But though supplied with both, he did not find them so efficient in his own particular case as he anticipated; he listened anxiously to the steps of the household as they retired, one after another, to rest, and when he heard the rustling of old Jenny's and his sister's garments, as they passed the door, his heart grew chill within him. It was not the memory of the past which troubled him, for his happy self-esteem convinced him he had never erred; but it could not blind him to the enormity of a deed he had resolved that night to commit, and as he glanced towards the shrouded corpse, a recollection of the eternity which awaited him, and the punishments prepared for sin, flashed on his mind for the first time in his life, like the lightning which discovers to the perishing mariner the abyss of destruction, ere he is lost in its depths for ever. In vain he swallowed a long draught from his tankard, and threw fresh coals on the fire; the shrill cry of the screech-owl sent the blood throbbing to his heart, and he listened to the howling of the sheep-dogs, mingling with the blast, with an anxious dread, which brought a cold damp on his brow. At length the clock on the stairs began to strike; it seemed to him that he had been for hours alone, and a sickening feeling of disappointment crept over him, when the echo of the tenth stroke died away in silence. This is folly,' he muttered to himself, starting from his seat, when assured that all was still. It must be done, and the sooner it is done the better.' Nevertheless his hands trembled as he drew off his riding boots, and he glanced more than once behind him at the corpse, as he stole softly across the room, towards an oaken chest of antique fashion, which stood in a corner near the window. He searched eagerly and anxiously in the pockets of poor Mark's clothes, which still lay on the top of it, and drew forth, as noiselessly as possible, a bunch of keys, one of which he well knew belonged to the coffer. With a trembling hand he turned it in the lock; half raised the heavy lid; then cast a terrified look towards the dead-for guilt dreads it knows not what -but the corpse was there, motionless and still as before, and he proceeded more courageously with his task. The object of his search was his brother's will. But in vain he rummaged amongst the dusty rubbish which had lain above fifty years undisturbed-a strange mixture of tattered bibles, tragical ballads, registers, and certificates of births, deaths, and marriages, receipts for house medicines, and certain cures for corns: there was no will to be found. With bitter disappointment he again lowered the ponderous lid, and was about to replace the keys in the pocket from whence he took them, when a new thought came suddenly across him, that there was still a chance of finding the important document in a cupboard in the kitchen, where he knew that Mark sometimes kept his money; and, assured that every one in the house but himself was in bed, he did not hesitate an instant to descend thither. Even his callous heart, albeit unused to fear, felt as if a load had been removed from it when he left the dead man's room-he felt as if he had escaped from a witness of his guilt; and forgetting that there is an eye from which no deed nor thought is hid, he hurried anxiously but unshrinkingly towards the kitchen. He lost not a moment in opening the cupboard door, and his eager eye had just caught a glimpse of the corner of a packet like that he sought, and his hand was stretched out to seize the prize, when it was arrested by a rustling on the outside of the window. He trembled with fear, and a cold damp stood on his brow, as he looked towards the high narrow casement, the shutter of which was partly unclosed; but there was nothing to be seen but the snow which rested in mounds against the lower panes, and no sound to be heard but the barking of the dogs. 'It is only a fox crossing the farm yard,' said he to himself; for what should send any human creature there at this time of night?' and thus re-assured, he drew out the will, broke the seals, and glanced his eye over the contents. He soon saw enough to convince him that his fears were not ill-founded: Mark had left him a hundred pounds, and fifty pounds to old Jenny; but the rest of his money, with the farm, and all the stock upon it, he had bequeathed to his sister, Rebecca Ainsley, to make up, as he expressed it, for his long unkindness and ne- || glect. 'Blockhead! fool!' muttered the indignant farmer, between his teeth, as he crumpled up the paper in his hands; he thought to humbug me finely, but I will be an overmatch for him, and that impudent jade, yet;' and taking another will, which, from a mistrust of his brother's intentions, he had long ago prepared for such an emergency, he placed it exactly where he found the real one. He then hurried to the grate, where the fire had long been out, set fire to that important document with the candle he held, and stood watching its leaves catching fire, one after another, and flaming brightly up the chimney, with a smile of fiendish exultation, when a loud knocking at the outer door, close beside him, made him start as if a pistol had been fired at his ear. 