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you know who are the most charitable of men during | Counsellor, your children are well of the measles-your war time?"
"The monks, I suppose," replied Helena, who thought it incumbent upon her to say something, and who was dying to give her secret hilarity free vent. "You are out, quite out, my dear; it is the soldiers; they make so many poor houses---by plunder and rapine I mean you see the point, don't you?"
Helena, glad of so plausible an excuse, gave way to another explosion of gaiety, more in harmony with her years than with her breeding or her birth. Nature was so little known in the palace of Imminghausen Berkenburg Erlenstadt-had been so remorselessly banished thence, that the impression made by this second outbreak was generally unfavourable to the Princess. The Duke alone continued to be charmed. The placid smiles of his familiars and his Duchess, what were they to the flattering homage of such spontaneous merriment?" "I knew," thought the Duke, I'd come strong upon her freshness; I daresay her father is a dull drone of a fellow, but his daughter is sprightly. I wonder my son does not take more to her; it is very strange; I must look to it-I'll set all that right in the twinkling of an eye. I must try her again, however."
Whether the Duchess had enough of her game, or perceiving her husband fresh primed, wished to prevent his exploding, or dreaded least Helena's childishness should become too evident, or that her son's coldness towards her might grow too much an object of remark, she suddenly pushed the cards from her, and rising, turned to request Helena's arm to take a turn through the saloon. The Duchess stepped out with still more erectness than usual, spreading her fan before her as she went with an authoritative air which would have baffled imitation, showing off her small snowy hand of remarkable beauty, almost every finger of which was gemmed. Her cheeks were rouged to a still deeper tint than in the morning, the fiery red of which, contrasting strongly with her powdered head and pale eyes, gave her countenance a harsh unnatural expression; nor did the diamonds that glittered on her stomacher, neck, and arms, in a profusion more magnificent than tasteful, add grace to her overloaded figure. But for this she cared little. Seldom do we find vanity, coquetry, or, indeed, any petty vice, mixed up with pride. It has, at least, the advantage of preserving from many a meaner weakness and defect. The Duchess dressed, as she did all things, with reference merely to what was due to her rank and station, and not with any secondary view whatever. She approached the table where the dowagers were still playing, and spoke a few words in a tone so obviously and constrainedly condescending, that it fell far short of its intended object. But the Duke, who had followed close upon her heels, exclaimed in his hearty mannerWell, ladies, who is the winner? you, Frau von Lilienfeld? I am happy to hear it--you are on a visit here-it's but fair that the luck of the place should bid you welcome. Ha ha! ha! not bad, is it?" turning to the Duchess, who was pleased, as usual, graciously to smile, then to Helena, who dared no longer laugh. From thence they honoured one group after another with a passing word of notice, which smacked somewhat of the smallness of the town, for it chiefly consisted of such observations as the following:-"I hope, Sir
eldest got them also ?-that's too bad, I had hoped to see her at our next ball-truly sorry." "Baron, your niece is about to get married?-oh! it's your daughter, so much the better, I trust we shall have the pleasure of seeing her here." "Sir Librarian, we have been very delighted with your last work”—a heavy elephant edition of the history of the House of Imminghausen Berkenburg Erlenstadt, enriched with genealogical tables—“ highly interesting-allow me to offer you a testimony of my esteem." Here the Duke presented a snuff box with his gracious image on the lid, a sad daub of a minature, and not surrounded with diamonds, as the officious recorder of more than one lie had fondly expected. looked crestfallen enough, and was probably rapidly summing up in imagination the labour and time he had spent in researches which he now thought thrown away. But it was too late to wish back the volume into nonexistence; and, if possible, what author could or would achieve such a felo de se—the destruction of his better self? If such an unnatural literary parent could be found, it certainly were not among the sons of science. Those who have laboured to obtain a result, be that result never so unsatisfactory, are not tempted to fling it away. As it was, the savant pocketed his disappointment and the compliment that was meant to sooth it; he shook his ruffled feathers, and though he swore he'd never again busy himself with the ungrateful task, not many months later enriched the literary world with a supplement, scarce less ponderous than the original compilation.
The Duchess then passed back into the reception room. This, however, was empty, but for the presence of a few cornets who were whispering in corners; but, on perceiving the Major Domo approaching to announce supper, the Duchess made a somewhat precipitate retreat, lest the announcement might lose anything of its solemnity by the members of the ducal family being scattered about.
