"You know that great hideous tarnished mirror!" cried Florence, her lips white with fear at the recollection. I nodded, and Adela went on: "There was something reflected in that mirror not us, we were not yet opposite to it. But dull as it was, and half spoiled for want of the quicksilver, there was no mistake — something was moving and nodding, as it were, before it. Whether there was anything between us and the glass to throw such a reflection we never looked, for once we had seen the thing in the glass, we could not take our eyes off it. There was scarlet and gold and feathers, and something dazzlingly brilliant among them, till at last we made out clearly enough the terrible thing it was. It was a dead old woman's face surrounded by some gaudy head-dress, and loaded with jewels. The face! O that horrible face! It was quite that of a corpse, wan and drawn, and the eyes dead; but the cheeks were rouged, and it had black curls and black eyebrows, as if they were false, and great white teeth in the fallen jaws. I thought I should have gone mad with terror." "So did I," said Florence; "I tore poor Ada's arm, clutching it. But at last the horrible creature seemed to finish looking and nodding at herself in the glass, and she began to take off all the diamonds which were in her head-dress and round her frightful neck, till they lay in a heap on the table. And then-then "She turned round as if to look if any one saw her; and in our agony we dropped the candle, and both of us rushed out the room, and Florence hit her head against the door, in the dark, and I hardly know what happened till we were up stairs in our own room; but I thought I heard a sharp, angry cry, just in that same shrill voice which terrified me before. The cold gray dawn was coming on, and I had to bathe poor Florence's head, and we stayed there till we heard you just now at the hall door." What I felt at the recital of this strange story it is needless to say. Summoning all my courage, I said at last, "The smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, Sent through the pores of the coffin plank." We turned finally to the unfortunate mirror, and to the great buhl-table fixed beneath it. The sisters showed me where they had stood, and in what part of the centre panel the spectre appeared, and I tried vainly to construct out of the blurred and spotted surface anything which should have offered a ground for their imagination. "She laid her diamonds down there," said Florence, laying her hand on the table. "A "A great heap they were," said Adela. splendid necklace and earrings, and then a tiara like an earl's coronet." "Why, they must be the great Galtimore diamonds!" cried Florence. We stood all three overwhelmed at this idea. It was quite true, as Miss Rockingham had said on the night of their arrival in that house, their great-grandmother, the last Countess of Galtimore, possessed diamonds whose almost fabulous splendor was among the common traditions of the Irish society of the last century; and the disappearance of these magnificent jewels, without any adequate search by the guardians of Mr Rockingham when he inherited the empty heraldic honors of his mother's family, had been more than once mentioned in the sad debates so often held at every table on the ruin of the Rockinghams. "There was a countess's coronet among the Galtimore diamonds. I have heard my father say so," said Adela. "And old, wicked Lady Galtimore- Why, good heavens ! Ada," and Florence turned as pale as death,-"do you recollect the picture in the bedroom at the end of the north corridor at Rockingham?" "It was she!" None of us could speak. The corroboration of the frightful story of the sisters' vision was too wonderful to permit of any further observation on my part. By degrees I persuaded them to return to their room up stairs, and take some little refreshment. Both were frightfully ill, and it was with great regret I left them for a few hours. My employer, "My dear young ladies, I do not pretend to know though somewhat unwillingly, consented to my that there are not in this world mysteries of the aw-spending each night with them for some time to ful kind at which this vision of yours seems to point; come; and this soon ended in my nursing both of but at least you have always agreed with me, dear them through severe attacks of fever. They had Miss Rockingham, that it is far less likely the dead but the one little bed; I was their only attendant, can appear in such forms, than that our brains except the charwoman, who came in occasionally in should be deceived into fancying we see them. You my absence during the day; and they were wanting know you are both quite ill from excitement at this in nearly every comfort their miserable condition moment, and the state you are in would be precisely of health required. It was a trial, indeed, for me that in which visions are formed. Be assured that to pass from the parvenu Lady F's splendid that hideous old glass reflected your own fears, and house and luxurious table to the fireless garret where nothing else. Let us go into the room and examine lay two high-born girls shivering in ague, and needeverything, and let in the sunlight and good air, ing even such food as Lady F's servants