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and after much speaking, our development would be incomplete, for the stores laid up in the sacred records are inexhaustible. The most vigorous faculties might work the mine of revelation for ages with untiring assiduity, and still new views of wealth would appear, evincing that no limit can be set to the resources which enrich the intellect of man.

Religion renders the intellect benevolent. Neither infidelity, nor idolatry can utter this triumphant declaration. Each of them furnishes melancholy evidence that it has done little or nothing to make the law of kindness the rule of action to the intellect, while it has illustrated, on a large scale, how closely selfishness and even cruelty may be connected with high mental power. The tendency of Christianity is to make man Godlike; the tendency of infidelity and idolatry is to make man earthly, sensual, and devilish. The facts of history are our witnesses. What is the testimony given by these witnesses? Is it that infidelity has ever walked the earth as the benefactress of mankind, with love in her heart, pity in her eye, kindness in her voice, and blessings in her hands? Is it that she has entered the regions of slavery, to let the oppressed go free; the depths of dungeons, to alleviate the sufferings and to hush the sighing of the prisoner; the cottages of the poor, to clothe the naked, to feed the hungry, and to comfort the afflicted? Is it that she has built hospitals for the sick, asylums for the blind, the deaf and dumb, the widow, the orphan, and the aged? Ah, no! They tell us not of such works of mercy and such monuments of charity. Infidelity has no heart for these things. In every robe she puts on, from the vulgar blasphemy of Paine to the pantheism of Germany she is essentially selfish and unkind. Not to mention her reign of terror in France about half a century since, what has she done of late years, with all her vanity and lies, to inprove the condition of the inhabitants of England, or any other part of the world? Has she so cared for the poor as to render our working classes wiser and happier-purify their habits and increase their comforts? Not at all. She has depressed them instead of raising them. The only thing she has done that bore the semblance of an attempt to promote the public good, and even this in reality was a development of selfishness, was to erect a few buildings for social excitement, and designate them, by a strange misnomer, "Halls of Science." Yet, scarcely have the winds and rains of our changeable climate had time to give a sober tinge to their showy aspect, ere they have passed away. As we walk through our towns, full of the splendid monuments of Christian benevolence, we inquire, Where are the architectural proofs of the intelligent good-will of infidelity? Echo answers, "Where?" Like the froth on the noisy waves, that beat ineffectually against the rocky shore, they have vanished. As it respects idolatry, the evidence of facts is, in like manner, of a condemnatory nature. Both Greece and Rome in ancient times, and India and China in modern days, have had no compassion-have neither wept nor cared for the poor and the aged. Yet the Greeks and the Romans, the Hindoos and the Chinese, are not to be classified with untaught savages. For high civilization and remark. able attainments in the fine arts and in literature they have long been famous in the world. Of their intellectuality there is no doubt; of their philanthropy there are no substantial evidences. It is far otherwise with Christianity. Wherever she goes she relieves the wants and dries up the tears of the victims of poverty and misfortune. Great

Britain is crowded with her works of mercy and kindness. She makes the intellect her eye, to search out the depths of human woe, and let fall therein the warm tears of loving sympathy. She makes the intellect her hand, to arrange and accomplish plans for the relief of the sorrows of mankind, and to distribute mercies which greatly augment the happiness of individuals, of families, of tribes, and of nations. Such has been her influence on the intellect from the beginning until now; and such will be her influence thereon, only with increasing power, until the end of the world. If we pass from general results to individual instances, the evidence is equally clear and striking. The great Founder of our religion possessed an intellect of matchless and unimaginable power, in which were hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Witness his sublime doctrines, his profound morals, his insight into character, his exposure of evil motives, his beautiful parables, and his wonderful prophecies. No one was ever so fully under the influence of religion as the Son of God. Witness his spotless reputation, his devout prayerfulness, and his conscientious fulfilment of the work appointed him by the Father. The result is given in the historic record of his labours of love. "Jesus of Nazareth, who went about doing good." Both the bodies and the souls of men were the objects of his compassionate regard, and he made unceasing efforts to bless and save them. Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, had a gigantic intellect, enriched with stores of learning. Such was the strength of his understanding, the most learned of Jewish scribes and the most skilful of Grecian philosophers were easily confounded by his clear and conclusive reasonings. His epistles also will remain through all time masterpieces of logic, and contain things so thoroughly profound, so hard to be understood, that the strongest minds find it difficult to master them. We know how fully the intellect of Paul was baptized with the influence of religion, and we know the glorious issue. The mind which had been full of bigotry, and blasphemy, and blood-thirstiness, was filled with earnest and expansive benevolence. His Herculean labours of love, his manly tears, and his death by martyr dom, attest the tenderness and good-will which pervaded his mighty spirit. John Wesley had much force of mind and considerable resources of information, and he was eminently religious. Among other results was the following: "When his income was thirty pounds a year, he lived on twenty-eight, and saved two for charity. Next year he had sixty pounds, and still living on twenty-eight, he had thirty-two to give away. A fourth year raised his income to one hundred and twenty pounds, and, steadfast to his plan, the poor got ninety-two. In reply to an excise order for a return of plate, he wrote this memorable answer: Sir, I have two silver teaspoons in London, and two in Bristol; this is all the plate I have at present, and I shall not buy any more while so many around me want bread.' It is calculated that he must have given away more than twenty thousand pounds." Further illustration is unnecessary, for even a cursory glance at the influence of religion on the minds of intelligent and thoughtful persons, will suffice for the discovery of its genial and benevolent nature.