'Who upon earth are you at this time of night?' were the first words he uttered, as he glanced from the blaze before him, which had only accomplished half its work of destruction, to the still open cupboard, with a momentary hesitation how to act; then rushing forward, he locked its panelled door, thrust the keys into his pocket, and returning to the grate, used his utmost endeavours to quicken the progress of the flames. In another minute the knocking at the door was repeated with redoubled violence; and such were the feelings of Richard, that had he been within reach of the intruder, he would have silenced him for ever with the poker he instinctively grasped. You fool,' he muttered with a deep curse, cannot you wait patiently five minutes, till I get up stairs again; but the sound of some one moving above warned him retreat was impossible. He could no longer doubt that the house was roused, and that his absence from the dead man's chamber would be discovered. A moment's reflection convinced him that his best plan was to open the door, and pretend that he had come down stairs for that purpose. No sooner, therefore, had he seen the blaze in the chimney expire, than, in answer to a third knocking, more long and violent than before, he proceeded to unbar the door. I thought you were all gone to your last sleep,' said the gruff voice of an old man, who entered from the yard, almost at the same instant that old Jenny appeared, with a cry of astonishment, at the further end of the kitchen. You must have the hearts of savages, to keep a poor body freezing in the east wind, this stormy night, for so long a while. I am almost perished. Richard Douglas, is that you, man? What sends you so far from home such weather as this? Something out of the common! for eh, master, it's a time for them that hae a hearth to sit close to it now;' and he stamped his well patched shoes against the floor as he spoke, till the snow fell in showers around. 'I may better ask you what sends you here, Jemmy, at this time of night?' returned the farmer, as he stared with amazement on the strange figure before him; for though, in common with all the country round, he knew the stranger well, he wondered greatly what had brought him there at such an hour; and, truly, the old man appeared little fitted to brave the inclemency of the season; for his patched coat of many colours was a poor defence against the wintry blast, and his feeble and wasted limbs seemed unequal to carry the burdens he bore, even over the smooth paths of summer. At his back was a huge pack of rags, which it was part of his trade to collect; an open wallet, for such chance morsels as the charity of good housewives might please to bestow upon him, hung down in front; whilst in one hand he held an oaken stick, and on the other arm carried a basket, well defended by an oil cloth from the weather, full of needles, tapes, gingerbread, and such little wares, which he frequently gave instead of money in payment for rags, and sold whenever he found a customer by the cottage fireside or in the farmer's kitchen. Some people said that Jemmy had once been a soldier; but that was beyond the memory of man, and he had been known to all the existing generations as a hawker, for fifty years at least. His hair was white as snow, his sharp thin features wore somewhat the hue of a wellsunned apple, and the vivacity of his pale blue eyes was still undimmed by age, and never clouded by ill-humour. Jemmy had no home; but his spirit was too proud to receive parish relief, though his age and apparent poverty might well have entitled him to it. He had been ever used to a wandering life, and would have died in the poorhouse in a week. He loved the free air, and the changing sky, and the cheering sunshine, and the sounds and the fragrance of nature; for though an old man, the spirit of his youth had not forsaken him; nay, even the white storms of winter had charms for old Jemmy; for he saw the hand of his Creator in all his works, and his heart was cheered within him, when, trusting in the promises of his Redeemer, he forgot in his solitary rambles his age, his deprivations, and his toil, in joyous anticipations of a more perfect world, whose 'invisible glories he beheld in the visible beauties of the present.' chamber, he protested he was not the least cold, and if he had a drop of milk, and a slice of ryebread, they might go up stairs again, and leave him to find a bed in the hayloft when he had finished his supper. Old Jenny, who was more than half asleep, made no objection, and when Richard Douglas had seen her up stairs before him, and taken one hasty glance at the fireplace, where all was cold and black, he wished the pedlar good night, and returned to watch the corpse, well satisfied that he had contrived to accomplish his purpose so fully before the old man's arrival. Whilst he sat by the blazing fire, forgetful of the presence of the dead, the pedlar was not idle below. He had