SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

THAT the times in which we live have assumed a dubious and portentous aspect, on the subject of religion, is a fact generally admitted. There are, indeed, still some who persist in closing their eyes to the dangers by which we are environed, and in crying out" Peace, peace, when there is no peace." These men, while listening to the loud masonry of rising churches, to the plaudits of May meetings, and to the far-borne hum of missionary schools, have no ears for the roar of the fountains of the great deep of thought which are breaking up around them, or to the noise of the "multitudes, the multitudes" rapidly convening in the valley of decision. But he who can abstract himself from nearer and more clamorous sound, and from the pleasing but partial prospects which are under his eye, becomes aware of many and complicated dangers, which seem deepening into a crisis, darkening into a noon of night, above the head of all the churches of Christ. Every one remembers the remarkable passage in Lord Chesterfield's letters, written in France before the revolution, where he expresses his conviction that he is surrounded by all the tokens and symbols of a falling empire. So it now implies no pretensions to prophetic insight for any one to declare that he lives amid the auguries of a coming religious revolution—to equal which we must travel back eighteen centuries, and which, like that succeeding the death of Christ, has bearings and promises, consequences of transcendent importance and unending interest.

the growing disregard to the wisdom, and disbelief in the honesty and word of the men of the past-the uprise of a stern individualism and of a personal habit of analysis, which leaves nothing unexamined, and takes nothing on trust the eagerness with which every innovation is welcomed, and every new cry of " Lo here, or lo there," is heard_ the significant circumstance that many from the most diverse classes, the litterateur, the inquiring mechanic, the statesman, the youth, the accomplished lady, are united in restless dissatisfaction with our present forms of faith, or in open protest against them-the innumerable defences of the old which every day sees procreated to leave little or no practical result-the yawning chasm in the public mind, crying out, "Give, give," a chasm widening continually, and into which no Curtius has hitherto precipitated himself-the hurry of the weaker of the community to plunge into the arms of implicit faith, or of low infidelity, or of hardened indifferenceand the listening attitude of the stronger and better-of the literary man for his ideal artist, of the student of morals and mind for his new Plato- of the politician for his " Coming Man"—of the Christian thinker for the Paul of the Present, if not for the Jesus of the Past. Such are only a few of the phenomena which prove that the silent frozen seas of an ancient era of thought are breaking up, and that another is about to succeed-that "old things are passing away, and all things becoming new"-and that, moreover, this mighty change will, in all probability, be accompanied by the blackness, and darkness, and tempest the voices, and thunders, and lightnings—amid which, in every age, great dynasties, whether temporal or spiritual, have been overturned or changed.

Overturned or changed. These are words on which much depends, and on them we join issue with Mr. Carlyle and his school. Their cry, open or stifled, is, "Raze, raze it to the foundations." Ours is, "Reform, rebuild."

This question is too large for our present discussion, but this we must say, that while we deeply condemn the destructive purpose and spirit of Mr. Carlyle and his party, we have just as little sympathy with those who imagine that Christianity is in a very comfortable and prosperous condition. Surely these men have "eyes, but see not; ears, but ear not; they know not, neither do they understand." We seem, on the other hand, to see distinctly the following alarming facts:

First, Christianity, in its present forms, or shall we say disguises, has ceased, to a great extent, to be considered a solitary divine thing. It is no longer with men "the one thing needful." It has come down to, or below the level of, the other influences which sway our age. The oracular power which once dwelt in the pulpit has departed to the printing-press on the other side of the way. The parish church which once lorded it over the landscape, and pointed its steeple like a still finger of hushing awe; and even the minister, lifting up a broader hand of more imperative power, have found formidable rivals, not only in the dissenting chapel, but in the private school, nay, in the public-house of the village, where men talk, and think, and form passionate purposes over new journals and old ale. Sermons are now criticised, not obeyed, and when our modern Pauls preach, our Felixes yawn instead of trembling. Ministers have for the most part become a timid and apolegetic class the fearlessness of Knox is seldom met, save among the fanatics of their number, in whom it looks simply ludicrous. The thunder of the church have died away, or when they are awakened, it is through the preacher's determination to be popular, or through the agitation of his despair. In general, he consults, not commands, the taste of his audience; and his word, unlike that of his professed Master, is without authority, and therefore, as that of the Scribes, nay, less powerful than theirs. John Howe could preach six hours to unwearied throngs-twenty years ago Edward Irving could protract his speech to midnight, but now a sermon of forty minutes duration, even from eloquent lips, is thought sufficiently exhaustive, both of the subject and of the audience. The private influence of clergymen is still considerable, but it is that of the

respective individuals, not of the general class; and where now, in reference to even the best of their number, that deep devotion to their persons, that submission to their slightest words, that indulgence to their frailties, and that plenary confidence in their honesty, which linked our fathers to them, and them to our fathers? A submission and indulgence from which, doubtless, great evils sprang, but which sprang from principles deeper than the evils, and which were rooted in the genuine belief of Christianity which then prevailed.

