inhabitants of the Roman empire were, during the transition from heathenism to Christianity; “sendo la maggior parte di loro incerti a quale Dio dovessero ricorrere.”  They were generally, we think, favourable to the royal supremacy.  They disliked the policy of the Court of Rome.  Their spirit rose against the interference of a foreign priest with their national concerns.  The bull which pronounced sentence of deposition against Elizabeth, the plots which were formed against her life, the usurpation of her titles by the Queen of Scotland, the hostility of Philip, excited their strongest indignation.  The cruelties of Bonner were remembered with disgust.  Some parts of the new system, the use of the English language, for example, in public worship, and the communion in both kinds, were undoubtedly popular.  On the other hand, the early lessons of the nurse and the priest were not forgotten.  The ancient ceremonies were long remembered with affectionate reverence.  A large portion of the ancient theology lingered to the last in the minds which had been imbued with it in childhood.

The best proof that the religion of the people was of this mixed kind is furnished by the Drama of that age.  No man would bring unpopular opinions prominently forward in a play intended for representation.  And we may safely conclude, that feelings and opinions which pervade the whole Dramatic Literature of a generation, are feelings and opinions of which the men of that generation generally partook.

The greatest and most popular dramatists of the Elizabethan age treat religious subjects in a very remarkable manner.  They speak respectfully of the fundamental doctrines of Christianity.  But they speak neither like Catholics nor like Protestants, but like persons who are wavering between the two systems, or who have made a system for themselves out of parts selected from both.  They seem to hold some of the Romish rites and doctrines in high respect.  They treat the vow of celibacy, for example, so tempting, and, in later times, so common a subject for ribaldry, with mysterious reverence.  Almost every member of a religious order whom they introduce is a holy and venerable man.  We remember in their plays nothing resembling the coarse ridicule with which the Catholic religion and its ministers were assailed, two generations later, by dramatists who wished to please the multitude.  We remember no Friar Dominic, no Father Foigard, among the characters drawn by those great poets.  The scene at the close of the Knight of Malta might have been written by a fervent Catholic.  Massinger shows a great fondness for ecclesiastics of the Romish Church, and has even gone so far as to bring a virtuous and interesting Jesuit on the stage.  Ford, in that fine play which it is painful to read and scarcely decent to name, assigns a highly creditable part to the Friar.  The partiality of Shakspeare for Friars is well known.  In Hamlet, the Ghost complains that he died without extreme unction, and, in defiance of the article which condemns the doctrine of purgatory, declares that he is