are antagonistic to the spirit of primitive Christianity,--still it is
also the defender and advocate of vital Christian truths, to which we
trace the hopes and consolations of mankind. As the conservator of
doctrines common to all Christian sects it cannot be swept away by the
hand of man; nor as a government, confining its officers and rules to
the spiritual necessities of its members. Its empire is spiritual rather
than temporal. Temporal monarchs are hurled from their thrones. The long
line of the Bourbons vanishes before the tempests of revolution, and
they who were borne into power by these tempests are in turn hurled into
ignominious banishment; but the Pope--he still sits secure on the throne
of the Gregories and the Clements, ready to pronounce benedictions or
hurl anathemas, to which half of Europe bows in fear or love.

Whence this strange vitality? What are the elements of a power so
enduring and so irresistible? What has given to it its greatness and its
dignity? I confess I gaze upon it as a peasant surveys a king, as a boy
contemplates a queen of beauty,--as something which may be talked about,
yet removed beyond our influence, and no more affected by our praise or
censure than is a procession of cardinals by the gaze of admiring
spectators in Saint Peter's Church. Who can measure it, or analyze it,
or comprehend it? The weapons of reason appear to fall impotent before
its haughty dogmatism. Genius cannot reconcile its inconsistencies.
Serenely it sits, unmoved amid all the aggressions of human thought and
all the triumphs of modern science. It is both lofty and degraded;
simple, yet worldly wise; humble, yet scornful and proud; washing
beggars' feet, yet imposing commands on the potentates of earth;
benignant, yet severe on all who rebel; here clothed in rags, and there
revelling in palaces; supported by charities, yet feasting the princes
of the earth; assuming the title of "servant of the servants of God,"
yet arrogating the highest seat among worldly dignitaries. Was there