The supper offered but one remarkable feature. The ducal party sat alone at a table set apart for them; but to Helena's surprise, who had never beheld anything of the kind at her father's court, the officers of the guard, in their full regimentals, waited behind their chairs like so many lackeys. The Princess' obvious embarrassment at this, to her, unfamiliar circumstance, seemed to force a notion of the impropriety of their position on the poor guardsmen themselves; and their cheeks were, to the full, as flushed as her own, whenever her eye chanced to light on any of them. At neighbouring tables sat the rest of the society, who were served according to their right of precedence.
The Prince was as mute and looked as stern as before supper, which would have seemed intolerably long, had not the regimental band played the whole time, and somewhat covered the dullness by the lively tunes which they played with a perfection that charmed and carried along with it the most insensible ear.
Thus closed Helena's first day in her new home; but as she laid her head on her pillow that night, a flood of tears relieved her aching heart; for never had she felt more lonely, more thoroughly an orphan, without any kind heart in the whole world, in which to pour her griefs-to counsel, to comfort her-she whose nature was all love and gentleness,
A few more dull days passed away; then came that on which the wedding was to take place. The Duke had, indeed, prevailed on the Prince to offer Helena some few indispensable courtesies; but they were proffered in so ungracious a manner that, novice as she was, she could not be blind to his aversion for her; but this consciousness made her feel more desolate than ever; she could hardly have restrained her tears from flowing, even in public, had not the manners of the Duchess forced them back at their source, and the kindness of the Duke supported her.
The ceremony was performed in the private chapel of the palace, the largest church the town boasted. Helena's head and heart throbbed with such intensity during the eeremony, that she was scarce conscious of anything but the having bound herself to a wretched existence. After the nuptial blessing was pronounced, again she yearned to claim a mother in the Duchess; but even whilst the pulses of the latter beat with responsive longing, she calmly checked the effusion, and all died away within Helena's breast. For one solitary moment, as she gazed on her handsome lord, did she remember he was bound to her by an irrevocable tie; but she alone seemed conscious of the fact; no echo to her sentiments could she detect in his lowering countenance.
Retired to the solitude of her own apartments, Helena wept over her future prospects; when, to her great surprise, the Duchess entered, alone, unannounced, and with something more of feeling than she had yet suffered to become visible.
"Do not grieve so, Helena," she said, as she took her seat beside the toilet-table-" indeed, my poor child, God knows I feel for you-but things will turn out better than you expect. To-day the Prince may avoid you, but to-morrow he will be at your feet."
Helena's small, slender fingers mechanically played with the rich lace that curtained her toilet-table. Confidence, too hastily checked, could not thus be recalled at pleasure. She dared not give utterance to what lay so heavy on her heart. It was not her husband's love only-it was love, sympathy in every one about her that she missed.
The Duchess, receiving no reply, continued-" Not that in our rank we can look for that sort of thing which, in inferior stations, people call domestic happiness; different positions call for different sentimentsfor different opinions-you understand."
I am afraid I do not," the Princess innocently replied, turning her eyes from the silver baubles of her toilet-table, on which she had hitherto kept them, full on Serenissima's countenance. The Duchess blushed beneath her rouge; for she was about to throw into the young soul that thus lay open to her like a clear, limpid lake, the first pebble of knowledge that was to call up the dregs from the bottom, to mix with and destroy the transparency of its waters. But she took heart of grace and continued
"And Princesses ?" naively inquired the one-hour's bride.
"Of course are bound to be more submissive and devoted than other spouses; I mean, my child, that we must early prepare to meet the unavoidable drawbacks of our lofty positions. Look around at all the courts of Germany-you will find them in strict accordance with that of France-the Princes' consorts resigned and devoted to their rightful lords throughout life, whilst these, like the mighty monarch of France, spend their leisure and seek their pleasures in lighter bonds."
"Is, then, the marriage vow only meant to bind one, and not the other ?" the Princess exclaimed in amazement.
"I will not presume to say God meant it so," the Duchess replied, "but so the German Princes have made it, and respect for our sovereigns and lords will not allow of our sitting in judgment upon them."
"But," she observed with some warmth, "those who permit and screen what is wrong, are parties to the evil committed."
