Nerves," and gave Himself to His disciples, and that they actually and literally ate the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, all the while that He was sitting at the table and talking with them! And yet more, it assumes that, as the Church of Rome teaches, when He as celebrant of this sacrifice Himself partook of the sacrifice, He did actually and literally eat Himself all the while that He was sitting at table and talking with them! I challenge any one to produce from among the Fakirs of India, or from among the Fetishes of Africa, a superstition comparable to this. And I argue that it is impossible for the Church of England to become united to the Church of Rome while she is defiled and polluted by such mingled superstition and idolatry as this.

And once more, there is a third element of divergence separating the two Churches so widely, as to render any union between them impossible. I allude to the sacrifice of the Mass. The sacrifice of the Mass is regarded in the Church of Rome as the chiefest and highest act of worship in the Church of God, as her juge sacrificium, as her daily sacrifice upon her altars. And the same sacrifice of the Mass is condemned by the Church of England as a blasphemous fable and a dangerous imposture. There is certainly a terrible significance in these words as the grave, thoughtful, deliberate judgment of the Church of England on the doctrine of the Church of Rome. I refer to Article XXXI. It states: "The offering of Christ once made is that perfect redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction, for all the sins of the whole world, both original and actual; and there is none other satisfaction for sin, but that alone. Wherefore the sacrifices of Masses, in the which it was com. monly said, that the priest did offer for quick and dead, to have remission of pain and guilt, were blasphemous fables, and dangerous deceits." There is no truth stands out in the volume of Revelation more strongly, clearly, and vividly than that the one sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross is the alone and the allsufficient sacrifice of atonement or propitiation, and satisfaction for sin. It stands out as the central sun, around which so many other truths, bright and precious, like so many planets, circle in their orbits. And if this be indeed the truth-if it be the truth that the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross is the alone and all-sufficient sacrifice or atonement for sin, according to the words of the apostle, "There

is no more offering for sin" (Heb. x. 18)-and again, "There remaineth no more sacrifice for sin" (Heb. x. 26),-then to teach, as the Church of Rome teaches, that her sacrifice of the Mass is equally, as the sacrifice on the cross, necessary to the remission of sins-to teach that her sacrifice of the Mass is equally precious as the sacrifice of the cross in the sight of God,to teach this is to impeach and blaspheme the alone and all-sufficient sacrifice on the cross, and is therefore a "blasphemous fable and a dangerous deceit."

They tell us, indeed, that they do not intend this, for that their sacrifice of the Mass is not another and different sacrifice, but the very same, identically the same, as the sacrifice of Christ on the cross; for that they have the same Victim, Jesus Christ Himself, in the consecrated Host, the same body that was broken on the cross, and the same blood that was shed on Calvary; in short, that their sacrifice of the Mass is the very same sacrifice of the cross performed again and again on the altars of the Church.

But all this is impossible-simply impos sible; for, if the sacrifice of the Mass be indeed the sacrifice of Christ upon the cross, then Christ must be offered every time the Mass is offered, that is, again and again; whereas the express language of Scripture is, that Christ was offered once for all and once

for ever: "We are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. And every priest standeth daily ministering and offering oftentimes the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins: but this Man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God; for by one offering He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified" (Heb. x. 10-12, 14). He was once offered, and it was never to be repeated.

But, again, all this is simply impossible; for, if their sacrifice of the Mass be the same as the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, then must Jesus Christ be put to death-must die every time the Mass is offered; that is, again and again; whereas the express language of Scripture is, that He died once and dieth no more: "Christ being raised from the dead, dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over Him. For in that He died, He died unto sin once but in that He liveth, He liveth unto God" (Rom. vi. 9). He dieth no more. In His own words: "I am He that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore"for evermore! (Rev. i. 18).

But, again, all this is simply impossible; for, if their sacrifice of the Mass be the same as the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, then He must undergo the sufferings and agonies of the cross every time the Mass is offered; that is, day by day; whereas the express language of Scripture is: "Then must He often have suffered since the foundation of the world: but now once in the end of the world hath He appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself. And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: so Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many" (Heb. ix. 26-28). He suffered once, and was never to suffer again.

