equally prohibits the superior to govern by violence and the inferior to obey through fear[[82]]. The general is elected by the whole society, who first swear to choose only him, whom they believe to be the most worthy of the office[[83]]. There is nothing arbitrary or changeable in the

authority of the general: it is subjected by the institute to stable and invariable laws, and his duties are minutely prescribed. If he deviates from them, it provides for his removal[[84]]. Far from being a despot, he is not even exempted from the superintendance of a monitor chosen by the society, who observes his conduct, tells him of his faults, points out his duties, and is consequently compelled not to excuse him in any point[[85]]. In spiritual affairs, the general is subject to the pope; in temporal matters, to the government under which he lives; and, in what

concerns himself personally, or the society solely, to a general meeting of the order[[86]]. Though elected for life, he may be deposed for several reasons stated in the institute; and the same hands that clothed him with power may strip him of it[[87]]. It has been said, that the motive for appointing a single chief was the facility it offers for promoting more certainly the ends of ambition. The institute strongly condemns ambition in individuals, and still more strongly in the general[[88]]. One great

charge against the power of the general is, that his authority may injure that of sovereigns, by withdrawing their subjects from their obedience: on the contrary, he is expressly forbidden, by the institute, to take from a state any Jesuit whatever, without the knowledge of the sovereign[[89]]. The annulling of contracts is another source of abuse, founded on a mistaken passage in the institute, where it is said; "Although the general, by his open letters to particular superiors, confers on them an ample power in that respect, yet that power may be restricted and limited by private letters." This passage has no reference to contracts, and relates only to the power given openly to local superiors to dismiss improper persons; and there can be no objection to the private limiting of that power. But the most obnoxious charge of all is, that the general of the Jesuits maintains spies everywhere, for the purpose of diving into the secrets of courts, and into the

affairs of private families. The institute contains a rule directly the reverse of this assertion, a rule by which he is expressly prohibited from meddling in affairs that do not concern the society, even under any pretext of piety or religion[[90]].

After all, then, the general of the Jesuits is not such a monster as he has been painted, and it is absurd to suppose, that a learned and sensible old man, who, about to give an account of his ministry to God, has but a few years to fill the office, should consider it as the spring of every kind of crime; it is absurd to suppose, that the brethren of the order, who have sacrificed every thing on earth to the hope of finding under the empire of the institute the greatest perfection of the Christian character, should believe, that they are obliged, by virtue of that very institute, to commit the greatest sins man is capable of; and it is absurd to

suppose, that, if a general were mad enough to abuse his power, there would not be found a pope wise enough, or Jesuits virtuous enough to depose him, conformably to the laws of the church and of the institute.

Formerly, when the Jesuits had powerful protectors, the practice was to turn them into ridicule; now, that they have powerful enemies, the object is to stigmatize them with every vice. Nothing is more difficult, or more delicate, than to parry ridicule; but, to refute abuse, one has only to expose it.

In the present state of the continental powers, it seems hardly possible, that the society of Jesuits should recover its ancient importance, but their destruction must ever be lamented; and, since their unrelenting enemies have tempted the public curiosity to inquire into their history, this chapter shall be closed with a brief account of the final catastrophe of that small portion of their body, which for two

hundred years was connected with England, by the common bonds of country, language, and blood.