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tare called, a few years ago, into action. That system was not intended to take any particular place in any general plan ; it is subordinate to nothing; superior to nothing, it interferes with nothing and is connected with nothing. Its friends have been ever modest in their pretensions, untiring in their efforts, and solicitous that it should at least merit, if not obtain, public confidence in every respect. They have had much to contend against; and, not the least obstacle has been that ignorant and contemptuous prejudice, which, knowing little, but dreading much and [doubting much, has always invested the Institution with just the dignity of a charity school, and its instruction as calculated to make little more than respectable apprentices. It has not, certainly, produced ready-made Galileos, Newtons or Keplers, but it has sent a cheering ray into many a home, where no literary sun had ever yet penetrated: it has relieved the solicitude of many an anxious parent, on account of the intelligent, thoughtful boy, who looked to him in vain to nourish his intellectual growth: it has taken many a youth to its bosom, and, fostering him there for a time, has sent him forth with the proud consciousness that, after four years of arduous and responsible service, with a clear head, a well-stocked mind, and habits of correct moral deportment, he was prepared to take position among the educated young men of his State; prepared to be, in all respects, a useful member of society ; and prepared to aid, to cherish, and to reflect honour upon the advancing years of that parent, who, of all parents, can best appreciate the wisdom of the policy which induces a commonwealth to educate her citizens.
C. C. T.
Art. X.—Butler's Analogy.
The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and the Course of Nature. By Joseph Butler, D. C. L., late Lord Bishop of Durham. New edition, with analytical introductions, «fec. London: Henry G. Bohn. 1854.
A Review of Bishop Butler's Analogy of Religion, at this late day, would certainly be lacking in every suggestion of freshness; and we forbear, accordingly, every offer of the sort, lest we test too severely the patience of our readers. But the publication of a new edition of this work, in the very useful and well selected series of Mr. Henry G. Bohn, reminds us of an issue which we have with the venerable author, on his leading illustration, which may fitly follow, in this place, the brief acknowledgment which we had designed, of the claims of the new edition to public favour. This edition contains, besides the original work, the author's dissertation on "Personal Identity," and "on the Nature of Virtue," and fifteen of his sermons. These are edited, with a preface, by Dr. Halifax: while a member of the University of Oxford supplies the analytical introductions, explanatory notes, and an index. The edition is, consequently, the most complete of any yet published. But we shall expend no words upon the labours of the editors, and turn, at once, to our author's metaphysics.
Any theory respecting the metaphysics of the soul and its connection with the body, is, of necessity, but vague speculation which can neither be dispelled or confirmed on this side of the grave. Therefore, no man's opinion on the subject, is entitled to any more weight in the mind of another man, than what such other man's congeniality of taste and sentiment may award to it. It cannot, then, be called impertinent for the most obscure to attack, in this field, the doctrines of the most renowned, inasmuch as he would not deserve either praise if he should succeed, or censure if he should fail, to form or to alter the visionary ideas of any. These brief remarks seem to the writer peculiarly pertinent. prefacing an emanation from any quarter, opposed to the views of so great a man as Bishop Butler, and so great a book as the Analogy.
In the year 1718, Joseph Butler, then twenty-six years old, was appointed preacher at the Rolls, by Sir Joseph Jekyll. So considerable were Mr. Butler's talents, that the office was more honoured by the appointment, than he on whom it was conferred. From childhood, he had exhibited genius, and a desire and capability for the acquisition of learning. Pleased with his unusual promise, his father, a reputable tradesman, destined him to be a clergyman of the Presbyterian school of Dissenters. To this end no pains were spared to his education. While he must yet have been a very young man, he made a signal display of ability by his letters to Dr. Clark, in which he ventured to controvert the conclusiveness of the Doctor's argument in his demonstration of the being and attributes of God. Much to the dissatisfaction of his devoted and admiring family, before he had finished his course at the Dissenting Academy, he determined to conform to the established church of England. His father endeavoured to divert him from his purpose, and in aid of his own arguments, called in the assistance of eminent Presbyterian divines. But finding every effort in vain, he at length suffered his son to pursue his own course, and, accordingly, in 1714, he was entered a commoner at Oxford, and took orders shortly after his admission into the University. His after life was a singular instance of the world continuing to smile on a good man. His more than conscientious discharge of every duty, the exceeding goodness of his disposition, and the fine character of his talents, seem to have been always fully appreciated. He was only removed from one rich benefice to fill another—always, in fact, holding two at a time—until, in 1738, at the early age of forty-six, he was raised to the Bishopric of Bristol. Favours did not cease with his elevation to the Episcopal See, for, shortly after, we find him made Dean of St. Paul's, next Clerk of the Closet to the King, and in 1750, his biographer tells us, he received another distinguished mark of his Majesty's favour, by being translated to the See of Durham. He lived a pillar in the church, and an ornament to his country. When he died, many were left as wise as he, and some few as good, who were neither made Bishops or installed into rich parsonages. Let us be sorry that such was the case, and glad that fortune dealt better with him.
