But what then? There were three great Presbyterian churches in Scotland, with much of their resources wasted through division, but capable, by reasonable arrangements, of so combining their forces that his grand object—the bringing of all Scotland under the influence of Christian teaching—might at the least be greatly advanced. We can hardly conceive of any other advice that Chalmers would have given than that the vinculum of state-connection should be severed, and all the three churches should unite, and rouse themselves for one great, sustained, imperial effort to turn the country into the garden of the Lord. But what of the endowments? It is just as difficult for us to conceive that he would have been in favour of alienating them to secular purposes. No, he would have said, that is not necessary, and should not be; keep them for their original purpose, and place them under some public management, so that every congregation of the united body may have a share of them, if it please. This was certainly his feeling in a somewhat parallel case. In 1833, when the Irish Church Reform Bill was under discussion, Chalmers wrote to his sister, Mrs. Morton, ’I am relieved by the bill, the only flaw in it (although that may be one of deadly mischief) being the secularisation of the sum which they expect from the sale of church lands.’⁶ We can readily conceive how the great soul of Chalmers would have expanded once more, and his face beamed as the hope arose anew, that even yet his beloved country might realise his magnificent ideal, and, by God’s blessing on the labours of a united church, its waste and desolate places might yet blossom as the rose. ⁶ _Correspondence of Dr. Chalmers_, p. 216. No doubt, Chalmers died a disappointed man, so far as his great scheme for the good of his country was concerned. He failed, and yet he did not fail. ’If he strained too wide, It was not to take honour, but give help; The gesture was heroic. If his hand Accomplished nothing—(well, it is not proved) That empty hand thrown impotently out Were sooner caught, I think, by One in heaven Than many a hand that reaped a harvest in, And keeps the scythe glow on it.’ We love the man for his noble aims and heroic efforts; and our love and admiration are only touched with a tenderer feeling, in that, when he failed, he did not abate one jot of heart or hope for his church and country, but left behind him his West Port experiment as a monument of what was possible, and an encouragement to all future generations to continue to cherish what had proved for him—a hope unfulfilled.