their remonstrances were in vain. The Senate, therefore, sent out a decree to this effect: "Whereas Ochino hath published a book contrary to the laws and edicts of the magistracy, which ought to be suppressed, and on whose account this church and republic is evil reported of, it is our will and pleasure that he forthwith depart from the city and territory of Zurich." Before his departure, he requested Bullinger to grant him a letter of recommendation. He answered, that he was grieved for his case, both on account of his own advanced age and of his family; but, as it appeared to him that he had suffered himself to be led away by other restless characters, and had published such offensive tenets, the Senate could act no otherwise than it had done; that there yet remained other parts of his work to be examined; that for his own part he considered his opinions as very culpable, and could not have supposed that he would have been so pertinacious; and that as he had caused such disturbance, it was impossible for him in conscience and honour to give him testimonials, and recommend him to other individuals or congregations." Thus did this excellent man discharge the difficult duty of reproof; and while he regarded his friend with feelings of genuine compassion, he was not unmindful of the scriptural injunction; "Thou shalt in any wise rebuke thy neighbour, and not suffer sin upon him."-Lev. xix. 17. Ochino went first to Basle, where he had been formerly respected, and entreated his friends to obtain for him leave of residence; but when asked by some his sentiments concerning the Dialogues, and replying that he agreed with them, they exhorted him to write his retractation, and satisfy the churches of Zurich and Basle. He said he would do so, in compliance with their wishes, requiring liberty to pass the winter in their city with his family. But the Senate rejected his petition; observing that he had brought great disgrace on the community he had just quitted; that his tenets would hereafter undergo examination; and that they would not harbour him, unless he made speedy amends to the magistracy and clergy of Zurich. He was therefore constrained, in his seventy-sixth year, and in an inclement season, to retire into Poland; but rendering himself obnoxious there also by his Arian sentiments, he soon withdrew to Moravia, where, with two sons and a daughter, he fell a victim to the plague. Bullinger had to oppose a variety of other heresies which troubled the church at this period, after the death of Melancthon, whose argumentative powers they feared to encounter. Francis Stancar, Valentine Gentili, and George Blandrata, were guilty of broaching unsound doctrines, but found in the Zurich pastor a determined defender of the faith once delivered to the saints. In a letter to Rudzure concerning these corruptions, Bullinger observes, "If Christ be not coequal and coeternal with the Father, he is not Jehovah; and in that case cannot be the Head, nor Saviour, nor High Priest of the church for eternity. Thus our faith would be vain, and we should have a worse hope than either Turks or Jews." He was also engaged in controversy with a very different character, the pious and able Dr. Brentzen, Pastor at Stutgard, who had great influence among the Lutherans. This divine differed, however, in some metaphysical distinctions from the Wittenberg Professor, and became the head of a party called Ubiquitarians. He thought proper to send out a book * Simler, pp. 39, 40.-Hottinger, Hist. Eccl. Tom. ix. Sec. xvi. P. v. c. 3. p. 475. Bayle, Dict. Ochin. on the personal union of the two natures in Christ, his ascension into heaven, and session at the right hand of the Father; in which he laboured to prove the substantial presence of Christ's body in the supper, from the argument, that wherever his divinity was, there was also his humanity. Bullinger had published a tract on these words, "In my Father's house are many mansions," in which he spoke in favour of the locality of heaven; and showed that the happiness of saints would consist in their view of the glorified humanity of Jesus, distinguishing his bodily from his spiritual presence. This also Brentzen declared he could not suffer to pass unnoticed, particularly as it opposed his doctrines of ubiquity and consubstantiation; and on Bullinger's replying, he rejoined, that the Helvetic church denied the majesty of Christ, and the omnipotence of God. He even went so far as in his last will and testament, published at Wittenberg in 1570, to warn all states against the toleration of Zuinglians, which was of course protested against by Bullinger. The Synod of Rochelle condemning those who rejected the words substance and substantially, in speaking of the Eucharist, the ministers of Zurich felt aggrieved, and wrote to Beza complaining of the terms of their decree. Beza replied, that nothing was further from their intention than to hurt the minds of their Helvetic brethren; but that it merely alluded to some French Protestants, who had spoken unskilfully on the sole effect of the bread and wine, omitting their signification; and that as to the substantial presence of Christ in the elements, they objected to such doctrine equally with themselves. As, however, they had been blamed for denying the communion of the body and blood they retained the word substance, not as implying the bodily presence, but as a spiritual participation; and had taken care so to explain their meaning, that it could not favour the tenet of