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was to that age, as new and transporting,-is in our own “ the clear perception of the moral nature of God, and of his infinite truth and justice.” This is one of the many deep sayings, sad and wise, quietly dropped by our author in a series of disquisitions, that show, among other things, how well he understands its scope. Everywhere his care is to disengage Christianity from the theological conceptions fastened on it by & coarser age; and, having restored the purity of its moral vision, to enlarge its horizon to the whole extent of modern knowledge and experience. Penetrating beneath the figures natural to St. Paul, the very changes of which show them to be figures—he finds that nothing can be more abhorrent from the apostle's thought than the doctrine of "satisfaction,” which is hunted down, in every form, with exhaustive and indignant logic; that even the analogy of sacrifice “rather shows us what the death of Christ was not, than what it was;" and that to draw us into union with Christ,—to fix our eye on his pure self-renunciation as “the greatest moral act ever done in this world,” to keep us in a mood that harmonizes our trust in God with our distrust of ourselves, and to suggest more than it can explain of hope and peace to a reconciled world, are the real functions, as of his death, so of all the stages of his existence. This pure type of faith emerges, we venture to affirm, without straining the rights of the interpreter. The rest and freedom it gives to the mind is singularly evident in the fine essay on Natural Religion. The author sets forth from the Christian centre, and consciously marking where he passes the boundary of the apostolic view, surveys and brings to its religious place the whole outlying realm of nature, history, and life, that was unknown to Scripture, but is fact to us. The great Gentile religions, now discriminated and interpreted, and ascertained to follow certain laws of development; the breadth in philosophies, purer and brighter as history passed on; the Natural Religion, which is the counterpart of these in Christian times, and holds its place by the side of revelation; and the ordinary state of character in morally good but unspiritual persons, (state of “nature" rather than of " grace,") are reviewed and estimated with a breadth of observation and a delicacy of reflection singularly impressive. Indeed, the literature of religious philosophy affords few nobler productions than this essay. With how true a hand and bright a touch is the following picture drawn! We will but hang it up in our reader's imagination, and leave him to commune with it alone.

"It is impossible not to observe that innumerable personsmay we not say the majority of mankind ?—who have a belief in God and immortality, have nevertheless hardly any consciousness

of the peculiar doctrines of the Gospel. They seem to live aloof from them in the routine of business or of pleasure, the common life of all men,' not without a sense of right, and a rule of truth and honesty, yet insensible to what our Saviour meant by taking up the cross and following him, or what St. Paul meant by being one with Christ.' They die without any great fear or lively hope; to the last more interested about the least concerns of this world than about the greatest of another. They have never in their whole lives experienced the love of God, or the sense of sin, or the need of forgiveness. Often they are remarkable for the purity of their morals; many of them have strong and disinterested attachments, and quick human sympathies; sometimes a stoical feeling of uprightness, or a peculiar sensitiveness to dishonour. It would be a mistake to say they are without religion. They join in its public acts; they are offended at profaneness or impiety; they are thankful for the blessings of life, and do not rebel against its misfortunes. Such men meet us at every turn. They are those whom we know and associate with ; honest in their dealings, respectable in their lives, decent in their conversation. The Scripture speaks to us of two classes, represented by the church and the world, the wheat and the tares, the sheep and the goats, the friends and enemies of God. We cannot say in which of the two divisions we should find a place for them.

“The picture is a true one, and, if we change the light by which we look at it, may be a resemblance of ourselves no less than of other men. Others will include most of us in the same circle in which we are including them. What shall we say to such a state, common as it is to both us and them? The fact that we are considering is not the evil of the world, but the neutrality of the world, the indifference of the world, the inertness of the world. There are multitudes of men and women everywhere who have no peculiarly Christian feelings, to whom, except for the indirect influence of Christian institutions, the fact that Christ died on the cross for their sins has made no difference; and who have, nevertheless, the common sense of truth and right almost equally with true Christians. You cannot say of them, “There is none that doeth good ; no, not one.' The other tone of St. Paul is more suitable : • When the Gentiles that know not the law do by nature the things contained in the law, these not knowing the law are a law unto themselves.' So of what we commonly term the world, as opposed to those who make a profession of Christianity, we must not shrink from saying,— When men of the world do by nature whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, these not being conscious of the grace of God, do by nature what can only be done by His grace.' Why should we make them out worse than they are? We must cease to speak evil of them ere they will judge fairly of the characters of religious men. That with so little recognition of His personal relation to them, God has not cast them off, is a ground of hope rather than of fear-of thankfulness, not of regret."—Vol. II. p. 416.

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The Despatches from General Simpson to Lord Panmure, dated

the Ninth of September, announcing the fall of Sebastopol.* A GREAT victory has been won, but we cannot yet tell how great. At this moment the most recent history exactly resembles the most ancient. The narrative of remote antiquity is made up from scattered, short, fragmentary notices of ancient authors, by the acute diligence and laborious ingenuity of speculative scholars. If you see the small scraps of authorities,

. you wonder at the copious narrative to which they give rise. It is the same with the telegraphic fragments of recent information. The sharp acuteness of eager writers, the painful curiosity of an anxious people, a strong hope, and an interested fancy, soon turn a sentence from Sebastopol into elaborate and flowing composition. But both processes are rather speculative. One ancient historian commonly confutes another ancient historian. The article of September the twentyfirst is usually inconsistent with that of the twentieth.

