If we seek for one distinguishing mark of philosophic advancement in a nation or an individual, we shall find it in the keen perception of what constitutes evidence. There may be, and there often is, enormous intellectual activity and brilliant faculty conjoined with a very imperfect sense of evidence; so that splendid creations of art and daring systems of philosophy often issue from minds which very faintly discriminate the elements of a demonstration. Sometimes this is congenital weakness; sometimes it is due to imperfect culture; men rely on incomplete evidence, because they have not learned what complete evidence is. The latter condition is noticeable in the speculations of early philosophers, who uniformly accepted verbal distinctions for valid proofs, simply because they had not learned to discriminate the illusory nature of verbal distinctions. In Aristotle, for example, we constantly find a reference to what has been said on a subject. "The usual point from which he starts in his inquiries," to quote Dr Whewell's account, is that we say thus or thus in common language. Thus, when he discusses the question whether there be in any part of the universe a void, or space in which there is nothing, he inquires first in how many senses we say that one thing is in another. He enumerates many of these; we say the part is in the whole, as the finger is in the hand; again we say the species is in the genus, as man is included in animal; again the government of Greece is in the King; and various other senses are described and exemplified, but of all these the most proper is when we say a thing is in a vessel, and generally in place."*

It is to a better apprehension of the nature of Evidence that the decline of superstition is due. The figments of the imagination vanish before the realities of science; and science itself becomes rapid in its growth only because men have learned the necessity of testing their conclusions, and cross-examining the evidence. Subject to the fears and phantasies of an imagination which is stimulated by the marvels encom

passing him, man is incessantly creating bugbears and obstacles out of unusual phenomena. He is credulous from his very impatience to get the truth, and his inexperience of the ways in which truth can be sought. Fearful curiosity is the origin of superstitions; solemn curiosity is the origin of philosophies.

The grossness and universality of the superstitions which have alarmed and subdued mankind, have often been made the subject of declamation; but it would perhaps have mitigated the contempt of some declaimers, could they have known that the credulity they are pitying had often as rational a basis as the lofty speculations of a Pythagoras, a Plato, or a Hegel. Surrounded as we are by mysteries, and helpless as we find ourselves amid them, we are irresistibly prompted to seek an explanation of them. So strong is this desire, that, in all but very acute or very cultivated minds, any explanation which does not contradict previous conceptions is eagerly received. In the presence of moving tables, the cause of the movement not being apparent, men cannot acquiesce in simple ignorance; they demand an explanation; and the mere suggestion that spirits moved the table is readily welcomed. And others, who reject with scorn the suggestion of spirits, accept, on no better evidence, the suggestion of "electricity."

Supreme disregard to the accuracy of the facts on which its conclusions are based, is one of the marks of an uncultivated intellect. It is a part of the credulousness continued from childhood; and is seen in the acceptance, without misgiving, of any statement of facts which is made confidently, and without obvious motive for deceit. Not only in matters of science, but in matters of daily life, is this credulity observed. You cannot step into an omnibus, or chat with an acquaintance at the club, without hearing distinct, positive, and important statements respecting the intentions of public men,-statements involving their personal honour, perhaps the national safety, and uttered with an air of conviction

which would be ludicrous were it not so sad; yet if you happen to ask on what evidence the speaker relies, you find perhaps that there is nothing better than the surmise or gossip of Our Own Correspondent, or of some "ignorant ape walking about in breeches," who undertakes to supply a newspaper with his interpretation of the motives of persons he has never seen, and whose characters he cannot know. The other day we heard a lady speak with sorrowing severity of a popular author being "such a dreadful liar." Surprised at the charge, we asked on what evidence it was asserted. She was completely taken aback at the idea of evidence being requisite; but quickly returning to her position, she confidently replied, "Oh! it is known." By whom known, and how known, remained a mystery. She had heard this said; had believed it without misgiving, and repeated it with conviction.

