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animate nature. To Newton, and to Newton's dog, the outward creation was physically the same; to the apprehension of Newton and of Newton's dog, now different! Hear the author:—

"To this clear issue the case is brought: Man does introduce into nature something from himself: either the inertness, the negative quality, the defect, or the beauty, the meaning, the glory. Either that whereby the world is noble comes from ourselves, or that whereby it is mean; that which it 1ms, or that which it wants. Can it bo doubtful which it is?"

Not in the least. Give me the rational and immortal man, made in God's image, rather than the grandest oak which the June sunbeams will be warming when you read this, my friend—rather than the most majestic mountain which by and by will be purple with the heather. Reason, immortality, love, and faith, are things liker God than ever so many cubit feet of granite, than ever so many loads of timber. "Behold," says Archer Butler, "we stand alone in the universe! Earth, air and ocean can show us nothing so awful as we!"

You fancy, says our author, that Nature is inert, because it goes on in so constant and unvarying a course. You know, says he, what conscious exertion it cost you to produce physical changes ; you can trace no such exertion in nature. You would beleive, says he, that nature is active, but for the fact that her doings are all conformed to laws that you can trace. Butinvariableness, he maintains, is no proof of inaction. "Right AcTion is invariable; Right Action is absolutely conformed to law. Why, therefore should not the secret of nature's invariableness be, not passiveness, but rightness?" The unchanging uniformity of nature's course proves her holiness—her willing, unvarying obedience to the Divine law. "The invariableness of nature bespeaks holiness as its cause."

May we not think upon all this (not dogmatically) in some such fashion as this?

Which is likelier:

1. That nature has it in her power to vary .from the well-known laws of nature; that she could disobey God if she pleased; but that she is so holy that she could not think of such a thing, and so through all ages has never swerved once. Or,

2. That nature is bound by laws which she has not the power to disobey; that she is what she looks, an inanimate, passive, inert thing, actuated, as her soul and will, by the will of the Creator?

And to aid in considering which alternative is the likelier, let it be remembered that Revelation teaches that this is a fallen world;

that experience proves that this world is not managed upon any system of optimism ; that in this creation things are constantly going wrong; and especially that all history gives no account of any mere creature whose will was Free to do either good or ill; and yet who did not do ill frequently. Is it likely that to all this there is one entire exception; one thing, and that so large a thing as all inanimate nature, perfectly obedient, perfectlyholy, perfectly right—and all by its own free will P I grant there is something touching in the author's eloquent words:—

"Because she is right, Nature is ours; more truly ours than we ourselves. Wo turn from tho inward ruin to the outward glory and marvel at the contrast. But we need not marvel; it is tlie difference of life and death: piercing the dimness even of the man's darkened sense, jarring upon hi.-, fond illusion like waking realities upon a dream. Without is living holiness, within is dciithly wrong."

Let the reader, ever remembering that in such cases analogy is not argument but illustration—that it makes a doctrine clearer, but does not in any degree confirm it—read the chapter entitled "Of the Illustration from Astronomy." It will tend to make the great doctrine of Man and his Dwelling Place comprehensible; you will see exactly what it is, although you may not think it true. As astronomy has transferred the apparent movements of the planets from them to ourselves, so, says our author, has science transferred the seeming inertness of nature from it to us. The phenomenon of nature is physical and inert: the being is spiritual and active and holy. And if we now seem to have an insuperable conviction that man is not inert and that nature is inert, it is not stronger than our apparent consciousness that the earth is unmoving. Man lives under illusion as to himself and as to the universe. Reason, indeed, furnishes him with the means of correcting that illusion; but in that illusion is his want of life.

Strong in his conviction of the grand principle which he has established, as he conceives, in his first book, the author in his second book, goes crashing through all systems of philosophy. His great doctrine makes havoc of them all. All are wrong, though each may have some grain of truth in it. The Idealists are right in so far as that there is no such thing as Matter. Matter is the vain imagination of man through his wrong idea of nature's inertness, but tie Idealists are wrong if they fancy that because there is no matter, there is nothing but mind, and ideas in mind.

