feeling, no touch of descriptive colour, ever rewards the patient reader. All that exquisitely conscious sympathy with nature, and wavering responsiveness to its unuttered lessons, which brighten with an ever-recurring freshness the long pages of Luther's letters, and which have wrought themselves as a very commonplace into modern literature, is unknown, and would have been unintelligible to him. And no less all that fertile interest in life merely for its own sake-its own joys and sorrows-brightness and sadness; the mystery, pathos, tenderness, and exuberance of mere human affection, which enrich the character of the great German-there is nothing of all this in Calvin-no such yearning or sentimental aspirations ever touched him. Luther, in all things greater as a man, is infinitely greater here. And in truth this element of modern feeling and culture is Teutonic rather than Celtic in its growth. It springs out of the comparatively rich and genial soil of the Saxon mind,-deeper in its sensibilities and more exuberant in its products.

The Church of England:

The spirit of this Church is not, and never has been, definite and consistent. From the beginning it repudiated the distinct guidance of any theoretical principles, however exalted, and apparently Scriptural. It held fast to its historical position, as a great Institute still living and powerful under all the corruptions which had overlaid it; and while submitting to the irresistible influence of reform which swept over it, as over other churches in the sixteenth century, it refused to be refashioned according to any new model. It broke away from the medieval bondage, under which it had always been restless, and destroyed the gross abuses which had sprung out of it; it rose in an attitude of proud and successful resistance to Rome; but in doing all this, it did not go to Scripture, as if it had once more, and entirely anew, to find there the principles either of doctrinal truth or of practical government and discipline. Scripture, indeed, was eminently the condition of its revival; but Scripture was not made anew the foundation of its existence. There was too much of old historical life in it to seek any new foundation; the new must grow out of the old, and fit itself into the old. The Church of England was to be reformed, but not reconstituted. Its life was too vast, its influence too varied, its relations too complicated, -touching the national existence in all its multiplied expressions at too many points,-to be

capable of being reduced to any new and definite form in more supposed uniformity with the model of Scripture,

or

the simplicity of the primitive Church. Its extensive and manifold organism was to be reanimated by a new life, but not remoulded according to any arbitrary or novel theory.

This spirit, at once progressive and conservative, comprehensive rather than intensive, historical, and not dogmatical, is one eminently characteristic of the English mind, and, as it appears to us, in the highest degree characteristic of the English Reformation. It is far, indeed, from being an exhaustive characteristic of it. Two distinct tendencies of a quite different character, expressly dogmatic in opposite extremes, are found running alongside this main and central tendency: on the one hand, a medieval dogmatism; on the other hand, a puritanical dogmatism. The current of religious life in England, as it moved forward and took shape in the sixteenth century, is marked by this threefold bias, which has perpetuated itself to the present time. There was then, as there remains to this day, an upper, middle, and lower tendencya theory of High-churchism, and a theory of Low-churchism-and between these contending dogmatic movements the great confluence of what was and is the peculiar type of English Christianity a Christianity diffusive and practical rather than direct and theoretical-elevated and sympathetic rather than zealous and energetic-Scriptural and earnest in its spirit, but undogmatic and adaptive in its form.

Nothing, we think, can be better than this on Latimer:

A simplicity everywhere verging on originality is perhaps his most prominent characteristic-a simplicity as far as possible from that which we noted in Calvin: the one, the naked energy of intellect; the other, a guileless evenness of heart. The single way in which Latimer looks at life, with his eyes unblinded by conventional drapery of any kind, and his heart responsive to all its broadest and most common interests,— of which he speaks in language never nice and circumlocutory, but straight, plain, and forcible,-gives to his sermons their singular air of reality, and to his character that sort of piquancy which we at once recognise as a direct birth of nature. He is a kind of Goldsmith in theology; the same artless and winning earnestness-the same sunny temper in the midst of all difficulties the same disregard of his own comforts, and warm and kindly individualism of benevolence the same bright and play

1859.]

ful humour, like a roving and gleeful presence, meeting you at every turn, and flashing laughter in your face. It would be absurd, of course, to push this comparison further. There is beneath all the oddities of Latimer's character a deep and even stern consistency of purpose, and a spirit of righteous indignation against wrong, which, apart from all dissimilarities of work, destroys any more essential analogy between the great humourist of the Reformation in England and the later humourist of its literature. Yet the same childlike transparency of character is beheld in both, and the same fresh stamp of nature, which, in its simple originality, is found to outlast far more brilliant and imposing, but artificially cultured qualities.

