tivity, and heard him mentioned as the writer of many books; but never took it into her head that he was a great man, and rather beheld him with a kind of compassion. "You will never," said she to him one day, "be any thing but a philosopher and what is a philosopher?—a fool, who toils and plagues himself during his life, that people may talk of him when he is no more."

POPISH MIRACLES, MYSTERIES, RELICS, CEREMONIES, &c.

THE following will give us some idea of the fallacy of miracles in the Romish church.

"St. Anthony is thought to have had a great command over fire, and a power of destroying, by flashes of that element, those who incurred his displeasure. A certain monk of St. Anthony one day assembled his congregation under a tree where a magpie had built her nest, into which he had found means to convey a small box filled with gunpowder, and out of the box hung a long thin match that was to burn slowly, and was hidden among the leaves of the trees. As soon as

the monk or his assistant had touched the match with a lighted coal, he began his sermon. In the mean while the magpie returned to her nest, and, finding in it a strange body which she could not remove, she fell into a passion, and began to scratch with her feet, and chatter most unmercifully. The friar affected to hear her without emotion, and continued his sermon with great composure; only he would now and then lift up

his eyes towards the top of the tree, as if he wanted to see what was the matter. At last, when he judged that the match was near reaching the gunpowder, he pretended to be quite out of patience: he cursed the magpie, wished St. Anthony's fire might consume her, and went on again with his sermon. But he had scarely pronounced two or three periods, when the match, on a sudden, produced its effect, and blew up the magpie with its nest; which miracle wonderfully raised the character of the friar, and proved afterwards very beneficial to him and to his convent."

Galbert, monk of Marchiennes, informs us of a strange act of devotion in his time, and which, indeed, is attested by several contemporary writers. When the saints did not readily comply with the prayers of their votarists, they flogged their relics with rods, in a spirit of impatience, which they conceived was proper to make them. bend into compliance.

When the reformation was spread in Lithua-nia, Prince Radzivil was so affected, that he went in person to visit the pope, and pay him all possible honours. His holiness, on this occasion, presented him with a box of precious relics. Having returned home, the report of this invaluable possession was spread; and, at length, some monks intreated permission to try the effects of these relics on a demoniac who had hitherto resisted every kind of exorcism. They were brought into the church with solemn pomp, deposited on the altar, and an innumerable crowd attended. After the usual conjurations, which were unsuccessful, they applied the relics. The demoniac instantly

became well. The people called out, A miracle! and the prince, lifting his hands and eyes to heaven, felt his faith confirmed. In this transport of pious joy, he observed that a young gentleman, who was keeper of this rich treasure of relics, smiled, and appeared, by his motions, to ridicule the miracle. The prince, with violent indignation, took our young keeper of the relics to task; who, on promise of pardon, gave the following secret intelligence concerning them :-He assured him, that, in travelling from Rome, he had lost the box of relics; and that, not daring to mention it, he had procured a similar one, which he had filled with the small bones of dogs and cats, and other trifles similar to what was lost. He hoped he might be forgiven for smiling, when he found that such a collection of rubbish was idolized with such pomp, and had even the virtue of expelling demons. It was by the assistance of this box that the prince discovered the gross impositions of the monks and the demoniacs, and who afterwards became a zealous Lutheran.

The following account of the miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius is related by a respectable eye witness." The grand procession on this occasion was composed of a numerous body of clergy, and an immense number of people of all ranks, headed by the Arch-bishop of Naples himself, who carried the phial containing the blood of the saint. A magnificent robe of velvet richly embroidered was thrown over the shoulders of the bust: a mitre, refulgent with jewels, was placed on its head. The archbishop, with a solemn pace, and a

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look full of awe and veneration, approached, holding forth the sacred phial which contained the precious lump of blood: he addressed the saint in the humblest manner, fervently praying that he would graciously condescend to manifest his regard to his faithful votaries, the people of Naples, by the usual token of ordering that lump of his sacred blood to assume its natural and original form in these prayers he was joined by the multitude around, particularly by the women. My curiosity prompted me to mingle with the multitude: I got, by degrees, very near the bust. Twenty minutes had already elapsed since the archbishop had been praying with all possible earnestness, and turning the phial around and around, without any effect. An old monk stood near the archbishop, and was at the utmost pains to instruct him how to handle, chafe, and rub the phial: he frequently took it into his own hand, but his manœuvres were as ineffectual as those of the archbishop. By this time the people had become noisy; the women were quite hoarse with praying; the monk continued his operations with increased zeal, and the archbishop was all over in a profuse sweat with vexation.—An acquaintance whispered, it might be prudent to retire. I directly took his hint, and joined the company I had left. An universal gloom overspread all their countenances. One very beautiful young lady cried and sobbed as if her heart had been ready. to break. The passions of some of the rabble without doors took a different turn: instead of sorrow, they were filled with rage and indignation at the saint's obduracy-and some went so

far as to call him an old, ungrateful, yellow-faced rascal. It was now almost dark, and, when least expected, the signal was given that the miracle was performed. The populace filled the air with repeated shouts of joy; a band of music began to play. Te Deum was sung; couriers were dispatched to the royal family (then at Portici), with the glad tidings; the young lady dried up her tears; the countenances of our company brightened in an instant; and they sat down to cards, without farther dread of eruptions, earthquakes, or pestilence.'

The mysteries, as they were called, or representations of the Divine Being, the crucifixion, &c. were formerly very common in the church of Rome. They served as the amusement and instruction of the people; and so attractive were these gross exhibitions in the dark ages, that they formed one of the principal ornaments of the reception which was given to princes when they entered towns.

In the year 1437, when Conrad Bayer, Bishop of Metz, caused the mystery of the passion to be represented on the plain of Veximiel, near that city, God was an old gentleman named Mr. Nicholas Neufchatel, of Touraine, Curate of Saint Victory of Metz, and who was very near expiring on the cross, had he not been timely assisted. He was so enfeebled, that it was agreed another priest should be placed on the cross the next day, to finish the representation of the person crucified, and which was done at the same time, the said Mr. Nicholas undertook to perform the resurrection, which being a less difficult task,.he