The Duchess was chafed. Proud of her own intact reputation-proud of having sacrificed, in years by-gone, every other sentiment to what she believed due to her exalted station, she was shocked at the opposition to her views, and the censure on her own conduct, which Helena's remark seemed to imply; she, therefore, winced a little as she said—
"If you speak of ordinary women, or of marriage in an ordinary acceptation, what you observe may be founded in reason; but with reference to such as we are, it is altogether another case; and we must be guided by other rules. To keep up the dignity of our house, or that which becomes ours by alliance, should be our chief aim in life; and to that we should sacrifice every puerile consideration, every egotistical resentment thus the Queen remains attached to the King, though the husband may have deserted the wife."
"But," persisted the Princess, "my father's chaplain used to say, in our station, we should be doubly mindful to give none but useful and good examples; because people would never make allowance for their distance from us, which we have so constantly before our eyes, but would adopt our principles to their own conduct.”
"A worthy man, I doubt not," the Duchess replied, "but not well versed in worldly wisdom, I fear; however, believe me, if you are patient and docile, and abide by my counsel, the Prince will turn to you one day or other; or, at least, you are sure of securing his esteem."
"Yes," said Helena, peevishly," when he is old and ugly" but she suddenly checked herself, and blushing up to the eyes, remained silent.
"Poor child," said the Duchess, compassionately, "you are very young, and life's first lessons will be bitter indeed to you; but a high-birth should give a high-bearing throughout all difficulties, and elevate us above all
"Having lost your mother so early, I am forced to paltry feelings-but some one is approaching." take her place."
"It is my father-in-law," exclaimed Helena, petu
"Oh! madam, that you would!" said Helena, with lantly, for she was much relieved by the sound of his clasped hands. cheerful voice.
BY THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
THE work whose substance and theme are thus briefly abstracted is, at this moment, making a noise in the world. It is ascribed by report to two bishops not jointly, but alternatively-in the sense that, if one did not write the book, the other did. The Bishops of Oxford and St. David's, Wilberforce and Thirlwall, are the two pointed at by the popular finger; and, in some quarters, a third is suggested, viz., Stanley, Bishop of Norwich. The betting, however, is altogether in favour of Oxford. So runs the current of public gossip. But the public is a bad guesser, "stiff in opinion" it is, and almost "always in the wrong." Now let me guess. When I had read for ten minutes, I offered a bet of seven to one (no takers) that the author's name began with II. Not out of any love for that amphibious letter; on the contrary, being myself what Professor Wilson calls a hedonist, or philosophical voluptuary, and murmuring, with good reason, if a rose leaf lies doubled below me, naturally I murmur at a letter that puts one to the expense of an aspiration, forcing into the lungs an extra charge of raw air on frosty mornings. But truth is truth, in spite of frosty air. And yet, upon further reading, doubts gathered upon my mind. The H. that I mean is an Englishman; now it happens that here and there a word, or some peculiarity in using a word, indicates, in this author, a Scotchman; for instance, the expletive "just," which so much infests Scotch phraseology, written or spoken, at page 1; elsewhere the word " shortcomings," which, being horridly tabernacular, and such that no gentleman could allow himself to touch it without gloves, it is to be wished that our Scottish brethren would resign, together with backslidings," to the use of field preachers. But worse, by a great deal, and not even intelligible in England, is the word thereafter, used as an adverb of time, i. e., as the correlative of hereafter. Thereafter, in pure vernacular English, bears a totally different sense. In "Paradise Lost," for instance, having heard the character of a particular angel, you are told that he spoke thereafter, i. e., spoke agreeably to that character. "How a score of sheep, Master Shallow?" The answer is, Thereafter as they be." Again, "Thereafter as a man sows shall he reap." The objections are overwhelming to the Scottish use of the word; first, because already in Scotland it is a barbarism transplanted from the filthy vocabulary of attorneys, locally called writers ; secondly, because in England it is not even intelligible, and, what is worse still, sure to be mis-intelligible. And yet, after all, these exotic forms may be a mere blind. The writer is, perhaps, purposely leading us astray with his " thereafters," and his horrid" shortcomings." Or, because London newspapers, and Acts of Parliament, are begin
* A Vindication of Protestant Principles. By Phileleutheros Anglicanus. London: Parker. 1847.
ning to be more and more polluted with these barbarisms, he may even have caught them unconsciously. And, on looking again at one case of "thereafter," viz., at page 79, it seems impossible to determine whether he uses it in the classical English sense, or in the sense of leguleian barbarism.