seen more of Richard's proceedings in the kitchen before he knocked at the door than he chose to confess; and as soon as he was certain that he was perfectly free from observation, he proceeded to the grate, to try if he could discover by a nearer examination what the farmer had been about. So thoroughly had the fire done its work upon all the upper leaves of the will, that not a trace remained of Wherever he went, old Jemmy was always welcome- what they had been but the black flimsy ashes, which for his honesty and his truth were proverbial; and the good-floated away, even before the old man's breath, as he bent wives, who had known him from their childhood, were ever over them with his candle; but as he poked lower, some ready to give him a basin of milk or porridge, and a warm scraps of white paper still remained unconsumed, and a seat by the fire on a winter's night; their husbands were piece of the last page, nearly the size of a man's hand, amused by his news and his ballads, and their children though burnt all round the edges, was uninjured by the saved all their odd halfpence to buy his gingerbread. To flames. poor Mark Douglas, whose idle mind found little amusement for itself, he was always a welcome visiter, for even his arrival made a change in his monotonous existence, and Richard saw in one instant, as he expressed his astonishment at the pedlar's appearance, that he was ignorant of the laird's illness and death. The pedlar seized them with the exultation of a diamond seeker who discovers in the moment of despair his long-dreamt-of prize; and forthwith seating himself on a three-legged stool, and placing his enormous spectacles on the tip of his nose, proceeded to examine the precious documents with no little curiosity. 'Ho! ho! what have we here?' he muttered to himself. Mark Douglas;' ay, faith, that is poor Mark's writing, sure enough; and that is his seal too, I will be sworn, for he always used the top of Jenny's thimble; and here is the date of the year, and the day of the month-the twentyfourth of last December-just one month ago; and these are the witnesses names, I suppose, for I warrant it has been a will. Here is James Stuart-that will be the 'What brought me here, say you?' replied Jemmy, when the old housekeeper, with many expressions of surprise, had assisted him to set his basket on the table. That which brings many a richer man where he had rather not be-necessity, to be sure. But what is the matter with you all P What has happened? The fire is out, which is what I never saw on that hearth before; and you both look as solemn as crows at a funeral?' 'There is a corpse in the house,' returned the old wo-miller: I can ask him more about it; and Ralph Jonesman, in a solemn voice. A corpse! Whose corpse? You don't mean to say that my old friend, Mark Douglas, has departed?' It is but too true. We only knew his danger this morning, and he was a dead man when the sun went down.' 'Well, well,' returned the pedlar, with a deep sigh, 'he has had a quiet end, at any rate; and it's what we must all come to. He was a harmless body, to say the worst of him, and you and I will miss him, Jenny, though nobody else may. But who is watching the body, when I see you both here ? There is no one with it just now,' answered the farmer, ' for I left it to answer your knocking.' 'Shame on you!' cried the old housekeeper. 'What business was that of yours: there were people enough in the house to open the door to a traveller, this stormy night, without you leaving your brother's corpse when the breath is hardly out of it.' And you only came down stairs after I knocked? Well, that is unaccountable,' said the pedlar, with a searching glance at Richard. Then, as the fire is out, what could make the great light in the kitchen, before I knocked at all?' That is more than I can say.' A light in the kitchen!' cried Jenny, with affright. Heaven defend us, Jemmy, what could that mean? It bodes no good.' 'Maybe not,' said the old man, taking a sly look from under his grey eyebrows at the farmer, whose restless uneasiness would have been visible to a less keen observer. Jemmy saw more than he knew exactly how to account for; and when Richard, who was unwilling to leave him alone with old Jenny, proposed his sitting the remainder of the night with him by the fire in the dead man's the schoolmaster-he is whiles not over civil; for he does not approve of his scholars eating gingerbread; and he is grown very proud since he was made clerk of the parish; but he would maybe answer a civil question for all that; and who is this? Nobody I know-Peter Green. He will likely be the lawyer's clerk, to judge by that fine flourish at the end of his name, and I wish with all my heart I knew who his master was, for there is something very queer in all this, that is certain: and what is on this other scrap? Rebecca Ainsley, the whole of my- -Ah! hah! Richard Douglas was not burning a will, in the dead of the night, for nothing, I am convinced; and if ever I saw guilt on the face of any living man, it was plainly stamped on his, when he opened