The object of the foregoing remarks has been to show how easily an inference may be mistaken for a fact, and how habitually men declare they have seen what they have only inferred. Seeing is, in all cases, believing; but in all cases we must assure ourselves of what we have seen, carefully discriminating it from what we have not seen but only imagined, and carefully ascertaining whether the facts seen by us are all the facts then present. It is by no means easy to see accurately any series of events; nor, when under any strong emotion, is it easy to prevent the imagination from usurping the place of vision. "Many individuals," says Liebig," overlook half the event through carelessness; another adds to what he observes the creation of his own imagination; whilst a third, who sees sufficiently distinctly the different parts of the whole, confounds together things which ought to be kept separate. In the Gorlitz trial, in Darmstadt, the female attendants who washed and clothed the

body, observed on it neither arms nor head; another witness saw one arm, and a head the size of a man's fist; a third, a physician, saw both arms and head of the usual size." *

The scientific intellect is alert and inquisitive as to proof. It is not contented with observing all the links in the chain are united, unless each link is of firm iron. The logical sequence may be perfect, yet the premises all wrong. In the early days of science, important conclusions were formed upon evidence which no one thought of testing. Explanations were abundant; theories cost little; but actual knowledge was small. Centuries of such philosophy produced little result; two centuries of philosophy, since men began to be rigorous as to evidence, have produced the splendid results we know.

Yet although the necessity of testing evidence is fully recognised in theory, it is still frequently neglected in practice even by men of science. On all hands we see men speculating without undergoing the tedious but indispensable process of verification. They take too much for granted. They fail to distinguish between probability and proof; between hypothesis and fact. If this laxity is noticeable in science, no one will wonder at its existence in morals and politics: there, men who demand evidence are considered "troublesome." Nevertheless there, as in science, we must guard against the tendency to believe without evidence, and to mistake an inference for a fact there, as in science, we must be very cautious in admitting the statement of a respectable witness to be a complete expression of the facts, merely because his character guarantees the veracity of the statement as to what he saw. We do not impugn his veracity in declaring that no character can be a guarantee for the accuracy and completeness of a description; because the description can only be of the facts seen by him-the facts unseen are beyond his testimony.

A LITTLE time ago we were all reading with avidity the sparkling, witty, and intelligent work of M. About on the Temporal Sovereignty of the Pope. M. About is a writer who, like our own late Sydney Smith, mingles so much wit and pleasantry with his pungent remarks and his grave condemnatory facts, that many readers are apt to think that they have been amused rather than instructed by him- enlivened more than enlightened. To such readers the confirmatory evidence of a sedate Englishman and a pious Catholic, who has been long residing in Rome, may be acceptable. We have to introduce to them a work of a quite different stamp from M. About's-a grave, conscientious, serious work, that aims at no wit, that sometimes dallies with the poetical aspect of things, that displays, wherever fit occasion presents, a gentle and not intolerant spirit of piety, but which never seeks to raise a smile. His unwilling testimony, extorted by experience or personal observation, to the weakness and defects inherent in the Papal Government, may be of value to those who still need to be convinced that the two characters of Catholic priest and civil magistrate ought not to be combined in the same person.

It is an unwilling or reluctant witness that we have before us. Charles Hemans, the author of this book, son of the poetess who has made his name celebrated in England, is one of that small and most curious group of English laymen who, in these later days, from an exuberance of piety or learning, have deserted the too tame and scanty creed of Protestantism for that fulness of religious faith which they find in Catholicism. What was the peculiar line of cogent reasoning which induced an intelligent Englishman - not himself a priest, or solicitous to share in the honour or mysterious power of the priesthood-to break with his earlier

creed, the creed of his home and of his country, in order to submit himself to a foreign church, which, more than any other church or priesthood that ever existed, labours to repress all free intellectual movement-we do not know, and do not seek to know. This is matter of personal and private history. We have merely to observe that one who took up his residence in Rome, to be close to the very source and fountain-head of religious truth, and to be participant in the purest and most perfect religious worship, could not readily, or without much provocation, have come forward as an evidence against the temporal government of the sovereign under whose spiritual government he had been so solicitous to place himself.