Religion connects the intellect with the realities of eternity. This is its peculiar province, its unique, mysterious, and magnificent work. Nothing else accomplishes so sublime and sacred an end. Politics, science, the fine arts, and general literature relate only to earth and

time. A man may cherish earnest patriotism, roll the thunders of eloquence in the senate, labour diligently to correct abuses and accelerate the progress of national improvement, without a single solicitude or thought relating to eternity. A man may nightly lift his eyes and gaze with wonder on the burning stars; aided by powerful instruments, he may ascertain the distance, magnitude, and orbits of many of the heavenly bodies; he may observe their different degrees of glory, and ascertain their distinctive peculiarities, without a single solicitude or thought relating to eternity. A man may become an enthusiastic student of painting, statuary, and architecture-vivid transcripts of nature on the canvas, life-like statues of marble, and vast temples standing in silent and solemn grandeur may be looked on by him with admiration and pleasure, without a single solicitude or thought relating to eternity. A man may collect the facts set forth in historic records, cull the fairest flowers in the gardens of poetry, and be strongly excited by the thrilling tones struck from the golden lyre of eloquence, without a single solicitude or thought relating to eternity. But let religion enter, illumine, and pervade his soul, and ere long ten thousand silver threads of thought and sympathy bind his mental faculties to God, and angels, and the glories of immortality. Religion opens the eyes of the human understanding to see that the time of our sojourn on the earth is only the commencement of our being; and it produces therein the most beautiful images of the things prepared for man in a better world. What grandeur is thus given to our nature and destiny, and what lofty aspirations are thus excited within us! We feel ourselves born for a nobler end than the grave, for a wider sphere than this narrow earth, for the countless ages of everlasting life, instead of the few fleeting moments of our sublunary pilgrimage. Talk we of knowledge, and while doing so experience a humbling consciousness of our ignorance, at the thought of the unappropriated treasures in the world around us; how greatly must that consciousness be increased by the thought of the treasures laid up for us in eternity! On earth we learn only a few of the first elements of truth; in heaven we shall understand it in its satisfying fulness and glory, for what we know not now we shall know hereafter. Talk we of happiness, and while doing so, sigh at the recollection of the manifold sorrows to which flesh is heir; religion gives us strong consolation and blooming hope, by connecting our destiny with a scene, the beauty, and splendour, and blessedness of which infinitely surpass our brightest and best imaginings.

From the statements I have made in the course of this lecture it follows, that the influence of religion is essential in order to the satisfactory and complete culture of the human intellect. The settlement of this point raises a strong barrier against the infidel tendencies of the age, and justifies, I might even say requires, the introduction of the broad principles of our common Christianity, in connection with every effort to improve and enrich our minds. I rejoice that prejudice in relation to this question is giving way. The necessity and value of religious influence in conducting the education of the young is generally acknowledged. Allusions and lengthy remarks relating to religion are more freely admitted and have a heartier welcome within the walls of mechanics' institutions; and I believe the hour is fast approaching, when they will be hailed in all their breadth and power with intelligent

approval, by listening thousands. Let me not, however, be misunderstood. I do not, nor would any person of sober judgment, advocate the admission of sectarian opinions on these occasions; but the lofty principles of Christianity, in their essential majesty and might, ought not to be excluded, they should, and must, and will be joyfully recognized. Religion has not yet done a tithe of her work in developing the mental faculties of the human race; and she has not yet communicated a tithe of the benefits she has in store for all classes of society. The reason is this, she has not been allowed freely to put forth her strength. Statesmen have loaded her 'with fetters, bigotry has thrust her into a gloomy dungeon, prejudice has built strong walls around her, infidels have exhibited her in caricature, and evil passions have too often incited the multitude to treat her with brutal mockery. If you want to know what she can do, let her go free. Cast down the walls of prejudice, open her prison, knock off her fetters, let her walk forth unveiling the beauty of holiness, treat her with respect, give her your confidence, and ere long you will find her dispensing the light of truth, and intellectual strength, and riches of knowledge, both for time and for eternity, to all the inhabitants of our world.

