gious House, a solemn curse was pronounced, with the most dreadful formalities, on its violators or destroyers. And with respect to the voice of the Church, verily, 'he whom She blesseth is blessed, and he whom She curseth is cursed.' And so it is in

:

the present case. You see some family with broad lands and high honours; from age to age they struggle on through all the changes and chances of revolutions, and the vicissitudes of governments. Sometimes its existence depends on the life of a sickly child the sickly child becomes a healthy man, and his children multiply. Sometimes the only male heir is exposed to all the dangers of war : and among them all he seems to bear a charmed life. He returns to a happy home, and in a few years the family seems more securely established than ever. While in its most flourishing condition, in an evil hour it acquires Church property. The curse descends at once: thenceforward strange accidents and losses occur: fire, and robbery, and sickness do their work; male heirs fail; jealousy springs up between man and wife; unnatural hatred between parents and children; a sickly season carries off one, a violent death, another; a third sails to a foreign land and is never more heard of. Whatever scheme is undertaken fails; wealth makes itself wings, and flies away; moth corrupts, and the thief destroys. And all this while, the curse, with its tearless eyes, seems to watch every motion of its victims; crosses them in their best laid plans; entraps them in an

inextricable web; perplexes, and harasses, and impoverishes, and weakens, and ruins, and only leaves them when the last heir is laid in the family vault. Then the crime of sacrilege seems expiated."

"This is a fearful picture, Sir John. Is it not an overcharged one?"

"For that," replied Sir John Morley, "I will boldly appeal to English history; especially to family history. But look at the case à priori. What has ever been the fate of sacrilege? Look at the Holy Scriptures: take Belshazzar's case. There you see an idolatrous and vicious prince, giving himself up to his own heart's lust-exceeding his predecessors in wickedness; setting himself to do evil— and yet spared. How often, in all likelihood, had he 'praised the idols of gold, and of silver, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of stone!' And yet he had time and space afforded him for repentance. At last, he sends for the Temple vessels, and prostitutes them to his idol worship. What follows? IN THAT NIGHT was Belshazzar, King of the Chaldæans, slain.' Look again at Pompey. An experienced general, strong in the affection of his country, relying on a prosperous army, engaged, on the whole, in a right cause, he entered into the holy of holies, and he never prospered again. And where does the infidel historian date the commencement of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Enpire? With the reign of him who destroyed the temple at Jerusalem! Now look back to our Reformation. Is it not notorious

that of the families enriched by the abbey spoils very few remain to the present day; and those, after having passed through severe losses, and fearful judgments? Is it not also certain that abbey lands very seldom continue more than two, or three generations at most in a family? Can any one deny that, where more grievous judgments have not befallen the occupiers, the failure of heirs male has been as singular as it is inexplicable? Is it not a fact; so deeply has sacrilege eaten into our families; that scarcely any are now in possession of the same estates which they held at the Reformation, while a period of five hundred years was, before that time, no unusual term of occupancy for one family? If any one denies these things, I would refer him, first, to Sir Henry Spelman's History of Sacrilege.' If he says that this is the production of a special pleader for restitution, then I would ask him to look at any county history. Examine, I would say, the list of the families, once of note in it, now extinct : and see if nine-tenths of these were not implicated in Church property. Then look at the history of the succession of families in abbey estates, and see if these do not change their owners ten times, for one change in other property, and if the decay of any family is not consequent on its touching Church possessions. I ask any candid person to examine the matter for himself; if facts ever proved any thing, they prove what I am saying. And, do not imagine, that I look on the Reformation as the only time in

which sacrilege has polluted England. William the Conqueror and William Rufus are fearful instances of God's judgments against church violators. The first lays waste twenty villages to form a hunting forest. He dies by a strange disease, neglected, deserted, despised: his corpse becomes intolerable to those who would have attended it: it is at first denied hallowed ground; and at length hastily and dishonourably committed to its resting place. The second, hunting in that same forest, is shot, under mysterious circumstances, by a hand unknown, with the name of the enemy of mankind in his mouth; is 'buried with the burial of an ass;' and leaves his name as a curse. Indeed, I know no more terrible illustration of the truth of what I have been saying than 'The last Hunt of William Rufus.' Again, I will not say that the death of Lord Brooke was, strictly speaking, supernatural; but the inveteracy of his hatred to the material fabric of the Church! his being given over to a strong delusion that he was doing GoD service; the arm by which he was shot; the distance at which the aim took effect; the circumstance that the bullet entered that eye with which he had hoped to see the destruction of all the cathedrals; all these things seem to say distinctly: This is the finger of GOD! No, no; it is of no use saying that by the analogy of earthly justice we are not compelled to restore Church property. He has taken the matter into His own hands. His servants, in founding their religious houses, denounced, with

fearful solemnity, a solemn curse on those who should alienate them: He has fulfilled that curse; He is fulfilling it. May He open men's eyes to discern their danger!"

Sir John paused: and after a minute's silence, Col. Abberley rose to take leave. What he thought of his friend's arguments, will appear hereafter.