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THK

CHRISTIAN
REMEMBRANCER.

^mxtttlp. 9i6(e))ieb)«

VOL. XVIII.

JULY UECEMBEK.

LONDON :

PUBLISHED BY J. & C. MOZLEY,

6, PATERNOSTER ROW;
AND D. APPLETOK 4 CO. 200, nROADWAY, NEW YORK.

1849.

LONDoK:
K. CLAT, PRTNTKBy BRRAD 8TRKKT fllLL.

THE

CHRISTIAN REMEMBRANCER,

JULY, 1849.

Art, I. — 1. Scriptore* Grcpri Miiwre*, By Dr. Giles. Oxoa

Talboys. 1831.
2, Stesichort Himer&nm Frapnenta. Bif O, F. Kleine. Berolini,

Typis et Impcnsis Ge. Keiniari. 1828.

Let our readers imagine the works of Shakspere to have
perished. Let them imagine our whole knowledge of that
immitable gcniiie to be gleaned from the scattered reference <i
made to him by other writers, Suinctiiiics we should find strajf
expressioDs, idioiUi?, and alhij^ions, current »is household words^
Sometimes the meaning alone would be referred to, while the
words were altered or parodied. Sometimes a few lines might
be quoted, or even a passage of some lengtlj, as the ' Seven
Ages/ for example. By some rare chance, one might even
drop upon a Bcene, or upon the 'Beauties of Shakspere.'
Then the SchcJia, or notes of commentators might tuni up;
dissertations upon the genius of the great author, analyses ol
some of his more striking characters, or even * Lamb's Tales.'
But after all, what a deplorable deficiency wonld be presented
by t}ie total result ! Let ua imagine the most elaborate Geniian
criticism, or even the desperate researches of the * Shakspere
Society/ to be enlisted in the cause. Let us fancy them collecting
the fragments, arranging them under the dramas from which
they were taken, and [ilacing them in the proper order of their
fiucceasion. One can see them rummaging the most despised
authors^ ohl grammarians, scribblers on prosudy, and collectors
of wretched ' Elegant Extracts,' but all m vain, all lamentably
■inadequate, tlie mere shadow of a mighty reality, the ' baseless
fabric of a vision,*

If such must have been the result in the CASe of a modern
writer, referred to by thousands of his contemporaries and ours,
^^hat can we expect to find of the lost works of writers who
belonged to a remote antiquity, though the civilized world once
rang to the echo of their names? Thus we have lost Menander,
quoted by S> Paul ; and with infinite lab^^^j. g^^me beautiful

no. LXV. — N, 8. B "

The Remains of Steslchm^ui*

*
I

of Stesichorus^ Kleine cleacrvea the highest praise. Indeed* it
would be very difficult to point out any fragraeutary writer
edited with more learning, judgment, and good taste. More,
hovv'ever, remains to be done* A future editor will find that
ftubeequent improvements of the text have been mjide ; as, for
example, by Sir E, F. Broinhead, in the * Classical Journal,'
No, 46, and some more hinted at in the version of (he frag-
ments wliich we subjoin ; nor would the discovery of additional
fragments be too much to expect.

It were much to be wialied that a systematic English version
of tlie fragmentary writers could be publiathed. At an early
period tJie renowned Grotius did not tliink it beneath him to
turn many such fraf^raent^ into very polished Latin. England
can boast of some valuable anthological collections ; and of the
poet Simonidcs, we have in one of our Quarterly Journals a
complete version, abounding in tasteful scholarship. Stesi-
chorus we arc ourselves about to present to our readers in an
English dress ; but we will first give some account of a writer,
once so much, and in all appearance so deservedly renowned,

Accordinty to Suidas, Euscbius, and others, Stesichorus, sur-
named the Himeraean, was born in the 37th Olympiad, attained
to eminence in the 48th,, and died in the 55th, or 56tb, about
556 years before the Christian era. He was the contemn
porary uf Phalaris, somewhat the junior of ALcman, and the
predecessor of Simonides, who speaks of him ns an old writer
in connexion with Homer. The Marmor Parium, indeed,
makes Stesichorus coeval with Simonides, in direct contradic-
tion to this testimony, but more than one or two members of
the poet's family bore the same name with himself, to one or
other of whom the author of the inscription most probably
refers. It was by no means uncommon to bestow on some of
liie descendants the name of an illustrious ancestor, either t(*
commemorate the honours of the dead, or stimulate the ambi-
tion of the living,

Tliat Ilimera was the native country of Stesichorus, was so
firmly established by ancient opinion, that the Himeraean poet
was his most common designation. All, however, do not agree
upun tlie |>oint. Italy has been assigned by some as his birth-
place. Soidaa mentions Matauria ; Lascans, Metaurus ; Stepha-
nus Byzantius speaks of Mataurus in Sietif/, but the geographer
seems to be mistaken as to the situation of the city. We may
safely believe that both Stesichorus and Himera equally oived
their origin to Italy. It is certain that no long time before the
poet*s birth, the city was founded by some Chalcideans from
Zancle, who, together w^ith the Metaurian branch of the Ln-
rrians, sprang, in the first instance, from ffiolia; ami that
Ste*ichoruw had lived among the Locrians, may be cullected

6 The l(Mt \Vritini/i of Aniiqiiiiy*

Sicily, not, indeed, immediately to Catena, but in the firast
instance to Himera. He seems to have taken refuge at the
former place towards the close of his hfe, perhaps disturbed by
the civil dissensions excited among the Himerseans by the
intrigues of Phalaris, The change of his name from Tisiajs to
btesichorus may not improbably be dated from this jjeriod.
He died in his 85th year, and was buried at Catana, with much
expense, at the gate called from him the Stemchoream His
tomb was octangular; it was ascended by eight stcpe, and
adorned with eight colnnms. According to some, the prover-
bial expression irmna o/cratf denoting perfection, derived its
origin from the number eight, so conspicuous in every part of
the poet's monument ; while the throw of eight upon the dice
was called for the same reason the Steslchorus* Two epitaphs
in honour of the poet are still extant j one in Greek, by Anti-
pater ; another of a later age, in Latin, in the ' Jrlusa? Lapidariai'
of Ferretiua. Of these, for the benefit of the Englisli reader,
we give the following veraions: —

• In Cfttana*B /Etntun pluiiis
KeBt here SteBiclionis' rcmnins,
HiB tu nliuse living lips belong
J m measurable streams or^oiig:
The aage Pythagoras said well,
That aouls in divers bodiea dwell ;
Thy soul, StesickoruB, the same,

Thftt animated once old Homer's frame.'

♦ The bones of sweet Stesichnnifr repose!
Hia boncH, the bones of j^Lna here enclose.
By me, by Opa enshrined ! Of him the reat,
That now remains, m by the world possess "d.'

Cicero speaka of the honours heaped upon Stesichorua by the
jieoplc of Himera. Among the brazen etatues which adorned
the Thermic, was one of the aged poet, in a tstooping posture,
with a book in Ida band, executed witli rare skill and beauty,
Chrietodorus describes another placed in the Byzantian Gym-
nasium. Finally^ a coin is in existence, supposed by some to
have been struck in commemoration of him. On one side is a
head enclosed in a helmet ; on tlie reverse, a man in a standing
posture, holding in one hand a crown, in the other a lyre.
There is no absurdity in supposing that an honour which hail
been paid to Siippho, AlcaeuSj and Anacrcon, should have been
paid to 8te si chorus also ; but the fact docs not rest upon suf-
ficient authority.

The testimony borne to the poet*a merit by the most cele-
bi'atcd writei-w of antiquity, is of the highest order. The
* Stesichyriqiie graves Camainaj ' of Horace, is known to all.
Aristides, Cicero, Dionysius, Longinut!, vie with each other in

The Jlnmatm (jf SU^ickorui,

celebrating Lis praise. Dio Chrysostom and Synesius concur
in representing him as not unworthy to be naojed with Homer.
The former in particular speaks of him as not only emulating
the greatest of epic poets, but fit, in mmiy rcepcctd, to be placed
by his side. Quintilian, indeed, while he speaks highly of his
genius, and lauds the gravity of his subjects and the dignity of
hia characters, blames the redundance of hia style ; a redundance,
however, which is approved by Hermogenea, as owing its origin
to the grace and sweetness of his epitliets. The author of * The
Examination of the iViicicnts,* genex'ally supposed to be Dio-
nysius, speaks of Stesichorus as succeeding where Pindar and
Simonides failed, and surpassing them iu the grandeur of his
events, and the consistency of his cliaraeters. Chrysifjpui^ would
fain liave added to the Stoic philosophy the weight of tlie poet's
authority, and pressed the Fables of Stesichorus, as well as those
of Orpheus, Homer, and ilesiod, into the service of the Porch.

But the excellence of tl»c celebrated iliniercean is sufficiently
proved by the general popularity wliich he enjoyed. His gongs
were in every mouth after the lapse of ages ; and the Pajans
were feung by guests at the banquet, even in the time of Dio-
nyeius the younger. To crown the whole, we read in Ammianus
Marcellinus, that when Socrates had been thrown into prison,
and already looked forward to the iniquitous punislnuent which
awaited himj he asked for one weU skilled in singing the songs
of Ste8ichc»rus, that he might learn to do the same wmle life yet
lasted.

The statement of Sutdas that the jioct's name waa changed
from Tisias to Stcsichorus, because he wtis the first who added
tlie motion of the dance to the accompaniment of the harp, is
not unattended with difficulty. It is well known that, long
before his time, the Greeks made use of dancing in their eacrcd
rites ; certainly in those instituted in honour of Latona and her
children, the invention of which was attributed by the ancients
to the fabulous Philammon. It appears, moreover, that these
dancea were regulated by the lyre, of which instrument Apollo
hiiuself is repeatedly represented as the inventor, and is said to
have contended with the Phrygian pipers by the sounds which
he drew from its strings. In the Ilomoric hymn, tlie Muses
and Graces delight tlie inhabitants of Olympus, the one by
singing, the other by dancing, to the lyre of Apollo. ^ We must
not then rely so implicitly on the testimony of Suidiis as to
believe that, before the time of Stesichorus, the dances iu
honour of the god were regulated only by the sound of the pipe.
The poet was probably the first who, at Himera, or even in
Sicily, applied the dance to the accompaniment of the harp, or,
at least, changed and correctcJ, in many respects, its nidcr and

The lost Writing$ of JfUlquitff.

more Hiraple form; and thus, as the iiiveoior of a more elabo-
rate s*tyle of movement, acquired hia new appellation. Clemens
Alexaodrinus, indeed, attributes the improvement to Alcman,
who ilouriflIie<l fifty years before. Vestiges of choral poetrj' are
found every where in \m fragments; and we arc told that he
taught the Doric virgins to move in measured cadence whiJe he
adapted Ins songa to the sounds of the pipe nnd !yre* We need
not be surprised that the accompaniment of the dance should be
attributed to Alcraan also, so closely are the nature and dispo-
i^ition of the strophe connected with its movements. Whatever
the inventions might liave been with which these princes of
lyric aonff enriched t!ie art in which they excelled, tliey must
have made an equal innovation in the choral dances with which
their son^s were accompanied. The one would do this at
Hiraera, the other at Sparta; and Ste8i'*horu8 cannot be sus-
pected of plagiarism, inasmuch as his style of jtoetry, the form
of hia strophe?, his rhythms, and his metres, arc totally diftercnt
from those of Alcman* Moreover, Alcnian made no use of the
epode. Accortling to the well-known proverb— OySc to. rpla
"SfTTfo-ij^Spou jiyv(^a-K€i,q^i]ie three kinds, the strophe, the anti-
Btrophc, and the epode, belong to the later poet* Possibly
Stesichorus was conf^idered the inventor of the epode, and of
tlie pause created by its introduction into the ancient choral
system of strophe and antistrophe ; and the name accordingly
referred to that point. Even his strophes Alcman did not
amplify and adorn equally with his more celebrated successor,
while the ricliness and beauty lavished by Stesichorua on liis
epodes, will authorize the assertion that he discovered what his
predecessor only souglit.

That Stcsichorus wrote in the Doric dialect is clear from tlie
teetiuiony of Suidas, and the fragments of his poetry atill extant.
This may be easily believed, inasmuch as Alcman, whom in
*ome respects he followed, had applied the Doric tongue before
him to lyric verse, while the dialect was for the most part that
of Sicily, as Thucydides has shown with his accustomed learning
and research. Suidas tells us that the poems of Stesichorua
were collected and published in twenty-six books, but by whom,
or at what period, he does not mention. It is well known, how-
ever, that the works of Pindar were thus edited in the time of
Aristof thanes Byzantius, and it is not probable that those of
Stesichorus were published long before. It is certain that Cha-
madeon. a Peripatetic of Hcraclea, about the time of Thco-
phrastus, edited a single btjuk. He wrote of nearly all the
lyric as well as dramatic ptiets, and in common with Ai'istotlc
himself and many of his disciples cultivated that branch of lite-
ature.

The Remaim of Stesichorui.

But it is time to proceed to the fragments theiuficlves. Of

thejsC a very close version is not possible, and iti some caecs, in
order to complete the series, it has Lieen found necessary to
extort a kind of paraphrastic meaning from the smaller scraps.
It ia singular enough that the English translation prciscnts a
more complete view of the poet^a remaina than the original.
We frequently find the substance of his meaning given without
an exact quotation of his words ; and these in a translation may
be justifiably added to the immima verba^ though in a more
formal work on the subject, these instances should be carefidly
distinguished. Where the context has been restored merely
from conjecture, we have thought it right to mark the additions
by placing them between brackets. Where the fragmenta,
whether they have reached uh in t^ubstance merely, or in the
words of Stesichorus himself, belong to any work of his that can
be ascertained, they are collected under that head, AVhere tlie
location of the fragment is unknown, it is marked wiih a (t),
and placed under any head which may artificially enhance its
meaning, and to which it may therefore ijossibly bekmg. The
industry of critics has brought together about 95 fragments, or
fragmentary references.

L EYPOnElA.— r/jf Stort/ of Europa,
Europa, the daughter of Agenor, the brother of Belus, was
playing on tbe sca-Bhore when she was decoyed to Crete.

This poem seems to have contained an account of the family
of Cadmus. (2.) refers to the well-known story of the dragons
teeth. (3.) attributes the disaster of Actcon, not to his intrusion
upon Diana^ but to a passion for Semele, the daughter of Cad-
mus. Perhaps the goddess wis^hed to enrol Semele among her
nymphs.

* Daijprlitcr of Arabiis, Ilermaon'a heir
By Belus' daughter, I'lironia the fair.

* By Pflllna* aid the Dragon- teeth were sown ♦
The Goddess rea|/d ji harvest all her own.

* When Semele, the destined spouse of Jove,
Won younff: A<^teoii*B mnLiispiciotiii k)ve,
Thonjrh Dian disallow 'd, in her despite
The eager liimtcr iirg'd the nuptial rite;
In a stag's hide encased by Dmn s power,
He perishes for love, and dujijs devour.'

IL KYKN OS,— Cycnu*.

(1.) Stesichorua was the first who gave thia ruffian aspect to
Hercules.

Th^ hst Writimjs of Antiquky*

(4.) These lines and some others niuat be conaidered to repre-
sent the versified arguments heading the books of certain poems
rather than any definite fragment. Our readers will be
reminded of the catacombs of Paris.

' In giiise uncouth tbe Son ofJove appeared,
A knotted Club of niftsaive weight he reftr'd,
A Lion's hide was o*er hia ahoulders flung,
And at his back the rattling Quiver bung.

+2.
' Mighty of bone and limb he stalk M along ;
Gilled with atrengtb to overthrow the strong.

t3.

-* Of Argive He, and of Ba^otian fame.

' As journt:y'd IlerculeSj and onward lay
To the ThessaFmn plain the Hero's way,
Therc^ on his pathway lawless Cyctius stood,
Impatient thirstiitigf for a stranger's blood;
The path he watch 'd, and, from the slaughter 'tl dead
With ruthleaa hand dismembering, lopp'a tlie Head,
A Temple destined of their Henda to rise,
To Mar» hia Sire a fitting sacrifice ;
By Mars impelfd he rush'd upon hia prey,
And stopp'd in mid career the Hero's way.
Cycnua with Hercidea engaged in fight,
And then the Sire displayed his own immortal might ;
The Hero saw the God of War confess 'd,
Awe-struck, a panic liorror chOl'd hia breast;
Then first lied Hercules, hut instant burned
The Shame, and all the Demi-god retura'd ;
Indignant rushing on hia lavvleaa Foe,
Akidea crush'd him to the realms below.'

II L TBPYQ'SrE.— T/ie Genjonld,
The loss of this poem is much to be lamented, as it must liave
teemed with very curious mythological matter. (3.) This sin-
gular fragment refers to an ancient opinion that the ocean was
a river encircling the earthy and that the sun on setting in the
west entered a bowl in which he sailed round to the east during
the night. The same idea occurs in a fragment of Mimncrnms.
The poet ia not to be considered in thla cjtsc as representing
Hercules employing the bowl to pass to the island of Erytheia,
though some commentators so interpret it (4.) Pholos was
one of the centaurs.

L
* Firm on six feet the monster Geryon stands^
And raises dreadful aix unconquer*d hands;
Broad vrings behind sua tain the monster might.
For combat fashioned or a wcli-limed flight.

The Rentaiinf uf Steikhonit,

* Where monster Geryon first belield iLe light,
Famed Erytbeia rises to the sight ;
Bom near tb* mnfatbom*d silver springs that glemn
Mid cavern 'd rocks, and feed Tartessii*' stream*

' Sol's golden bowl be enter'd to pass o*er
The hoary Ocean's stream, and reach *d the uborc,
The fiacred depths of venerable night.
There on the Mother shade to feed his sight,
'I'bere to behold attain the virgio VViJe,
And the dear Children torn away from lifcf
Then pass'd on foot the Hero son of Jove
Through the dim shadows of the kurel grove.

* He raised the draught by Pholoa mix'd, a bowl
Of triple measure, aod he drained the whole.'

IV. KEPBEP02.— -C^rAiTW.

The hero here must have been Hercules, (1.) This vessel is
said to have been shaped like a puree. (3.) may belong to the
Scylla*

* Ample below and narrow-raoutii'd above,
A Vessel worthy of the son of Jove.

• • • * Where hid from human eye
Deep TartaruLS and black Abysses lie.

t3.

♦ • • • The aoimd
Of howling dogs for ever ringing round,*

V. SKVAAA.— tycy//a.

* There Lamia's daughter, hateful Scylla dwells.

VI. SYOeHPAL— rAtf Boar-Htmten,
This was probably a hiBtory of the hunt of the Caledonian
Boar.

* The savage Boar upturn'd the earth around,
Th« monster's snout keen buried under ground.'

Vir. 'AeAA—TAe Oamfx.

The appHcuMlity of (3.) has been a subject of diacussion, and
an alteratioti of the text has been proposed to give the fragment
a Male application, but from some of the parties mentioned it
may possibly refer to Atalanta and games connected with the
hunt of the Caledonian Boar, which she firyt wounded, or per-

The lost Wriilngs of Aniifjuity.

Imps to the marriage of Peleus. The fragment is in it^s way us
singular as the supper of Horace^ and the translator has been
driven to circumlocution to escape the announcement of mix-
tures of oil and honej, and messes of frumenty or firmity por-
ridge, ju8t as Pope was compelled to evade the assimilation of
Ajax to a certain stentorophouous animal.

1.
' The twin-born progeny of Jove possesH'd
Coursers of lof^ stram, tlie fleetest and the best;
Phlogifla and Harpagiis of winged speed
Hermes bestowU, of the Podarga breed;
Exalithus and Cjtlarus were riven
By the high Consort of the King of heaven.

' Amphinraws m the Knrer's art
Excell'd, and Meleager with the Dart.

3.
i # ♦ * Gifts prepare,
Bring presents worthy of the Virgin Fair:
Confections from the OUve and the Bee,
The meas of Wheat, and calses of Sesame :
The Honey-comb of golden hue produce,
Bring all the choicest dainties for her use.

4,
* A Vase of massive gold, where wondrous E»hine
Vulcanean labours and the Hand divine :
This Gifl to Bacehua grateful Vulcan bore,
Hia guest on Naxos' hospitable shore ;
The same to Thetis grateful Bacchus gave,
His guardian Goddess on the ocean wave,
When fierce Lycurgus down the Naxian steep
Drove the young God for shelter to the deep ;
Next, the sad giilt of Thetis to her Son,
To hold his asbea when his race \n run.'

V 1 1 1. 'EPl^r AA.—Eriph^le.
Eriphyle was the wife of Aniphiaraua, who through her trea-
chery went to the Thcban war, and perished. (1.) Thig event
can scarcely refer to the Epigoni, as has been supposed ; this
being directly contrary to the speech of Sthcnelus to Agamem-
non m the Iliad, The healing art cannot be supposed to be
exercised except upon persons recently deiw!, and in the present
case may have been connected with the death of Amphiaraus.

• By healing art divine the deed is done,
By daring .Eacuhipius. Paean's gon :
Thouirh by the Fates* docree the Heroes fall
Fore-doom*d to die before the Theban wall ;
Lycurgua breathes the vital air again,
And Capaucus by thunder scathed in vain \
By Gold suborn'd. • • •

Th B^maim of Ste^ichorus,

IX. EPFTHALAMIUM OF PELEUS AND THETIS.

tl.
No lon^r. Muse, of battlhtg Heroes tell.
The festive Dance with Me beseems thee ivell :
Corae sing witb Me a fttvourd Bard of thine ;
I sing the Nuptial Rites of Powers divine,
1 sing the lordly Feasts that Mortals love^
I sing the Btinqiicta of the Gods above ;
And these, O Miise, the favourite Themes with thee,
Since our first early strains of I oesy,'

X. EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN AND MENELACS.

This piece acquired much celebritj, and gave rise to many
imiitaturs, and perhaps we may enumerate among tliem CatuUus
in his Epithahimium of PeleuB and Thetb. (1.) The violet of
antiquity seema to have been an iris, and our violet seems to
have received the name from its tliree petals, the sporthp of its
coloui*8, and the odour resembling parts of certain indaca\

* Myrtle and garlands of the Rose they fling
Into the passing chariot of the King ;

Quinces they cast» and cast in showers the bloom
Of Flowers that shed the violet's perfiime.

+2.

• # « ♦ Next advance
The youths well skilPd to lead the WarUke Dance.'

X I. TAIOY UEP2I2.— The Fall of Troij.

Notwitbetanding the existence of the aecond book of the
iEneid, tbe loss of this poem is much to be lamented, (2.) The
poem included the story of the wooden horse, which was con-
structed by Epeiui*, probably a slave of mechanical genius
rescued from servile duties by the pity of Clytemnesti-a or
Helen, From the wooden horse sumpter-mules seem to have
been called I^^peius, and the name may have been given as a
nicknauie to certain slaves. (6.) This will remind our readers
of the Coat Armour in tbe Seven against Tiiebes ; the Dolphin,
probably, refers to the eimile in the river battle of the Iliad.
(11,) Virgil repreeents ^neas ad ready to destroy Helen, and
in the present case the poet may have alluded to the fate
threatened by Hector to Paris. (13.) Medusa formed part of
a group at Delphi* (16.) Later writers have called Hector the
son of Apollo on tbe autltority of Stesichorus, possibly m.is-
understanding some metaphor,

+1.
' » « » On Thee I call

Who shak'at the Gates of the embattled wall.

The lost Writings of Antiqtdti/,

' Jovc*a Dnwghter pities (is lie ever brings
The servile weiglit of waters for the Kings ;
Epeiiis lie, condemn'd to swell the state
Of Atreus' sous by too severe a fftte.

' The Heroes* Names it boots not to relate,
« « • *

4. ' A Hundred to the Horse confide tlicir fate.

* Unmitigated sufferings liave I borne.

' Laertes* Son Ulysses stood reveal'd,
The sea-born Dolphin tignr'd on \i\h Shield.

t7.
' ♦ ♦ ♦ They throw

Their powerful darts in sbowers againat the fue.

' The very boldest of the race of men.

.< And in liia hand the slaughter-pointed spear.
flO.

* A chief conspicuous with the snow-white steeds.

11.

* Arm*d with the stony shower, the desperate crew
Rush headlong: to inflict the vengeance due:

In Beauty ann'd the bright Adultreas stands,
And Stones drop harmless from their lifted hands,

tl2.

* The precious mountain-brass of Oriehalc,
13.

' Medusa, daug^hter of the Trojan King,
la seen low seated on the earth to cJinf,
The Laver clasping in her desperate bauds ;

14. * There Clyroene, her captive Sister stands,
15.

* But Hecmba the Queen, Apollo bore
To distant Lycia's hospitable shore ;

* « « »

16. • Mother of Hector, loved as Pbosbus' son.
tl7.

* -ind having brought the dread destruction down

XII. X^O'lTOl.-^The Relurm from Troy.
The existence of tlii8 tlesiderated companion to tlie Ody

The Remalm of Stesichorm.

discovered by Klcine. (6») Tlie singular epithet is said to
refer to the early inhabitants of Rhodes, notorious for envy and
malignity. (12*) Amphilochu?, on hia return from Troy, founded
a colony.

tl.
• • • Hear.
Tuneful Calliope, and now draw near.

' The reckless madness of tlse Cliicfs I tell,
And all the varied fortunes that hcfeli;

• « ♦ « ^

3. ' How some lay buried in the Ocean-tide,

How some to foreij^i climes were drifted wide,
And how for some their happier Fates ordain
To see their loved, their native homes again ;

» « • •

4. ' Tbo Capharsean rocks, where vessels lie

Sad victims of tlie Nauplian treachery ;

♦ ♦ ♦ *

5. * The crash of rocks erratic, and the shore

Where the wdd eddies of Charvbdia roar.

1<i.

Events of dismal gloom, Telcliinian woes.
Of human kind the ever-envioua foes.

Fair Aristomache, in wedlock won
By Critulaus, Hicetaon's son,
Daughter of Priam s own imperial line.

fS.

* The mighty God of ocean, he who loads

The tramp of hollow-hoord, high-hounding steeda,

+9.
' * • • Tlie breeze propilious brings
The llakyons 'nith healing on their winga;
O'er the soothed Seas they wheel and disappear,
The Pleiada niling now the rolling year*

flO.

* And Penelops tlie dnck of varied plnme.

11.

* Now Mesonyx affords a planet light.

tl2.

* • • ♦ When thus began
Amphilochus, " Melampns the divine
Sprang with Myself from one ancestral line ;
He gat Antiphates, — Oicles hCj,— *
Amphiaraus in the next degree
Oicles' honour'd heir, — the Sire of Me.

The. IvH Wntf'n^^ of Anfiquffj/.

XI I r. HELEN.

The satirical invective against Helen waa probably a poem
a lighter nature than the present, more in imiaon witli the * Pa-
linodia/ and forming a sort of first part to that production.

tl.

• * * * Inspire,

0 Muee, presiding o'er the tuneful lyre.

+2.

• Icarius, Aphareiis, Lysippus stood,
Own brothers all ofTindarua*a blood;
Gorgo phone, the ehild of Perseus bore
To Pcrieres nil the honour'd four ;
From fttoied Cynortca Pericrca came,
And Hyacinthus own'd ftn uncle's name.

t3.

' Piaa the city Pericres reared.

ft.

• When Tindarua made solemn sacrifice
To all the high Olympic deiliea,

The hapless Sire forgot the rights alone
Due to the Goddeas of the golden zone!
Hence Venus vengeful, to chastise the Sire,
Upon the heauteuuH dau^litera turn'd her ire;
Hence burn'd the double, and the triple flame,
Forgotten hence the husband 'a honoured namu.

For the aoiFd feet the tepid stream to hold,

A vase of silver-slag, of rudely-fashion'd mould.'

XIV.

nA.\INQiAlA E12 'EAEN AN. —Palinodia, or iht Rtcantafiun ta
Beicn.

This poem of Stesichorua was of great celebrity among the
ancients, and even gave riise to a proverb respecting those who
(to nsc onr elegant phraseology) are * forced to eat their own
words.' An attempt is here made to reconstruct the Palinotlia
from the scattered references in Horace, laocrates, Pausanias,
Suidaa, Conon^ Plato> Maximus Tyrius, Athenaeus, Philostrates,
Cicero, and various scholiasts, though of the poet himself we
actufiUy possess only three or four scattered lines. The ancients
were sometimes cruelly literal^ as much so as our northern
neighbours are said to be, or our American hrethren, of which
last a distinguished writer complains that he did not find any
one who could take a joke until he reached the boatmen on the
Mississippi. Horace, however, himself a writer of much humour,
perfectly entered into the spirit of the * Paliuodia.' Accoitling to
Canon Tait, he began his literary career by imitating the old

The Remains of Steiidwrui,

coarse and prosaic Roraan eatiristiSj and, among othor satires,
very grossly attacked Gratidia, under the name of Canidia,
By the advice of Meca^nas he then began to imitate Archiloehus
and the other Greek satirists in hia book of Epodcs, winch were
still sufficiently coarse. Among others, he imitated Stesichorua,
first writing an ode of inimitable slander on the beforemcntioDed
lady, and immediately following it by another under the name
of *Palinodia/ in which he directly refers to the poet whom he

» imitated: —
• Til piidica, tu proba,
Perambukbis astra aidus aureiim.
Itifamis Helenas Castor oHetisus vice,
Fralcrqiie magni Castoria, victi prece,
Adempta vati reddidere lumina.' — Ep. 17.
Horace from this point was naturally led to imitate the Greek
lyric poet«. On commencing hia odes, it seenw that be fell in
love with Gratidia's daughter, and we find amcmg tlieni a bona
fide recantation in the ' O matre pnlchra filia pulchrior.' Auto-
leon, allied also Lconymuc^j by a play upon his name, was probably
a friend of Stesicborus, who bad taken part in an engagement
against theLocriana. These people oyr bard detested, and fired
off a fable against them, ^o that the whole story of Autoleon
and Ajax is probably as mncb a piece of banter as that of him-
sell' and Helen. The ij^land of Lciiee, where Acbillcs had a
temple, was near the Delta of tbe Danube, cnllcd little Egypt;
and it woidd be odd enougb if tbe story of Helen's sojourn in
Egypt originated in the same mistake aa the popular notion,
that the grpsies, when driven out of little Egypt, Imd come
^ from the Delta of the Nile. (8.) A scholiast tells us that
H Stesichorus applied the expresaion wbich related to the volun-
tary departure of Helen, to his separation from his own mistress;
but we have, doubtless, given tnc fragment its true location,
though StesichoruB may have humorously quoted himself on
some 8ucli occasion. Ibe story of Custor atid Pollux [>ntleef-
ing Simonidea may have originated from this Palinodia,

L
' Accursed the prostituted Lyre,
That rouaed the Jove-born Twins to ire!
Deprived of sight, I mouni the minu?

