If we examine the influence of Christianity on several separate societies, we shall find that its operation is so various that we may assert that it is society which operates on the Christian principle and modifies it.

In England, once to be a pious man was to be an enthusiastic devotee of liberty. The battles of liberty were fought under the standard of the Cross, and the greatest saint was he who struck most fiercely in defence of his real or presumed rights. The text which sounds sweetest to English ears is, the truth shall make you free.Christianity is cherished among us as the hand-maid, protectress, and guardian of liberty. This is the Englishman's notion of religion. How is it with the Eastern countries? What has Christianity done for the political state of the Eastern Greeks and Armenians? Who so submissive as the Christians of the Turkish land? Would it not appear that while it elevates one race of men it has degraded an other? We know it may be said that a corrupt Christianity is not to be compared with the pure religion of enlightened Europe? But why should the religion of Europe be so pure? And has that purity saved even Protestant Europe from despotism? Was there ever a despot

it ever happened, but in Protestant Denmark, that the sovereign has been solemnly and irrevocably invested with absolute and irresponsible power? If England then, and Denmark now, do not present the melancholy picture of degredation characteristic of the Eastern Christian, it is owing, not to their religion, but to that innate spirit of race which may yield obedience to power, but cannot consent to abase

ment.

And how can it be shown that any particular admixture of error should so fatally vitiate religion and its effects? Alas, for humanity, were this so for grant that you may purge it from error of faith and of doctrine, you cannot purge it from the leaven of humanity, which will show itself even amid the most pure, and react upon the Christian, making him now a truculent Peters, now a cunning Penn, again a philosophical Williams, and again it invests him with the mild virtues of a Tillotson or a Fenelon.

The Christian religion is the greatest gift of God to man; and it is so excellent a thing that it is impossible for human devices or human arrogance to impair its value. One church may load it with extraneous forms, another may strip it to almost shameful nudity; none can hide its great, its important, and its only lesson, that it is the voice of God reconciling a lost world to himself; and under whatever garb human frailty, human arrogance, or human vanity may disguise it, they cannot hinder her from the peformance of her holy work of mercy.

One feature peculiar to Christian societies, separates them widely from those of ancient paganism. The poor, the helpless, and the miserable, are here provided for, and

when voluntary associated energy is insufficient, the law steps in and compels the unwilling to be charitable. This is a wide difference, all must admit; but it is remarkable that charity, and especially legal charity, is not without its opponents among the thinkers, even of the benevolent class of the present

age.

It cannot be denied, too, that the spirit of Christianity has spread beyond the limits of those who have embraced its vital principles; but they err who attribute to Christianity every virtue which is implanted in the human breast. Nature gives us the virtue, Christianity sanctifies it and makes it grace. Among a purely Turkish population, locks and bolts are unnecessary to the security of property. It is only the presence of a Christian population that requires those necessary appendages of civilization. It may appear paradoxical, but it is not the less true, that the highest results of civilization are attained in countries in which a very large portion of its population are necessarily excluded from its benefits. Not that these are savages, or even barbarous, but that they occupy a position so far below the others, that the difference between them is almost infinite. We do not know that humanity has ever received such a perfect development as was exhibited by the upper class of Roman citizens during the latter period of the Republic. That a man like Cæsar should be the first soldier in the state, should be also distinguished as a writer, a rhetorician, an orator, and a statesman, may be considered one of those extraordinary cases in which genius makes a law for itself, and tramples on the ordinary rules of nature. The genius of the soldier is closely allied with that of the statesman, and such men, if they

write at all, can only write with idiomatic purity. But the case of Cicero is a fit illustration. An orator, second only to Demosthenes, his eloquence is that of the scholar and the artist, not the thoughts that breathe and words that burn, which constitute the magic of the Athenian's eloquence; a philosopher, eminently practical, whose lessons are hardly less fascinating than those of Plato, and infinitely more useful as a guide to a happy life; a critic, not so subtle as Aristotle, but whose judgments betray the most profound study, and whose decisions receive the spontaneous assent of every scholar of feeling and of judgment; professional in nothing, but accomplished in everything, he appears to have laid the foundation of imperishable renown; but not content with the laurels of the scholar, he steps forward as a statesman, and in an age which tried men's souls, acquits himself with dignity and reputation; and to crown his fame, he closes his political life with a civil and military commission as a governor of a distant province, and but for the breaking out of the civil wars, would have been greeted, on his return home, with a triumph. And yet strange to tell, this man's nature was as feeble as a child's. Nature intended him for a scholar, training made him a statesman and a soldier. This, it may be said, is an extreme case, and so it is. But it is not the less apt as an illustration. His contemporaries did not consider his case an extraordinary one. They saw nothing incongruous in his several avocations. That the great warrior, Cæsar, should be also an excellent orator, appeared to them quite natural; it was not strange that the accomplished scholar, Cicero, should make an excellent soldier; and it must not be forgotten, that though Cicero tow

ered above his contemporaries, his was but the ordinary career of the Roman gentleman.