But of one thing there can be no doubt, that the victory is very great. There are many cases in which the seeming truth is far more important than the real truth. Suppose we had listened to Mr. Gladstone, and had made peace three months ago. Conceive-what he did not in reality venture to maintain that by a principle of “ equilibrium,” by a limitation of naval forces, we had obtained for Turkey an effectual guarantee,-imagine that Russia had yielded all that was important;-yet every one would have said that she had won. None would have understood the complicated terms; the world would have fancied a baffled expedition. We have now the imagination on our side. While Sebastopol was untaken, peace on any terms would have been a Russian victory; now that Sebastopol is fallen, peace on any terms is a Russian defeat.

Some writers have maintained the contrary. The Germans consider that the loss of 4000 cannon is a “beneficial separation of noumenal force from heavy matériel.A Brussels paper discovers that the retreat of Prince Gortschakoff from the city is a military "advantage;" les braves Belges having always

It may be well to state that we are writing on September 22nd.

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thought it an “advantage” to be as far from the enemy as possible. But these speculations will not persuade mankind. If people lose what they have endeavoured to keep, it will be thought that they are beaten; if they have strained every anxious nerve to save what they have lost, it will be added that the intensity of their care truly measures the greatness of their defeat. The Russian loss is especially of this kind. It is said, that when a discerning Frenchman tried to found an Indian empire, one of his first steps was to build a great city, to erect a high column, and to call them “The Pillar and the City of the Greatness of Dupleix." The susceptible fancy of the orientals, which yields too easily to visible and prominent facts, was subjugated at once.

The French were everywhere thought the greatest of western nations. Lord Clive broke the spell. Not a stone now remains on the site of the “ City of Dupleix.” Sebastopol is the City of the Czar. It is the image which he has set up for Jews, and Armenians, and Persians, and Greeks, and Tatars, to worship. It is the sign of his power: it is the type of his empire; the symbol of his right to rule the south. That the French flag floats on the summit of the Malakhoff-that English voices are heard in the Great Harbour-really means that the image is broken, the symbol defaced, the “ City of the Czar" no longer a terror amongst the nations.

Nor as we know, though Sebastopol was a city of display, was it a city of mere display. A fanciful observer might call the peninsula of the Crimea a kind of protruding hand, which Russia is putting forth-is about to open upon Turkey. And if the mere territory seems a menace, assuredly that which was upon it, is not less so.

It is, perhaps, an abuse of terms to call Sebastopol a "city" at all. It was a station for the navy and army, a depôt for military stores. Not a mercantile ship was allowed to enter one of the finest harbours in the world. The only trades tolerated were those serviceable in supplying soldiers, constructing vessels of war, manufacturing warlike implements. Formerly, in the east, great cities arose on a sudden, because a monarch chose them as the seat of his court; and mounds and tiles and tombs only mark how completely such towns decayed when that sign of favour was withdrawn. It would be the same with Sebastopol. No doubt its site has natural advantages, which in other hands and times might on other grounds become celebrated: but as far as the present town, the existing population—as far as all which makes the present Sebastopol the present Sebastopol—is in the least concerned, a change of policy in the Czar would abolish it in a very

a If Russia were to confine her plans to the Baltic,

few years.


if she were to apply her enlightened attention to the conquest of Iceland, there would be no occasion for the arsenals, the stores, the ships, the soldiers of Sebastopol; the men would be drafted off, the movables be moved, the forts would rot, and the “ City of the Emperor” again become the petty Aktiar of the village Tatars.

This is no dream of a hostile or ignorant mind. A cultivated German of rank was a few years ago admitted to the confidence of the Russian Government. Both parties knew he was to write an account of the country, and ample information for that purpose was given him. The crafty administration did not, of course, select a man of original mind. It would have been absurd to cast a man of wise and bold genius into a world of serfs and bribes and peculations and bureaus. What they wanted was a human note-book, an instructed registeringmachine. And such they found. M. Haxthausen has carefully inscribed, has studiously annotated, all that he was told; and this is what he has set down on Sebastopol. “ The object of the fleet,” he says, “is to secure the dominion of Russia in the Black Sea, and this is still further assured by the construction at Sebastopol -- at the present moment-of a fortified port of war, which, according to the accounts of competent persons, will not have its equal in the world. When Europe shall have a moment of feebleness-and we may fairly expect this to come to pass after what we have seen to happen in 1848—and when she shall think the time arrived for conquests, then the establishment of Sebastopol will allow this power to take the offensive against Constantinople with equal energy and safety, by making use of the fleet, either to disembark her troops behind the lines of mountains and rivers which perpendicularly on the western shore of the Black Sea cut at a right angle the line of approach on Constantinople, or to strengthen the base of operations of a grand army, by supporting it wherever there are ports along the Euxine.”

It is strange to think of the fortunes of the “ fortified port of war.” So far from being a basis for aggression, it is a point for defence. So far from "taking the offensive against Constantinople with equal energy and safety,” every soldier she contained has been required to man her walls, every gun in her forts has been required to maintain those forts, every fort and battery in her vast circuit has done its utmost in defence, and has failed. The energy of the defence, the prodigies of labour, the masterpiece of ingenuity, have made evident the importance of the failure. "Certainly,” says M. Haxthausen, " the military position of Russia, in a war against the Ottoman Porte, has undergone une modification capitale" by the foundation of

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