shallow and dogmatic scepticism now flaunted before us is modern, much less the product of modern thought. But even if it were, should that be a paramount claim on our belief and reverence-if, indeed, we may speak of believing a system of doubts and revering a spirit of irreverence? Clever and ardent minds have often a short rather than a comprehensive sight— magnifying the present, viewing the past at a distorted focus, and seeing the future only in a haze of illusion. For them the past is done with, the present is all important, and by proceeding in the same path they hope to attain a perfect future. But it is not given to any one age-and only self-satisfied vanity can suppose it given to our own-thus to embrace all the ages at once, nor to one generation to hold the earth and the fulness thereof in its narrow grasp. Man is always losing as well as gaining— forgetting as well as learning-destroying in the vain hope of building up something better. This is his infirmity and his misfortune: let him beware of making the destruction of the past his deliberate choice. Intent on some slight defect, vain of some fancied discovery, he forgets the reasons for the old things that he goes about to destroy: nay, he forgets the reasons for his own improvements as soon as they are made; and the change of to-day becomes the reproach and ridicule of to-morrow. This is, perhaps, the chief error of our age in its attitude to the past: certainly it is the fundamental error of modern scepticism, which seems to wish to repeat the boast of Attila, by crushing out true life from every spot where it leaves the footprint of its headlong progress.' Far truer is the saying of Niebuhr-whoassuredly had no dread of free enquiry or even scepticism in its sound sense-'No present can bear fruit, nor the future give promise, unless its roots are firmly fixt in the past.'

It is the Nemesis of the rash or wanton destroyer, that he has still the task before him of building up again the things he once destroyed' with worse materials, and under less favourable conditions; and it is his best fate if he learns that, after all, he must work, with long and late repentance, on the old foundations. Even the sympathizing critic of Mr. Voysey (whom we quoted above) confesses that the old religious beliefs had some pith and substance in them, and were not in danger of dissolving into mere sentimentalism;' and he regrets that Mr. Voysey 'passed a little too smoothly over the positive side of his teaching.' We may certainly say the same of the Duke of Somerset. He holds out to us a Glimpse of Better Days'— Auspicium melioris ævi. But, alas! the settlement of the great questions raised must be left to the judgment of another generation'-' for these results we must wait, remembering that truth is the daughter of time

and

and not of authority,' for so does he misapply to religious truth the motto of Bacon which he puts on his title-page. Rightly objecting to one element of Modern Education' that 'an exclusive devotion to physical science may perhaps disqualify the mind for the more enlarged contemplation which a nobler philosophy requires-he regards this education as the hopeful means of-we shudder at the prospect!-depriving even the poor of the Gospel preached to them, and bringing them also to the dead level of modern scepticism. In fact, the chief practical purpose of the book seems to be, in reference to this great controversy of our day, to insist on education being made, not merely secular, but anti-Christian. He began with the complaint, that 'religious questions interfere with the social and educational improvement of the community': he ends with this 'glimpse of better days'

A large portion of the people will, it may be hoped, be better educated. Their opinions will then approximate to the views now prevalent amongst the cultivated classes of society."'

But these opinions!-how negative!-how vague!-how remote! Meanwhile the modern sceptic finds his last refuge in the old, old delusion of Sentimental Theism.' After disparaging Faith as 'bordering more closely on the feelings than the reason;' he adds

'There is, however, one unassailable fortress to which she may retire-faith in God. In this unapproachable sanctuary she will reign supreme. Here, at last, the natural and supernatural will be merged in one harmonious universe, under one Supreme intelligence.

'In affliction and in sickness, the thoughtful man will find here his safest support. Even in that dread hour, when the shadows of death are gathering around him, when the visible world fades from his sight, and the human faculties fail, when the reason is enfeebled, and the memory relaxes its grasp, faith, the consoler, still remains, soothing the last moments, and pointing to a ray of light beyond the mystery of the grave.'

In the plaintive eloquence of this passage we would gladly see, for the noble author, and those who share his views, that auspicium melioris ævi' of which he has had a glimpse so dark. They will find it, if they will learn that the truth here proclaimed is not the substitute for, but the very foundation of, that Christian faith which alone reveals God to man. It is here that Christian Theology' proves itself to be the only 'practical religion.' At the root of all the speculative and critical and scientific errors of 'Modern Scepticism' lies its blind refusal to confess that man is sinful. The refuge of pure Theism to which the sceptic flies, is the very one which the

soul

soul conscious of sin finds to be no refuge, but too truly an 'unapproachable sanctuary,' till it is opened by that atonement, which is only revealed through our faith in the facts and doctrines of the Scriptures. Remove the reconciling doctrines of Christianity, and all that is left of faith in God must be whelmed in the abyss of doubt, and its object will be but an Unknown God-the OTTIΣ reserved to be devoured last by the one-eyed monster of modern scepticism.

Already we hear more advanced' sceptics than the Duke of Somerset admitting that his confession of the existence of a God is a fault of the same class as that with which he charges the supporters of revelation; and apologizing for such Theism as 'a caravanserai of thought,' a resting-place which may be compassionately allowed to those whose minds are not yet made up to Atheism. The true goal of the 'extreme,' which is further defined to mean finished convictions,' is the position that God is not even to be conceived of as comprehensible by the human mind; and this obstacle must be removed before the 'evidences' are even to be listened to! The consciousness which testifies of God is ignored; and Providence in the outer world, Conscience and Faith in the inner, are alike denied.