Of rielcn soil o with deeds of shame.

• • •

. 'In troubled dream uitli fear and awe
The frowning demigods I saw,
Aod starting from my sleep 1 Iny
Sefurching in vain the hght of day.

. * The stroke was from n hand Divine ;
My counsel from the Delphic shrine.

NO. LXV. — N. 8.

■ 18

■

The lod Writims of Jntiquftf/^

* Autoleon for himself and Me,
Hied to the healing Deity,

Autoleon by n w uuml dbtresa'd,

Unheal'd and rankUiitj; in the breast,
Wounded vvlicji laurel d tieids he sought
Where Locri and Crotoaiaus fo tight,
« • *

' He of the lofty Lion-name
At last to mystic l)cl|)hi earnc;
Replies the Povrer, ** No hopes avail
Till you to disUvnt Leuce sail !
OfTended Ajax then may pity,
And barda may learn a dilTorent ditty.'*
The desert Leuee next was won,
Sacred to Thetis' godlike son;
Shades of Ajaces there were seen,
The Less and he of giant mienj
Atrhilles there, and at his side
The chaste, the lovely Spartan Bride.
• • •

* Warn d that to Ajax still belong
Our Locri of the courleoua tongue,
Or heal'd by Ajax or the sea,
He brought a warning back to Mc,
" From Helen tell that Poetaster,
To Me he owca the due disaster;
He shall recant those caluiniiies,

And he shall laud me to the skies t"

« • •

' Oh, Helen ! Queen of Beauty thou !
And faithful to the marriage vow 1

fS.

* [Blindly I sang,] " With willing heart
>id Helen from Iter home depart :*'

* Tie false ! for never Dardan oars
Did Helen bear to Trojan shores ;

4 * •

10.

* The faithless Paris put to sea
With a dead Image, shaped like Theel

» w »

' The Twins propitious hear the righteous Lay; ^^^^M
Apdn 1 now bchtdd the Light of day.' ^^^^H

XV. '0?E2TElA.^The J?tor^ of Ortrsten, ^^H

^^ This

piece was in two parts ; (6.) is mcDtitmcil ns being in tlie^B

^H Bectind

purt

. (4.) Our poet doej* not lay tlie scene in Argos or ■

^H Mycenae. (5,) Our poet doc^ not give the received name of the |

^H nurse.

(7.) Agamemnon was the son of Pleitjtbeucs, ^M

* In every month the cheerful song ^M

Should to the Graces now belong, ■

Song of the Graces golden-treus'd, ^M

SoftsoDg in Phrygiati measure drubs'd ; ^H

^^^M

Tke Remains of Stesiek&rtiM,

f2. For now tlio genial Spring is here,

And, Hark! the Swallow luiltcrH near.

* * * And ain^ once more

* The theme old Xanthtis sang before.

t.
' In lofty Laccdtcmon stood
Atridcs' palace, scene of blood.

* Laodamia^ she whose tender care
Had fustcr'd Agamemnon's infant heir,

* Letters, the fruit of Pakmedes' art.
Are fitting means tlie counsel to impnrt.

* In Clytetnnestra's vii^ions of the nij^ht
Dreams of foreboding horror blast the sight ;
His crest besmear 'd with blood a Dragon renr'il,
And then Pleisthenide^ the king appeurM.

* Of feather'd shads a formidable store.
By Phoebus self- bestowed, Orestes bore.

' The God of Day <lc%hts in sport and song;
To Pluto grief aud moaning gronns helung !

* • * '

110. Bootless to monrn where every hope hns fled,
Vainest of Vanities to mourn the Dead !

• • «

f 1 1. The Dead we never .shall behold ag^ain,
Their favour faded from the face of men.'

XVI. 'PAMNA.—Mmlme, an E/eg^,

Of the real history of this poem we know nothing. It seemi*
to have been one of the ehi8S A'rjfKOfxaTa, which we shoult! call
ballads. The era chosen must have been during the regal
government of Corinth, perhapa before tlio foimding of Sy ra-
ciise. Cephalonia was one of the islands wliieh formerly
I'eceived the name of Samoa. Strabo supposes It to be a tribute
to the memory of the brother and cousin t»f Radine, put to
death by the king of Corinth.

L
• Come, sacred MuHe» begin the sonjpr,
To thee the tuneful notes bebmg;
Let Samoa and her Sons inspire
The lovely lay and lovely lyre,

The lost Writing$ of Anthjuittf.

2. * l^p apringa tlie gentk western breeze
To waft Radiiie tier the seas,
From her own Satooa mailing o'er
To regal Corinth's diataiit shore.
Where Corloth's King with longing arm a
Impatient waits her Bridal eharniH,

• • »

' The same breeze summons to depart
The Brother of Radinc'a heart,
Sent on an embaasy divine,
To diataiit Delphi's halJow'd shrine.

• * •

* Her Kinsman hastenSr too, to grace
The bridal games and chariot race^
And at fair Corinth sighs to dwell
Near her that he had loved too well.

« • »

' The furious Husband has decreed
Brother and Kinsman both ahalt bleed.

• • •

' The Chariot by hia stern command
Conveys the dead from off the laud ;
But soon the pangs of conaeience bum,
ITie Dead are summon 'd to return.

• • •

' The funeral rites are duly paid,
And low in peaceful earth the dead are laid.*

XVII, K^^ryih.—CaIyce, an Ode,

The unsullied purity of Stei^ichorus in sentiment and expres-
sion is very remarkable. Calyce can scarcely have been con-
sidered by tlie poet the daughter of JEolns, as woukl appear
from tlie nature of her prayer and its re&iilt, and from the pro-
bably invented name of Evathlu:?. The ^ Lover d Leap/ in the
* Spectator,' will repay a peruaal.

* " 0 VenuB ! hear a Lover's prayer,
Be suppliant Calycc thy care ;

A maiden seeks thy honoured shrine,
And BO unba!low*d love be minej
Or 1 Evathlus' wedded wife,
Or may I quit a loathed life !"

• • #

' Thus Calyce her prayer preferr'd,
No Power divine propitious heard ;
Nor could her purer passion move,
Evathlus scorned her maiden love.

« • •

* Where spreads the wide Thessalian plain,
And iEohis'a ancient reign.

* She, where F^eucate overhangs the tide,
Plunging down desperate — a Virgin died.*

w liemaim of Stmchorue,

XVIII. DAPHNIS. A BUCOLIC.

This branch of poetry i8 said to have been invented by Steai-

1 hw Drancn oi poetry i8 saiti to imve Dc
churu8j the Father of the Sicelides Miisa?.

* 1 mourn ihe Shepherd Dapliuisi robb'd orsiglit,
Doom'd by a Goddeas Nymph to endless night.

* Fair Clonia's slighted love to hate had gfrown;
Her Shepherd Diiphnis stands transform 'tl to stone.'

XIX. YMNOS E15 OAAAAAA. — Hxjmn to Minerva.

(1.) do€3 not with certainty belong to Ste^ichoru.s, but the
style is his, (2.) This picture of Minerva is said to have origi-
nated with our poet, but is found on Etiiiscan remaine.

* Pallas, the dreadful Goildesfl, ndes the lyre;
Pallaa that seta the martial aoiil on fire, —

The Power that lays the haughty Cities wastCj^
That rouses slumbering h at l!e,— Goddess Chaste, —
Jove's mighty Daughter, — skilled the Steed to tame,—
Minerva ! awful, all-unrivall*d Nanie !

* From Jovc*8 own Head, forth to the light of day
Minerva leap'd in all her arm'd array.

13.

* Typlioeus sprang from Juno, sprangyfrom Her,
To vengeance roused against the Thuudertr.'

XX. FABLES.

The versatility of Stesiehorus* genius was unrivalletl among
the Gi^eeks, and only equalled by that of the inexliuustible Ovid
among the Romans. His fables seeui to have been all of a poli-
tical character. It has been questioned whether they were
written in prose or verse ; but we may conclude from the general
tone of his wrltinf!;^, and from the precedents set by ot!iers, that
he would compose them in verse, except when a fable was deli-
vered as part of a public speech, lie may have quoted on such
an occasion the fable of some otiicr writer* That of the Horse
and Stag we know lias paased through several hands, such as
-^sop in his defence of the demagogue. It was not unusual to
degrade poetical fables into the form of prose. An indu.strioua
person might possibly pick out some loose Iambic measure from
the second and tliird fables which seem to possess the digjtctt
membra poekv. Socrates in prison asked for the poems of Stesi-
chorus, and may have been led by these to compoi?e some fables
of his own. (4,) The Cicada of the ancients was not our grass-
hopper.

The lost Writings of Antiqaitih

'mnOS KAl *EAA*OS.— 7'A* Uorae and the Stai/.

* A Stag comes trampling and destroys
The meadow whicb a Horse enjoys;
The Horse for vengeance cries to Man—
*' AsKist to punisli, ifytHj can."
Replies the Man, '* Wear you this Bridle,
These javelins shall not be idle! '
The Horse agrees?, the Bridle wears,
And on his back the Hunter bears:
But for revenge he took'd in vain,
And never \\m he free again*
Ye Iliniera.ian3, think of this,
Nor seek revenge throug:h Fhidaris ;
From vou he holds supreme command,
A Bridle ready in his hand !
To make the Fable aptly fit,
Give him a Body-guard for Bit!
Then fairly mounted on your back,
Your master he — and you his hack ! !

2. The IIoTMe and the Doe.

' A paaturo smded in green, and near
A riviilet t!ow*d sweet and clear;
A roving Doc, that chanced to pass,
The fountain foiird, and trod the grass ;
A Horse to whom the field belongs,
Bnms to aTenge these heinous wrongs.
The Doe he finds too fleet to chaae,
A Hunter meetB, tiud states hits case:
QuotJi Hunter, ** Were I on your back,
And w'ere you bridled on her track.
We both could soon chastise this Foe : "
He mounts, and spears the hapless Doe*
The Horse revenged found out too late
Himself reduced to servile state.
' Ye Uemocrata, 1 fear that you
And ilimera the like may rue :
You hate your betters, and you cjill
For Gclon's help to crush them all;
For this a Body-guard he craves,
And you may find that you are slaves.'

3. rEQProj KAI *AET02,— 7%e Eagie and the Ifttsfmiidman,

* As sixteen kbourcrs U)ird together,
And harvested in sultry weather,
Thejf sat them down to rest and dine,
Alhirst for water to their wine ;
So one is sent away to bring
The water from a neighbouring; spring.
Away he hies at tlieir comraaud^
Flagon on shoulder, hook in hand.
And there he spies an cattle lying
In a snake's folds just strunglcd, dying?
The eiigle hoped a prey to make,
And fouud himself outniatcli d bv snake ;

lerin* of SieMtchorm-

23^

The kiD^ of birds by snake is bcatt?n ;
Not now to eat, — perbaps be ealeii :
Unlike o!d Homer 9 birds, the brcjod
AJJ gape, and gape in vain tbr food.
The countryman has beard that Jove
Sends birds xni errands from iiliove.
That eagles do his high behest,
And snake he knows a hateful henst.
He lakeE) bis hook, cuts sntikc nsmidcr,
And liberates the Bird of Thunder!
Work done of supererogation.
Water be draws in hm vocation ;
Water be mixes with the wine,
And hands about for all to dhie :
The thirst is great, *tis high noon-tide.
The draughts are deep, and often plied.
Oiir Countryman had served the rest.
Nor aat with them to share tlie feast;
At last be dines, and raiaes up
With eager thirst the coobng eup ;
The Eagle sees, he pounces down,
Upsets the cup, and straight is gone!
The Countryman indignant criuti,
As off the well-known Eagle dies,
**Ob ! is this conduct right or just/
Who now in Jove will put his trust?
Aud who again will act like me,
Or set his captive eagles free?"
He spoke, — he turn'd, and then saw lying
The rest convulsed, in torture dying!
Snake-poiaon in the stream was laid,
llie bird the boon of life repaid.

* [Since much to you, my friends, I owe,
Unwelcome counsel 1 bestow ;
'Tis good — adopt, nor bear so hard
Upon your faithful Eagle- Hard,]"

To the LocrlaiiB on tiicir use of foul language : —

4. The Grasshopperg,

* [Day after day, and year by year,
Chattering, chirping, fur and near,
Some GrasahopperH a house surround
And din the owner with the Bound.
These grasshoppers delight in trees
To chirp and chatter at tbeir ease :
So quoth our friend, ** You villain vermin f
This nuiiiaiice I'll at once determine :
Your Trees 111 fell, and then you may
In humbler tjuarters sing away !'"]

* Hush, Locrians I or far and near
Divcllings and Trees may disatipenr;
Theu Grasshoppers, ill-omen *d sound,
Shall sing to You, — and from the ground.

The lost Writinfjs of AntiquUij,

XXI. HYMNS TO BACCHUS, PVEANS, PANEGYRICS, EPITAPHS, kc.

Of the rabcellaDeous compOBitionB of all Borts, we can only
Bay that some of the preceding fnigments may belong to them.

1 . Solm- Eciipse.
' The loftiest, Gn^eatest Star^ before so bright,

Now kvrks conceal'd, his noonday tuni'd to night ;

Where once ihe sun his dazzling: radmncc shud,

Are paths of black eclipse with darkness overspread.*

2. 7'Atf Ilimera,
* The HimerEean waters there divide,

Rolling two curreiita to the ocean- tide ;
One enters where the Tuficfln hillowni sweep,
One awellB the surges of the Libyan deep.
» « « *

13. * A Hostelry, the fnvonrite reaorl

Of MnrinerB at the Trinacrian port/

Opinions apparently the most absurd, arc eomctiincs latmdcd
on truth. Our readers will recollect tlie incniorable complaint
of Horace respecting the e&tituation in which the older writers
were held ; tlic absurdity of which he attempts to prove by
deducting one year after another, demo eii&m titntmi until he
reaches his own time. But, independent of hiatorieal interest,
an actutil and real value in composition is derived from if a mere
antiquity. If wc take a work of the reign of Queen Elizabeth
for example, an old play, an old poem, an old piece of vitupe-
rative declamation, we find such a raciness in the expression,
and such an originality in the idiom and iden^ running tlirough
the whole, as make what was utterly common-place at the time,
new and striking to m. How much more forcibly^ then, must
the remark apply to the beat writers of a more remote antiquity!
Wlicn we take up such a work as that of Klelne, we are struck
with an impression similar to that of Dawkiii^, when he came
suddenly upon the ruins of Tadmor in the wilderness. Here
a noble pillar lies prostrate, there a rich capital ; here a muti-
lated inscription, there a flight of steps leading to the sc4ittered
fragments of a temple still to be traced in outline ; every where
broken rcmnantB of sublimity and beauty ; and, whatever may
be said of the natural, in the intellectual ruin more may yet be
discovered. We must not imagine that this branch of literature
is yet exhausted. Much of interest remains to be done ; frag-
ments to be amended, and their purport and relation illustrated ;
every correction and addition throwing new light on the whole.
In matters of this nature much industry is required. There
must be a systematic research for te^tlmoma through all the
ancient writers, such especially as have ever proved their ac-
quaintance with a particular author by any quotation not at
second hand; and also a critical examination of quotations

^^^^^^^^^^iW^Eemains of StemAarue, ^^^^^^T^

uoa[>propriatetl to any author by name. Precious fragmcntej
have beeo found in the most unexpected quurterr?. We have
seen publifthed in our own day the dull and shallow remarks of
old grammarians sparkling with gems not their own. The
present Bishop of Lincoln, Dr, Kayo, in hia analysis of Clemens
AJexandrinus, mentions the interest attached to that writer
for echoUirs, from the many classic references to be found in his
works, Sometimes Greek writers may be traced in unaeknow-
le«lged translations. Catullus thus gives us literally an ex-
quisite ode of Sappho, while Horace does not name Alcaeus,
when he writes —

* Nullam, Vare, sacrft vite prius sercris arborem ;'

nor Virgil the predecessors^ of whom he does not scruple to
make free use. We are even tolil that, at the revival of
letters, some scholars destroyed ancient manuscripts, and pub-
lished copies of them as their own. Some ancient writers
have come down to us through the hands of an ahridger, as
was Justin the historian ; others have been paraphrased, as
were the Epistles of 8, Ignatius, and in such a yhapc that the
worthy and perverse Winston insists upon the original being
an abridgement. The early Christian writers are often merely
fragmentary from the well-known persecution of their books
qiB treasonable against the state, and blasphemous towards the
keathen deities. In tlie ca^je of the fables which pass under
the name of -^Itlsop, and, perhaps, in that of others, poetry
has been converted into prose. A German scholar publishes
a Babrius of his own, extorted from the Di»jecti Afrmbra
Poela*, when, heboid, the original Babrius is discovered in the
East, and published at Paris, affording an amusing criticism on
clasj^ical conjectures, and enabling our own Mr, ifurray to pub-
lish a chastised and most elegant collection of tables. Some-
times ancient works have been detected as translations into tlic
Semitic tongues, of wdiich a work of Eusebius, lately brought
to light, affords an example. It cannot be dcmbted that, in
eastern libraries, some few valuable works yet remain to be dis-
covered. "Ejiigi'ams, which have conic down to us from anti-
quity, have appeared again as inscriptions; and lately, the
gt-eater part of a long hymn to Isis has turned up in this manner.
Xhe peculiar nature of mathematical research has enabled the
modems to recover many of the lost writings of the ancients,
and the very remarkable restomtiuu of the Torisms is celebrated
among men of science. In existing libraries, we have Palimp-
sest MSS., out of which we have gleaned fragments of Cicero,
Fronto, and others ; and this seems to be a sort of propensity
in human nature, as indicated by the rc-used slabs of cuneiform
inscriptions at Nineveh, and our own mediaeval brasses. The

Tk^loit Writings of AntiquUif*

newspapers would, moreover^ lately have 03 believe that the
fijot of an Apelles or Zeuxis way detected |jcepui*r from heneatli
i\\Q over-hiid drapery of a mediaeval saint. This resourec j»*
ahuosfc untouched; and it is to be lamented that a due exniui-
nation of the Vatican, the Eseurialj and other repositaries of
learning, would require the y^yj rare combination of high
elassical schohu^c^liip, antiquarian research, niecliaoical tact, in-
defatigable industry, great leisure, and a good income.

From the tombs of Egypt we have recovered scraps of Homer,
and more recently a Greek orator; and wc need not despair of
future acquisitions from the hind of the Ptolemies, and of the
Alcxundrian library. The \vorks of Aristotle were once burietl
by hiri lamily. But these voluntaiy entombments are notliing,
when compared with the devastation of an earthquake at Smyrna,
or with the destruction of Hereulaneuui. Amidst the ruins of
the latter, a library has been found, and another by a bare pos-
sibility may be detected ; unliappiJy, the library in quet^tion
belonged to a metaphysical philot^oplier, and the unrolling of the
MSS. haa been moat costly, tardy, anil discouraging. Sir
Humphrey Davy wenr over to <»fler the aid of hi^ chemical .skill*
but they contrived very jydiciou4y not 4o put the best t^pecimena
into the hands of a gentleman who was in the habit of smashing
retorts during the impulsive fervour of operating genius.

We ought, however, to be very thankful that bo much is left.

* Arma vinim, tabulE£(|ue, et Troiii gaza, per umltt»/

vVnd to Christianity, in conmion with every great and goml in-
fluence tluit could tend to promote human happiness and civili-
zation, i^ the boon due. Christianity has taken upon herself
for ever the maintenance of the learning cimnected witli the
Semitic, and Cfreekj and Roman tongues. Vulgar uneducated
fanaticism may ignorantly imdervalue those tongues, and fool-
ishly endeavour to supplant them ; but while Christian learning
and scholarship exist, their study must exist also.

The translation of the Holy Scriptures into all languages will,
in the same manner, be eventually of incalculable value to ethno-
logy, to the fixing of semi-barbarous tongues, and k» the easy
acquisition of any language whatever, tlwough the medium of
compositions common to them all. We say this, how^evcr, with a
caution against what has already happened; we mean their trans-
lation into cert4iin hideous jargons, whicli are in no sense language,
and winch are entirely undt fur any representation of the sacred
ifleas, and the peculiar s]>iritualitics of the Gospel. The most
inveterate enemy of the monastic sys^tem will not deny that
conventual estaldishmcnts were in their tlay the last rciugc and
citiidel of assailed learning; neither can it be disputed that, on
the fidl of Constantinople, and (he revival i>f letters, the sun of

Th Remains oj

hiaaiin civilization sboue brightest in Italy under tlie Mctlici,
when the iliaeovery of si nianuticript wae hailed jw the dii-covery
of ^ treasure beyond all value; and u scholar died broken-
hearted on the loss of his collections in the East. Printing
just came in time to aid the development of learning; or,
perhaps, we should rather yay, was forced into existence, lilce
other inventions, by the demand.

We cannot conclude this article without lookinf^ into the
future, with regard to the continued existence of valuable works
now within our reach. We are accustomed to consider the
pa^t as a series of great geological eras in social existence* which
can never recur again, and look uiion ancient writers as if they
were a sort of Plesjosauri existing in our strata and museums,
Hut wc must not deceive ourselves. Lyall's doctrine that the
causes of great geologicsd changes arc still in operation every
where, is unquestionably true in the social world; and pu.sterity
may 8e«irch in vain for a Didus, or Dcinornis, or Mastudon
Gigantcum, now in existence. Very recently, the unique Ice-
landic collections at Copenhagen were burnt ; and wc daily
hear of valuable libraries belonging to the nobility and gentry
meeting with a similar fate. It i^ notoriou!?, that there are
many works, of which a single copy only is known t<j exist,
such as the Hamlet in the collection of the Duke of Devonshire,
and the volume of Prynne, lately in the Stow collection, while
works are reprinted on that very account by some of our anti-
quarian societies. Their proceedings, however, remind us of the
culloquy between Time and Hcarne the Antiquary :—

* . , , , Quotli Time Ui Thomas Hearne,
" Whatever I ttir^et, you learn."
.... Cri&s Hcftriic, in furious fret,
** Whftte'cr I learn, youTl soon forget.*'*

It has, in fact, bccouie a regular practice to print a very limited
number of copies of curious books, for the avowed ol>jcct of
making them rare.

The publications of the provincial and periodical press in the
l»resent day, sometimes of a high order, disappear almost as fast
iis they are printed; and posterity will search in vain for nan-a-
tive^ and discussions, wldcli will h{ive an interest for them incon-
ceivable to contemporaries. Who cc>uld imagine that broadsides,
and penny publications, and a printed volume of oKl balhuls,
ehould be now among the ibrlorn t/eMderata of our literature?
Valuable works fall very frecpiently dead-born from the press*
wliilc accident or favouritism furces into notice works about
wbich posterity will care little. Meanwhile, a system of active
Vandalism is at work every where, not to be surpassed by civic
authorities, or even by cluu*chwardens. A new Paliaii»8e8t
process has been announced for <iischarging titc print of old

The loit Writhi^s of Anttqnttt/.

books, and rc-manufacturlng t!ie paper. Thousandi?, and tens
of thousands of tous, are yearly torn up without scruple or dig-
criminatioUj to he uj^cd as waste paper by seedsmen, grocerg,
and bacoii-vendoi'8 ; and sales are attended for the purpose of
purchasing Avorks that sell below a certain weight per pound.
Then the very ingenious Mr, Frederick Strong, of Graftoii-
placc, Euston-square, haa invented, in addition, the rapidly
extending profession of a literary anatomist, who dissects rare
books and periodical, and disposes of the mutilated limbs to
persona who may be collecting topography, or biography, or
aeronautics, or somnambulism, or illustrations of the life of
Wesley, or Bamfylde Moore Carew, or any thing, or body,
else which may happen to strike their fancy. In the mean-
time, there are great works of inestimable value, such as the
earlier Philosophical Transactions, and those of other learned
bodies, journals, and travels, which will never be reprinted, and
in resjject of which wc are satisfied with the power of reference.
But, after all, it will be said, that the use of gunpowder must pre-
vent society from ever being overrun again by uncivilized hordes
of Gotlis, Vandals, Visigoths, Huns, and Tartars; but, alas! either
politically, socially, or intellectually, this is an utter delusion.
Tlie plain truth is, that the different classes or strata of society,
I'rom the highest to the lowest, though speaking the same lan-
guage, may, to all intents and jjurposes, be considered as eo
many distinct nations, widely diifering in habits, sentiments,
moral principle, education, and opinions. The outbreak of a
horde of red republicans, or English socialists, would bear every
character of a barbaric invasion; and Burke very truly asks,
what savage hordes would have treated France worse than its
democratic revolutionists. The vulgar inatiuct of each social
stratum is to invade the stratum above it, except as far as self-
control may be induced by moral and religious princiide, by a
feeling of natural dignity and seli -respect, or by a fear of the
social strjitum below. A rapid growth of wealth and jirosperity
is usually attended with social danger. This was seen in the
reigns of Charles I. and Lrouis XVI., when violent convulsions
placed gigantic resources at the command of the grasping and
unscrupulous despotisms that followed, and were composed only
by the exhaustion produced. In our own country, the quad-
rangles of colleges have been ankle-deep in torn books and
manuscripts; ruffians were liircd to break the richest stained
glass, and destroy the carved work of God's temples 'with axes
and hammers ;' and it was proposed to annihilate all the records
of the kingdom ; while, in our own day, we have seen a deter-
iniuation expressed in a democratic publication, that the success
of its party should be cei-tainly followed by the burning of
Westminster Abbey, and probably of the British Museum.

Bif ITenry Taylor, /T.^^.
Bv ITenry Tayloh,

Art, IL — 1. Notes ffom Life
London; Murray.

2. 7sw of^ie Canqit4?st and other Poems*
3tq. London; Moxon.

It has been truly said, that the world has little to do with
habits or modes of authorship, the quick or the slow, the deli-
berate or the impulsive. Whether a writer strikes off a thought
in a happy moment of inspiration, or brings it to gradual per-
fection by the annealing process of meditation and time, is a
email matter to the reader: what he is concei'ned with is the
result; if that be good, we regard all means of attaining it with
equal respect. It comes but to i\\e question, at what period
wad the necessary thought gone through — at the time, or before-
hand? For every work worthy to Iitc is the fruit of thought
and reflection in their largest senae. It may be the hoarded
musings and visions of youth, brooded over since chiklhood, and
flashing into sudden life and maturity when their time comes; or
the more conscious workings at the period of composition of a
thoughtful and comprehensive miod. Inquiry into such matters
is curious and interesting as a question of Psychology, but the
value of the work itself is not affected by it. Whether Drydcn
was a fortnight in composing his * Alexander's Feast,' as Juhn-
eon reports, or but a single niglit, as seems more probable, a
night of inspiration leaving the old bard * in an unusual agita-
tion of epirits even to a trembling,' does not affect tlie intrinsic
merits of that wonderful ode — it h equally a noble poem. * We

* have no mode,' says Sir Walter Scntt, * of estimating the excr-

* tions of a quality so capricious as a poetic imagination \ the

* finished work alone proves the power and the degree and mca-

* sure of the gift.'

Such being the case, we believe it to be the beat policy of
authors to keep back from an inquisitive public the processes
by which their labours have been accomplished, and in present-
ing the fruits of their toil, to hold in obscurity the efforts they
have cost them. Any allusion to the machinery of thought and
meditation seems to justify criticism, and lays them open to the
consequences of their confession. If a writer boasts of rapidity
in composition, we may then lay every weak line to careless
haste, or arrogant self-confidence; if lie pleases himself by
dwelling on his deliberation, and the fastidiousness of his taste
prompting him to frequent modification and rejection, we are

Tavl

or 8

letl to look curiously for an mlcquate result of so much pauis,
and to n\\^^ thai free spontaneous flow uf thouirht which repre-
sents in the popnlsir mind the gift of genius. A poet*8 mind,
we env, shouUl be a sort of fea^^t, an inexhaustible profiij?iun,
even tliough the very abundance prevents perfect order in the.
display. We ouglit to be able to say of him as of Nature, and
an was ^aid of our greatest early poet, * Here is God's plenty.'
Thus it happens that we do not thank the poet for his pains;
we are ai>t not to value the care he has taken to please, nor to
estiuaate his success as highly as if it were the fruit of a happy
accident, or a native felicity of execution; which wc might pos-
sibly have believed it to he, had not the author himself been at
tlie Iroulilc Ui undeceive us. However, this same success cer-
tainly justifies the introduction of the delicate subject self, and
what w^c have said is rather advice to authors tor tiaeir own
sake, than from any discontent at our being taken so fai- into
an author's confidence.

Mr. Taylor, in his two recent works, has adinittcd us intu
some of the secrets of his mode of comi>osition. The volume of
[K>ems begins appropriately with a rhymed dedication, of which
we give the opeuing lines : —

*To THE Hon. Mrs. Henry Taylor.