Nature, though spiritual, has a most real and separate existence. Then the Sccpticsare right in so far as they doubt what our author thinks wrong; but they arc wrong in so far as they doubt what our author thinks I right. Positivism is right in so far as it! teaches that we see all things relatively to i ourselves, ami so wrongly j but it is wrong in teaching that what things are in themselves is no concern of ours, and that we should live on as though things were what they seem.

If it were not that the reader of Man and his Dwelling Place is likely, after the shock of the first fjprand theory, that Man is dead and the Universe living, to receive with comparative coolness any further views set out in the book, however strange, I should say that probably the third Book, "Of Religion," would startle him more than any thing else in the work. Although this Book stands third in the volume, it is first both in importance and in chronology. For the author tells us that his views < >i Religion are not deduced from the theoretical conceptions already stated, but have been drawn immediately from the study" of Scripture, and that from them the philosophical ideas are mainly derived. And indeed it is perfectly marvellous what doctrines men will find in Scripture, or deduce from Scripture. Is there not something curious in the capacity of the human mind, while glancing along the sacred volume, to find upon its pages both what suits its prevailing mood and its firm conviction at the time? You feel buoyant and cheerful: you open your Bible and read it; what a cheerful, hopeful book it is! You are depressed and anxious: you open your Bible; surely it was written for people in your present frame of mind! It is wonderful to what a degree the Psalms especially suit the mood and temper of all kinds of readers in every conceivable position. I can imagine the poor suicide, stealing towards the peaceful river, and musing on a verse of a psalm. I can imagine the joyful man, on the morning of a marriage day which no malignant relatives have embittered, finding a verse which will seem like the echo of his cheerful temper. And passing from feeling to understanding, it is remarkable how, when a man is possessed with any strong belief, he will find, as he reads the Bible, not only many things which appear to him expressly to confirm his view, but something in the entire tenor of what he reads that appears to harmonize with it. I doubt not the author of Man and his Dwelling Place can hardly open the Bible at random without chancing upon some passage which he regards as confirmatory of his opinions. I am quite sure that to ordinary men his opinions will appear flatly to conflict with the Bible's fundamental teaching. It has already been indicated in

this essay in what sense the statements of the New Testament to the following effect are to be understood :—

"The writers of tlio New Testament declare man to be dead. They speak of men ns not having life, and tell of a life to bo given them. If, therefore, our thoughts were truly conformed to the New Testament, how coultl it seem a strange thing to us thnt this state of man should bo found a state of death; how should its very words, re-affirmed by science, excite our surprise? Would it not have appeared to us a natural result of the study of nature to prove man dead? Might we not, if we had truly accepted the words of Scripture, have anticipated that it should be so? 1-or, if man bo rightly called dead, should not that condition have affected his experience, and ought not a discovery of that fact to be the issue of his labors to ascertain his true relation to the universe? Why does it seem a thing incredible to us that man should be really, actually dead: dead in such a scnso as truly to affect bis being, and determine his whole state? Why havo wo been using words which affirm him dead in our religious speech, and feel startled at finding them proved true in another sphere of inquiry?"

It is indeed true—it is a thing to be taken as a fundamental truth in reading the Bible —that in a certain sense man is dead, and is to be made alive; and the analogy which obtains between natural death and what in theological language is called spiritual death, is in several respects so close and accurate that we feel that it is something more than a strong figure when the New Testament says such things as "You hath he quickened who were dead in trespasses and sins." But it tends only to confusion to seek to identify things so thoroughly different as natural and spiritual death. It is trifling with a man to say to him "You are dead!" and having thus startled him, to go on to explain that you mean spiritually dead. "Oh," he will reply, "I grant you that I may be dead in that sense, and possibly that is the more important sense, but it is not the sense in which words are commonly understood." I can see, of course, various points of analogy between ordinary death and spiritual death. Does ordinary death render a man insensible to the presence of material things? Then spiritual death renders him heedless of spiritual realities, of the presence of God, of the value of salvation, of the closeness of eternity. Does natural death appear in utter helplessness and powerlessness? So does spiritual death render a man incapable of spiritual action and exertion. Has natural death its essence in the entire separation it makes between dead and living? So has spiritual death its essence in the separation of the soul from God. But, after all, these things do but show an analogy between natural death and spiritual: they do not show that the things are one: they do not show that in the strict unfigurative use of terms man's spiritual condition is one of death. They show that man's spiritual condition is very like death; that is all. It is so like as quite to justify the assertion in Scripture: it is not so identical as to justify the introduction of a new philosophical phrase. It is perfectly true that Christianity is described in Scripture as a means for bringing men from death to life; but it is also described, with equal meaning, as a means for bringing men from darkness to light. It is easy to trace the analogy between man's spiritual condition and the condition of one in darkness—between man's redeemed condition and the condition of one in light; but surely it would be childish to announce, as a philosophical discovery, that all men are blind, because they cannot see their true interests and the things that most concern them. They are not blind in the ordinary sense, though they may be blind in a higher; neither are they dead in the ordinary sense, though they may be in a higher. And only confusion, and a sense of being misled and trifled with, can follow from the pushing figure into fact and trying to identify the two.

