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for ever, an Indulgence of forty years, and one thousand six hundred days, applicable also to the dead, for every time that they visit, during Lent, the Churches where there are stations in the manner prescribed. Furthermore, he conceded to all who have made such visits three times in three distinct days, a plenary Indulgence. In the index referred to, there are the days, the Churches, the Stations and Indulgences, carefully arranged thus.

"On Jan. 1, the circumcision of our Lord Jesus Christ, a Station at S. Marie in Transtevere, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days.

“On Ash Wednesday, at S. Tabina, &c., an Indulgence of fifteen years and six hundred days.

"On the following Thursday at S. Georgio in Velabro, &e., an Indulgence of ten years and four hundred days.

“On the fourth Sunday in Lent, at Santa Croce, an Indulgence of fifteen years and six hundred days.

"On Palm Sunday, at S. Giovani in the Laterno, an Indulgence of twenty five years and one thousand days.

"On holy Thursday at S. Giovani, a plenary Indulgence.

* On holy Friday, at Santa Croce in Gerusalemine, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days.

"On Easter Sunday, at S. Marie Maggiore, a plenary Indulgence.

"On Easter Monday, at S. Pietro in Vaticano, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days.

"On Thursday, Ascension-day, at S. Pietro in Vaticano, a plenary Indulgence.

On Saturday, the Vigil of Whitsunday, an indulgence of ten years and four hundred days.

"On Wednesday at Pietro Vaticano, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days.

“ Thus much will be sufficient to illustrate the system. There is scarcely a day in the year in which these Indulgences are not attached to some one or more churches.

There may be no royal road to learning, but here is, at all events, a primrose path to paradise. Here is a religion fit for a gentleman as Charles the Second used to say; one exactly suited to the Sir John Falstaffs of their day. Here is free trade, great bargains in spiritual things—Heaven secured at the price of old rags-a plenary Indul. gence for kissing a cross ! nothing can go beyond that. We should like to see a “ Pilgrim's Progress” got up in this style by a holy friar or a learned Cardinal. Christian's path, in place of being an inconveniently narrow one, would be so broad as to admit a “ banner'd host" to pass “ in loose array;" and he himself would be a merry mad-cap, well filled with the spirit which is not from above; or would prowl about with not the most virtuous intention--taking care, however, to confess to his priest, and replenish his pockets with the Church's treasures, that he may be always able to clear off old scores.

But from the exhibition here given of the facilities afforded for eluding Purgatory, we do not believe that there is, after all the fuss mado about masses, and prayers for the dead, a single one to be found within its bounds. But supposing that there are numerous sufferers there,

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what a hideous idea, that the Pope and his Cardinals should be enjoy. ing themselves over their delicious wines, whilst all these poor wretches are suffering, not that heaven so wills or desires it, but mainly for the purpose of giving importance to the offices of the Church. How can their spirits repent and improve under such circumstances ? Their sole feeling must be boiling indignation against their unfeeling jailors. If Pio Nono could remit one hundred years of suffering, he of course could remit suffering for all time to come. There is no evading this conclusion.

Our author treats also of the following subjects-Relics, Inscriptions in Churches, the use of Holy water, the use of pictures, the use of images.

THE SNOW - DROP.
Emblem of purity! I hail
Thy silent coming here,
When moans departing Winter's gale,
Through hedge and forest sere.
When clouds are dark—when things are dead
On mountain-side and plain,
Lo! suddenly appears thy head
To bid us hope again.
To me, pale visitant! thou'rt worth
A thousand gayer flowers,
That take their nourishment and birth
From Summer's sunnier hours.
The smiling friends of smiling years
To memory these recall:
With thee, pale bloom! a friend appears
Who well were worth them all.
The friend who shares our Winter's woe,
When fled our Summer bliss-
Sweet snow-drop! when I see thee blow,
Thou bring'st me back to this
Go! let the heart that never bled,
With laughing daisies play,
Or wreath a crown of roses red,
Bright with the beams of May:
And let the mind, by man's deceit
Untaught to doubt or grieve,
Pluck the gay primrose at its feet,
And the green myrtle weave.
Ah ! many a sad yet soothing dream
The pensive snow-drop yields,
To them that seek, by grove and stream,
And in the silent fields,
For emblems of the life they lead-
Types of the ills they bear
Unheeded wrongs by which they bleed-
Neglect—with none to share.
Pale Innocence--forlorn-opprest-
Yet pure amid the storm-
Lays, kindly, in her sister-breast
The snow-drop's fragile form.

