PART III.

VOICES OF HOPE AND WARNING.

“The barrier flood Was like a lake, or river bright and fair, A span of waters: yet what power was there, What mightiness for evil and for good! Even so doth God protect us, if we be Virtuous and wise.”

WORDSWORTH.

THE invitation we have given to the world, to send its treasures to enrich and bedeck our Crystal Palace, and its tribes to visit us, for the sake not only of inspecting that great emporium but of witnessing our national conditions under its various aspects, implies a conscious greatness, on the part of our country, sufficient to warrant such a bold and unprecedented step. It would be presumptuous and idle for an inferior state to ask her potent neighbours thus to honour her, and no such state would venture on the experiment. Indeed, the resources necessary for carrying out so formidable an enterprise could not be at its command. Great Britain, while she assumes by her present conduct a high standing in the rank of nations, can with perfect ease justify herself in this respect.

Though the mother isle be a tiny speck on the map of the globe, her colonial dependencies extend over the most remote latitudes. Her entire territory embraces an area of eight millions of square miles, exceeding that of Russia by at least one million. It is double the size of the continent of Europe, and out of every six acres of dry land upon the planet it claims one. Two hundred and forty millions of subjects bow to the sceptre of Queen Victoria, the largest united population in existence, next to China. Including the whole empire, a fifth of the human family are subject to her sway. Of this multitude, two hundred millions dwell in India; so that, if that country only remained under British rule, her Majesty could say to the potentates of Europe, “I am equal to you all; for, taking all the men on the surface of the globe, one at least out of every six owns me as supreme.” {54} In the amount of its revenue, the wealth of its commerce, the activity and productiveness of its manufactures, the intersection of its country by roads, canals, and railways, the cheapness and rapid communication of its postal system, and the number of ships which crowd its ports, England knows no equal. Other elements of greatness which cannot be reduced to statistic calculation are to be added to these, such as our government, institutions, laws, liberties and literature.

