Trace now the progress of this glorious principle as it goes forth, forlorn and insulted from the hill of Calvary, to take possession of the falling empire of the world. Witness the thousand persecutions it endures--the obstacles it overcomes--its silent and gradual extension, till, in the age of Constantine, “it ascends the imperial throne and waves its banner over the palace of the Cæsars.” To the eye of unassisted reason how glorious are the prospects of our race! Yet in the progress of three centuries, we see the wave of extermination sweep over that proud empire. It fell, for its existence was no longer needed. It had played the part assigned it in the grand, the mighty drama of the world--the energies of its youth, had wasted to the feebleness of age--its glory was departing--the fire of its genius had grown dim, flickered and expired--it was “feeding not on hope but on remembrances.” It fell, to prepare the way for a more glorious exhibition of the Christian faith--to give place for the foundation of rational liberty on the ruins of despotism. Christianity, by her union with imperial power, had lost her former purity. She had put on the garb, and even revived the principles of Paganism, while liberty, the attendent and ally of all genuine improvement, lay bound and bleeding at the feet of the Mistress of the world. Why then, knowing as we do--the ultimate result--why should we regard the dark period of nearly a thousand years, which followed, as giving any support to the Atheistic scheme of alternate elevation and decay? The feudal system, with all its errors, was the REMEDY applied to save the world from the destructive influence of a corrupted christianity, in union with despotic power. That system too in the progress of events, governed not by miracles but moral causes, was of necessity to have its course--an energy great enough to demolish the empire of the world, could be expended only in the lapse of centuries. Monarchs had learned to believe themselves supreme and their thrones immoveable. Literature had fled for safety to the cloisters of the monks, and the enemies of human improvement had seized upon the church as the most powerful engine of political intrigue. There was something in the darkness and the superstition of the last ten centuries, that had augured of a mighty change. It had been the fearful stillness that precedes the storm--the awful silence that is heralding the bursting forth of the volcano. The way had been preparing for a protracted struggle between perverted and genuine Christianity--the dawn of the reformation was at hand.