that a question concerning a vital doctrine of our Church might be tried before judges who are actually not members of it. This is to place the CHURCH upon a footing not merely of inferiority to every other Religious body in the Kingdom, whether Roman Catholic or Dissenter, but of gross, manifest, and undeniable injustice. This is a state of things which cannot remain long in our own free country; and, sooner or later, the Church will have the same justice done to her which is now done to every Religious body in the three Kingdoms and throughout the Colonies. A few more words and we will conclude this subject. No loyal subject will deny that the Queen has a lawful supremacy over all causes and persons, ecclesiastical as well as civil. No thinking Christian can say that her Majesty has the slightest power to alter, add to, or take from, any particle of that Doctrine of the Faith which our Lord gave to His Apostles, and which they delivered to their successors, the Bishops. The Queen, therefore, is, as Queen Elizabeth rightly called herself, Governor of the Church established in these realms, but not, according to any accuracy of speech, Head of the Church. Henry VIII., who was a wicked tyrant, but no mean scholar for the age in which he lived, sought for this title, but even he, in the fulness of his tyranny, was resisted, as will be seen from what follows. Archbishop Cranmer was, as most people know, burnt alive in the reign of Queen Mary and King Philip, because he denied the authority of the Pope in this Kingdom. Cranmer had taken an active and important part in establishing the freedom of our Church from the usurped authority of the Pope, but he was very careful (as he says in his Appeal from the sentence of the Pope's Commissioners to a Council of the Christian Church) "to speak nothing against one, holy, catholic, apostolic, Church, or the truth thereof; the which authority (he says) I have in great reverence, and to whom my mind is in all things to obey." At the trial of Cranmer before the Pope's Commissioners, Dr. Brokes, Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Storey and Dr. Martin (the two latter acting as Commissioners for the King and Queen), he was closely questioned as to all that had passed between him and Henry the Eighth, at the time when that monarch nominated him to the Archbishoprick. To these questions Cranmer answered at length, stating his objections to the Pope's authority; and now I will quote the last paragraph of his examination. The passage is taken from page 224 of the "Miscellaneous Writings and Letters of Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1556." Published by the Parker Society. 6 "After this, Doctor Martin demanded of him, who was supreme head of the Church of England? Marry,' quoth my Lord of Canterbury, Christ is the Head of this Member, as He is of the whole body of the universal Church.' 'Why,' quoth Doctor Martin, you made King Henry the Eighth supreme head of the Church.' 'Yea,' said the Archbishop, 'of all the people of England, as well ecclesiastical as temporal.' And not of the Church?" said Martin. 'No,' said he, "for Christ is only Head of His Church, and of the faith and religion of the same. The King is head and governor of his people, which are the visible Church.' What!' quoth Martin; 'you never durst tell the King so.' Yes, that I durst,' quoth he, and did in the publication of his style, wherein he was named supreme head of the Church, there was never other thing meant." " It will be remembered that Cranmer was put to death by the Civil power for denying the Pope's supremacy over the Church of England. We may be quite sure, then, that Cranmer would never have thought of giving to the Crown the spiritual power which he denied to the Pope. Much less would he ever have consented that that power should be exercised, as it now really is, by the Prime Minister of the day, that is, in truth, by the House of Commons, which, in fact, decides who he shall be. R. P. "WHY DON'T YOU GIVE UP CEREMONIES WHICH PEOPLE DISLIKE?" Sorry we are that any good and godly mind should be grieved with that which is done. But to remedy their grief lieth not so much in us, as in themselves. They do not wish to be made glad with the hurt of the Church. If the maintenance of ceremonies be a corrosive to those who oppugn them; undoubtedly to such as maintain them it can be no great pleasure when they behold how that which they reverence is oppugned. And therefore, they that judge themselves martyrs when they are grieved should think withal what they are whom they grieve; for we are still to put them in mind that the cause doth make no difference; for that it must be presumed as good at least on our part as on theirs, till it be in the end decided who have stood for truth and who for error. So, till then, the most effectual medicine, and withal the most sound to ease their grief, must not be the taking away of those things whereat they are grieved, but the altering of that persuasion which they have concerning the same."Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. OUR EXHIBITION FOR 1851. THE PAINTERS' GALLERY SELF-DENIAL AND ENDUR-I cannot help thinking that our ANCE. A Marine View. ONE chief characteristic of the present age, is certainly its selfindulgence and love of ease and comfort. It may be doubted whether the numberless contrivances which are daily invented to minister to the luxury and convenience of those who can afford to pay for them (a class very numerous now, owing to the cheap rate at which many of those luxuries may be procured), tend as much to the real happiness and well-being of the community as at first sight might appear. If it can be proved that the tendency of these various luxuries is to relax the energies, by diminishing the necessity for exertion, and to produce a soft, effeminate character, we surely must fear that the rising generation will grow up a self-indulgent and degenerate race, incapable of generous self-denial or manly endurance. What, for example, will our sons ever know of the exertions and hardships of travelling which their fathers underwent. The young railroad traveller, who is conveyed without effort on his own part from place to place, what can he possibly tell of the fatigue and intense suffering from cold in the early morning or night air, which his father endured when, mounted on the top of a coach, he performed the same journey in many painful hours which his son now accomplishes with ease in as many minutes. We often hear this very convenience of railroad travelling brought forward as a proof of the advantages of modern times. I may be a prejudiced old man, but youthful traveller will lose much, both in hardihood of character, power of endurance, and knowledge of life which his father acquired by mixing with all classes in his stagecoach journeys of former days. Don't suppose, because I say this, that I am so absurd as to wish the railroads were torn up and the old coaches put on the road again; or that I forget that people save a great deal of time in modern travelling, which, if they rightly used it, would partially counterbalance the loss I speak of. What I have said of travelling will apply with equal force in many other ways. Education is no longer the harsh stern thing that it used to be; and though I am by no means an advocate for severity, yet I sometimes doubt whether our present system does not err on the other side; whether, by our assiduous contrivances for removing all physical discomforts or privations from our children, we are not inflicting on our country a race puny and feeble, both in body and mind; nay, worse still, a race not only weak and indolent, but selfish and hardhearted; for who so selfish as those who are immersed in their own personal and material comforts, and who so hard-hearted, for the most part, as those who have never known what it is to suffer? That a life of hardship and exertion has a tendency to produce that class of manly and heroic virtues which the present self-indulgent habits of vast numbers among us have a direct influence to extinguish, is a truth forced upon my observation by my connection with a class of men whose life is one of constant completed, when we found the leak gaining so fast upon us that we were obliged to ship the chain and attend only to the pumps, the wind and sea continuing in the same boisterous state. The starboard pump had got damaged and useless, and the vessel had to be steered by the sails, in order to keep her from sinking, on the starboard tack. We were drifting fast northwards, the brig being now perfectly unmanageable. Our provisions were almost exhausted, and the water in the casks well nigh spent. We must have died of hunger had it not been for the cargo of palm oil, which in this our extremity served us for food, and saved our lives. From this day forward, the 8th of January, we had nothing to subsist on but palm oil and peppers, mixed with a wine glass of flour and the same of rice, and half a pint of water served out to each man daily. We took it in turn to work day and night at the larboard pump. Being entirely at the mercy of the winds and waves, we felt in this protracted struggle for life that it was a chance that we ever should behold land again: a chance, did I say; oh no, sir, we all felt that we were in the hands of an over-ruling Providence. The perils of the deep open a man's heart, sir, to religion, and we all of us, I humbly trust, became more thoughtful men during that fearful voyage. "On the 18th of January, our hopes revived by the distant sight of land: it proved to be the rocky coast of the Shetland Islands. The captain had the boat lowered, and we all got into it and abandoned the brig, thinking to save our lives by rowing to the shore. The wind had somewhat lulled, but we soon found that no boat could live in such a sea, so, reluctantly, we put back to the ship, to wait if possible for more moderate weather. Onwards we drifted, powerless to arrest our involuntary course. We passed so near the shore that we could distinguish the sea birds on the cliffs and hear the screams of the cormorant on his rocky perch. Onwards we drifted still to land was impossible, for the sea ran mountains high, and we heard the distant roar of the