Dwelling upon the fact of our national greatness, so obviously suggested to us by what is now taking place, we very naturally pause for a moment to inquire into the causes of this distinction. It is to be expected that a combination of many influences and agencies will be found to have contributed to the result. That it is really so the facts of our history abundantly prove. The present state of Great Britain is, in the first place, to be ascribed in no small degree to the peculiar character of the races of whose offspring our population is in the main composed. The thriving myriads who people the cities, till the fields, man the vessels, and constitute or rule the colonies of our country, are descendants of robust and vigorous Teutonic tribes. Saxon, Danish, and Norman were all allied, and possessed a general resemblance in point of physical and intellectual qualities, connected with specific differences, the blending of which, by the intermingling of these families, could not fail to produce very decided effects upon the character of their posterity. The influence of the peculiarities inherent in the natural constitution of different races, once almost entirely overlooked by historians, and now liable to be exaggerated by writers of a certain school, has stamped the impress of its reality and power with conspicuous breadth and vividness upon modern civilization in the contrast which exists between the people of Teutonic and Celtic origin. Our condition, in the next place, is to be attributed to the physical peculiarities of our native land—to our climate, which cannot have failed to affect not only our natural temperament and health, but to some degree our mental phenomena, and to a greater degree our social habits,—to the configuration, soil, and geological strata of our beautiful island: its scenery giving a certain cast and hue to the colouring of our imagination: its rich lands making us an agricultural community: its metallic and coal mines inviting us to task our manufacturing skill: and its vast range of coast-line, with its facilities for the erection of ports and the construction of harbours, impelling us to engage in maritime enterprise. Our condition is further to be ascribed to our insular position, which has led us to seek the empire of the seas, and often preserved us from being ravaged by invaders; while it has given a stimulus to our commerce, with its peaceful and humanizing tendencies. It is also to be traced to forms of government and modes of society which prevailed during the mediæval age, themselves springing from earlier political and social influences that flowed from Roman and German springs. It is as true of nations as of individuals, that the child is father to the man; and old England—the England which is—must have had its destiny in no small measure shaped by young England—the England which has been. From Roman law and usage, Saxon witenagemotes and courts of justice, Norman baronial assemblies and tribunals, and the welding or fusion of them together, so as to produce in some cases a mutual interpenetration,—from these has arisen our peculiar kind of government, political and legal; which, with all its faults, whether in principle or administration, is an agency to which under Divine providence we owe no small degree of our stability and power. The feudal training of a partly Saxon population, through so long a portion of the middle ages, is a fact of great importance in our history, and of potent bearing on us even at the present hour; and it may be worth while to notice that the modern European empires which were bred in the feudal school—England, France, and Germany—take decided precedence of the states to the north and south, which grew up undisciplined by that rude but effective process of education. Our condition has been further influenced most powerfully by the history of the last four hundred years. By the wars of the Roses, which weakened the aristocracy and strengthened the throne, by the political bearing of the Reformation, the rise and progress of the puritan party in the state, the Civil War, and the Commonwealth under Cromwell, all of which developed popular power, and for a while trampled in the dust both crown and coronet. To all this must be added the Revolution of 1688, which adjusted the relation of the three estates of the realm, so as to secure ever since a tolerable degree of harmony in the mutual working of principles and interests, commonly deemed antagonistic. Past changes are the secret of our present stability; the intestine wars of bygone centuries, which shock us as we read their story, were really the harbingers of the national peace, order, and security on which we recently congratulated ourselves when wild revolutionary hurricanes swept over the thrones and institutions of Europe. Continental states, later in their hour of trial than ourselves, have probably to go through somewhat similar eras of struggle yet, before they can win the order and repose which we have received from the veteran champions of English freedom, during the long fight of the seventeenth century. And, to sum up many other influences in one sentence—our national position and character are to be connected with the study and experience of our venerated forefathers—with their knowledge and wisdom, acquired from what they read in the history of older nations, and what they saw of modern ones—with their genius and practical sagacity, the books they wrote, and the deeds they did—with the inventions of art, and the discoveries of science, and the collision of sentiments, opinions, and principles which have from time to time been freely expressed and canvassed. But the most powerful agency remains to be noticed. Above all, our national greatness is the result of Christianity, which has long had a strong hold upon the hearts of multitudes, and which has indirectly exercised a most beneficial influence on others who have had little regard for its doctrinal principles. The sternness of those German tribes from whom we have sprung was not to be subdued; and those better qualities, which mark us as a people, were not to be produced by any power less than the divine power of the Gospel. Christianity, during the middle ages, even under the disadvantage of working through a corrupt church, was the main stay of social order, and wrought out beautiful results in individual character. In its reformed developments it has mainly contributed to the best and most valued of our social improvements. Our noblest heroes have been inspired by its celestial spirit; our most precious institutions have felt the shapening touch of its divine hand; the best portions of our literature reflect the refulgence of its light. And what there may be of virtue, integrity, honour, benevolence, and piety in our land, is the offspring of the heaven-sent truth written in the Bible. It is not Christianity alone, we grant, which makes us what we are; but, without Christianity, it is utterly impossible to imagine that our civilization should have attained its present zenith. In connexion with the working of those marvels of our time—electric telegraphs—it has been found that when a piece of paper has been dipped in a certain chemical solution, a stream of electricity passed over it will imprint the paper with beautiful tints and dyes. So, we may say, that if the other events and influences we have enumerated have been like the chemical solution to the paper, preparing our country for some high destiny, the introduction of the gospel, and its continuance among us, has been like the electric stream passing over the nation, covering it with the fair and beautiful colours which render it the admiration of the world. Nor should the early period of the introduction and establishment of Christianity amongst us be overlooked; for, if it had been delayed to a later period, it is obvious that the circumstance must have proved exceedingly detrimental to our infant civilization. That early introduction and establishment we are apt to regard as a matter of course, though there was no anterior improbability, in the first centuries of the Christian era, of the religious fate of Great Britain being otherwise than that of Eastern empires. Our Island might have attained a stereotyped condition, as India and China have done, and neither received nor craved the Great Gift of God. Then must our civilization however have been correspondingly poor, imperfect, and weak. The arrival of Christianity in this western corner of the world, some seventeen hundred years ago or more, to instruct us in divine truth, and as a loving nurse to foster and cherish our nascent civilization, then exposed in these rough seas like an infant in an “ark of bulrushes,” was the result of a mission from Him, who is sovereign in all his ways, and who chose us for his high purposes; not because we were “more in number than any people, for we were the fewest of all people, but because the Lord loved us.”

