his theory of “ Catholicity," however well intended, will have bat little effect in retarding the progress of an irrational RatioLalism, that puts the Word of God and human creeds in the same category. Unbelief has its origin in the heart, and not in the head. That is the reason that it is not curable by reasoning. The things of the heart can be truly comprehended only by the heart. When the heart has gone wrong, the intellect itself becomes obfuscated. Those who make Christianity a religion of the intellect alone, imprison it in an impenetrable sanctuary, round which they go knocking at every door, and £nd no entrance; they are at once believers and unbelievers; Christians in their hopes, but Pagans in their moral condition; for they have shut the door of the kingdom of heaven against themselves. Of these Sceptical believers the new Oxford School are striking examples. By rejecting all mystery in religion, they have involved themselves in all the darkness of mystery, without any of its light. There are some things the knowledge of which, although it be imperfect, proves their revelation. For as the eye cannot pierce through the clouds, so neither can the mind penetrate into the secrets of Heaven. It is only when the veil of the clouds is withdrawn by a hand more than human, that the sight can extend beyond the moon, and, ascending to the stars, repose en the calm of the infinite ether, that emblem of omnipresent Deity, which, though it everywhere enfolds and supports man, bales his senses, and is unperceived, except as it is viewed in its own infinity. To keep our eyes on the unfathomable above us, and not on the fathomable beneath us-in other words, to "walk by faith, and not by sight"-is the true way to keep ourselves site from falling; for while the one plunges us into the dark and turbid waters of doubt, the other raises us above the regions of doubt into the clear cerulean of infinite certainties, where all lesser difficulties vanish and disappear. It is a most singular fact in the philosophy of religion, or the Gospel, that the instant you render it what is termed “reasonable,” it loses all its power; in which respect it is like that most wonderful little creature in the animal world, which, when it loses its sting, dies. Christianity has not left it to Infidelity to charge it with being folly; it has taken the charge to itself, and glories in it, because in its folly lies the secret of its marvellous superhuman wisdom. The mere knowledge of religion is in no case religion, any more than the knowledge of morality is morality. As there pass under our view the philosophies and religio-philosophic theories which have at different periods of the world's history exercised the ingenuity of the Learned, we are forcibly struck with the fact, that religion, with the larger part of great minds (so esteemed), has been a mere intellectual tournament -a mere palæstra of mental gladiatorship, and not a thing of the heart. Such minds would make Truth accessible, like an Egyptian sanctuary, only through a long propylæum which opens out at last into a region of utter vacuity. In this respect the new Oxford Sceptics offer a wholesome warning to all men not to trust too much to acuteness of intellect, or to philosophy, for the attainment of truth and of rest. That those who have adopted the Rationalism of Germany for their guide, do not see whither their principles ultimately lead, we can fully believe. It frequently requires generations to develope the consequences of a single principle. Their case illustrates the fact, that when we allow our minds to speculate, unchecked, beyond the legitimate limits of human reason, in matters of theology, we become the victims of our own theories, which carry us, by logical necessity, to conclusions at which we should have stood aghast had they presented themselves full-faced before us at the outset. But their not seeing these consequences does not make them at all the less responsible for their principles. Their guilt will assume the form of a positive personality in their intellectual descendants. The only true way of dealing with a Scepticism such as theirs, it appears to us, is, not to put before them " a fine new nothing," to use Jeremy Taylor's words, in such a baseless theory of infallibility as Lord Lindsay has adopted; but to push them with the positive and undeniable facts of our condition, religiously considered, in this world, and in relation to the future; to press them to give us a better solution of it than that to be found, for example, in Gen. iii.; to urge them with the question, whether everything in the nature and state, both of the man and the woman, does not exactly correspond with that which is there professedly accounted for; to require them to say whether this quadrates with their notion of God's reckless infinitude of mercy, limited by no principle, and armed with no terrors of justice; to demand of them