* Dear Alice, throiigb much mockery of yourV,

(Impatient of my labours long Aiid stow,

AnJ Hinall results tbat 1 made haste to show
From time to lime,) you scorttfullest of reviewers,

These verses nork'tl their uny : *' Get on, get on,"
Whs mostly my encouragement. But I,

Dcatl to all spnrritij;, kept ray pace foregouc,
And limg bad learnt nil kughtcr to defy.*

N^or 18 the preface to the Essays les3 confidential. We are
thus let into some of the secrets of dramatic writing: —

* My present work must he regarded as to some extent comprelictidcd in
the same design, thiit of embodying in the form of maxima and rcfiectiona

the immediate results of an attentive observation of life For more

than twenty years I have been in the habit of notin"; these results M they
were thrown up, when the facts and oocurreuccs that gave rise to them
were fresh in mj mind-*

* A large portion of them I would more willingly have transfused into
dramatic compositions. Year afler year I have indulged the belief that I
mip:ht find health, leisure^ and opportunitif\ for doing so; nor do I yet
reliuqubb the hope that I may gain the tune for some further efforts of
that nature before I lose the faculty. But the yean* wear away, and
though I da not hold that youth is the poet'a prime, yet I feel that after

' ' Some of the noies were originally made in t'erse, others were from time to time
converted into verse to serve the pnrpo^eR of dramatic or poetic works in progress
or in contemplation: and I have not hesitated to nuotc the vcnjcs in illusLratlon
of the pro«o, aa often as ibo vcrHitted fortn ttccmed to give a reflection, or an aphorism,
a better cbaaoc of fiuding a resting-place in the memory of the reader/

I
I

Tatjlt^f Potmf,

iJi

youth the iinaginatiJMi i-wniiot be put on uml taken off with the same eas^
versatility — that a cuulinumm fthKnrntion in the dramatir ilieine is more
iudispensable to ita treatment ; and that, cojiscquently, such piirsuir.s come
to be less readi!y combined m ith otlier ftvoentions. Other avocations I am
unnble to discard, and lest, therefore, 1 shtmkl never be in u condition to
realize a better liope, I have put into the proaaic form such of my reflec-
tions on life as 1 have thought worthy in one way or another to be pre-
served.'

* We, who are priests of Apollo/ say* Drydciit ' uiust wait
till the god comes rushing on tis.' This may be Mr. Taylor's
mcaDing in hia own calmer language ; when the god rushes on
him he will write liia drama. In the nieauwhile we are let into
the mode Ly which, applying the luoderu art of tlivision of labour^
he prepares himself for this event. He has hts thitt/jht^ «11 ready,
it ia no injustice to say, *cut and dried.' The plot, the action,
and pcjetic diction^ are all that lie w^aits for till such tiiue m?
inspiration and leisure shall attend hiui hand in hand. To
simple pcuplc, like ourselves, who never attempted even a
* dramatic sketch,' we must repeat that we feel it a mislakc to
have given this insight into the secret of construction. All
people have their own way of going to work, with which, as wc
have already said, the world has nothing to do; yet it would
a good deal mar the pleasure of the uninitiated in reading
dramatic work?, if they were lorccd to believe that all tho^e
profound reflections, those deep insights into the innermost
heart of man to be found in iheni, had been prepared before-
hand by the author, and were not elicited in his own mind, a.s
they profess to be Ijy the characters who utter them, from the
force of the occasion » and the energy of the scene, which I he
poet inteni?ely realizes. We know bow, in couversatiun, cir-
cumstances of interest, and the intiniate collision and fusion of
two minds, bring out their powers, and develop thought and
fancy beyond what each separately seemed capable of, AVe
believed that the poet, embodying his characters, could work
the same wonder by" the intimacy of his relation with these
creatures of his imagination. It would be a diisappointment to
learn that those startling truths, those profoundest appeals to
our sympathy, which delight us in Shakspere — those touches
wliich seem suggested by the urgency of the occai^ion, by the
inspiration, so to say, of some peculiar conjuncture, were in
fact drawn out of his note-book; that he had skilfully led the
conversation up to them, that they were not the natural fruit
and consequence of that emergency. Nor can we believe it to
he otherwise than as wc fancy it; and that it is, in truth, the
appropriateness of the saying that gives it its force and value.
Shakspere struck wldlo the iron waa hot, he so vividly saw
and realized as he went along that hh nature was a step

Tai/lots Pomm*

beyond that of other men. He not only wrote what men were
likely to suy, but what they icofdd pay, and how far these two
differ any one nniy tell who takes the trouble to compare his
expectationti of any critical aeene with the event. But to return
to our aubjcct.

It iiii a proverbial sign of genius to be able to make much of
small muterialrf, to produce a great work from means which
appear to common minda wholly inadequate. If the promised
tragedy ia a great one, Mr. Taylttr will prove himself a greater
poet than even at present we esteem him ; for his published
storehouse of thought, as seen in * Notea from Life,' must, we
think, be nuiver*5ally held to be most inadequate for such a
work. After what Mr. Taylor has already achieved, we, there-
fore, regard it as in some sort an injury to his high repu-
tation to have published this volume of detached thouglita.
They must disappoint liis admirers; not that they do not contain
much truth and good sense, but they do not satisfy expectation,
nor come up to the estimate already ibrmcd of him. Few persons
could have written * Philip van Artevelde ;' many— very many
men could have made notes on life quite as true, quite a^s ori-
ginal, quite as instructive. It is a pity then to have thus
paraded his materials, to have shown us an embryo labour. Mr.
Taylor, even with his own estimate of the value of his lucubra-
tions, should have remembered the old aJagc, that * Fools and
children should never see a work half done/

To us it seems that many of these ' Notes from Life,' coming
as they do from a distinguished writer, must be regarded rather
as rough notes on subjects to be t/wu/?/d abont, tlian actually the
deep mature thoughts of a comprehensive mind — a series of
common-phices, first principles, truisms, which rliythm and the
harmony of numbers must develop out of their present trite-
ness into vigour and freshness. It has been plausibly said, that
half the noblest passages in [joetry are truisms. This we deny,
but readily grant that divested of their point and their melody,
and put into inharmoniona prose, they may be. The sword is
rusted into its sheath. The Hash and edge, the keen penetrat-
ing force is gone. Its power is over. Truth is always fresh
and always new. Truisms are truths east into moulds ; all the
clear lines and edges are dulled and rounded oW.

The following reflections in their present state we think to be
truisms. We have heard them all before, and so had tlie author
before he wrote them ; nor do tliey seem to have gained any
new grace or attractiveness in their passage through his indivi-
dual mind. They are simply so much of the stock wisdom of the
world, which no one for the last tliousand years can appropriate
aa his own ; and yet, in all the dignity of large type, and all the

Taylor't Foemi,

titi

|>petensioD of appearing on their own account^ — not to confirm
something else, but for their own intrinsic value,— they do seem
to affect a certain degree of novelty. The first extrjit!t is on the
subject of generosity : —

• All giving is not generous ; and the ^h of a spendthrift is not given in
generosity; for prodigality is, ec^ually with avarice, a selfieb vice: nor cut
there be a more spurious view of generosity than that which has been often
taken by sentimental comedians and novelists, when tbcy have rcpTcsented
it in combination Mith recklejsyiiess and waste. He who gives only uhat
he would as readily throw away, gives without generosity ; fop the essence
of generosity is in Belf-sacrilice.*

AH this is exceedingly true> but we certainly knew it be-
fore.

Again, we have surely all of us known — it is, indeed^ one of
the standard and current maxima of the most ordinary observa-
tion and experience — that men would rather condemn them-
aelvea in the general than the particular. Mr, Taylor hardly
appears aware that mankind have been beforehand in this dis-
covery : —

' Besides the false humility under cover of which we desert the duty of
censuring our fellow- creatures, there are others by which we evade, or per-
vert that of censuring ourselves. The most common of the spurious
humilities of this kind, is that by which a general language of self-
disparagement is substituted for a distinct discernmenl and specific acknow-
ledgment of our real faults. The humble individual of this class will
declare himsell* to be very incontestibly a miserable sinner ; but, at the same
time, there is no particular fault, or error, that can be imputed to him from
which he will not find himself to be happily exempt. Each item is aeve-
piilly denied; and the acknowledgment of general sinfulness turns out to
have been an unmeaning abstraction — a sum total of cyphers. 1 1 is not
thus that the devil makes up his accounts.*

On the question of saving, Mr. Taylor aays : —

• As to the mtiiu/ of money — the saving like the getting should be intel-
ligent of a purpose beyond: it should not be saving fur saving's sake,
but for the sake of some worthy object to be accomplished by the money
savedf and especially we are to gnard against that accumulative instinct, or
passion, which ia ready to take possession of all collectors."*

Kitson^ the caustic antiquary, in commenting on some brother
critic, somewhere exclaims — ' This lover of truth never wrote a
truer line, — give me a lie with a apirit in it I ' We would not,
however, be understood as going along witli bim in this latter
wish; believing, indeed, that truth wtU managed ia quite as
capable of spirit as the lies he longs for. On the subject of
beauty Mr. Taylor says : —

• \Ve«Jth and worldly considerations have a good deal to do with the
choice made in most marriages. It is commonly said that beauty,, how-
soever enchanting before marriage, becomes a matter of indifference after.
But if the beauty be of that quality which not only attracts admiration, but
helps to deepen it into love^ I am not one of those who think that what
charmed the lover i» forthwith to be lost in the husband,"

NO, XLV. — N. 8. D

Ta^lor\ Foemi.

We own we should have been surprised if Mr. Taylor, a poet

nnd philosopher, had been one ^ of those.' There le, however,
Bome litnesa and propriety in subjoining a trite answer to a
trite objection. Again, on the game subject: —

•The exception to be takeQ to beauty as a marriage portion, (if it be
b«aiaty of the highest order,) is not, tberetbrc, that it can become other*
Kviae than precious whilst it lasta, but rather that aa it ia precious so it is

Eerishable; and that, let it be valued as it may, it may be accounted at the
est but a mdancholy possession.'

Of humility he says : —

' It is, indeed, chiefly in our intercourse with cqunh and auperioi^ Ihat
our humility is put to the proof. When the Servus Servomm at Rome
washes, according to annual usage, the feet of some poor pilgrims, the
oereraony, if it be held to typily humility, should at the same time be
understood to be typical of the eaaieat of all hnmilitiea.'

This 18 true in a sense^ and certainly amongst the standard
common-places in the matter of humility. Of pride it 16
said : —

■ The proud man is of all men the most vulnerable, and, aa there ia
nothing that nmklea and festers more than wounded pride, he has much
cause for fear.'

But it may be thought invidious thus to cull sentences apart
from the context, which will be euppoBcd to give them the dig-
nity and novelty they want thus standing alone ; and some of our
readers may esteem the statements themselves to be so true and
valuable that they may not object to meet with them more than
once, thinking that in this world of lies we ought not to mind hear-
ing the same truth now and then twice over. Indeed, we have felt
this 80 much, that we have abstained from illustrating our mean-
ing by ench sentiments, as fur example— * In extreme youth
obedience should be the rule of the child * — ^Passion is not to be
taken for a guide in extreme youth,' &c. — because they do bear
upon the context Still we ask, is it not a misfortune to a style
that it [should be capable of this mode of treatment, that it may be
broken up into trite forma of expression and separated into
common-[)laces ? The reader's eye grows careless as it wanders
over them, and attention and expectation languish. And in
an essay we have an especial right to he critical. An essay on
a given subject implies that the author has something new to
say upon it. He undertakes, as Jt were, to start from where
his predecessor 9 in the theme left off; to give us not the col-
lected wisdom and experience of ages, but his own private
addition to the stock* Thus it may be considered among the
most ambitious forms of composition. In others, the writer's
wisdom comes in apropos to something else, and if it be to the
point we do not so much look for novelty, (as

a good steward

Taylor^t J^oemgu

must bring out of Iiie treasure things old aa well tu uew,) it
bears ujjon the main topic but does not constitute it. But an
essay should be as it were a sort of quintessence of inquiry,
thought, and observation ; if it be not this it h nothing. How-
ever, we are ready to grant that besides the large stock of
matter * respectable tor its antiquity' to be found in the present
volume, there is much that shows the workings of a thoughtful
individual mind, some passages that are striking, and forcibly
expressed, and many against which we cannot make tlie com-
plaint of a too implicit agreement; to these we will revert in
due time. It is in connexion with the question of style and
power of expresaion that we have so far entered inta the merits
of his prose volume, not for the subjects on which it treats.
^Lr, Taylor does in verse possess the art of expressing his
thoughts, which in prose he does not. That which takes hold
of our thoughts in his poetry passes by them in his prose ; it
wants the arresting power. We are thus led into a comparison
between the two.

It is, perhaps, the fashion of the present day to depreciate
style too much, to separate thought ii"oni the mode of expres-
sion, as if this were an accidental excellence not affecting the
intrinsic value of the idea. But we believe that every noble
thought naturally invests itself with noble language, and that
it would be a poet's unconscious habit thus to clothe in its very
rise and creation whatever is most distinctive and clniracteristic
JO his own mind. It is not born, it is not complete, till it is so
clothed. Thus we have not only Mi\ Taylors best form of
expression, but actually his freshest and most original thoughts,
in his poetry. He cannot turn at will lame prose into good
verse. Feeling thus we cannot enter into views sanclioned by
great names and plausilile at first sight, of the unimportance of
mere wording and choice of expression. We find Sir Walter Scott
saying, ' We care as little for the minor arts of composition and

* versification as Falstaif did for the thews and sinews, and out-

* w^ard compoyition of his recruits. It is " t/ie heart, the hearii^
' that makes the poet as well as the soldier*' True, but the heart
will speak out, and its outpourings will be in exact accordance
with its dictates. In curioua contrast with this sentiment of the
modem bard is that saying of Cowley's, that the ' music of num-
bers sometime?, almost without anything else, makes an excellent
poet.' Both sayings have in fact a partiid truth. One is not
more unfair than the other. Arts of versification, or a natural
gift which acts intuitively upon them, are as essential to a good
poem, and order and rhythm to good prose, as thought itself.

This maybe made clear, we think, from the consideration that
nothing lirps fhnt is not well expressed, Man, as man, is full

Taylor* i Poems.

of chaotic lialf-forracd ruuainga and dim aapirations. Genius
gives life to these formless impiilseB— a lociil habitation and a
name. Who can trace the source of this secret happiness ? Wliereiii
lies the power of words such as we all of us use for every com-
mon want, and to convey each insignificant intelligence? It is
the birthright of genius to discern their hidden force and pro-
prieties, to cull, to arrange, to compare, to set them in shining
array, nicely fitted together, condensed, harmonious; so that
henceforth for ever they live in that order and can never be
displaced. Dante makes Casclla sing his songs in the shadowy
land, and heaven to ring with earth's divinest hymns; and surely
it is in accordance with all our intimations and impressions,
that the pure etraina of our poets on earth shall it ill delight us
in heaven.

There are, however, some who take a dififerent view altogether
of language. With another meaniug, they think with TaDey-
rand, that it is made to conceal our thoughts ; that it is so poor a
medium, so inflexible, so barren, so external to ourselves, that
it suppresses or misrepresents all our most recondite ideas, all our
deepest impressions. They think that language frustrates their
aims, and they have a natural spite against it. Were it not for
these vile words, they seem to say, ive should ourselves have
been a poet. We honestly believe that in all these cases of
declamation against language, as if it were little better veliiclc for
expression than the inarticulate sounds of animals, that if our
friend would sit down, and in calm deliberation seek to express
his exalted ideas in this 'jargon* of ours, he would find, and, if
he were candid enough for the avowal, be forced to confess, that
it was not after all words that he wanted^ but definite thoughts.
And it is well often to bring the mind to this severe scrutiny
and ordeal ; to convince ourselves that what disturbs and ele-
vates us with a sense of suppressed greatness and genius, is
often a sort of illusion, a crude and formless chaos. We shall
find words for whatever is real; words in some proportion to
tlie clearness and force of our ideas. Wc cannot in fact detach
thoughta from the words that clothe them, any more than we
can separate soul and body. A thought will not live unless it
has this fitting body ; we only know it to be higher, deeper,
more stirring, more inspiring than the kindred speculations of
other men, by some nubtle indefinable grace in the wording,
some beauty so mysterious and illusive that the smallest change
does it grievous wrong. Let the reader take any line or passage
which embodies to him an ideal of a noble or a beautiful thought,
and let him, here and there, substitute words of what he thinks
similar meaning. The charm is broken. Where is the suggestive
power? where the magic key to his inmost heart? The words

Ta^*s Poem,

prove to have been like Samson's seven locks: the etrcngtli
lay by some divine charm within them. The giant thought
now lies weak as some other man's. We cannot suppose tnat
the world is ever cheated of its heat and greatist, merely from
want of power of expre^jsion ; that is, we cannot believe this to be
a separate gift There are not two classes, one that tliiuks and
one that speaks. We are persuaded that the thinkers arc the
speakers — that the conception finds vent in eloquent expression,
as the root in the flower; a man docs not knuw what his own
thought is like till he has given it the only form which in our
present nature we can judge of it by— -till he has invested it in
language. Till we have this test we disregard what is called
promise^ The rose and the brier look alike in their first bare
twigs ; when the bloom comes, and not till then, can we dis-
tinguish them. There are writers who are called promising
all their lives ; who believe themselves and arc supposed by
others to be storehouses of noble, struggling, unexpressed ideas.
One line of performance we hold to be more decisive of the poet
or the philosopher than volumes of such promise.
Mr. Taylor has said that

* The world knows nothing of ils jrreatcst men;'

a sentiment which is often quoted, and which we believe owes
much of its success to the easy flow of its wording and the com-
pactness of its construction. It bears somewhat upon this ques-
tion, and from it we might fear to have Mr. Taylor's authority in
theory brought against us. For if any of the world's greatest
men are great for their powers of thought, it must imply failure
of expression on their part, that tlie world is still ignonint of
them; for no one can say that the greatest thoughts greatly
expressed, have passed unnoticed by the world. We can only
express our entire dissent from the view, if we are to take great-
ness in its ordinary meaning. It may be quite true to say that
many have died prematurely, or been suppresacd, to begin with,
by want of all education, who would, had they lived or been
educated, have been greater than any actual great men that have
been in the world. But if we arc to understand by greatness,
something actual and present, not merely embryo and perspec-
tive ; the actual preeminence of certain high gifts and powers,
bodily and mental, we discredit the dictmn exceedingly. We
feel convinced tiiat there have been no greater poets than Shak-
spere of whom the world knows nothing; no greater philoso-
phers, no greater men of science than those who have actually
iDBtructed us. But such reflections have given consolation to
many unsuccessful ai^pirants for fame, who willingly believe
anything rather than the fallacy of their own inward stirrings;

Taylor's Poems,

and given consolation^ too, to many a warm admiring friend and
party of intimates, who in the close intercourse of friendahip
believe they eee in tlieir leader, nnd in each other, qualities
beyond what may be discovered in men who have already won
publicity and distinction. The fact being that such intercourse,
confidential, exclusive, free and unrestrained, has a faacination
which blinds the judgment and throws a false glose and unreal
grandeur over all efforts of thought that are viewed under its
fight. But we have wandered very far from our main subject
in a dissertation which was to introduce the mention of Mr.
Taylor's last volume of poctryj and to convey our impression
that verse is the natural home for whatever is original and dis-
tinctive in his thoughts. In the present slipshod days of verse,
when many men publish a poem with as little care and delibe-
ration, as little attention to the arts of versification, as if these
were of no importance, or were exjiected to come of themselves
without thought or pains; or who * indulge themselves in the

* luxury of writing, and perhaps knew the neglect was a fault,

* but hoped the reader would not find it ;' it h a positive gra-
tification to meet with verse which bears marks of cnre, of
skilful handling, of loving paternal correction. It is like the
pleasure of watching a good workman at his trade. It is build-
ing the lofty rhyme instead of flinging together the rude heap
of stones by which some hope to reach the clouds. We are
obliged and flattered by a writer who at once respects him-
self and rci^pects the judgment and capacity of hjs readcra.
And if w^e do not rank IMr, Taylor's efforts so high as some of
his admirers, if we arc not willing to call his deficiencies graces,
and his poverty better tlian other men's wealth, we yet prize
them for that they are, and feel grateful to him for pre-

* serving the purity of the English,' and seeking with un-
wearying care to develop its dignity and its beauty, its finer
turns and more hidden graces. Except certain lyrical poems
inserted in his dramas, the present volume is, we believe, the
only volume of ijoetry proper Mr. Taylor ha« given to the world.
And the poem which gives its name to the volume, * The Eve of
the Conquest,* is somewhat dramatical in its structure. His field
is blank verse; there his muse has her proper scope and exercise;
and though ttitie is much gmce in his lyrical poems, we are
constantly reminded in their perusal of certain unfitnesses in-
herent in his mind for this form of composition. We should
even say that the principle on which he starts is adverse to it,
that of addressing himself mainly to the understanding, and

Icpreciating those pleasures which the senses and the feelings
tlerive from poetry. He separates and comparatively disregaras
what he calls the luxuries of poetry, its charms and attractive

Taylors Poemf*

graces, from its intellectual, andj as lie thinks, immortal part.
Now these are things which cannot be separated without loss.
There is no immortal poetry which does not owe its immor-
tality as much to qualities here disparaged as to its subject-
matter ; we do not say its merit, but its immortality* ' The
poet's business,' says Dryden, 'is certainly to pkme his audi-
ence/ It is wrong, In fact, to decide on what is the only part
of ourselves worthy to be regarded. Let us respect our bodies.
If our mind lasts through all eternity go will our ear, and the
pleasures it is capable of imparting to us. Indeed, in the only
inspired indications we have of our future state, the enjoyments
of the senses, eye and ear^ — ^are dwelt upon rather than the
severer pleasures of pure mind^ — thought and induction ; — not
that these will be wanting, but that our nature is treated as a
whole, the senses miniatering most gubtle and acute pleasures
to the understanding. In like manner poetry addresses the
whole man, his soul and his body, his heart and his brain, his
senses and his nerves. The blood thrills, the nerves vibrate,
the tears flow, the ears tingle under the poet's highest inspira-
tion. It is no sign of it when we sit without other bodily
manifestation of its influence than knit brows ; while tlie mind la
intensely at work. Gifted poetry gives us understanding, it
makes hard things easy -= it lifts a veil — it shows us glimpses of
a far off country ; it lights up ourselves as it lights up the world
with its own light :

* The light that never was on sea or land,
The coDsecratiou and the poet's dream,'

telliog us more than we know or can see, which we only believe
because our whole frame responds to it.

Poetry may perhaps be defined as a divine mechanism for
teaching us certain truths or impreseions which we could not
learn by other meant;. The secret of its power is too subtle to
be discovered ; but that much of its power lies undoubtedly in
the music, and not only in the strain of higher, bolder, ten-
derer, thought which it induces — may be illustrated, we think,
from the effect which music itself produces on us. We cannot
listen to a * rich,' * intricate,' * majestic ' strain, without an intense
desire to know what it means, and without a full conviction
that it has a meaning which some higher intelligence could
explain. Now the qualities of melody, recurrence of tones in
measured order, rise and fall, flow and pause, belong in like
manner to harmonious verse ; they work on the mind and senses
in the same way that good music does, pausing the same per-
plexing delight, full of hope and yet of present uncertainty^,
placing our minds in a higher state for apprehending what is
out of sight than unassisted reason does. These mystic charms,

Ta^hr'M Poems*

however, belong to those qualities of poetry that Mr. Tayliir
least esteems, and to which he haa not devoted himseltl They do
not in fiict belong to the turn of his genius, which expresses itself
with that aceuracy and exactness which has been called the wit
of propriety (as opposed to the wit of pleasantry), — an accuracy
which has a peculiar gracefulness of its own, — rather than in
the swelling cadences of lyrical liarmony.

It ts customary to attribute to authors who do uot use a rich
or florid style, a disdain of bucU * arts,' as if all poets had similar
natural powers. Possibly Mr. Taylor's preface to his first work
may give some ground for such an impression in his case ; yet
we do not ourselves enter into the view ; we believe him to give
as much ornament as is natural to him; his is not a luxuriant
or playful fancy, it needs no clipping of its wings. We rather
believe this, than attribute its absence to any disdain which will
not permit him to humour the tastes of his readers. It is not for
the poet to encourage disdains against any of his readers. AVc are
satisfied that Mr. Taylor haa taxed and exercised his full powers,
that there is no store of metaphor that lie lias never used, of

f'aces which he has despised, of ornaments that he has rejected.
he trutli is tliat these are not his points of excellence ; he would
have failed in ornament ; he frequently lias failed in metaphor j he
often sins against good taate, and hi& poetry is so far the worse.
It is common to place rigid truth in opposition to such graces,
as if the two powers were incompatible, and to regard it as a
full and ample compensation for their loss* We do not see how
truth would be the gainer, and object to the term ri^idy as applied
to the truth of poetry, whic^h sliould be spontaneous and free.
As an illustration of what we mean, take the truth of the
witness-box and the first unconscious narrative of the same
witness; in both instances he speaks the truth ; iu tlie first with
intention, in the second, because he has no other thought than
to do so. But which truth is truest, most complete, most satis-
factory? Where he is full of his story, where possibly he runs
oflfiuto digression, where he forgets himself in his story, where we
have his thoughts, all accompanying circumstances, the scene
itself before us, the reflections arising from it, the fervour, the
intensity, the hyperbole^ — compare this to the bare statement
of facts: in which case does the listener know most of the event,
or has it clearest before him ? And which should be the poet's
truth ? Without conti*avening, however, this quality in our pre-
sent author, the merit of his style, in our eyes, lies rather in a
certain earnestness and conviction of the truth and the importance
of what he is saying, than that it actually contains more of that
divine essence than exists in the imaginative kind of poetry.
What Dryden says of au ancient didactic poet may also be applied

Taylors P<^mg.

bim : * The distinguishing character of his soul and genius

* 13 a certain kind of noble pride and positive assertion of hia

* opinions. He i& everywhere confident of his own reason . . . and

* though often in the wrong, yet deals honafide with his reader,

* and telb him nothing but what he tliinks.* And this is a
quality which wherever it is met with, justly holds a great
influence over us, and is more powerful, as being connected
with the will, than more showy intellectual gifts. It is the
one desideratum of the preacher* A man may have but little
new to tell, but little play of fancy or imagination ; but if he
is deeply convinced of the truth of wliat he is saying, so as
to overcome all diffidence or fear of his hearers (which in itself
implies perhaps no small strength of mlad), and can give utter-
ance to the convictions of his heart, he wnll liave power. Simple
assertion backed by this inner conviction has far more weight
than argument or reason ; recourj^e to which appears like conde-
scension and a descent to lower ground after it, bringing the
speaker on a level with his hearers. This is a wxapon of which
Mr. Taylor knows the use, and to which we are disposed to
attribute some ehare at least of his high reputation for truth.
He thinks that what he says is true, and he could not, therefore,
argue on the other aide. And to express these convictions the
diction, profiting by this same force of the will, is dignified,
strong, flow^ing, sometimes roost felicitous, always showing a
wide acquaintance with the resources of our language. Into its
innermost riches, its most fortunate succcbses, ' those secret hap-
pinesses * that attend some poets' choice, he docs not enter \ they
belong to what is designated " the sentient," or they herald higher
and (^eper truths than Mr. Taylor's muse touches upon ; but
such as he needs he has at his command, together with an ear
perhaps too fancifully pleased with artful dispositions and the
intricacies of an involved harmony. Of all modern poets this
present volume shows him most anxious to suit sound to sense,
to please the ear liy ha|>py recurrences of similur tones — by
measured pause and sounding close — ^by that peculiar finish and
point which needs labour and care and frequent revision. We
do not wonder, in rcjuling many pasi^ages, that his progress was,
as he says, slow. No one can say, after the old model of criti-
cism, that the poem would have been better if the poet had
taken more pains, for every line indicates thought and delibe-
ration, and, on the whole, thought and deliberation well be-
stowed, though sometimes we might wish the art to be some-
what less obvious. But we do not imagine any natural graces
are thereby nipped in the bud, Ben Jonaon tells us that^ ' a
good poet*8 made as well as born,' and our present author is a
made poet, in as true a sense at least as he is a born one.

Taylors Poenit.

Our admiration of Mr. Taylor's diction applies principally,
however, to lib blank veracj whicb, as we have said, suits his
turn of mind. It is grave, dignified^ and eententiousj giving
importance to common sense and keenness to obaervation. It
admits, too, of eloquence and rhetorical arts, which more essential
poetry repudiates; and accommodates itself witli equal ease
to the didactic, the philosophic, the eatirical mood ; and he
is acquainted with its capabilities, and knows how to bring
out its harmonies; tbat fugue-like measure of which it is
susceptible— those returns and repetitions of itself— phrase
echoing to phrase, and sound to sound — which so happily supply
the want of rhyme ; and satisfy the ear, gratifying our uncon-
scious curiosity and expectation. Its highest flights — those
extremes of pomp and statelinessj which seem to teat all tlie
powers of language^ as if to show us how heroes and deoii-gods
express their thoughts, are not attempted iiy him ; they do not,
indeed, come within the scope of his plan, nor are aaapted to
poetry founded on the stern common-eense basis.

In order to illuatrate the artful nature of Mr. Taylor's verse,
let us dwell on a few detached passages apart from the context,
the interest of which should in au ordinary peiiisal withhold us
from too close a scrutiny. The design is of course to soothe
and please the ear, and put us in a fit fiximc to conceive and
sympathise with the sentiment, without our being directly con-
Bcious of the cause of our satisfaction. Harold, the night before
the battle, sends this message to Adeliza ; —

* Bat I bequeath this raesaage of my lovej
Tlmi knowing thus it died not with my dcatlij
Her sorrow, by ft soft remembrance sootli'd,
May sleep and dream, and dreaming^ things divine,
Be glorioualy trana figured by a hope.