would and I dare say you will be satisfied that I am right." have disdained. How I longed to carry away, inThe sisters listened to me with the kindly defer- stead of eating, my own share of those continual ence they always showed to my opinion, but evi- feasts! How I did beg of Lady Fand of any dently remained quite unshaken in the belief of the of her guests, one help after another, till she perempreality of the apparition they had witnessed. At torily forbade a repetition of my offence against last, however, I persuaded them to accompany me good manners. into the dreaded apartment. It was dark, the shutters being less broken than in the dining-room, and it took us both time and courage to wait to open them, and then to throw up one or two of the rusty sashes. Till this was done, I had felt oppressed by the odor of the room. It might be merely damp, but I could not resist the association of ideas that connected it rather with "I have given you a great deal, Mrs. L, for your friends. It is enough that I should be worried by beggars in the streets. I will not be teased, or have my visitors teased in my house. If you think me hard-hearted you need not remain with me; for my part I must consider my own children, and not waste my fortune, as Mr. Rockingham wasted all his vast property so shamefully." Alas! I knew too well that to offend further was to forfeit the salary by which alone I was able to assist in some degree my poor young friends. Days and weeks passed. The Rockinghams were struggling back to life; but their few customers had ceased to send work which they had been unable to perform, and every article of their little property, and most even of their wardrobe, had been sold for food and fire. It was a pitiful sight, those two pale girls, still beautiful and delicate as hothouse flowers, but O so worn!-so sad! It truly seemed as if the dreaded poor-house-the lowest cesspool into which the misery and vice of our great cities drain, the receptacle of disease and beggary and profligacywas to be the last stage of the earthly road whereon Adela and Florence were travelling to a better world. The idea of their submission to the degrading circumstances of a workhouse, -the pauper's dress, the vulgar officials' brutal ordering, the contact (perhaps even in their beds) with the blear-eyed outcast and fallen creatures inhabiting those abodes of misery, it was too much for me to bear. We never named it, but we thought of little else. I saw each thought only of the other, not of herself; but that was almost unendurable. Many a time, when I had been sitting up with them, and forcing them to go to bed, I had seen one or the other rise from her evening prayers with a face of agony which betrayed to my heart the thought which she had sought for strength to bear, and then had flung herself, weeping passionately, on her sister's neck. Their patience, their gentleness, their efforts each to sacrifice herself for the other, were beyond all praise of mine. One night things had come to the uttermost. Like them, I had sold all that I dared to part with while preserving an exterior permissible in Lady F's household. There was no food, -no chance of getting any for the morrow. The relieving-officer, to whom we had applied, had told us that no assistance could be given except on "accepting the test of destitution," and taking shelter in the poor-house. The worst of our fears was on the point of being realized. That night I resolved at all events to spend with my unhappy friends, and accordingly I went to their house at eleven o'clock, and, after some attempts to comfort them, persuaded them to lie down on what yet remained of their bedding, while I sat on the floor beside them. Wearied with grief and tears, I believe we all slept at last, till when the spring morning had broken, and the sun was shining into the room, I was awakened violently by Ada starting up in bed. "Mrs. L-! Florence, darling! waken up! O, I have had such a dream!" And her eyes sparkled as I had not seen them shine, alas! for many a day. "Such a dream!" she went on, eagerly; "all that same horrible vision we saw in the drawingroom below; only I saw -I'm sure I saw where the diamonds were placed. Lady Galtimore hid them in the buhl-table. I know exactly where they are." "O be calm, dear Miss Rockingham!" I cried; "this is only a dream." from -? O if it could be so!" she added, as her knees trembled and her lips quivered. There was something almost solemn in the spirit in which we all three went together down the wide old staircase and into the haunted room, on our errand of life and death. The sun shone brightly into the room. We looked at nothing round us, but walked to the massive table, from which, as I have already described, nearly all the gilt, brass, and tortoise-shell, and locks of the drawers, had been torn away, but which yet remained, by sheer solid strength and weight, fixed into the floor and against the lower part of the mysterious looking-glass. On reaching the table, Adela, without a moment's hesitation, opened a little door such as buhl cabinets usually possess in the front, and which, as we knew, displayed a small recess, once no doubt filled with some elegant trifles, but now empty. Placing her hand