In extenuation of his fault, however, may be alleged his habits of command, which rendered him impatient of control, his consciousness of having rendered great services to the expedition, and of possessing property in the ships. That he was a man of great professional merit is admitted by all his contemporaries; that he naturally possessed generous sentiments and an honourable ambition is evident from the poignancy with which he felt the disgrace drawn on him by his misconduct. A mean man would not have fallen a victim to self-upbraiding for having been convicted of a mean action. His story shows how one lapse from duty may counterbalance the merits of a thousand services; how one moment of weakness may mar the beauty of a whole life of virtue; and how important it is for a man, under all circumstances, to be true, not merely to others, but to himself." (Washington Irving's "Life of Columbus," page 164.)

Now, I fear that the verdict passed upon Pinzon is that which must be passed upon Britain, viewed as an encourager of inventors. Britain has done much for invention. Were not the steam-engine, the railway, the steamboat, and the telegraph all British inventions? Of course they were. Britain has done much for inventors. But she has not done enough. To be almost saved is to be completely lost. Has not England done much by her philanthropic efforts to bless and benefit the poor? Most certainly she has. But she has not done enough. Had she done enough, it would not have been possible for "The Bitter Cry of Outcast London" to be written. Had she done enough, it would not have been possible for the harrowing and heartrending facts therein stated to be proved, not only true, but under the truth. "Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you; depart from me, ye that work iniquity" (Matthew vii. 21). Now this passage, though intended chiefly to reveal the awful consequence arising from insufficient effort regarding the salvation of the soul, yet furnishes a splendid illustration of the bitter nature of the evil I am now denouncing. These unhappy souls, who were excluded from the joys of heaven, had done a good many religious acts. They had

even cast out devils in Christ's name. But because they had not done the one thing needful-because they had not believed in Christ, they were ruined eternally. Similarly, England does much to foster invention. She does some very wonderful things. But there is a one thing needful which she seems determined not to do. And therefore the inventive skill of Britain seems in danger of total ruin. Within a very few years, if Britain does not amend her ways, the rise of a really useful inventor among her sons will become as impossible as the rise of a Columbus is now in the despicable and degraded political cesspools of Spain. and Portugal. "Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man which built his house upon a rock: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock. And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell and great was the fall of it."

The above passage, though primarily intended to describe the folly of those who build their hopes of salvation on any other foundation but the rock Christ, is also at the same time the best that could be thought of to set forth the folly of England's conduct relating to invention. England has a fine patent law. And she makes a fine thing out of patent fees. And if an inventor occasionally succeeds in making a very large sum by his patent, England loads him with honour. Her house has a fine appearance doubtless. But notwithstanding its fine appearance, ft is built on sand, not on rock. The extremely wicked can do as much for their victims as Britain does for her inventors. The harlot for instance pays great attention to the rich. But the mark of destruction is upon her, because she never succours, the perishing orphan. So, unless England will assist inventors when they are poor and struggling, the load of her favours bestowed on a few of the successful inventors will continue to be little better than mockery.

The way in which judgment will probably overtake the country will be this-the apparent excellence of inventive talent in the country will increase both in quality and quantity, while the really excellent inventive talent in the country will diminish both in quality and quantity until it

leaves the shores of Britain altogether; after which the advent of Macaulay's New Zealander to the ruins of London Bridge will not be long delayed. It is astonishing how often this sort of punishment overtakes a nation. For instance, if a stranger had visited England thirty years ago, he would have declared that England was, above all things, a religious nation. But what was the quality of that religion? Let one single fact explain. About thirty or thirty-five years ago the great Spurgeon was in deep religious distress. He was visiting church after church in the hope of hearing a sermon which could show him what he required to do to be saved. And he did not hear such a sermon. The thing is almost incredible; but he tells us so himself. Week after week, and month after month, he visited church after church in the hope of finding the road to heaven. And he failed, because none of the preachers that he listened to preached a sermon which gave him the necessary instruction. At last, when hope was almost failing, he met with an accident. A terrific snowstorm prevented him from going to hear the celebrated minister he had resolved to listen to, and drove him instead, into an out-of-the-way, paltry little Methodist chapel, where he heard a sermon which informed him that all he required to do in order to obtain the salvation of his soul was simply to look to Christ by faith, as the Jews looked by faith to the brazen serpent. This at once brought light and peace to his mind. His search was ended; but after how long and how wearisome a seeking! This shows that while there may be in a country the most extraordinary superabundance of the appearance of religion, there may, at the very same time, be an incredibly small amount of the power and comfort which nothing but true religion can bring. Similarly, there is, at the present time, an enormous amount of the appearance of inventive skill in England, with an astounding absence of its reality.

