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POPERY is the established religion in Madeira; | and it there presents features much like what it exhibits in countries where it has been left in full possession of the field, neither roused nor kept on the alert by the presence and antagonism of Protestantism. Previous to the contest between the brothers, Don Pedro and Don Miguel, which terminated in 1831, Popery in Madeira was richly endowed-the ecclesiastics were very numerous, and there were several rich convents and nunneries. The priesthood, for the most part, sided with Don Miguel, who was by far a more dutiful and devoted son of the Church than his elder brother; and for this the Church suffered when Don Pedro was triumphant. The monasteries were suppressed, and their revenues were confiscated. There is not now a monk or a friar in Madeira, and the immense melancholy-looking Franciscan convent in Funchal, half in ruins, and occupied as barracks; and the ruins of deserted chapels to be met with in various parts of the island, remind one that things are not with the Church as they once were. There are yet three convents or nunneries in the island, but no new sisters are allowed to join them; and when the present inmates die out, the premises and revenues fall to the government. The clergy are miserably paid; they receive a certain amount from the public treasury, the tithes and other revenues of the Church being drawn by the government. With a few exceptions, the priests are wretchedly ignorant. The more intelligent and better educated among them are, for the most part, Infidels-they do not believe the religion of their own Church, and they know no other. Many of the priests have no copy of the Word of God; some of them do not know that blessed book when they meet with it. One priest, on the question being put to him, whether he had a copy of the Scriptures, replied that he had, but that it was at his brother's, who lived sixteen or eighteen miles distant. Another priest having fallen in with the books of Psalms, Ecclesiastes, and some others bound up together, expressed himself much pleased with what he had read, and asked any more such books were to be had. Not more than six or seven priests, in the whole island, either can or do preach; and their preaching is confined to particular festas or anniversaries. The great body of the parochial clergy never preach; indeed they cannot.

if

I

Besides being deplorably ignorant, the priests (speaking generally) are grossly immoral. never heard of a devout man among them. No. 35.

Though prohibited by their Church from marrying, many of them have large families, not, we believe, called by the name of sons and daughters, but quite well known as such, and living with them in that character. And those priests who thus live like married men, with their families around them, though forbidden by their Church to marry, are the best of their order. Some are downright profligates-live most depraved lives, and are guilty of crimes which we dare not write. The influence of such a priesthood with the people for good, is, of course, nothing. Their influence for evil is considerable. They enjoy, in general, no respect; and as the people are, for the most part, very poor, their exactions are felt as a great hardship, though, as unpleasant consequences might follow were these resisted, they are reluctantly complied with.

From the people who are dependent for religious instruction on such a priesthood, little can be expected. And, indeed, shut up in their own small island, where nothing can reach them from without, and with nothing stirring them within, the Roman Catholics of Madeira seem to have sunk into a state as near to Paganism as can well be imagined. They have some of the names found in the Bible; but as for any knowledge of Scripture truth, or belief of Scripture doctrine, in many parts of the island they are as destitute of these as the natives of China or Japan. They have what may truly be called their household gods-images of the Holy Ghost, of our Lord, of the Virgin, and of innumerable saints. Some of these are neatly carved and ornamented, and some of them are quite the reverse. I recollect seeing one of these household gods somewhat extraordinary, but very neat withal. Its possessor had parted with it on being brought to worship in spirit and in truth that God who is a Spirit, though once it had doubtless been highly prized and venerated. It was a waxen menino, or infant Christ on the cross, reposing in a bed of white cotton wool-a crown suspended over its head, and angels peeping out of the cloud of white cotton wool up in a corner, to look at it. The cross was highly ornamented; and the whole was enclosed in a broad frame, very handsomely gilt. There was to me something new in the idea of an infant Christ on the cross. They have also pictures-often the most miserable farthing prints which they usually do up in a little frame with glass, very like the small mirrors which are often found in the cottages of the poor at home. I have now lying before me one

of these. It is a picture of the Virgin with the infant Jesus in her arms. They both have crowns, and are superbly dressed; and the Virgin holds a large rosary. Below the picture is the following inscription:-Vera effigies de N. Sa do Rosario Dava do Barreiro. O Emmo e Rmo Card Patriarcha concede 100 dias de Indulga a todas as pessoas q rezarem huma Salve R diante desta Image "A true representation of our Lady of the Rosary. The most eminent and reverend Senhor Cardinal Patriarch grants one hundred days' indulgence to all the persons who repeat a Salve Regina before this image." This is just an example of what is to be met with in the cottages in Madeira.