against the roof of this recess, Adela touched a spring, and a small shallow drawer under the ledge of the table started out. We all three grasped it and dragged it out, but it was perfectly empty. "I knew it was," said Ada, quite resolutely. "Now!" and she placed her hand behind the drawer, in the space left when it was taken out. 66 "Here is the very lock I dreamed of!" she muttered, in the intensest excitement; and, catching hold of a small handle beside the lock, she gave it a hasty jerk, and it came off in her hand. O heavens!" she cried; "it is locked! We cannot get at the drawer; but it is there! The diamonds are there. It is all exactly as I dreamed!" It will not be wondered at that our impatience reached an almost uncontrollable pitch at this moment. By inserting our arms in the recess left by the drawer in the table, we could feel quite well that there was a strong brass lock closing an inner drawer, reaching no doubt to the back of the table. On our side of the lock was the companion loopshaped handle to the one which Ada had wrenched away; but even had the two remained, there seemed no chance of our being able to burst open the lock, which was evidently of strongest materials. Such keys as we had with us were tried, but quite in vain. Should we send for a locksmith? We dared not attempt to do so. At last, by pulling out every drawer in the table, and groping in every possible direction, we reached (also at the back of the table) another spring, from which started a tiny little drawer wherein lay two objects, - one was an old gold ring, with a portrait of Lord Galtimore; the other was a gilt brass key. There was something which, even in that moment of wild excitement, inspired me with respect for Adela Rockingham, as I watched the way in which she almost solemnly took the key from my trembling hand and applied it to the unseen lock in the depth of the table. We could hear it click as the rusty wards gave way, and then Adela drew forth the heavy drawer within. It was about four inches deep, and eight or nine long; and over its contents lay a piece of yellowish old paper, containing some memoranda of figures. We lifted the paper, -and there, each in its black velvet bed, lay the enor mous Galtimore diamonds, - the necklace, the earrings, the gorgeous coronet. Adela and Florence threw themselves into each other's arms. God knows if their sobs of joy did not find an echo in my old heart then and ever since. There could be no question as to the right of Adela and Florence Rockingham to the jewels so strangely discovered. Even the proprietor of the house did not attempt to dispute their possession | short to reach to the summit), and we fancy one lady with the well-known heiresses of the family of Galti-in dishabille peeping round the side of the haycock, more. Before long the diamonds were disposed of and a large treasure realized; but from the first day we were able to quit the gloomy abode where these young girls had endured such terrible sufferings, and where also they had recovered the opulence to which they were born. No explanation of the mysterious sights and sounds of the dreary old mansion has ever been made. At the moment when Adela drew forth the diamonds, we were all too overwhelmed with joy to afford attention to anything else; but on discussing the matter afterwards, it appeared that all three of us vaguely recollected having heard a sound like the shrill treble laugh of an aged woman, quivering, as it were, in the darkness of the further end of the great desolate room. Be this as it may, we are assured that the Spectral Rout has been known no more in the old gloomy house. Perchance the dread visitors have been banished by the voices of the happy little children of a great national charity, whose abode it has been made, and for whose use it has been refreshed and purified. Perchance the "Wicked Malverns" have at last borne the full measure of their terrible curse, and may now "rest in their graves," while their innocent descendants redeem their evil name by the generous use of those long-lost treasures to which they guided them in such awful and mysterious fashion. My brief story is told. I write from Italy, whither Adela and Florence have come to regain health and spirits. They forced me to accompany them here, and say I shall never leave them again. It shall be as they will, for they are dear to me as my own children. I must go and join them now, as they sit on the terrace of this beautiful villa, where, among the orange-trees and the vines the fireflies are flashing light, and the nightingales singing in the warm air laden with perfume. Far below us the Arno is rushing, and the Marble Duomo gleams amid the lights of Florence, and the purple Apennines rise up among the stars, and overhead stretches the blue Italian night. - pant, or recover their breath, on their way towards a Temple of Fame on the top, inhabited by four figures, one man and three women. We have always hitherto had a difficulty about these four only triumphant figures, but we now think that there cannot be a doubt but that they represent the great family from whom English poetry will take a fresh inspiration,-Tupper and the Tupperides, MartinFarquhar, Mary-Frances, Ellin-Isabelle, and