R. But how can people believe in such a num ber of miracles?

4. The Church of Rome, my friend, is like a large and showy quack-medicine shop. There is not a disease, not an evil, for which the Pope has not a labelled Saint. People when in fear or actual suffering, are apt to receive a certain relief from hope. You have only to say, try this or that medicine, and you will see the patient's eyes light up, like the poor man who has a kind of foretaste for riches from the moment he purchases a lottery ticket. The Pope's spiritual quack-medicines are to be applied without doubt or hesitation, and not to be given up in despair; all you are allowed is to add some new Saint to your former patron. Well, a poor creature is writhing with the tooth-ache; he goes to the Pope's shop, and finds that Saint Apollonia had all her teeth pulled out, and therefore takes pity on those who suffer in a similar way. He prays, buys a print of the Saint, and lights up a candle before it. If the pain goes off, Saint Apollonia cured him; if atlast the tooth is drawn, Saint Apollonia blunted the pain of the operation. So it is with every disease, with every undertaking, a journey, a speculation; even the most sinful and wicked actions are often commended by the lower classes of Roman Catholics to the care of their patron Saint. Of this I have the most positive certainty. Miracles being thus expected at all times, and means supposed to possess a supernatural virtue, being constantly used, under the idea that the most effectual way of receiving the looked-for benefit, is a strong persuasion of their efficacy, and a rejection of

all doubt, which, they believe, offends the implored Saint; every accident is construed into a wonder: the failures are attributed to a want of faith, and the success, either complete or partial, which would have infallibly taken place in the natural course of things, is confidently proclaimed as a display of supernatural power. Add to this, that there is a very common feeling among the Roman Catholics, of the same kind as that which anticipates thanks for the sake of securing favour. They, in fact, give credit to their Saints beyond what they really believe, and flatter them by public acknowledgements, which they mean as a before-hand payment, which, in common honesty, must bind the receiver to complete the work. All this is done, not with an intent to deceive, but from that utter weakness of mind which a man cannot fail to contract, when brought up under a complete system of quackery, either spiritual or temporal: a system which encourages all sorts of fears, to ensure the sale of imaginary remedies against them.

R. Do you think, Sir, that all Roman Catholics are in such a state of mind?

A. By no means. There are various circumstances which make individual minds resist, more or less, the influence of their Church. But this I can assure you before the whole world, that whoever submits entirely to the guidance of Rome, must become a weak, superstitious being, unless his natural temper should dispose him to join with superstition the violence and persecuting spirit of the bitterest bigotry.

R. If you can prove what you so broadly assert, I shall infer, that while the Roman Catho

lics uphold their Church for the sake of possessing an unerring guide, and thus having a decided advantage over the Protestant Churches, who allow their members to exercise their judgment upon religious matters; it is only individual judgment and natural good sense that make Romanism assume a decent appearance among

us.

A. Keep to your inference till we can renew this conversation, when I trust I shall satisfy you that it is supported by the most undeniable facts. Remember that I undertake to prove, that the Church of Rome leads her members into the most abject and lamentable superstition, credulity, and bigotry; that she keeps her subjects in bondage by the most tyrannical means; and that she is always ready to force men into subjection to her authority, in the same measure as they are off their guard to resist her encroachments.

DIALOGUE IV.

SUPERSTITIOUS CHARACTER OF THE CHURCH OF ROME: HER DOCTRINE ON PENANCE: HER MIRACLES EXAMINED: MISERY PRODUCED BY HER WILL-WORSHIP: APOSTOLIC DOCTRINE OF JUSTIFICATION: EFFECTS OF CELIBACY AND RELIGIOUS VOWS: PERSECUTING SPIRIT OF ROMANISM.

Author. I COME prepared to describe to you the character of the Church of Rome; and in the first place I am to prove that she exerts her whole power in making her members superstitious. I must, however, ask you, before I proceed, whether you have a clear idea of what is meant by the word superstition.

Reader. I believe I have a tolerable good notion of it; but, to say the truth, I should be at a loss to state clearly what I understand by that word.

A. My notion of it may be expressed thus: superstition consists in credulity, hopes, and fears, about invisible and supernatural things, upon fanciful and slight grounds. We call that man superstitious who is ready to believe any idle story of ghosts and witches; who nails a horse-shoe upon the ship or barn, which he hopes by that means to preserve in safety; and dreads evil consequences from going out of doors the

first time in the morning, with his left foot fore

most.

R. Does the Church of Rome encourage superstitions of this kind?

A. She certainly encourages the same state of mind, though not exactly upon the same things. Every Church may be compared to a great school or establishment for religious education. I will represent to you, in description, a pupil of that school, that you may infer what is taught in it, and I will draw the picture from various Roman Catholics whom I have intimately known. Imagine my Romanist friend retiring to his bed in the night. The walls of the room are covered with pictures of all sizes. Upon a table there is a wooden or brass figure of our Saviour nailed to the cross, with two wax candles ready to be lighted, at each side. Our Romanist carefully locks the door; lights up the candles, kneels before the cross, and beats his breast with his clenched right hand, till it rings again in a hollow sound. It is probably a Friday, a day of penance: the good man looks pale and weak. I know the reason-he has made but one meal on that day, and that on fish; had he tasted meat, he feels assured he should have subjected his soul to the pains of hell. But the mortifications of the day are not over. He unlocks a small cupboard, and takes out a skull, which he kisses, and places upon the table at the foot of the crucifix. He then strips off part of his clothes, and with a scourge, composed of small twisted ropes hardened with wax, lays stoutly to the right and left, till his bare skin is ready to burst with accumulated blood. The discipline, as it is