Mr Hemans's work, as its title will show, is of an ambitious order, and the present volume is to be regarded only as a portion or instalment of it. Catholic Italy and its Institutions, is a title, indeed, that opens a wide and indefinite prospect. But as we are concerned with that part only of the present volume which treats of the Pope's civil government, it is not incumbent on us to pass any judgment on the general design of the work, or to say how far this volume has carried out its accomplishment. Partly owing to the negligence of a foreign printer, the book wears a somewhat uninviting aspect. Authors, we know, are abundantly repaid by the pleasant occupation their own work supplies to them; but if it were not for this reflection, some feeling of melancholy and regret would have stolen over us as we perused this volume. There is evidence throughout of much industry, much observation, much reading, and an earnest conscientious spirit; yet all, we fear, will fail of accomplishing any definite result. A precise definite object hardly seems to have been aimed at. His materials, excellent in themselves, are brought

confusedly before us; his combination of purely historical matter with contemporary events and matter of personal observation, is not skilfully contrived. We seem sometimes to be reading a book of travels, sometimes a dry historical summary. There is a want of that ordinary literary skill, of that tact and judgment to select and combine, which may be seen in many a work not evincing half the industry or thought given to the production of these pages. Mr Hemans does not parade his theology, or give to it any disagreeable prominence. To judge by the volume before us, the aesthetic side of the Catholic worship-the poetry and art which naturally unite with its symbolic ritual-has made more impression on him than its peculiar dogmas of theology. After describing the mental stupor and degrading poverty into which a certain Italian town is sunk, he brings through its long straggling streets some gay and imposing procession, and in the pleasure which this spectacle gives to him and to the populace, he seems for a moment to forgive or forget all that he has been telling us. A pious and charitable priesthood distributes alms indiscriminately, and thereby cultivates sloth and pauperism; a pious and dogmatic priesthood distributes another kind of alms-its miserable dole of religious knowledge—and cultivates here also a mental sloth and pauperism. Mr Hemans can perceive this. But the cathedral of the town, "transformed into one great pavilion of silk and damask hangings"- but the triumphal arch, constructed with admirable skill, with columns, attic, entablature, reliefs, and statuary, all of fragile material, yet perfect in illusion "--but the statues of "the Saviour, and St Sebastian, and St Roch, rising in colossal forms, prepared by means of plaster for the heads, hands, or other parts exposed, and linen draperies soaked in lime-water for the rest," these steal away his heart, and, for a time, console his spirit. These cannot be surrendered, though surrendered they must assuredly be, if the multitude are not for ever to remain children. "Protestantism," he writes, "has done away with such

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celebrations as the above described; but are its followers, therefore, the better? are the laborious classes in its cities (socially on a par with the majority of towns amongst the mountains) the happier in the routine of their monotonous existence? All this splendour and preparation for the Frascati centenary, involving expenses considerable to a place of the description, connecting itself with no object tangible or material, bore witness to an immortal interest, a spiritual reality; and, remembering it, I cannot but echo the exclamation of Madame de Stael, 'que j'aime l'inutile!""

But what he and we should describe as l'inutile, is a most serious business with this populace, whom we would benefit, not exactly by taking away this, but by giving something better, of which it fills the place. It occupies precisely that place which each of us fills with the most earnest and solemn thought he is capable of. It could not be retained the moment it was recognised as l'inutile. But we do not quote this passage for the sake of entering into controversy with the author-his gentle, grave, and gracious temper does not provoke to controversybut it may serve to show that it is no iconoclast we have before us, and that it is a very mild note of reprobation we are to expect.

We pass over the first chapter, which is of an historical character, and open the book at the second, which bears the title, The Papal Court and Government. Mr Hemans

was in Rome at the time of the election of Pius IX. He stood with the crowd before the Papal palace, saw the cardinals come forth upon the balcony, and heard one of them pronounce the glad tidings-" Annuncio vobis gaudium magnum, habemus Papam!"

