About this time an incident of peculiar interest took place. The Rev. Mr. Q—— had invited me to visit the town of C——, and I had set a day to be at his house. Late in the evening of the day appointed, I arrived in the town; and while driving along the street, looking for his house, I saw him standing on his portico, beckoning me to him.

As soon as I had alighted from my buggy, he gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and said, “You have come just in time to see and hear one of the greatest dignitaries in the state of Virginia.” I observed that I was perhaps a little different from many others; that I would not go a square to see a great man, unless he was a great good man. “Well,” said he, “he ought to be a good man; he’s the bishop of the Roman-catholic church for this state; and as he is the first live bishop of the Holy Catholic church who has ever been here, he is attracting a great deal of attention. He preached in the court-house this morning, and it was crowded; and he is going to preach here for several days and nights. He has one or two priests with him, and they have come to plant a church here. Will you go and hear him?” “Yes,” said I; “if you go, I will go with you.”

As soon as tea was over, we went to the court-house, and it was crowded. In a little time the bishop arose, and without any introductory services, gave out his text: “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” He went on to define “the gates of hell” as the various Protestant sects, and wound up by trying to prove that Peter was the first pope, and got the keys, and that the successors of Peter still held the keys, and no one could enter heaven without going through the Catholic church. His sermon was delivered with earnestness and eloquence, and made a deep impression, as very few of all present were well informed on those matters.

He made much for his cause out of the denominational strifes with which that region had been afflicted, and I heard many say “Amen” to some of his thrusts. He announced that he would preach the next morning from the text, “Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and they are they which testify of me.”

We returned to brother Q——’s, and sat to a late hour consulting what we had better do. Here was a man of Jesuitical cunning, misrepresenting Protestantism before a community ill qualified to form correct opinions. I urged Mr. Q—— to contradict some of his false statements; and after praying over the matter, we retired.

The next morning, at the appointed hour, the house was crowded, though there were not one dozen Roman-catholics in the community. Owing to the crowd, Mr. Q—— and I got separated. I lost sight of him, and for want of a seat elsewhere, got up into a window. In a little while the bishop announced the text, “Search the scriptures,” and also announced that he would preach at night from the text, “These were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they searched the scriptures daily.”

The ground taken in this sermon was, that searching the scriptures by the common people had led to all the religious heresies in the world, and had raised up more sects than there were chapters in the Bible. That there was but one true church, and out of all only one could be right. That Protestants called Luther a great reformer, and he was told there were no Lutherans in that town; consequently, if Luther was right they were all wrong; and if they were right, Luther was wrong, and could not be a great reformer.

He said the Catholic church could not be wrong; that she was infallible; she was “the pillar and ground of the truth.” He pictured the quarrels among Protestants in the most hideous manner, and described a heaven full of such uncongenial characters, till the picture was ridiculous; and I saw that many present were delighted with it.

At the close of his sermon, or tirade against the Protestant religion, he sat down. I rose up in the window, much excited, to see if the Rev. Mr. Q—— would not call him to an account, when I was much gratified to see the meek and gentle form of Mr. Q—— slowly rising about the middle of the house. Said he:

“Bishop, you said in your sermon last night that there were now two hundred millions of faithful Catholic children in the world, against which the gates of hell could not prevail. Will you be kind enough to tell us where they are?”

The bishop rose with a half-courteous and half-disdainful smile, and said, “You need not ask me such a question as that; the regions they occupy are all marked on your own Protestant geographies; your little boys in the streets can point you to them, where they have been marked in black lines,” and took his seat.

“Well,” said Mr. Q——, “I would prefer you would name the countries to which they belong.”

He rose again with a most indignant frown. Said he, “I suppose it would be rather humbling to one who calls himself a preacher to go to the little boys for information, so I will name some, at least, of the countries that are Catholic: France, Austria, most of Germany, Hungary, and Poland; and we shall soon have England, as part of the church there is only separated from us now by name; and Spain and Mexico are ours entirely;” and he took his seat again.

“Well,” said Mr. Q——, “do you think we should gain any thing as a nation by changing our Protestant religion for that of Mexico and Spain?” and he took his seat.

The bishop arose still more indignant in manner, and said, “I really cannot understand what you mean, sir, unless you refer to your boasted liberties in this country; but if that is what you mean, sir, I can tell you I would rather go to heaven from Mexico or Spain, than to hell from the midst of all your boasted liberties.”

By this time the audience had become intensely interested. Said I, “Mr. Bishop, I want to ask you a few questions by way of gaining information. If I understood you right last night, you said your church was infallible; that it never had erred, and never could err.”

He replied very indignantly, “I said, sir, that the Catholic church never had erred, and never could err.”

“Well, sir,” said I, “it was once right to put Protestants to death for their religion, and of course it is still right.”

He replied, “That is a Protestant falsehood, sir; the church never put any one to death.”

Said I, “Sir, I can prove what I say by the faithful records of history.”

“Protestant authority—we could not admit such testimony, sir.”

“Well,” said I, “whether you admit it or not, the blood of martyred millions is crying for vengeance, and the day of divine recompense will erelong come.”

After a number of questions from Mr. Q—— and myself of similar import, Mr. Q—— said, “The general opinion is that General Washington and General Jackson died good men and went to heaven. What is your opinion, bishop?”

He replied contemptuously, “Why, sir, we don’t pretend to know whether they are in heaven or not; those are the secret things that belong to God.”

“Stop, bishop,” said I, “you said last night that you held the keys of the kingdom of heaven in your church, and that to you it was given to open and shut the door; and I now demand of you as one of these door-keepers, to tell us whether you have let in the immortal Washington or not.”

In a few moments the call was coming from every part of the house, “Tell us whether you have let Washington into heaven or not.”

The bishop tore his surplice off in a rage, and put out of the house with one or two priests after him—the crowd following him, and calling out, “Come back and answer the question about our beloved Washington.” But he went on, ordered his horse, pronounced a curse on the place, closed his meetings, and left the town. The excitement of the crowd was most intense.