by which he might have reached Lindum-that which branched off from the north-western road, proceeded direct to Ratæ (Leicester), and passed upon the east side of Charnwood forest. From Lindum he would proceed by one of two roads to Eburacum (York), the second city of Britain-the grave of the emperor Severus, and the birthplace of Constantine. It contained an imperial palace, and temples to the gods of all nations, and was surrounded with extensive suburbs. Our tourist would now, of course, pursue the road as far as Hadrian's wall, and perhaps yet further north, to that of Antoninus. The former he would no doubt delight to trace, as one of the noblest of imperial works, from side to side of the island. It began at Segedunum (Wallsend), crossed the Tyne at Newcastle, and proceeded over hill and dale, varying from six to ten feet in thickness, and eighteen to nineteen in height, to the estuary of Ituna (the Solway Frith). Along the whole line, and at no great distance, were fortified towns; smaller fortresses were placed at intervals of one mile, and between each of these were four watch-towers. We have not space to outline the route by which the traveller might visit the eastern parts of the island, though both the Colchester and Cambridge of those days would have great attractions for the itinerant-as would also, on the west, Caerleon, or the city of the Legion, an ancient seat of archiepiscopal power; Ariconium, the capital of the iron district; and Aqua Solis, the modern Bath, famed then, as now, for its healing waters.

The

Had we leisure to descend from this cursory sketch of Roman Britain to the examination of single towns or country houses, as represented by their remains, we should be amply rewarded for the most patient observation. The former, the work of military colonies, were built, almost invariably, on the model of the Roman camp, and on spots chosen as well with an eye to defence as to salubrity and beauty. fortifications were always of stone, even when there were no quarries in the vicinity. The masonry was in all cases excellent the mortar employed was of such tenacity that our railway engineers congratulate themselves on having re-discovered the method of its preparation-and the bricks, or rather tiles, of the ordinary dwelling-house, were moulded on the instructions of Vitruvius. It is probable, however, that the walls of private buildings were seldom raised above the foundations, the superstructure being of wood. But the subterranean part of the building was of much more importance than in subsequent times; for the floors were invariably supported on rows of short thick columns, forming the hypocaust, or heating-apparatus for the entire house. Every town seems to have had public baths; and every villa, rooms appropriated to that purpose. Another feature must be noted. The sanitary arrangements of these old Roman cities were often much more complete than of those that have been raised on their site. Large and strong sewers ran down the streets, and communicated with the houses by drain-pipes. Water does not appear to have been conducted into the houses, but was brought by aqueducts into every town. A rubbishpit is discovered at the back of the dwelling-house. The roads of which we have spoken were so well built, that they form the base of

the great highways in present use. The villas, the remains of a whole group of which have been found in Gloucestershire, were often of great extent, the rooms spacious and numerous, the floors of the best apartments elaborately tesselated, and the walls adorned with representations of the chase and of agricultural operations. There were large potteries at Upchurch, near Chatham, and at Castor, on the border of Northamptonshire-a glass manufactory on the Sussex coast-coal and iron works in Northumberland and Wales, and in the Forest of Dean. Lead, tin, and copper were the articles of a large export trade. In fact, there is scarcely a feature of the busy life of England in the nineteenth century, but we find its counterpart in the remains of the Roman civilization.