To escape from all this, they tell us that all this repeated dying, and suffering, and bleeding of Jesus Christ in the sacrifice of the Mass, would indeed be true if the sacrifices of the Mass were not an unbloody sacrifice. They tell us it is an unbloody sacrifice-a sacrifice without blood, and therefore a sacrifice without death or suffering. But here they answer themselves; for if the Mass be without death, without suffering, without shedding of blood, it cannot be the same as that sacrifice of the cross where there was death, and suffering, and shedding of blood. But they will tell us the sacrifice of the Mass is an unbloody sacrifice; that the Council of Trent declares it an unbloody sacrifice; that all their catechisms declare it an unbloody sacrifice. Then what has become of transubstantiation? They told us that the wine, after consecration, ceased to be wine, and became blood-nothing but blood, an offering of blood; and now they tell us it is a sacrifice without blood-an unbloody sacrifice! With transubstantiation all is bloodwith the sacrifice of the Mass nothing is blood!

And now, leaving these subterfuges, we return to the great truth of the Gospel contained in Article XXXI., the grand central truth, that the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross is the alone and all-sufficient sacrifice of atonement, or propitiation and satisfaction for

sin; so that, in the words of the Apostle, "there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin." The language of the Article plainly implies that the sacrifice of the Mass impeaches and blasphemes this truth. The history of this Article is important. It was in the 13th session of the Council of Trent in 1551 that they settled the doctrine of the Church of Rome on the subject of the Eucharist, and therefore their views as to the sacrifice of the Mass were easily known. All that was then settled was soon known in England; and, therefore, when our Reformers met to settle the Articles of the Church of England in 1562, they resolved to condemn, in the strongest language, the doctrine of the sacrifice of Masses, and this they did in Article XXXI., declaring them "blasphemous fables and dangerous impostures." The word is impositiones in the original. As soon as this reached the Council of Trent, they resolved, as far as in them lay, to crush, and crush this Article for ever. They at once issued two Canons, appending an anathema to each, in direct allusion to the language of the Article. And inasmuch as the Article called the Mass blasphemous, the first Canon replied: "If any man shall say that by the sacrifice of the Mass a blasphemy is thrown on the most holy sacrifice of Christ on the cross, let him be anathema." And inasmuch as the Article called it an imposture, the second Canon replied: "If any man shall say it is an imposture to celebrate Masses in honour of the saints, &c., let him be anathema." Here the two Churches stand in direct antagonism on an essential truth of the Gospel; and there can be no union between them while such direct antagonism exists, the Church of Rome regarding the sacrifice of Masses as the chiefest and highest act of worship in the Church of God, and the daily sacrifice upon her altars, while the Church of England gravely, and thoughtfully, and deliberately condemns them as "blasphemous fables and dangerous impostures."

CHAPTER VIII.

"Not to be wearied, not to be deterred."-SOUTHEY,

ON'T talk such nonsense, Beatrice. It is the most foolish thing I ever heard of."

"But, mamma,-if Captain Vivian thought it right"

"Captain Vivian had no business to think anything of the kind. None at all! I have no patience with such whims and fancies-for they are nothing better."

Beatrice was silent, and looked down, with her lips pressed together. Mrs. Wentworth shook out the folds of her dress with an angry gesture, and opened her scent-bottle with a jerk, as she continued,—

"Just when Miss Vivian was disposed so kindly towards him,-when he was so sure of his ground,-when every one felt certain as to his expectations,-to throw it all away, just because he must needs preach her a sermon upon the very subject on which he knows she is most tender! I have no patience with such childish conduct,-such want of self-control!"

"Mamma!" Beatrice looked up with burning cheeks-"mamma, whatever Captain Vivian said was with perfect deliberation, and full consciousness of what he was doing."

"That is just what I complain of. He must have known how he would offend her, and why could he not have kept his opinions to himself, and allowed her to say what she liked, without contradiction? Every one knows how stingy she is in her ways, and why must he meddle with what he could not alter ?"

"Mamma, indeed Captain Vivian said nothing that ought to have offended her so. He only read three or four texts in support of his own convictions, and hardly argued at all. Surely he may have an opinion of his own, as much as Miss Vivian!"

"Yes; but there is no need to parade it before her, and to excite her by contradiction, -not the slightest need. And what is the good of doing so ?"