In mere intellectual strength, Latimer can take no place beside either Luther or Calvin. His mind has neither the rich compass of the one, nor the symmetrical vigour of the other. He is no master in any department of intellectual interest, or even of theological inquiry. We read his sermons, not for any light or reach of truth which they unfold, nor because they exhibit any peculiar depth of spiritual apprehension, but simply because they are interesting-and interesting mainly from the very absence of all dogmatic or intellectual pretensions. Yet, without any mental greatness, there is a pleasant and wholesome harmony of mental powers displayed in his writings, which gives to them a wonderful vitality. There is a proportion and vigour, not of logic, but of sense and feeling in them eminently English, and showing everywhere a high and well-toned capacity. He is coarse and low at times; his familiarity occasionally descends to meanness; but the living hold which he takes of reality at every point often carries him also to the height of an indignant and burning eloquence.

But we must stay our hand; and the quotations we have made are sufficient to show that this unpretending little volume contains much ripe thought and felicitous criticism, and that it merits a very hearty welcome from all who esteem honesty, independence, and-'the greatest of these '-charity.

I have said that the presence of men like Principal Tulloch in the National Church is a hopeful sign. That Scottish Presbyterianism, how

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ever, is not yet free from the taint of intolerance is forcibly illustrated by a couple of pamphlets* I have received since this paper was begun. The matter of which they treat is, in its immediate consequences, of local interest only; but the questions involved are of first-rate and even national importance. The principles of religious toleration have now been formally sanctioned by the State, but a vast amount of social and domestic bigotry survives. These, the more subtle forms of persecution, are by their nature the most difficult to combat; they are the concealed and impalpable sores on which the free breath of public opinion can seldom be brought to bear. It is all the more necessary, therefore, than when an act of this kind, directly opposed to the spirit of our recent legislation and to the maxims of an enlightened Protestantism, does by accident emerge into the daylight, that it should be strongly and summarily dealt with by those who watch and guard with jealous reverence the spiritual rights of the people.

The circumstances of this case may be briefly stated. The managers of the Crichton Royal Institution at Dumfries-an institution for the care and cure of the insaneappointed in the beginning of this year an assistant-matron to one of their establishments. At the time the appointment was made, they were informed that the lady elected was a Roman Catholic. She was admirably qualified in every other respect for the situation; and as the Crichton Institution is a national and unsectarian establishment, and as the duty of the matron has reference to the temporal comfort and not to the spiritual well-being of the inmates, her religious belief was not considered nor allowed to operate as a disqualification. A Roman Catholic had held the same situation previously; a Roman Catholic gentleman was among the directors. The lady continued matron for some months, and discharged her duties to the perfect satisfaction of her employers. Unluckily, however,

certain meddling clergymen in the metropolis learned that such an appointment had been made, and they forthwith moved heaven and earth to get it annulled. A protest, conceived in the most extravagant and bombastic vein, was drawn up by the reverend agitators, and extensively signed by their friends. The directors were alarmed by the violent measures which it threatened; they retraced their steps and discharged their official. A minority of their number at once resigned, and one of them, the Hon. Marmaduke Maxwell, has now made public the particulars of a shameful and disgraceful intrigue.

or

The Rev. Dr. Stevenson, of Leith, who seems to have taken the leading part in the agitation, has attempted to vindicate the meddling of his clerical brethren in a matter with which they had no earthly concern. His pamphlet is worth reading; it will be considered a curiosity south of the Tweed, for its interpretation of the doctrines of Protestant freedom is certainly unique. Any argument it contains is either utterly worthless curiously disingenuous. Proceeding upon the assumption that the Crichton Institution is a Protestant asylum' as if Protestants only were in the habit of going out of their wits-it argues that it is incompetent to appoint a Roman Catholic matron. The assumption is perfectly unwarranted. The statute of incorporation, acts of Parliament which recognise the asylum, do not say a single word on the subject of religion; no test is enforced, no disabilities are imposed; the institution is a public one, open to patients of every creed and sect. But Dr. Stevenson will make himself superior to the Legislature. No Roman Catholic matron, no Baptist

nurse, no Episcopalian housemaid, need apply at Dumfries so long as this vindicator of Presbyterian purity can wield a pen or draw a protest.