Margaret-Elenora. The three ladies stand in modest retirement inside the very diminutive Temple of Fame, which seems licensed to carry four passengers inside and one out, and no more (the one outside being, we need not say, Fame herself, with her trumpet), — but Tupper, the generous and the just, leans out from between the Corinthian pillars, at infinite risk to his own valuable life, to beckon upwards with a wave of his helpful hand the various heated and bewildered figures still on the ascent, the only discouraging circumstance being, as we have explained, that those who do reach the summit can only obtain entrance by storming the small building and precipitating the garrison over the precipice, - a result which even the lion-hearted author of the Proverbial Philosophy can scarcely intend to invite. We must return, however, from this ingenious legend of Mr. Moxon's, of which it is quite possible that we may have discovered only one very earthly interpretation, to the great fact which we are quite sure that British literature has not yet adequately realized, that Tupper's genius will not die without offspring, -nay, that there is every prospect of its being radiated forth to future generations in as undiminished a magnitude as are the rays of the sun to the vast sphere of space, being at every remove from the source spread over a wider sphere, but still remaining in collective power the same. At the first step indeed the Tupperian genius has divided into three distinct streams of light, and at the next generation, it may be, it will take nine poetic descendants of the great poet to represent the sum total of his present poetic influence on the world. Still, to think that the daughters inherit, as coparceners at least, the great poetic heritage, and may transmit it to their children, so that the influence of Tupper's spirit, even Ir is strange, or, as Mr. Tupper would teach us when subdivided, will be spread as widely over the to say, 66 passing strange," that the news that Mr. earth as the waters of the sea, is an animating and Tupper is likely to transmit the torch of his genius, delightful thought. That the daughters of Tupper divided into three brilliant tapers, to the hands of recognize gratefully the fountain of their inspirahis own fair descendants, the three Tupperides, tion their title-page, with its prominent inscription, "Mary-Frances," "Ellin-Isabelle," and " Margaret-" Dedicated to their father, Martin F. Tupper," Elenora," had not sooner run like lightning through sufficiently shows. And their poems show it also, the literary world. Yet here is "a new edition" of though it is clear that even these three graceful this Heaven-descended (or more precisely Tupper-poets have not as yet divided among them all the descended) triad's poems brought before us by Mr. wealth of Tupper's manly wisdom. No doubt as Moxon, and we find that during the whole life of his sun sets they will gather its light more and more the old edition, whatever life it may have had, we on to their own crystal surface, the moon cannot have been ignorant of news so stimulating to the be bright when the sun is still above the horizon. heart and imagination. Perhaps this circumstance It is hard to select any one among a triad so explains an ingenious heraldic device which has graceful as meriting the distinction of resembling been prefixed now for some little time to Mr. Mox- our own Tupper more than the rest. We should on's catalogue of poetic publications, the humor of say, however, that none of them can as yet at all which we have often admired. On a conical hill compare with their father, either for homely breadth or gigantic haycock, emblematic no doubt of Par- of philosophic insight or for richness of metaphor, nassus, a number of wild and troubled figures in all but that Mary-Frances bids fair to have most of his attitudes, comprehending stout old gentlemen rest-vigorous sense of truth, Ellin-Isabelle most of his ing, students in caps and gowns with the gowns fly- childlike innocence and serenity, and perhaps Maring wildly in the air, one acute and weather-beaten garet-Elenora most of his bold imaginative flights. old day-laborer on the top of a ladder (alas! too | Not one of them has anything so large and nutri TUPPERIDES. Jan. 6, 1806.] tive as such thoughts as these (for instance) of their | Mary-Frances has equal genius for beautiful statefather's: But that is the kind of thought one does not look for from young people. We wait for it till "old experience doth attain to somewhat of prophetic strain," and the Tupperides scarcely venture as yet with their father's courage into the world of abstract truth. Yet there are ideas of Mary-Frances here and there that bid us hope for a level in her not much short of her father's. Thus, for example, there is a courage in the following announcement of truth in a poem on "Hofer " that makes us look almost as high for her in the future, on this side of her poetic attainments, as her father:"ANDREA HOFER. "An eagle on his rocky throne, The patriot stood - he could not fly Waiting unguarded and alone That death he did not fear to die. To die? Ah yes, he knew full well This is very promising. To recall home-truths without fearing the empty charge