Neither the great sanctity of Mr. Butler's life, his scholastic habits, or the peculiar turn of his mind for abstruse reasoning, can account for his celebrated book, just such as it is, unless taken into consideration with the evil days in which his lot was cast. For he certainly lived in a wicked and adulterous generation. Lived at a time when much of the good seed cast in the world fell by the wayside and on stony places, where was not much earth. For more than half a century prior to his birth, England had been the seat of the bitterest religious discord and civil war; and there was some, but not a great deal, of change for the better in the sixty years he lived to see. In that time, the people had seen every party hold the reins of government, both with limited and absolute control. This is the history of that hundred and twenty years in merry England. They had a king who, good man, has come down to us as half king—half saint. In him was no fault save this, if it be a fault, to wit: that, whereas he was religiously watchful of all rights pertaining to the Lord's anointed, he conscientiously ignored any that had ever belonged to the people. They, in their affliction, seemed determined to do their duty as loyal commons. They swore they loved him, and piteously begged their liege not to scourge them with so heavy a rod. Nay, before they would raise the arm of the flesh against him, they were ready to leave the land of their fathers, and journey thousands of miles across the trackless ocean, unto an howling wilderness, where they and their posterity might worship God in peace, far from the golden calf and the whore of Babylon. A few went indeed, and the rest would have followed, but the voice of the king forbade it. Then, in their sore emergency, these sterling men said there is a point at which submission ceases to be a virtue—in the name of the God of Israel, let us rise and strike for his elect's sake.
"Pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist instead of a stick."
The war that followed was characterized by the sanguinary and unsparing hatred known only to a war of religions. The Presbyterians fought with cruel fierceness, having the Bible in one hand, and the sword in the other. When one of them slew his enemy he called it smiting Agag under the fifth rib, or suffering not Ammon to live. The Episcopalians, with equal courage and firmness, did battle for their king and all the saints. They were equally matched as gladiators, and the fight was as long and hard as a Roman assembly of spectators could have desired. It was predestined, however, that, in the end, the commons should triumph, and the wicked king be utterly destroyed. Then was true religion blissfully to reign. Then was to be seen that religious freedom for which they had battled so hard, and in whose behalf they had nobly cast life and all into the scale. Alack, alack! when the Presbyterians came into power, so far from religion being set free, she was only carried from her old prison to a new one. The old irons were knocked from her limbs, and thereon were fastened some new and stronger. They smote off' the head of the king, and in his stead established one Oliver, a man of valour, and loved of the people, who shut the Bible, (except at some odd chapter,) but kept the sword drawn. Soon, a rueful opinion began to obtain, to the effect that they had been as well off under Agag and Ammon. Men looked wofully across the water to see how it fared with their brethren, who had been so fortunate as to gain their freedom without first passing through a bloody war. There they were, sure enough, praising God with all their lungs, and persecuting Quakers and Anabaptists. At home, Oliver held the reins with a hand of iron. He asked advice of no man, but drove like Jehu, whipping the dogs, right and left, out of his way. So much of the lion had the scoundrel in his nature, that when he died they were almost afraid to bury him. The people stood agape, as it were, and with their senses obtunded; which, in fact, had been the case with them for many a long day before.
On the morrow they arose, wiser indeed, but not sadder men. They were delighted to recall the son of their old king—take him at hap-hazard, and trust to chance for what might be his persuasion. They had had enough of religious