shake its head in token of disapproval, and we were left in darkness, the first time in my life that darkness and silence had ever appalled me. My father heard a noise, and he came presently to ascertain the cause. He found everything in confusion, drawers, closets, and cabinets open; and his suspicion was, that thieves had done it all. When I revealed the true state of the case he received the knowledge with grave solemnity, but made no remark.

"As if to corroborate my statement, an ancient serving-man, who had been busied about the stables until a late hour, after the departure of the funeral guests, in crossing the grave-yard near the sp where his dear master was freshly interred, saw a shadowy form in white raiment glide amid the green mounds as if coming from the house, ad sink suddenly down beside the new-made grave. The figure held a light in its hand, which shed radiance save on itself; and the eyes were as the eyes of Mr. D-, but dead and fixed looking. The man, affrighted, darted into the kitchen of the parsonage, and at once sought my father. He made this awful incident a matter of prayerful discussion for many weeks; the apparition never appeared again, and the silver tea-pot, and the twelve silver spoons, also the 8004., remain in the possession of Mr. Thomas D

of P-; for

HEINE, HIS WORKS AND

To return to our poet and his works. The Count sip.
Platen was among the most persevering anta-
gonists of Heine. He, Augustus Count of Platen
Hallermünde, was the poor descendant of a noble
and wealthy family. Trained up to a soldier's
profession, and educated in " camps and courts,"
as he says in one of his poems, the Count Platen
left his career to devote himself to the study of
science and literature; and although of a maturer
age than the majority of the students at the Uni-
versity of Tübingen where he matriculated, he
became distinguished among them by habits of
industry and the acquisition of a superior scientific
education, for which neither his former profession
nor his rank furnished any precedent. His fami-
liarity with the works of the master-minds of
almost all European nations was surprising, and
he was, moreover, deeply read in the classics and
in Eastern literature-two sources of knowledge
of which Heine had never done more than take a