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- [JAN. Vernon, at a large public school, called in the story "Roslyn School." The narrative accompanies both boys to the end of their lives. The younger, Vernon, falls from a cliff, and meets an early death. The elder, Eric, is overcome by temptation after temptation; till, at last, he runs away from school, goes to sea, suffers many hardships, finds his way to an aunt's house, and dies, and, after the usual fashion of a novel, "goes to heaven," and is "happy."

The sad and sickening picture of the gradual depravation of an "amiable" boy at a public school is well pourtrayed; and hence the book is an interesting one, and is popular. Why, then, do we feel any misgivings about it?

First, on merely moral grounds. Eric is constantly held up to admiration and sympathy, as "naturally noble," "the soul of chivalrous honour," "a loveable and noble boy." Now what is essential to real nobleness of character? Surely, a will firmly resolved on the side of truth and right. But what is Eric? He is one of a far inferior and more common class; who, brought up at a distance from all gross evil, and themselves naturally amiable, no sooner are exposed to the ordinary temptations of a public school, than they fall into every kind of sin.

At a very early stage, he is found, if not "cribbing" himself, assisting his class-mates to "crib." Next, he learns to swear. Then, to join in, and delight in, filthy conversation. Then, he loses all brotherly affection, and sees little Vernon led to ruin without an attempt to save him. "Lying, bad language, dishonesty, grew fearfully rife." Eric finds his way to "The Jolly Herring;" and there, with some of the worst of the boys, spends evening after evening, drinking spirits and smoking tobacco. He then goes out at night, deliberately, to steal pigeons. He comes in to evening prayers in a state of reeling drunkenness. Lastly, he actually steals the contents of the cricket-club box; though conscience and alarm compel him to put back the money! And this is the sort of character,-common enough, we admit,-which is described, from first to last, as "a noble boy !" a noble boy!" And he is represented as dying, at last, with the words on his lips, "Oh! happy, happy at last-too happy!'"

And this brings on the second question, as to the religious truth and accuracy of such representations. We admit, indeed, that they are too common;-in fact, it is the frequency and commonness of this kind of picture which induces us to protest against one instance of it in " Eric." The periodical from which we have already given one quotation, says with much truth, that "what may be called the gospel of vagueness and sentiment, has obtained a miserable currency in these times. It is, we think, one of the very greatest evils of the age in which we live."

Mrs. Sherwood, in her numerous tales, gave currency to this sort of romance; and Mr. Dickens, in one of his popular novels,

tries his hand at a similar transformation. Mr. Dombey, up to the age of fifty or sixty, is everything that is selfish, proud, and intolerable. You turn over a dozen pages, and he is meek and humble, gentle and amiable. Yet nothing has occurred, except the loss of his fortune. Now these sorts of representations have the one cardinal fault, that they are not true. Who ever met with such a case as Mr. Dombey's in common life?

We are not questioning the fact of instantaneous or sudden conversions to God, many of which are upon record, and many more, we trust, are constantly and noiselessly taking place. But we dislike romantic simulations of them, and doubt their lawfulness. We can call to mind a marked distinction, once made by Mr. Legh Richmond in our hearing. Some one had asked his opinion of a religious novel "founded on fact," in which a wonderful conversion was narrated. His instant reply was, "I wish first to ask, Is it true? If it is a faithful account of what took place, then I respect and value it; but if it is invented or ornamented, I will have nothing to do with it."