In connection with this subject, I have heard Dr Kalley mention an occurrence, of which he himself was cognizant, which most strikingly shows the ignorance and degradation of these poor Romanists. The picture of a triangle, with a dove in the centre, is their representative of the Holy Ghost. Among those with whom he came in contact, Dr Kalley met with an individual who had the triangle duly honoured; but instead of the dove in the centre of it, were figures indicating how many yards the piece had contained to which the triangle had been attached; for in truth, said triangle was the mark which a Manchester or Glasgow manufacturer had attached to his goods before sending them out from his warehouse-the poor Portuguese adorned their persons with the manufacturer's cottons, and made a god of his warehouse mark.

Intellectual Popery tells us that the people do not pray to these images and pictures, but to the beings represented by them. Even that, in most instances, would be bad enough; but the truth is worse; for whatever intellectual Papists may do, many of the poor ignorant people do pray to these images and pictures, as directly and certainly as this is done to their idols by any Heathens in the world. The people ask things from the images and pictures in their own way; and when anything which they wished is obtained, in their own way they give them thanks; and no attempt is made by the priests to prevent this, or to give the people more correct views. Whilst I was in the island, there was a great procession, to do honour to "Our Lady of the Mount" (a name which the Virgin has, as the patroness of a church in the neighbourhood of Funchal), and to entreat her to send rain, as the country was beginning to suffer much from drought. In this procession priests and dignitaries of the Church took a part; and as the image of " Lady" was borne along, under arches of green boughs and flowers, a canon of the cathedral addressed it-called it to behold the parched country around, to take pity upon them, and to send rain.

our

And yet all this gives but an imperfect notion of the ignorance of these poor people. From some of the usual phraseology of Scrip

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ture being employed by them, one is apt to suppose that they have an acquaintance with the things denoted by that phraseology. But such is not the case. When you speak to them about prayer, they immediately think abou: Ave Marias and Pater Nosters; for with them prayer is repeating so many Aves or Patersthey have no idea of direct petition for the things desired. When, for example, they pray for the recovery of a relative from sickness, they repeat to "Our Lady of the Mount," or "Our Lady of Health," or some saint, a certain number of Aces or Paters, and then add: "These we present unto thee for the recovery of our mother," or brother," as the case may be; there running here, as throughout all Popery, the idea of a compensation to be given for whatever good is received. When you speak to them of repentance, they forthwith think of penance-the repeating of so many prayers, which is the most common penance imposed by the priest, or the performance of something difficult or disagreeable. When you speak to them of a prophet, they immediately think of one of the people of Porto Santo, a small island a few miles to the north of Madeira whose inhabitants are all called prophetas—why, I could not learn-and that is the only iden which they have of a prophet. When you talk about angels, they think only of dead little children. The sacrament of the supper, or more properly speaking, the consecrated wafer -the little piece of flour and water, which Popery declares to be the body, blood, and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ-in consequence of a sinful man having said a few words over it, is commonly known and spoken of among them by the name of Nosso pai—“Our Father."

So that not only do these poor people need to be taught the first principles of the Gospel, but before this can be done, they would require to unlearn many false notions, and certain utterly erroneous ideas which they attach to terms that must needs be employed in teaching them. And yet this state of things is one which Popery delights in-which, if she durst, she would use faggot and axe to maintain; and which she is at present striving to perpetuate in Madeira by threats and blows, and fines and imprisonment, and pillage, and condemna tion to death itself.

PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE.

THERE is, perhaps, no virtue the exercise of which is more continually required, and none more difficult to maintain in a world full of trials and vexation, than patience. We need it daily-sometimes almost hourly; yet there is no furnishing wherewith the youthful mind is more scantily provided, in launching on the troubled ocean of life, and no quality more op posite to the character of the natural man. Impatience is one of the earliest features por trayed in fallen human nature. The babe

awakes from its peaceful slumbers, and clamours for the fulfilment of its wishes. A moment before, we contemplated on the countenance of the little unconscious sleeper a placid and guileless expression; now the incipient passions which, by their unwise indulgence, may, in time, lead him into many troubles and difficulties, deform the fair face of infancy, and a bitter cry evinces the tumult that reigns within. View him a little older, delighting and delighted; his merry laugh ringing pleasantly, his rosy countenance lighted up with joy, and happier with his bauble than was Alexander with the many crowns of conquered nations. Deny him some small request, or let a companion rudely appropriate the object of his amusement-the storm rises and rages, and the impatient spirit is lord of the ascendant.

This unamiable trait is not equally developed in all, but, in some measure, it certainly exists in all; and if its effects are not in every case so clearly manifested, it is because of some favouring circumstances, counteracting dispositions or principles, which exert their restraining influ

ence.