"He thought it right, mamma." "Nonsense, Beatrice. He liked to make a sensation, I dare say! He knew as well as I do that whatever he could say would not have the smallest effect. If a sermon were preached upon the subject to Miss Vivian every day for a whole year, she would be just as close and stingy at the end as at the beginning. And why Captain Vivian should risk all his prospects, should destroy them, indeed, as there is no doubt he has done,-is more than I can understand."

Beatrice hesitated a minute, and then said, slowly,

"Miss Vivian is so old and unhappy and lonely, mamma; it seems only right that we should use what influence we have to lead her to better things."

I suppose you mean by that, that you ought to persuade her to spend half her fortune on beggars. Just like one of your high-flown notions, Beatrice. I should have given Captain Vivian credit for more common sense."

"I don't think that has much to do with the

question," said Beatrice, gently. "Captain Vivian was quite aware of what he was doing, and he did not think it right to miss such an opportunity of speaking to Miss Vivian on a religious subject."

"A very good opportunity!" sarcastically interrupted Mrs. Wentworth. "An oppor

tunity for ruining his future prospects. Instead of inheriting Miss Vivian's money, he will have to depend on his pay as a captain in the army, and a very poor dependence that will be. Your father, too, considers his health so shattered, that though in England he might in time become tolerably strong again, if he is obliged to return to India he will probably sink before long under the climate."

The flush on Beatrice's cheeks faded away, leaving her very pale, but she asked in her usual tone,

"Did papa say that ?"

'Something like it. Of course he did not tell Captain Vivian or Mr. Mansfield.”

“Mr. Mansfield ought to know," Beatrice murmured.

"What for? You don't suppose Captain Vivian would throw up his profession and live quietly on Mr. Mansfield. And Mr. Mansfield has quite enough to do without having him to provide for. They say his affairs are not a little involved; and no wonder with his careless, extravagant habits! Captain Vivian will have no choice but to return to India,-and all through his own imprudent folly. Miss Vivian is so implacable that she will never forgive nor forget what he has done. And not a penny of her money will he ever touch."

"We do not know yet, mamma. Miss Vivian may soften towards him."

"No hope of that. You know very well that she will not admit him into the house, and that she is offended with you hardly less than with him. I expect every time you go that she will forbid you to go again. But it is of no use talking now. He has done it of his own free will, and he must take the consequences." And with an injured air Mrs. Wentworth rustled out of the room.

Beatrice sat very quietly after she was gone, with her head still bent over her work, but her hands were clasped together instead of being engaged with the needle, and her eyes glittered with the tears which she strove to check. One or two fell, but no more; and in a few minutes,

Constance came tripping in, she looked up with a smile.

"Oh, Beatrice, I am glad I have found you at home. But is anything the matter?" Beatrice answered, giving her a kiss"Is anything the matter with you, Constance? You look very merry."

"Oh, only because I have just seen and been introduced to his lordship, Captain Percival Gifford. And he is as bad-no, a great deal worse than I ever expected."

"Poor man!" said Beatrice, smiling.

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'But he really is, Beatrice. We passed him in the road-papa, and Leonard, and I— and he evidently knew Leonard, and Leonard made him a bow, and Captain Gifford looked like—like—

"Like what?" asked Beatrice.

Constance answered by quoting some poetry:

"But while I passed, he was humming an air,
Stopt, and then, with a riding-whip,
Leisurely tapping a glossy boot,
And curving a contumelious lip,
Gorgonized me from head to foot
With a stony British stare.'

"Those were the lines that came into my head when I saw him."

"My dear Constance, not quite so bad as that, I hope."

"Yes, quite. Gorgonized-that is just the word for it. But he stopped-just as the poetry says-and papa and Leonard stopped too, and papa said, 'Captain Gifford, I suppose?' and asked Leonard to introduce him. I was introduced too, and I don't like him at all. Such disagreeable manners, Beatrice; not rude, but so smooth, and slippery, and varnished-don't you know what I mean? The sort of politeness that you are certain is no more than skin deep. I wonder if he considers Leonard his rival; but he needn't be much afraid now. How tiresome it is that Miss Vivian should be so offended with Leonard! I don't mean to say that he wasn't quite right, and of course one admires him more for being independent and speaking out, than if he were mercenary and cared for nothing but getting her money; but still it certainly is tiresome. Just when he was in favour, and she seemed so to like having him with her! Leonard won't talk to me about the money part of it, and says it is no business of his; but every one can't be quite so lofty and indifferent as all that. He asked me once if I thought you had

A A

been satisfied with what he said to Miss Vivian, | or whether you thought he had been too blunt and imprudent; but I said I was sure you had quite approved of what he had done, and after that he was satisfied, and did not seem to care much about anything else."

