tide of happiness around his intelligent creatures here, to tell them that their God is love; and to promise, should they accept his offer of being to them "a Father," that a deeper, a boundless ocean of delight, as yet untasted, shall be their portion in that world where he will "dwell among them."

That this is a truthful reading, and not merely a pleasant vision in which we might desire to indulge, the revelation of scripture assures us. Why, otherwise, should the man "after God's own heart" refer us so repeatedly, and in such glowing terms, to the Divine works as a motive to praise? And why did our infallible teacher himself, our elder brother, bid us consider the raven, the sparrow, the lily of the field? Why did he so generally illustrate truth by natural objects, were it not that this visible world-a beautiful picture of many aspects-an exquisite harmony of many voices-is intended to bring God near to our hearts, and our hearts near to God?

That the same lessons are still more gloriously and affectingly taught by the scripture revelation of the gospel, it is unnecessary to remark. We would not, on that account, reject the sweet monitions of this "universal frame, so wondrous fair," to which our own nature is mysteriously adapted.

Let not the young, then, think of the God of the scriptures as of one who has no sympathy with the glad emotions of their hearts, under the inspiration of nature's melody or smile. The same hand which touches each chord in nature has placed the responsive echo-cell in the human heart. He, himself, "rejoices in his works;" he "made them to be remembered;" he desires that his creature man should "be glad" in them; and that, recognising the wisdom and goodness in which he has "made them all," he should admire, adore, and love the great Creator in a filial spirit. Yes, it is the God of Nature, the "Parent of Good," who invites them to approach him with the prayer, “my Father, be thou the guide of my youth." And blessed are they who put their trust in him who "setteth fast the mountains, being girded with power;" at whose command "the sun ariseth," yet whose eye observes the sparrow's drooping wing, and whose gracious ear is open to the first sigh of the contrite spirit. H. E. R.

SIX REASONS AGAINST A GOVERNMENT

EDUCATION.

I am compelled to declare my opinion, that it is not the province of a government to educate the people; and that the admission of the principle that it is its province, would lead to practical consequences fatal to civil and religious liberty. The subject is too wide to be discussed at length, but I would respectfully suggest a few considerations in support of the view which I have taken. They are these: first, that the proper province of government is to make and administer laws, to protect person and property, and to conduct the external relations of a country; but that it is not its province to train the mind and morals of the people, any more than it is to supply them with food, or to govern their families. Second, that if we grant it to be the province of government to educate the people, we must on the same principle grant that government ought to provide for the religious instruction of the people, which admits the whole principle of state establishments of religion; and also to provide for the future supply of their intellectual wants, which involves a censorship of the press. Third, that if it be the province of government to educate the people, it must be at once its right and its duty to do all that is requisite for that end-which involves a direct or indirect control over all the machinery of education, over the system of tuition, over the teachers, over the school books, over the raising and administering of the funds, over the parents and the children, and the employers of labour. It involves both compulsion and prohibition, and the enforcing of both by the only instrument which the civil power can wield, namely, fines and penalties. Fourth, that therefore the consistent carrying out of the principle, that it is the province of government to educate the people, would reduce the people of this country to a state of pupilage as complete as that of the people of Prussia or even of China; it would annihilate freedom of education, freedom of the press, freedom of conscience, and freedom of industry. Fifth, that it would interpose the most serious obstacles in the way of improvements in education, as is shown by the history of the endowed schools. Sixth, that it would put into the hands of government an

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REASONS AGAINST GOVERNMENT EDUCATION. enormous amount of patronage, which would assuredly be used for party and corrupt purposes, and which would endanger public liberty. There are those who would shrink from the idea of entrusting the education of the whole people to government, who yet think it right for government to provide for the education of the poor. But if the principle be once admitted, that it is the province of the government to educate any portion of the people, I do not see how we could stop short till it had the entire work in its own hands. I would also remind you that one of the arguments most relied upon, in defence of national establishments of religion, is, that they are for the benefit of the poor-an argument which we feel to be altogether insufficient. There are also those who condemn us for our opposition to the late Factories' Bill, saying that education is of such immense value, that it was worth while to make a small sacrifice for the sake of diffusing it more generally. I reply, that nothing can compensate for the sacrifice of liberty, which itself is the best of all educators, because it is the nurse, if not the parent of station, is great, generous, and good in a community, and the all but omnipotent ally of truth. We should have been traitors to civil and religious liberty, if we had allowed a measure so inconsistent with both, to be inscribed on the statute book, and to be a precedent for further usurpations and encroachments.—Speech of E. Baines, Junr. before the Congregational Union at Leeds.

