thing that strikes us as necessary, in order to do away with the reproach, which has served as a text for the foregoing observations. Amongst the works to which a reader may be referred, is one which is not by any means so well known as it deserves-the treatise by Mr. Dick, recently republished. This work deals in a popular and most practical way with the abstract' view of the question; and as a connected argument is unanswerable. Every side of the subject is in turn exhibited and examined; and the necessity of certain things, which appear most anomalous in connexion with a State-church, is shown with a delicate irony, which must draw a smile even from one who cannot afford to be convinced. One conclusion, especially suitable to the present position of the State-church question, is irrefragably established-that the reforms which theorists on the condition and prospects of the Church of England, and they who, by some unaccountable process of logic, have persuaded themselves of her divine sanction, now talk of so much, are impossible, because incompatible with the very purpose of a State-church; and, therefore, if effected, either they must speedily be undone, or the connexion of Church and State would have to be dissolved by those who hoped by these reforms to preserve it. Being written by a Scottish gentleman, it presents some illustrations of the nature and operations of an Established Church, which are strange to us on this side of the Tweed, and which originated with John Knox himself; and thus cast new light upon the subject. The present edition contains some additions relating to matters of recent date; and had it not been for increasing the bulk, and, consequently, the price of the book, more might have been advantageously added. Without them, however, the work would have been as valuable as it is with them, for it may be regarded as a standard book by Dissenters.

We do not agree wholly with Mr. Dick's philosophy; and can see many places where his Scottish version of John Locke's answer to the problem of the universe has failed him (as it needs must) in the hour of need. This, however, does not disqualify the book for wide utility, nor does it make the argument inconclusive, nor the conclusion false. Its readers may, perhaps, discern, also, that had the author distinguished the State from the Government-and distinct enough they are, in reality as well as in thought-some points might have been brought out clearer, and set in much stronger relief. As it is, however, they are not dim, and are prominent enough to make both their absurdity and untruth palpable. There may be noticed, too, in some passages what seems to be a historical statement, which is quite irreconcileable with the history of either the English or Scottish Church Establishment; if looked at closer will be found that the writer has thrown the reasons for preserving some particular feature of the State-church at the present day into a historical form; a rhetorical artifice which does not disguise the truth of the case, and which is most

A Dissertation on Church Polity.' By Andrew Coventry Dick, Esq., Advocate. Second Edition. London: Ward & Co.

suitable to a treatise which opposes not any particular establishment, but all. And, to bring these words of qualification and explanation to a close, and to prepare the way for our own last words, Mr. Dick has spoken of the existence of a degree and kind of excellence amongst Voluntaries,' which we must sorrowfully confess we cannot find. He appears to have presumed that the Voluntary system, because it is true, must produce certain good results amongst those who adopt it; a too common mistake-the fact being that this system, like every other, is true and of practical worth only when it is the expression of good already existing in the breasts of its votaries; and when taken up as a means of producing that which does not yet exist, and which it would naturally spring from, is naught in itself, and does only mischief.

For, in fact, more than clear information is wanted to bring to pass the result we have spoken of-the dissolution of the union of Church and State. We pronounce the connexion wrong-would we invest our verdict with conviction, so that it cannot be gainsaid, with power that cannot be resisted? We must be, heart and soul, men of the truth. We must be, not men from whose profession of Dissent, love of the truth is inferred; but men, whose Dissent is but one feature of character, indicative of living, active, sympathy with all that is generous, and godlike, and true. There is nothing to assure the hopes of those who by falsehoods of a less flagrant character would put down those of outrageous vastness. In the strife of lies, generally the huger wins. But all falsehoods, great and small, are powerless before truth; and before truth alone. It is not sufficient to see, nor sufficient to be able to expose, what is untrue in a dominant system. Neither is it necessary for holding the truth, to be able to expound it. But this is essential, that the heart should love truth, and the life display it; that it should be the meaning of the man; and just in proportion to his hold upon truth in their manner, is any one's power against falsehood. It is not a difficult matter for one who knows anything about truth to tell whether he has enfeebled himself by admitting falsehood into part-possession of his heart, or by following truth in some of her ways only. And if any one would take part in this great conflict, and strive with honour in it, he must know his fitness for it in this respect. Until we can put truth before this nation, as true men alone can put it, in the room of the State-church, we must not hope to overthrow it. And should we, not being true, prove victors in the present struggle, then the last victory is not won; for another struggle must follow, to put down that (whatever it may be), not the truth, in the name of which we have triumphed. If Dissenters would but lay such thoughts as these to heart, and remember also what Dissent truly is, how different from most of what has usurped its name-they would be not far from discovering why it is that they have not been successful hitherto in their opposition to the connexion of Church and State; and the discovery of that might prove one of the first steps in a new course, which would ultimately, but assuredly, conduct them to victory.

107

Poetry.

THE DAISY AND THE MAIDEN.

A DAISY grew among some grass,

So its face was little seen;

For the grass was rank, and thick, and long, The blades were many, their stalks were strong, And few of those that chanced to pass

Saw the daisy peep between.

And the daisy said, "None care for me,

I shall live and die unseen;

My stalk bends lightly, my flower is full,
My face may be bright, but my heart is dull,
For a daisy I am, and a daisy must be
More worthy than grass I ween."

One day a wind began to swell,

And the daisy with hope to flush;
For a maiden came-her step was slow,
Her saddened eyes she bent them low,
And before the breeze-borne grasses fell
Saw the daisy bow and blush.