the door to me so slowly and unwillingly. But I must see all and say nothing for the present, and keep these precious little bits of paper as carefully as gold, till God sees fit, in his own good time, to call the wicked to justice.' With this reflection he drew a huge old greasy moleskin pocket-book from a secret recess of his manycoloured waistcoat; and after depositing the scraps most carefully therein, took up his basket, and retired to the hay-loft for the rest of the night. (To be concluded in our next Number.) DARING EXPLOIT OF BANDITTI. DE LOS TORRES, a nobleman of great wealth, had just arrived at his estates in the vega of Granada. His chateau is situated on the skirts of a populous village, about eight or nine miles from Granada, and to seize and carry him off from his own castle was the daring scheme of the robber chief. For several days some of the robbers were stationed in the neighbourhood as spies, to watch his motions, and to report when and where he could be most suc cessfully met with. The marquis, however, seldom stirred from the immediate vicinity of his castle, and the number of his servants, as well as the neighbourhood of the village, rendered any attempt to carry him off during his short walks or rides all but hopeless; and whenever he visited Granada, he was well armed and well attended. Despairing of any more favourable opportunity occurring, and impatient of delay, the bandit resolved to surprise him in his chateau itself. It was about half an hour after midnight when the porter of the chateau was disturbed by a summons to the gate. His inquiries were answered by a man, who, in the pale light of the moonless sky, appeared dressed like a courier, and who stated that he had just arrived from Cadiz with dispatches of consequence, for the marquis's own hand. The unsuspicious porter immediately undid the strong fastenings of the gate, and admitted the pretended courier. The stranger on entering proceeded to disencumber himself of his cloak; when, suddenly wheeling round on the porter, who was busy securing the gate, he cast the cloak over his head, and having fairly enveloped him in its ample folds, so as to prevent the slightest outcry, he deliberately gagged and bound him. This done, the gate was again gently opened, and a score of robbers glided noiselessly into the hall. Under the direction of some who must have been intimately acquainted with the chateau, the band divided, the greater number proceeding to the servants' apartments, lest any of them should escape and alarm the village; while the captain himself advanced directly to the sleeping-chamber of the marquis. All this was not managed so quietly as not to disturb the lord of the mansion, who, on hearing some unusual noise, hastily arose, and appeared at the door of his bedchamber with a lighted lamp in his hand. This was all the robbers required to guide them to their prey; and, after an ineffectual attempt to escape, he was secured without resistance. Meantime, the rest of the band having gagged and bound all they could find in the chateau, they made haste to depart with their prize. A number of valuables which lay readily to hand were carried off; but they refrained from ransacking the house, having suspicions that one or more of the domestics had escaped unperceived, and fearing that the village might be alarmed, and their retreat cut off. Their fears were not groundless: the villagers were aroused; the alarm spread from house to house; and, seizing their firelocks, a band of half-naked peasants rushed to the castle, but too late to rescue the captive nobleman; and all they heard of the robbers was the rapid clang of their horses' hoofs as they galloped at full speed in an opposite direction. Intelligence of this daring exploit was immediately despatched to Granada, and no little stir and commotion it excited. Large bodies of soldiers were sent to scour the mountains; the most noted thief-catchers were set upon the trail; and every exertion made to trace the robbers to their lair and rescue their captive. Meanwhile, the bandits, having secured their prisoner, coolly sent information to his family that he was in perfect safety, and should want for nothing; but should not be set at liberty until a sum equal to £30,000 sterling should be paid down for his ransom. This only roused the authorities to still greater exertions. Again the soldiers scoured the mountains and searched the valleys; but neither bandit nor marquis was to be heard of. By what means his hiding-place was ultimately discovered, I could not learn; but he was found at last, neither among the inhospitable rocks of the barren mountains, nor in the recesses of their secluded valleys, but in a quiet village not many miles from the city of Granada. Once at liberty, the rage of the marquis against his captors knew no bounds; and through his information and exertions six of the robbers were seized, and his emissaries are still on the watch for the rest. But what is most singular in the whole affair is, that several of the robbers are known at this moment in Granada; nay, they have actually put themselves in communication with their late captive, offering to restore the articles carried off from the chateau, provided their comrades be liberated and the pursuit after the rest of the band given up; and yet no exertions of the police can discover where these bold negociators are concealed. Meanwhile, the marquis has rejected all proposals of accommodation, and thirsts for nothing but vengeance. This is regarded as a piece of perfect infatuation; and it is universally expected that he will ultimately fall a sacrifice to his own revenge, and be murdered by those for whose blood he thirsts.