transubstantiation. Bullinger then represented the expediency of such an alteration, as might evidence a conformity of faith; on which suggestion satisfactory explications were given at the subsequent Synod of Nismes *. As a husband and father, our Reformer had experienced the bereavements of providence. He lost three sons in their youth; and in 1564, a pestilence breaking out in Zurich proved fatal to his wife and three daughters, who were all married to ministers; one to Ulric Zuinglius, son of his eminent predecessor; another to Lewis Lavater; and a third to his affectionate biographer Josias Simler. A few years afterwards, he received the melancholy intelligence of the death of another son, a young officer serving in the troops of the Prince of Orange. He had himself been attacked by the pestilence, but had been restored by that Father of Mercies, who heard the intercession of the church in his behalf. He was moreover subject to the stone, and other disorders, which afflicted the latter years of his life. These he bore with exemplary patience, and prosecuted his labours and writings in the intervals of convalescence. It may be particularly noticed, that in 1569 he published a confutation of the Bull sent out by Pius V. against Queen Elizabeth, depriving her of all title to the crown of England, and absolving her subjects from their oath of allegiance. At length, on the 24th of May, 1575, he relapsed into a nephritic disease, and suffered excruciating pains, which he endured *Bayle, V. ii. p. 196.-Simler, p. 44. 1 without murmur, praying the more fervently as he was the more severely tried. When his agonies abated, he held pleasing and edifying discourse with his domestics or visitors. "If it be God's will to make me of any further use in his church, he can supply the ability and I shall readily obey; but if he design, as I much wish, to call me out of this life, I am indeed willing to depart from a miserable world to Christ my Saviour! Cicero tells us, that Socrates rejoiced in the prospect of death, because forsooth he was going, as he thought, to see Homer, and Hesiod, and other illustrious characters. How much more do I rejoice, confident as I am of seeing Christ my Saviour, the eternal Son of God, in our nature, and with him so many holy patriarchs, prophets, apostles, such as the world hath never seen besides, and all the saints that ever lived! When, I say, I am about to behold all these, and believe that I shall share that felicity which they have in God their Saviour, how can I but willingly die, that I may enter into such society, and into such everlasting joys?" Finding his end approaching, he called for all the pastors and professors on the 16th of August, and addressed them at some length in his study; thanking them for so kindly obeying his summons, and observing that he wished to take leave of them while As in possession of his reason. he could not speak without tears, he told them that these were not shed from any fear of death, but from the great affection he bore to them all. He made a confession of his faith, declared his forgiveness of his enemies; exhorted them to concord in religion and temperance of living, as became pastors; admonishing them to cultivate a good understanding with the Senate, which had defended true doctrine, showing it due respect, and advising with it on church affairs; and concluded by expressing his regard for them all, hoping that whoever was appointed his successor in the superintendance would be humble on his own part, and receive attention on theirs. He then returned thanks, and repeated a hymn from Prudentius. He wrote his farewell to the magistrates, commending the church and schools to their care, and desiring them to nominate Ralph Walter his successor. He survived this address to his brethren thirty-two days, during which he experienced much bodily suffering, though his senses were mercifully preserved. He found great difficulty in speaking; but on the 17th of September was enabled to repeat the 51st, 16th, and 42d Psalms, with several prayers, and departed in peace at the decline of day, in the seventy-first year of his age. THE COTTAGE IN THE WOOD, &c.-PART VI. IN such discourse, we had imperceptibly passed the last boundary of the woody range that protected the abode of those whom our hearts longed to see, and formed a shelter about it on that side whence the winds of winter swept downward with the greatest violence. And now the snowcovered piles of the Alps rose beside us in all their awful magnificence. We turned, and gazed silently upon them. Our minds were impressed with the power of that fiat which from nothing could summon such stupendous masses into existence. Still we gazed, and still in silence. We seemed to feel a present God. His handy work was before us; and in it we read the terrors of his name. "Who shall say to him, What doest thou? Or who shall abide the day of his appearing?" "When his anger is kindled, yea, but a little, blessed are all they that put their trust in him!" Such was the unuttered language of our hearts, while we beheld these apartments which nature, or rather the Lord of nature, for nature is but a name for an effect whose cause is God, had decked with such splendid sublimity. Here, we thought, might be more peculiarly his footsteps when he visited the earth in storms; here his voice might be heard more deeply when he called to the world from his cloudy tabernacle; here his path be traced more distinctly when he rode on the