Two people of modern times seem to bear a strong resemblance to the Romans in this respect, the English nobleman and the Russian. However we may object in theory to an hereditary nobility, it cannot be denied that a very large portion of the glory of English history is to be found in the history of the English patrician families.

With the history of the Russians we are less familiarly acquainted, but when we consider the steady progress of that empire for the last century and a half, we must acknowledge that their nobility must be pre-eminent in virtue, intelligence, and ability. In England and Russia, we find the extremes of social life. By the side of the English patrician crouches the English pauper; the Russian boyar lords it over thousands of obedient slaves; so in ancient Rome, imagination can hardly fathom the immense interval which separated the patrician from the proletarian.

We have, on a former occasion, examined the effect of slavery. It may be observed in general, that since America has shaken off the yoke of European rule, the only two countries which have maintained a reputable position in the family of nations, are those which alone preserve that conservative institution. Anarchy or revolution is the lot of all the others. Washington, the noblest specimen of humanity which has ever adorned any age or any country, was a slave-holder, born and educated among slaves. It was the slaveholding portion of the confederacy which insisted on waging war with England for the maintenance of national honor; and it is the slaveholding portion which has

furnished, not only the largest number of presidents, but the greatest number of counsellors and statesmen who have moulded the infant state, and given it form and dignity.

If this portion of the country cannot vie in glory with England, it is owing to causes not beyond our control, but to causes which threaten our very existence. Calmness and repose are essential to sound training; but our destiny links us with a race to whom calmness and repose are impossible; and as they whirl about in the incessant strainings after wealth, they catch us in their gyrations, inoculate us with their frenzy, and with pygmy efforts we also endeavor to ape them in their frantic strides in progress. Hence a sense of provincialism oppresses us, and prevents us from seeing our true position in the world. Our children are unable to spend time in proper training, but are urged to join in the race and bend all their efforts to mar forever their own better destiny If this unholy union could be severed, if we could be left to ourselves, to work out our own destiny, we see no reason why we should not equal the moral greatness of any people in history. But as it is, we suffer the doom of provincial vassalage.

The first and greatest concern of man is eternity; the next is happiness. Happiness is eminently a social blessing; and however felicitous the condition of any man may appear, if others are injured. for his benefit, if others are deprived of a portion of their share that his prosperity may be unclouded, there is a spectre in his house which poisons all his bliss, and the time comes to all such when they feel that all is but vanity and vexation of spirit.

There are periods in the history

"And so you refused him?"
"Yes, mamma."
"Without one word of hope?"
"Not one."

"Harshly? rudely?"

"I trust not. Finally and positively, I certainly did."

"Anna! I can't forgive you." "My dear mamma, what have I done?"

"What have you done? Refused an excellent man; one whom any mother would be proud to see as her daughter's husband. Sent from the house the best friend I have-deprived us of our mainstay and support--insulted him— and-destroyed the great hope of my life!" The tears streamed from Mrs. Mansfield's eyes. She drew away her hand from her daughter's clasp, and tried to leave the room. Anna detained her.

"Dearest mother! you cannot be more grieved than I am. Mr. Gordon is a very worthy man-he has been a kind friend to us in adversity-he is, I believe, truly sincere in his love for me, and I regret very deeply that it should have brought us to this pass. I have not wounded him farther than I could help, I assure you. He will return to visit us in his usual way, after a while; indeed, I hope to see so little change in our intercourse, that I would have spared you the annoyance of knowing this, had he not expressly desired that I should tell you."

"Ah, he is a forgiving and generous creature; a true christian. Such a man as that to be so treated!"

Anna was silent.

"Anna," resumed her mother, with sudden energy, after a moment's pause, "do you love any one else? have you formed some absurd attachment which interferes with Mr. Gordon's undeniable claims to your affections?"

Miss Mansfield's noble and expressive face was calmly raised to her mother's heated and excited gaze.

"No, mamma," she simply answered.

"Then, why can't you marry Mr. Gordon, and make me happy?"

"Because," and Anna's voice was firm, decided and honest. "Because I do not love him, and to marry him would make me very unhappy."

"Selfish as ever!" ejaculated Mrs. Mansfield. "Will you tell me what you dislike in him?" she pursued.

"I did not say I disliked Mr. Gordon, mamma."

"What you don't like, then? Why you don't love him?"

Anna smiled faintly. "Dear mamma! is there not a great distance still between liking and being in love?"

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You are trifling with me most disrespectfully. Is it not enough that I should suffer this disappointment at your hands, and can you not spare me this beating about the bush? I wish a plain answer to a plain question. Is there anything about Mr. Gordon especially disagreeable to you? If so, what is it?"