Stripping our author's views of the unu&ual phraseology in which they are disguised, they do, so far as regards the essential fact of man's loss and redemption, coincide exactly with the orthodox teaching of the Church of England. Man is by nature and sinfulness in a spiritual sense dead; dead now, and doomed to a worse death hereafter. By believing in Christ ho at once obtains some share of a better spiritual life, and the hope of a future life which shall be perfectly holy and happy. Surely this_is no new discovery. It is the type of Christianity implied in the Liturgy of the Church, and weekly set out from her thousands of pulpits. The startling novelties of Man and his Dwelling Place are in matters of detail. He holds that fearful thing. Damnation, which orthodox views push ofl' into a future world, to be a present thing. It is now men are damned. It is now men are in hell. Wicked men are now in a state of damnation: thej are now in hell. The common error arises from our thinking damnation a state of suffering. It is not. It is a state of something •worse than suffering, viz., of sin:—

"Wo find it hard to believe tliat damnation can bo a tiling men like. But does not what every being likes depend on what it is? Is cor ruption less corruption, in man's view, because worms liko it? Is damnation less damnation in God's view, because men liko it? And God'a

view is simply the truth. Surely one object of a revelation must be to show us thing!) from Coil's view of them, tliat is, as they truly are. Sin truly is damnation, though to us it is picasare. That sin is pleasure to us, surely is the evil part of our condition."

And indeed it is to bo admitted that there s a great and much-forgotten truth implied icre. It is a very poor, and low, and in\dcquate idea of Christianity, to think of it merely as something which saves from suffcrng—as something which saves us from hell, regarded merely as a place of misery. The Christian salvation is mainly a deliverance rom sin. The deliverance is primarily from moral evil; and only secondarily from nhyscal or moral pain. "Thou shall call His name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins." No doubt this is very commonly forgotten. No doubt the vulgar idea of salvation and perdition founds on the vuljar belief that pain is the worst of all things, ind happiness the best of all things. It is well that the coarse and selfish type of rc.igioa which founds on the mere desire to escape from burning and to lay hold of bliss, should be corrected by the diligent instilling of the belief, that sin is worse than sorrow. The Saviour's compassion, though ever ready to well out at the sight of suffering, went forth most warmly at the sight of sin.

Here I close the book, not because there is not much more in it that well deserves notice, but because I hope that what has here been said of it will induce the thoughtful reader to study it for himself, and because I have space to write no more. It is a May afternoon; not that on which the earliest pages of my article were written, but a week after it. I have gone at the ox-fence at last, and got over it with several contusions. Pardon me, unknown author, much admired for your ingenuity, your earnestness, your originality, your eloquence, if I have written with some show of lightness concerning your {pave book. Very far, if you could know it, was any reality of lightness from your reviewer's feeling. He is non ignarus mali: he has had his full allotment of anxiety and care; and he hails with you the prospect of a day when human nature shall cast off its load of death, and when sinful and sorrowful man shall be brought into a beautiful conformity to external nature. Would that Man were worthy of his dicelting-place as it looks upon this summer-like day! Open, you latticed window: let the cool breeze come into this somewhat feverish room. Again the tree-tops; agnin the white stones and green graves; again the lambs, somewhat larger; again the distant hill. Again I think of Cheapside, far away. Yet there is trouble here. Not a yard of any of those hedges but has worried its owner in watching that it be kept tight, that sheep or cattle may not break through. Not a gate I see but screwed a few shillings out of the anxious farmer's pocket, and is always going wrong. Not a field but either the landlord squeezed the tenant in the matter of rent, or the tenant cheated the landlord. Not the smoke of a cottage but marks where pass lives weighted down with constant care, and with little end »ave the sore struggle to keep the wolf from the door. Not one of those graves, save perhaps the poor friendless tramp's in the corner, but was opened