For love, that dies not till the body dies,
Shall with the soul survive.'

where any one taking the pains to consider, may discern the
intricacy of the harmony ; the recurrence of thoughts, words,
toncB at duo intervals ; the sound, the representative of the
sense ; the verses answering to each other in rhythm and expres-
Bion. Again : —

• That waa a season when the un travelled spirit^
Not way-worn nor way-weftried, nor with goil
Nor stain upon it, lions in its path
Saw none,— or seeing, with triumphant trust
In its resources and its powers, defied,^
Perverse to find provocatives in warnings,
And in diaLurbance taking^deep delight.'

Mr. Taylor is always observant of that rule of legitimate
verse ao essential to its melody, to make each line, whether its
end be marked by a stop or not, to conclude with a pause and

Taylor'f Poemf,

sounding close. The reveree of this rule, wbich obtains with
many modern writers, lias been well called prose-poetry. The
sense should not hurry us on ; we should be allowed a pause of
susceptible duration; the second, third, and fourth lines of the
foregoing passage liave no concluding siopj but their close is duly
maxked. Another example of the same observance : —
' What meaxnu At thiB uiiasual hour ibe light
In yonder casement? Doth it hint a talo
or (rouble, where some maiden mouruer pile
ConJides lier sorrow to the secret night V

The next linea express well a full yet even flow of waters.
Their correct accent, and regard also to quantity, iu the second
line, are the cause of this effect : —

• So love flowed on me, from a thousand springa,
And poured itself around me like a tlood.'

In the next, where vigour and power are to be expressed, this
regularity of accent is purposely avoided ; the superfluous syl-
lable in the second line adds to its dtreogth : —

• When to relent he saw, and when to dare ;
Sudden to strike — magnanimous to forbear.'

Sometimes he is * curiously and perversely elaborate,' as C. Lamb
boasts one of hb own sonnets to be * —

* By choke or chance, or choice attending chance.'

Again : —

Of this she saw not all — she saw hut little ;

That which she could not choose but see, fihe saw.*

And sometimes purposely harsh :—

' Where the boors.
Though scared yet greedy^ grimly iurk'd aloof/
And —

* 'Twas he whose skill and courage gagg'd its gaping jaws.*

Often Mr, Taylor's versification is rhetorical, an excellence
in its way, but not compatible with the purest poetical form,
though the highest poet may occasionally exhibit it. The art
of poetical language is to produce effect with apparently inade-
quate means : the art of the orator and rhetorician is to call in
all the pomp, all the resources of language, its majestical forms,
its effects, its appeak to our prouder reason and sympathies.
It 18 self-possessed and dignified and argumentative. This style
often manifests itself by almost indescribable deviations from the
simpler poetic mode of expression. For example, in the next
passage the word shotdd implies it to our ears: —

' Should I fall
To-morrow, I Hhall leave behind me few,
It may be none, to tell with friendly truth
My tale to after times.'

In the next tlie negative nor conveys the same impression :—

* " Sleeps ihe the Itdy Edith V " No," they said,
*• Nor will alie be persuaded," '

Again, where the whole passage is an instance in point i —

* By fakehnod they prevnird, nor lees hy truth.
They told him, which was true, that wc despised
His person and hia power: they said besides,
We prftctiaed to overtiirn the tottering throne,
Which now we overshadowed, which was false.*

Again : —

* Thev thence
Took courage whom they injured to inBult.'

Acjain, the following haughty line of argument, which is highly
and justly rhetorical: —

* Twixt me and England BhouUl some seuselesfi swain
Ask of my title j say I wear the cro^ra

Because it fits my head/

But alliteration is Mr. Taylor's favourite artificej and we know
no writer, ancient or modern, who has need it so much ; certainly
to a great excess ; yet we can enter into its attractiveness, and
understand the temptation* It is often practised with the greatest
succesa, and is a most obedient instrument : in the following

fassage it is used to give tlic idea of haste and impetuosity.
faFoId is recounting his battle with his brother Tostig, and the
subsequent news of further wars ;~

* A blooi/y day c/etermin'd iu the c^ust

Their pride and j^roweas. Scarcely were they cold.
When posts from /^evensey with speed desna'tch'd,
Announced the Duke's approach. At dotiole speed
I marched to meet him. Here we stand oppoaed,'

In the description of the battle the same art is happily em-
ployed :—

' A mighty roar ensued, pierced through and through
By ihrillest *hriek incej*ant, or of man
Or madden'd horae that *cream'd with fear and pain,
Death agonies. The battle, like a ship,
Then when the whirlujind hath /orn and ^oat,
Stagp^er'd from *ide to aide. The day was long
By dreadful chaii":e of onset and feign 'd flight,
And rout, and rally, </ircfully drawn out,
Z>iaa9trous> rfiamaL'

Sometimes alliteration is employed simply from the pleasure ol
findin^t similar sounds :^ — •

Or,

* The Jiribe that would have bribed me to betray.'

• 0//emiiiine ii/ection/ancy/ed.*

Taylor^s P^nns,

Very beautiful examples of this kind of play will occur to
roost readers from other authors, as for exaniple: —

• That tlie rude *ea grew civil at her *oiig*'

• To hear the sea-maid's masic*

• In maiden meditation, /ancy/ree.'

'Instances which are all taken from one page in the * Midsummer
Kight's Dream,' as if the poet's ear had got into a jingling
mood. Mr. Taylor, however^ applies it to the most serious
pyrpo»e8* One of the most elaborate poems of the volume
is a dialogue on matrimony and celibacy — where it seems to
U3 every letter in the alphabet is made to bear witness to the
superiority of the wedded over the single life, and to band
together against the unhappy celibate. When once we become
alive to this highly artificial structure, our attention, we own, is
somewhat led astray from the force of the argument, to observ-
ing how the consonants give their evidence and record their
opinion. We will give our readers the advantage of our in-
quiries on this matter by the aid of italics : —

* Down the path of palms and ycwi
A bloodless phantom of a ffronian t^alked.
Hooded and veiPd, nilb languid Htep and slow,
And oft-reverted head. Once and again
A holy rapture lilled her, and scarce
She seem'd to touch the ifround ; bat presently
It feft her, and with /anguid *tep and «/aw.
And droo;pm|r pojit^are, paw'd *he on her wny,
*S^till //raying ar the went, but itnmbliug rtilt
Through trearincM o'er jlick* nnd iftraw*, and jitill
W\i\i fftick« and jtrawt *he quarrell'd a* *he pray'd.
^hen she approach'd the g:rave that cro«jway» cloiied
The avenue, though w/eary of the w-ay,
S\ie *eem'd not glad, but shudder "d and recoird,
shaking throngfi weakness of licr tt?earineii ;
And though she upward look'd, look'd backward too,
And *o with arm* that clafp*d the soliitide
Mie slowly diiappear'd. This way of life,
The ^byl said, i* the wn.y celibate,
irhere walks erroneous wiany a wionk and nun.
The good /Aerein is good /Aal dies //ierein
And haM no offspringr ; nei/Aer ha/A fAe evil,
For He that out of evil briug;:eth good
iiegets no issue in the evil here;
Pro6ation Plotted from the &ook of life
With evil good ohliterntea, for these two
In quality » though opposite and at war,
Are each to each correlative and essential,
And evil conatier*d maketh moral good,
With virtue that is more than innocence,'

Thus is the poor celibate hissed off the stage. One must
own that the languor, and at the same time, irritation of the

Tatfior's Poemik^

verse very much assists and supports the writer's view. The »

and the w do him good eervice as disputants; and now for the
contrast—' The eonjugal way more perfect/ and deserving, in
Mr. Taylor's mind, of a more tripping, light, and graceful versi-
fication, wherein the /^i5, the r's and the /'s have their turn, and
the pleasing duty of ushering in * that other way,' which they
do in the following really beautiful lines : —
* Tbe maiden tum'd obedientj and beheld,
Wbere, at tbe outact from a mystic bower,
A/igiire ^ike Aurora, /usb'd wHh joy,
Zeapt /ightly/orth, and t/ancing" cfown tbe path
Sbook tbe firigbt «?evi"f/ropa from tbe ra(/iant urealb
'Hiat crown'd ber lockB pro/use j ere long tbe /lush
Subsided, and tbe bountlmg jrteps were *tay*d.
But firmly still, and witb a durable strengtb
Slie traveird on : not seldom on her way
A colour*d cloud diapbonoua, like tbose
That gild the morn, conceal'd her ; but ere long
She iasutd thence, and with ber issued thence
A naked cbdd that roll'd amongst the flowers,
And kugb'd and cried: a thicker cloud auou
Fell round ber, and frora that witb siuilcen eyes
Sbe issued, and witb slaios upon her cheek
From scalding tears ; but onward alill she look'd,
And u/tward still, and on ber brow uotum'd,
And on tbe joaleness of ber penitent fkce
A glory broke, tbe dfly-spring from on bigb :
Thenceforth witb loftier and less troubled strength,
And even step, she irod tbe /remulous earth,
Elastic not «?late. Tbe grave was near
That crosBwaya cut the path ; but witb her went
A conflpany of spirits bnght and young.
Which caught the blossoms from ber wreath that fell,
And gave them back. And as she reach 'd tbe close.
Gazing betwixt the willows far beyond,
Full many a group successive sbe descried
With wreaths like hers, and as she softly sank,
A Aeavenly Aope, which like a rainbow spann'd
A thousand earthly Aopes, its colours threw
Across tbe gloomy entrance of the grave.
This, said the Sibyl, is tbe conjugal way,
With joys raore/ree and nobler sorrows /raughf.
Which scatter by their force li/e's/rivolous cares
And meaner molestations : */ern the yirokcj*,
The *miggles arduous, which this way presents,
And fearful the temptations ; but the a/ako
Is worthier of ihe */rife, and she that wins
Hear« at the gates of heaven the words, ** Well done,"
And, " Eater thou.'* '

Our readers ought to he made aware that the poem contairiT
a practical condusion for these two contrasts, and that the nar-
rator who thus ahly marshals his alphabetical forces, is appa-
rently the suitor to his fair listener, whom he seems in a likely
way to convince.

Taifior't Foema.

Among wbat are called the ornaments of poetiy, the me-
taphor holds a chief place, though figurative language, — the art,
that is, of dei?cribing one thing by its analogy with aiiotlier thing,
— ^is too much of the essence of poetry as a divine science, to be
BO designated. Mr. Taylor baa been frequently complimented
on hla neglect of this ornament, as indeed very beautiful poetry
may be written by simply pourtraying a thing as what it is,
without assembling all the object.i of nature or art to show what
it is also like ; but praise in this matter is surely misplaced. If
a poet has not the gift of appropriate and abundant illustration,
let him follow his calling without it ; but let us not disparage tlic
marvellous suggestive power of a good metaphor, nor call that idle
decoration, which in gifted hands can unlock memory, transport
fancy, and enable us in a moment — at a glance^ — to enter into
the innermost heart of a poet^s meaning. Such a metaphor, for
example, as the following, so familiar to us all, which we will
quote to show our meaninnr ; where the poet by no direct means
could have so clearly carried us back to the point he dwells on —
remotest childhood, all its blessed sensations, the boundless sea
of eternity;—

' Hence in a season of cftlm weaLber,

Though inland far we be,
Our souls have Htgbt of that immortai aea

Which brought uh hither,

Can iii a moment travel thither,*
And see ihe children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters sounding evermore.'

It would seem, however, that Mr, Taylors range of metaphor;
is limited, rather than that he neglects it; he is only unsuc-
cessful when he transgresses his natural bounds. The elements
Bie his treasury : the storm — the flow of waters — the play of
Inds, and especially , and above all, the sun. He adopts, that
IS, and often with gi*eat effect, the received imnpery of" poetry,
as such, rather than pursues any private fancies of his own. We
w^ill cull some examples of his style from the present volume ;
some, as our readers will see, very happy and graceful ones. We
quote them to show that Mr. Taylor does not despise metaphor.
We can share in contempt for deliberate and painful search for,
and construction of figures; but no poet will despise what
comes to him alon^ with tlie thought, which cannot be separated
from it, which is indeed the mode in wliich the thought first
iresents itself to him, as a picture that is, not in words. The
Following are instances of the w^orld-wide language wtiich to
the end of time will compare joy and success to sunshine, and
sorrow to a cloud, and still [ilease us by the eomparison : —

♦ But joy ia nhort,
And soon upon our glorious break of iky,

48 Tai^Ior's Poems,

So rich in smishine and so fresh with dew.
We SAW the clouds to gather from that side
Whence now the atorni assails lis/

The following picture of Editli, Harold's daughter, is very
graceful, tinged as it la in the end with the sunset glow : —

* She rose,
And rising, seera'd the vision of ft saint
Awaitiiig^ her n^suniption. In her mien
Celestial beauty reia^'d» with ftovran ^race,
And holy peace, which holier raptures left.
Not colourless, but like a sunset sk}\
Partaking of their glories. So she rose/ Sec.

Harold in the next passages personifies the sun or the son-
god;—

* Then Harold, rising; as the Princess knelt,
Threw olf theclmnj that veifd him, and appear'd
His very selfj a man of god-like mould.
Radiant hut grave,'

William the Conqueror —

' Essay 'd to ^Id

This thunder-eloud of dark design.'

The following ia a happy adaptation of the common image,
likening reserve to a cloud and mist: —

* Then did all sternness melt, as melts a mist
Toueh'd by the brightness of the golden dawn :
Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green,

And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts between.
And flowers Rnd spangles of the dewy lawn.'

And this again, of the sunshine of friendship ; —

* Mine is inferior matter, my own loss,
The loss of dear delights for ever flc<l,
Of reason's converse, by affection fed,
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across
Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed/

And in Elena's Lay :—

* She loved too soon in life ; her dawn
Was bright with sunbeams, whence is drawn
A sure prognostic tiiat the day
Will not unclouded pass away.'

And again : —

• Brightly upon me,
Like the red sunset of a stormy day,
Love breaks anew beneath the gathering clouds/

Mr. Taylor^s most novel metaphors arc his least successful
ones. In his essays he has thought it worth while to invest in
the dignity of verse the following grotesque image :™

• For Pride,
Which is the Devil's toasting-fork, doth toast
Him brownest that his whiteness vaunteth most.' ~

Tatfhrs Poems,

^■^ In expreeslng his contempt tor the ^x)puhice, a favourite

^■Cbcme, we find the following concatenation: —

^H * To Eiigland, i^hdse street-sUtearaen, blind as moles,

^H Scribc-taijglit, mid ravening lite wolvea for blood :*

^ "where the epithet scribe-taught, i. e* newspaper-reading, so
little harmonizes with the animal comparisons, that in search of
an analogy we arc forced hack to our early days, and Mother
Iliibhaixi'si dog, who— .

If • When abe came back,

p She found reading the news.'

IVe have sometimes to regret thid tone toward^s tlie com-
jiionalty, where it does not aifect the unity of a metaphor, but
-only its refinement : —
r * But service such tis his to virtue vow'd,

I Ne'er Uix'd lor noise the tveagand of the crowd,

' Most thankless in their ignorance and spleen.'

We have extracted alike from Mr, Taylor's jioems in blank
Terdcaud in rhyme. But our tcBtiinouy to his mastery over his
'instrument mu!*t be applied chiefly to the former, though all
his versificiition shows a good ear and a skilful hand. He knowa
what that will bear, but sometimes he uiakcj? experiments of
long words and acute reflections in measures which altogether
reject such open efforts of the intellectual faculty, and make
them out of place and pedantic. In lyrical verse we all know
to our cost that tlie poet may be obscure — we may be puzzled
(quite jwjcordlng to legitimate order) as to what he means. He
trangresses no rules in thus constructing his poem; but he must
* nut, in order to make himself more intelligible, give us hard
words, or our ears instantly rebel. No ; he must express recondite
^m truths, if bent to do «o at all, in simple Saxon, such as a child
^B might use. Mr. Taylor's most striking departure from this law
^ is, however, not to be found in the present volume, though
that contains long words occasionally— a good deal out of place
—as * equipoise,' ' arbitrement,' * suseoptive,' and the like; but
in the earlier lyrical poem to be found between the two dramas
of Philip van Arteveldc, which is ushered in with such conde-
scension to weak minds, with such a promise to the reader of
mere amusement, as led us to expect other things ; —

* Rest thee a spucCp or if thou lovcst to hear
A soft pulsation in thine easy cftr,
Turn thou the pa^^e, and let thy sensed drink
A lay, that shall not trouble Ihec to think.'

And then follows Elena's experience of life, so analytical, so
acute, 80 shrewd even, as would have needed the tcn-syllablc
stanza at least, if not blank verse, to do it justice. Persons
are to ei^ess their (Selings and passions in lyrical effusions,

NO. XLV.— X, S. E

Taylor^s Poems,

or what is better, have them describe<l for them; but they

should avoid metaphysics j they may not go into the why and
the whereiorc, nor analyse then- sensations, nor profeee to under-
stand themselves nor each other. The raeaeure makes all such
reflections importune. Moreover, simple and not complex emo-
tions are best for it— anything great, magnanimous, devoted,
impulsive. A firat love is its essence and its felicity, for it
necdi? no accounting for, which a second does. We look for un-
dying Inve, unchanging constancy, heavenly beauty, uncon-
quercd valour, and all heroic achievmenta, and arc disposed
under its influence to he hard on change and inconatancy. It
\% a celestial region of the virtues — a sphere where we can
retain our pristine nt»tions on such points, and never cease to be
horrified by events which in common life we must needs reconcile
ourselves to as best we ma)^ We are, we own, jealous of en-
croachment upon this paradise of the affections. Wordsworth,
the master of his art in t^o many ways, strikes ue as pcndiarl}*
happy in the adaptations of his subject to their appropriftte
measure. Would he express a sort of divine inanity, we have
in baby tones, and oft-recurring rhymes, the idyl of the * Idiot
Boy ;' or deep thought analysmg nature and man's lieart, we
follow with aDsorbeci,, and withal, somewhat strained attention,
the stately march, unfettered by the golden chains of rhyme,,
of the * Excursion ;' or a jjure, simple, devoted affection, wc have
the lyrical ballad with feuth for its heroine, who when that

* youth from Georgia's shore' leaves her (after her first tumul-
tuous grief is over) spends, as must needs be to preserve the
consistency of the meawure, the rest of her * innocent life but
far astray,' with nature and returning childhood, as her only
consolers. Would he tell a tale of sorrowful adventure and mis-
fortune?— he gives it in the harmonious monotony of the Spen-
cerian vStanza; or express the cream of all hla thoughts— the
result, without the process of reflection — the deep experience of
our higlier life— the remembrances of childhood — the wisdom of
manhood — the inspirations of nature — the hopes that lie beyond?
— he embodies all in the ode, that last achicvment of the lyric
muse, the poet's crowning effort, testing all his powers.

'V\liat we complain of in * Elena's Lay/ is that it wants this
adaptation. Mr. Taylor, indeed, almost apologizes for exercising
his skill on so trifling a subject — * I have not ceased/ he say?,

* to admire this poetry in its degree j and the interlude (the

* Lay,) which I have inserted between these plays will show, that,

* to a limited extent, I have been desirous even to cultivate and

* employ it,' This is not the spirit in which to succeed in a
lyrical poem. Tie has wished, indeed, to infuse a more intel-
lectual spirit, another element into tlie verse, so Elena glvei> her

Taylors Pot^mt^

«t

experience, and has not only rhyme but reasmn fur all that
befalls her : —

* First love the world is wont to call
The passioa Vfhicb was now her all.
So be tt call'd ; but be it knowo.
The feeling which possessM ber now,
Waa novel in degree alone.'

When the object of thia first love, whom she describes aa
' Intelligent, ltyquaciou»^ mild/

finds out that he docs not care for her, and the tic is dissolved,
ghe thus accounts for her returning Interest in life : —

*The liuman heart cannot sustain
Prolong'd inalterable psun,
And not till reason cease to reign,
WiJl nature want some momenta brief
Of other moods to mix with grief;
Such, and so bard io be destroyed.
That vigour v^hich abhors a void»
And in the midst of all distress
Such nature's need of happmoss.*

Dwelling on her own love of the beautiful she says: —

* Devoted thus to what was fair to sight,
She loved too little else, nor this aright ;
And many disappointments could not cure
This born obliquity, or break the lure
Which this strong passion spread ; she grew not wise,
Nor grows. — '

In disappointment she took reftige in pleasures—

* That bloom but briefly at the best ;
The world's sad subatitutes for joys
To minds that lose their equipoise,'

Somewhat akin to these novelties is the use of technical
expressions. A great critic has established it as a general rule,
that all appropriated terms of art should be sunk in general
expressions, because poetry is to speak a universal language.
These are, however, tranimela which poets are often impatient
of, as interfering with the dcfiniteneas of what they have to say.
Dryden ventured on umny daring deviations of the rule, not with
the happiest success; witness the following stanza out of a great
many from the 'Annus Mi rabilis' describing the fire of London: — -

Tb' Eternal heard^ and from the heavenly quire
Chose out the cberub with the flaming sword,
And bnde him swillly drive th' approaching firo
From where our natal magazi»*^» were stored/
In the Lay we have much technical language in the descrip-
tion of Elena's boat : —

*■ Reel up it rots upon the strand^
Its gimwale sunken in the sand,
E 2

S2 Tayhr*$ Pitenu,

Where suna and tempcHU irnrp'd and shrank
Eiicli ahfttter'd rib and riven plank.
Never Again thAt liind-wri^-ck'd vvsSi
Shall feel the billows boom abaft..'

The three several rhymes having all similar vowel tones, add
to the inharmoniousnesa of this passage. In the matter of
rhymes the later volume has, however, few sins to answer for.
They are always correct and felicitous — ^no mean praise.

Mr. Tiiylor's poetry as a whole is justly called classical —
classical from tlie art and care with which it i^ written, classical
in its spirit. It is compared to a Grecian temple, and the com-
parison is a just one. It is Grecian rather than Gothic, very
complete, reaching what it aims at, but not aspiring, nor in any
high degree suggestive. There is one point in which Mr,
Taylor very exactly* follows the ancient world, on the point
which has been defined as one great mark of difference between
the remote heathen age and our own — that which has been
described technically by the critics as the * best common-place
of pity (or interest), which is love/ and which in this light is
said to belong exclusively to the moderns. Mr. Taylor cer-
tainly enters into this in the old spirit rather than the new.
There is nothing chivalrous or ennobling in his apprehension of
it, though verse in its very nature, especially verse so graceful
nnd Ijarmonious as his, must necessarily in some degree cover
over the deficiency. All his readers must liave been pained by
ills treatment of the subject in his greatest work. Philip van
Artevelde is a heathen lover, not a Christian one, and tliis not
alone because hrs love was in one instance an unlawful one, but
in its very texture, and the slight hold it possesses over his
mind. The well-known soliloquy beginning and ending —

* How little llatteriug is a woinau's love/

bears out our view. There is nothing generous, nothing self-
forgetful in it, no hopes^no illu^ionsj it la simple present amuse-
ment, no union of heart or soul.

But Mr. Taylor seems to lack the power of comprehending a
reciprocal passion, as well as of placing the relation of the lovers
on its right footing. Christian or chivalrous love should be
always supjioscd to begin on our side, but our author reganling
it as a weak idle passion, apparently considers it more suited to
the female temperariient, and therefore nut only makes his ladies
take the initiative, but support the sentiment throughout with
much the most cordiality and enthusiasm. Ilia heroes allow
themselves to be courted^little more. The lady Ad nana was
f)f this mood. Elena's first love, as well as her second, appears
to have l^ecu conducted on the same plan. In the present volume

Tttfjlura Poems,

Harold, in detailing his history to his dauj;litcr Edith, thus
describeis hJ8 own similar good fortune in attracting the regards
of Adeliza the Duke s daughter. The picture is well drawn,
and all that verse can do to reconcile ua ia done ; —

' Of these the firat
In statiou and itumt etiiineMtly fair,
Was Adeliza. da lighter of ihc Duke.
A woman-child »he was : but womanhood
By pn*adnfll afllux on her rhildhood gaiti'd,
And like a tide that up a river steals
And reaches to a lilied bank, began
To lilt up lii'e beneath her. As a child
She still V* as simple, — rather shall J say
More simple than a child, as being loat
In deeper admirations and desires.
'Vhe roseate richness uf her chUdisb bloom
Hemain'd, hut by inconalancics and change
Refcrr'd it.sell to sources passion-Hwept
Siirh had I seen her as 1 passM the gates
Of H{>iien, in proeesainn, on tlie day
I landed, when a shower of rose.s fell
Upork luy head, and looking up 1 saw
The fiiij^cra^ which had scatter^ them half-spread
Forgetful, and the forward-leatiini? fmce
Intently fixed and glowing, but methotight
More serious than it tuight to be, so youu^i!;
And midmost in a show. From time to time
Thenceforth I felt, although I met them not,
The visitation of those serious eyes,
The ardours of that face toward me turn'd ;
These long I understood not ; lor I knew
That she in fast companionship had lived

With Ulnoth.

« « • « ♦

' But Ulnoth wfis a boy
When first nhe knew him, nor was yet renown*d;
And woman's fancy m more tjuick lo read
In furrow 'd faces histories of wars
And tales of wonder by the lamp of fame,
Than in the cursive characters of youth,
How fiiir soever written, to descry
A glorious promise. Thus betwixt these twain
A love that litirst too early into bloom
Was sevcr'd ere it set. For Ulnuth's partj
He, in his nature buoyant, lightly held
By all his loves save thai be bore to me ;
And lightly, with a Joyful pride, he saw
The heart to me surrender d, and himself
Of some unsettled moiety disseized*
Such shape lo him the matter took. For me,
Her excellence of beauty, and re^nrds
Rapt oftentimes forgetful of the earth,
Of earthly attributions unaware
lu him her fancy glorified, — ^ regards
That secm'd of power to make the thing they sought,—

Taylors Poems,

Did duiibtleas toucli what time, aud public carea.
And household griefs, liad left me of a heart.
I loved the lady witli a grateful love,
Tender and pure, not pasaiouate.'

If it be argued by that rigid common aense to which Mr.
Taylor appeals, that from Harold, a widower and a father, thia
amount of regard and interest was all that could he expected
from him, we moat fully asaent. We only remark upon the
fact, that the relation which he has conatructed between the
two lovera should be of such a kind ; that the affair of love
asfiumefl such order naturally to him, and that he arranges
accordingly. He may urge the cnae of Othello and Deedemona,
but it only Bupports him up to a certain point ; for Othello-s
love, even if it be posterior in time, is a genuine passion when
he has it. And this particular case is not after all the poet*s
order of nature. If, lea\'ing the gracca and fictions of poetry,
we turn to Mr. Taylor^s proae ideas on the same subject, we
find him boldly uttering sentiments, and justifying supposed
feelinga and views, for which we believe those for whose sake
he expresses them will be the least obliged. In his chapter
on marriage we have the following passage : — -

' Bot if an unreasonable opposiuon to a daughter's choice be not to pre-
vail, 1 ihink that, oti the other hand, the pareut», if their views uf marriage
he pure from worldlincas, are jua lifted in using agooddcul of management j
not more than they very often do use, but more than they are wont to avow,
or than society ia wont to countenance, with a view to putting their datigh-
terM in the way of such mamagreB as tliey can ftpprovc, [t is the way of
ihc world to give such management an ill name, probably because it ia
most used by those who abuse it to m orklly purpoaea ; and I have heard
a mother pique licrsclf on never having taken a single step to get her
daughters married, which appeared to me to be a dereliction of one of the
most essential duties of a parent. If ihe mother be wholly passive, ciihcr
the daughters muat take steps nnd use management for themselves (which
is not desirable), or the happiness and the most important interests of
their Uvea, moral and apiritual^ must be the sport of chance and take a
course purely fortuitous : and In many situations where unsought oppor-
tunities of choice do not abound, the result may be, not improbably, audi
a love and marriage a» the mother and every one elwe contemplates wiih
astonishment. Some such astonishment I recollect to have expressed on an
occasion of the kind to an illustrious poet and phUoaopher, whose reply I
have always borne in mind when other such cases have come under iny
observiition : — " We have no reason to be surprised, uuless we knew w hat
may have been the young kdy'a opportiinittefi. If Miranda had not fsillen
in love with Ferdiujaid she woidd have been in love with Cahban/' '

Any one wlio chooses to raise the question wdiether Miranda
could have fallen in love with Caliban* may settle it as he
pleases. If the ' illueitrious poet and philotiopheiv' however, to
whom Mr. Taylor alludea, is to be understood as ganetioning
the view of matrinioiiial diplomacy presented in this extract, he
appears to us to have been, bo far, a very indifferent poet and a

Tatftor'g PaemM*

very strange pliUosopher. For our own part, if we are to have
any such system recognised^ we ehould uot hesitate to prefer
the one which Mr. Taylor rejects on acc*>unt of its secular
motives to the one which he recommeiitls on account of its
Ijenevolent ones. If the queation is one of uniting a Leicester-
shire estate nf the vahie of 3,000/. a-year with 50,000/. in
the three per cents., and the mode of cftccting that junction be
a matrimonial alhance between a young gentleman and young
lady who respectively represent those properties, the parents
who exert cunning or force to bring about such a marriage, are
certainly ^Ity of avarice; but there cannot be said to be
indelicacy in the matter, inasmuch as there is no pretence that
there is any love. But the deliberate |troposal of a method for
manufacturing love appears to us a sin against delic^tcvj more
especially as it must be remembered, that in Mr. Taylor's
system the lady makes the first move. Imagine a parent stami-
ing by, watching benignantly, and gently encouraging a daugli-
ter, for whose matrimonial happiiies*^ he is tenderly anxious, in
making affectionate a^lvances towards a young gentleman of merit,
who would in his opinion make her an improving and congenifil
partner — on the idea thtit the young gentleman will sec those
advances, will be pleased with tlieni, and be induced at last to
respond to them ! Between such a sense of propriety as this
ana greediness for money, it is difficult indeed to choose ; but if
we are to make a choice, we think avarice on the whole the least
of&ofilve. There there is at any rate no defilement, because
there is nothing to defile. But here there is a ujeddliog and a
tampering with the iimdumental delicacies of the human mind.
That is very wrong, but this is very wrong and very disgusting
too. Mr, Taylor seems to be the especial patron of one class in
the social world — one which does not, wc think, stand in any
great need of his assistance — at the exfieuse of all others.
Fathers and motlicrs will not thank him for his suggestions, for
they will say, and we think justly, tliat if they arc to demean
themselves, they had rather do so for the tangible and certain
benefit of broad acres, than tlie very iallible one of a young
gentleman's moral beauties as tlieir reward and compensation.
Young ladies will not be much obliged to him, for it is no
stretch of politeness to say, that the task he baa provided them
will hardlv be to the taste of the majority. But young gentle-
men will be exceedingly pleased with his plan, those especially
who are endowed with a modest self-appreciation. The way is
smoothed exquisitely for them ; they have not to put themselves
forward, or to put themselves out; they have only to sit still and
with a serene approval watch female admiration growing into
respectful love. Then, indeed, their dignity allows some re-

a».