-Robertson's Journal of a Visit to the Peninsula. LITERARY CHARACTERISTICS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.* THE BIBLE is unquestionably the most wonderful of literary wonders. We say this altogether irrespective of its peculiar character as the record of God's dealings with our race, and as the only source of divine truth. John Locke, one of the wisest and best men our country ever produced, gave doubtless a most emphatic utterance to the convictions of the entire Christian world, when he said of the Bible, 'that it had God for its author, salvation for its end, and truth without any mixture of error for its matter. But independently of every consideration of its religious advantages, it has contributed more than all other works put together to purify and exalt the literary tastes of mankind. The ancient Hebrews recognised in the Old Testament Scriptures nearly the entire literature of their nation; and they doubtless owed to them much of that intellectual superiority which they possessed over surrounding nations. The mere labour of transcribing and preserving the sacred records was a great means under Providence of keeping alive a knowledge of, and taste for letters, in the dark ages of Europe; and independently of the intellectual energy which they have since called forth from learned commentators and others, they must be regarded as the magazine whence modern poetry and philosophy have drawn their loftiest imagery and their sublimest truths. As the eloquent Seiler well remarks, The labour bestowed by so many of the learned upon the just interpretation of this inestimable book, is of itself an attestation of its worth, and countenances the supposition that Divine Providence has appointed it for the attainment of great designs.' ་ But while learned and pious men have at all times displayed a laudable desire for the accuracy of the text, and also to elucidate the exact meaning of the Scriptures, there is perhaps some reason to believe that its transcendent literary merits have in a great measure been overlooked. To call attention to this certainly far from unimportant point, is the design of the eloquent pamphlet here quoted, being the substance of two lectures lately delivered to the youth of Greenock. Its author, the Rev. Dr M'Culloch, possesses a more than British celebrity for his contributions to the cause of education, and we heartily wish that his views had led him to give to the world a more extended work on this most interesting theme. We feel assured that our readers will coincide in this opinion, when they have perused the extracts we mean to make from it. He himself has remarked in his preface, as disgraceful to our literature, that while nearly all works of genius besides, from the Iliad downwards, have attracted the attention of accomplished critics, the sacred volume has but seldom been made the subject of literary criticism, and has never yet found, except in the solitary instance of Bishop Lowth, a commentator fully qualified to elucidate its characteristic beauties.' The Bible has now, we believe, been translated in every known language of the world, and it must be ver interesting to know how the original has borne these n merous transmutations. On this subject of Translateabe *Literary Characteristics of the Holy Scriptures; the Substa of Two Lectures delivered in connexion with the Scientific » Literary Course of the Greenock Mechanics' Institution for 1844 By J. M. M'Culloch, D.D., minister of the West Church, Greenci Greenock: John Hislop. ness, the reverend author forcibly remarks:- Take any of human thought, or been dismissed as subjects beyond fine passage of a Greek or Latin classic, and render it into its cognizance. And how plainly and distinctly are these English, word for word, in the same strictly literal man- high and mysterious themes exhibited! The Scripture ner as our translators have rendered the Scriptures-authors never deal in vague guesses or darkling conjecwhat is the result? You obtain a version utterly flat, tame, tures. Their delineation of the tract of thought, which and spiritless. Scarce a trace of the fire of the original is common to them with other writers, is not more fresh remains; every nicety of idiom and felicity of phrase has and vivid, than their delineation of that unseen and spiridisappeared; fine poetry has dwindled into bad prose; tual region which is their own peculiar walk. In passing and, in short, your version, if not