6

I noticed in an advertisement the other day that the applicant-a clergyman-after enumerating his other qualifications, added in conspicuous type, 'Views strictly those of Simeon.' It might perhaps have been as assuring if he had stated that his views were strictly those of St. Paul;' but certain party shibboleths are, I presume, necessary in the Church. If the Leith Doctor's system of domestic disabilities, however, is to be carried out, it is difficult to see where we are to stop. We shall have our scullery maids disclaiming, through the medium of the public press, any connexion with St. Barnabas; and Mrs. Gamp* deponing on her 'mortial oath' that her religious convictions are strictly those of Calvin.' Dean Ramsay, in his quaint, genial, and racy Reminiscences,† tells a story of an old Scotch maiden lady resident in a provincial town, which must have cruelly shocked Dr. Steven

son:

A very strong-minded lady of the class, and in Lord Cockburn's language, 'indifferent about modes and habits,' had been asking from a lady the character of a cook she was about to hire. The lady naturally entered a little upon her moral qualifications, and described her as a very decent woman; the reply to which was, 'Oh, d—n her decency; can she make good collops? -an answer which would somewhat surprise a lady of Moray-place now if engaged in a similar discussion of a servant's merits.

This is going a little too far the other way, no doubt; though the strong masculine shrewdness, and the vigorous contempt for what she

"

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evidently considered a piece of effeminate fastidiousness, are very refreshing. But when we are required to discharge the nurse from our hospital, or the cook from our kitchen, because her views on consubstantiation are unsettled, then we emphatically concur in the old lady's hearty sentiment-'Oh, d-n her papistry; can she make good collops P'

It would be utterly unprofitable to follow Dr. Stevenson through his very oratorical and irrelevant defence. A man who sneers at the plainest maxims of civil and religious freedom as the commonplace platitudes of liberalism,' and at their application as dictated by a weak and almost maudlin sentiment,' is clearly beyond the pale of argument. But fortunately the form which his intolerance has assumed in this instance is one of which the public authorities can take cognisance. By the recent Lunacy Act the Crichton Institution is placed under the supervision of the Government Inspectors. These gentlemen will not perform their duties to the satisfaction of the public unless in their annual report they bring under the notice of the Home Secretary (and thereby enable him to redress) a grave wrong and a gross injustice.

But even on a stormy day like this the sea-side is not altogether destitute of out-door interest.

A ship in sight! Let us put away our books and hurry down to the pier. Thalatta! Thalatta! But it is not the many-dimpled smile'ἀνήριθμον γελασμα-that greets us this October afternoon; the lionlike monster has been roused from his summer slumber, and now lashes his tawny mane. 'Tis an awful day! The bay is crossed with crested billows; the white skua gulls are screaming over the uptorn tangle which the sea has cast on the beach; a troubled gleam of rainbow touches the troubled water and the slatecoloured cloud of rain in the offing. On the grey edges of the driven sleet, dimly visible through it, a large barque rushes on before the blast. She has beat about the horizon the whole morning, but cannot weather the Burrough Head, and now-unable to live the night

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out yonder-makes straight for the harbour mouth. 'Tis her last chance, and she needs must haste, for in another hour the retreating tide will shallow the channel, and strand her upon its beach. There,-you see her clearly now. A great Dutch barque-heavy and unwieldy-her rain-beaten suils sadly tattered-a red flag flying at her mizzen. On she comes with Dutch-like deliberation, yawing over the swell as if she would shake every timber in her to bits, and each moment nearing the white surf that breaks upon the bar. That is the point of danger. The bar is close outside the harbour mouth, and one after the other the great waves-mountains of water that tower up high over the pier, and seem to drain the sea to its bottom-burst with a thundering boom upon it.