The

There are other ills behind. written documents of the churches have lost much of their influence, always dry: they are Summer dust. What man among a thousand in Scotland has read the Westminster Confession, and what man in a million in England the Thirtynine Articles? The very curses of the Athanasian creed are cold, and now cease to irritate because they are no longer read. Catechisms chiefly rule the minds of children, who do not, however, believe them so firmly, or love them so well, as their fathers when they were children. Even to clergymen such documents have become rather fences, keeping them away from danger, than living expressions of their own faith and hope. They sign, and never open them any more! And thus those unhappy books, although containing in them much eternal truth, although written by men of insight, learning, and profound earnestness, occupy a place equally painful and ludicrous; they are attacked by few, they are defended by few, they are fully believed by few, they are allowed to sleep till an ordination day comes round, and after it is over they lapse into dust and darkness again. Sometimes editions of them are placarded on the walls as "reduced in price." Alas, their value, too, is reduced to a degree which might disturb the shades of Twiss and Ridley. Ancient medals, marbles, fossil remains, nay, modern novels, are regarded now with far more interest and credence than those articles of faith which originally came forth baptized in the sweat and blood of our early Reformers and Re-reformers.

Nay, to pass from man's word to God's word, the Bible itself, the book of the world, the Alp of literature, the old oracle of the past, the word of light,

which has cast its solemn ray upon all books and all thoughts, and was wont to transfigure even the doubts and difficulties which assailed it, into embers, in its own burning glory; the Bible, too, has suffered from the analysis, the coldness, and the uncertainty of our age. It is circulated, indeed, widely; it is set in a prominent place in our exhibitions; it lies in the boudoir of our Sovereign, gilded elegantly, lettered, and splendidly bound. It is quoted now in Parliament without provoking a laugh; its language is frequently used by our judges, even when they are trampling on its precepts, and dooming poor ignorant wretches to be " hanged by the neck till they are dead," with sentences from the Sermon on the Mount in their wise and solemn throats. It is sometimes seen on the death-bed of sceptics; when assailed, the attack is generally prefaced by a deep bow of real or apparent respect; such a reverence as might be given by a revolutionist to a fallen king. But where is the crown wherewith its Father crowned it? Where the red circle of Sinaitic fire about its brows? Where the halo of Calvary? Where the awful reverence which once rang in its every page, and made even its chronologies and naked names hallowed and sublime? Where the feeling which dictated the title-which, although not expressly given by God, yet coming out from the deep heart of man's devotion might be called divine, and might be compared to God's "naming of the stars"-the" Holy Bible?" Where the thunder, blended with still small voices of equal power, which once ran down the ages, came all from the one Hebrew cave; and which to hear was to obey, and to obey is to worship? Has its strength gone out from it, is it dead, or has it become weak as other books?

No—its life, its divine stamp and innate worth, remain; but they are disputed, or only half acknowledged, when not altogether ignored.

Such are a few of the symptoms of our spiritual disease. We have not room to dilate on our conceptions of the remedy; this may, perhaps, form the subject of a future paper. Suffice it at present to say, that our conviction is decided (and that of the age is fast coming to the same point), that there is nothing more to be expected from Carlylism; that bomb-shell has burst, and its fragments

are colored with the blood of John Sterling, and hundreds besides him! The city "No," to use the prophet's language, has been long a "populous city;" but its population is becoming thinner every day. The "everlasting Yea," on the other hand has fair turrets and golden spires, but it is a city in the clouds, abandoned, too, by its builder; there is no such place, either in this world or in that which is to come. There seems nothing for it but downright naturalism, which means flat desperation, or a return to Christianity in a new, higher, and more hopeful form. We, at least, have made up our minds to cling to the old banner of the cross; expecting, that since Jesus has already shaken the world by his accents, as no man ever did, he has only to speak "once more," at his own time, and in the language of the "two-edged sword," which issues from his glorified lips-to revolutionize society, to purify the thrashing-floor of his church, and to introduce that "milder day," for which, in all dialects, and in all ages, the true, the noble, the gifted, and the pious have been breathing their prayers. If we err in this, we err in company with John Milton, and with many, only less than he.

[The preceding article on the " Signs of the Times," is selected from the Eclectic Review for December, 1851. It forms the Editor's concluding remarks in his review of "Thomas Carlyle's Life of John Sterling." In the Reviewer's apprehension we live in a portentous era of the world. That Christianity in its present Protestant aspect has almost ceased to be influential for good among men, is obvious to many as well as to the Editor of the Eclectic. That a religious revolution is at hand, too, the like of which has not been seen for 1800 years, is the fear of many; and we say, if this be the case, may a brighter and happier day be ushered in for the church and the world. A scriptural conversion to Christ, as the great and only Prophet, Priest, and King, provided by God the Father for the human family, appears to us the only sovereign remedy for the existing evils of society in Church and State. "Except ye be converted, and become as little childreu, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.-J. W.]