England is steeped to the lips in misery because inventions are not made which ought to be made, and which would be made, if only inventors got the encouragement which they have a right to expect. And if the present neglect of inventors goes on, it will soon be as impossible for a great inventor to arise in England as it is for a genius like Columbus to arise in Spain and Portugal.

Everything which leads to this deplorable result should be carefully removed. I have already indicated national stinginess as one great cause. But there is another very nearly

as powerful, but by no means so apparent. That other cause is envy. Envy sold Joseph into Egypt as a dreamer. And the people who sold him were his own brothers. Envy is the rottenness of the bones. Envy corrodes the bones of Englishmen. English inventors are sold as dreamers into misery by their own countrymen. If they are not allowed to realise their dreams their countrymen starve. If they do realise their dreams, their countrymen are, like the opponents of Columbus, covered with shame and confusion. All this misery and disgrace might be avoided by their countrymen ceasing to envy them, and beginning to love and assist them. Englishmen do not know how prone their nation is to envy. But historians do not fail to detect the national vice. Alison, for instance, says, "Persecution of its most illustrious citizens, of the greatest benefactors of their country, has ever been the disgrace of free States. The sacrifice of Sir Robert Calder, who saved England from Napoleon's invasion; of Lord Melville, who prepared for it the triumph of Trafalgar; of the Duke of York, who laid the foundation of Wellington's victories; the impeachment of Clive, who founded, by heroic deeds, the Birtish empire in the East; of Warren Hastings, who preserved it by moral determination, prove that the people of this country are sometimes governed by the same principles which caused Miltiades to die in the prison of the country he had saved, consigned Themistocles to Asiatic exile, banished Aristides because it was tiresome to hear him called the Just, and doomed Scipio Africanus, the conqueror of Carthage, to an unhonoured sepulchre in a foreign land. Envy is the real cause of all these hideous acts of national injustice; people would rather persecute the innocent than bear their greatness." (Alison's History of Europe, vol. ix., p. 32.)

And the same talented historian condemns, in equally strong language, the foolish and unwise injustice of England to her greatest men. "The life of Wellington presents a memorable example of the well-known truth, that real greatness in public life has rarely been attained save by those who, at one period, have resolutely acted in opposition to the opinions and clamours of the great body of the people; and that not unfrequently the deeds of their life which have given them the most durable reputation with posterity, are those which have occasioned the most violent outcry and obloquy at the moment." (Alison, vol. xiii., page 295.)

Holy Writ declares that the patriarchs, moved with envy, sold Joseph into Egypt, and that this loathsome vice did not spare even incarnate Deity. "For Pilate knew that the

chief priests had delivered Christ to him for envy." "He perceived that they had delivered him because he had got such a reputation among the people as eclipsed theirs. It was easy to see that it was not his guilt, but his goodness, not anything mischievous or scandalous, but something meritorious and glorious that they were provoked at. And therefore, hearing how much he was the Darling of the crowd, Pilate thought that he might with safety appeal from the priests to the people, and that they would be proud of rescuing him out of the priests' hands; and he proposed an expedient for their doing it without danger of an uproar; let them demand him to be released, and Pilate will readily do it and stop the mouths of the priests with it-that the people insisted upon his release. There was, indeed, another prisoner, one Barabbas, that had an interest, and would have some votes; but Pilate questioned not but Jesus would out-poll him.

"It was a great surprise to Pilate when he found the people so much under the influence of the priests, that they all agreed to desire that Barabbas might be released. Pilate opposed it with all his might. What will ye that I shall do to him whom ye call the King of the Jews? Would not ye then have him released too? No, say they, crucify him. The priests having put that in their mouths, they insist upon it; when Pilate objected, Why, what evil has he done? (a very material question in such a case) they do not pretend to answer it, but cried out the more exceedingly, as they were more and more instigated and irritated by the priests, Crucify him, crucify him. Now the priests, who were very busy dispersing themselves and their creatures among the mob, to keep up the cry, promised themselves that it would influence Pilate in two ways to condemn him. I. It might incline him to believe Christ guilty, when there was so general an outcry against him. 'Surely,' might Pilate think, 'he must needs be a bad man, whom all the world is weary of.' He would now conclude that he had been misinformed about Christ having an interest in the people. 2. It might induce him to condemn Christ to please the people, and indeed for fear of displeasing them. Though he was not so weak as to be governed by their opinion, to believe him guilty, yet he was so wicked as to be swayed by their outrage, to condemn him though he