Beatrice felt her cheeks growing warm, and changed the subject by a question about Mrs. Mansfield's health.

Three weeks passed by, and gradually Captain Gifford appeared to have ingratiated him. self into Miss Vivian's favour. He found the field open to him, and succeeded with very little trouble in gaining a footing of apparently close intimacy at the dilapidated old mansion. Not that Miss Vivian personally cared for him in the least, and his "slippery, varnished manners," as Constance had not inappropriately described them, were by no means in accordance with her tastes-far less so than Leonard's straightforward, gentlemanly bearing, with its blending of courteous deference and almost blunt truthfulness. Miss Vivian liked truthfulness in the abstract, when it was not brought to bear against herself in the form of anything resembling contradiction, which she could not endure. But she was now thoroughly angry with Leonard; and her displeasure once aroused was not easily laid to rest. He was never admitted into the house after that day, Miss Vivian being always "engaged" when he called at the door.

Beatrice came in for a share of the disgrace, though in a less degree. Miss Vivian did not refuse to see her, but was studiously cold and haughty towards her-so much so, that if Beatrice had consulted her own inclinations, she would assuredly have stayed away altogether. But this she felt would not be right, and she continued to pay her visits as regularly as before, though all the enjoyment she had ever had in them was gone. After a while, Miss Vivian's manner softened a little towards her; but with regard to Leonard she was inveterate.

"No, she had done with Captain Vivian," she said angrily one day, when Bentley, who had taken a great fancy to him, made some remark in his favour. "A forward, presuming young man! attempting to teach her what to do with her money! If he chose to be so ungrateful and so blind to his own interests, it was his own look-out. She would have nothing more whatever to do with him."

Bentley secretly thought the ingratitude lay rather more on the side of her mistress than of

Captain Vivian, considering that he had saved her life by his presence of mind; but she had already argued upon the subject so often without success, that she thought it useless to follow up her remark. And indeed her wellmeant remonstrances seemed only to have the effect of still farther incensing Miss Vivian against Leonard.

Poor Mrs. Wentworth! No wonder she was disappointed. Very complacently had she watched the course of Captain Vivian's favour at the old mansion, and at the same time of his growing intimacy with Beatrice, congratulating herself not a little upon both. And now it was all at an end-at least with regard to the future riches upon which Mrs. Wentworth had set her heart for Beatrice. Captain Vivian was reduced from the position of almost certain heir to considerable wealth, to that of a mere captain in the Indian army, with little besides his pay to live upon. Worst of all, in her judgment, it was through his own incomprehensible weakness in being unable to keep clear of the very subject which Miss Vivian could never endure to hear discussed. Mrs. Wentworth had no patience with "conscientious scruples," or with a love of doing good to others, or with a true and manly desire to "show one's colours," at whatever cost to self; and least of all could she sympathize with the gentle Christian compassion that could not bear to look upon the hard, selfish old woman, tottering upon the edge of the grave, without attempting to utter one word of warning. No, Mrs. Wentworth could understand and sympathise with none of these feelings. Captain Vivian's motives, equally with his actions, were to her wild, foolish, and inexplicable.

Beatrice had to endure a species of fretting persecution from her mother's reiterated complaints of Leonard, and her perpetual attempts to argue her into condemning him as much as she did herself. She bore it all quietly, and went about with her usual calm placid look; but between her mother and Miss Vivian, the "wear and tear" were considerable, and sometimes took effect in such pale cheeks as to arouse her father's solicitude. The only real rest she obtained was in the bright atmosphere of the Rookery. That was always warm and kindly, and a visit there was indeed a season of refreshment, after the chill, cold stateliness of Vivian Mansion, or the wearying complaints at home.

Miss Vivian, at this period, was evidently