Taf/hre Poema.

pponse, and thoy condescend to ackoowledge themselves pleas(?d
with the attention paid them, and with her fi"om whuiii they
receive ir. The young gentleman reasons^ Ah ! poor girl, she
has, it is true, many defects, but then she has some discernment —
and he douBtft* whether he iiiay not go further and fare worse in
seeking a suitable partner.

Not but that siieh a scheme, liowever it may flatter the self-
e£»miilaceney, strongly conflicts with the sukstantial rights of the
male sex. It might be supjx^scd from the whole of the pas-^age
we have quoted that men had nothing to do but to sit still and be
chosen ; whereas if tliis somewhat offensive expression of * choice
must be applied somewhere, let it have its prescribed place.
We assert for ourselves tlie liberty of choice which seems here
ahirminj^ly infringed. Let a man ckoon' his wife, but do not let
t>ur ladies begin to ciwo^e their husbands, or form deliberate
plans either with or witliout their mammas connivance. One
would sujipose there w^aa no Providence to order events, as well
as no man capable of^orming an imassisted, unprompted attach-
ment, that such counsels shuuld be thought needed. What we
}irincipally observe, however, is, that Mi\ Taylor seems to forget
lere that there is an alternative between Ferdinand and Cali-
ban, a state which so many women emiol>le and adorn, a state
which has its own Ccdling, and duties, and responsibilities, and
pleasures. Or, possibly, he may think he has disposed for evei
of its claims on our respect in the dialogue from which we have
already quoteil. But we are not so easily convinced. W^e still
see room in this world for the blessed single state. The mind all
the more eagerly expatiates on if s merits. What would our child-
hood have done without aunts and cousins with leisure to attend
to us ' I low ill would many of us have fured if there had been
no old maids ! — we use the term in all honour and reverence*
VVe see, for our part, no necessity for everybody getting mar-
ried. Why sliould there be none to sit out from the game ot
life and find their joy in looking on? And still less do we sec
the necessity for young ladies speculating beforehand, and form-
ing schemes upcui the subject. It is surely the privilege oi
women that they need not think of such things — that they need
not choose till tlie 8ul>ject is brought i)ractically before them. But
this is a favourite theme with our author, he thus pursues it :—

• It mny be observed, I think, that women of high intellectual endow-
ments, and much dignity of d^^portment, have the greatest dillkidty in mar-
rying;, and Mtanct moat in need of a mntber's help. And this, not becAuse
they are themselves faHtidioua, (for they are oficii as little so as any.) biU
be<niuHe men are not humble cooTigh to wish to have their supcriara for
iheir wives

' III the ease, therefore, iif either ]n^\\ eiidi>wments or great wcftlih in a
dftiightcr, the care of a parent is peculiarly iicL-detl to midliply her tippor-

Taylors Poitm,

tunitiea of making a ^:nod trhuk« in marriage, and hi no case caii such car©
be properly pretermitted.

* When the mother takes no pains, the marriage of (he daughter, even if
not in itself ineligible, is likely to be unduly deferred, &c.'

Now passing over with a summary protest the many often-
eive points in the wording of this passage, wc would ask, what
is there practical in it all ? How is a modest nuttron to hej^in
to take pains *to muitiply opportunities' with a set purjwfie?
As Bocicty is now constituted, people meet without need of
all this arrangement, and men have not hitherto tbund such
insurmountable difficulties. What hindrances there have been,
liave been hitherto considered a sort of charm> as well as a test
of devotion and constancy. We own, however, that Mr. Taylor
raises a picture in the painstaking mother, and the dignilicd
intellectual daughter, which does present obstacles to the fancy
which may almost be pronounced insurmountable. But in be-
half of the single life, whose cause we plead, we would a^k, If
intellectual w<>men so often are found unmarried, may there not
be something in the leisure and retirement of that state friendly
to the development of the intellect? Is not a woman in a better
state for mental cultivation, supjxjsing the ten years between
twenty and thirty are spent in reading, perfecting her educa-
tion, fostering her pecidiar talents, than if these years were passed,
as in the young wife they nuist commonly be, in the duties and
cares of a nursery and household ? — most honourable duties and
cares. Good sense, and many high Christian graces, may be
matured in such a school ; but what is meant especially by the in-
tellectual faculties needs more leisin*c and study tor their growth ;
an immunity from more engrossing cares, a leisure which if in-
dulged in in married life would lead to the neglect of obvious
duties.

We shall not, we thirdt, be misunderstood, when we venture
further to suggest, that |>ossibly women, wiio are really best
described as intellectuiil, may be no loss to the married state ;
and that if nien are afraid, as they are charged with being, of
women so gifted, they may bave sound reasons for tlieir fear^.
For a woman to be descnbed as intellectual, or clever, does in
fact raise an unfavourable impression, as giving tbe idea of these
(jualities acting in undue preponderance^ ovcrwhiwlowing those
moral qualities and atfectious which shouid be a woman's crown*
ing grace, Men sometimes cannot help being famous, therefore
certain epithets, as * clever,* 'able,' Mcarncd/ ^intcllectuaV may
stick to them without any fault of theirs, witlunit implying any
poverty in their moral nature ; but if such terms most appro-
priately describe a woman, we may, we think, justly suspect her
of some impoitant want. Wc do not mistrust her for what she

SB Ta^hr'i Poems.

iSf but for what we imagine she U not But this charge doe«s
not apply to what is really the highest clasB of female intellect.
Ainonr^ the women of highest iotcllectual endow menta who
have come within our observation, we should feel we did them
the utmost injuatice to designate them by such terms; it would
be calling names ; they never present themselves to our minds as
such- Tbere is a eweetncsjs, or a truth, or a kindnes3"~tsome
grace, some charm, some distinguishing moral characteristic,
which keeps the intellect in due subordination, and brings them
to our thoughts, — temper, mind, affections— one harmonious
whole.

Nor is it any regret to ourselves, as it appears to be to Mr.
Taylor, if women such as these ha\'e not, as they often have
not, married. For not to mention the risk of their marrying
some stupid man— (in which case, t. e, after reigning for ten or
twenty years in conscious supremacy over an inferior intellect,
they might not have been what they are now) — it is well that
the single life, which the world is ready enough to contemn,
without the aid of poets and philosophers to hark it on, should
have its representatives to stand foremost, to maintain its cause
and give it weight and dignity j women, who for their loveable
as wcU as admirable qualities, (whether their present condition
be from choice or accident,) demoDstrate that it is from no desti-
tution of graces and attractions that they are whiit they are ;
who rather strike our fancy as something set apart and precious.
Natural reason shows that it could never have been the design
of Providence — as some must inevitably remain unmarried, as
mankind are not paired off in so exact a fit that nobody stands
out— that the celibates should be only the melancholy, the dis-
agreeable, the unamiable, the stupid- All providentia! tli visions
of matikind are konourablei they each have their champions,
their nobility.

But Mr. Taylor, though ambitious by such reflections as
these to prove himself a man of the world, with an insight into
things as they are, not as poets and sentimentalists choose to
suppose them, yet would not entirely drop the character which
his leading works have won for him ; he woidd not forget the
jK>et altogether, he would wilhngly suffuse his downright com-
mon sense with a tinge of romance. Thus in the following
passage he boldly advocates passion as a guide. There is a kind
of daring in the tone, he feels he is hazarding what may be con-
sidered a dangerous assertion, but after all the feelings must be
allowed some play.

* I have said, that considering the nrany misguidances to which a delibe-
rate] udgraent 18 cxpoiicd ill the nmttCT of marriage, (liere may oilen be less
risk of error in a choice wbicli is impassioned. But I ought, perhaps, to

Taylor' i Poems*

DftTe explained that by a passion I do not mean — ^what young ladies some-
times mistake for it — a mere imaginative sentiment, dream, or illusion. . . .
But if the heart hare been trained in the way that it ahonld go, tbe passion
to which it will lie open will be something very different from a warm illu>
sion or a sentimental dream^ though very poBsibly including these and
ha^dng begun in them. For true love is not, 1 think, that isolated and
indivisible unity which it might be supposed to be from the way in which it
ia sometimes spoken of. It is mixed and niauilbld according to the abun-
dance of the being, and in a large nature becomes in its progress a highly
composite passion ; commonly, no doubt, having its source in admiration
and imaginative sentiment ; but as it rolls on, involving divers tributaries,
swollen bj accessory passions, feelings, and affections — pity, gratitude,
generosity, loyalty, fidelity, anxiety, fear, and devotion, and deepened by
the embankments of duty 'and justice — foreign to the subject as these last
may seem to some. In shorty the whole nature and conscience being
worked upon by this paasion, re -act upon it and become interfused and
blended with it ; not by an absorption of all elements into one, but by a
derelopmeut of each into each : and when, therefore^ I affirm that passion,
err though it may, will be often less misleading than the dispassionate
judgment, I do but aver that the entire nature— reaivon, conscience, and
affections, interpenetrating and triune — that this totah^ of the nature,
raised, vivified, and enlarged by love, is less likely to take an erroneous
direction, than a part of the nature standing aloof and dictating to the other
part/

VVTiat does all this really mean, we would ask, but that Mr.
Taylor tliinks that reaeou, conscience, and the affections, com-
bined, are better gnide^ than the judgment by itself? For
ourselves we do not see how these power* can ever come into
collision. What can a sound judgment do better, than refer
the matter at once to these arbiters ' intcrjjeuetratinff and triune?*
and that would surely be anything but a sound judgment which
would persist in acting against their united decision.

But we have dwelt long enough on points of disagreement
and criticism^ and shall be glad, in conclusion, to present our
readers with more favourable sj^ecimens of our author's vicwa
and manner thiui some of our later examples afford. Of the
sis etisays in * Notes for Life* — Money, Ilumility, and Independ-
ence, Wisdom, Choice in Marriage, Cliildrenj and the Life Poetic —
perhaps the two last are most valuable ; tbe first from its con-
taining some sound and useful hints; the last because it is written
in a higher mood, and whatever a poet says of his art, and the
circumstances that befit its cultivation, must be interesting. The
following reflectiou concludes a passnge on the old sulyectof the
over-education of cliiltl re J) in these times; the first part of which
we will spare our readers, because they would he sure hciutily
to agree with it in theory, however much they may be going
against it in practice.

' One rule, however, it is in his (the wise parent's) own hands to carry
out, and thin i-^, if he talk mm:h to his childrnn, not to lalk intellectimlly.
Tbe intellect ual talk of ftduUs is apt nut only tu stimulate the child's

Tarfloi\ Poems,

intetlcct to efforts bcvund its streufth, but also t<j ovcrtflv many intelle*?-
tual lastes which have their uiitiira) pUee in childhcjod, nnd which it is pond
for every mind to hnve pttM^cd through. It is beat for a child that he
should admire cordially what he does admire ; but if the intellectual t-tt«tes
And criticisms of the adult mind arc browght to bear upon him, he will try
to admire what he cannot, and fsiil to admire what he migjht.

*Oii the other hand 1 woidd not be understood to recommend the sort
of jocular nomiense which someintellectiiiftl parents will have recourse to, in
order to place their eonversatioii on ft level with a child's understanding;
nor do I observe that children are fond of it, or at all flattered by it, but
rather the contrary. For it is a mistake to suppose that any joke is good
enough for a child. Intellinient ebJldren, if not absolutely fa»tidjouH as to
jokes, (which certainly all children are as to taste and manners,) will not,
however, accept as complacently as niijifht be wished, the mere ^ood-
naturcd disposition to make them merry; nor can they respond in the
manner that is sometimes expected from them, to every well-meant effort
of heavy gambolling and forced faceliouanesH. Whatever is most simple
and natural ia nnist ple^aing to a child, ajid if the parent be not naturally
light and gay, he had better be grave with his childrcu, only avoiding
to be deep or subtle in discourse.*

The following cotitjideratioti luay liave occurred to miiny a^
the restilt of an intercourse with spoilt children, but we do not
remember to have seen it urged before : —

* There is another way not much adverted to by blind parents, in which
children are injured by undue iudidgence. It prevents them from bene-
fitting by the general tendency of mankind to have kind and friendly teelings
towards children. Such fecling.s are checked and abated, when it is seen
that children are unduly favtmred by their parents j and when the rights and
comforts of other.s are afkcrificed for their sake, instead of being objects for
the protection and good offices of all around them, they become odious, in
the same manner Uiat princes' favourites do, and iheir parents* alas are
visited upon thcra.

*Then the repugnance which people feel towards the objects of an un-
just partiality, provokes them to exaggerate the demerits of the children,
— not probably to the face of the parents, but in a way to go round to
them, — whereupon the parents come in with some whow of reason as pro-
tectors of injured inJioceocL', and fortify themaelvca in their own delusituia
by detecting injustice in the views of others. It is not the nature of man-
kind to be unjust to children, and where parents find this injustice to
prevail, they should look for the source of it ia their children or iti
themselves.'

The following passive on the subject of style i:? interesting,
though with reference to the opening view, wc must express
om* conviction that men muat keep themaelveij acquainted with
the litenitiire of their own day, or they lose one chief source of
obBCrvation nnd experience. It argues, we tliink, some mistake
of feeling or of judgtncnt to remain in voluntary ignonince of
what our cotemporaricB arc about—what 8ul>jecttj living minds
are engaged upon.

' In these times J think that a poet should feed chiefly (not, of course^
exclusively) on the literature of the seventeenth century.', . , Their books
are not writteu to be snatched up, run through, lalkedo ver and foi^otten ;
and their diclioD, therefore, was not such as lent wiugs to impatience, making

Taylors Poena,

everything so clear tlial he who ran or fleiv might rend: rather it wft»
so coustructed as to detain the reader over what was pregnant and profound^
and compel him to that brooding and prolific posture of the iniiid, by which,
if he had wings, they might help hina to some more genial and profitable
employment than that of nmiilng like an oatrich through the desert ; a}td
hence, those characteristics of diction by which these writers are made
more fit than those which have follovred them to train the ear and utlcr-
ance of a poet. For if we look at the long-suspended aentencea of those
dayst with all their convolutions and iuterteiturcs — the many parts waiting
{or the ultimate wholeoess — we shall perceive that without di'itinctive
movement nnd rhythmical significance of a very hij^h order, it would b«
impossible that they could be sustained in any sort of clearness. One of
the«e writers" sentences is oiten in itself a work of art, having its
strophes and antistrophes, its winding changea and recals, by which the
reader, though conscious of plural voices, and running divisions of thougjht,
13 not however permitted tn dissociate them from their mutual current
and dependency, but required, on the contrary, to give tbem entrance into
his mind, opening it wide enough for the purpose, as one compacted and
harmonious fabric. Sentences thus elaboralely constructed, and complex
though musical, are not easy to a remiss reacfer, but they are clear and
delightful to nn intent reader. . . . The finer melodies of language will
always be fuuud in those compositions wliich deal with many considerations
at onccj — some principal, some subordinate, some exceptional, some grada-
tional, some oppiignant ; and deal with them comnositely, by blending
wlule they distinguish; and so much am 1 pcrsuaued of the connexion
between true intellectual harmony of Imiguage and this kind of composition,
that I would rather seek for it in an Act of Pariiaraenl — -if an arduous mat-
ter of Icffislation be in hand — than iu the productions of our popular
waiters, however lively and forcible. An Act of Parliament in such
subject-matter, is studiously written and expects to be ddigently read, and
it generally comprises compositions of the multiplex character which has
been described. It is a kind of writing, therefore, to which some species
vi rhythmical movement is indispensable, as any one will fine! who
attempts to draft a ditlkult and comprehensive enactment w ith the omission
of all the words which speak to the car only, and are superfluous to the
sense. Let me not be misunderstood, as presuming to find fault generally
and indiscriminately with our modern manner of writing. It may be
adapted to its age and its purposes; which purposes, as bearing directly on
iiviug multitudes, have a vasiness and moraentouaness of their ow n- All
that it concerns me to aver is, that the purpose that it will not answer, is
that of training the ear of a poet to rhythmical melodies : and how little it
tends itself to any high order of poetical purpotaes, may be judged by the
dreary results of every attempt which is nmdc to apply it to purposes of a
cognate character — to prayers, for example, and spiritual exercises. Com-
pare our modem compositions of this kind with the language of the Liturgy
— a language which, though for the moat part short and ejaculatory, and
not demanding to be rhythmic in order to he understood, partakes, never-
theless, iu the highest degree, of the musical expressiveness which per-
vaded the composiiions of the lime. Listen to it in all its varieties of
strain and cailcnce, sudden or sustained,— now holding on in assured
strength, now sinking in a soil contrition, and anon soaring in the joyful-
ness of faith, — confession, absolution, exultation, each to its appropriate
music J and these again contrasted w ith ihe steady statements of the
doxolo^es;— let us listen, I say, to this language, which is one elTu-
aion of celestial harmonies, and compare it with the flat and uninspired
tones and flagging movements of those compounds of petition nnd exhorta*

Taylor's Poenu,

tion, (for their length and multifariousnesB peculiarly demanding rhythmical
support,) which are to be fmind in modern collections of prayers for the
use of families. I think the comparison will constrHin us to acknowledge
th»t short sentences in long 8UC4;efision, however clear in construction and
correct in grammar, if they have no rhythmic impulse — though they may
very well deliver themselves of what the %vrilcr thinks and means — will
fail to beiir iu upon the mitid any adequate impression of what he/feZ«— his
hopes and fears, his joy, hit» latitude, his compunction,, his an^aish and tri-
buimtion ; or indeed assurance that he had not merely framed a document
of piety, ill which ho had carefully set down whatever was most proper
lo be said on the mornings and evenings of each day. These coraposilioua
have heenj by an illustrious aoldicr, designated " laiicy prayers," and this
epithet may be suitable to them, in so far as they make no account of
authority and prescriptioii ; but neither to the fancy nor to the imagination
do they appeal, throngh any utterance which can charm the ear.'

It is not only, we fear, the difference between the style of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centnnes and the nineteenth which
constitutes the chief point of dissimibrity Mr, Taylor dwells
upon. The language of our Prayer-book interprets the devo-
tional tlwugfJils of a much earlier period. There are some effusions
of the Beventeenth century appended to it, which do not, we
think, either in excellence of spirit or in expression, mueh sur-
pa88 the devotions of our own day : while on the other hand,
t!ic modern translation of Bishop Andrcwce' Devotions, deserves
all those commendations for rhythm, cadence and varied flow
which are here bestowed on the style of two hundred year)S ago
as opposed to our own.

We will conclude our extracts by one from the poema contain-
ing a comparison between Italian and English liberty. The
happy freedom of air and m^mner shown in two peasant girls
gives room for the contraat. It becomes a question whether true
national freedom is compatible with this delightful hilarity of
manner as a national feature — whether our precious gift of
liberty is not a hard-won treasure, to be laboiirea and toiled for,
and leaving traces of the conflict on its possessors. In the pre-
sent day, at least, we are not disposed to undervalue our actual
possessions, whatever they may have cost us. P^vcn in aspect
we must have the better of it— for every true heart in Italy
must now be a sad one — every face of the true-hearted have
gathered blackness^ Yet the lines are beautiful, and the gene-
ra! tone wins our sympatliy.

' Thence n e returned, revolving as we went,

The lesson this and previous daya had taught
In raaibling meditations ; and we sought
To read the face of Italy, intent
With equal eycand just arbitrcment

To menHure its expressions as we ought :

And chiefly one conclusion did we draw, —
That liberty dvreU here with Heaven's consent,
Tboiigh not by human law.

Taijlor^» Paetm,

* A liberty imperfect, undesign'd, —

A liberty of circumstance ; but still
A liberty that moulds the heart and will
And works an inward freedoiu of the mind.
Not such is statutable freedom : blitid

Are they to whom the letter, which doth kill,

Stands for the spirit which giveth life : sore pains
They take to set Ambititm free, and bind
The heart of man in chaina.

* Ambition, Envy, Avarice and Pridi?,

These are the tyrants of our hearts : the laws
Which cherish these io multitudes, and cjiuse
The passions that aforetime lived and died
111 palaces, to fiunrish far and wide
Throughout a land — (allot them what applause

We may, for w caltli and science tliat Ihev nurse,
And greatness)^aeen upon their darker aide,
Bear the primffival curse.

* Oh England! " Merry England," styled of yore!

Where is thy mirth? thy jocund laufjhter, where?
The sweat of hibour on the brow of care,
Makes a mute answer — driven from every door !
The May-pole cheers the village green no more,
Nor harvest-home, nor Christmas mummers rare.

The tired mechanic at hia lecture sigh a,
And of the learned, which, with all his lore,
Haa leianre to be wise ?

* Civil and moral libertv are twain r

That truth the carefess countenancca free
Of Italy avouch 'd; that truth did we,
On converse prrounds, and with reluctant pain,
Confess that Englnnd proved. Wash first the stain
Of worldliness away ; when that shall he,

Us shall " the glorious liberty" befit
Whereof in other far than earthly strain,
The Jew of Tarsus writ,

* So shall the noble structure of our land,

(Oh nobler and more deeply founded far
Than any form beneath a southern star),
Move, more at large ; be open, courteous, bland,
lie simple, cordial, not more strong to stitnd
Than just to yield,— nor obvious to each jar

'ill at shakes the prond; for Independence walks
With staid Humility aye hand in hand,
Whdst Pride in tremor stalks.

* From pride nlcbcian and from pride high-born,

From priae of knowledge no less vain and weak.
From overstrain 'd activities that seek
Ends worthiest of indifference or scorn.
From pride of intellect that exalts its horn
In contumely above the wise and meek.

Exulting in coarse cruelties of the pen,
From pride of drudging souls to Mammon swoni,
Where shall we flee and when ?

64 Taylor's Poems.

' One House of Reiuge in this dreary waste

Was, through God's mercy, by our fathers built, —
That house the Church : oh, England! if the guilt
Of pride and greed thy CTandeur have debased,
Thy liberty endaneer'd, nere be placed

Thy trust: thy nreedom's garment, if thou wilt,

To piece by charters and by statutes strive,
But to its personal rescue, haste, oh haste !
And save its soul alive.'

Mr. Taylor's most recent work, * Notes from Books,' as it
consists almost entirely of critical essays reprinted from the
'Quarterly Review,' does not come within the scope of our
article. It would be carrying criticism too far to review
reviews — these have but one legitimate tribunal, the world of
readers.

Art. IIL— 1. Thp. P/iiioanplu/ of Ttditjion, By J. D. Mohell,

A.M. London: Lon<jman. 1849.
2. The Soul: her Sorrntrat ami her J»piratiavs, Ju EsMiff towarth

the Natural Iliaforf/ of ike Soul, (U the true /*^/.s/jf of Tht'oh^fp.

Jilt Franci8 William Newman, fiirmerhf Fit/on* of BtiUiU

VolUge^ Oa-foTfl LtmcJon : Cliapinan. 1849.

We notice these two volumes^ not liecause we expect them to
exercise any great influence on the Englii^h minil, tut* jjnictic4U
to l>e dislodged from its linldings, even by the tlicorles of nhle
men, but because ttiey indieate the set of that current which for
many years has lieen secretly undermining the uationul faith :

* Flumlnnque antiquos subterlubentin munis'

In enying that Rational ii5ni is patent (to use Mr. Moreira
favourite expression), in these volumes, we arc hound to notice
his own earnest protect against such a charge. But his definition
of Rationalism differs from oura, A primary priaeiple of his
philosophy, and one which is in every way to be commended,
IS the distinction which he draws between the intuitive and the
logical part of man's nature. This will be known to tliose who
have seen the ' Historical View of Philosophy,' which he pub-
lished three years ago.

Now, Rationalism, according to Mr. Morcll, is, ' the attempt

* to exhibit Christianity simply as a system of logical thought,

* based upon certain fundamental definitions, and erecting upon

* them a complete superstructure of doctrine/ (p. 256. J He
eupfjoses himself safe, therefore, from such an imimtation,
because his opinion is that Cliristianity 'cannot be accounted

* for by any ecieutific aualysiH ; but iu its evidences, in its eon-

* ceptions, in its holy impulses and anticipations, hes quite

* beyond the region of the logical understanding,' (Pref. xiii.)
This is in great measure true, but it leaves untouched the real
characteristic of Rationalism, regarded as a religions error.
For if this name is really tu mean anything, if its definition is
to lielp us in estimating the true course of parties, and in dis
cerniug the causes of spiritual delirancy, we must seek tlvr its
distinctive conchtions in some fundamental misap[>relien8ion of
those relations between man and God, wbich tbrm the basis of
religion. Theology means the knowledge of Gn<l; religion the
hijntl which is thus iuiposed upon tlic jiraeticc of His creatures.
A right e&timate, then, of the relation of man to God will lead

NO XLV, — N, 8, F

66 Rationalism,

to true, a defective or erroneous estiiimte to false religion.
Now, the relation between man and God may be viewed in
reference to two syateras — the coiirse of nnturo, and the course
of grace. The first is that which grows out of the original
creation of miinkind in Adam, the second grows out of his
re-creatiun in Jesus Christ. This last, therefore, ia the principle
of mediation, the otlier that of nature* Now, Rationalism is that
system of religion which rests upon the laws and processes of
nature, whereas Christianity rests upon mediation and grace.

It may be said, this ia to make Rationalism identical with
natural religion. But such is not our meaning. Natural
religion ia that feeble but real torch which burnt in man's
conscience through the influence of the Eternal Word, before
* life and immortality were brought to light by the Gospel/
It preaented no opposition, therefore, to that intenser radiance
which shone forth in the true Sun of Righteousness. The
opposition to Christianity was from other aysteniSj which pre-
tended to the same heavenly principle of a new life, which the
Christian truly possessed. The Church had to conquer the
false schemes of mediation which made up popular paganism.
But now that these rivals are vanquished, there waits it a new
enemy, — -a system which admits and applauds Holy Scripture
as well as itself, — which spreadii itself over the game wide field
of history and experience, which appeals to all the results of
Divine teaching, and to all the facts of the sacred annals, but
which professes to be independent of that law of mediation,
through which the Churcli t>f Christ derives all its blessings.
This system is Rationalism, the final enemy of the cross of
Christ, the great Antichrist of the last days.

If such be the true view of Rationalism, it may equally occur,
whether men build their intellectual theory on intuition or on
logic. Is their law of judgment based on the jiroperties of
nature, or on that new creati<m td* man's race which was wrought
in Christ Jesus? Is their criterion for the interpretation of
Scripture based on those qualities which came into our constitu-
tion by its creation, or on those new liglits of which the con-
tinual influx of grace from the second Adam is the potent cause?
Is their notion of approach to the Supreme Being that of an
immediate reaching forth of the spirit to its spiritual Maker:
or does the God -man appear, as the sole channel, wherel>y God
and man are united? I he former set of processes are no doubt
commended to us by the conatitution of our nature, and if
nature suflficed for our salvation it were needless for us to seek
anything more ; but to apply tbeui to Revelation is to handle it
according to the principles of our lirst creation, and thus to
substitute the system of Rationalism for the religion of Christ.

iftttonfthitfn*

Tliese two writers, therefore, are ikeiJedly Riitionalbtic:
the principles on which they bage the religious judfj^ient, the
criterion which they suggest of truth and falsehood!, are built
upon the natural, qualities of man, and not upon timt higher
sense with which humanity has been endowed through the
Christian covenant. We may take them in a measure apart,
because the one forma a sort of introduction to the other;
Mr. Morell's work, far more deep, calm, and eoniprchcns>ive,
sets fortli those general principles which are illuist rated in the
earnest, and fervid, but somewhat vituperative pages of Mr.
Newman.

In reading Mr. Morcll's volume wo must confess ourselves
to have experienced a great disappointment. Its philosophical
views, at least towards the coiiimeiicenient of the work^ arc so
just and valuable, they are so clearly enounced and happily
illustrated, that in tipite of t5ome auspicious expreeisions we were
prepared to find in him a valuable instructor. And such we are
persuaded lie would have proved, if he had been e(>ntented to
take his philojjophy from Jacobi, without taking hia theology
from SchleJcrmachcr. As* we woidd fain give him all the praise
which is his due, we shall fii-st notice the more grutifyiug part
of his volume. We find in liiin a coui[>lcte ctnanciiiution from
that low and sordid system of Locke, which has been at the
root of 80 much infidelity both here and on the Continent.
The nobler and truer views which Jacobi set forth »o success-
fully in Germany, and which oor own Coleridge livetl to vindicate,
have fonnd in him an apt disciple. We trust we may liail this
circumstance as a proof of the increaipiug prevalence of that
higher t^^ste in philosophy, which though not necessarily involving
theological truth, is yet essential to its prevaleni'o. For though
men who hold the doctrine of the Moral Sense in its complete-
ness may unhajipily st^ijv short at tlmt point of their progress,
Tct its ilenial is incompatible with any tlifory of religion. And
though, through the infirmity of reason, this error fails bapjiily
of its result in individual cases, yet in tlic long run its |wrnicioua
consequences arc sure to display tbenisclvcs. We hail, therefore,
the healthier tone of Mr. MorelPs pliiloi^ophy.