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There is one question that will have been suggested to the thoughtful reader, and which we must find space to answer-namely, Are there no archæological evidences of the prevalence or presence of Christianity in Roman Britain? It cannot but excite our astonishment,' says Mr. Wright on this interesting point, that among such an immense number of altars and inscriptions of temples, and with so many hundreds of Roman sepulchres and graves as have been opened in this country, we find not a single trace of the religion of the Gospel. We must bear in mind, moreover, that a large proportion of these monuments belonged to a late period of the Roman occupation; in many of the inscriptions relating to temples, the building is said to have been rebuilt, after having fallen into ruin through its antiquity-vetustate collapsum; and the examination of more than one of the more magnificent villas has proved that they were erected on the site of an older villa, which had probably been taken down for the same reason. We seem driven by these circumstances to the unavoidable conclusion that Christianity was not established in Roman Britain, although it is a conclusion totally at variance with the preconceived notions into which we have been led by the ecclesiastical historians.' The historical evidence on the other side, our author divides into three classes, and shows to be very slight. There are, first, a few rhetorical allusions to Britain, as to India, in the writings of the Fathers. There are, secondly, traditions of missions undertaken by the Apostle Paul, and by Joseph of Arimathea. Thirdly, in the lists of prelates assembled at the Council of Arles (A.D. 314), the bishops of Ebucarum and Londinium are enumerated; and in an account of another council held at Rimini in 360, the bishops of Aquitaine, Gaul, and Britain, are mentioned. The former list is of very doubtful authenticity, and the 'Britain' of the latter is probably the Britany of Gaul, There is no difficulty in believing that in the legions recruited from all climes, and among settlers from all the maritime parts of the known world, there were many recusants from the Paganism of their native or adopted land; but to the representation of our early ecclesiastical writers-that from the age of Constantine, Britain was a Christian country; so filled with churches, bishops and clergy, that the invaders under whom the Roman power fell, found nothing but Christian altars to overthrow, and temples of Christ to demolish'-the results of antiquarian re

searches are directly opposed. Science unites with authentic history in putting aside the story of a primitive Christian Church in Britain with its kindred figment of Apostolical succession.

Once more we descend into a world of tombs. The Saxon hordes poured along the roads constructed by their predecessors in invasion and conquest; settled in their towns, appropriated their rural mansions, and caught a little of their polish; but adhered to the funeral rites they had practised in the forests of Germany. Little or nothing else of Saxon England remains but its barrows' the prototype of our modern graves'-simply pits cut in the earth, to receive the outstretched corpse, attired in its former habiliments, and surrounded with the articles of greatest value to the living-the sword, shield, knives, and drinking cup of the warrior; the bodkins, hairpins, tweezers, keys-in fact, the chatelaine-of the lady. Anglo-Saxon poets assist us in realizing the scene and the motives of an interment. The Briton raised a vast and massive prison-house for his dead, as though anxious only to preserve them from demon spoilers, and keep their resting-place within his sight. The Roman placed the remains of his kindred in a costly tomb, kindled a lamp beside the sleeping corpse,. and marked the spot with symbols of the immortality in which sages and poets taught him to believe. The ruder Saxon was not without hope or care-he provided his dead chieftain with cups from which to quaff mead with his ancestors, and the armour in which he should recite the deeds of earth. The morass became the site of populous cities, and the city became a decaying ruin; but with the advance and decline of civilization, whether in the barbarism of the Briton or the Saxon, or in the intermediate state, humanity displayed its essential unchangeableness;-the mother wept and smiled over her babe-men fought, and toiled, and played-the dead were mourned for-the gods were believed in, and heaven was anticipated. Blessed be God that there is a sense in which it may be said of his creatures as of Him, 'The same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.'

Schiller and Garthe in Relation to Christianitq.

FROM HAGENBACH'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF THE EIGHTEENTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURY.'

WE leave it to others to draw the parallel between Schiller and Goethe as poets. Our business is to compare these two heroes of German literature in their relation to Christianity. On this point, too, there is great divergency of judgment. While there are some who, without further investigation, reject both poets as un-christian, there are others-and those, too, of strict views on the subject of

Christianity-who, in a remarkable manner, accord to Goethe more grace than to Schiller. Seldom does the reverse of this appear. The justice of this decision depends on what we assume as the standard of Christianity; whether insight, will, or inclination. As it regards insight into Christian truth, Goethe unquestionably stands higher than Schiller-as, in other things, he discovers a more comprehensive mind, and one less veiled by the prejudices of the schools. He could. honour, e.g., the biblical history and the dogmas of Christianity far more sincerely than Schiller, who is often passionately excited against them. How, indeed, could the man, in whose hands everything received a living form-how could he avoid taking up the world-historical phenomenon of Christianity in this forming process, and incorporating it into his great world-picture? What a wealth of profound Christian intuitions meets us in Faust! What an apprehension of the most delicate shades of Christian life in the Confessions of a Beautiful Soul!' Eren the Moravian view of Christianity he approves in its place, as his intercourse with the gifted Fraulein von Klettenberg proves. What healthy and correct judgments concerning the high value of the Bible and its educational importance we encounter in his autobiography, and occasionally, also, in the observations scattered through the Theory of Colour,' and especially in the Conversations with Eckermann.' To cite a single example, what stronger word can be brought against the despisers of the Bible than that of Goethe:'The higher the centuries ascend in civilization, the more the Bible will be found and made available, not by pretenders indeed, but by truly wise men-partly as basis and partly as instrument of education.' There are many similiar utterances. In fact, it is certain that modern Christian apologetics may adduce from the writings of Goethe a far greater number of confirmatory passages than from those of Schiller, in which heresy is almost everywhere apparent.