EDWIN A FRAGMENT.*

The sun was now declining behind the western hills, and illumined their lofty tops by the effulgence of his setting beams. I was near twelve miles from Snowdon, and the shadows of the evening which began to thicken around me, warned me to urge on with greater speed. I had not ridden more than six miles before I faintly discerned the top of Snowdon, from which the mild radiance of the moon was reflected. A small village lay at the foot of the mountain, where I wished to spend the night; and it was my intention to awake earlier than usual the next morning and ascend the mountain, that I might view the rising of the sun from its elevated summit. Full of pleasing anticipa

*Concluded from our last number.

tion, now and then mingled with gloomy reflection on the occurrences of the day, I was proceeding on my journey, when by the light of the moon I saw a human form at the extremity of a grove through which I was passing. A thousand suspicions arose in my breast, and my heart palpitated with fear. When I arrived near the spot, a man rushed from the thicket, and laid hold of the reins of my horse. My blood ran chill, and in the moment of alarm, I immediately drew out my purse, and was about to give it to him. He looked wildly at me and hesitated to take it. Upon this I asked him who he was, and where he came from, for I thought he did not look like a hardened villain.

Falling on his knees-"O! generous stranger," said he, “call me not a robber. Did I stop you? Oh, forgive my rashness; but call me not a robber."

"Are you distressed ?” said I.

"Come with me," he replied, "to yonder hut."

I bade him proceed; and following him, he led me to a miserable hovel, where lay his wife and several children on the cold ground.

"Oh Henry," exclaimed she, in an agony, as we entered, "have you robbed anybody?"

“No,” said I," your husband is still honest; accept this, to relieve your pressing wants; I wish I had more at my disposal." Henry's eyes glistened with joy; he looked at me, then at his wife: I saw the emotions of his heart, and ordered him to run instantly to the nearest village, and procure some articles of food.

"Tell me," said I to his wife, whose pale and emaciated looks indicated the extremity of affliction, "tell me what brought you here ?"

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Henry," she answered, "was a soldier in the north of Ireland; but when the regiment was disbanded, we left the north and determined to go to the south of England, where my relations are living. Before we reached Dublin, Henry was seized with a dangerous fever; this illness nearly exhausted our little stock of money; however, when he recovered, we crossed the channel and landed at Holyhead, about a fortnight since, when two of our little ones were taken ill."

Here she could no longer contain herself, and in a flood of tears

gave vent to her feelings. "Poor Ned," said she, “there he lies-he died yesterday in my arms; and here is the other dear infant, but he is almost gone."

"Is there no surgeon or physician,” exclaimed I, “in this part of the world ?"

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Ah," said she, "if there were any, we have no money to pay for medicines; besides, we cannot understand their language."

On hearing this, I immediately left the hut and rode with speed to the village whither Henry had gone for provisions. I met him returning, but did not stop to receive the warm effusions of his gratitude. At an inn, the only one in that part of the country, I learned from the landlord, "that an English gentleman, of the name of Wilson, lived at one end of the village, who was famed for his benevolence and humanity—that he had stores of medicine in his possession which he gave to the poor; and that if I called upon him, he would not only willingly relieve the distressed soldier, but consider himself my debtor, for affording him an opportunity of doing good." I thanked the landlord for his intelligence, and leaving my horse to his care, told him that I should soon return.

On my way to the house of this benevolent Englishman, a gentleman whom I met, accosted me with, "a fine evening, sir, after the storm."

"Pray, sir,” said I, "is yonder house Mr. Wilson's ?"

“It is,” replied the gentleman, “and I am the person whose name you have just mentioned.”

This was a fortunate occurrence. I then explained to him the reason of my visit, and related all the circumstances that had occasioned it. He shook hands with me very cordially, and after mutual congratulations, he determined to go immediately to the hut of the distressed family, that, when he had seen the infant, he might be better enabled to judge what relief was necessary. We soon arrived at the spot: the soldier and his family were partaking of some refreshment when we entered. As soon as Henry saw me, he poured forth his grateful heart.

"This gentleman," said I to him, pointing to Mr. Wilson, "knows your situation, and to him you must in future be thankful."

Mr. Wilson had by this time examined the situation of the