THE THREE KINGDOMS.

THE political drama has been played since our last
publication chiefly in the Theatre Royal St.
Stephen's; the most startling and attractive production
having been the great financial performance of
Mr. Disraeli, under the title of "The Budget." A
prologue, a few interludes, and the after-piece of
The Militia Bill in Committee, complete the
programme of the month.

The speakers of the prologue were the supporters
and opponents of a bill to abolish the religious test
applicable to professors in the Scottish universities.
By the law as it stands, every professor must, when
appointed, declare that he is a member of the established
Church of Scotland. It happens, however, that, since
the last great disruption and defection to the Free
Church, not one candidate in ten can, with a clear
conscience, make such a declaration; for there are
not enough men of mark left in the "Residuary"
Church to supply the Scottish universities with
professors, even without competition. The result
is, that the university patrons must either draw
their professorial clients from a too limited body,
or must prevail on other candidates to become
colourable members of the prescribed church for
the occasion—that occasion enforcing a solemn
subscription to the confession of the Presbyterian State
faith. Immediately after the performance of that
ceremony, the professor may relapse into his old
creed, or may, if he pleases, turn Mormonite; for
no earthly power exists to unseat him, on religious
grounds, when once he has been firmly "chaired."
Of course the practical result of the anomaly is,
that the test is rarely enforced and the statute
effete. For that reason, the Ministry opposed its
abolition; and with success. The test consequently still
remains. The question spreads far beyond the
local circle within which it specially ranges. The
English universities are hampered with a similar
restriction: the best scholar, the most profound
mathematician, would be rejected from Oxford and
Cambridge, if he could not say he is a member of the
Church of England. This support given by the
Derby ministry to the Scotch university test, coupled
with the previous declaration of its chief, that he
intended to confide the education of the people solely
to the Established Clergy, darkens—transiently it
must be hoped—the prospects of national education.
The chance of limited educational reform in our
Universities offered, however, in the report of the Royal
Commissioners who have enquired into the condition
of the University of Oxford, affords a small gleam
of hope. A summary of what the Commissioners
propose is printed in another column. They find
that at one time the Oxford Alma-mater held within
her tutorial embrace 30,000 sons; she now claims
no more than 1300. "These results," says the report,
"appear small when the large endowments of the
colleges are considered. The education imparted does
not conduce to the advancement in life of many
persons except those intended for the church."—While
again the struggle for reforming Oxford is going on,
the graduates of the University of London are striving
to be combined, like their elder brethren, into a
Convocation, and to have a voice in the management
of their own affairs. They also aspire to be represented
in parliament, vice St. Alban's or Sudbury.

University tests, and a few other little pieces
disposed of, the parliamentary stage was cleared for
the great actor of the month—the Chancellor of
the Exchequer. The closest mystery was preserved
as to the plot of his forthcoming performance,
"The Budget." Whether he intended to tax coals
or cotton, and to untax soap and paper; whether
he would please the farmers by sweeping away
the malt duties, or witch the whole public by taking
off the income tax, remained, until the actual rising
of the curtain, solemn secrets. On the eventful
evening there was a densely crowded house: members
overflowed from their proper pit to the galleries; and
the boxes, (in which Mr. Barry's leaf-trellis jealously
screens the fair audience from the senator's view,)
were well filled. In slowly delivered sentences the
Exchequer débutant opened his Budget. The attention
of the audience was breathless. The author of
"Sybil" gave an artistic picture of the financial
condition of the country; he painted it in the glowing
colours which a surplus of three millions sterling of
income over expenditure is calculated to brighten
such a subject. In accounting for this happy financial
condition, the Protectionist leader of the House
of Commons passed a hearty eulogy on the policy
of his predecessors in office. Free trade, he said, had
done it all! The opposition cheered vociferously:
ministerial supporters, not in the secret, were aghast,
—the expression of their faces being that of men who
could not believe their own ears. Was it all irony? or
would their Proteus dash out the picture he had just
drawn, with a black prophecy for the future; or with
a bold proposition to tax corn immediately! He did
neither. After denouncing the house-tax as
nonsensical, and the income-tax as unjust, he asked the
house to confirm a resolution for continuing injustice,
for another year, by a re-imposition of the Property
and Income tax.

The budget, therefore, on being opened was found
to be empty. The play would have been utterly
condemned, but for the wondrous skill of the
performer, who made a vast deal out of nothing. Like
many such exhibitions, it belied its title; it was not a
Budget, but a Recantation.

So bold a conversion necessarily introduced into
the Derby camp division of counsels; and, to soften it,
many expedients were resorted to. Lord Derby made
an after-dinner speech, at a feast given by the Lord
Mayor, in which he preached on the text of
"Compromises." The interpretation of his doctrine appeared
to be, that it is quite moral to "compromise" the
strongest convictions with powerfully urged public