"A tempest of jubilant sounds followed, formed by the chorus of rivas with exulting military music, broken on at intervals by the deep booming of cannon from a distance. Still were eyes fixed on that balcony, where another group soon appeared, all the cardinals now standing before its balustrade, and waving handkerchiefs in response to the salutes of the people, till amidst them was

2 E

brought forward one different in costume, and still more in expression, distinguish ed by a white cassock and rochet, a crimson silk mantle covering the shoulders, a gold embroidered stole, and white silk skullcap. Placed in the centre of the stately group, this personage was greeted with a tumult of applause and martial music, ordnance from the fortress, and pealing of bells from the churches. He raised his hand, went mutely through the action of blessing, and then, supporting his head on both hands as he leaned over the balustrade, gave way to his emotion in a flood of tears."

On the evening of the same day that he witnessed this military greeting returned by apostolic blessing, our author is on the bridge of St Angelo, and meets "a cortège of chariots, in the most sumptuous of which sat the new Pontiff, looking flushed with excitement, but perfectly self-possessed, an amiable smile on his benignant placid countenance, as he gave the blessing with uplifted hand, turning to the right and the left, that all might receive it and see him. Oh, quanto è bello! was the comment I heard on his appearance."

Then came the solemnities of the coronation, amongst which our poetical catholic and lover of symbols does not fail to mention the smoking flax, "thrice displayed and thrice consumed, at the end of a wand carried in the procession before the enthroned Pontiff, with the loudly chanted admonition: Pater sancte, sic transit gloria mundi!"

Alas! the gloria mundi does not even wait for death to extinguish it. It dies down very rapidly-dies down in the interior of that palace to which the crowned Pope retires. It is gone long before the Cardinal Camerlingo (in the performance of another symbolic rite which our author mentions) enters the silent chamber and strikes three times on the brow of the mute pope, and, receiving no answer, proclaims that the Papal throne is vacant, and that a vicar of Christ has again to be elected. It is at best a weary, anxious, unsocial existence to which a Pope is now elected. Looking at it from a worldly point of view, it presents nothing enviable. This Pius IX., formerly Cardinal Mastai, was, it is said, most unexpectedly elevated to the Papal throne. He

had not even a residence in Rome, and, coming hastily from his bishopric of Imala, we are told that he went to the conclave in a carriage borrowed from another cardinal; and that when, on the evening of the second day, the scrutiny of the votes declared that the election had fallen upon him, "he almost fainted from emotion; and it was with difficulty the cardinals could support him to assume his new robes behind the altar, and receive in that gorgeous chapel at the Quirinal, the inaugural act of homage from the Sacred College called la prima adorazione." The emotion was no doubt genuine, and all the exultant shouts of the multitude were as genuine as such shouting ever is, and there is some genuine significance, we suppose, in the "adoration," and the pompous coronation, and the Accipe tiaram tribus coronis ornatam, et scias te esse patrem principum et regum, rectorem orbis, in terra vicarium Salvatoris nostri Jesu Christi, cui est honor et gloria in secula seculorum. But after all is over the Pope retires behind the scenes to an existence which seems divided between a monotonous routine and very perplexing negotiations. "Little, indeed," says our author, "is the Papal throne to be coveted for the sake of the splendour or unlimited indulgences allowed to temporal princes. The Pope lives without liberty, shut up in the circle of prescribed duties, bound by the same obligations of penitence, fasting, and confession as the humblest ecclesiastic.

None of the distractions or festivities of other courts are allowed to his; every meal is taken by him alone; and he is truly (as Gerbet observes) 'imprisoned in the sanctity of his character, finding that to him the Papal throne becomes the column of a stylite.'"

Some of our readers may like to know a little more of the interior of a Papal palace. Those who have derived the idea of it from the luxurious reign of Leo X. may learn how staid, demure, and methodical a functionary a modern pope is expected to be.

"His court, though externally splendid, is austerely regulated, and his privy purse is estimated at not more than 4260