In conclusion, we repeat, that our only reason for noticing a book, which has so little to recommend it to the serious inquirer -whether sceptic or believer—is to hold up to the light of day the intolerance and dogmatism which characterizes the sceptical school. The bigotry, which was formerly imputed to the theologian, is now the distinguishing attribute of the sceptic. But it is not to be endured,' to use the words of Dr. Arnold that scepticism should run at once into dogmatism, and that we should be required to doubt with as little discrimination as we were formerly called upon to believe.'

ART. VI.-A Book of Parliamentary Anecdote, Compiled from Authentic Sources. By G. H. Jennings and W. S. Johnstone. London, Paris, and New York, 1872.

TH

THERE is a comic History of England. Why might there not be an anecdotical one, in which the salient points should be placed in broad relief by memorable sayings and striking incidents-by well-chosen traits of valour, virtue, patriotism, eloquence, and wit? There is no pleasanter mode of conveying knowledge, no surer mode of durably impressing it. The most fugitive attention is caught by anecdotes: the most volatile mind retains them so long as it retains anything;

and

and none but the shallowest will miss the moral they point, the reflections they suggest, or the conclusions they justify. The compilers of A Book of Parliamentary Anecdote' have manifested no extraordinary amount of discrimination or research. Their materials are drawn from familiar and easily accessible sources; their arrangement is open to grave objection; yet their main object, as explained in their Preface, has been attained. They have produced an amusing, useful, and interesting work; nor is it well possible for any thoughtful reader, at all given to political speculation, to skim their pages without picturing to himself the various stages by which the British Parliament has reached its proud pre-eminence amongst the legislative assemblies of both hemispheres; without evoking scene after scene, or crisis upon crisis, in which its independent existence was rudely threatened by high-handed prerogative from without, or its character, as an instrument of freedom and civilization, sadly compromised by faction or corruption from within.

6

When Madame de Staël was expatiating to the Emperor Alexander on the good fortune of Russia in possessing such a ruler, he replied, Alas, Madame, I am nothing but a happy accident.' Can the British Parliament, looking either to its origin, its constitution, or its growth, be honestly described as anything else? Where are the marks of contrivance or design, of unity of plan, of calculated harmony of parts? Which of the three branches of the legislature at its creation or inception held, or was intended to hold, the same relative rank which it holds now? Mr. Butler relates in his 'Reminiscences,' that Moreton, Chief Justice of Chester, happened to say in the House, 'King, Lords, and Commons, or (looking at the first Pitt) as that right honourable member would term them, Commons, Lords, and King.' Pitt called him to order, and desired the words to be taken down. They were written down by the clerk. Bring them to me,' said Pitt, in his loftiest tone. By this time Moreton was frightened out of his senses. 'Sir,' he stammered out, addressing the Speaker, I am sorry to have given any offence to the right honourable member or to the House. I meant nothing. King, Lords, and Commons-Lords, King, and Commons-Commons, Lords, and King: tria juncta in uno. I meant nothing; indeed, I meant nothing.' Pitt rose: 'I don't wish to push the matter further. The moment a man acknowledges his error, he ceases to be guilty. I have a great regard for the honourable member, and as an instance of that regard, I give him this advice: whenever he means nothing I recommend him to say nothing.'

This incident is related in illustration of Pitt's ascendency,

which must have been absolutely overwhelming if he could bully an eminent lawyer into a craven apology for words which, by no great latitude of interpretation, might be proved historically true. Again and again has the order of precedence been practically reversed. The very shifting of places which he blurted out in his confusion has occurred. It was Lords, King, and Commons frequently, if not normally, under the Plantagenets: King, Lords, and Commons, under the Tudors: Commons, Lords, and King, during the Great Rebellion. Where the varying arrangement fails, is in not conveying an accurate impression of the contrast presented by the Commons as they started and as they stand. The obscure and unhonoured state from which they emerged recalls the dirt and seaweed whence proud Venice rose.' The burgesses were summoned solely to vote subsidies. The right of representation was regarded as an oppressive burthen from which the smaller boroughs frequently petitioned to be freed. The Commons dared not initiate any measure of legislation: too happy to procure the redress of their grievances by tacking a humble prayer or a halting hesitating condition to a money bill. They prostrated themselves like slaves before the Crown. They crouched like menials, and bent uncovered, like vassals owing suit and service, before the Lords. They received wages from their constituents like other paid agents, they were bound to abide by their instructions; and it would have puzzled Burke to confirm the proposition by authority when he told the electors of Bristol that a member of the British Parliament was not a delegate.

All readers of Hume will remember the story of Henry VIII. sending for Edward Montague, a member who was supposed to have considerable influence, and thus apostrophising him: 'Ha! man! will they not suffer my bill to pass?' and, laying his hand on Montague's head, then on his knees, Get my bill passed by to-morrow, or else to-morrow this head of yours shall be off.' The Bill was passed on the morrow, To complete the humiliation of the Commons, the Cardinal Minister treated them with no more respect than his master.

'In full blown dignity see Wolsey stand,

Law in his voice and fortune in his hand.'

It was in this plenitude of pride and power in which the satirist has painted him, that Wolsey, fearing lest a subsidy of extraordinary amount (800,0007.) might not pass smoothly, announced his intention to be present when it was brought forward. He came in state, and delivered a solemn oration,

setting