of want of originality has always been our Tupper's great distinction. The woman applies the same courage to the concrete rather than to the abstract world. Still, how much it adds to the simplicity of the portrait of Hofer to be reminded that he stood where he did because he could not fly, though, in mind and spiritual endowments, aquiline! So, again, of Pompeii: "How these sounds of mirth and gladness All were silenced in a day! Nothing moved; for gloom and sadness Reigned where all was once so gay; "Till again, in later ages, In those chambers steps were heard; But Pompeii's youths and sages Never more from slumber stirred." Mary-Frances clearly understands how, with something of her father's aplomb, to take her stand right on a fact, and feed upon it, and let others feed upon it, regardless of any reproach that it is obvious. What firmness and certainty of stroke in the last two lines of the latter verse! There is, however, a beginner's hand in the last two lines of the first;it can scarcely be assigned as a reason why nothing moved in Pompeii after every one was dead that "gloom and sadness reigned where all was once so gay Mary-Frances has put her cart before her horse. Surely she meant to say-surely her father would have said that nothing moved because there was nothing alive to move, that would have been real and satisfying. Mary-Frances, too, is perhaps in advance of her sisters in that noble and simple kind of poem, almost proper to their father, which consists of a plain statement of facts accompanied by a few remarks, such as thus, of his. -- A child was playing in a garden, a merry little child, Bounding with triumphant health, and full of happy fancies; For I said, Surely, O life! thy name is happiness and hope; Thy days are bright, thy flowers are sweet, and pleasure the condition of thy gift. A youth was walking in the moonlight, walking not alone, For a fair and gentle maid leant on his trembling arm," &c., &c. ment of this sort, but then instead of summing up each paragraph with her own reflections, she, as a woman, modestly refers to a fictitious guardian angel, of which hypothesis she is very fond: "ALONE. "There was a little curtained room, Stretched out to keep him safe from harm. "Years still rolled on; no more a boy, His glad heart felt a lover's joy," &c. And we need not say that the guardian angel recurs at each periodic stage of his life. The magnum opus of Mary-Frances is a tale of an Indian girl called Morning-Dew, who is floated down some rapids as an offering to a river-god by her tribe, and of the grief of Lion-Heart, her lover, on that unfortunate occasion. But here, as Dr. Newman says of the worship of the Virgin, we cannot quite follow her. It strikes us that Mr. Tupper would scarcely see the strong impress of his genius on this tale. His fancy is, indeed, light and graceful, but it prefers hopping about moral subjects, subjects like "Prodigality hath a sister, Meanness, his fixed antagonist heart-fellow," to treating of Indian girls with curious seeds round their ankles. Ellin-Isabelle is perhaps the quietest in sentiment, and has most of her father's composure. She has "hill-top thoughts," and they are very proper thoughts for a hill-top; they dwell a good deal on the fact that there is a view in sight, and then diverging to the fact that, besides herself on the hilltop, there is also a chapel there, they settle by a very natural and justifiable association of ideas on the chapel, and proceed smoothly thus: "For there is a chapel standing "No one knoweth now the story Why this ancient church was built; But so long as men are living, The last verse has a good deal of her father, though whether his maturer theology would admit 66 Undoubtedly the most turbid as yet, the one whose soul has most of her father's boldness of conception, least of his quietude of spirit, is MargaretElenora. She begins with "Lighthouse Musings," and asks the waves to clasp her in their tawny arms." She sympathizes with Wallace; her chief idea on Leith Hill is, not the view, but the larch woods which hide the view; she wishes to swim in Sherborne pond with the trout; she is in favor of the ocean because it drowns people, and sings dirges over them; and altogether she is as yet a somewhat unchastened Tupper. Still she has the bold Tupper imagination, and sometimes turns it into the true Tupper channel, as in the following reflection on Garibaldi's reception in London : that going to chapel could, in any case, have been | ters. His brothers survived him, but his sisters had conceived as 66 going to glory" we are not quite all died before he reached his twenty-fifth year. sure. If it would, the allusion is probably to some His father was a captain in the artillery, and is still tenets with which we are not acquainted. But the living. Until Frederick William was five years old, hope that the chapel may lead men's hopes above his home was Leith Fort; but in 1821 Captain the sky so long as men are living" is a limitation Robertson retired on half-pay to Beverly in Yorkconceived quite in his spirit. Ellin-Isabelle is as yet shire, that he might attend to the education of his the meagrest of the three poets, and is kindly shel- children. In 1829 the family went to