The portion of his work which we have read with the greate'st
pleasure is tlie tiecond chapter, in which, after a general sketch
of the human faculties, which docs not contain anything very
instructive, he pri»ceeds to * the distinction between the Logical
and the Intuitional C'onseiousness.* The points which he brings
out in this chapter, and which we shall illustrate by quntatjons,
are, tii-st, the degree in which intuitive consciousness lies at the
niot of human knowledge ; secondly, that while the form of
things 18 communicated to us through the .^enses, a knowledge

r 2

68 Rationalism*

of their matter is intuitively apprahended by tho niinfl ; thirdly,
tliat the criterion which supplies a test for the verification of
intuitive judgments ia that decision of mankind at large by
wliicli the private judgment of individualB is amended. These
wc conceive to be important steps towards a right judgment of
the tc/iole^ as Lucretius would term it, and especially do we con-
sider that tliey lead to the admission of an objective reality in
the domain of those spiritual essences which address themselves
so peculiarly to our inner nature. It will not of course escape
obi^ervation that Mr. Morcll's view of mutter and form would
go far to justily such statements of the Heal Presence as were
introduced into the terminology of the niedia?val Church. We
need not quarrel with the word mhtance, as denoting the manner
of our Lord's presence in tlie Holy Eucharist, ii* interpreted
according to this acnsc of the term mateviid* But to come to
our author:—

' Hie rmidameutal realities of the true, i\t bcftiitiful, and tbe good, «ll
alike conic to us at otice by virtue of an intellectual seusibility, ivhicb
apprelicnds them apontniK.ously and intuit ively, just as in our perceptive
con,sciriiisness wc apprehend the outward rtrality of tliii>c?H ariiuini us,
Witbcint this percept ive eonseioiiMiicris v\c could never uUftin dit^ very first
elements of physical truth ; iiiasniiii^b an we could never eouiprehend what
is i^iven us iuunediately in pcrei'ptitHi, by any ilcscriptinn, (JeJinilion, or
idea. Vet once pven m demenix wc cjin reason upon ibem hft^ityilly, and
tbus creale what is properly termed phymcal iicience, hi like manner, idso,
we comprehend the eleuieuta of all hi^^ber truth, whether in theology,
Esthetics, or muralii; but haviiijc thus ^ot accc«s to theni by otir inluitloiml
consciousness, then at length we can reason upon them by the uuderstand-
ini^, nntil ue reduce them to losfical or acienliJic terms.* — P, 10*

On this id founded the rcmarkj that

' The Itnowledg^e we obtain by the intuitiimal consciousness is maieriat^ that
which we p^niu by the logicfd consriousneisH h formal .... The division of
human knowledge into tbe nmfler and the /orw/, ia one which has stood its
ground iu the history of pliiloHophy tbrousjhout a vast number of centuries,
and has generally indicated an advanced Ktate ot metaphysical thinking,
in proportion as it has become lhorouj2;bly realized, and incorporated into
the science of the age. In this particular tispeet of the distinctions in cjues-
tion, as hi those we have already considered, the best illtistrrttion of the
subject we can present ia the analogous rnse of our sense-perccptiona,
since the eo-existence ofrriatlfr and form, in all knowledge depending upon
tbc experience of the senses, is precisely similar to their co-esistenee in
kntHv ledge of a higher and more j^eneral description, * — F. *I5.

And hence we advance to the third point — the criterion which
J8 supplied for the testinr^ ol' nnr |»nnriple& of intuition by the
col I e ct i ve j 1 1 d r^ii e n t of man k i n d .

' The logical eonscitmsness is Indhidua'^ the intuitional consciousness is
tfenerir . . . The contest has lonj; been jroini; f(U"ward, hnw far we must
appeal to the individunl reason as the basis and leaf of trutli, or how far
w<* must make our Rppeal to thf common conHent of n.juiUiHh On the our
hanil it has been aro:ue(i that the individual reason must beihe final appeal

Rationalism,

for in whatCTCT way truth comrs to us, still our own indindual rainiltici
muMtj as far as we are conccrnvd, be the judge of it« evidences and the
interpreter of ita meaning. .... On the other hand it has been ar«tue4
forcibly enoiig^h that the individual reason '\& Hltoy;ether uutrustwortby, lor it
may, and oftfii does, give iie aH^^ent to the very g:ro3scsi errors and delusions.
. . . Hence it is concluded that the reason of humfliiity, the common con-
sent of the race i'? our true test, our last appeal. Now both these theories
have truth on their side, although they appear to stand in direct opposition
to each other. The ground of their an tagonistn arises from omitting to
consider whiit ia within us which u individual in its character, and what
that is g"eueric, or belonging to the race of mankind at large. We uU feel
conscious that there are certain points of truth respecting wliich we cnn
appeal to our own individual understanding with unerring certainty. No
amount of contradiction, fur example, no weight of opposing testimony
from others, could ever shake our belief in the definitions and deductions
of mathematical science, or the conclusions of a purely logical syllogism.
On the other hand, we arc equally conscious, upon due consideration, that
there are truths, respecting which we distrmt our individtml judgment,
and gain certainty in admitting ihcm, only from the concurring testimony
ofotner roinds. (Of this nature, for example»are the main pomts uf nionil
and religious truth.) Hence it appears evident thiit there is within us both
an individual and a generic element, Jind ihnt answering to them there are
truths for which we may appeal to the iodivitlual reason, and truths for
which we must nppeal to the lesttmony of mAnkind as a whole, , . . The
logical consciousness is stamped with a perfect mdividualiyni, t!ie intuit
Hmuil consciousness witli an e«|uallv universal or geuerii! ehuruetcr.*—
^MUreU, pp. 51-^53-

We have been more full in tht\se extract*^, because we con-
ceive them to be the must vuhiable part of tbe vubitne before
lis, and desire to sec them apprcbeuded by llmsc wbo inlglit be
repelled by otber part* of it. But we wl^li that Mr. Morell liad
ascended vl step higbcrj and traced to its source the atitbority of
that intuitional consciousness which dwells in the faaaly of man-
kind. For, though men might be influenced in their judgments
by the simple coincidence of testimonies, yet we are pei*Buaded
that a deeper and more real authority is to be ascribed to the
intuitional consciousness t4' liunianity. Its existence in that
whole family, which owes its origin to a cotmnou crealhui,
fihows it to be the impress of the Parent mind, whose being and
nature is one of the most indelible of those instincts which He
has implanted upon IJis creatiu'es. Here we trust that our
author is fully with us, for he points out with great force and
beatity that the idea of God is no mere negative notion, attained
by abstracting tbe limits of things; that it lies in tbe inherent
belief of the Infinite and Absolute, as of a positive and necessary
Being.

* Reason up to a (Jod, nud the hcst you cnn do in to hypostatize nnd deify
the final product of your own faculties ; but admit the reality of an intel-
lectual intuition, <rts the mass of mankiitd virttmHy do,) and the absolute
otanda before you in xkU its living reality. "^3/orW/, *p. ao.

With this view of tbe Supfcmc Nature, our author, we are

70 EatiOfiolijtm^

peraoaded, must eyrapathise in the aentinients of Aquinas,
when he claims a Divine syiirce for those inherent judgments of
the hunifin race wliich have been vindicated by all true philoso-
phers from Plato to Jacobi.

* Supra aoimara iirtclkctivara humanam nccessc est ponerc aliquena su-
periorcm intcllectum, a ({no auima virtutcm intelli^cndi obtineat. — Plato
intellcchim separatum, imprimentem iti atiimaa nostras, compamvii Soli, —
Seti iutellcctua separatus, secundum nostra) Mei documenta, est ipse Deus.'

Wc are indelited for this quotation to a recent work by Arch-
deacon Wilberforcc, and wc shall quote hia words, as illustrating
our assertion, that the unity of creation supplies the authority
for those common judgments which are due to the moral
instincfca of mankind,

' If it be asked why men arc not justified in adopting those conclusions
to whicli tlieir single coiisdouanesa conducts ; why they should admit more
than, by proccs^ics within thernKelves, tliev can ascertain and accept; the
answer isj that they do not stand alone ; that they are parts of a race ; that
He ivho made them has established certain laws, which find a response in
their common nnture, and has thus fijced Hia impress on their collective
being. , . . Stnrting^ from the fact that thny were all " the offspring of hira that
waa first made from the earth," they must conclude that wisdom was " the
brcatli of the power of God, and a pure iuflucnce flowing from the glory of
the Almighty." And Revelation witnesses that men*B natural power of
appreciatuiff moral truth iy the gift of that Eternal Word, who never totally
forsook the beings whom He had created. ** hi Him was life, and the life
was the light of men/' This is the origin and divine cause for that com-
mimity and connexion of the souls of men, the natural and apparent gronnde
of which have been already stated,' ^^Wiiberforce on the IncamatioNt P* -194.
2d Ed.

But why, it may be asked, should we have wished Mr, Morcll
to have entered upon this subject, and to have stated the law>
from which the intuitional consciousness of nature derives its
validity ? Because^ had he done so> he might probably have been
led on to the rccofrnition of that higher law, which occupies a
corresponding position in the economy of grace. And here it is
that wc are compelled, however reluctantly, to part company
with him. After this philosophical estimate of the nature of
consciousness, he advances onwards to the essential character-
istics of religion in general, and in particular of the religion of
Christ. This leads him to speak of llevelation, of Ins^pinition,
and of the criterion by whicli its truth and falsehood ia to be
discriminated. Now, in this progress, instead of going on
* to the acknowledgment of the mystery of God, and of the
Father, and of Christ/ he never rises above that natural level
which is all we fear that a disciple of Schleiermachcr can be ex-
pected to attain. lie admits freely the influence of Christ as
a historical Person, and as raising humanity above itself, but we
lack that law of a new creation, which aopplies the real distinc-
tion bct\vcen the system of nature and tlic syetem of grace.

nationalism.

This becomes pain fully apjuirent whpn he tliscustjeH the two
great questions which at present arc most pressing on the minds
of thoughtful men, — thelntipiration of Scripture and theCritericm
of Trutk Of the importance of these subjects our author seems
indeed to have a due estimate,

* The age in which we now live, an age universally fruitfui in independent
thinking, is fast driving the questions of renson and authority, as held by
the Protestant world, to a jjomt. Multitudes fullv conseious of the logical
untenableaeaa of their onliiiary profe83iona» have tieen impeJlcd to mie or
the other extreme. Some, following out the principle of uidividualism^
have seen it land them in the lowest ahy^ss of Uationalism ; while others,
naturally shriukiDg from »ueh a result, have thrown theniHelves iuto the
arms of absolute authority. On this spectacle the Christian worid is now
l^azing; and many in the throbbing heart T^hich ia atiking at the hand of the
Protestant Church, in which its (hitli has been nurtured, an intelligible sulii-
tion of this alMmportant question.' — P, 378.

The importance assigned, not unjustly to this subject, leads us
to weigh somewhat mure fully t!ie theory of our author. Its
failure seems to us to be attributable to the unfortunate de-
ficiency which we have already noticed* His general view of
the nature of Inspiration we are far from quarrelling ivith.
' Kevelation,' he says, * is a process of tiie intuitional eonscious-
jiess, gazing upun eternal verities,' (p. 141,) ' Inspirntion is the
power of spiritual vision,' (p. 151/) Neither do we call in ques-
tion bis assertion, that 'there is no positive evidence of a verbal
dictation' of Scripture. What then, it will be said, is tlie
objection to his theory ? The objection is this, that he dis-
believes the reality of that new system which truly altered all
the relations of heaven and earth, and made the estate and |jro-
epects of men whullj other than they bad been before. The
Gospel dii^pensatiuu was a new creation, a re-moulding of the
former state of things ; the visible and invisible were alike
altered ; the new birth of time was come : * Glory to Gocl in
the highest, and on earth peace, good Will towards men*' This
mighty innovation in the ancient order of the universe did not
fail to involve an alteration in the condition of those l)y whom it
was witnessed j but it was not only a change in their sentiments,
an enhancement and excitation of their feelings ; they were
truly altered by a supernatural power, even as olij^-cls were
altered around them. For then came in the Law of Gmce in
place of the Law of Creation ; anil the ortlinary compreliension
of the children of Adam was superseded by the inspired judg-
uient of tJie members of Christ.

Now, to this great change our author docs no just lee* Inspi-
ration with him is merely that intcnscr action of the powers of
a moral intuition wliieb was called forth liy the deeds and in-
IbiL'nce of Clu'ist.

72 Eaiioimlism,

'Thepersimal experience of the Hfc, preaching, character, aiifferinpcs, aivd
(lenth of Cliri.st, to^^ethcr with tlvt^ remarkfthic ctFuBifm of spiritual influence
whicli (blltnvcil His a'4ecii8i(in, were assuredly most cxtruordiiiHry iasiru-
HI CD t« I i ties, wunderfully atliipted, moreover* to work upon the minds of the
Jpot(l*f*, and raiKte tAem to ft state of spiritual perception and sensibUiiy. —
Moreli, p. 166-

Contrast thia with the statement of the Apostle: * If any
* man lie in ChriBtj he is a new creature ; old tilings tire passed
' away ; beliokl, all things are become new.* Or still more,
refer to that Divine deelnration that a real change had been pro-
duced in the actual relations of the universe, whereby was ful-
fihed Isaiah's prediction of a new hciiven and a new earths
' All power is phat unto me in heaven and earth. Go ye, tA^re*
fore^ and make diseiples of all nations.*

Our com[>laint, then, against Mr. Morell's sj^stem is that it
silently elimijiates the Mediator out of His own world. It
ignores that mifility chun«;e which is described in Scripture as
the setting up of His kingdom. And, as a necessary consequence,
it rejects those Divine records in which this new form of things
was set forth to [)usterity. For, whcu we sjieak of inspiration
as a higher mode of intuition, we are not referring only to an in-
creased acutenesa in appreciating the general truths of morals, or
to an augmented zeal in pr<ii)agating them, but to some actual
power of discerning those new realities, which at this reason
were truly introduced into the world. Nothing but a belief in
the reality of that Divine system which the Apostles professed
to set forth, including, of course, 8Ueh an influence on the
observers as qualified thera to declare it, will secure that due
reverence for God'a word, of wiiich our author's theory would
wholly deprive it. Kot ouly does he deny to the sacred writers
'either miraculous powers, or any distinct comtnission from God,*
(p. Iii5,) but he virtually discards the whole dogmatic teaching
of the Apostles, aj* being * exclusively Jewish in form/ though
' their intuitions were put*ely Christian,* {p, 272.) Thus, then, is
tlie main part of Christian doctrine got rid of by a writer who
still professes to believe in Scrij>ture, and, in name, recognises
the inspiration of its winters. And we are taunted by the
assertion of Dr. Hamjxlen, that * 8. Paul never meant to treat
of doctrines in his Epistles,' (pp. 233, 272.) Such is the usual
history of heretical statetnenis. Tins position had no sooner
been advanced by Dr. IIaui[Hlen, than it was condemned Ijy the
coumion voice of the Church; and it formed one of the main
grounds of his censure by the University of Oxford. Dr. IIann>-
den, instead of taking the manly course of saying that, if there
was any thing in his teaching inconsistent with the doctrines of"
the Cliurcii, he retracted and wished it unsaid, calleil ht-aven
and earth to witness tiiat lie liad never meant what was attri-

Rattonalhm.

Imted to hitn ; and In jrartieiiliir, lie repeatedly asserted that lie
did consider the dootrinitl statements of the A|instle8 to be a
binding statement oftriitli. 8oeli was* the language of Km ap-
[leal to the Puritan party in liis Inaiiirural Lecture. And the
same statement he has often repe«tetl. The Whigs cudic \n
again. Dr. Hampden^ of course, * haA his reward' for hia trea-
son to the Church. It was said to be unfair to attribute to him
an error, which, by bis repeated denials, lie had virtually re-
tracted. But no sooner baa he attained his purpose, than we see
his theological assertions quoted, as though they had lieen ac-
cepted mtb silefitio by the Cluirch, and had gained a recognised
pumtion in our theology*

We can assure Mr. Morell, however, that he is mistaken if
he thinks that the Eugfish publie is prepared, like his friend
Schleiennaeher, to give up evt-n one of the Impieties. Far rather
will they throw over Dr. Hampden and the whole bench of
Bishops. But what i^ the alteinativc? Is it neceseaiy that to
maintain our reverence for 8cn[>ture we should admit the ex-
treme statements to which flic naked theory of verbal inspi-
ration ha^ been sometimes extended ? We sbuuhl greatly prefer
this to Mr. ^MoreH's alternative : yet such elttrenie stLitements
involve great, and aa we think, unnccci^fiary difficulties ; and
they were introduced merely to i*rup up an iniperfect system of
theology. Here again we will refer to Mr. MorclL

* When the RrformcTS threw olf the papal yr>kc, and disowned the
Cbureh, they nftturall}' fell bark upon the plenary inHpirMlion of the Scrip-
lures as their most powcrlul appeal. Hence, the Protestant Church, which
had uaturuUy iahfrited somewhat of the nicciiaitiical spirit uf the Papacy,
was nurtured in those rij^id idenn of inspiration hy whit'h ahme it was ahle
in those limes to hold tip an finfnrronistic authority to [he pretended infal-
Uhility of the Papal Sec. The professed theologiann of almost all the
reformed Churches accordingly developed and maintaijied the doctrine of
verbal inspiration with great tcnacily.' — P. 188.

We bch'eve this to be a true statement, though of course
do not inelude the Church of England, as our author per-
would do, auion*^ Protestant Churcliefc». And we fully
agree with him when he points out what hoth history and
reason show to be the ncceg.sary result of such a yystetu.

• We find as a mruter of logical neeesf*ity that the theory of rclignjus
ck rtitude^ which throws ihc whole decision upon the interpretations oK the
letter of Scripture, insenaihly merges into the very Ibundation-priucipte of
Rationalism; for in one case, as in the; (jther, the individu:tl reason i.s the
final appeal. And this t'cau'lt^ he it ohscrved, perfectly eoincides with the
liicts of history, for nearly all the Rationalicini of modern tiuiey has based
Itself upon Biblical interpretation, and appeab e^eii to the Scriptures
theraselvea as u verificatioa of it> euntiusioiKS. . , . Little do they consider
who proclaim so Kaidly the doctrine ol private judgment, or private inter-
pretarion «* uh hitdterhud prhuiuh'^ what lies eonceated in tl Hf>u\ ami what
may come forth from it hercalter Onee give the individniil principle full

RationalhM,

pky, anil whatever be tlie result of a

mail's speculations ou the Bible, )ou
iQve not a word wherewith to meet him. Hk individual judgmDut is
theoretically as good as your own, and if he be a Iceener logician than
yourself, a thousand to one but he will beat you entirely out of the field,
and set up bis logiml Rationaliarti completely over the head of your logical
orthodoxy/— ,4/«rt//, pp. 333, 335.

Our iiuthor lias a perfectly just conception of the process
which is now going on among the Dissenters, and of which
the whole Ptiritan party is the unconscious victim. Let us
review hie steps. He objects to the system of a mechanical
inspiration as nntrue in fact, because not consistent with
history. * It catue in,' he saya, ' as an expedient to enable men

* to tio witliout that belief in a Divine guidance, on which

* Church authority is dependent. But by making the intellect

* of the individual the law of appeal, it leads of necei^sity, (as 18
' proved by the example of all Protestant Europe,) to Ration-
' alisni.' Now what doea our author suggest instead? You
must have a better law of appeal. Individual intellect will not
answer the purpose: you must appciil to the intmtim conscious
^i€€s of hnnutnitt^. But now comes the sacrifice. You must
pull down Scripture to the same level with the mind, which is
its adequate critei'ion. You cannot have a Divine law and a
merely tunnan interpreter. Had this been aimed at, the inspired
sayings of the ApostleB must have been cut off by some sharp
line of demarcation iVoin their ordinary remarks on common
subjects. But no such thing is recorded. (Pp. 155, 164.) * I go
a-fishing.'— Waj5 the Apostle always inspired when he thus
epoke, or what was there to indicate his inspiration to himselti
in the single instance recorded in Scripture?

Our author's view then is, that inspiration is a singularly
rich vein of intuition, — a peculiarly happy example of that
power, by which all moral truth is apprehended. Such an
effect he concludes to have tbllovved from that mission of the
Saviour into the world, the object whereof was to raise the
imtm*al tone of humanity. ' Our knowledge u Divine, but it is
' 80, just because humanity itself is Divine; it comes from Gixl,

* because we came forth from God,' (p, 328.) And if tee can
give to Revelation a higher place, it must be because we sup-
jwse the advancement of hum«nity to depend on a higher
principle, — because we look on Christianity, not as an exal-
tation of man^s natural state, but as a re-creation in Christ
Jesus.

So far we fully agree with Islv. Morell, that whatever origin be
ascribed to inspiration, the same must be given to that power
which is the adequate criterion of its meaning and its claims.
Y^ou cannot exalt the natural above the supernatuniL To do
so were against liistory and against reason. It were against

RationaUsm*

history, wliicli relates no 8uch iiltempt : it were against reason ;
for what were the use of a supernaturjil guide, if its meaning
were to be preacTibed by a naturjil interpreter? Kither, there-
fore, you must pull down Scripture to the level ol' reason, or
yuu must udmit the existence of some Divine principle of
guidance in the Church of God. For it h at once the inter-
j)reter of Scripture, and the judge of its incipii'ution. A mid*Ue
line was attempted by all the Trutestant bodies at the time of
the Reformation. Tliey built Op fabrics, which promised to be
enduring, the baais whereof was, first, the verbal inspiration of
the sacred canon, and secondly, certain arbitrary interpreta-
tions of it, which were dniwn up by eminent men* Mr. Slorell
relates, with evident satistaction, that not one of thcni haa
dtood its ground. 'The firs^t asisault of a vigorous pliilosophical

* RationaLidni shattered into iragments the brittle texture of

* those logical systcint*, &cc." (p. 283,) And why not? What
right had Luther or Calvin to set eternal limits to the mind?
We wonder that Mr. JMorcll, who, generally, is neither w^eak
nor unfair, should not have discerned the wide ditlcrcncc be-
tween dogmas, which thus stood upon nothing, and those
sy nodical decrees of the English Church, which are confessedly
put furth as not contrary to Cathobc consent, and are built upon
the Church's claim to * authority in controversies of taitlu'
For this claim plainly rests upon the other principle which has
been noticed. The objection to which it will be liable is, that
it involvea the claim to infallibility. But what it asserts is not
the infallibility of the Roman Church, but the indefectibility of
the Cliurch Universal, Unless this can be maintained, we see
no alternative but our aulhur's. Either Rcvclatiou was not
above humamty, or the power by which it is judged must be so
also.

The contrast then between the sjsteni of our author imd that
of the Church is manifest. All that can be attainctl by mere
humanity, he asserts for his criterion of truth. Its gruund is
intuition, not logic ; the judgment of the race, not individual
intellect; the enlightened muid, finally, which has been duly
moulded by the grout Teacher of humanity, and His lofty-minded
didciple^. But it remains a human judgment still. We should
be sorry to impute to hira opinions, iVoni which his English
education may have saved him ; and wc <lo not assume, tlierelbre,
that like his master, Schlciermacherjie has failcn into thnae deadly
errors, whiclt deform the w^orks of that able man. We do not
infer that he disbelieves the doctrines of the Trinity, because he
sneers at S. Athanasius, (p. 246); or that by him, as by his
German teacher, the great truths of our Lord's t^atiafaction for
sin, or of Eternal Judgment aire dcjiied. It is enough that he

EaHonalum.

lowers the mystery of tlie Go^spel to the etandanJ of nature, Man
natural is his standard of truth, not man redeemed, Wliat God
heistowa upon man Jie supnoses to have been bestowed according
to the law of creation, not the law of grace.

Now to all this we oppose the Divine mystery of the Gospel ;
we assert that when the manliood was taken unto God, there
began that sublime system of grace, which is characteristic of
the Cin'istian kingdom. We athrni that it is still acting in the
ordinances, and sjjcaking throu^ the judgment of the Universal
Church. For * lo, I am with you always, even to the end of
the world.' And from this power were derived those liigher
intuitions, whereby the secrets of the unseen world were hiid
open to our Lord's disciples. And if we are asked how we can
discriminate what has been uttered on thin undoubted authority
from such less important sivyings as, no doubt, proceeded at
times even from the mouths of Apostles, we refer to the criterion
which is supplied by the judgment of the collective body of
Christ. This body we believe to have often spoken by its
authorized representatives, and we hope and believe that it will
yet again si>cakj and to its decisions we shall listen as to the
voice of God, But this voice will never sjjeak for the purpose
of making new Revelations, but only of fixing the sense of old
ones. For such is tiie promise of God Himself And having
this criterion of truth, we can afford to discard that system of a
mechanicid inspiration, winch would otlicrwise be esseutial. For
since the criterion is Divine, the Kevelation itself mn^t be
Divine also» The intuitions, on which it is dependent, must be
supposed to be a resd communing with things unseen. A spiritual
world is tridy round about us, and of its immortal verities the
Apostles- liad the same clear perception as the senses convey
of the material universe. In recording the result of these sacrc*
communings, what was necessary, save that they should speak
tlie truth? When the Apostle tells us that lie left a cloak
at Troas, we do not think it necessary to assert more than
that he had truly reason to say he had done so. And uhen
S. John relates that the * Land> that was slidn,' was seen before
the throrje, or when S. Paul expresses the same fact, by de-
claring that * He ever liveth to make intercession for us,' still,
that they speak the truth is nil whicli it is essential for us to
affirm. What matters it, that in the one case the inii>rmant
may liave been memory; in the other, ins[nrcil intuition;
supposing that we have the testimony of an unfailing witness
that both are to be believed. There will be no evil in admitting
that in both cases the results are conveyed to us in human
words, provided we hold tirmly to these two facts, of which the
ChuiTh's witness assures us, It^t, that an actual wtirld of wonders

TationalUm,

ffcos it3 existence outside of us; and, 2dly, that with its secrets the
Apostles were as fuily conversant as they wei*e with those
I bodily and sensible appearances which their eyes beheld or
their hands handled.

In conclusion, we will recapitulate the three particular com-
plaints which we have to ninke a<^ainst Mr, ilorclFs theurv of
IJispiration. 1st. lie does not recognise the dislincti^tn wfiich
[ought plainly to obtain between the words of Him who * spake
Ifis never man spake,' and those ot His Apostles. Tti theni the
unseen world was opened by Hit? power, and their s])iritual eye
Iwas armed to discern its mysteries, but how far their kuow-
lledge may have extended respecting the universe w^e are not
[concerned. It is indifferent wliether S. Paul was aer|uainted
■with the system of Copernlctis; but it is otherwise when we
[conic to Him, to whom all the secrets ol" time nnd space are
patnrally open. That any words of His could be inj perfect or
inaccurate, it were a profanation to conceive.

2dly, Our author does not nmke due account of miracles.

Supposing that Scripture docs not mount above the level of

[nature, he sees no value in those ndraculous events, by which a

nBU|>erhuman system was naturally accompanied. We are far

[from looking at the subject ot" miracles in that cold calcuLiting

fipirit, which has oiltcn bccu applied to them. Wa nee«l not count

or weigh them; nor do we conceive that each act of revelation

must be countereigned by a corresponding act of power. But

:we cannot forget that our Lord referred to miracles, and that

.8. Paul, whose words are our especial authority for many new

'lews of truth, alhidcs more than any other Apostle to this

LUctioQ. {(hil iii. 5; Koni. xv. 19; f Cur. 14, 18.) We look

therefore with great suspicion on the tendency which a[ipcars in

ither quarters, as w*ell as in our author, (\k 1o2,) to depreciate

lilie weight of miracles, even without denying their reality. It

part of the same system which would sink the mystery of

idemptiou into a mere exaltation of the natural powers of man.

3dJy. Our author treats the words id" the Apostles with a

mterapt, which he coidd never entertain, if he recognised that

*ivine intuition uf which they were possessed, I*id he believe

rtiat the unseen world was open to their gaze, he would hardly

hink himself justified in rejecting their expressions, because

"ley do n4)t range with the partial deductions of his own Ingic,

\m. 175, 6.) IIow diflerently is this subject treated by the

kblest of modern writers.