wholly unlike the ori- from the present scene of things to the invisible things of ginal, bears only such a resemblance as a dead corpse does God, there is no appearance of effort, and no abatement to a man in health. Mark how different it is with the of verisimilitude. Both worlds seem equally familiar to Bible. Our authorized version is throughout a literal them; and, what is still more singular, both worlds are rendering; yet where is the passage which is not instinct exhibited in their due and relative proportions. Other with life and colour? where the psalm or prophecy which books place sublunary things in the foreground, and throw does not glow with the fire and afflatus of genius? It the spiritual economy into distance and indistinctness. would be a flagrant injustice to Homer to institute a com- But the Bible, like the astronomy of Copernicus, no parison between a literal English version of the Iliad and longer leaves the earth in the centre of the universe, but the Paradise Lost of his great rival in its native dress. diminishes its magnitude to a point in space, and its duraBut the Bible may be subjected to a similar ordeal with- tion to a moment of time.' If this is not originality, out suffering from it. In its plain and unambitious attire where is it to be found? Our impressions indeed on the of literal English prose, it will bear comparison, not only subject are necessarily inadequate; for the discoveries of for the sublimity of its conceptions, but even for the beauty the Bible, from our long familiarity with them, have ceased of its style and imagery, with the most finished models of to wear to our eye the gloss of novelty. But if one of the literary excellence-nay, it will cause the best of them to ancient sages, who had no better light than philosophy to 'pale its ineffectual fires,' by reason of a glory that ex- guide him in his search for heavenly truth, could be celleth. brought back from the tomb no wiser than he died, and Nor is this remark applicable to the Bible in its Eng-persuaded to betake himself to the study of the Bible, O, lish dress only. It is applicable to every other literal version. Singular to tell, the Bible is the easiest of all books to translate, and in every tongue into which it is rendered, the easiest to read; while it is, over and above, the fullest of life and vivacity. The beauties and delicate touches of other books decline to be transferred into a foreign tongue, and die under the process; but the vitality of the Scripturespasses immortal, like the transmigrating spirit, from one body to another.' what an impression would he receive of its wondrous originality! The steersman of an ancient Roman trireme would not be more astonished at the vastness of the change which the compass, and the sextant, and the steam-engine, have introduced into navigation, than a Socrates or a Cicero at the new and marvellous light which the Bible has shed on the terra incognita of religion and morals. There is no more decisive mark of a great writer than this, that his thoughts are pregnant thoughts-that they 'What the precise quality, or combination of qualities, germinate in the mind of the reader, and suggest a mulis, which endues the sacred style with this singular apti- titude of ideas beyond what is written. Tried by this tude for transfusion, it is not very easy to determine. criterion, how plainly does the Bible stand at the head of Part of the effect may be due to the primitive character all literature! What other book has been so suggestive of of the Hebrew tongue; part, to the inartificial simplicity thought in its readers? What other book has furnished of the diction employed by the sacred writers; and part, the seed from which so many productions of genius have to the peculiar nature of Scripture-thought, which com- sprung? It has been noted as the highest proof of Sir Isaac pels language to receive something of its own force and Newton's divining genius, that most of the great discofreshness. But however difficult it may be to explain the veries of later philosophers are but the developments of rationale of the fact, there can be no difference of opinion-hints and principles thrown out in his writings. With at least among Christian believers-as to the final cause equal truth may it be affirmed, that to the Bible belongs of the fact. Is it not a remarkable coincidence, that the the glory of having originated nearly all that is sublime only book which professes to contain a religion for all and pure in the literature of Christendom for the last mankind, should be also the only book which admits of eighteen hundred years. What are the countless treatises being easily and effectually translated into all languages? which illustrate the Christian doctrine; what the countIs it possible to note this beautiful congruity between the less sermons and essays which enforce moral and Chrisdesign and the diction, without being struck with it-nay, tian duties; what the innumerable controversial works without deriving from it a confirmation of our faith in the which discuss articles of faith and