and closed to the saddening of certain hearts. Hero are lives of error, sleepless nights, over-driven brains; wayward children, unnatural parents, though of these last, God be thanked, very few. Yes, says Adam Bede, "there's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for. No doubt we are dead: when shall we be quickened to a better life? Surely, as it is, the world is too good for man. And I agree, most cordially and entirely, with the author of this book, that there is but one agency in the universe that can repress evil here, and extinguish it hereafter. A. K. H. B.

The "Gold Ants" Of Herodotus.—In the Alhenceum of May 19th, p. 687, is this statement from Froebcl's Travels in Central America :

"That certain species of ants in New Mexico construct their nests exclusively of small stones, of the same material, cliosen by the insects from tlio various components of the. sand of the steppes anil deserts. In one part of the Colorado J)cscrt their heaps were formed of small fragments of crystalized feldspar; and in another, imperfect crystals of red transparent garnets were the materials of which the ant-hills were built, and any quantity of them might there bo obtained."

This corroborates an observation in vol. ii. of Humboldt's Cosmos (I made no note of the page):

"It slruck ma to see that in the basaltic districts of the Mexican highlands, the ants bring together heaps of shining grains of hvalite, which I was able to collect out of their hillocks."

Does not this elucidate the gold-collecting ants of Herodotus, and rescue a fact from the domain of fiction 1Notes and Queries.

F. C. B.

Manifold Writers.—Here is an extract taken from one of quaint old Fuller's Sermons (Grand Assizes), alluding to an invention which is generally supposed to have originated in modern times:—

"There is still a Project propounded on the Royall Exchange in London wherein one offers (if meeting with proportionable encouragement for his pains), so ingeniously to contrive the matter that every letter written, shall with the same pains of the Writer instantly render a double impression, besides the Orlginall; each of which Inscript (For Transcript I cannot properly tearmc it) shall be as fairc and full, ns lively and legible as the Orlginall. Whether this will ever be really effected, or whether it will prove an Ahrtive as most designs of this nature Time will tell. Sure I am, if performed, it will be very beneficial to Merchants, who generally keepe Duplicates of their letters to their Correspondents."

This is another addition to the already well

filled list of so-called modern inventions which, whether intentionally or accidentally, are nothing but adaptions of old ideas. Who was tho advertiser mentioned by Fuller? and did he ever succeed in bringing his invention into use? —Note* and Queries. G. M. G.

"Miphs MORTIS MORTI," ETC.—Who is the

author of the Latin distich annexed, of which I have subjoined an attempt at translation ?—

"Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morto dedissct, Eternal vitro Janua clausa foret."

"Had not the dea4h of death by death given

death to death, Our souls had perished with this mortal

breath." —Notes and Queries. W. B.

Burning Alive. — "In treasons of every kind," says Blackstone, iv., vi., "tho punishment of women is the same, and different from that of men. For as the decency due to the sex forbids the exposing and publicly mangling their bodies, their sentence (which is to tho full as terrible to sensation as the other) is to be drawn to tho gallows, and there to be burned alirc."

This punishment of women was abolished by stat. 30 George III. c. 48. What is the latest known instance of its having been inflicted ? * The punishment of burning alive is at the present time (if wo may believe the newspapers) not nnfrequently inflicted on negroes in the United States. Is this dono under the authority of any statutes of the local legislatures? and, if not, have those who have inflicted the punishment been ever visited with any penalties for so doing? In what civilized countries has burning alive been sanctioned as a punishment for secular offences as distinguished from heresy, etc. •? —Notes and Queries. W.

* In the 2d vol. of our 1st Series will ba found recorded many of the latest instances of women being burnt alive. The last, which took place on the 18th March, 1789, is described by an evewitness in " N. & Q." 1st S. ii. 260.—Ed. "N. & Q."

From The Cornhill Magazine. THE FOUR GEOKGES.