After reviewing the character and causes of our civilization, it is natural to inquire what will be its coming destiny. However some may idly talk, our civilization is far from being necessarily progressive. The history of the great powers of the ancient world reads us admonitory lessons. It is very affecting, after we have mused on Rome in her palmy pride, and fancied we saw one of her great triumphal processions on its way to the Capitol, so expressive of the warlike genius of the republic, sweeping in a tide of living grandeur through the forum, so rich in architectural splendour, to turn to a sentence like this in Eustace’s Tour:—“The glories of the forum are now fled for ever: its temples are fallen: its sanctuaries have crumbled into dust: its colonnades encumber its pavements, now buried under its remains. A herdsman seated on a pedestal, while his oxen were drinking at the fountain, and a few passengers moving at a distance in different directions, were the only living beings that disturbed the solitude and silence that reigned around.” Equally affecting is it when pondering the story of Athens, once the fairest city of the earth, with her statues and temples and memorial tombs—her orators, philosophers, and poets—the very home of artistic beauty and intellectual refinement,—to hear a traveller remark, as he describes the present state of the once unrivalled Areopagus: “Let us wade through the crisp and bearded barley to the Bema, whence Demosthenes was wont to thunder,”—and to think that where the murmur of his vast audience was once heard no sound is awakened now but the rustling of the ears of corn under the passing wind. Nor less affecting is it to read in the old Hebrew prophet, the son of Buzi,—who saw visions of God by the river Chebar,—the tale of the glory and the doom of Tyre; to see her “situate at the entry of the sea,” when the builders have perfected her beauty, and all her “ship boards” are of “fir trees”—with “cedars from Lebanon” for “masts,”—and “the oaks of Bashan” for “oars”—and “ivory brought out of the Isles of Chittim” for “benches,”—and “fine linen with bordered work from Egypt for sails,”—and “the inhabitants of Zidon and Arrad” for “mariners,”—and they of Persia and Lud and Phut and Arrad are in her army men of war, who “hang their shields upon the wall;” and the merchants “trade in her fairs” “in all sorts of things;”—and she is “replenished and made very glorious in the midst of the seas,” and her “wisdom and her understanding have got her riches and gold and silver,” and “every precious stone is her covering,” and “the princes of the sea” sit on their thrones and wear their “broidered garments,”—and then to read her doom fulfilled to the letter: “Behold I am against thee, O Tyrus, and will cause many nations to come up against thee, as the sea causeth his waves to come up, and they shall destroy the walls of Tyrus, and break down her towers; I will also scrape her dust from her, and make her like the top of a rock; it shall be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of the sea.”

To minds of imagination and sensibility, more sombre than sanguine, it is not surprising that with these facts in remembrance the future decline of this great empire should seem probable; and perhaps by such minds a picture of its mother city in some coming age is painted so as to resemble her precursors in the path of grandeur and decay:—And here and there stand a broken arch of one of her bridges, the waters idly rolling on, no richly freighted ships upon their bosom any longer; and yonder are her once proud senate halls, a mouldering heap covered with wild flowers, a solitude like the Roman Coliseum; and around the spot where now the miracle of modern art is crowded by the people of all lands, there stretches a solitary wilderness where the traveller rambles amidst tangled grass and brushwood, and sits down and muses in some quiet dell, left by the dried-up lake of the Serpentine, and haunted by memories of the fall of London. Calm and intelligent reflection however suggests that there is far less of probability than poetry in such anticipations.

England is not like ancient Italy—London is not the antitype of Rome. On this account, in the first place, that the whole world has changed, and especially the condition of the western nations in reference to each other, since that memorable night when the trumpet of the Goth was heard at the Salarian gate, and armed hosts came rushing along the broad highway, and the soldier flung his brand in the house of Sallust, and the shrieks of maidens and matrons mingled with martial shouts, and the senators saw the old tragedy under the Gauls repeated—Rome surprised and taken. An empire hemmed all around by fierce warlike tribes might be so broken down; but, in the modern world, where are the Goths and Huns and Vandals to be found? And, even if they did exist, the insular position of Great Britain, and her maritime defences, would preserve her from the kind of invasion which prostrated in the dust the old mistress of the world. Only a great civilized power, having large means of transport at its command, could invade our shores. To succeed, it must be a nation eminent for skill and science, as well as for other resources, considering the ample means of defence which, by aid of electric telegraphs, steam, and railways, the government of our country could at the shortest notice bring to bear on the spot endangered by assailants.