modes of worship and divine authority of the Bible? The infidel may scout such government; what the noblest conceptions and finest an inference; but he had better suspend his sneer till he images of our Christian poets and orators-what are all can explain how it comes to pass that the sole book in the these but a mass of evidence illustrative of the germinant, world which aims at teaching all men, is at the same prolific, exhaustless quality of the thoughts and sentitime the sole book in the world which all men may read.' ments of the Bible? Nay, were all other proof wanting, The truth of the following observations on the origina- the singular richness of Scripture-thought would be suffility and depth of thought pervading the Scriptures, must ciently evinced by the undiminished profit and unflagging strike every one at all familiar with the subject: Ori-interest with which pious readers peruse the sacred books ginality displays itself either in throwing out new thoughts, from the beginning to the close of life. In numberless or in re-casting old thoughts into new and striking forms. passages, there is a fulness of meaning which repeated In both respects, the Bible is without a rival in litera- perusal fails to exhaust. There is, indeed, for the most ture. While it sheds on many topics, previously can- part, a plain and obvious sense which any one may pervassed by mankind, a flood of radiance which gives them ceive; but there is usually also a deep and recondite sense the freshness of new discoveries, it also propounds a mul- which patient examination alone can detect. There is a titude of doctrines and principles which, at the time of its wine which flows at the first gentle treading of the grapes; publication, were entirely new to the human mind. No but there is also a wine, stronger and more exhilarating, one who has studied the history of human opinions can which flows out only after the crush of the winepress. deny that the views which the sacred writings unfold of Most literary works will hardly bear a second reading; the character of God, of the relations of God to man, of the best become flat and uninteresting after you have the way of acceptance with God, of the influences of the gone three or four times through them; you have gained Holy Spirit, of angelic agency, of a spiritual church, of all their ideas-you have exhausted their beauties-you the resurrection of the dead, of the day of judgment, are such as had either never before come within the range: * Douglas' Truths of Religion, p. 108. no longer delight in them. But it is not thus with the occasioned. While every sentence has its correspondent Bible. There are countless passages which you may have and equivalent member, the sense which in one is obread hundreds of times, and which you may yet read over scured, in the other remains perfect; or if an error should again to-morrow with fresh relish. As often as you pe- have crept into each, it is impossible that they should be ruse them with attention, you discover something new; parallel errors, at once corresponding to each other and to and the more attentively you peruse them, you discover the general structure of the context. A conjectural readthe more. The fairest productions of human art,' re-ing, too, has much more certainty here than in other marks Bishop Horne, ' after a few perusals, like gathered writings, since the conjecture is checked by the condition flowers, wither in our hands and lose their fragrancy: that the conjectural reading must suit both members of but these unfading plants of paradise become, as we are the sentence.' How congruous such a structure is to the accustomed to them, still more and more beautiful; their purpose of writings intended for the religious instruction bloom appears to be daily heightened, fresh odours are of all ages, it is superfluous to remark. As the acute emitted, and new sweets are extracted from them. He writer just quoted remarks, 'we may trace in it the same who hath once tasted their excellencies, will desire to wise design as in the structure of the human body; for, taste them yet again; and he who tastes them oftenest, from the frame being double, the loss of one eye does not will relish them best.' altogether deprive us of sight, nor the loss of one limb of the power of moving.' The following elucidation of a familiar peculiarity of the Hebrew poetry-the parallelistic structure of the sentences-appears very happy:- Every observant reader of the Hebrew poets must have remarked the symmetrical structure of their periods, and the nice correspondence in sentiment and phraseology between the two members of which a period is usually composed. This correspondence is called parallelism; and it assumes a considerable variety of forms. Sometimes the members correspond exactly the second being responsive to the first both in sense and in grammatical structure. Thus, I will greatly rejoice in Jehovah, For he hath clothed me with the garment of salvation, And they shall build houses-and inhabit them; And they shall plant vineyards-and eat the fruit thereof: