nations.

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[We have transferred the foregoing article from partly, as an example of the plain speaking of the pages of the Free-will Baptist Newspaper, our American brethren, and partly because the subject thus caustically treated has recently obtained great publicity in this country by the apparent sanction given to it in one of the most popular of our magazines.-ED.]

My station was selected for me, and I was sent where I least expected. I had been dreaming of lands far away; of traversing deserts, seas, and mountains; of wandering among heathens and cannibals; of suffering the pangs of hunger, the discomforts of heat and cold, and of being exposed to the hourly risk of losing my life. On my arrival I found myself in a romantic country in Europe; among a people, chiefly of the peasant class, already well versed in Roman Catholic superstitions; and surrounded by many fellow-labourers. I went to reside with a friar who had long been located at the mission station. He lived in one of the houses miscalled hospitals.' I say miscalled, for a hospital is a shelter for the destitute, but this, like all the rest connected with the mission, was neither more nor less than a comfortable house for friars. In the hospitals, or mission-houses, the friars live singly, or together. They have a salary, but are provided, in part, with the means of subsistence by offerings and gifts of goods and money. I reached the hospital with a light heart and full of hope. On entering, I was met by the friar. The first glance was enough. His appearance was frightfully repulsive, and portended evil. He was tall and lank; with a black, rough, matted beard; pallid face, dark piercing eyes, and mouth compressed. Two deep wrinkles, that began at the nostrils, passed close by the corners of the mouth, and descended to the lower jaw, gave him an habitual expression of discontent and disgust. His limbs were stiff, as if he lacked joints.

His

monk's frock was old, patched, and dirty. Such was the appearance of the man with whom I was now to live. I presented my papers, and received in return an icy reception. I felt that he looked upon me as an unwelcome intruder; and yet I hoped my first impressions might prove false.

I settled down with the friar as my companion. I treated him with deference, as my superior in age, though we were of equal standing and position. I showed more forbearance to him than I ever did towards any other man I ever knew. All was in vain. I was repaid by disdain and annoyance. At every turn I was contradicted and insulted. It seemed impossible for him to be calm and settled. He wandered through the rooms at night like a nocturnal bird. His face, like an Egyptian idol, was always hooded. He rose with his hood on, ate with his hood on, walked with his hood on, and, for aught I know, slept with his hood on. The poor servant never had a day's peace. She was reviled, threatened, and even beaten. But only let a visitor step in, however unexpectedly, and his voice and look were instantly changed. He became humble and courteous, spoke as softly as if he were repeating an Ave,' and seemed ready to give the fraternal kiss of peace.

My office, as missionary, was exactly the same as that of my unsociable companion. I was invested with the same rights, and subject to the same duties. I ought, according to custom, to have performed the sacred functions of festival days alternately; but he refused, lest, perhaps, I should throw him

into the shade. I soon learnt that my not officiating was set down by the people to my incapacity. I resolved to stand up for my rights, and spite of his angry opposition, succeeded. I prepared a sermon. The people were sur prised one Sunday to hear me preach and celebrate mass, with composure and propriety. It was evident I had gained their ear; not, as I frankly confess, from the excellence of my address, so much as from the clear and sonorous tone of my voice, so different from the nasal twang of the friars. The friar was enraged at my presumption and success, and left no means untried to produce in me weariness and disgust. He insulted me before the servant; and I at once sought redress from the prefect, imploring him to change my residence. The prefect was the most amiable friar, nay, he was the most amiable man I ever had the good fortune to know. The bad disposition of my tormentor was not unknown. My request was granted; but I had no occasion to avail myself of it, as the sequel will explain.

I entered the pulpit the following Sunday to preach my farewell sermon, and began-For the last time, my brethren, that it is my privilege to address you.' A murmur arose in the congregation; and when quiet was restored, I went on without further interruption. At the close of the service the people flocked round me to know the cause of my removal. I evaded them for a time, but as they pressed me urgently, I told the whole truth. Shortly after, a deputation, consisting of four consuls and two judges waited upon me, and, in the name of the community, requested me to remain. The other friar, whose true character they had gradually discovered, they intended to dismiss. I hesitated for a time, but finally yielded. Eight days were given for Father to arrange bis affairs, to give all necessary information to the prefect, and to decide where he should go. His rage knew no bounds. He defamed the community, the deputation, and myself. The deputies were confounded, and I fled from the house, as if escaping from destruction. Such are the friars,' I said to myself. These are the men

who once appeared so holy in my sight! Oh horror of horrors!'