'He's keepin' ower far to lee'ard,' says one nautical-looking old bird. He'll land her on the back o' the pier.'

Up with your top-gallantsail, man,' shouts another with an oath, as if he expected the skipper out there in the tempest to hear him. 'Clap on every rag you have, you ould idiot;' and he uses his arms like a pair of flails, to indicate what

is needed.

The hint is taken, the topsail is slowly unfurled, and the barque, with better way' upon it, keeps up gallantly through the surf. As a mere matter of speculative curiosity the spectators, I dare say, would have wished to witness the effect which the billow that has just now broken like a cataract would have had upon her; but the steersman, who with some half dozen bearded Finns is now visible on the deck, has handled his tools well, and brings her rolling in upon the monster's back. Then there is a brief interval of calm-thirty seconds or so-and before the next sea' breaks, a cheer has greeted the drenched crew, and the storm-beaten is within shelter of the pier.

6

I see, my dear Editor, that you wax impatient. Very reasonably, I admit. But only consider, as poor Heine says, if this paper bores you to read it, how it must have bored me to write it.' Be merciful accordingly. Euge et vale. SHIRLEY.

'EB

BENEZER the Gideonite' was no bad specimen of the class he represented-the sourvisaged, stern, and desperate fanatic, who allowed no consideration of fear or mercy to turn him from the path of duty; whose sense of personal danger as of personal responsibility was completely swallowed up in his religious enthusiasm ; who would follow such an officer as George Effingham into the very jaws of death; and of whom such a man as Cromwell knew how to make a rare and efficient instrument. Ebenezer's orders were to hold no communication with his prisoner, to neglect no precaution for his security; and having reported his capture to the general in command at Northampton, to proceed at least one stage further on his road to London ere he halted for the night.

Humphrey's very name was consequently unknown to the party who had him in charge. As he had no papers whatever upon his person when captured, the subaltern in command of the picket at Brixworth had considered it useless to ask a question to which it was so easy to give a fictitious answer; and Ebenezer, although recognising him personally as an old acquaintance, had neglected to ascertain his name even after their first introduction by means of the flat of the Cavalier's sabre. Though his back had tingled for weeks from the effects of a blow so shrewdly administered; though he had every opportunity of learning the style and title of the prisoner whom he had helped to bring before Cromwell at his head-quarters; yet, with an idiosyncrasy peculiar to the British soldier, and a degree of Saxon indifference amounting to stupidity, he had never once thought of making inquiry as to who or what was this hard-hitting Malignant that had so nearly knocked him off

his horse in the Gloucestershire lane.

Erect and vigilant, he rode conscientiously close to his prisoner, eyeing him from time to time with looks of curiosity and interest, and scanning his figure from head to heel with obvious satisfaction. Not a word, however, did he address to the captive; his conversation, such as it was, being limited to a few brief sentences interchanged with his men, in which Scriptural phraseology was strangely intermingled with the language of the stable and the parade-ground. Strict as was the discipline insisted on amongst the Parliamentary troops by Cromwell and his officers, the escort, as may be supposed, followed the example of their superior with stern faces and silent tongues; they rode at attention,' their horses well in hand, their weapons held in readiness, and their eyes never for an instant taken off the horseman they surrounded.

Humphrey, we may easily imagine, was in no mood to enter into conversation. He had indeed enough food for sad forebodings and bitter reflections. Wild and adventurous as had been his life for many weeks past always in disguise, always apparently on the eve of discovery, and dependent for his safety on the fidelity of utter strangers, often of the meanest classnot a day had elapsed without some imminent hazard, some thrilling_alternation of hope and fear. But the events of the last few hours had outdone them all. To have succeeded in his mission!-to have escaped when escape seemed impossible, and then to fail at the last moment, when safety had been actually gained!-it seemed more like some wild and feverish dream than a dark hopeless reality. And the poor sorrel! How sincerely he mourned for the good horse; how