Sometimes the correspondence is one of contrast: Some trust in chariots, and some in horses; But we will be strong in the name of Jehovah our God. But we are risen, and stand upright. For the mountains shall depart, But my kindness from thee shall not depart, And the covenant of my peace shall not be removed. And there are also parallelisms where the correspondence consists merely in the similar form of construction: The law of Jehovah is perfect, converting the soul; The judgments of Jehovah are truth, they are just altogether. Now, strange as this parallelistic arrangement may sound to modern ears, no form of verse could have been framed, more entirely accordant with the nature and purposes of Scripture poetry. Among the Hebrews, poetry was always united to music; and as the music was performed in alternate chorus-one choir repeating and prolonging the strain of the other, the poet's hemistichs required to correspond in an alternation of parts. We are expressly told, in reference to one of the earliest parallelistic compositions in Scripture-the song of Moses-that when Moses and the children of Israel sang it, Miriam and all the women answered them,' that is, responded with voice and timbrel. And from the instance of Elisha, who, when about to prophesy, called for a minstrel, we may infer that the poets were in the habit of composing with the aid of instrumental music, and of chanting their hymns in accompaniment with the strain. Its adaptation to the ancient method of singing, is, however, the least of the recommendations of this peculiar metre. 'Parallelism,' to adopt the words of Mr Douglas, has enabled the Hebrew poems to resist the darkness which time brings over other writings, and to repair the losses which the negligence of transcribers has But has not parallelism too much the air of a rhetorical artifice, to be in keeping with the unstudied simplicity of the Scripture style? On a cursory glance this may appear to be its aspect. But we are misled here, as in many other cases, by our preconceived notions. We make our own system of versification the standard of comparison; and because another system is dissimilar to ours, we rashly pronounce it unnatural and artificial. Parallelism, so far from being a refinement of art, is really the primordial and simplest form of metrical composition. In the earliest stages of language, before syllables admitted of being accurately scanned and measured, a symmetrical arrangement of ideas and words was the only method of distinguishing poetry from prose, and therefore the only form of poetic verse. We learn from the specimens preserved in the Pentateuch, that the poetry of the antediluvians, and also of the Edomites and Amorites, was cast in the parallelistic mould; and travellers inform us that a similar structure characterizes the rude verse of most modern semi-barbarous tribes. Even in languages which employ a versification of measured syllables, some vestiges may be discerned of an older style of composition closely resembling the Hebrew model. The verses of the Grecian oracles are occasionally parallelistic. The Greek chorus, with its alternate strophe and antistrophe-analogous to the responsive strains of Moses and Miriam-is a refinement on the parallelism. Even some of the choicest Greek metres-for example, the Elegiac and the Sapphic -are indebted for their charm, as much to the symmetrical proportion of their alternate parts as to their fine rhythmical intonation: while in modern tongues, those correspondences of sound which we call rhyme, may be traced, for their origin, to the uniform movement of the parallelism. 'So far, then, is Hebrew poetry from being anomalous in metrical structure, that it is the only poetry which still retains the primeval form. It is not the sweet singers of Israel, but the poets of other nations, that have innovated on the system of nature, and adopted the fastidious refinements of art. The truth is, parallelism, instead of being an artifice of rhetoric, is one of those figures of speech in which strong feeling instinctively and unconsciously clothes itself. Strong feeling is never satisfied with the simple assertion of a sentiment. It delights to express it again and again, and to recast it in a series of symmetrical forms. In resorting to the parallelism, the Hebrew poets only obeyed the promptings of nature: and it is just because they wrote from the unsought and spontaneous impulses of the heart, that this figure is in their pages invariably beautiful. In the hands of an affected or artificial writer this method of ceaseless reiteration would inevitably become languid and monotonous. But the Hebrew Muse is never tiresome. In repeating the same idea in different words, she seems (to borrow the language of an English poet) as if displaying a fine opal that discovers fresh beauty in every new light to which it is turned. Her amplifications of a given thought are like the echoes of a solemn melody-her repetitions of it, like the landscape reflected in the stream. And whilst her questions and responses give a life-like effect to her com |