THE EVILS AND FOLLY OF WAR.

BY THOMAS BULLOCK.

THE glare which for many centuries has been thrown around the character of the warrior is fast passing away. The all-subduing energy of Christian principle threatens its extinction. Since the times of Alexander and Cæsar, and even since those of Nelson and Napoleon, a new The idea had lain idea has been evolved in the republic of morals.

concealed for eighteen centuries, amid the darkness and rubbish of the times. It had been faithfully and boldly enunciated by a solitary individual in a solitary country. Those who had observed it amid the surrounding gloom regarded it as an idle, or useless, or utterly unfeasible speculation. But the idea is breaking from its retreat, subduing the force of prejudice, winning the patronage of kings, enlisting the eloquence of statesmen, and powerfully influencing the destiny of nations. From the bow and arrow down to the more respectable instruments of human butchery-the sword, the bayonet, the musket, and the cannon, all are growing unfashionable. The parade and pageantry of fleets and armies are at last regarded as magnificent follies. The tread of infantry, the clang of arms, and the noise of war are nowhere welcomed. The roar of artillery is no more popular, nor is the glory of the warrior unassociated with ignominy. Governments may confer honours and load with emoluments, but the practice of war and the character of the warrior are doomed by the voice of nations. A change is come over the spirit of the times. A disposition is being created, and is rapidly dif fusing itself through society, to "beat our swords into ploughshares, and our spears into pruning hooks," and to make the men who constitute our standing armies useful, intelligent, and virtuous citizens. nations are not, as formerly, trained to the profession of arms. is an essential vulgarness of mind in the calling, with which the age cannot sympathize. It suited the barbarism of the feudal ages, when

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every noble was a military chieftain, when every castle was a military fortress, and when the people were so many slaves, and constituted a fighting serfdom; but civilization, and intellect, and social interests have out-grown it. It should never be forgotten, that the glory of the war profession owes its origin to days of the darkest barbarism. No other times, no other influences are congenial to war. It naturally arises out of the animal. It is the animal nature run wild. It has little or no mixture of the nobler characteristics of humanity. It is vulgar, unreasoning, mad. War is too brutish for the present advanced state of society. It is fast becoming obsolete. The efforts of intellect, the triumphs of genius, right views of the magnanimity of virtue, deeds of benevolence, and schemes for social progress, are fast taking the place of powder and cannon, of swords and musketry. The signs of the times in this respect are encouraging. The American Indian or the African chief can fight, and enjoy the honour of a victory, gained on precisely the same principle as that enjoyed by the tiger over the bear. But, happily, civilized Europe sees sublimer victories in the demolition of ignorance, in the spread of the principles of brotherhood, in the progress of the arts and sciences, in the achievements of missionary effort, and in the establishment of the empires of truth and virtue. The character of the warrior is gone, and the pacific principles of peace are engaged in successful conflict with the dark demon of war.

The evils of war are so great, that in a relation of them there is little fear of exaggeration. The only fear is that we shall fail to present them in all their naked deformity. They are not confined to the spot which may have been the scene of conflict. They stretch further and reach wider than the battle-field. Waterloo did not reveal half the evils of that dread engagement. We shall not spend much paper in picturing them. The simplest relation cools the veins, while a faithful portraiture is enough to horrify infernal fiends. The position occupied by the general who is about to enter the field of blood is one of awful moment, and involves fearful responsibilities. Few generals feel their real position. Had Napoleon fully and seriously considered the probable amount of human life he was about to sacrifice, before he marched his army into Moscow, his spirit must have quailed. The retreat of the French soldiery from the ancient capital of Russia was a heart-rending spectacle, and no man of the least reflection, who had thus led thousands of his fellow countrymen from peaceful homes and dear friends, could fail to feel the terrible responsibility resting upon him. A splendid army, probably at that time the finest on the Continent, broken to pieces, and dying by crowds from want, and slaughter, and cold, was enough to appal the stoutest heart. Nothing but a pitiable obtuseness of moral feeling, resulting infallibly from the habits and associations of a warlike life, could enable a man to bear up under such agonizing scenes. Deliberately to sacrifice thousands of lives, from the paltry, the miserable, the guilty motive of extending dominion, argues wretched moral darkness. The man who has given over to death the lives of millions for a mere trifle, must feel remorse when he solemnly ponders · on the awful deed. The guilt of taking away human life by scores and hundreds, seems never to strike us as it ought. The solitary murder, whether it be perpetrated by a Burke or a Greenacre, a Rush or a Manning, sends a thrill of horror through every corner of society. And it is

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