NEARLY half a century ago there appeared in England a work by the eminent poet laureate, Robert Southey, under the title of Sir Thomas More; or, Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society. The book was a singular one in construction for that remote period, purporting to be a series of conversations upon various subjects, in the interests of humanity, between the writer and the materialized spirit of the great chancellor and martyr of Henry VIII, Sir Thomas More, whose sepulchre "had op'd his ponderous and marble jaws to cast him up again." One morning whilst the laureate was engaged reading in his study at Keswick, he was startled by seeing an elderly, dignified-looking gentleman unceremoniously enter his sanctum. Supposing him to be an American upon a tour of inspection or diversion, Mr. Southey embraced the opportunity of putting his visitor at ease by expressing his great admiration for that country and people. The visitor, however, disclaimed any connection whatever with the New World, and

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informed him that he was a spirit, in confirmation of which assertion, and as a tacit reproach to the apparent incredulity of the poet, he held up his hand, which was perfectly transparent, possessing evidently neither weight nor substance. In addition to this proof, he shows his host, who is white and trembling with terror before this phantom, who may be, for aught he knows, the bearer of "airs from heaven or blasts from hell," a red streak around his neck, which was still "brighter than a ruby."

In one of the subsequent discussions which were supposed to be held at different intervals between the two, according to the compact made between flesh and spirit, Sir Thomas made the following assertion: "Nothing is more certain than that religion is the basis upon which civil government rests. From religion power derives its authority, laws their efficacy, and both their zeal and sanction."

Upon the appearance of this work, Mr. Macaulay, then the corypheus of critics, paid Mr. Southey

the compliment of a lengthy although a rather disparaging criticism in the Edinburgh Review. He rejects the above text, assuming, however, that the idea of Sir Thomas was that of sectarianism rather than the general principles and influences of a Christian belief, and accordingly gathers a mass of testimony of various inconsistencies among Christian nations that are calculated to subvert that theory. In corroboration thereof he cites the number and varieties of governments that have existed and prospered in every corner of the world, irrespective and independent of revealed religion. He further maintains that the moral and political standard, under the influence of the ancient theogony, was as prolific of wise laws and beneficial results as was subsequently obtained by the autonomy of Christianized governments. This assertion naturally suggests the comparative purity, endurance, and polity of Christian and pagan nations. If in this side of the argument the pantheistic idea of material prosperity and wealth are given the first rank, great credit may then undoubtedly be accorded the ancient dynasties. But when a comparison of the more essential forms, those which constitute the psychological life of a nation, which lend honor to her laws, and bestow dignity and a lofty moral and social standard upon her people, certainly one so familiar with the history of nations only wastes breath upon a paradox in striving to prove their equality.

It was the need of the primeval law of order, of that consistent, self-sustaining element which is the basis of infallible religion, that created the habit of pandering to the undisciplined passions of the Greeks, Romans, and Syrians, as essential to the safety of the state. When we reflect upon the degrading influences wrought upon the people through their most cherished pleas ures, such as existed in the brutal

gladiatorial combats; the wild license of the Olympic games; the nameless orgies of the Saturnalia; the sensuous and degrading privileges, under the name and sanction of religion, that were accorded the votaries of the temples of Venus in Greece and Rome, and of Daphne in Antioch, who can for a moment question the depravity, that as a natural sequence, must inevitably have poisoned the social life of the people? Polytheism was rife in various devices of enchanting her pupils. The magnificence of her temples; the grace and beauty of her vestals; the grand conceptions and expression of her artists; the magic and mysterious voice of her oracles and divinations; the splendor and pomp of her religous festivals,-all were calculated to bind the minds of those emotional natures in thraldom. In addition to this moral poison that permeated the state, the political system was worked and sustained upon a basis equally pernicious.

These effects were manifested in the despotic power of one man, the emperor, under whose flaming sword and iron-pronged flail millions of human beings bent in subjection and anguish. Add to this the oppression of the masses at the expense of the few who were favored by the accidents of fortune, as instanced in the political and social privileges of the patricians over the plebeians; the partisan feuds ever disturbing the social fabric; the incessant warfare, with its attendant Nemesis of pillage, destruction, and rapine; surely such anarchy, such depravity should be sufficient to prove the beneficent results that followed the ambient light of Christianity as it dawned upon these lands of demoniacal supremacy.

If we except the few disciples of Pythagoras, Plato, and Socrates, whose lives were a psychical struggle, a dumb cry for some high logos that might transport them beyond the prevailing sensuousness which surrounded them, beyond these we

find the most gifted statesmen, the bravest soldiers utterly devoid of balance, and sunk in the lowest superstitions. Totally ignoring the God-gift of their own reason and intelligence, they had recourse to the senseless auguries that were deduced from the entrails of a dumb brute, or uttered from the cavernous depths of some mysterious Dodona grove. At the period when Constantine ascended the throne of the Cæsars, Greece and Rome had declined into a barbarous despotism; the virility of the nation was dead, and the people had sunk into utter demoralization. It was at this juncture that the shadow of the Cross illumined the land, and penetrated the hearts of the lowly and abject. The tolerance subsequently accorded to the new sect Gibbon attributes to the emperor's appreciation of their superior purity of life, their obedience under subordination, and their heroic self-abnegation under oppression and insult. He hoped that the example of the Christians would serve to reform the base habits and degrading pastimes of the masses, and aid him thereby to establish his empire upon a firmer and safer basis. The revivifying effect of religion was as marvellous as it was overpowering.