But there is something else of a questionable character in "Eric." We are told, at the outset, that "he was not one of your angelically good children; he had not been taught any distinction between "Sunday books" and "week-day books;" his aunt and cousin "called themselves by no sectarian name; nor could they have told to what 'party' they belonged." (p. 6.) And, at the close, one of the masters at "Roslyn school," preaching on Eric's death, tells the pupils, "Do not let us fancy that our work must of necessity cease with our lives; for rather must we believe that it will continue for ever, seeing that we are all partakers of God's unspeakable blessing, the common mystery of immortality." Now we will not argue from this passage, that Mr. Farrer is an Universalist; but it seems to us a fair specimen of what the Saturday Review justly terms, "the gospel of vagueness and sentiment." Eric's aunt and cousin knew not "to what party they belonged." They were neither Calvinistic nor Arminian; they neither believed nor disbelieved baptismal regeneration. They had, what many in this day desiderate, a Christianity without dogmas,—in a word, a "gospel of vagueness and sentiment." But such is not the gospel of the New Testament.

Nor is there anything in Eric's story to recommend such a system. In his case, this Christianity which "was of no party," proved of little use in the hour of temptation. Not once does it seem to have stood him in any stead. He could be guilty of dishonourable actions, relish corrupt and filthy conversation, enjoy his brandy and tobacco in the back parlour of a low public house, neglect his brother, and grieve and alienate every real friend, and not once does his "vague and sentimental religion" come to his aid. Once, indeed, when all is lost, and his ruin is completed, he

is represented as bethinking himself, in his wretched hammock in the schooner, and as repenting and praying. But here, again, romance comes in, and tells us that

"Even then, in that valley of the shadow of death, a voice had come to him, a still small voice,-at whose holy and healing utterance Eric had bowed his head, and had listened to the messages of God, and learnt his will."

Now this may be Quakerism; but it is not the way of salvation into which the church of England directs us. Not once, we believe, in the whole story, is the Bible so much as mentioned; except as publicly read, in due course and customary form. Not once, in his whole school-life, do we hear of Eric's opening its pages. Nay, in the author's fond descriptions of Eric's aunt and cousin, the Trevors, there is not the slightest allusion either to God's word, or to God's worship, or to God's day; except that we are distinctly told that the Trevors made Sunday like any other day; "and so Eric grew up to love Sunday quite as well as any other day; though, unlike your angelic children, he never professed to like it better." (p. 7.) "But," it is added, " to be truthful, to be honest, to be kind, to be brave,-these lessons had been taught him ;" and these lessons seem to have been the chief part of his religion. In any respectable Parsee family in India he would have learnt as much. But how did this sort of religion serve him in after life? Mr. Farrer's book may answer the question. He went to school, and there he was neither truthful, nor honest, nor kind, nor brave. And why? but because he had been building without any solid foundation. His repentance, when it comes at last, is of a romantic, i.e., an unreal character. Without any human friend, without the least shred of God's word, without any visible means of relief,-we are still told that “ messages of God came to him; and Eric bowed his head, and learnt His will." To which we must reply, with Mr. Legh Richmond, "If this were properly certified to be the plain and simple truth, we would reverently consider it; but if not, then we will have none of it."

Eric, then, like Adam Bede, has some solid and valuable truth, powerfully conveyed, because the writer possesses talent; but it has also some mischievous errors, seductively introduced, and therefore likely to delude many. Our duty, be it painful or not, is, to detect and point out such errors where they exist; and we have done this on the present occasion without any other than a kind feeling towards Mr. Farrer, of whom we personally know nothing, but respecting whom we hear much that is pleasing and hopeful.

4. The last of the works of fiction whose titles we have placed at the head of this article, is a series of several tales, which have recently issued from the same source whence, about twenty years

ago, came the Tracts for the Times. The drift of the "Historical Tales" is identical with those productions of Messrs. Newman, Froude, and Pusey; but we can now afford to regard them with very different feelings from those which were excited by "No. XC." In 1840 much of the active talent of the day was busily employed in perverting the public mind to popery. That school has now, so far as genius and talent are concerned, almost disappeared: Dr. Newman, having failed at Dublin, is in the Oratory at Birmingham; Archdeacon Manning is at Rome; the Wilberforces —we know not where. And now the youthful zeal and mental power of those who are not in the right path, is found in other walks of error. "Adam Bede," with its mistakes; "The Minister's Wooing," with its perilous discussions; "Eric," with its romance about religion-all these have their admirers; and each, in its way, does some mischief. But these "Historical Tales" are powerless alike for good or harm. No human being ever has been, or ever can be, made either much better or much worse by them; inasmuch as the writing of them has evidently been a task, and the reading of them is a weary labour.

