children of this world
find their profit; their idea does not readily forsake them. In their
substantial theory of life, the business of man in it is to get on, to
thrive, to prosper, to have riches in possession. They will have their
little ones taught, by the law of demand, what will fetch its price in
the market; and this is clear, bold, definite, straightforward--and
therefore it is strong, and works its way. It works and will prevail for
a time; for a time--but not for ever, unless indeed religion be all a
dream, and our airy notions of ourselves a vision out of which our wise
age is the long-waited-for awakening.

It would be a weary and odious business to follow out all the causes
which have combined to bring us into our present state. Many of them lie
deep down in the roots of humanity, and many belong to that large system
of moral causation which works through vast masses of mankind--which,
impressing peculiar and necessary features on the eras as they succeed,
leaves individuals but a limited margin within which they may determine
what they will be. One cause, however, may be mentioned, which lies near
the surface, and which for many reasons it may be advantageous to
consider. At first thought it may seem superficial and captious; but we
do not think it will at the second, and still less at the third.

Protestantism, and even Anglo-Protestantism, has not been without its
great men. In their first fierce struggle for existence, these creeds
gave birth to thousands whose names may command any rank in history. But
alone of all forms of religion, past or present, and we will add (as we
devoutly hope), to come (for in her present form, at least, the Church
of England cannot long remain), Protestantism knows not what to do with
her own offspring; she is unable to give them open and honourable
recognition. Entangled in speculative theories of human depravity, of
the worthlessness of the best which the best men can do, Protestantism
is unable to say heartily of any one, 'Here is a good man to be loved
and remembered with reverence.' There are no saints in the English
Church. The English Church does not pretend to saints. Her children may
live purely, holily, and beautifully, but her gratitude for them must be
silent; she may not thank God for them--she may not hold them up before
her congregation. They may or they may not have been really good, but
she may not commit herself to attributing a substantial value to the