I took refuge with the prefect. In a week the father left, and I entered on my solitary life in the mission-house. I expected to begin with a credit of eleven hundred francs, as my predeces sor had just received the annual contributions of the community. I was disappointed. Whether, during the last week of his stay, he was induced by revenge to alter his accounts, or whether the registers were originally so arranged as to mask his rapacity, I know not; but this I know, that instead of having a round sum in hand, I found myself seven hundred francs in debt. I was puzzled how to act. If I accused him of peculation, and demanded an exact financial statement, the affair would become notorious, and I should be thought revengeful. I held my peace. The house I found a complete wreck, and the conclusion was forced upon me, that as he had not taken many things away, nor yet sold them, he must have destroyed them by fire. I resolved to live most penuriously till the debt was paid, and denied my self of everything but bare necessities. By the end of the year I was not only out of debt, but had a well-stored cellar, and money to spare.

A few words about the servant. When I entered the house on Father

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-'s removal, she was ill. grew worse daily, and very shortly died. On her death-bed she declared that the cause of her malady was the ill-treatment of the banished father. During the last week of his stay he was perfectly ferocious, and swore at ber incessantly. He stormed, chiefly about me, and when she attempted some justification, he fell on her with savage violence, and actually held a knife to her throat. She believed her last moment was come, and her terror was so great that she never recovered. Her death was the work of a man who for years had enjoyed the reputation of a saint.

CHAP. VII.-I DISCOVER A NOBLE NEIGHBOUR.

I WAS incessantly occupied with my duties, and had little time to see any of

my brother friars. There lived about three leagues from me, one belonging to the same mission as myself. His circle of influence was even more extended than mine, and his occupations were manifold. I was not intimate with him, for I had rarely seen him. He was highly and deservedly esteemed throughout the whole country. He was well-informed, of unblameable conduct, and untiring in his charity. He did good everywhere without ostentation and hypocrisy.

In his parish lived two young widows, both very poor. Each had been left with a child. Their two brothers-in-law had compassion upon them in their misfortune, and desired to marry them. They applied to the father; and he, though fearing it would be difficult to obtain, wrote to Rome for a dispensation. He stated the case | so favourably, that the dispensation was immediately granted; and, wonder of wonders! since it is rarely the case that anything is obtained from Rome without money, it was gratuitous. One condition only was appended-the consent of the bishop. The bishop signified his good will, for which he charged each of the contracting parties twelve dollars and a half. The sum was exorbitant, and could not be raised by either. The father pleaded for its remission; but the bishop was obstinate, and would have the money. The two couples were summoned, and the case put before them. The father urged them to be resigned, as there was no help for it. We'll find help for it,' they cried indignantly; we can do without the dispensation.' The union took place; and some months after, to prevent scandal, the father once more pleaded with the bishop, frightened him by the threat of a popular demonstration if he still withheld his consent. It Was wrung out of him; but the bishop piqued and annoyed, resolved, on the first opportunity to have his revenge on the father. He had not long to wait, and with the alacrity peculiar to a Roman Catholic priest, he seized the occasion. The circumstances were these:-The community of the district had ceded to a company of timber merchants a great many forests at a very low price. The transaction was

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most nefarious. One condition of the bargain was, however, that only a certain number of trees, and those not the largest trunks, should be felled in the mountain woods which overtopped the village and sheltered the cultivated plain. Without this precaution the village would have been exposed to floods and avalanches at the melting of the winter snow. The trees impeded the descent of the moving masses of ice, and broke the impetuosity of the flood. But the cupidity of the purchasers caused them to disregard this condition. They cut down the timber on these heights and thus exposed the village and the surrounding country to the much-dreaded danger referred to. The community was indignant. The father, who always sought to protect the poor from the oppression of the rich, shared their anger. He himself braved the frowns of the merchants; and being the only person in the village capable of acting with intelligence and activity, prepared himself to maintain the rights of the people. A long discussion ensued. The father exerted his utmost ability. No lawyer took any part in the case. His masterly defence and well-marshalled evidence, secured a verdict against the merchants. They were condemned to desist from their illegal destruction, to repair the damages already done, to pay a fine to the community of ten times larger amount than the value of the wood illegally cut down, and to defray all costs.

