Valencia has no

you-Valencia sympathises-Valencia thinks children to wash and dress, no accounts to keep, no linen to mendValencia's back does not ache all day long, so that she would be glad enough to lie on the sofa from morning till night, if she was not forced to work whether she can work or not. No, no; don't kiss me, for kisses will not make up for injustice, Elsley. I only trust that you will not tempt me to hate my own sister. No: don't talk to me now, let me sleep if I can sleep; and go and walk and talk sentiment with Valencia to-morrow, and leave the poor little brood hen to sit on her nest, and be despised."—Ibid. vol. ii. pp. 51, 52.

It is the author's pleasure and principle next to throw the curate, with his stern uncompromising notions of duty and habits of self-denial, in the way of this young creature; and she who wants some amusement, and who finds it does not do to patronise her vain poet brother-in-law too much, does her best to attract him. But the most sympathetic reader need be under no fears for the result of any attachment whatever under our author's direction. Love is so universal a cure, such an absolute panacea, and withal so invincible, that there is with him no such thing as unfitness where the article itself is genuine. Frank Headley, however, does not know this, and writhes and struggles against the new overpowering irresistible influence, and exhibits himself to the reader in a somewhat maudlin condition, sobbing and crying a good deal when by himself, and finally settling it in his own mind to die of Tom Thurnall's threatened cholera as the only mode of getting out of the scrape. When it suddenly appears, the poet is glad to make his escape with his family; the sister-in-law necessarily goes with them. The crisis of parting under such circumstances prompts the despairing lover to a bold measure. He declares his hopeless attachment; and with that habit of talking of death before the ladies which characterises our author's men, he continues:

"That I shall die shortly, and of this cholera, is with me a fixed idea, which nothing can remove. No, madam-it is useless to combat it! but had I anything, by which to the last moment I could bring back to my fancy what has been its sunlight for so long; even if it were a scrap of the hem of your garment, aye, a grain of dust off your feet-God forgive me! He and his mercy ought to be enough to keep me up: but one's weakness may be excused for clinging to such slight floating straws of comfort."

How she had played with
Did he wish, by exciting

'Valencia paused, startled, and yet affected. this deep pure heart! And yet, was it pure? her pity, to trick her into giving him what he might choose to consider a token of affection?

'And she answered coldly enough

"I should be sorry, after what you have just said, to chance hurting you by refusing. I put it to your own good feeling-have you not asked

somewhat too much?"

6.66

Certainly too much, madam, in any common case," said he, quite

unmoved. Certainly too much, if I asked you for it, as I do not, as the token of an affection which I know well you do not, cannot feel. Buttake my words as they stand—were you to-It would be returned if I die, in a few weeks; and returned still sooner if I live. And, madam," said he, lowering his voice, "I vow to you, before Him who sees us both, that, as far as I am concerned, no human being shall ever know of the fact." Frank had at last touched the wrong chord.

"What, Mr. Headley? Can you think that I am to have secrets in common with you, or with any other man? No, sir! If I granted your request, I should avow it as openly as I shall refuse it."

And she turned sharply toward the door.

'Frank Headley was naturally a shy man: but extreme need sometimes bestows on shyness a miraculous readiness-(else why, in the long run, do the shy men win the best wives which is a fact, and may be proved by statistics, at least as well as anything else can)-so he quietly stepped to Valencia's side, and said in a low voice

""You cannot avow the refusal half as proudly as I shall avow the request, if you will but wait till your sister's return. Both are unnecessary, I think but it will only be an honour to me to confess, that, poor curate as I am

"Hush!" and Valencia walked quietly up to the table, and began turning over the leaves of a book, to gain time for her softened heart and puzzled brain.'-Two Years Ago, vol. ii. pp. 222–224.

It ends by her giving him a ring to keep for this limited existence; but Frank does not die, and on recovering, feels himself, as he thinks, so effectually cured of his passion, as to venture again under the lady's influence. She next meets him in Wales, and he restores the ring with so much composure, that she is almost piqued, and grudges the pity she has bestowed. But we need not say that old feelings revive, and the subject is renewed. Frank's line is a failure. At once weak, conscious, and blustering, he seems to be acting all along against his conscience. If he felt his position as a poor curate so much, it ought to have restrained him; and he talks again about death,' which is to be won this time in the Crimea, as an army chaplain. She begs him not to think of it; and he asks, What possible harm can it do me if it does kill me?' and so on, till we arrive at his final question, 'If she, the admired, the wor'shipped, could endure a little parsonage, teaching school children, 'tending dirty old women, and petty cares all the year round? and she answers that she can. In conclusion the author asks, pertinently enough

'What was it, after all, by which Frank Headley won Valencia's love? I cannot tell. Can you tell, sir, how you won the love of your wife? As little as you can tell of that still greater miracle-how you have kept her love since she found out what manner of man you were.'-Ibid. vol. iii. p. 69.

We have not space to give even a general idea of the story, which we consider to have more features of pleasant unalloyed interest than any of its predecessors. It displays varied knowledge of character, a large study of society, much honest and

warm feeling, and a keen intelligent sympathy with the joys and sorrows of humanity: an active mind constantly occupied in observing, acquiring, and theorising upon its acquirements; and while it betrays the author's theological peculiarities, (to use a gentle term,) they are exhibited with reticence, and a moderation and indulgence which are a decided improvement in its predecessor.