Supposing, for arfTU merit's sake, S. Pawls reasonings areseprtrkihle from hh
mcltihions, and he h onfy inspired in the latter. >«■!, Hitiiutecdromp to this,
iftt in »>rdcr lo defend the Gospel, ati Apostle must he supposed to indtdpt?

words and arjrinnent», which mean, pothing? Is one who is gpualt;r llinif

Rationalism,

man with inspiration, less than man without it? Arc hiH antitheses and
amplificjfctiotiM and similitudes, arc his words of emphasis and weight, such
as " light," " power," •* glory," " riches," *• height and depth," '* inward
working," *' spirit," " mystery," and ** Christ indwelling," to stand for
nothing? Arc they rdndom worda uttered for effect, or from a sort of
habit, as sacred names are now used by sinners to mnke their language
tell 1 Are his eKpreswions glowing, not hecanse his anbjecl is ^real, but
beeause his temperamejit was sanguine? Is he antithetical, not because he
treat* of things discordant, but because he was taught in the schools of
Tarsus? Or does he repeat his words, not from the poverty of human
language, but the slendernes3 of his vocabulary ? . . . Surely it its not only
shallow but profane, thua to treat the argumentative structure of an
Inspired Volume,'

Mr, Moreirs volume is not likely, oF course, to gain much
acceptauco with the Ptintaii portion of the Church of Enn^land,
the sceptical tendency of whose tenete he so forcibly exposes*,
and whose intolerance he is imahlc to sj)eak of with patience. He
lias no sympathy with those who rant about * the ^implia'tji/ of
' the Gospel,^ (Pref. xv.) He com|>lains that ' the religions excite-
' ment of the age leads insensibly into the same diplomatic
* habit of action, whicli wc find in the contentions of politicai
' and other purely secular interests,' (Prcf. xxiii.) But does this
party expect more support from Mr. Newman? They might
liave some i%ht to do so, IVjr Mr. Newman's volume is but the
expansion and enforcement of the main truth of Puritan theo-
logy, the existence merely of personal religion ; Mr. Newman's
whole object is to contend for this principle ; to show that it
involvea all goodness and ull truth, that nothing else is worth
peeking after, that it is idle to waste attention on non-essential*!,
when everything turns in reality on the relation between God
aad the soul. Now this is so miieh whi\t we have licen used to
hear; it is the vo^ry opinion which lias lieen made the ground for
neglecting all sacramental ordinnnees, that wc might expect the
work in which it is ably nnd clearly set forth to be an especial
favourite with the depreciators of the Chm*eh*s system. The
offer made to thcin by this writer is of an int<dlectuni rectification
of their own principles; their isyt^tem is stated with force and
defended with earnestness. How many will be led aw^ay by the
subtlety of the w^ork, wc cannot say. It would be mure per-
suasive, if it !?toppcd short of tiie conclusions which it develops.
We observe, however, that the * Record ^newspaper speaks of our
author as * the greater of the two Newmans,' a title which can
only be justified by an attraction towards some of his opinions.
Perhaps their unreasoning a[>prehension from the ' Sterling
Clnl>j* may act as a sahitary caution again^^t the real dangers of
their ]>oyition.' But let us notice some of tlic particidars in

' Having ulliidiid to ibis subjeci, we cannot hdp im-tiuug ihc ob^ervatians of
lliat sensible paper, the 'New York Churchm&a,* for -'^pril 28. Persons at a

Rationalism,

wrTwewmmi's work, which may be expected to find favour in

iheir eyes*

Nothing 13 of greater moment than the means of acceptance
with God. This is of course the nmiu object of all religion, its
professed purpose — to rescue man from a estate of alienation, and

' to bring him into favour with God, We all know what is to be

» heiurd on this subject from Puritan |mlpits, that men must come
to Chi'iat as they are, that they have only to believe themselves
as one with Him, and they are eo; that such faith will of itself
lead to right conduct, and that the great impcdhneut to it is the
habit of trusting to the routine of ritual observances, or of making
work-righieousnesa a condition of acquittaL We do not stop
at present to inquire how far trutlt and falsehood are mixed
together in euch a system ; we notice it only to obwei^ve that

I ^Ir, J^ewmaii says Shibboleth, the right way, and therefore

I might pass muster with the Tryeri of the Pastoral Aid as a

I converted character*

I * Tbe great, ihc ijnmincnt danger is, tliat the soul which begius to turn

[ once more towards Gotl» should exaggerate tbe dijfllculiies in the wriy uf ita

resturatioa; and often nolhiagcan be bappii^r, than if in a fit of unreaHOii-

ing enthusiasm it suddenly conceivea itself U) be the special object of

I tbe Divine favour. Let the man but once come really under a isensc of

[ God's unchangeable complacency, and he will then soon mourn bitterly

' enough for hii sinsr, and profitably to himself. " Tbou shak be lontb-

tiome in thine own eyes^ tchen I am pacified with thte for all that thou

hast done." Thia is the rationale of the recovery of men from deplorable

hardness and renior^se, under the influence of doctrine commonly esteemed

fanatical, but practically proved to be far mote powerful Lo convert and

rescue than any wisdom of the mere moralist. The preacher anxiously

warns tbe dsner not to think that he must make himselt' fjocd and

righteous before he comes to Christ ; but let him " come as he itj, ragged,

wretclied, filthy, with all bin sing about him :" let him believe that he is

accepted, and he shall iustautly be made whole ; be shall be received with

joy, as the prodigal son returning: a ring &hall l>c placed on his band and

shoes on his feet : the angelii shall be glad becjiusc of him: he nliall be

justified in the midst of his ungodliness; and bis Ikiih shall be counted as

ditttiiee are Bometlmes better jndgen than tboae near at hand. ' The London
*' Reoord," and some eectariao papera ia tbiii country, have been making a loud
outcry about the "Sterling Club," of which the Bitibops of Oxford and St. I)avid*§,
with beveral other dialinguished divines, arc aaid to be monibers. Ah the Itcv- Mr!
Sterling died a more than auflpected infidel, it was, of course, ehfiritably iufcrred
that all the memb^rB held the same sentiments, and wc have had mvu'h whiniuu
about the lamentable results of Puneyism ami High tlhurchism. It apjuBars,
however, that tbe " Club" waa formed ten or twolva ycjura ago bcft're tho hetero-
doxy of 5Ir. Slcrling was ever siiRpected ; It eonaistcd of iTtcrarj- nnn, artiitis,
and other clever people who met for aoeiul purpoBCS, and not for the main*
teusnce of any set of opinions. It wh* eallcfl by tliat name partly because ifr, S.
wait tbe prime mover hi the burtiiicsft, and partly oa a pun upon Iho wonl. Many
of the orjghial mcmbcre liave long ceased to attend Kh meetings. It is need-
Icf* for us to add that the word of the " London hccord" is not to be taken for
anything.' Whatever objections may, not iinrcaeouahly, he niaile ujcruiast the
'Sterling Club,' the attempt to connect * Traetariunii^m ' with Mr, Sterling's
*jpecuiatioU6 is iuffieicatly abi^urd.

%»

Rattonalum.

righteousness. Undoubtedly if the bearer inuigines tbat this is some pro-
ce.HH tor cnablinj^ him to coiitiiiue in sin witbutit evil consequences, it is a
gh>istly deluiiifm ; but if he accepts it as a methml oj' freeing him fn^m
the power of inwaril aiii, as well as from all farther spiritual consequences,
it is precisely the tiling needed for hb cftse. There ia no single thing flhich
more strikingly shous the gross blindnc^a of comniun momlissing divines
concerning the soul, than the incredulity and contempt which is cast upon
sudden conversions.*— AVri7Mcn, pp, 7^^ "9.

Let any one read these linei? antT Bay whether Mr. Newman
shoukl not be aUowcd by the Puritan party to underataod the
Gospel, Here i^ their 'artieuhi8 stantis aut cadentis ecclcsito '
fully adopteth And this doctrhic carries it3 proof so completely
in itscU', tliat no further question geenia admi?;sib!e. For if faitii
be its own criterion, if those who are conscious of it have in that
circnmstancc a ^ufHeient test of the sincerity of their profet5.^ion,
what more can be re([uircd. The favourite arfrunjcnt against
tlie sacramental syistem is, that it is a needless interference,
which is superceded by that immediate apprehension of pardon
which is provided by faith. But ilr. Kcwnian^s sympatiiy with
the Puritan party does not stop here. The ' eadeni vcllc et
eadem nolle ^ may be shown by other instances. Ue joins with
them in protesting against the notion that any real cdijective
gift of grace is bestowed in either sacrament through the cHScaey
of sacerdotal blessing. Its rcsultj he says, is that * a wafer

* blesj4ed and water sprinkled by a priest arc often invested over

* the breadth of Europe with magical virtue; and the words of

* a creed, reverentially recited by one who docs not ]^rofess to

* understand them, are believed to have power in heaven and

* belt/ (p. 10.) Agaittj he asserts that to have any vahic for
Ordination is a form of Feticism : 'the ordained and consecrated
are all Feikh^ (p. 1 1.) Fasting is a ' Babylonisii practice,' (p. 83.)
He refuses to believe 'the pretended nuigical force of a sacra-
mentj until some tangible proof of it is adduced,' (p. 162.) It is

* to ijrnore the whole momentous reality of the new litrth,' to
ideutily it * with a magical prucess effected by epriukling water
on an infant,' (p. 1 H.j And not only does he tbtis symiiathize
with the dislikes of the party, he also concurs in their predilec-
tions. Charles Wesley is * that glorioua hy inn -writer/ (p. 65,)
' As mariners or travellers deligbt to remember dangers past,

* 80 do practical Christians; and the distreepcs of their inward

* life have fiu^riished abundant themes to Christian hymn-writers
' innumerable. From these, without undergoing their tliroes* we

* may gain rather ample knowledge of their experience/ (p. 89.)

All this might well induce the psirty in cpiestitm to suppose
that in i^Ir. Newman they have gained an accession to their
ranks. And the earne^etness witii wbieb he advocates his views,
must needs prf>duce a fitvourable iraprec-sion in his favttur. Nor

Raitonatism,

are those views anything more than a legitimate deduction from
the belief that all rehgion consiata in the persjQiial surrender of
the individual aoul to God. Let this notion be taken its tlie
sum of all religion ; let the idea of a Federal union, of Cliurch-
njember&hip, of approach to the Father through those common
ordinances, in which we take part together as members of the
Lord's body, be looked upon ns something which id merely
superadded and non-essential, and we undertake to my that
Mr. Newman's conception of religion is con'cct, and that thoao
whom he addresses are bound to accept the conductions which
he develops. Those conclusions, however, are i^ufficient, we
hope, to make many of them doubt the surticicncy of that article
of Jnatification by Faith in Christ, which they have usually repre-
sented as not only true but as the sole adequate test of tirthoduxy.
In the book before us we have a sufficient proof that a man may
comply with the letter of this test without being a Christian at all.
For not only does Mr, Newman deny the advantage of liturgical
prayer, (which some would be less offended at,) but he attacks
in reality the idea of all public prayer whatever. He protests

* against that tyranny of public opinion which stigmatizes as
' irreligious all who are indisposed to " come to church," and

* hinders each from following the indications of his inward
« monitor. Under church I include chapel; for there is much

* in common," (p, 167.) Nor is he more favourable to the idolized
ordinance of preaching. We must really quote bis words; their
truth we are sure will be keenly felt by those who have suffered
under the infliction of Puritan preaching:—

♦ The seroifin ! Can ajiy one say a word agninst tliis ? Is not this nt
leugih " the means of gmc©?'* Reader, must \ ask whether thou hast ever
heard a bad sermon ? One so dull and drowsy that it was impossible to
maintain attendon : one so empty, that no food for heart or mind con Id be
found in it: one so logical^ that the isoul was never addressed at all, but
only the critical faculty called out : one so illogical, that the hearer's uoder-
atanding violently resents it, and will not leave his hooI free to feed im the
food which is intermixed : one so uncharitiible as to turn the heart
: one so («tl of g:roas carnal awperslition as to excite indignation, that
mism and Formalism still live to vex us : one so vulgar, coarse, and
profane in the manocr of Addreae, as to spoil good matter. . . Under all iliesc
things, I, oh reader! have gnfoaned a hundred tinies^perbaps thou hast
not, . . . Occasional listening to a preacher will always be more or less
coveted : but it is very hurtful to imagine that we wW afwnifs m nnt a" regular
ministry" to teach us. Nothing is more desirable ibr those who arc
already fully fledged than that each should be driven uut from the nest to
seek his own food by soaring through God's wide heaven, insteod of
buddliiig together, as now, with closed wiujca, on the flat earth, gaping for
morsels of meat, killed and cooked by another.'^Pp. 173* 175.

Here, then, is the whole public portion of Puritan religion
swept away at a stroke. But still worse remuine, if anything
can eeem worse to those who mnke piety consist in hearing

NO, XLV. — N. S. G

liaiwnaitjsm.

semione. Our author goeia on to tell us that * Sundays have
nothing to do with abstinence from worldly bii8inet43/ (p. 156,)
tind that it would be far better to employ tlieiii in a measure us
days of labour. Finally, he totally denies all aulhorUjf to Scn[>-
ture, (p. 198,) and asserts that to ascribe any suijernatural know-
ledge to the Apos?tlea is incompatible with the clearer percep-
tions of truth which have been attained by this reasoning age,
(pp. 208, 210.) Of course tliis implies unbelief in the doctrines
of Christianity. Yet he uses the name of Christ, stating it to
be equivalent to that of Gcvd, (p. 64.) What is the precipe form
of heresy which he has adopted he does not teli us; probably
it is moulded of so many erroneous elements that he fondly
fancies it originah His positive system, if we were to express
it in Christian terms, would be a modification of the Sabellian
heresy ; though it woukl hardly be correct to apply a name,
which has been commonly used of those who call themeelvea
Christians, to one whose real theory is that Christianity has
wholly passed away, and that its sole residual effect is the
impulse which has been given to the intellectual progress of
society. Mr. Newman, Iftiwever, occasionally uses Sabellian
language in a manner not unlikely to mislead others; and it is
BO usual for men to hesitate in carrying out infidel principles to
their full logical result, that we should not be surprised if (as
was so long the case with Blanco White) he still deceived
himself, and fancied that he was only rejecting the niceties of
S. Athanasius, when, in trutli, lie is attempting to harmonize tlie
usual phraseology of the Christian world with a bare belief in
the abstractions of Theism*

But why, it may be asked, have we asserted Mr. Newman ^s
theory to be the full expression of the Puritan systeraj if he ad-
vances so many propositions which that party abhors? Wc never
said that he represented its present aspect ; we affirmed only
that his views were the inteUectual complement, if we nmy so ex-
jiress itj of theirs ; that the one therefore in the end leads of
necessity to the other. And Puritanism has in fact so often
issued in infidelity, that their intellectual proximity is in no de-
gree surprising. Now what is Mr. Newman's theory? We have
ah-eady stated it to be that all religion consists in the individual
relation of the soul to Christ, meaning, as he says, by Christ to
express God. And what is the objection which is commonly
made by Puritans to the sacramentid system ? They are ready
to respect sacraments^ as a very effective mode of preaching, a
port of acted sermon ; but to suppose them essential, is to limit,
they say, the freedom of man*!? access to Christ, and thus to put
the Church between man and his Saviour. And why is this
supposed to be an obstruction ? Because God, they say, is a

faUtmaUsm.

Spirit, to wham the spiritual part, of man can betake itself by
imnicdiatc approach. What need then of any authorized time
and place, or of the intervention of Aiiy appointed niinistei'j when
man has but to enter into the temple of his own heart in order
to reach upward to the Godhead ? These things ai'c useful a^
helps to the untaught, but to the spiritual worshipper they are
rather an obstacle. And therefbre, to make them essential, tu
bid us wait for them, to depend on them, is to put the Chureh
or saci'ameDts instead of the Saviour.

All this language, be it observed, depeudg upon the hypo-
thesis that by tiie exercise of their thoughts men have at once
an approach to God* It 8uppo8ei5 that tlieir thoughts are an
immediate object to the Supreme Being, as is doubtless true,
and likewise that the mind of man is able, by its immediate
energy, to apjjroach God. And that 8uch was the case, ac-
cording to the law of man's original creation, must be admitted.
But to rest on this at present id to depend on what at the com-
mencement we eiioweci to be the Rationalistic, as opposed to
the Christian scheme. For there are but two ways in which
those Divine gifts, on which all Tbeists profess to depend, can
flow forth into man from his ilaker. The first is that natuiiil
connexion which was introduced by creation, and which sin has
obstructed. The second id the re-creation of man's race in
Christ, w^hich began in the sanctification of that manhood which
was personally one with God, and is^sues in the sanetification of
His brethren, through their sacramental union with Himself* This
Becond, therefore, is the law of grace : the first that of nature.
But when it is maintained that the intercourse which the indi-
Yidual soul maintains with God is the natural mode of inter-
course, it is evident that men have in view that law of con-
nexion, which was introduced by creatiouj and not that new
law which has been introduced by grace. To this they look
then a;9 the means of intercourse with God, It is an immediate
and direct connexion ; the same whereby Adam received from
his Maker those commands Avhich were anterior to any otiicr
channel of intercourse. And did such a connexion exist at pre-
sent, (as it might if man had not fallen,) men miglit still receive
intimations by such direct influence of the Supreme Being, as
mwti be of paramount authority in the guidance of their lives.
Now this is exactly the position of Mr. Newman, He who re-
ceives directions from a superior by word of mouth, knows them
to supersede any previouw written instructions. Let men hold
intercourse, therefore, with God by tliat immediate relation
which obtains between their aouls and His Eternal Being, and
a previous provision can affect the fulness of their information.
Why should Scripture or usage, why should public worship or

G 2

Hatwtmltsm,

eacramental union, be allowed to intrude^ when man is already
in immediate contact with his Maker? Why aliould such out-
ward impediments ' binder each from following the indicationa
of his inward monitor?*

It is plain that no external means can be necessary as a
channel of intercourse between God and man, supposing that
this intercourse is completely attained according to the law of
nature, and thrauj^h the relation which the mind bears to the
mind's Creator. But allow that man has been alienated from
God; that Cliriat, as the God-man, is the necessary link between
them, and the whole theory of the immediate relation of the
mind to God falls at once, while the sacramental system comes
in as the natural means of a renewed intercourse between man
and hia Maker. So that in fact there are but two grand sys-
tems into which this whole class of subjects is divided. Let the
system of nature be taken, and there comes in the notion of
Kationalism ; of an individual relation of mankind to God. Adopt
the principle of the new creation, and you mus^t take the sacra-
mental eyetem, as being the manner in which the mediation of
Christ extends itself to mankind. So that tlie Puritan creed,
which would begin with the individual and pjisa on to tlie body,
which makes the ]>rivate relation of mankind to God the basis
of religion, and represents onr collective uoion in Christ as a
mere system of technical convenience, must of neceasity end in
Mr. Newman's theory, bccanse it adopts his liindamental prin-
ciple. Does the teaching of Scripture, or belief in the person of
Christ, or the doctrine of present grace, or the expectation of
future judgment, go against any man's private will; and they
must respectively bo thrown away, as inconsistent with that
primary principle which allows no higher criterion than itself.

Thus it is, then, that Mr. Newman is led to aflBrm the system
of mediation to be a mere Feticmn, a blind confidence in a cer-
tain artificial scheme, invented by men for the deception of their
fellows. His own acute mind must, of course, be conscious
(perhaps all his readers are not) that the wdiole Christian
theory, the Incarnation of the Son of God, His atonement and
sacrifice, must all be referred to the same class with the sacra-
mental system, its ministering priesthood, its holy rttes, its
prayers, and blessings. And for our part we may remind him,
that, as believers in Scripture, we have a definite declaration
that his rash profaneness cannot have been suggested by the
Spirit of God. For * no man, speaking by the Spirit of God,
calleth Jesus accursed.* We wish that we could believe that
our author could be unconscious how wide is the extent of that
awful malediction which, in the pride of his individual con-
Idence, he has ventured to utter : —

nationalism.

* Tbe cuned invctitioB of Mediators in design<?d to binder tliis contact,
[of the soul with (incl,] and hmve too ciTectualiy done their work, whether
tlicy be the lower gods ot polytheism, or priests, saints, and a Virgiii. .iU
Christianity might have been thus blighted, only that, side by tsidc with
the growth of the ^fediato^ial idea, the reverential iiitftginaUnn of the
Church at Antioch sublimated the Mediator into something spiritusilly un-
distinguishftble from the morally perfect and omnipresent God ; and thus
neutralized the doctrine, saving spirituality ut the expense of logic/ — P, 68.

What is this but a declaration tliat Clirist, as the Incarnate
God, as partaker of our iiattire, ami as thus distingui.-«hed from
Parent Deity, is in fact included in the anathema, which this
man, in the strength of liis Belf-esteem, ha^ uttered against all
who interfere between his spirit and the Spirit of his Maker ?
For here is a distinct avowal, that * we will not have this man
to reign over us/ Were we to express our authors opinions in
a fcvf words, %ve should paraphrase tbeni thui^:- — Ij Francis
William Newman, address myself directly to the Parent Spirit
of the Universe, and respond to the as|*irations of my nature.
I want no human help : I am indifferent to Aquinas and Paul,
to the first Adam, from whom my i-uce was drawn, and to the
last Adam, who was born oi' a virgin.

And were we wrong in representing this as a form of the final
apostasy — ^popular as are such errors, and covering themselves, as
they ol'ten do, with the forms of the Gospel ? Is there any-
thing by which the whole Christian system is more directly
opposed ; any tiling which heaps greater contempt on the cross,
or does fouler despite to tbe Spirit? * Hereby know yc the

* Spirit of God : eveij spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is

* come in the flesh is of God : and every spirit that confesseth

* not that Jesus Christ Is come in the flesh is not of God ; and

* this IS that spirit of Antichrist whereof ye have heard already
' that it should come, and even now" already is it in the world.'

We will not stop to enter further into Mr. Newman *8 volume ;
ijo refute his assertions, or illuairate the tendency of his system.
It is enough for us to have shown their parentage and their
result. They have their origin in his denial of those super-
natural inHuencos which are still acting upon bnmanity in the
ordinances of the Chm*ch. They are the systematic expression
of that heresy, which, in its less methodical tbrni, exhibits itself
in the denial of Baptismal Regeneration, or in the exaltation of
the intellectual appeals of the pulpit above the ordinances of
grace. This theory our author has determined to put into
shape, and to carry out into Its logical consequences. lie hius
wished to show us that Rationalism can have its dendopmeid as
well as the Church. And his rcsidt is the denial of the Gospel,
and of its authors ; of the balknved influence of all holy words,
and even of that Word Incarnate, whose Presence is Life.

Art. lY.— 'Memoirs of Prince I? u peri and the Caralters,mdudiiip
t/teir Private Correspondeme* By Eliot Warburton, Author
0/ the * Crescent and the Cross,* London: Bent ley. 1849*

The oft-to!(] history of our great rebellion is once more before tlic
public in three octavo volumes by Mr, Kliot Warburton. This
eventful period of our constitution will never we^irj the his-
torica! reader; our martyred king^ his friends and liia foes, are
lusting clniractcrt^ in the English mind, the dra?tiat/8 pergoticp oi'
civil discord and political tragedy, according to our first and our
clearest conceptions of lhcf*e national calamities. The import-
ance and the interest of this period does not depend so much on
the extent or the ten*ors of its con3Cf|nences, although it claims
consideration enough on this ground alone, as on the gradual
development of certain principles, the steady and persevering
opposition between two ideas, which may be traced thrunghout
it, Tlie whole history of Charles is the cold-blooded battle of
modern politics. Individual minds are laid open, private
thoughts and motives exposed, in a manner which woidd be
impossible and without Interest in writing of almost any other
time, but which give a profoundly moral and philosophical cha-
racter to the study of these men, their principlesj and their
actions*

The French Revolution, and the recent disturbances through-
out Europe, as also the fearful ravages of anarchy in raedlajval
Germany, are known more by their results than by the stages
through which men rose up to the final explosion. A sudden
frenzy of madness does not afford the same room for study and
examination as the history of a quieter but more fixed hatred,
working its way, and placing two opposing factions in long-con-
tinued hostile array. England wa^, on many nccounts, the
fairest example of the real character of that great i^Lange which,
at one time or other, in every country, has placed moilern habits
of thought and modem politics, both civil and religiousj on the
system of the middle ages. English people are not so quickly
aroused as many nations on the Continent, but they dwell with
peculiar tenacity on their ideas of truth, or may be their preju-
dices; and, from a natural love of fair play and justice, they
fight their cause out with unequalled perseverance. That age,
therefore, or that generation whose sad lot it is to be actors in
such a contest, affords experience at the bitter price of its own
hapfnness, and gives knowledge by its demonstration of human
frailty.

It is strange to watch the mixture of good and evil, the

Prince Rupert and the Caialien*

elements of tnitli and the corruption of falseliooJ, in all parties
at such times as those we are discussing ! Varied, however, aa
are the motives, equally varied is the succeas. Good in the end
ever works Its end and triumphs, * Matifiia est Veritas et praeva-
lebit;' but, nevertheless, its visible triumph ig often over-
fibadowed by that vengeance which, with equal certainty,
pursues the evU adhering to it. The Cavaliers and the Puritans
both were conquerors and were both conquered. The cause of
loyalty and of the Church, eo nobly advocated by the Cavaliers,
after many sufferings and memorable sacrifices, to atone aa it
were for its errors, was at length triumphant, yet fell from its
lofty position because its eins were not purged aw^iy. And the
cause of Puritanism, aa being a wholesome scourge to both
Church and Throne, effected its? purpose with a terrible con-
quest* again fell, and yet has remained a thorn in the Church
and State, rankling with no little power from that time to this.
It is, however, of the individual actors in the awful tragedy
itself that we would now speak. The group of Cavaliers and
Churchmen l)y whom we are surrounded, when we dive into
the study of the^e tunes, are a motley crew ; every exalted
virtue, every heroic faculty, has there its type, but every
infirmity of our nature has the same. Well, indeed, would it bo
for any to escape unharmed by the breath of fame from such a
scrutiny, and such hatred as-the leading Cavaliers have been
exposed to. The sad but graceful Charles, the zealous and
determined Laud, the stern but heroic 8traffortl, the impetuous
Rupert, the grnpliic Clarendon, the gentle Stanley, are poeti-
cally impressed in our imagination, and we trust that the criiel
and bitter judgments of Mr. Macauley, and those of his school,
will not be the future opinions of the people of England. Let
them remember that caution need be used in trusting the honour
of England's Church and throne to a political historian who
appreciates neither Church nor loyal principles ; who exaggerates
the vicea of those he does not spnpathize with, and glosses over
those of his friends; and whose whole hiatorj' we have justly
heard described as a book written for a particular pai'ty, at a
particular time, and for particular pur|ioscs.

Before we bring forward any extracts from Mr. Warburton,
we will first rajdce a few remarks on the authors own part
in tJje work ; we can then the more freely lay before our readers
some examples of his illustrative and descriptive powers.

The author of the ' Crescent and the Cross' is aware that
history, strictly speaking, is not his province, and therefore
he does not pretend to call these volumes by that solemn and
re^lX)nsible name. He feels more at home under the idea that
he is collecting memoirs and garnishing them with a little gossip.

Prince Rupert and the Cavaliers.

The 'stately march'* (if history he does not aim at; nor is he
Piifficienfly equal in his style ever to become aii historian. Few
can equal him in brillitincy of touch when a scene or character
is before him towards which his heart warms; but when the
minor details of poHtica or warfare are to be described, we
cjinnot say that he sustains the reader's interest. Yet these
details arc given at great icngthj and occupy a large share of the
\vhole work. One cause of this inequality is, no doubt, the
constant interapersion of letter;?, whicli, though of no great in-
dividual intcrcjst, yet form the very plan of the work, and are
necessary to illustrate tlie more prominent eventa. Yet one
comequence is to give rather a sentiineutal tone to the whole
work, as though it were undertaken, not bo much from deep
interest in the cause he would advocate, as from the attractive-
nesa of particular actions and phases of character. Perhaps,
indeed, tnis is really the case, and not only the accidental con-
sequence of our author's plan. Great tmiidity is ap[>arcnt
in defending the true cause as established by the King, Laud,
and Strafford. A large part of the first volume is occupied
with preliminary assurances that these three persona were
to blame throughout; and that it was only a part of their
characters which is the subject of his admiration, After having
done this, he professes to throw himself into the royal cause
iicart and hand, yet the same spirit is ever showing itself. The
secret, we suspect, is, that Mr. Warburton has no sympathy
with the Church party in this contest, and without that, the
cause of the cavaliers has no foundation ; lor it was on this that
their master himself rested his own royal prerogative. Chival-
rous loyalty unconnected with the consecration of the Church,
w^hich is the meaning of the much-contested expression, 'jus
fliviimm,' is hut a romantic shadow, and deserves the jealous
suspicion of the world, which has every right to rcmonstmto
against the arbitrary dominion of an irresponsibic human power.
A christian monarchy claims allegiance on the ground of its
responsibility to heaven, and therefore, if that high title is given
up, no wonder that the people insist on the monarclfs respon-
sibility to themselves. We do not here advocate the principle
of * jus divinura,' as sanctioning arbitrary power, or as being
altogether in place of constitutional safeguards. Heaven alone
is fit for such a government. But there is a cerUiin balance
Itetween ideal principle and the necessities of a corrupt world
which it is the chief object of man to arrive at in every branch
ol morals; and our own constitution we would instance as
a wonderful example in political government of the adaptation
of a theoretical 'jus divinumj' to the proper claims of a well-
disposed comraimity.

Prince Rupert and the Cavaliers.

fi9

Grievou3 troubles, however, haye been necessary before thia
constitution has been granted us, and therefore it is that we
look with peculiar interest to such times as those we are now
reading of. In a contest like that between King Charlca and
the P\iritan5, we »ee arrayetl against each other no mere personal
enemieB; no hired troops, fighting under tlie direction of tlic
supreme power, about tliey know not what; but we see
the two principles, of a Divine right to govern, and the power
of the visible Church of Christ on earth to consecrate that right
on the one hand, and on the other hiind, of the denial of all
visible delegation of power either in religion or politics; or, as it
may almost be called, * the doctrine of consecmtcd things,'

Throughout these volumes we miss the expression of any
sentiments which imply that the author really felt for the cause,
the heroes of which he commends. The burning intellectual
and moral zeal of those great men who truly stood to their prin-
ciples, ilr. Warburton passes over with comparative coolness.
lie looks on such as wonderful phenomena, and pathetically
describes the tragedy of death wLlch closed so many of them to
thb world. Again he dwells on the readily -gran ted infirmities
of Charles's vacillating disposition, though not without sympathy
or without ajipreciation for the nobility of his nature, yet with-
out that entire forgiveness which his misi'ortunes and his death
entitle Mm to, if ever faults can be atoned for in the judgment
of fellow mortals. Our author's hero of these times, rather shows
his point of admiration. Prince Rupert was a dashing, chivalrous
cavalier, bold in arms and devoted to hi« uncle, King Charles;
but he entered on the service of commanding the royal army, not
so much from any especial love of the English constitution, or as
representing the principle of that side in the contest, but rather
from his love of military adventure and his allowable wish to
ae'sist his uncle in distress. No doubt he was a zealous royalist,
but it would not appear he had much sympathy for the Church's
]>art in the question, or that in his private capacity he exhibited
the religious spirit which was part of the true cavalier character.

