ancyle or a rusty nail; to the black stones at Delphi, or the
gold-shrined bones at Aix; which yet sanctifies the chickens of the
capitol, or the cock that startled Peter; which yet lets a wealthy
sinner, by his gold, bribe the winking Pythoness, or buy dispensing
clauses from "the Lord our God, the Pope."

There is yet a swarm of other notions pressing on the mind, which tend
to prove that Popery might have been anticipated. Take this view. The
religion of Christ is holy, self-denying; not of this world's praise,
and ending with the terrible sanction of eternity for good or evil: it
sets up God alone supreme, and cuts down creature-merit to a point
perpetually diminishing; for the longer he does well, the more he owes
to the grace which enabled him to do it.

Now, man's nature is, as we know, diametrically opposite to all this:
and unable to escape from the conviction of Christian truth in some
sense, he would bend his shrewd invention to the attempt of warping
that stern truth to shapes more consistent with his idiosyncrasies. A
religious plan might be expected, which, in lieu of a difficult, holy
spirituality, should exact easy, mere observances; to say a thousand
Paters with the tongue, instead of one "Our Father," from the heart; to
exact genuflections by the score, but not a single prostration of the
spirit; to write the cross in water on the forehead often-times, but
never once to bear its mystic weight upon the shoulder. In spite of
self-denial, cleverly kept in sight by means of eggs, and pulse, and
hair-cloth, to pamper the deluded flesh with many a carnal holiday; in
contravention of a kingdom not of this world, boldly to usurp the
temporal dominion of it all: instead of the overwhelming
incomprehensibility of an eternal doom, to comfort the worst with false
assurance of a purgatory longer or shorter; that after all, vice may be