long enough to see the name of Herbert Spencer received with applause in a great religious convention of orthodox people; but, if the report of the London "Times" can be trusted, this extraordinary phenomenon has actually occurred. That paper of October 10th contains a report of the Church Congress held this year at Swansea, and presided over by the Bishop of St. Davids, in which the question of "Internal Church Unity" came up for discussion. The Reverend Professor Pritchard gave an eloquent and powerful address on the "Religious Benefits from Recent Science and Research," in which the doctrine of evolution was assumed as true, and as in entire harmony with all essential religious truth. He was followed by the Reverend Professor Watkins, of St. Augustine College, Canterbury, who spoke on the same subject. He said: "The currents of higher religious thought in England were being influenced by two main forces; one was the theory of evolution, the other comparative theology, or the so-called science of religion itself. The theory of evolution came to them with much of the charm of novelty, and commended itself as emphatically of British growth. It was probable, indeed, that this induction of inductions was but a step to higher inductions. Still he felt sure that, when the history of this century came to be written from the standpoint of the future, the name of Herbert Spencer would be found in the very first rank among English thinkers. [Cheers.] In ultimate principles he differed from Spencer toto cœlo, but he was therefore the more anxious to acknowledge the greatness of his work, and the philosophical spirit in which it had been conducted. [Hear, hear!]"
It is a common remark that all transitions of belief are painful, and none know better than intelligent missionaries how painful are transitions of religious belief. It matters little that the change is from a lower to a higher faith; violence is done to long-cherished ideas, and there is a sense of bereavement whatever the superiority of the new creed. Those, therefore, who are in the habit of having their morality garnished with theology and are accustomed to mix these conceptions and their terminology, will naturally shrink from the attempt to separate the ethics and treat it merely as an independent system of scientific principles. Such devout people will naturally look upon the "Data of Ethics" as a cheerless book. They yearn for the blessed words that have become polarized by long and sacred association. The reviewer in "Harper's Monthly," after giving a very fair account of the work, closes by expressing this idea as follows: "The treatise is a model of condensed and lucid statement, and of subtile reasoning, but the reader will be struck by the inexpressible dreariness of its tone, as if its author had verified in his own experience the simile of one of our greatest living poets, that 'the setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun—the brightness of our life is gone.'"
It is possible that the writer believed what he here says, but it is more probable, we must say, that he was merely writing with the delicate caution thought necessary under the circumstances. The penalty of a "hundred thousand circulation" is that writers must be solicitous to reflect public sentiment rather than to lead it, and the practical result is that they generally follow it afar off. Our whole nation is ahead of this sentimental craving to keep things mixed which ought to be separated. We have separated the Church from the state, with great distress to many, no doubt, but with the most wholesome consequences. We have secularized our public instruction, and, although there are still many who bemoan the inexpressible dreariness of our godless education, the good sense of the country has long since ceased to heed the