This question of authorship, meantime, may seem to the reader of little moment. Far from it!
The weightier part of the interest depends upon that very point. If the author really is a bishop, or supposing the public rumour so far correct as that he is a man of distinction in the English Church, then, and by that simple fact, this book, or this pamphlet, interesting at any rate for itself, becomes separately interesting through its authorship, so as to be the most remarkable phenomenon of the day; and why? Because the most remarkable expression of a movement, accomplished and proceeding in a quarter that, if any on this earth, might be thought sacred from change. Oh, fearful are the motions of time, when suddenly lighted up to a retrospect of thirty years! Pathetic are the ruins of time in its slowest advance! Solemn are the prospects, so new and so incredible, which time unfolds at every turn of its wheeling flight! Is it come to this? Could any man, one generation back, have anticipated that an English dignitary, and speaking on a very delicate religious question, should deliberately appeal to a writer confessedly infidel, and proud of being an infidel, as a “triumphant" settler of Christian scruples? But if the infidel is right, a point which I do not here discuss—but if the infidel is a man of genius, a point which I do not deny-was it not open to cite him, even though the citer were a bishop? Why, yes-uneasily one answers, yes; but still the case records a strange alteration, and still one could have wished to hear such a doctrine, which ascribes human infirmity (nay, human criminality) to every book of the Bible, uttered by anybody rather than by a father of the Church, and guaranteed by anybody rather than by an infidel, in triumph. A boy may fire his pistol unnoticed; but a sentinel, mounting guard in the dark, must remember the trepidation that will follow any shot from him, and the certainty that it will cause all the stations within hearing to get under arms immediately. Yet why, if this bold opinion does come from a prelate, he being but one man, should it carry so alarming a sound? Is the whole bench of bishops bound and compromised by the audacity of any one amongst its members? tainly not. But yet such an act, though it should be that of a rash precursor, marks the universal change of position; there is ever some sympathy between the van and the rear of the same body at the same time; and the boldest could not have dared to go ahead so rashly, if the rearmost was not known to be pressing forward to his
in religious speculation. Opinions change slowly and stealthily. The steps of the changes are generally continuous; but sometimes it happens that the notice of such steps, the publication of such changes, is not continuous, that it comes upon us per saltum, and, consequently, with the stunning effect of an apparent treachery. Every thoughtful man raises his hands with an involuntary gesture of awe at the revolutions of so revolutionary an age, when thus summoned to the spectacle of an English prelate serving a piece of artillery against what once were fancied to be main out-works of religion, and at a station sometimes considerably in advance of any occu
It is this audacity of speculation, I apprehend, this étalage of bold results, rather than any success in their development, which has fixed the public attention. Development, indeed, applied to philosophic problems, or research applied to questions of erudition, was hardly possible within so small a compass as 117 pages, for that is the extent of the work, except as regards the notes, which amount to 74 pages more. Such brevity, on such a subject, is unseasonable, and almost culpable. On such a subject as the Philosophy of Protestantism-" satius erat silere, quam pareius dicere." Better were absolute silence, more respectful as regards the theme, less tantalising as regards the reader, than a style of discussion so fragmentary and so rapid.
