much for the unity of the Church. Practically it is found that the doctrines which are preached by the Church in three thousand of the parishes of this country, are contradicted by the doctrines preached in the other eight. But is it not important that the ministry should be independent of the changes of fickleness of the popular mind? and if so, where can you secure that independence but in the Church? Doubtless it is important; but the Church has never secured it. Of all classes of men, an endowed priesthood has ever been the most truculent and submissive, not to Christians, in which case their submission might have done less harm, but to the ruling power, whether the people or the aristocracy. An endowed ministry independent ! Why both Whately and "Guizot have shown, the one in his Essays on Romanism, the other in his History of Civilization, that the corruptions of Popery were owing mainly to the power of the people over the creed and practices of the church ; and even the Bishop of London allows that the English Establishment can stand only so long and only in such a form as the opinions of the people of England allow. Popular sanction is the very breath of its nostrils, and yet men talk of the independency of the Church.

But has not the Church educated the people? Regarding it as a scheme of instruction, as Paley did, you must allow it has been eminently successful. Eminently successful! Why it has proved, as every one knows, a signal failure. The best educated of the three kingdoms is Scotland, where the Establishment is poorest ; the second in point of education is Ireland, where the children of the poor are dependent mainly on voluntary instruction; the least educated is England, where the Establishment is wealthiest. Incomparably greater than in any of them is the prevalence of education in the American States, where there is no ecclesiastical establishment at all.

On the influence of this system on the activity of Christians, the following remarks are lamentably consistent with facts.

· The principle of the machinery of an establishment is to provide everything for the people. Under it they are recipients, never agents. Creed, ritual, and teachers, and the money that feeds and moves all, are supplied by the providence of one age to all succeeding ages, who find themselves placed under a system which more jealous of their supineness than confiding in their virtuous energy, guards against the ill effects of the former by means that are suppressive of the latter.

Its doctrines and ritual being decreed by parliament, its whole framework upheld by means of art and compulsion, its official men of all classes chosen, deposed, shifted, and girded by an authority above their influence, they feel themselves to resemble spectators and listeners in a theatre where the display being gratuitous, the performers are at liberty to despise both the censure and applause of their audience. If upon them has descended any of the religious fervour, which ani. mating their ancestors, employed itself in the creation of an establishment, they look round and search in vain for it within that institution. There every thing is supplied - every thing fixed-to innovate is for. bidden-to add is discouraged. Confining the people to the mere hearing of doctrines and precepts unfolded, and requiring of them no outward services beyond the observance of a few forms, it gives little exercise to the intellect and less to their active faculties, or rather it throws them both into inaction and repose.'—pp. 153, 154.

This passage serves to illustrate what Southey in his Colloquies calls in his secular language, an imperfection of the Establishment, in having no channel open for enthusiasm.' It is essentially a system of repose. It illustrates, too, the well-known expression of Robert Hall, that “endowments are a curse,' soothing down into indifference, the moral and religious energies of the people that possess them. One of the worst uses to which property can be devoted, is to leave it for the perpetual maintenance of the favorite worship of its owner. Such endowments differ no doubt very materially from the endowments of the state, as they involve neither injustice nor persecution, but still they inflict all their practical evils. They are impious attempts to immortalize the divisions and listlessness of the Church. How much better would it be for wealthy and liberal Christians to be, queath their spirit, by extending the present labors of the missionary institutions, aná thus making it incumbent upon posterity to maintain them!

Of the effects of establishments on the political institutions of a country history abounds with illustrations. They have favored alternately tyranny and rebellion, as the ruling power admitted or rejected their usurped claims; and their tendency is to promote them both. Founded on injustice, a regular course of injustice is essential to their continuance. Tyranny is one result on the part of the government; rebellion another on the part of the people. · The natural results,' to adopt the language of our author, in both ways have been fully developed in our own day; the public councils are perplexed, and the public safety endan

gered by differences among religious men, who under a wiser • policy would have been living in peace.'

One word in conclusion on the expectations and wishes of Dissenters. It is imagined by some that their hostile feelings • towards an establishment are not unappeasable. Tracing it in

part to a remembrance of cruelties suffered by their ancestors, and partly to the sense of present wrongs, arising from an incomplete system of toleration, they expect that it will subside through time, and that when all the inconveniencies' of a state

of dissent are as far as possible removed, Dissenters themselves • will acquiesce in the propriety of an established religion.'

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Utterly visionary are all such imaginings. Dissenters object neither to the abuses of state-churches, nor to their creeds, nor to the amount of their revenues, nor to their forms, but to the principle of them-a principle that maintains the right of one man to impose his faith upon the conscience of another, or to compel him to support it. 'They demand perfect religious equality that is, civil equality independent of their religious faith, and they will be contented with nothing less.

Art. VI. A Summer in Andalucia.


2 vols. 8vo. London : Bentley.