of those troops who had knelt and fought under the folds of the sacred labarum of his uncle Constantine. This brief résumé conclusively shows that whatever argument may be urged as to the failure of those governments whose polity has been formed under the auspices of Christian attri`butes, they have been proved to be infinitely more exalted, more stable, and more humane than their Pagan prototypes. Of course this view of the subject dates from the era of general civilization, and is not designed to include that barbaric period which kept Europe in a state of anarchical convulsion by the invasion of the Hun, Goth, and Vandal hordes. True, it may be urged that Christian governments, subsequent to that remote era, have likewise proved degenerate; have emulated the vices and perpetrated the cruelties of their Pagan predecessors. They too have been exalted under the magnificence of a wide expanse of prosperity, which seemed limitless in resources until the inevitable outgoing tide warned them of approaching decay.

Even the emperors who persecuted so ruthlessly the new sect were forced to admit the elevated morality, the patient submission, and superior intelligence with which the followers of the strange faith seemed suddenly endowed. That anomalous character, the apostate Julian, even after throwing off the mask of Christianity (which he had only worn for the sake of policy), and returned to the worship and sacrifices of the Pagan deities, was frequently compelled to express his admiration of the sublime virtues that were practiced by the followers of the despised "Galilean." He soon likewise learned, when the aggrandizement of his empire concerned him most, that he could never count upon the venality

But unlike their great prototypes, utter ruin and destruction have never overtaken or consumed those nations who base their claim upon the protective and guiding power of a Supreme Ruler. Their decadence has been more in material resources, arising from adverse circumstances, rather than in the decay of that vital spirit which will ever defy annihilation.

Neither Spain, Italy or France possess now the force or integral greatness that distinguished them as paramount among nations two hundred years ago. Yet they are still powers respected and revered, and forever removed from that abysmal darkness that must inevitably settle upon a people that lives in defiance of all religious beliefs and restraints.

A spirit that inspires a nation with ambition for advancement, in those paths that will secure the stability of a wise government, and the elevation of her people to a lofty standard in

religion and intellectual acquirements, will undoubtedly realize a rich fruition. But when the race for supremacy assumes the one idea of progress, of liberty, as now with the present ages and our own people, then may we tremble for the result. In this, as in all else, there are degrees. Progress may lead by a tedious, thorny pathway to heaven, or it may carry us, with one fell swoop, as it did Lucifer, down to hell. We are blind to the guiding star in the East that points to the safer though more circuitous way, but like a frenzied steed we rush furiously on, our only aim being to reach the coveted goal, regardless of the beautiful wayside flowers that are ruthlessly crushed in the passing. The Jeffersonian theory, that error should be promulgated by the side of truth, has been adopted as a safe rule. Undoubt edly a great weight may rest securely upon the might of truth, but it should also be remembered that evil wields even a more prolific power, for the taint of original sin is ever combating for the mastery; the angel and the demon wrestling to the end of time. If the utilitarian, practical, and prosaic form the constituent elements of progress, if mechanical skill, intellectual activity, and scientific research constitute the basis upon which the future immortality of a nation's renown must rest, then indeed may we lay claim to a share of the victor's prize. In their proper sphere and application this form of progress is advisable, but when the material absorbs or ignores the spiritual, when the intellectual claims a right to analyze even the dread majesty of the Almighty, then we may well tremble for the future of such a people. In religious, social, and political evils there is a contagion as insidious and manifest as in disease. The malaria is in the moral atmosphere, and though for a time there may be no visible symptom of positive danger, yet all, more or less, come under the influence of the taint.

If there were not abundant proofs of this law in the history of fallen dynasties, the present political demoralization, the cancerous isms, the golden calf worship of the day, with its accompanying extravagancies, and disregard of the very first principles of honesty (that would shame a savage tribe), are enormities that furnish proof enough of our moral and political retrogression. The security of a nation's grandeur lies not so much in its intellectual advancement as in the purity and exaltation of its social life. If policy and expediency, wealth, territory, or bravery and success in war are to be the standard of renown, the glory will be as ephemeral and evanescent as the trail of a meteor across the sky. Yet it is this very greed of power and wealth, this Laocoon, that is steadily advancing upon us, while every sign of the safe road, every quality of home life and heart culture are being insidiously wound and strangled in the fatal, poisonous coil. Onward, onward, is now the countersign, no matter what treasures of faith and love are crushed in the march. Yet falling back and taking to heart some of the lessons of the past might yield both aid and profit. We sneer at the dark ages, when, alas! the darkness is deeper with us in many things than with our feudal ancestors.

If progress in warfare consists in the numbers of human beings that can be hurled into eternity at one fell blow, or be spared to drag out a life that excites the pity of angels and of men, then indeed may we claim superiority over those steelclad warriors of the Crusades, who deemed a single hand-to-hand combat the greater honor. Persistent and violent as was the warfare of the feudal day, yet under the cuirass of those historic knights beat hearts that could be moved both by the ordinances of religion and humanity. The "Truce of God"* once proclaimed, the uplifted arm fell power

See Balmes.