THE RESULTS OF PROTESTANTISM.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume III, Issue 155, 21 April 1876, Page 9

THE RESULTS OF PROTESTANTISM.

Dean Stanley, in Westminster Abbey, on Christmas Day, spoke of the fears of many at the present time that the world is growing ■worse. "It may be that sometimes in our gloomy moods we are inclined to think we cannot count on the continuous advance of the onward progress of our race. It may be we are sometimes inclined to fear that the latter half of the nineteenth century is to close in a lower morality, a darker philosophy, a debasement of the senses, or a term of gross superstition. It may be that diabolical crimes shall arise again which we had hoped were dead for ever, that statesmen may again become corrupt and self-seeking, that the leaders of sects and churches will again prefer the outward to the inward, the natural to the spiritual, the seen to the unseen." There are plenty of revelations to bear out in part a pessimist philosophy j nor is there any common sense in varnishing over the ugly facts of the day. It is not always wise to make the best of things and to take a cheerful view of everything all round. Comparing ourselves with our forefathers, we hear of many nearly collossal calamities, and are face to face with a larger number of crimes. The accidents that shocked them killed or maimed units ; our misadventures desolate hundreds of homes. The horrible consequences of strong drink in brutality to women and children have multiplied in our large towns. For one English child brought up in foul air three hundred years ago, there are now at least fifty. For ten men habitually unused to country walks in the sixteenth century, there are probably now one hundred. If we look abroad and remember the civil war in America, or the recent French war, we see that the numbers of men engaged in deadly struggle were ten or twelve times the forces our ancestors thought great, and the loss in money and every way to the nations striving proportionately increased. In trade and commerce dishonesty has made gigantic strides ; the tiny pickings and stealings of the village have grown into gigantic city frauds. Goldsmith's rogue no longer cheats farmer Flamborough in a bargain, or over-reaches Moses with a " gross of blue spectacles ;" he starts a company and dips his hands in thousands of pockets. Then, instead of a few sailors being paid to scuttle a ship, giving the passengers time to escape in the boats, we have the Bremerhaven monster, who murders by machinery and winds up an assassination eight days in advance of the deed, leaving no hopes for the victims of the calculated crime. Moreover, faith has died down, leaving none of the stern, relentless zeal that impelled men to die at the stake themselves or burn their neighbors for a clause in a creed. The chivalrous loyalty which placed life and goods at the bidding of a king is vanished, or is cherished only by a few peasants, priests, and nobles, in Biscay and Navarre. Our theatre relies not on intellectual but sensuous attractions ; our poetry is half-hearted, and Romeo, sighing under Juliet's balcony, is soothed by the anticipation of a dinner, a cigar, and a rubber at the club. — * London Daily Telegraph.'