support, far more closely than thirty years ago | history that almost shocks one of the strides made he could have done. There have been, it is true, heterodox professors of divinity and free-thinking bishops before now. England can show a considerable list of such people-even Rome has a smaller list. Rome, that weeds all libraries, and is continually burning books, in effigy, by means of her vast Index Expurgatorius, which index, continually, she is enlarging by successive supplements, needs also an Index Expurgatorius for the catalogue of her prelates. Weeds there are in the very flower-garden and conservatory of the Church. Fathers of the Church are no more to be relied on, as safe authorities, than we rascally lay authors, that notoriously will say anything. And it is a striking proof of this amongst our Eng-pied by Voltaire." lish bishops, that the very man who, in the last generation, most of all won the public esteem as the champion of the Bible against Tom Paine, was privately known amongst us connoisseurs in heresy (that are always prying into ugly secrets) to be the least orthodox thinker, one or other, amongst the whole brigade of 15,000 contemporary clerks who had subscribed the Thirty-nine Articles. Saving your presence, reader, his lordship was no better than a bigoted Socinian, which, in a petty diocese that he never visited, and amongst South Welshmen, that are all incorrigible Methodists, mattered little, but would have been awkward had he come to be Archbishop of York; and that he did not, turned upon the accident of a few weeks too soon, by which the Fates cut short the thread of the Whig ministry in 1807. Certainly, for a Romish or an English bishop to be a Socinian is un peu fort. But I contend that it is quite possible to be far less heretical, and yet dangerously bold; yes, upon the free and spacious latitudes, purposely left open by the English Thirty-nine Articles (aye, or by any Protestant Confession), to plant novelties not less startling to religious ears than Socinianism itself. Besides (which adds to the shock), the dignitary now before us, whether bishop or no bishop, does not write in the tone of a conscious heretic; or, like Archdeacon Blackburnef of old, in a spirit of hostility to his own fellow-churchmen; but, on the contrary, in the tone of one relying upon support from his clerical brethren, he stands forward as expositor and champion of views now prevailing amongst the elite of the English Church. So construed, the book is, indeed, a most extraordinary one, and exposes a
"Index Expurgatorius."-A question of some interest arises upon the casuistical construction of this Index. We, that are not by name included, may we consider ourselves indirectly licensed? Silence, I should think, gives consent. And if it wasn't that the present Pope, being a horrid Radical, would be sure to blackball me as an honest Tory, I would send him a copy of my Opera Omnia, requesting his Holiness to say, by return of post, whether I ranked amongst the chaff winnowed by St. Peter's flail, or had his gracious permission to hold myself amongst the pure wheat gathered into the Vatican garner.
+"Archdeacon Blackburne."-He was the author of The Confessional, which at one time made a memorable ferment amongst all those who loved as sons, or who hated as nonconformists, the English Establishment. This was his most popular work, but he wrote many others in the same temper, that fill six or seven octavos.
But, before we go farther, what are we to call this bold man? One must have some name for a man that one is reviewing; and, as he comes abroad incognito, it is difficult to see what name could have any propriety. Let me consider: there are three bishops in the field, Mr. H., and the Scotchman-that makes five. But every one of these, you say, is represented equally by the name in the title-Phileleutheros Anglicanus. True, but that's as long as a team of horses. If it had but Esquire at the end, it would measure against a Latin Hendecasyllable verse. I'm afraid that we must come at last to Phil. I've been seeking to avoid it, for it's painful to say "Jack" or "Dick" either to or of an ecclesiastical great gun. But if such big wigs will come abroad in disguise, and with names as long as Fielding's Hononchrononthononthologus, they must submit to be hustled by pick-pockets and critics, and to have their names docked as well as profane authors.
Phil., then, be it-that's settled. Now, let us inquire what it is that Phil. has been saying, to cause such a sensation amongst the gnostics. And, to begin at the beginning, what is Phil.'s
* Voltaire."-Let not the reader misunderstand me: I do not mean that the clerical writer now before us (bishop or not bishop) is more hostile to religion than Voltaire, or is hostile at all. On the contrary, he is, perhaps, profoundly religious, and he writes with neither levity nor insincerity. But this conscientious spirit, and this piety, do but the more call into relief the audacity of his free-thinking-do but the more forcibly illustrate the prodigious changes wrought by time, and by the contagion from secular revolutions, in the spirit of religious philo. sophy,