A really impatient temper is the bane of its possessor, and the torment of others. There is but one effectual remedy for so desperate a disease the converting power of divine grace; yet, by proper, judicious management, it may be brought under some degree of subordination even to the powers of right reason; and those who have the responsible charge of youth may do much to retard the growth of this unsightly evil. But those who never learned to practise self-control, can scarcely be expected to control others wisely; and when childish irritation is met, and put down, not by the moral power of suasive firmness, but by kindred passion, it is only smothered, not softened or subdued; and the victim, whose situation alone obliged him to yield, will probably embrace the first opportunity of indulging his humour, by venting the pent-up tempest upon an equal or an inferior. In this condition man is found in every age and climate; and wherever despotic power exists, impatience, in word and deed, marks the prevalence of this monstrous mental deformity. It grows by indulgence it has been the means of losing friends and employment; for even self-interest, paramount as this motive is in the human mind, is not a sufficiently strong curb for so restive a propensity.

Patience was a qualification duly appreciated by the wise among the Heathen, and taught in the schools of their philosophers. It is true, that the principles on which they based their instructions were defective, and the way in which this virtue was exhibited was often unnatural and unprofitable; the results, however, of such training were very serviceable to the commonwealth. Habits of patient endurance are as necessary as the courage which produces brilliant actions; and when almost every country and state were in arms, either for conquest or

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for defence, those who coveted or obtained any eminent degree of distinction were generally as remarkable for the one quality as the other. In times of peril, many are found capable of great sacrifices, and extraordinary exertions for their country's honour or advantage, who, nevertheless, would risk the overthrow of a cause in a moment of excitement, rather than submit to the smallest personal disrespect; and many an important opportunity has been lost to gratify wounded pride. It may fairly be questioned if a modern patriot would act like the valiant and popular Athenian, Themistocles. When urging, somewhat warmly, his opinion on the subject of fighting the Persians at Salamis, the commander of the Grecian fleet lifted his cane in a threatening manner; but Themistocles, magnanimously resolved not to suffer the feelings of resentment, which conduct so offensive was calculated to produce, to interfere with the duty he owed his country at so critical a juncture, said: "Strike, but hear me." His colleague stood astonished at his forbearance; and this victory over himself was the prelude to that complete victory his wisdom was the means of obtaining over Xerxes, with his myriad forces; or, as the historian expresses it, "Themistocles took all patiently, and the victory at Salamis was the fruit of his patience."

We know not what may be the future destiny of the youth whose impetuosity and headlong self-will it is a duty to teach him betimes to control; but he can enter no sphere of life where he will not find the benefit of such a course. The aim and end of Grecian training were of a very different and far inferior kind to that which is proposed to Christians, when they are exhorted to run with patience the race set before them." The objects held up by Heathen instructors were the withering laurels of earthly ambition, in one or other of its proteus-like forms; yet their appreciation of patience might read a salutary lesson, and is a standing reproach to many professing Christians; for they never heard that divine sentence: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."-Prov. xvi. 32. The bright light now shineth, and we, who enjoy the benefit of it, are responsible for its use.

Patience, in a mere worldly point of view, is of essential value: it is one of the virtues that tend most materially to sweeten existence. Persons love what they find accommodating; therefore, this qualification is prized, and receives its meed of praise from those whose own gratification or convenience it promotes; but, far from imitating what they commend so greatly in others, the impatient generally mark their appreciation of this excellence by the quantity of forbearance they seem to consider their due from its possessor.

Is there one of a family remarkable for this grace?—that individual is constantly called upon

to put it in practice. Is there a disagreeable duty to be done?-it is sure to be awarded to that "dear good soul" who cannot refuse to be obliging. Is there an unpleasant message to be carried a troublesome piece of work to be done? who should be applied to but the always ready? "Oh! I cannot do it," says the idle, or the giddy'; "but I am sure Mary will, or John will, at once." So multifarious are the demands made on this individual member of the family, that, if a catalogue were presented on Monday morning of services to be performed through the week, the amount would be startling.

"Are you not doing wrong to keep your sister waiting?" asks one who has not applied a measure to Mary's patience. "Oh! it does not signify," replies the inconsiderate brother, or sister; "she is so good natured, she thinks nothing of it."

The patient is often left to want something, that the impatient may be gratified-to give up their comforts, that the unreasonable may be supplied. Every person in the house loves, in their own way, the patient member; and yet the gentle creature is made to suffer a species of persecution from the self-willed and the indolent. The obliging seems indispensable to each and all; yet few or none are found willing to abate demands on time, temper, or resources; proving that the seeming love, which rewards so many services, is nothing better than the product of the veriest selfishness.