The contrast between Athens and England, as it regards their dangers, is suggested in a remarkable passage of Xenophon. He remarks that—“Athens rules the sea; but as the country of Attica is joined to the continent, it is ravaged by enemies, while the Athenians are engaged in distant expeditions. If the Athenians inhabited an island, and besides this enjoyed the empire of the seas, they would, as long as they were possessed of these advantages, be able to annoy others and at the same time be out of all danger of being annoyed.”

The benefit of an insular position, which Athens did not command, is possessed by England; and, as Montesquieu observes, “We might imagine that the Greek historian and philosopher was speaking of our own country.” Athens was finally crushed by the Turks; but whatever apprehension there once was of the invasion of the West by Mohammedan arms, no such apprehension can ever be felt again; and if any likeness be traced between the old Turkish and the present Russian Empire, the latter threatens the East rather than Europe, and an invasion of England by an army that must march through the German States, or by an armament sailing from the Baltic ports, is among the wildest dreams of fear. Then, going back to the fall of Tyre, under the desolating hand of a Nebuchadnezzar and Alexander, peril like hers, in reference to ourselves, seems next to impossible; for the days of such conquerors are gone by for ever. Even the career of Napoleon was not the counterpart of them, nor could be in the modern state of the world, with its large community of civilized, powerful, and independent nations.

The danger of our country, then, is not from the invader; what we have to apprehend in the future is discoverable in another quarter. There are two obvious possibilities which demand our attention: _first_, England may be out-rivalled. The youthful vigour of America, her art and enterprize, her intelligence, her ardent patriotism, her vast and ever-swelling territory and population, already afford some bold and distinct indications of her future rapid advance—the son promising to surpass the sire. France and Germany, too, are full of latent resources, and of that strong spirit which only needs wisdom to guide it in order to their unprecedented enrichment. And who can tell what Russia will be, when thoroughly civilized? Looking to the universal colonial dependencies of England, which alone can give her territorial importance—for her insular position prevents her from incorporating foreign domains as integral parts of her own country—one can see the possibility of great changes in the East: and then looking to our colonies properly so called, who can deny the likelihood of their throwing off the leading-strings some day, not we hope without filial love for their mother state, to march in their own strength erect along the paths of their high destiny? And in Australasia, especially, there may spring up a new England formed in the providence of God to vie with and outstrip old England. There is a _second_ possibility, from the thought of which we shrink. Looking, on the one hand, at the amount of immorality and irreligion which already obtains amongst us, and at sins for which, on account of general concurrence in them, the nation at large may be held guilty, we have ground of alarm. But, on the other hand, when we take into account the extent of Christian virtue, piety, and benevolence to be found in our land, we recognise grounds of hope. Now it cannot be denied that the latter instead of overcoming the former _may_ leave it to prevail and triumph, and may itself decline. A far deeper depravation of public morals than we have mentioned may occur. So much of national truth and honour as is happily preserved may be sacrificed to a base expediency. Instances of commercial integrity may become rare. Domestic life and manners may lose their present purity. Infidelity and superstition may divide almost all hearts between them. Then is the doom of the country sealed. Mortals are short-sighted as to the relative position of the different states of the world in coming times, the forecastings of the political philosopher are in many instances disappointed, and the prudential measures of the wisest statesmen often fail; but this is sure, that sooner or later a nation will fall from the throne of her greatness, when she deserts the paths of virtue and forsakes the counsels of God. The sins of a people, if not repented of, are certain ultimately to bring down upon them Divine judgments. Nor should it be forgotten, that such ascendency as ours has its special temptations. Plato, in his republic, guards against choosing for his ideal commonwealth “such a site as by its proximity to the sea, and other advantages for merchandise, navigation, and naval warfare, would be liable to render the citizens too wealthy and overbearing, and faithless in war and peace.” Commerce will be the mother of national virtues when she is joined in wedlock with religion, otherwise she may be fruitful in an abundant progeny of vice and crime.

