THE FISHERIES. 119 



of dissension are in germination ; on the other, new 

 schisras intervene, splitting off into sects, and sections, 

 until the weary traveller is bewildered on his way, 

 and knows not which road to take. Oh ! could we 

 but resolve on all sides, to cultivate true toleration ; 

 make true rehgion our end and aim, and leave it to 

 men's hearts and consciences, in faith, hope, and 

 charity, to choose the way, instead of wrangling 

 about the formula. But no : daily do we lift our- 

 selves up in self-exaltation and uncharitableness, for- 

 getting those divine precepts, which above and be- 

 yond the soar of all philosophy, vibrate upon the 

 heart, with the force and sanction of unerring truth. 

 Where — unfailing test — is that ethereal charity, de- 

 fined for us upon the everlasting page ? That soul- 

 becoming, heart-pervading, love-begetting charity — 

 where, oh, where? 



See the very earth denies to us its fruits : its 

 blackened surface tells but too well the tale of woe. 

 See our Fisheries, inestimable resource, designed for 

 boundless measure of productiveness, yet lying waste 

 by the perversity of man. Again ; another appari- 

 tion I the gaunt and living tide of emigration pours 

 from our shores, like some pent-up torrent bursting 

 from its bounds ; our care-worn sons of toil flee from 

 the land, forgetting their homes, their altars, their 

 traditions, and even the long-enduring love which 

 once bound them to the native soil. Whence comes 

 the change ? It is not yearning for some fair Utopia 

 — some fond, some distant land of promise : it is not 

 hope, it is not enterprise — it is despair. 