A meck temper will endure much without complaining; and, as its pleasure greatly consists in obliging others, the burden it is destined to carry is thus rendered the lighter; but when no one thinks of giving up even a whim for the gratification of a person who never claims such a concession, this is being made to pay rather a heavy tax for the possession of a valuable commodity dispensed so freely for the benefit of others. The persons who levy it are not generally sensible that they are guilty of so much unkindness; for such a course is, perhaps, never pursued systematically; and self. love is a great enemy to self-examination. Few are willing to confess to a charge that would prove them so unamiable; and some one is shocked at the picture, who might hinself have sat for the portrait, so difficult is it to know ourselves. "There is not room in the carriage," says somebody; "one of these girls must stay at home till another occasion." Youth does not like to relinquish the present prospect of a pleasant excursion; one looks anxious, another disconcerted, and Mary-"Oh! surely I will stay," says the gentle Mary. She would have preferred being of the party, but then she can bear disappointment better than her sisters, and while she is pursuing her quiet occupations at home, she is pleased to know that they are enjoying themselves; whereas they may perhaps observe, "It is a pity Mary is not here; but, you know, we could not all come." This argument is quite satisfactory, and it becomes clear

that their regrets for her absence sit too lightly to mar their amusement. (To be continued.)

THE LITTLE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.

AN OLD STORY FOR YOUNG READERS.

IN London, on the 1st of May, 17-, the Countess of Belville and her son, aged eleven years, were sitting in a magnificent saloon, at the head of a long table; around this table, filled with cakes, sugar-plums, &c., hands and faces, and with joyful hearts, singing, fifty little chimney-sweeps were seated, with clean

"Sweep ho! sweep ho!

From the bottom to the top."

You are astonished, perhaps, my little friends to see these little chimney-sweeps at the table of so great a lady, and in such a beautiful room. I al going to tell you how this happened.

Some years before this anniversary day, Lady Belville had a son about five years old. She was a widow, little Charles she had placed all her affection, and and this little boy was her only child. Upon her this child had become the sole object of her thoughts and her cares. The great desire of the heart of the Countess was, that her son should become pious truly converted to the Lord. She prayed without ceasing that God would touch the heart of her child. and turn it toward him. The more she prayed, and the more pains she took, the farther he seemed removed from the good end to which she wished to conduct him. He was idle, disobedient, and wilful; and but little disposed to attend to the subject of religion. Whenever the Bible was read to him, he became weary; thinking of other things, turning upon his seat, and gazing at the furniture of the ing prayers, he said he wanted his breakfast first When she required him to repeat his morn and in the evening, that he was too sleepy, and wished to go to bed. He had no desire to be more wise, and he had no wish to ask God to teach him, and his mother could never be satisfied that he even ever prayed from the abundance of the heart. She her son should pray also. In the hope of encourag prayed often herself, and she greatly desired that ing him, she composed some prayers for him to recite each night; but Charles would never learn but ore of them; after saying which he would quickly say, "Amen," and go to bed. "Lord, convert mechange my heart; teach me to love thee, and to love y brethren as Jesus Christ loved us. Amen." The poor mother wept much, and prayed more; but we must say that she failed to correct him.

room.

Her weakness imboldened Charles to disobedience, and he every day became more wicked. Lady Belville, seeing that her son changed not, began to eyes he doubt of the promises of God, and to her seemed to fail in his word; for he had said in many passages of the Bible: "Call upon me, and I will answer."

One day, as usual, she was plunged in tears. A servant came to tell her that for an hour they had sought for Charles all about the house without finding him, that the outer gate had been kept fastened, and that the child had been all the morning amusing himself alone in the garden.

You can imagine the anxiety of his mother; she ran through the house-the garden-the neighbour hood; but no person could give her any news of her She sent her servants to seek him through all

son.

the streets of the city-she sent notices to the authoriance of her child, and offered a large reward to those ties-she published in all the papers the disappearwho would give her tidings of him.

Twenty different persons came within a few days

to bring her intelligence of several children they had seen; but no one brought her any satisfactory information. One had seen a child resembling the description of him who departed in a post-chaise; another had seen a person weeping in the streets, and asking for his mother; a third pretended to have seen a little boy of the same age, clothed exactly in the same manner, amusing himself alone, casting stones into the water, upon the bank of a river; and he affirmed, that having passed a few moments afterwards, he was not to be seen.