Then the maiden said, "This daisy bright
Some heedless foot may crush;
And few to look and love can come ;
Apart he dwells in his hidden home,
Where sadly he hears, both noon and night,
The loud winds sigh and rush."

And then, in a timid voice and low,

His eye full on her face,

The daisy said, "Oh, better to die
Than to live unloved thus wearily."

And sighing, she answered, "Say you so?
And would you leave your place?"

She stooped; her hand was on the flower,
His eye still on her face,

Then she paused, for a doubt rose in her heart

"If I from the root the blossom part,

This daisy loses in an hour

His lowly but living grace."

But

soon, "Come daisy, root and flower, To my garden come," she cried;

"I love you as I beloved would be,
Some love my beauty that love not me,
And the blossom sported with an hour,
No matter if it died."

Soon in her garden the daisy grew,
And a youth to win her tried,

Who loving the flower desired the root,
Nor would hurt the tree to taste the fruit;
Not kinder his words than his heart was true,
So the maiden became a bride.

For the Young.

PROMISE SELDOM-FAIL NEVER;

OR, GRANDPAPA'S TALE.

Oh! of what is the old man thinking?
As he leans on his oaken staff;

From the May-day pastime shrinking,

He heeds not the merry laugh.'-Old Song.

A JOYOUS group, of various ages, is gathered round a Christmas fire. Look in upon it; it is quite a treat. There sits, in the favoured chimney-corner, the grandsire, a hale old man; and, by his side, a placid, somewhat more feeble-looking matron, his wife; and the son, and the son's sons and daughters are laughing, and playing, and talking merrily around. The mother of the younger ones-mark her well! Do her eyes look as though they had ever gazed on death? has her brow one trace of care beyond the care of thoughtful love? What! no vacant place by that hearth? no sorrowful memories by that fireside? Even so. That bright, golden chain of love hath as yet no link broken; the shadow of Death's angel hath never yet darkened that threshold.

Come, Mary, sing to us a little,' said the grey-haired father to the eldest of his grandchildren—a fair, slight, merry damsel of fourteen. No Italian, Mary-a good old English song.'

Mary went, accordingly, to the piano, and, sweetly accompanying herself, she sang very feelingly the words of a song, not new now, though new when we were young, beginning, 'Of what is the old man thinking? It was not May-day; it was Christmas Eve. But the old man listened till tears coursed one another down his cheeks. It was plain he had a sad memory; for after Mary had ceased, he went to the piano, and putting on his glasses, conned the words over and over, sighed heavily, and left the room.

boys.

Grandpapa does not like your song, Mary, I think,' said one of the

Papa, dear, what can ail Grandfather?'

I don't know, Mary, indeed; but very few old people are as joyous at Christmas time as young ones. They are thinking of past Christmasdays, you know. You, of Christmas-days present and to come.'

Grandpapa has looked very grave since dinner, I think,' said Mary, thoughtfully; but, hush! here he comes.'

Tea comes in now, and Grandpapa is very quiet still, but cheerful. A note is brought in, which Mamma hands to Mary, who reads it aloud, with various interjections and exclamations, which do not look or read

well in print, whatever they may in a note or in a drawing-room, so we will omit them :

'My dear Madam,

'We are going to have a party on New-Year's Eve, and shall be very glad if you will allow Mary and Ellen, and your two elder boys, to join us. We hope to be very gay. We expect,' &c. &c. &c.

Mamma looked grave.

'But, Mary, there are some names there I don't like exactly. You know the Rothwells are so differently brought up to you. There will be dancing and '

'Oh, I promise I won't dance!"

And I promise I won't, nor play cards, Mother,' said Frank. 'We promise, Mamma!'

So with these promises, Mamma tried to be satisfied. But Grandpapa still looked serious; and after tea was over, calling one of the young merry ones to his side, and passing his hand softly over the fair curls, he said, Promises are often made at Christmas, Mary, that are forgotten by the New Year.'

Grandpapa, are you sad?' said Mary. Was it my song?'

'No, love, not your song only, though there was a note or so in it, and a sentiment, too, that vibrated through my old heart, and called back old, not forgotten, but dim, memories, till I was by my father's Christmas hearth again, and saw, old man as I am,-Mary, I saw my mother'

To hear Grandpapa talking of his mother arrested the attention of all. They certainly did not call in question the fact that their Grandfather had a Mamma one day; but it must have been so very long ago, that they could by no means realize it.

'Would you like to hear a Grandfather's tale, little ones?' said the gentle voice of Grandmamma, who had been gazing on her faithful companion of fifty long years with love as tender as a bride's at the altar. He has a tale to tell you. He has long treasured it up for Christmas night. Will you listen?'

Will they, think you, my young readers? What child was there ever who did not like to listen to the tales of the day when Grandpapa or Grandmamma was young?

Grandpapa began; and his tale will read so much better in his own words than in mine, that I will give them :

'When I was a child!-this thought takes me back to an old chesnut-tree walk in a fine old-fashioned country-house, far among the hills of Yorkshire. That chesnut avenue was the scene of some of the many resolutions of my young life. I am not going to give you all my history; that would be too much; but I thought to-night when I heard the song which asked, "Of what is the old man thinking?" that the old man's thoughts might avail you a little at the close of the year, when you, no doubt, are making many a new resolve, forming many a well-laid plan, building many a fine castle.

'I was not an only child; nor the eldest, nor the youngest, nor very handsome, nor very clever, nor anything remarkable in any way. There were seven of us, all living merry, simple country lives. I was