There is another view of the case which ought not to be overlooked by statesmen who regard a religious Establishment as a mere matter of police. Granting that Dissent teaches men to be neither drunkards nor thieves, is it calculated to make them as good citizens and as good neighbours as the Church? The answer must surely be a negative. The common consent of mankind has pronounced the famous descriptions of the old Puritans in “Hudibras” to be almost as applicable to modern Dissenters as to their ancient prototypes. Nor, indeed, would it be easy, if they were not, to account for the popularity of Butler’s oft-quoted lines; for even just satires, to say nothing of unjustifiable lampoons, rarely survive the persons against whom they are directed. Of course, men are often much better than the system to which they belong. There are hundreds—nay, thousands—of Dissenters whose Dissent is a mere accident of birth and education, and who are truly catholic at heart; but of Dissent in the abstract, no one who has either studied its history or is acquainted with its practical working will deny the applicability to it not only of Butler’s portraiture, but of another yet more famous description, qualified in the latter case, however, with the insertion or omission throughout of the important word—“not.” Dissent suffers not long, and is not kind—Dissent is envious—behaves itself unseemly—vaunts itself, and is puffed up—seeks every tittle of its “rights”—is easily provoked—thinks evil—gloats over every slip on the part of its opponents—attributes what is good in them to a wrong motive—will bear nothing of which it can rid itself by agitation or clamour—will put a good construction upon nothing when an evil one is possible—hopes nothing—endures nothing. If this were not so, how would it be possible to account for its inveterate propensity to internal schism? The scriptural account of the Kingdom of Heaven is that it should grow as from a seed; but Dissent is propagated chiefly by _cuttings_. It is not yet two hundred years since the Kirk was established in Scotland, and yet there are no fewer than six sorts of Presbyterians. The case of Wesleyanism is still worse. Within sixty years after the death of its founder it had split into seven antagonistic sects. Whitfield himself quarrelled with Wesley, and his followers have, since his death, separated into two bodies. There are four sorts of Baptists. Of the Independents, Mr. Mann speaks with refreshing innocence as forming “a compact and undivided body.” It would be nearer the truth to say that they consist of nearly as many sects as there are meeting-houses. Nearly every congregation is of volcanic origin, and every one contains within it elements which might at any moment explode and shatter the whole concern.