This last recital, either that it was more frightful, or the portrait given of the child had more resemblance to Charles, made a deep impression on the mind of the mother, who no longer doubted that it was her son, and that he had been drowned. She had, moreover, reason to believe it, as she learned, not long after, that the body of a child had been found upon the river, and buried in a little hamlet three leagues from the city. This time, well persuaded of the death of her son, the poor mother thought of nothing but to raise a tombstone to his memory, and to go there and weep, and pray to God to console her. She would have wished to persuade herself that her child was not very wicked; and that he had at least some good qualities to redeem his defects. She tried to remember one time in his life when the little Charles had uttered one prayer from the heart; she repeated to herself that which she had taught him; but, alas! what came to the remembrance of the poor mother was always the recollection of his disobedience to the orders of his mother, his impatience during her serious reading, and his weariness during prayer. Oh! if the little Charles could have known how much grief he afterwards caused to his mother, how he would have wept Perhaps he would not have been so wicked and disobedient. But to console herself, Lady Belville wished to have before her eyes the sweetest recollection that remained to her of her Charles. She caused to be sculptured upon a tomb a young child kneeling, and had inscribed upon the black marble this prayer: "Lord, convert me-change my heart; and teach me to love my brethren as Jesus Christ loved us. Amen." Now one year, two years, three years passed away, without bringing any solace to the grief of the Countess: her only happiness upon this earth (next to her religious duties) was, whenever she met a child of the age that Charles would have been had he lived, to say to herself, that perhaps it might be her son, and that she was falsely persuaded of his death. She approached every such child, and examined him with care, questioned him with eager curiosity, and always ended by discovering, with sorrow, that the child was not her son!

One day, on returning from the country (where she had been passing some weeks) unexpected by her domestics, who were occupied in cleaning the apartments, she saw, with surprise, on entering the saloon, a little chimney-sweep leaning against the jamb. He was very sorrowful; and, in spite of the soot which covered his face, might be seen his white skin and his extreme thinness. His head rested upon his breast; the poor child was weeping, and large tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving white traces upon his dark face.

"Again, you say-does he beat you often?" "Almost every day, madam." "And for what?"

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"Because I don't earn money enough. When I return at night, after having cried out all the day without having obtained any work, he says I have been idle; but I assure you, madam, it is not my fault. I cry out as loud as I can, and nobody calls I can't force people to let me sweep their chimneys."

me.

"But, then, every day does not pass without work, and then thy master does not whip thee?" said the Countess.

"Well, madam, then he says to me that I don't climb fast enough-that I do not scrape hard enough; and when I come down he strikes me again; and all the time I do all that I can. More than once I have run the risk of falling; yesterday I hurt my leg: you see, madam, my pantaloons are worn through at the knees," and the poor boy wept bitterly. "But, then, when you work better?" said the good lady.

"Oh! when I work better he is content to scold me." "And how much do you gain each day?" "Nothing-only he gives me my food; but so little, that I very often go to bed hungry."

"Ah! well, I will speak to thy master."

Ah, no, madam-he will beat me more yet. I complain to nobody, but in the evening to "To whom?"

"To God."

"And what do you say to him?"

"I ask him to take me back to my mother." "Thou hast then, a mother?"

"O yes! and a very gooa mother; if I could go. to her I should not be so unhappy."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"No: I recollect only one house-one garden. See! see! madam, it was like this. The trees of the garden were seen through the windows of the saloon, as you see these poplars in front. The chimney was on the right hand like this; the door in front; and my mother was like you-only she was handsome, and was not dressed in black as you are.

These words overcame Lady Belville. A shivering ran through her frame-her hands trembled-she could scarcely stand upon her feet. She sank upon the sofa; and taking the boy by one hand, she drew him near to her, and continued the conversation. "And has the Lord never answered you, my child?"

"Not yet, madam; but he will hear me one day, I

am sure."

"Sure! and why?"

"Because he has said so in his Word." "You have confidence, then, in prayer? "Yes, madam; because I have already been heard." "In what?"

"I have asked God to make me better, and it seems to me that I am not so bad as formerly. Now, I do almost all that my master tells me. When I can, I read a little in the New Testament, which a good gentleman gave me; and I pray every day with pleasure."

"With pleasure, do you say?"?

"Yes, with pleasure; above all, when I repeat the prayer that my mother taught me by heart." "And what is that prayer ?-tell it me, I beseech

"But why do you weep?"

"It is because," trying to restrain his tears, "it is because

"Take courage, my boy," said the good lady;" toll me thy troubles."

"It is because my master will beat me again."

The child knelt down, joined his hands, and shedding some tears, he said, with a trembling voice:

"Lord, convert me-change my heart; teach me to love thee, and to love my brethren as Jesus Christ loved us. Amen."

"My child! my child!" cried the Countess, pressing the boy in her arms; "thou art my son Charles!".