wake the intellect to thought, and to touch the conscience into life, the reign of this power might have been expected; and there it is in its grossest forms and most disgusting aspects. But, lo! amidst civilized communities of men has it not a wide dominion? The luxurious in living, the gay in dress, the material in wealth, the animal in pleasure-where are these not coveted? where are they not sought? Sensualism is, verily, a mighty spirit amongst us. It plays a prominent part in the merchandize of the world. Art, in its highest forms, ministers to it: sculptor, painter, singer-the loftiest geniuses-stand waiting at its side, and move at its behest. It is the inspiration of theatres and the fascination of amusements. It is sung in taverns, and has its music in drawing-rooms. It is the chief element in the literature of the masses. It breathes in the ballad of the beggar, and is bound in the volume of the peer. It is the talk of the vulgar in the streets; it is the reading of refined ones in their quiet chamber, and, in the bright days of summer, on the beach. Will any keen observer of society pronounce this exaggeration, or hesitate to admit that it falls far beneath a full statement of the case?

III. There is also Scepticism. I do not mean mere intellectual scepticism. God knows, this is fearfully spreading amongst us. We have all classes of infidels; there is the anti-theist, who declares there is no God; there is the anti-biblist, who admits a God, but denies the divinity of the Bible; there is the antisupernaturalist, who admits the divinity of the Bible in the same sense as he admits the divinity of any other true book, but who denies to it any supernatural feature; and there is the anti-propitiationalist, who professes to believe in the supernaturalness of the Bible, but denies the great doctrine of atonement. Intellectual infidelity in these various forms is working busily in our midst. It has its clubs, its platforms, and its press. Philosophy and poetry, logic and eloquence, are pressed into its service. It has the tongue of the orator and the ear of the populace. But it is not of this scepticism that I speak. I refer to something deeper, broader, and mightier far -the spirit of which all intellectual infidelities are the effects and forms-the soil from which they spring. The scepticism of the heart and life, which no argument can meet, is the evil

demon which oppresses me. Does not this spirit possess men? Where is the faith of the heart? I see this spiritual scepticism everywhere; not merely in the manners of the millions who sail down your rivers, travel your railroads, saunter through your streets, crowd your taverns, and perambulate your parks on the holy day of God, but in your cathedrals, your churches, and your chapels, with heartless apathy repeating its beliefs, muttering its prayers, and singing its psalms. It haunts our temples, it kneels in pews, and speaks from altars. "Verily, when the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth."

IV. There is, finally, Superstition. The strongest native element in the soul is the religious. In the right development of this element is man's well-being-in its perversion is his ruin. When it is clouded with ignorance, and inspired with fear; when it bows at the shrine of a false deity, and worships through the intervention of priests; when it moves by blind impulse rather than by enlightened conviction, it becomes superstition : and superstition has ever been, and still is, a mighty spirit of evil in our world; it reigns with an undisputed sway over the vast domain of heathenisn, and is the empress of more than onehalf of professing Christendom.

THE LITTLE EXHIBITION.

THE late Robert Southey, in one of his pleasant gossiping letters, relates an anecdote of a modern writer who used to say, that he composed much finer poetry in his sleeping hours than when wide awake, till he was overheard one night reciting the most arrant nonsense. Be this as it may, our dreams appear very often to partake more of the sublime, and even of the truthful, than what we are accustomed to consider the sober realities of our waking experience. Whether they actually do so, may, perhaps, be another question, but, for my own part, I have sometimes such seemingly-instructive dreams, as to make me willing to risk public opinion upon the subject.

I had been placing the present political aspect of affairs, as regards our relations with the Continent, in contrast to the cheering auspices with which the last year opened. Everything was then in preparation for the Great Peace Congress in

Hyde Park. Nation vied with nation in contributing to that mart, all the artistic wonders their ingenuity and resources could supply, and an amicable gathering of all climes and creeds was gratefully looked forward to. How different matters seem to stand just now! Wars and rumours of wars herald in the year 1852. In Africa and India hostilities are raging, and the warspirit smoulders on our very shores. These thoughts naturally threw me back on the enquiry, "Whence come wars and fightings amongst you?" and led me to reflect on the many shapes in which this spirit of hostility shows itself. Looking at the principle in its exceeding breadth, and reflecting that he who hates only, is a murderer, I fancied I could see great cause for fearing an outbreak even amongst those very classes where the establishment of permanent and universal peace was continually advocated and enforced. I was wide awake when I thought this; and was carrying my scrutiny still farther into the great heart of philanthropic England, ranging amongst her many creeds and denominations, and sects and schisms, when I began to lose myself and drop off into a quiet doze.