breakers dashing on the rocks. Onwards, still onwards did we speed, and now the shores receded from our longing eyes, and we were once again in the wide ocean; no land in sight, our hopes well nigh extinguished in anguish, I had almost said in despair, to see the sun of that day go down. But, as I observed before, a Providence watched over us; we were to be tried to the utmost, but not lost. Three days of mortal anxiety passed after our disappointment at the Shetland Islands, and still the ship bore away northwards. It was of God's mercy that the wind did not veer and drive us off into the boundless Northern Ocean, there to perish to a certainty. But it kept steady, and upon the 21st of January, to our inexpressible joy, we made the Faroe Islands, and letting go our anchor, brought up the vessel opposite the Island of Fluegloe. In order to save her from capsizing, we cut away both masts, as she was then water-logged. The Faroe Islands, as you doubtless know, belong to Denmark. There are 22 of them, but only 17 are inhabited. The coasts are steep and rugged, and the interior of the islands very mountainous. The high land in Osteroe towers nearly * *These Islands are situated 180 miles N.W. of the Shetland Islands: longitude W. 6 20, latitude N. 61 20. There is not a tree on the Islands, and barley does not always ripen there. The inhabitants collect turf and the drift-wood for fuel. They subsist by fishing. A small species of whale is very plentiful, and sea-towl abound. Their feathers make an article of commerce. These Islands contain a population of about 5,200 souls. 3,000 feet above the level of the sea; that in Stromoe upwards of 2,000 feet. The days at the time of our arrival were not five hours long, but the aurora borealis lighted up the long and dreary nights. We were thinly clad for these high latitudes, the four and the rice were quite exhausted, and we were nearly dead with fatigue and anxiety, nevertheless, we had still to wait four days longer, as the roughness of the sea prevented our landing. On the 24th of January the weather moderated a little, and getting once again into the boat, we made for the Island of Wideroe. Our adverse fortune pursued us to the last, for here our boat was wrecked upon the rocks and dashed to pieces, and the manner in which we all escaped, and contrived at last to gain the shore was little short of miraculous. We were more dead than alive, and even then should have perished had it not been for the kindness of the simplehearted and hospitable natives, who lavished every care upon us which their slender means would permit, feeding and clothing us, and furnishing us as soon as we were sufficiently recovered with the means of returning to our own country." The seaman was silent. "And what," said I, "are your plans for the future?" I felt interested in him, and wished much in my heart to serve him. "Oh," replied he gaily, "I am now on my way to Liverpool; my old captain has just got the command of another vessel in the palm oil trade; I am attached to him, we have gone through many dangers together, and I am to join him on board the day after to-mor row. We sail in a week for Bonny River, and shall be absent a year. If God should spare our lives, I will call on you, sir, when I return." Thus, reader, ends my seaman's story. If it has interested you, I may tell you another at some future *ime. THE DISCONTENTED TWIGS. THERE was once a tree which was so noble and stately, that it was the object of admiration to all beholders. Its roots went far into the ground; its trunk was straight and bulky; and its branches spread out on every side to a great distance. Its foliage was abundant, and for the most part healthy; but what was chiefly remarkable in this tree was, its goodly proportion: on every side it was so well balanced, that the inequalities, whatever they were, were imperceptible, and every part seemed to protect and support the rest. In spring, the moist ground sent up abundance of sap to supply all its wants, even to the remotest twig; and in autumn, every part repaid this debt by giving its tribute of dead leaves to nourish its parent earth. So this noble tree went on year after year, and many a bird built its nest and reared its brood securely among its leaves, and many a weary traveller found rest and shelter under its wide-spreading shade. But at last there came a poisonous wind from beyond the sea, and it rustled in the topmost boughs, and passed away: but after it was gone by, and while the old trunk stood yet unshaken, strange whisperings were heard among some of the little twigs at the ends of the branches. One said to another, "It is too true, Brother Twigs, what the foreign wind told us-that we are hardly used, deprived of our rights, and made to bear all the labour of the whole tree, as well as the brunt of the elements; while the great branches beneath us rest idly upon the still more idle trunk, and drink up all the fatness which the earth sends for us all equally, and leave us to starve. See how we are forced to content ourselves with three or four leaves each, while those lazy branches, which scarcely feel the |