The friar became the popular idol. The bishop thought his time was now come for revenge. He wrote to Rome, accusing the friar of mixing himself up in popular agitations, and of being a free mason. Rome never stopped to ask if the bishop's conduct were upright and free from any tincture of malice. A bishop wrote; and, with her old policy, Rome favoured the bishop. The friar was severely rebuked, and at once commanded to return to his own province. A great hubbub was the result. The community protested, that if he were forced to return, they would have no other priest; they would invite a Protestant clergyman. But for the address of the friar this would have been the issue. He calmed their infuriated minds, and

they finally allowed him to depart in peace. The fine paid by the merchants was, with one voice, offered to him by the community as a parting gift; but he steadily refused to take more than a mere trifle for his journey. He returned. A friend, a lawyer, was determined that the matter of his recall should not rest. After much trouble, he carried his point. The Propaganda regretted their procedure, acknowledged his innocence, and appointed him prefect of one of the distant missions of the New World. He asked to be allowed to return to his old friends; but, lest the bishop should be offended, his request was denied. I have never heard anything more about him; but I have little doubt that he is still pursuing his beneficent career. May God enlighten his mind, and give bim eyes to see and grace to renounce the errors of Romanism.

CHAP. VIII.-THE SACRED TARIFF.

In that year I witnessed the invention of a most disgraceful contrivance to satisfy the rapacious desires of the priesthood. I can now see the extent of its infamy. At the time, though I did not approve of it, I did not regard it in its true light, and, as priest of the place, I shared in the profits without any compunctions of conscience.

The vicar pretended to a great concern for the spiritual welfare of the people, but as it proved, for no other reason than to fill his purse, and, as a good brother, the purses of other priests. He was suddenly struck, during one of his pious meditations, with great anxiety about the souls of the dead. The benefit of masses and offices for souls in purgatory was a privilege enjoyed exclusively by the rich. How should he devise means for securing the same for the poor? He hit upon this scheme: a price should be paid, according to the length of the mass or the office one Pater for a deceased friend should be charged five soldi; three Ave Marias, six soldi; one de profundis, eight soldi, and so on. The ignorant and simple-minded people embraced the idea with enthusiasm. From that time a new course of prayers commenced. Before the regular service

began on the Sundays, the priest in surplice and stole, stood in the midst of the church with the people all kneel ing around him ready to respond. He then repeated fifty or sixty Paternosters, the people giving the other half in response, and so with the Ave Marias, and the de profundis. In this boly work he spent more than an hour. The confusion of voices was indescribable. Now a Pater, now an Ave, now a de profundis, were chanted in baste, in every variety of tone and time, of loudness and softness, and all interspersed with the rattling of the money. To deceive the poor people still more, the name, surname, and profession of the person for whom the prayers were read, were given, accompanied by bombastic titles. The women, who never enjoyed any titles whatever when living, were honoured with them when dead.

A foreign priest, a refugee in the country, a man of considerable talent, felt indignant at this innovation, and wrote a book against it, entitled, The Sacred Tariff.' A layman also entered the lists on the same side. The people were upmoved, and still clung to the deception. A priest replied to both opponents, and was rewarded for his pains by a miserly old woman bequeathing him 36,000 francs, on condition that he should build a little chapel in honour of the Virgin Mary. A chapel was built, but much larger and more costly than the one specified. He was praised in proportion. He also built a house for himself hard by. The chapel was opened with great solemnity. Crowds flocked in. magnificent ceremony was exhibited, about which no expense was spared. In the midst of it, just when the excitement of the people was wrought to the highest pitch, a loud shout resounded through the sacred edifice. Voices were heard crying, Kneel, kneel!' All were prostrate in a moment. miracle! miracle !' The priest in amazement raised his eyes to the spot, which was attracting general attention. Marvellous was the sight that met his glance! The face of the Madonna was perspiring drops of blood. He prostrated himself and uttered sighs and groans. The people followed his

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