the solution of the problem, how God can be at once a just God and yet a Saviour without an atoning Mediator; and to meet their ob. jection, that this is all a mystery, which, as Reason cannot com prehend, Reason must not admit, by reminding them that every fresh discovery, even in philosophy, only reveals a fresh and deeper mystery. There is no cure for our intellectual pride like the felt sense of our own ignorance and moral impotence. Man ought not, indeed, to let his ignorance control his knowledge; but even Reason, when chastened into proper humility, teaches him that he is bound to accept of, and to be satisfied with, such proofs as the subject will only admit of. It is certain that if the problems of Humanity are not solved by Christianity, they never can be solved without it. "Happy then is he,"-to sum up our own observations with a striking passage from one of our greatest ethical writers,-"Happy then is he who, recognising the limits imposed upon the speculative powers of man, refuses to chafe at them; and, instead of wearing his strength by fruitless efforts to shake the iron portals, or dashing himself against the walls of his prison, is willing to believe it possible that there are many things true which sound now like contradictions; and instead of being wise above what is written, whether in the volume of Revelation, or of Nature, commits himself to probabilities, where demonstration deserts him; and in the meantime awaits that glorious dawn which shall let in on the child of dust the light of eternity, and either clear up the mysteries which baffle him, or leave him contented with his ignorance." THE LATE REV. JOHN WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, M.A., VICAR OF HARROW. A MONTH more, and the Christian Observer will have held on its way for sixty years. Among the names of its earliest contributors was that of a young man, a Fellow of St. John's, Cambridge, who took holy orders in the year of its commencement. Closely connected with those by whom it was originated, he continued his interest in it through succeeding years, as its friend and helper, and for a time as its Editor. The name which appeared in the list of its earliest, has remained in that of its latest contributors; but is removed from amongst them now, and is placed at the head of this page with an affectionate sorrow, in which numbers will share. John William Cunningham was born in London, January 3rd, 1780. He was the elder son of his parents, who had but one other son, now the Rev. Francis Cunningham, vicar of Lowestoft, who lives to mourn for a brother with whom he had enjoyed, from his earliest remembrance, an affectionate and profitable intercourse. The family, during his boyhood, lived at Paddington, and attended the ministry of Basil Woodd at Bentinck Chapel; sometimes going further, to hear John Newton or Romaine. Mrs. Cunningham was a woman of ability and piety, and possessed by an earnest desire to see her children walking in the truth. She watched for their souls; and her persistent influence has ever been recognised by them as the chief earthly source of the principles and purposes of their maturer years. That recognition will not wholly pass from the world, when it shall no longer remain in the memory of a surviving son. It is inscribed on the walls of Pakefield church, which stands high on the Suffolk shore-a conspicuous object to the coasting vessels on the German Ocean. If we repeat the inscription, written by her eldest son, we do so less for its own sake than as an encouragement of which many a mother's heart has need: Could we forget a mother's tender tears, Thy ceaseless watchings o'er our infant years, With all the anxiety that was felt about their education, one great mistake was made in the matter. John, a clever and lively boy, was removed, at the age of fourteen, from a school at Hammersmith to the house of a tutor in Sussex, who was a plausible but unprincipled man, and allowed his pupils in habits of idleness and dissipation. It was a happy change when the discovery of want of progress in study occasioned his removal to the care of another tutor, the Rev. H. Jowett, of Little Dunham, who was a good man, and in whose house he found companions who became the friends of his future yearsRobert Chambers, and the two Grants, afterwards Sir Robert Grant and Lord Glenelg. In due time, he went to St. John's College, Cambridge, where his intellectual activity did not at first take that turn which would lead to success in a university career. Only in the last year of his undergraduate life did he apply himself with sedulity to the proper studies of the place. Then his natural quickness of apprehension and acquisition stood him in good stead; and he came out Fifth Wrangler, and was elected Fellow of St. John's. Whilst at college, he lived on intimate terms with many men who have since been eminent; but was drawn more and more closely to