As the power of sleep crept gradually over me, the little study where I was seated began to extend its dimensions, stretching away into dim perspective, till it terminated in a mere speck. Yet owing to a want of uniformity in the plan, the range of vision was so often and so unpleasantly broken, that I could not help contrasting it, much to its disadvantage, with the late Industrial Exhibition in Hyde Park. It wanted light, too, to such an extent, that feeling uncertain whether the defective view I obtained of it arose from my own imperfect sight, or the actual dimness of the place itself, I rubbed my eyes instinctively, and as I fear to an injurious extent, for I saw nothing for some time but little spots and stars of lightcoloured nimbi and aureoles, dancing about on what seemed to be a plane of palpable darkness. Quivering, shifting, dilating, contracting, floating hither and thither, these little discs and corruscations kept me amused for some time, till they seemed simultaneously to flow together and form a parti-colored mass of light, that descended softly as a snow-flake to my feet, and took gradually such a figure as that of Rembrandt's angels in his well-known painting of Jacob's dream. I have often thought

since how much better the artist, whose masterly picture passed before me in my sleep, has dreamed an angel, than any other master has imagined one awake. Melting gradually into the surrounding darkness, these spirits ministrant have no definite form-no hard, harsh outline-they are ethereal splendours moving silently athwart the gloom, and are not, like all other pictured angels, of the earth, earthy.

It was just so with my own visitant-for visitant it was. Alighting softly before me, in such a questionable shape, I yet seemed to know intuitively that it had sympathies akin to mine. I spoke, and it replied, though by what means I could not tell, since it appeared to possess none of the organs or bodily attributes of humanity. My first question, it will naturally be supposed, related to the vast building before me, which I soon learned had its origin in a hint taken from the Great Exhibition. It was reared, my informant told me, for a purpose somewhat similar though not equally comprehensive. Its contributions, various and singular as they were, were all supplied by one people, dwelling, as I understood, in a remote corner of the world known as the land of Noibla, and it went generally under the name of "The Museum of Religious Peculiarities;" though some ill-natured people called it "The Little Exhibition of the Bigotry of Noibla."

Under the guidance of my good genius, I passed along its grotesque corridors, which, as I have before said were in all styles of architecture, a result attributable, as my guide told me, to the employment of many architects. Before a single stake was driven, repeated bickerings arose upon this subject and it was ultimately arranged that the two principal tribes of the land-the Nemhcruhc and the Sretnessid, should nominate a chief builder, with power to employ as many under him as he thought fit. The work went on slowly, and threatened more than once to become a second Babel: but was at length completed, and contributions began to pour in.

Perhaps it may have been that my senses were not sufficiently wakeful, but I looked up and down the long arcades of heterogeneous materials composing this singular exhibition, without noticing anything very important. Some of the contributions indeed required a clearer light and keener sight than

I possessed, to see them at all. Yet in the Official Catalogue everything was described in superlatives; 'most interesting— most important—most oppressive—most vexatious—most intolerant,' being amongst the choicest epithets.

I sat down with my companion, and began soberly to discuss —what I was going to call—the merits of this Museum; but on more mature consideration, I really could not see that it had any. Sea and land, heaven and earth, appeared to have been compassed for the sake of finding out microscopic and even unreal forms and objects whose only recommendation was that they were unlike other forms and objects. Scholars and divines were walking about, busily engaged in collating and comparing one thing with another, and I could scarcely forbear smiling at the varied expressions observable in their several countenances. Here a gaunt iron-featured man with knitted brows, and nose "terribly arched and aquiline," was anatomizing some infinitesimal object and fiercely pointing out its distinctive features, to another of lamb-like aspect and serene front, who could not and would not see them. Grave and thoughtful men grew graver and more thoughtful as they drew near to that part of the building which glistened with all the specious glories of medieval art. There was a meretricious splendour and a startling breadth of contrast in much that was there exhibited, very different from any thing observable in other parts of the structure. Yet the contributions, singular to say, were all produced in one loom, and all sent in by the tribe of Nemhcruhc. Some of them, and these amongst the most gorgeous, were intrinsically worthless-crudities and "beggarly elements" that had been thrown away by wiser workmen long ago, but were now reproduced with some additions, and no emendations. Some of the stalls appeared almost empty, and others entirely so. These I understood to belong mostly to the many clans of the Sretnessid tribe whose distinctive peculiarities were rather negative than positive. They generally felt themselves at liberty to object and repudiate without recommending to pull down a palace without feeling bound to build up even a cottage out of the materials; and hence they had very little that was either visible or tangible among the varied contents of this vast shew-room. Yet some of them had