In reviewing the whole of this series, we see a mind of large powers and deficiencies; and, as is often the case, so rejoicing in its powers as to be the last to perceive or believe in proportionate wants. One deficiency shows itself throughout, and lies at the root, we suspect, of all our disagreement. It is the entire absence of the faculty of reverence; there is no evidence of a right notion of this quality having ever entered into the author's mind; he despises it, gives it all sorts of hard names, and misinterprets it whenever he sees it. Of course, an affectation of reverence is unpleasant, and injurious to those who indulge in it, as all affectation is; but he never attacks the affectation without a hit at the prin ciple; with him, it is akin to cowardice, an abject subjugation of the soul. Mr. Kingsley really never approaches one subject with more awe than another; he hates any other temper in others, and never believes its manifestations to be genuine. He will not-it seems, really, as if he could not-look up, not to the Bible, not to the Gospel, not to Heaven itself. Death is a subject of mere curiosity, and so is the 'unseen;' at least, any other sentiment towards the invisible world of God is treated

with a sneer. But allow him to patronise, and he will entertain what are technically called high views, picking and choosing here and there; but it is patronage, placing himself above; not submission, putting himself beneath the object. The Bible is the 'old' Bible; its texts are treated as old literature, which contains a great deal of point; its characters, as great men in their day. Thus we have for the wise man,' 'poor old heart-broken Solomon; for the Psalmist, the Old Jew.' The Old Jew used to say of his nation, "It is God that hath made us and not we ourselves." Where we are tempted to ask, how does Mr. Kingsley know that the Psalmist used to say it? No doubt, at fitting times, he said it; no doubt, it was a truth always in his heart; but, all that we know is, that under the Holy Spirit's teaching, he sang it once for all ages, not for his nation only, but for the human race. Nothing is taken or approved on trust, but because after impartial examination, or testing of some sort, it approves itself to be true. S. Paul receives a great deal of this kind of approbation. And, if there is no reverence, there is as little of the kindred sentiment of fear. The great enemy

of souls is perpetually accosted with mild sarcasm, and the intimation of a familiar, not unamused, acquaintance with his wiles. What Mr. Kingsley seems to demand of the whole universe is, that he may be at his ease with it; and smoke and lounge in its presence. Permit him this attitude, allow him absolute licence of speech towards all you esteem, love, and reverence; treat your convictions as things open to dispute, not demanding his belief, but candidates for his suffrage, and he will be pleased to show in how many points he can sympathise; what adaptation he sees to certain notions in this ancient doctrine, what æsthetic beauty in that primitive practice, what depth in that scholastic theory, till, charmed with the candour of the tone and the appreciation of excellence, you will be ready to forget that the Catholic faith is founded on something different from this merely intellectual, eclectic acquiescence, and that unity and communion of creed can only be attained by submission to an authority wherever we place it, and that authority implies reverence. If I am a Master, where is my fear?' In the desire to show sympathy with what he considers a large class, Mr. Kingsley seems to inculcate a different principle; and so far as his works encourage a habit of bold irresponsible speculation, we fear their influence, while we would give fair credit for good intention, acknowledge their attractive style, and appreciate their genial tone.

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ART. VI.-The Councils of the Church, from the Council of Jerusalem A.D. 51, to the Council of Constantinople A.D. 381, chiefly as to their Constitution, but also as to their Objects and History. By the Rev. E. B. PUSEY, D.D., Regius Professor of Hebrew, and Canon of Christ Church. Parker & Rivington, A.D. 1857. A WORK by Dr. Pusey is sure to be undertaken with the idea of benefiting the Church, and advancing individual holiness: and we feel it presumptuous to offer anything resembling the remarks of a critic, on the production of one who on the subject of his work has left little to be said by others; and who, alike in holiness of life and profound learning, has, if any equal, at least no living superior.

The work before us is a fragment of a larger one begun in 1850, but broken off from time to time by unavoidable interruptions. Its object will be best explained in the author's own words. It was undertaken, he says,

'with the desire of satisfying minds discontented with the relations of the Church and the State. I wished to show that the only authority of the State, which the Church of England has ever formally recognised, had been recognised in times long antecedent to the Reformation; times, with whose precedent the minds for whom I was writing, would be satisfied. I began the work, in order to show that we had not conceded too much. But so rapid are the revolutions of these times, that I had to continue it, with the view of showing that those same times afforded no precedent for conceding more. I began, again, then anew from the first, and have endeavoured, in this portion of the work, to exhibit the evidences furnished by the earliest period of the Church, that matters of doctrine were always exclusively decided or attested by those whom the Apostles left to succeed to such portion of their office as uninspired men could discharge, the Bishops of the Universal Church.'-Preface, p. xiii.

Then,

'Although my immediate object was limited, I trust that I have, in this way, given an intelligible history of the Councils of the Church down to the close of the second General Council of Constantinople, before which Arianism finally fell.

The period, although of primary importance, being limited to three centuries and a half, I thought it right to give the above statement of those larger labours, in order to show, that although I have given the evidence of one period only, the conviction itself rests on the history of 1000 years.' -Preface, p. xiii.

Dr. Pusey sets out with the assertion that,

However unsatisfactory many of our relations to the State are, the Church of England had not, by any concession wrung from her, abandoned any trust committed to her by God. Whatever evils there are and have been, the Church has often had to endure them before; and therefore the endurance of them by the Church of England, as the lesser of two evils, is no justification of the hard imputations of being a State Church," "a creature of the State," which enemies or discontented sons have cast upon her.'-P. 1.