capital object? Phil. shall state it himself is the deduction of the title upon which Rome these are his opening words :-" In the following plants the right to be a church at all. This depages we propose to vindicate the fundamental duction is so managed by Rome as to make her. and inherent principles of Protestantism." Good; self, not merely a true church (which many Probut what are the fundamental principles of testants grant), but the exclusive church. Now, Protestantism? They are," says Phil., "the what Phil. in effect undertakes to defend is not sole sufficiency of Scripture,* the right of private principles by preference to doctrines (for they are judgment in its interpretation, and the authority pretty nearly the same thing), but the question of of individual conscience in matters of religion." title to teach at all, in preference to the question Errors of logic show themselves more often in a of what is the thing taught. There is the disman's terminology, and his antitheses, and his tinction, as I apprehend it. All these termssubdivisions, than anywhere else. Phil. goes" principle," doctrine," "system," "theory," on to make this distinction, which brings out his "hypothesis"-are used nearly always most licen imperfect conception. "We," says he (and, by tiously, and as arbitrarily as a Newmarket jockey the way, if Phil. is we, then it must be my duty selects the colours for his riding dress. It is true that to call him the), "we do not propose to defend one shadow of justification offers itself for Phil.'s the varieties of doctrine held by the different com- distinction. All principles are doctrines, but all munities of Protestants." Why, no; that would doctrines are not principles; which, then, in parbe a sad task for the most skilful of funambulists ticular? Why, those properly are principles which or theological tumblers, seeing that many of these contain the principia, the beginnings, or startingvarieties stand related to each other as categori- points of evolution, out of which any system of cal affirmative and categorical negative: it's truth is evolved. Now, it may seem that the heavy work to make yes and no pull together in very starting-point of our Protestant pretensions the same proposition. But this, fortunately for is first of all to argue our title or right to be a himself, Phil. declines. You are to understand church sui juris; apparently we must begin by that he will not undertake the defence of Pro- making good our locus standi, before we can be testantism in its doctrines, but only in its prin- heard upon our doctrines. And upon this mode ciples. That wont do ; that antithesis is as hol- of approach, the pleadings about the title, or right low as a drum; and, if the objection were verbal to teach at all, taking precedency of the pleadings only, I would not make it. But the contradis- about the particular things taught, would be the tinction fails to convey the real meaning. It is principia, or beginning of the whole process, and not that he has falsely expressed his meaning, so far would be entitled by preference to the but that he has falsely developed that meaning to name of principles. But such a mode of aphis own consciousness. Not the word only is proach is merely an accident, and contingent upon wrong; but the wrong word is put forward for our being engaged in a polemical discussion of the sake of hiding the imperfect idea. What he Protestantism in relation to Popery. That, calls principles might almost as well be called however, is a pure matter of choice; Protesdoctrines; and what he calls doctrines as well be tantism may be discussed, as though Rome called principles. Out of these terms, apart were not, in relation to its own absolute merits; from the rectifications suggested by the context, and this treatment is the logical treatment, apno man could collect his drift, which is simply plying itself to what is permanent in the nature this. Protestantism, we must recollect, is not an of the object; whereas the other treatment applies absolute and self dependent idea; it stands in itself to what is casual and vanishing in the hisrelation to something antecedent, against which tory (or the origin) of Protestantism. it protests, viz., Papal Rome. And under what after all, it would be no great triumph to Prophasis does it protest against Rome ? Not testantism that she should prove her birth-right against the Christianity of Rome, because every to revolve as a primary planet in the solar sysProtestant Church, though disapproving a great tem; that she had the same original right as deal of that, disapproves also a great deal in its Rome to wheel about the great central orb, unown sister churches of the protesting household; degraded to the rank of satellite or secondary and because every Protestant Church holds a projection-if, in the meantime, telescopes should great deal of Christian truth, in common with reveal the fact that she was pretty nearly a Rome. But what furnishes the matter of protest sandy desert. What a church teaches is true or not true, without reference to her independent "Sole sufficiency of Scripture."-This is much too right of teaching; and eventually, when the irrielliptical a way of expres-ing the Protestant meaning tations of earthly feuds and political schisms shall Sufficiency for what? Sufficiency for salvation" is the phrase of many, and I think elsewhere of Phil. But that be soothed by time, the philosophy of this whole is objectionable on more grounds than one; it is redun-question will take an inverse order. The creden dant, and it is aberrant from the true point contemplated. Sufficiency for itself, without alien helps, is the thing contemplated. The Greek autarkeia (άvragxua), self-sufficiency, or, because that phrase, in English, has received a deflexion towards a bad meaning, the word self-sufi cingness might answer; sufficiency for the exposition of its own mest secret meaning, out of fountams within itself; needing, therefore, neither the supplementary aids of tradition, on the one hand, nor the complementary aids on the other (in the event of unprovided cases, or of dilemmas arising), from the infallibility of a living expounder.
tials of a church will not be put in first, and the quality of her doctrine discussed as a secondary question. On the contrary, her credentials will be sought in her doctrine. The Protesting Church will say, I have the right to stand separate, because I stand; and from my holy teaching I deduce my title to teach. Jus est ibi summum docendi, ubi est fons purissimus doctrinæ. That