cherubim, or did fly upon the wings of the wind. Uncertainty, however, hovered round the place of our destination. My friend had long been without tidings of its inmates; we could not consequently totally divest ourselves of that doubt, which never fails to throw a veil of mysterious interest over every thing with which it connects itself. There is something, unquestionably, of a peculiar character in that feeling of incertitude which dwells around whatever concerns us, while as yet we are ignorant whether life or death be the portion of those we love. Whether our relatives are smiling in the light of happiness or visiting the abodes of affliction, and there learning the sad lessons of sorrow and distress; whether, and O how absence quickens the keen emotions of anxious affection! whether the home of our nativity be illumined by hilarity and cheerfulness, or darkened with the sable pall: whether our parents, brethren, sisters, or, it may be, the partner of our days, or our children, are in health and gladness, or laid on the bed of languishing racked by pain, and acquainted with the appalling varieties of trouble and of woe! And, ah! who can tell what those sensations mean which forebode the gloom of separation-the stillness of the grave? Who, when long held from the embraces of his friends and kindred, all whom he held dearest on earth, can lightly dance over the threshold of his fathers, ere he knows whether joy or sorrow waits to greet his return? I recollect to have seen, and my readers will perhaps pardon the quotation, a few lines which allude, and I think not inelegantly, to these feelings. The poem from which they are extracted was, I believe, never published. After speaking of the awful preparatives which preceded the dawn of that morning on which a truce expired, and running with considerable animation through some of those emotions which would naturally arise in the mind, on beholding two armies drawn up in battle array, and already advancing to the conflict, the author thus proceeds: "Through England's ranks the deep breathed prayer is heard, For self, for friend, for relative preferred: no: But, if death hover'd o'er a morn of fight, Ne'er beat that bosom would not long for night. All then is dark-inexplicable dread Hangs o'er the doubt which shrouds that evening's bed: Each one would ask, if yet the fatal dart Had winged its way to quiver in his heart? Whether the cypress, or the laurel crown, Should wreathe his temples when the sun went down." It was with emotion, perhaps not dissimilar to these in kind, though differing from them in degree, that my friend and I drew near the spot which had furnished us with so interesting a topic of discourse during our walk. The inhabitants of the cottage in the wood had long been declining in the vale of life. Time had marked them as those whom his all destroying hand would soon attain; and even when my companion had last visited them, they bore the semblance of pilgrims whose days were numbered, and whose sands were fast ebbing away. Since that period, weeks, and months, and years had fled. Many, many, during their course, had passed from present scenes; and they too might have entered that undiscovered country" from which no traveller returns. "Well do I remember," said my companion, as we proceeded, "the last evening I visited this retreat. Time! Time! O what an enemy art thou to all human hopes-all plans, all schemes, all devices, whose aim and object lie not beyond the grave! How swiftly, O how swiftly, move thy untiring wings! How many would barter worlds, if they had them, to arrest thy fearful flight! But it is appointed unto all men once to die. Neither tears nor prayers can stay the avenger, or turn aside the fatal shaft. The voice of joy and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, must soon cease for ever, and wasteness and desolation, silence and solitude, remain. alone behind." Nor was it without reason that my friend was agitated. His heart, indeed, with my own, was sad. His eye had caught the spot where once had stood the abode of his venerable acquaintances. It had caught it, and a glance told me what it meant. Some faint vestiges were all that was visible of the cottage in the wood. That mansion of peace had been, and now it was, in ruin and decay. The trees that had embowered it, it is true, were still waving in the breeze; but it seemed as if they sighed in sorrowful reminiscence of those who had erst reclined beneath their shade. The little garden, where many a blossom had embalmed the mountain gale as it passed them by, on its jocund way to the valleys that lay longing for its reviving influence below, was now a desert-the sojourn of the bittern and the owl. One nook alone was left, though it too was changed from its loveliness of other years--it was the arbour; made, indeed, with no delicacy of hands that would have twined it as a lady's bower, yet neatly nor, it may be, ungracefully interwreathed withal; in which the aged couple had occasionally sought shelter from the noon-tide sun, or rested their weary limbs when the evening bell, echoing among the surrounding hills, warned them of the hour of meditation and prayer. There often had they sat; there, often had taken sweet counsel together. There, often had been heard the voice of their sacred and simple song; there, often had been offered up their humble sacrifice of supplication and of praise. My companion stood for a moment as if riveted to the spot. He then turned slowly round, and, |