those whose interest in religious subjects harmonized with the turn which his own mind was taking. Helps for spiritual progress were not wanting. He attended the ministry of Mr. Simeon, though he was not thrown much within the circle of his private influence. He often heard Robert Hall, and would express, in later years, the remembrance of the effect of his preaching, in the strong impressions which it gave him of the dignity of religion, and the grandeur of the gospel. But it was probably from another quarter that his serious feelings received at this time their most effectual aid. He was brought into intercourse with the mother of his dear friends, the Noels. It is often permitted to faithful women, as part of their unobtrusive ministry, to influence unsettled hearts in critical stages of their history; and thus voices which must keep silence in the churches, have often determined the message delivered by the voices which are heard there. One who is best able to speak of those distant days asserts that it was so in the present instance, and that John Cunningham met with no influence (outside his own home) which more stimulated him to decision for the cause and truth of Christ, than the spirit and converse of Lady Barham. A bible marked by her hand remained in his possession to the last. After taking his degree, a certain time was spent in Edinburgh, whither the two Grants and others of his friends had removed, and where he found himself in the midst of an animated and intellectual society. But the close of the year 1802 saw him in the very different scene of a country curacy. When he yet wanted a little of the canonical age, he was ordained by bishop North to Ripley in Surrey; and at the end of a year removed to the sole charge of Ockham, in the same neighbourhood. In this place he entered on the happiness of family life a state which no man ever more enjoyed or adorned. He was married July 30, 1805, to Sophia, daughter of R. Williams, Esq, of Moor Park,-a woman of great personal attractions, clear intellect, and ardent character. His first child was born there, but was taken soon after it was given. Shortly afterwards he left that place, to take the curacy of Clapham, under the Rev. John Venn, where he spent several years in an atmosphere stimulating to his powers and congenial to his feelings. In his former curacies he had enjoyed that popularity as a preacher which might be expected to attend a young man who had great natural advantages, and who employed them to set forth the great doctrines of the gospel. At Clapham this popularity was renewed in a higher degree and in a larger sphere. He brought the fire of youth, a clear and lively intellect, and the faculty of ready and graceful language, to the support of the truths which were there maintained; and he received in return the blessings of religious companionship and judicious guidance, of a fuller apprehension of the gospel which he preached, and of association in those schemes of Christian enterprise and benevolence which derived so much of their life and sustenance from (what has been called) "the Clapham Sect." Here stood, in close neighbourhood, the houses of Grant, Thornton, and Wilberforce. Mr. Cunningham, already the friend of some of their inmates, now became the friend of others; and there is no need to explain what manner of spirit and what manner of interests he found in the society in which his daily life was passed. Above all did he count himself indebted to the wise and good man whose fellow worker he was, and whose portrait he has drawn in the character of Berkeley, in "The Velvet Cushion," in lines which are plainly taken from the life, and in colours which as plainly derive their glow from the heart, Mr. Venn's picture always hung in his room; and it looked down upon his bed of death. To one who there raised his eyes from the unconscious countenance, and cast them on the print upon the wall, it seemed to speak eloquently of the rapid passage of generations, and of the seeming shortness, but real eternity, of that Christian affection which once bound the dying to him who was long since dead, and then bound the living to him who could no longer be detained. In 1811 the vicarage of Harrow, the presentation to which had been purchased by Mr. Cunningham's family, fell vacant, and he entered on the charge which he held for fifty years. His brother joined him as his curate, and for a time they worked together, holding cottage lectures in the hamlets, and visiting the distant and destitute parts of that extensive parish. Such efforts perhaps were carried on in what would now be thought an unsystematic way; but the ideas and habits of the pastoral care were then very different from what they are at present. The ministry and circumstances of religion in the place had been till then in a very low condition; and there were peculiarities in the parish, as the seat of a Public School, which at |