Our danger, then, is internal rather than external. And the same may be said of old Rome, for had she been faithful and virtuous she had never fallen under the barbarians’ sword. It was also true of Greece. And as to Tyre, we are told on the highest authority, “By the multitude of thy merchandise they have filled the midst of thee with violence, and thou hast sinned: therefore will I cast thee as profane out of the mountain of God, and will destroy thee, O covering cherub, from the midst of the stones of fire.” We are convinced that only vice and impiety can ruin us, that only virtue and religion will prove our invincible safeguards. Should such a general state of depravity arise as that described by the prophet, when judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off, and truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter, though no army should land on our shores, and no foreign navy should touch our fleets, and wealth and luxury should flow on, the curse of Heaven would be on us, and our civilization would be corrupted to the core. But let the righteousness that exalteth a nation be ours, and then, however strong and numerous our enemies, however prosperous and superior our rivals, the arm of God would be our shield—though surpassed we should not be dishonoured: but the destiny of our Empire would still be onwards along the paths of moral civilization.

As Christianity has contributed so greatly to raise us in the scale of nations, so that alone can enable us to preserve our standing. Our religion is as dear to hope as to memory. The influence of the gospel will equally prove the preserver of the highest good amongst us, and the sure catholicon for the worst evils. Whatever plans may be devised to improve the physical and social condition of the people, the only remedy that can touch the moral disease in the individual man, (and that, after all, is the root of every social mischief) must be looked for in the truths of the Bible and the agency of the Holy Spirit. No dream can be more wild and visionary, more at variance with the ancient and modern story of mankind, than to suppose that any changes in the government or laws of a country will of themselves ensure the happiness and prosperity of a nation. Political revolutions the most fair and promising have often proved abortive. It is beyond all doubt a righteous duty to bring the framework and machinery of our social world as near to perfection as it is possible; wise organization is eminently subservient to a nation’s welfare: but our strongest and best hopes for the future security and advancement of the English commonwealth are firmly fixed on the personal regeneration of its members through the Divine power of the gospel of Christ. Earnest, indefatigable, patient, humble, holy endeavours for the application of that heavenly gift to the hearts of our countrymen are in the first rank of our social duties.

And looking for a moment away from home; taking in at one broad glance the moral and religious condition of the British empire, what awful and startling facts arrest our attention, full of irresistible appeals to Christian consciences. “Our queen rules over more Roman Catholics than the pope, over more Mohammedans than the Sublime Porte, and over more pagans than the whole continent of Africa. If we ask, ‘What is the religion of the British Empire?’ judging by numbers, the unhesitating reply must be, paganism. It contains more Mohammedans than Christians of both names, and more pagans than Mohammedans and Christians together.” These facts are indeed voices of warning! What is to be expected, if English Christians do not vastly increase their missionary efforts in our world-wide dependencies, for whose moral and spiritual condition we must, from the circumstance of their dependency, be in a high degree responsible?

In connexion with strenuous efforts at home and in our colonial provinces, near or remote, for the diffusion of Christianity “pure and undefiled,” it is our solemn duty to abound in “supplication and intercessions.” We are sure that prayer did save Israel, and might have saved Sodom. Its influence, as revealed in the apocalyptic vision of John, is so great, that it is seen shaping the course of history. Great changes come—judgments, penal and purifying, among the rest—as the result of prayer:—“And I saw the seven angels who stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets. And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer: and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, which came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel’s hand. And the angel took the censer, and filled it with fire of the altar, and cast it into the earth: and there were voices, and thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake.” With that “door opened in heaven,” and the light from it falling on the page of our national annals, can we doubt that Christian prayer has had influence upon the destiny of our empire? Who shall unravel all the threads of influence, knitting up men’s hearts in courage and heroism, which proceeded out of days of prayer and fasting in Puritan times, and all the healing virtue brought down by it upon a wounded and bleeding country? And who can tell how much England, in her hour of need, when under James the Second the threatening clouds of papal despotism began to gather, was indebted for the scattering of the storm to the voice of prayer? And, since then, how many critical junctures have occurred, when results have been produced not to be adequately accounted for by any visible cause, and therefore indicating some other agency at work which worldly minds take no note of, but which the devout will recognise in the wrestlings of holy prayer! The throne of grace, under which our fathers took refuge in times of heavy trial must be our resort if we would preserve the religious privileges they have handed down to us, and defend and enlarge the vast heritage of national good which they bequeathed.