II. — George The Second.

In the afternoon of the 14th of June, 1727, two horsemen might have been perceived galloping along the road from Chelsea to Richmond. Tnc foremost, eased in the jackboots of the period, was a broad-faced, jollylooking, and very corpulent cavalier; but, by the manner in which he urged his horse, you might see that he was a bold as well as a skilful rider. Indeed, no man loved sport better; and in the hunting-fields of Norfolk, ho squire rode more boldly after the fox, or cheered Ringwood and Sweettipsmore lustily, than he who now thundered over the Richmond road.

He speedily reached Richmond Lodge, and asked to see the owner of the mansion. The mistress of the house and her ladies, to whom our friend was admitted, said he could not be introduced to the master, however pressing the business might be. The master was asleep after his dinner; he always slept after his dinner; and woe be to the person who interrupted him! Nevertheless, our stout friend of the jackboots put the affrighted ladies aside, opened the forbidden door of the bedroom, wherein upon the bed lay H little gentleman; and here the eager messenger knelt down in his jackboots.

He on the bed started up, and with many oaths and a strong German accent asked who was there, and who dared to disturb him?

"I am Sir Robert Walpolc," said the messenger. The awakened sleeper hated Sir Robert Walpolc. "I have the honor to announce to your majesty that your royal father, King George I., died at Osnaburg, on Saturday last, the 10th instant."

"Dal if one biij lie I" roared out his sacred majesty, King George II.; but Sir Robert Walpole stated the fact, and from that day until three and thirty years after, George, the second of the name, ruled over England.

How the king made away with his father's will under the astonished nose of the Archbishop of Canterbury; how he was a choleric little sovereign; how he shook his fist in the fa_ec of his father's courtiers; how he kicked his coat and wipj about in his rages, and called everybody thief, liar, rascal, with whom he differed; you will read in all the history books; and how he speedily and shrewdly reconciled himself with the bold minister, whom ho had hated during his father's life, and by whom he was served during fifteen years of his own with admirable prudence, fidelity, and success. But for Sir Robert Walpole, we should have had the Pretender back again.

But for his obstinate love of peace, we should have had wars, which the nation was not strong enough nor united enough to endure. But lor his resolute counsels and good-humored resistance we might have had German despots attempting a Hanoverian regimen over us; we should have had revolt, commotion, want, and tyrannous misrule, in place of a quarter of a century of peace, freedom, and material prosperity, such as the country never enjoyed, until that corrupter of parliaments, that dissolute tipsy cynic, that courageous lover of peace and liberty, that great citizen, patriot, and statesman governed it. In religion he was little better than a heathen; cracked ribald jokes at bigwigs and bishops, and laughed at high church and low. In private life the old pagan revelled in the lowest pleasures; he passed his Sundays tippling at Richmond; and his holydays bawling after dogs, or boozing at Houghton with boors over beef and punch. He cared for letters no more than his master did; he judged human nature so meanly that one is ashamed to have to own that he was right, and that men could be corrupted by means so base. But, with his hireling House of Commons, he defended liberty for us; with his incredulity he kept churchcraft down. There were parsons at Oxford as double-dealing and dangerous as any priests out of Rome, and he routed them both. He | gave Englishmen no conquests, but he gave 1 them peace, and ease, and freedom; the three per cents, nearly at par; and wheat at five, and six, and twenty shillings a quarter.

It was lucky for us that our first Georges were not more high-minded men; especially fortunate that they loved Hanover so much as to leave England to have her own way. Our chief troubles began when we got a king who gloried in the name of Briton, and, being born in the country, proposed to rule it. He was no more fit to govern England than lib grandfather and great-grandfather, who did not try. It was righting itself durins their occupation. The dangerous, noble old spirit of cavalier loyalty was dying out; the stately old English high church was emptying itself; the questions dropping, which, on one side and the other; — the side of royalty, prerogative, church, and king; — the side of right, truth, civil, and religious freedom, — had set generations of brave men in arms. By the time when George III. came to the throne, the combat between loyalty and liberty was come to an end; and Charles Edward, old, tipsy, and childless, was dying in Italy.

Those who are curious about European Court history of the last ago know the memoirs of the Margravine of Bayreuth, and what a court was that of Berlin, where George II.'s cousins ruled sovereign. Frederick the Great's father knocked down his sons, daugh

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