The unconfessing Grief, that hides,
Yet fain would shed its tear,
In winter's houseless child confides,
And, fearless, drops it here;
For oh! 'tis like a breathed prayer,
When outcast from our kind,
With humblest things our pain to share,
And ease the burdened mind.
Hope lighting up a mourner's cheek--
Faith rising o'er the tomb-
Their own bright images may seek
In thy impressive bloom.
Thus, snow-drop! thou art still to me
Dearer than any flower,
That haunts the shade, or paints the lea-
That drinks the sun or shower ;
For other flow'rets call to mind
Past happiness or grief,
Whilst thou, by nature, art designed
To indicate relief-
To tell the stricken and opprest-
The thousand sons of woe-
“ Amid the winter of the breast
The holiest blossoms blow.”
Mute Preacher! thou hast chosen well
An undivided hour :
All hearts are then accessible
No rival shares thy power.
When leafless woods forget to praise
The hand that clothes them still-
When hangs no cowslip from the braes,
No wild rose o'er the rill.
Lo! like a spirit from the bier,
Bursting the frozen clod,
We hail thy sacred presence here,
Lone messenger of God !
Whispering to the wintry wind
That o'er thy bosom sweeps-
“ I come obedient to a Mind
That slumbers not nor sleeps.”
Emblem of Purity! I hail
Thy silent coming here,
When moans departing Winter's gale
Through hedge and forest sere.

-PETER LELY.

THE RI V E R.
It sprung from the green mountain's side,

In a quiet shady nook,
Where, drop by drop, its crystal tide

Sweli'd to a tiny brook,
And often by its mossy brink
The timid fawn would pause to drink-

And wand'ring birds would stoop to lave
Their bright wings in its mimic wave-
So placid in the summer ray,
So like a sleeping babe it lay.
On gently flowed the silver stream

Upon its pleasant way,
Murm'ring like music in a dream

Its everlasting lay.
Now rippling with the gurgling sound
Of joy that hath no utt'rance found ;
Now dashing petulantly on,
Impatient of th: impeding stone-
Like childhood in life's lovely spring,
A wayward, bright, and gladsome thing.
Swift and more swift in gathering might,

Its waters swept along,
Midst laughing gardens of delight,

And groves of sweetest song.
Now with a wild impetuous force
It rush'd a torrent in its course;
Now sparkling where the sunbeams glanc'd,
In merry glee its waters danc'd ;
Now dreamily it glided bye,
Like youth in love's sweet reverie.
With power increas'd for good or ill,

It speeded on and on,
Where smiling hamlets crown'd the hill,

And golden harvests shone.
Here it would aid the peasant's skill,
And cheerly turn the village mill;
There bursting o'er the accustom'd bound,
It carried ruin all around,
Like op'ning manhood's fitful day
Of virtue's effort-passion's sway.
And now in full majestic pride

It roll'd a mighty flood,
Where nobly rising by its side,

A regal city stood.
Fair to the sight from shore to shore,
Ten thousand argosies it bore,
While hid beneath its glittring wave,
Love, hope, and joy had found a grave;
Like the brave front bold manhood wears,
Above his sorrows, toils, and cares.
Again, beyond the city's roar

It held its lonely way,
Where radiant landscapes cheer'd no more,

But arid deserts lay.
Solemn and sad its dreary surge
Moan'd like some wretch's fun'ral dirge,
And sullied since it left its source
By all 't had gather'd in its courso-
It sunk into the boundless sea
As man to dark eternity.

Sidneyfield.

AGNES SMITH.

MACPHAIL'S
EDINBURGII ECCLESIASTICAL JOURNAL.

No. LXIII.

APRIL, 1851.

PROGRESS OF MECHANICAL SCIENCE,

BEING THE CONCLUDING ARTICLE ON THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

Having tarried so long in the physical and geological departments, our visits to the remaining sections must be very brief. We next introduce our readers to section G, devoted to mechanical science. This has hitherto proved a very unmanageable section ; and the reason is very obvious. In this utilitarian age, when science is regarded, not as the handmaid of a lofty devotion, but of selfish interest, it cannot be wondered at that a gross utilitarianism," to use Chalmers' favourite phrase, should rear its head within the very precincts of the temple of science. The mechanical section affords greater facilities for utilitarian practice than any of the others. As it embraces all those mechanical arts which minister at the altar of Mammon, it is but natural that the votaries of Mammon should be glad to seize the opportunity of giving publicity to their wares. A widely-reported discussion on the merits of any mechanical contrivance supplies a cheap and effectual mode of advertisement. Advertising seems almost to be a science of itself, and its recent advances have been very remarkable. The very dog has been impressed into its service, so that he is to be seen gravely walking the streets of London with placards upon his back. Recently, the metropolis was also astonished by a shower of handbills descending from the clouds. When the passenger hastened to pick up the celestial scroll, he was not at all prepared for its treating of such sublunary matters--as tea gardens or magic strops. Advertising has attained such a pitch of refinement, that it is almost altogether independent of any real entity as a substratum; or to use the jargon of transubstantiation, the species may exist without the substance. It has been averred by competent authority, that for a man possessed of a thousand pounds of capital, with somewhat of the genius of George Robins, and with a conscience not inconveniently tender,

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