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Also in the province of practical religion, Goethe, as it regards insight into existing relations, showed himself practical; Schiller, on the contrary, generally unpractical. Schiller, e.g., dreamed of improving the world by means of the theatre; he commended the stage as a moral institution, as it were a second Church. In conformity with these views, many of the clergy of that period introduced poetic phrases and theatrical declamation into the pulpit. But Goethe rebuked this mischief in the most masterly manner in his Faust. Wagner says to Faust, I have often heard it boasted that an actor may teach the parson.' Faust replies, Yes, when the parson is an actor, as may sometimes happen.' And then he continues, 'If you do not feel it, you will never obtain it by chasing after it.' • Seek an honest gain; be no bell-jingling fool. Good sense and right feeling need little art for their delivery. If it is your earnest desire to say something, is it necessary to chase after words?'

In these few words, Goethe has concentrated more homiletic wisdom than is to be found in many a complete theory of pulpit eloquence. In like manner, he discovers a sure tact in all things pertaining to public worship. He felt very truly himself, that of all his poems, though he had written so many, there was not one that could be

introduced into a Lutheran hymn-book. All blending of the provinces of the sacred and profane was offensive to his sound taste. A music, he says among other things (in Wilhelm Meister's journeyman years), which combines the sacred and profane character, is godless. But, if insight is not the only standard of Christianity; if that standard is rather to be sought in the tone and inclination of the feelings, we should be tempted to believe (without doing Goethe injustice) that Schiller at times experienced more profound Christian emotions than Goethe. You remember those Morning Thoughts' of Schiller, and his struggles after truth and certainty in religious matters. This kind of struggle we nowhere encounter in the life of Goethe. It is true, he doubted, even while a boy, of many things in the Bible, and demanded an explanation of them from his religious teacher; but, as he himself says, he cared more about bringing forward his doubts, than he did about the solution of them. Afterwards, in his

youthful years, Goethe experienced many fermentations in his interior life, and it cost him a mighty conflict before he could assume toward the world that quiet and commanding position which he maintained in his riper years. But the struggle was not a religious one; it was the conflict of a tempestuous, on-rushing genius against the settled relations of the natural and moral world; like the storming of a Titan, who would possess himself of heaven by his own godlike power. But after the nightly tempest,' Goethe soon recovered the shore. The wet one so he speaks of himself dried himself; and the next morning, when the glorious sun came forth again on the gleaming waves, the sea wanted more figs.'*

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Neither Schiller's life nor Goethe's are free from moral aberrations. But Goethe treated them more lightly; and unquestionably, Schiller's moral endeavour was more earnest than Goethe's. A saint he would on no account be; but neither would he be reckless and unholy. Piety, according to his own language, was not, with him, the end of life, but only a means by which, through the purest repose of mind, he might attain to the highest culture. To maintain a just measure in all things-that was Goethe's first principle in moral and religious matters as in art. Hence, the position he assumed in relation to unlimited enlightenment, as well as to what seemed to him unlimited piety or religious extravagance. It is a significant fact that precisely in his younger years, he took part, as a friend, with Stilling and Lavater, and maintained their cause in opposition to the Illuminists.

As Goethe did not choose to look within himself, so he does not lead others to look within. He teaches a man to find his true place in the world; and in this regard, all may learn and should learn of him. But he touches no man's conscience; he does not mean to do so; he would have every one act according to his kind. This absence of design, which constitutes the character of a true work of art, is what makes Goethe, in certain moments, appear so great, contrasted with the petty and passionate driving of every-day men. We may, indeed, refresh and elevate ourselves in the contemplation of this pas

Allusion to a Greek proverb.