France, and tered between the two of more prolific feeling. She for about a year the future preacher was drilled in may eventually show more of the repose of Mr. the French language. The Revolution of 1830 sent Tupper's genius than either of the others, but as them home again, and Frederick, now a boy of fifyet she has scarcely blossomed. teen, was sent to the New Academy, Edinburgh, then under the care of the late Archdeacon (Williams) of Cardigan. IIe was in those days, he says himself, "as iron in strength, broad and stout. Fond of active exercises, an adept at sport and adventure, he was yet thoughtful beyond his years, reflective and imaginative, fond of nature and quickening literature. He worked hard at school, and won high merit. IIe had already acquired some deep love for the military profession, and his young soul glowed with warlike ardor. Tales of battle and of siege roused his nature to an extraordinary degree. But his father fancied that he saw in him then a peculiar destiny for saøred work, and sought to damp his zeal for military adventure. He was articled to a Mr. Boston, a solicitor at Bury St. Edmund's, and passed a year in his office. But health failed, and the heart lost its ring and mellowness. The army seemed his sphere, and to a soldier's life he was devoted. He was placed upon the list for a cavalry regiment serving in India, and gave himself to a preparation for his future employment. While he was living at Cheltenham, however, through a singular circumstance he came under the influence of a Mr. Davies, now vicar of Tewkesbury, and Mr. Daly, now the Bishop of Cashel. Both these gentlemen saw so much in him which was fitted to make him a useful and devout clergyman, that they strongly urged the advice which his father was still pressing upon him, to reconsider his determination. With the same true spirit of chivalrous self-sacrifice which marked his whole life, he left the decision in his father's hands, after many struggles in his own heart, and was led to enter the University of Oxford on May 4, 1837. A fortnight after this the cavalry commission was offered, but the die was fixed, and the earnest father felt assured that the hand of God had done it. "And so this mighty welcoming sublime, This loyal, deep heart-reverence greeting thee, What is it, in its vastness, full and free, But Virtue's Triumph in the End of Time?" That is grand and trumpet-like, and putting Garibaldi's reception here a year or two ago, in "the End of Time," is a fine vigorous flight of moral feeling. Had we space we could produce other passages in the true Tupperian strain. Altogether, literature has never had a more pleasing surprise than in this discovery of the true transmissibility of the genius of a Tupper. We cannot say that this beautiful triad, even taken together, gives us any measure of his full-orbed power. Still we may say of them, that "These three made unity so sweet, My frozen breast began to beat With something of its ancient heat." Tupper cannot perish, even in that limited sense in which other poets perish. When that great spirit leaves us, though dead he will yet speak, not only in his own immortal Proverbial Philosophy, but with living voices adapted to the changes of our future civilization in those who share his spirit,-in the strong realism of Mary-Frances, in the tender innocence of Ellin-Isabelle, in the vigorous metaphor of Margaret-Elenora, and we may trust, after this triple proof of transmissibility, with the voice also of generations yet unborn of their descendants. WHO WAS FREDERICK ROBERTSON? THE publication of "The Life and Letters" of the Rev. F. W. Robertson helps us to some information which is very precious, and explains much mystery that hangs around the name of the great Brighton preacher.* We learn that this good man was born in London, at the house of his grandfather, Colonel Robertson, on the 3d of February, 1816. He was the eldest of seven children, four sons and three daugh * Life and Letters of the Rev. F. W. Robertson, M. A. Edited by Stopford A. Brooke, M. A., late Chaplain to the Embassy at Ber lin. ford. Dr. Newman was gathering around him the It was a stirring time when Robertson was at Oxyouth and ardor of the University, and seemed destined to be the leader of such a movement in the Church as would shake it at its centre, and change the aspect of the nation itself. The "Old Lion of Oriel" was very nearly worshipped by the undergraduates, and the devout and learned Pusey was only second in influence. The stagnation of sloth, or disease, or death had wellnigh settled on Oxford and her halls and colleges; but Newman, Pusey, Keble, and others were at the helm, and the stately but cumbrous vessel seemed to be almost manned by those who would obey their will. Mr. Robertson was pressed to join the movement; but need it be said, he had too well balanced an intellect, and too firm a reliance upon God, to identify himself with those who were evidently desirous of elevating the tone of the nation's piety, but saw no way to do it save by exalting the place and consolidating the strength of the Church in its relation to the State. Mr. Brooke remarks, that "no change took place in his doctrinal views, which were those of the Evan |