WE have read the volumes before us with much pleasure ; and

in proof of our assertion, shall devote a few pages of our invaluable space to the author's memorials of an interesting expedition. It was our first intention to dismiss them with a cursory notice-commendatory of course for which we should have earned small thanks from the writer, whoever he may be; and not conferred any other favor on the gentle reader than that which he must always attach to our sententious lucubrations. We should have given the author the benefit of a curt, grave, and dogmatic note of approbation. Nor would that note of approbation have been altogether palateable to the tourist-short it might have been but not altogether sweet. We should have felt it to be our duty, in the exercise of the stern prerogative wherewith the common consent of all intelligent persons hath invested us, to administer a slight reproof to the anonymous author, on account of his keeping the public so long out of this account of his trip; and we bring this charge against him now, lest we should forget it. Perhaps he may deem the remark rather complimentary than otherwise ; but we shall quickly disabuse our Andalucian Anastasius, when we maintain, in the first place, that all our remarks are complimentary-surely he will not deny that any

notice' of him, or his works, must be so—and when, in the second place, we protest on principle, against trip-takers and memorandizers in strange lands, keeping their rough notes by them for so many years, it is to be hoped he will see we are in earnest. Any one must at once admit the force of our objection. He undertakes a short and merry excursion to‘lovely Spain ! * renowned, romantic land,' in the year of grace 1836, and not till the year 1839, does he send forth his Summer in Andalucia.' The necessary consequence has been, that we have a large book, but we pledge our word as critics, it is none the better for that. Instead of a gossiping trifle of two or three hundred pages, we have not merely what Cowper called 'a serious affair,' a volume ; but two volumes of 400 pages each. The rough notes, which were by no means few, and must have been fresh, he has been all this time spoiling, and we have been kept out of the work too. It must be either a very good, or a very bad book, of trips, that will bear such tinkering and touching up. Incidents, which ought to strike the mind of the reader as vividly as if they befel himself

, fade into digressions,-facts which ought to stare one in the face, as you sit, stand, ride, walk, go out, or come in, meander into reflections,—bright feelings, strong emotions, that come and go, and stir the heart for a moment, and then give way to the rout or routine course of adventure, extended into paragraphs of apostrophes, elaborated into sentimentality, and buried in fine writing; and to crown all, we are probably favored with afterthought essays, thrust in head and shoulders, political, physiological, geological, historical, and prophetical! We need not enlarge on other grounds of objection—but a very obvious one is, that it is impossible to say how far a procrastinatory author of this description may be indebted to others. This triennial mode of travelling and printing is a lamentable temptation to plagiary. We need not say we believe the author before us incapable of such an enormity. His style is evidently his own; all about his book is evidently his own; and very few indeed will be inclined to molest his claim to originality. It is the style of a man to whom a pen is probably less familiar than a pencil or a brush—but after all it is downright, earnest, and his own. Delays, however, are always dangerous; but fearfully so to travellers. Poets may keep their pieces by them for years-nay they should; because the more they work the mine of imagination within them, the brighter the products of invention; but trip-takers bewaretell the story while it is fresh, lest you really tell a story ; let the 'notes' be rough, so that they be sterling, lest like some other notes' that poor authors burn their fingers with occasionally, they become over-due, and run no small risk of being, in the language of Change Alley, dishonored, and noted as such also, by the

delicate hands of the common-notary. With all the gravity of our office do we, therefore, protest against this respectable author's flagrant innovation upon the immemorial custom of his superficial fraternity.

Having thus performed a duty which we owed to our critical selves, we gladlý proceed to discharge a more grateful one to the author, by inviting our readers to join us in this summer excursion; those who are otherwise engaged, or who choose other company, or who are so completely attached to their “where

abouts,' by the excessive development of the bump of inhabitiveness, as to prefer a summer where they are—to a summer any where else, we must take unceremonious but hearty leave of, -being advocates of the voluntary principle' in all things, and abominating the most distant idea of scouring our pages like a press-gang. Advertising, therefore, for cheerful travelling companions, for a trip, viâ Lisbon, to Cadiz, Seville, Cordova, (and if possible to,) Grenada, Malaga, Ronda, and Gibraltar, we will set out forthwith, wishing with our excellent guide and cicerone for the translative power of Don Quixote's supernatural agents, 4 who are beings of travel, and make whoever they will, travel with them, without tiring.' Dropping all further preface or ceremony, let us accompany our author, whom we shall solicit to tell his own story so far as we can, and certain we are no one could tell it better; throughout our brief notice this must be borne in mind, even when we do not indicate a quotation. Our traveller, being a lover of Spain,

hails with rapture the first view of her dim mountains from the Bay of Biscay. Doubling Cape Finisterre, and passing Vigo in the night, they enter the Douro, when about the distance of three miles from its mouth, Oporto comes into view, with the towers of its churches and convents rising from the midst of groves, or crowning the cliffs. On casting anchor the deck was immediately covered with watermen, who fought for the honor of taking them on shore. They rowed standing, in the fashion of the Venetian gondolieri, with an oar fixed at either extremity of the boat. The Lisbon steamer not departing for a few hours, we may take a hurried glance at this interesting city.

O Porto—the Port—as it is called by the natives, is built on several hills, so that scarcely a street preserves its level. But it is this which imparts so much picturesque beauty to the city, as it affords bird's-eye views over hollows filled with roofs and towers, mingled with foliage, to opposite heights, crowned by fantastic spires, with here and there a peep of the azure ocean, the rockbound river, or the rich and sunny country inland, with ranges of lofty grey mountains in the horizon. Some of the streets are broad and handsome, but in general they are narrow, tortuous, steep, rugged, and filthy, though in this last particular it cannot rival those of the capital.

Our Protestant tourist soon found he was in the land of superstition. On the walls of the only church which he visited, he found suspended numerous rude representations in wax, of arms, legs, and heads—thanksgiving offerings to the Virgin or saints, for the recovery of the corresponding members from disease,-together with many small pictures representing miracles, visions, or supernatural communications. The Convent do Serra would have well repaid a more lengthened visit, for the sake of the prospects which it commands. The upper and middle classes of citizens dress in the English fashion; the lower orders only retaining

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