Yet the author's desire is to do mischief, if he had but the power. He transports his reader,—or at least he tries to do so,— into the mists and gloom of the dark ages, when the priest was regarded as the arbiter of salvation, and penances, fastings, and monastic seclusions were imagined to be the sure road to eternal life. The writer, by dint of study, may have given tolerably accurate sketches of Pictish or ancient British life. But to what end? A few melancholy maidens may still be found ready to adopt the notion that a convent is a place where sin is unknown, and into which the Tempter can gain no admission. Every age has its dupes and its mono-maniacs; and every age has also those, whether priests or quack-doctors, who cultivate a profit by these follies. But this is not the prevalent fashion of 1860, although it was the prevalent fashion of 1840. "The Ancient Church" was the object of interest and admiration at that period," the Church of the Future" is what too many are desiring, now. But, after all, "the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand." There is but One Thing which changeth not. The hope of Stephen and of Paul, was the hope of John Bradford and Henry Martyn. The way of salvation which was preached at Antioch, by Barnabas, in the year 43, was preached by Brainerd to the Indians, at Kaunanmeek, in the year 1743. The same gospel which was declared by Peter in the year 40, was proclaimed by Judson in the year 1840; and if thousands were "pricked to the heart" by the preaching of the one, thousands in Burmah at this moment bear witness to the power which rested on the words of the other. Meanwhile, "development," i. e., change, or improvement, has been tried again and again. Rome" developed" the Lord's Supper into the Mass. Fox changed the teaching of the Spirit into "the Inward Light:" and now our poet-laureate and a crowd

of his followers, not content with the Christ of the Bible, cry out for "the Christ that is to be." But the "great crowd of witnesses" remains unmoved. St. John, Augustine, Bradwardine, Luther, Hooker, Scott,-men of six different ages, spread over eighteen hundred years, and each representing myriads in his own day, -were all substantially agreed; and agreed in that One Thing, which is the world's only hope, at this very moment. The most aspiring among them desired nothing better, the most profound among them looked for nothing wiser, than was to be found in that single volume which supplied them all with their common basis, their One hope of salvation; and which, while human schools and transitory theories rise, flourish, and decay, remains unchanged. "The grass withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand for ever."

PROPHECY: ITS INTERPRETATION, AND OUR PLACE IN IT.

1. The Second Vision of Daniel, paraphrased in verse by the Earl of Carlisle. Longman. 1858.

2. Armageddon. 4 vols. 8vo. By a M.A. of the University of Cambridge. Wertheim. 1858.

3. Exposition of the Book of Revelation. By the Rev. W. Burgh. New Edition.*

4. Plain Papers on Prophetic Subjects. Partridge and Oakey. 1854.

5. Israel's Future; being Lectures delivered in Lock Chapel in 1852. By Rev. Capel Molyneux.

6. Latter Days of Jerusalem and Rome. By Dominick M'Causland, Esq. Bentley. 1859.

7. Onpiov. By Maurice Trevilian, Esq. Wertheim. 1859.

8. Notes on the Apocalypse. By Hatley Frere, Esq. Hatchard. 1850.

9. The School of the Prophets. An Article reprinted from "The Times" of Nov. 3, 1859. Morgan and Chase.

It is not to be wondered at in the present extraordinary state of the earth, agitated as it is everywhere, and with black clouds portentously overcasting the future, that there should be a turning of Christian men's minds with a general and deep interest to the

Our edition is the fourth, printed in 1845. But in the new edition very lately published, Mr. Burgh (who, we believe, now designates himself as De Burgh,) has intimated his unchanged adherence to what were given as his views in the previous

edition.

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