It is time, however, now that we come to the book itself.
The following extract from the |>reface will explain the nature
|j|f our author's plan : —

• For the first Rtid sccotid volumes of fliis work I nm answerable as an
Author; for the last, as little mnre thnn Ectiidr. 1 have oiulortjiken the
reapoiisibility of introducing therein a liirgc collection of Original Papers
rel«Ung to the Civil Wars.

* This collection is derived from Colonel iSrnett, Prince Rupert's Secrclary,
It contains upwards of n thousand letters, written by the lending eavoliera
to their young chief during the wnr. together with many of a later date.
Besides such letters, there iire confiidemble nmteriidM, in various stages of
prepuratiou, for a formal biLography of the Prince j of these some are frag-

Prince Rupert and the Oatalien-

meiits, each containrng an episode of their hero's life, apparently ready for
publictttiou, and corrected hv Rupert himself. His biography was of more
importunce to this Prince than to moat men : no person, perhaps, except
his rnyal master^ was ever more exposed to cah^mny,. or less defended. He
seems to have superintended the prcpuratinn of his memoirs about the
year 1657, in order to meet the mi&constriictiona of his actions which he
apprehended in England, the country of liis adoption. On the Restoration he
found that his popularity ivas already restored, in the same hour with that
of his Toynl kinsman ; and from this time the preparations for his biography
appear to have ceased. The extraordinary vicissitndca of his career were
then nearly terminated. At nil events, from this period I am obliged to seek
in other sources for biographical materials*" — VoLi. Fref. iii. iv.

The other sources liere spoken of are the private collections
of those families descemled from the Cavaliers, which have been
examined and arranged with great care. The next passage we
will quote is irom an introductory survey of the whole event of
the rchellion. We cannot agree with our author's notion of
moral courage expressed in the last paragraph,

' Nor is the interest inferior to the importance of those momentous times :
there is a fearful fascination in the rapid current of their events ; irc are
hurried along, like the actors themselves^ so rapidly from scene to scene,
that we have only too little time for thought. The finely balanced fortune
of each buttle day — the beleaguered town all but surrendered — the blessed
treaty almost accomplished] the Kin^ and people yearning for rest and
reconciliation ; now, within a point of attaining; it — now, at deadliest issue
on some undecided field. Then follow the King's flight, the vain treaty , the
mock tribunal, the loo real and ghastly scatfold, the reign of the regicidal
oligarchy, trampled ou in turn by their master- tyrant.

*■ And through all these stormy times shines steadily thelieroic character
of Ennfli:;h nature, nobly manilctJting its grave and earnest power: terrible
and nnsparinjsf on the battle-field, self-cont rolled and considerate in all
intervals of peace. Compared with the great German war^ generous and
gentle as a totirnament ; yet stcadfa.st in purpose, as behoved its great and
glorious end and aim. I do not presume to canvass my reader's sympathies
for either l*nritan or Cavalier; I leave them to plead their own cause m their
o\rii letters: — 1 invite him to liaten to their own long silent voices, speak-
ing once more — eagerly^ earnestly — as when armed men with desperate
speed bore these, their blotted, and often blood-stained pages, from
leaguered city or roving camp — from faltering diplonmtiijt, or renolute war-
rior, Eit whose beck men died. Every letter will possess some interest for
the thoughtful reader, and shed some light for him on the heart of the
bvgooe timeM. He will find them still animated by the passions that were
then throbbing in every brcayt. At first the earnest, rather than angry
spirit of our memorable English wjir is apparent in them ; but ihcy gra-
dually become more intense in their expression, as if they were the work
of a single man ; the same note of triumph or tone of despair is perceptible
in all. Unman nature, and the nature of each writer, ia transparent in
them all ; the reader ia ihe confidant of kings, princes^ statesmen, generals,
patriots, traitora ; he is the contes.'iior of the noblest ininds and the most;
villainona natures ; he scea the very conscience of the war.

• The greater part of theae letters and this work relates to the Cavaliers,
and especially to Prince Rupert. NeverthelcsH, I am far from assuming
the indiscriminate advocacy of their can«e, though 1 have endeavoured to
do justice to the gallant jneji who espoused it. 1 believe that cause, if at

Prinee Rupert and the Cavaliers.

first triurapliant, would have led la despotism and mtolernncc ; I know-
that it was stained by rapine and licentioiasness ; and 1 dare not suppose
that by such agency the higher destiiues of this great nation could hnve
been promoted or achieved.

* But I also believe thnf the Cavaliers did good service in their generation,
bv keeping: alive the generous spirit of loyalty, by cherishing the genial
charities of life, and maintaining unimpaired the chivalrous character of
our country. On the other hand, J du not believe that the King's party
monopolized ail the chivalry — or the vices cither — of the war. If the
Puritan cause was adorned with little outward sho^va or braveries, its
source of energy lay deep within, in the souls of men ; and there lay also,
its support and power. Devoted and desperately daring as was the Cava-
lier, he had not the same occasion for moral courage as the Puritan ; his
cause was that of his "anointed King,'* at the same time graced and
gaarded by ancestral predilection and long-established reverence. Tbo
Puritan entered on the strife, not only against his sovereign, hut against
those ancient prejudices of world-wide respectability which to him also had
once been dear and reverend ; he left the firm and simple ground of allegi-
ance to struggle dangerously after what was then a mere abstraction. The
Cavalier, fired with visions of kiiiglv power and courtly fame, as he dashed
all plumed and scarfed through fields of blood, had nothing but the fortune
of the day to fear. 'Flie Puritan, dark and grim, stood stoutly to his amis
as one Tiho knew that freedom or the scaffold were his only alternative. —
VoL i. pp. 4—8.

Prince Rupert was born soon after his father, the King of
i;varia*8 coronation — a coronation most splendid in its eere-
•aiOQies, but most unhappy in its results. Frederic, Prince
Palatine of the Rhine, with great possessions, and head of I he
Protestant union, occupied a most distinguij?hcd position, and
he whsely hesitated about accepting the Bavarian crown, hut
Elizabeth, his Electress, eistcr of Charles I., taunted him for liis
fears, and in an evil day gained her ohjeet. * You were hoM

* enotigh,* she said, * to marry the daugliter of a kinpj* and yon
' hesitate to accept a crown ! I had rather live on bread with a

* king, than feast with an Elector.'

We now pass on to the consequences of this tidvice. 8hc
who enjoyed the fair names of the ' Queen of Hearts/ and the

* Pearl of Britain,' had rough ecencs to go through, which
early brought her infant Rupert into the field of battle.

• And their loved and lovely Queen, — the queen of many a heart novr
Biilled for ever in her cause — her reign is over! Her lofty spirit had led
Frederic into dangler; it now sustained him in defeat rri>strftted hy his
ruin, he was only roused to the exertion of escapiujj by the energy of
Elizabeth- and it was fidl time. The stern Maximilian was at the ^ates,
and allowed the city but ei^ht bovirs to frame guch terms of capitulation aa
mi^ht save it from the horrors of assault. Before then, or never, the
young Queen must be far away over the ru'i:o:ed mountain panses throuj^h

wintry snow. Nor did she hesitate ; delicately nurtured as she was,

within a hw weeks of her confinement, the brave Englishwoman pre-

aoy fate to that of eaptivity and disgrace. One moment her voice

fiiltercd, as her devoted followers olfered to set the enemy at defiance, and

the dty to the death, to cover her retreat. "Never!" she ex-

Prince Rupert and the Cataliers^

claimed, to Btrtiard Count Tbunn, *' never sbaU the son of our bcsL fiiend
hazard hie life to apare ray fears, — ^never shall this devoted city be exposed
to more outrageous treatment for my aake. Rather let me perish on the
spot than be remembered as a curse! "

* Tlie carriage that was to convey the royal fugitives stood ready for
their tlight, when, a sudden alarm being given, they uere hurried away by
their servants, and borne oft' among the crowd \vith desperate speed away
nver the level plain, attended by a fevjr faithfid followers, and up, by rarely-
trodden paths to the mountains, where wheels could no lunger move ; there
the poor Queen was placed on a pillion behind Ensig^n llopton, and sped
forward again as heat she might, w ith all her sorrows, through the snow.

' Meanwhile young Rupert was sleeping soundly in his nurse's arms,
undisturbed by the tumult and diatracLion round him. The terrified w oman
laid down her charjife to hurry alter the fugitives, and Baron dlloua, the
King's chamberlain, found him still asleep upon the ground. There was then
no time for ceremony; the chamberlain flung the prince into the last
carris^ge just as it dajshed away from the Strahoff. The ri^nigh j oiling soon
wakened the poor chlkl, who had rolled into some indefccribable recess they
call **a hool;" his lusty cries attracted attention, and he was restored
in safety to his mother.' — Vui. i. pp. 37 — 39.

In due time the young Prince Rupert went to the University
of Ley den J and of this period we have the following notice : —

' Schoolboy experiences and events, however deeply they impresa
the character, leave little to record, and we only leern that our Prince be-
came w ell grounded " in mathematics and religion," and \i?as, " indeed,
made Jcauit-prooF," so that those " subtle priests with whom he hath been
much conversant, could never make him stagger." Nevertheless he was
by no means an exemplary scholar, for he had an utter distaste for the
learned languages, and infinitely preferred amusement or military excr-
ctses to the most abstruse metaphysics/- — VoL i. p. 44.

His more congenial occupation of war commenced in 1635,
as volunteer in the life-guard of the Prince of Orange, * reject-

* ing nil distinction of Ida rank, discharging all the dutiea, and

* ehiiring all the hardships of the private soldier,'

This campaign was in alliance with the Protestant Repub-
licans, and, strange to say, wit li the Red Cardinal ofFnxnce, (so
called to distinguish him, that is Richelieu, from Mazarin, etjled

* His Black Eminence/) against the Catholic powers of Spain
and Italy. The cauipaign, however, was not worthy of note,
except as affording an op|>ortunity for individual acts of chivalry.

Prince Rupert, eoon after this, visited the English C'ourt , and
there passed a pleasant and qniet year. Various suggestions were
here made, with a view of placing him in a comfortable birth.
The yoimg soldier objected to a bishopric, which wa^ thought a
convenient seltlenieut, and an expedition to ' goe aa vizeroy' ^
to Madagaisc^iri' also failed, A rich heiress was then thought of, ■
but Rupert'^ heart was not so cusily affected in youth aa it ap-
pears to have been when more advanced in years. Meanwhile
fie was made honorary blaster of Arts in the University of
Oxford, which city lie visited with the King, and then proceeding

'tnee Rupert and the CataUert,

to London, enjoyed the dissipation of WliitehalL The following
notice of tlie English Court at thie period is interesting in itself,
and forms a melancholy contrast with future events :- —

* " At this period Charles the First held tlie most splendid court in
Europe :" it iraa so, not only for the pynip aad iiiagnificeace diaplayed
there, but for the refined taste and exquisite judgment that had enriched ita
precincts. The finest works of art in Europe were collected there, imd
Rubens and Vandyke were found among their own creations^ Ben Jonson
iras poet-laureate tu the Court, nnd Inigo Jonc» gave classic beauty to itj*
decorations Ferabasco refined the musicians to the standard of his oun
eiLquisite ear, and the King had skill and power to appreciate and to heighten
all. Baasompierre descnhed the company of this rival Court au *" mag-
nificent, and its order exquisite," We may be excused for dwelling a
moment on this gracefid splendour when the rest of our lives are to be
past in the camp or leaguer, the restless bivouac and the dreary moor.

*** Charles appears," says Mr. Disraeli, "to have desired that hia
Court should resemble the literary Court of the Medici. He assembled
about him the great masters of the various arts. We may rate Charks'a
taste at the supreme degree, by remarking that this monarch never patro-
nised mediocrity : the artist who waa honoured by bis regard was ever a
master-spirit. Father of art m our conntry, Charles seemed ambitious of
making English denizens of every man of genius in Europe/' Vandyke
and Hubens were domiciled in KngUnd; and who can tell how much the
Cavalier cause owes of its romantic interest to the classic, yet original
grace, with which the former has immortalized the perHons of its heroes.
The Italians happily call him *' 11 Pittore Cavalieresco," and it was in one
of his happiest moods that he mnde that fine picture of Prince Rupert
hequeatbed, in gratitude for many a noble service, to Lord Craven, and
now in possession of his descendants at Combe Abbey.

' In the midst of such society it was natural for our young Prince to
imbibe the accomplished tastes he saw so richly displayed around him,
and therewith to nourish and cultivate bis own natural genius for the arts«
We sball soon find him a solitary pri>soner, consoling himself with such
resources, and exercising those gifts that ultimately made his pencil as
famous as his sword.

' Rut these Medicean enjoyments were not the only attractions that the
Court of Charles posaesaed for the young Palatine. The Queen, Henrietta
Maria, had a passion for society, and a Frenchwoman's wonderful tact in
sustaiaing its etfervesence. She had contrived to impart to herdravTing-
roora gossip some of the deep and agitating importance of the Cuuncil
Chamber. Every interest was, ihcrefore, concentrated there: exery
poUiical or social intrigue ti as there to be heard of, to be canvassed, and
acbemed about yet further. Under this glittering mask, most of the many
inbchiefs of the Stale were concocted, or, at least, received their poisonous
ingredients. The Queen's winning manner and sweet beauty threw a grace
and fascination over all this, Rud Lady Carlisle, the prime miuiater of her
boudoir and petty politics, was also beautilul and persuasive : Lady Rivers,
Lady Aubigny, Lady Isabel Thy one, belonged to the same circle, and were
similarly qualified. Their charms, or talents, or interest, as well as the
tnagic of tneir place, secured for them the adoration of the poets and wits,
Donne, Carew, Suckling, Waller, Lovelace, Matthewea, and others, through
whose flattery they are best known to us, and whose wit is living still in
the cold and unexplored recesses of our libraries. Among the men of
higher ** caste" and lower intellect who were then Court butterrties (or
caterpillars) were Lords Holland, Newport, Devonshire, Elgin, Rich, Dun-

Prince Rupert and the Cavaliers,

garvoii, DuJiIucc, Whartoi), F^iget, Saltoun ; and some of wordiier stamp,
as the Duke oC Lennox (Rich mo ml) Lord Gmndisoii, audi Lord Fielding,
(Earl of Denbigh 'a son). Turning from the spArkliug " Acftciemie/' and
the treachery-brooding "chamber" of Lady Carlisle, truth, intellect, and
lionniir, were to be found in the Hociety of Falkland, and such friends as he
gathered rmmd him at IJurford and in London. I do not know that the
conversation of such men as Hyde, Scldcn, Hales, or Chillingworth, would
have had much charm for the soldier-prince at this time, but ir oualifiedf
as men of mind will ever dfj, the tone of peneral society, in winch the
ioiluence of a Bacon, a Raleigh, and a Burleigh, was atill felt.' — Vol. i.
pp. 72 — 7G.

From scenes such as these, we next find onr Prince in the

continental wars, entering upon what miiy be called lita career
or his science of cavahy charges; for that Hne of warfare was his
strong i»oint, too much to the neglect ol' every other, if we may
except a happy and re.idy manner of kce[>ing the commissariat
department well sujipliedj and the use of a watchful ear, which
he kept about him at all times, aa the following incident will
show :—

* One night, there was a pause in the almost perpetual conilict; the aol-
dierg of attack and defence both rested their wearied limha, the besiegers
in deep sleep. Rupert's watchful ear detected some sounds within the
walls; now plainly audible and now so faint, that he feared to give what
might have proved a false alarm. He wakened bis brother Maurice, who
liktnviso heard some doubtful sounds risuipj from among the red gables of
llie (dd loa^uered town. The hrothera moved nwny through the miat, and
crept up the glacis so silently and ao near the enemy, that tlicy could
detect the forming of troops for a sortie, and even their appointed desti-
nation. Retiring to their oAvn camp as sihtnlly as they had left it, they
hasted to Prince Frederic's quarters, and before the enemy bad crossed
their drawbridnje, the Hollandera were drawn np in battle order to receive
them;'— Vol i. pp. 80, 8L

One of his first charges is thus de8cribed :- —

' This was an unexpected pleasure to Rupert, who dashed at his assailants
with dehght ; his charge was resistless then, aa ever; the force of five hun-
dred men and horses, recklcsa as battering rams, hurled by enthusiasm
against masses which every man and horse felt certain they had only to
reach in order to rout— had, could have^but one result ; the Palatine
cavalry rode through them, over them, and almost before tbem to the
drawbridge of the tow n ; the survivors rushed into their refuge, and Rupert,
reforming his array, resumed his line of march in triumph.

* A picturesque array ; accoutred in the old chivalric fashion, with
plumed helmet, and bright armour over leathern doublet ; steel cuissea io
the knee, and huge " gambadoes " armed with the large knightly spur.
Tall powerful horses, such as Wouvermans has left us, stepped proudly
under their caparisons; and the small "cornet," or flag, that (luttered over
each troop, gave liveliness to the gleaming column as it wound along the
wide plains of Hanover The main body also con.sistcd, for the most part,
ofcavalry, as better suited to the rapid movements by which this hazardoxis
and romantic expedition alone could be accomplished. The few infantry
belonging to the army, principally Swedes, were armed with the pike and
arquebusH, or musket, steeL-cap, and corslet.' — Vol. i. pp. 83 — 85.

A similar charge soon afterwards was equally victorious for

Prince Mup^^^fiiflilhe Cavalieh.

the moment, but ended in tlic Prince himself being taken
prisoner. We give the account of tlii^ adventure :^ —

' The Prince was alreftdy on tbe spur; his men were, for the most part,
voltiBteers, and led by English cliivulry, and tbe electric spirit of hia own
daring shot lightning sympathy through every heart and hand. They
charged, or rather daahed at, the chnrgpng enemy : their own fugitive com-
rades whirled past them, like tbe eddy of some cataract, as on they rnshcd,
their white plumes waving like a foam, and met, and repelled, and bore
down the Austrian cavalry, overwhelming ali whom ibey encountered, and
ch&sing the remainder resistlessly before there. Colonel Boye was de-
spatched to look for Conigsmiirk, and conjure bun to follow up the Prince's
success, but in vain; it aecmed the destiny of Rupert ever to be defeated,
even while he conquered. The Prince pursued the Austrians, who suddenly
"were seen to halt, wheel about, and prepare to charge again, and a fresh
body of imperial troopa under Marshal Giitz appeared supporting them.
The Prince's condition was now almost des]ierate ; he was left unsupported,
his horses fatigued, and his men tenfold outnumbered. Just then. Lord
Craven came up at the gallop with two troopj* of tbe Elector's gruards, and
renewed tlxe fight. Once more the Austrians charged, and forced the Pala-
tine cavalry bact, still struggling:, into the defile Irom wLence they had
issued: but here they made a firm stand, repelling every attack, until a
strong body of the enemy crept down the hill-side, charged the Prince's
flank, and put his few rcmainine: troops to the sword, or threw them into
irretrievable confusion. No thought of retreating ever occurred to the
Prince's mind ; he struggled onward throujih hia enemies as fast aa horse
and sword could force their way, when sudtlenly be found himself the sole
object of attack to a score of cuirassiers: be turned for ft moment to cheer
on his men, and found himself alone ! With a desperate elfort he broke
through bis assailant, and soon afterwardn, to bia surprise, found luraself
disregardefl by the eager enemy. For a moment he was unable to account
for their neglect ; until he observed that the Anstrians nil wore a white
nbbon in their helmets aa the sign. He had by chance adopted the same
mark to render himself conspicuous to bis followers, and thus passed ua-
injured among the hostile forces. As he rode through the confused and
still struggling bands under this disguise, he observed one of the cornets,
whom Lord Craven hud brought up, struggUiig with a few gallant soldiers
to defend tbe Elector's standard. In a moment Rupert was in the mHee^
fighting fiercely till bis last comrade fell. Then, once more burstin^j from
his assailants, he rode at a high wall, his exhausted horse refused it, and
sunk upon the ground. His pursuers rushed forward to secure him ; but
striking down tbe foremost man he refused all quarter, and fought desperately
on, until overwhelmed with numbers and borne by sheer strength to the
ground. Colonel Lippe struck up the visor of his helmet, find, not knowing
nis face, demanded who he was? "A colonel," replied the Palatine.
** Saeremetf " cried the grey-haired veteran, '* you are a young one.*' Just
then, General Halzfeldt rode up ; he immediately recf)giiised his prisoner,
addressed bim with respect, and committed him in charge to Colonel
Devereux to escort to Warren dorp. '^ — Vol. i. pp. 88 — 90.

For tliree yeara did Rtipert * pine like a caged eagle ' in his
captivity, relieved only by his own thoughts. The reti*osipect
of his life even now afforded him much to dwell on, and no
doubt his spirit looked forward with confidence to future activity.
Meanwhile, however, lie waa not without the consolation of

Prince Rupert and the CatalleriM

agreeable society. A little romance even tinged this quiet portion
o£ his life,

' Among the few recreations permitted to the Prmce waa an occasional
dinner with the Governor, and free access to his gardens. It wag destined
that his imprisonment, as well as his chivalric career, should lack nothing
of the requirements of romance. Strange as. it may rend in these matter-
of-fact pa^eSj Count Kuffstein had a daughter, an only, cherished child, ivho
lived in his atern old castle, like the delicate Dryad of some gnarled tree.
She waa " one of the hrightest beauties of herage^" and nirely p:ifted, "no
lease excelling; in the charmcs of her minde than of her faire bodye." The
imagination of the reader will easilF supply what the faUhful historian ii
not permitted to record. How the neroismj the misfortunes, and the noble
person of her royal captive, touched her imagination: how the impetuous
young IVince, whose thoughts had ever fed on tales of love and glory,
passed his time in that grim castle hitherto without an object, save to
watch time and the old Danube rolling by : how this fair girl dawned upon
hia gloomy life» charged by her father t<j cheer her royal prisoner, and, if it
might be, to win his soul over to the ancient faith. Does the reader pity
him — or even her f Though soon to be forsaken, she never was forgotten
in all the wild vicissitude» of hia dangerons and reckless career; and to
woman's foolish heart even this is something. And for him— how often,
when wearied of the doomed yet charmed Life he bore, must hla thoughts
have tlown back to that fair giri ; back, from tlie hushed ambniih, or raging
battle-field, or stormy seas, to those quiet and innocent days, when he
listened to her loving controversy, aa they stood by the antique battlements,
with the old Danube rolliog by \ '—Vol. i. pp. 91, 95.

Soon, indeed, was this pleasure lost ; for in a abort time,
inatead of her * gentle preaence, twelve mousqueteers and two
halberda watched night and day over that beardless boy in that
strong castle :'- —

* Still, youth aud its hope triumphed over persecution. Debarred from
all human society, the Prince made friends of a " beautiful white dogge and
M hare;" The former waa given to him by Lord Arundel, and was " of a
breede so famous that the Grand Turk gave it in particular injunction to
his ambassador to obtaine him a puppje thereof." It is curious to observe
this daring and restless man amnaing himself by teaching a dog that dis-
cipline he himself could never learn, and inducing a hare to lay atiide that
fear towards him that he inspired ao widely even among brave men* " This
hare used to follow him about, and do hia bidding with docility,*' having
discovered in thia wild soldier some toucli of the same gentle nature that
its fellow found in the poet Cowper/— Vol. i. pp. 09, 100.

At lengthy however, sufficient interest waa made to procure
his release, and liencefortb Rupert devoted himself to the en use
of the Cavaliers. On his road to Enolaud he passed through
Prague, where he waa welcomed by a banquet and a vchetnent
German * drinking-bout.' Rupert, always temperate, s^oon left
the table, on which the Elector exclaimed, in pure astonish-
ment, ' What shall we do ivith him, if he won't drink V As a
sample of the extent to which these ' drinking-bouts' were
carried on, we have the following accotmt of the reception of an
ambassador : —

Prince Rupert and the Cataliere.

•«7

* ** The King of Denmark feasted my Lord Leyce*<tre from eleven in the
mornin)!. He gave tbirty-five healths ; the first to the Emperor, the second
to the King of Enu;1and (his nephew) ; then all the kings aud queens of
Christendom, hut omitted the King of Bohemia [in whose cause the ambas-
sador had come to his Court]. The King was takcMi away in his chair, but
when two of the guards came to carry my Lord Leyccstre, he shook them
off, and walked away stoutly." * — Vtd. i p. 105.

Prince Rtipert landed first at Dover, but returned to the
Hague witli tho Queen of England. He tlieu lamlcd at Tyne-
moutli, aud made such haste to join \m uucle, that, las horse
slipping in the dark, he di^loeated his shouhier. With the
assistance, liowever, of a * bone-sotter/ ho restimed his journey
in three days, and proceeded to Nottingham ; tlience he went to
Leicester to join the King, and there received charge of the
royal oiivalry, consisting of but 800 horse ! The next day,
being the 22d of August, 1642, they proceeded to Nottingham,
where the royal standard was then stft up amid the gloom of a
raging tempest — s;ul omen of apftroaehing times*

Having now enlisted Rupert fairly in onr great niitional con-
test, let us look at the personal appearance of this hero who
inspired his drooping party with such fiery zeal, and won for
himself a name so renowned : —

' Prince Rupert was now nenrly twenty-three. Hia portraits present to
us the ideal of a gallant cavalier. Hia figure, talll, vigorous, and sym-
metricah would have been somewhat statt-ly, hut for ita graceful bearing
and noble ease. A vehement, yet firm, chariicter predominates in the
countenance* combined with a certain gentleness, apparent only ia the
thoughtful, but not pensive eyes. Large, dark, and well-formed eyebrows,
overarch a high-bred, Nornmn nose: the upper lip is finely cut, but some-
what supercilious iu expression; the lower part of the mouth and chin
have a very different meaning, and impart a tone of iron resolution to the
whole countenance. Long llovving hair (ihrough which, dnubtlcss, curled
the romantic " love-lock ) flawed over the wide embroidered collar, or the
sk^arlet cloak: he wore neither heard nor moustaches, tlieu almost uni-
versal ; and his cheek, though bronzed by exposure, was marked by a
womanly dimple. On the whole, our cavalier must have represented an
appearance as attractive in a lady's eye, and as unlovely in a Puritan's, as
Vandyke ever immortalized.'— Vol. i. p. 113.

The spirit which Rupert at once infused into the royalists la
a proof of his woodcrfnl energy of character. The means he
adopted to recruit the army arc thus described: —

• For the Prince flew like wildfire — as Parliament writers affirmed — from
place to place : breathing and inspiring ardour, astonishing country gentlo^
men, anu giving a momentum to corporate bodies, incredible till then.
Restrained by no local inftuence or patriotic mi«gi\inga, he only saw in the
anti- royalist a foe : wherever he found a llonmlhead horse, he clapped a
cavalier trooper on its back; and with equal decision, when be dashed into
a Puritan town, he levied a contrd)ution. The good people who had been
quietly debating about abstract rights and wrongs, were taken by surprise
at these practical acts. Now here, now there, a gallant troop of cavalicrJ

NO. XLV. — N. s. n

Prince Eupert and the Cataliers,

would come cantering up, swagjieriiig, and, I fenr, swearing not a little, but
comporting themselves in a g:ood-humoured off-hand sort of way, thnt gave
leaa ofiboce thiiu injury, especially to tbe women. Now some peaceful
village had to fiirninli « day's crciiturc-comforts for a fiquadron of these
merry "mftlignants," and now some respectable ftssi^e-town was called
upon to pay them for a wcelc. Saddles too, for their horses, were very
often required ; spurs for their hoots, fenthcrs for their hats ; iron for
Armour, cloth for douhlet; H was wonderful how much they wanted, nnd
how much they got. Throughout the wide north and west no place was
secure from their visitfttion ; reckless of danger and setting nil odds at
defiance, their merry furaginjj parties seemed indeed to make a game of
war. The fiery and impetuouM daring of Prince Rupert, his perfect IE-
difference to danger, mnrMl and physical ; his fertility of resource, Lis
{iromptitudc and zeal for the cause, had endeared hiin to the young cava-
ier; \vhi1e the old Boldicra respected his experience in havoc, and knew that
his terrible prf4f//_g'f was well-founded. Wherever the flutter of a cavalier-
Bcnrf was seen, Friuce Rupert was there, or believed to be there: by his
name contributions were levied at the unscrupulous will of the trooper;
by hia name villages were conquered and cities menaced and children stilled.
And, in truth, he was seldom far off or over indulgent when he C4ime : his
sleepless vigour* his untiring energy, were everywhere felt, dreaded, and
admired. With such a leader, and in such a time, his forces rapidly in-
creased. He rode Ibrth from Leicester on the 26tb of August, at the head
of eight hundred horse, ill-eqjuipped and almost undisciplmed : he paraded at
Shrewsbury, on the 28th (tf September, with upwards of three tliousaod
troopers and dragoons, well-fed^ well-horsed, and laden with Puritan plunder
and execrations/ — Vol, i. pp. 387 — 389.

It is not our ptirposc to follow tlic nieliuiclioly course of this
war in any clirontd(ig;icul order, but a few incidents immediately
connected with our hero, and a feiv of Mr. Warburton's brilliant
descriptions in the field of battle, or otherwise, will be interest-
ing to our rcaderB- The fo!h>wdng extract tells a story which
brings the evil of civil war y^vy near home. The Cavaliers were
attacking a Mr, Purefoy'e house in his absence :—

' The attack was renewed durin* some hours, with heavy loss to the
Cavaliers, who had nothing but pistols and pcrhapa a few dra<it>on*» car-
bines to oppose to an enemy firuig with deadly ccrtninly from behind im-
pregnable stone walls. There were only twelve mnskets in the house, but
these ladies and their maid servants loaded as fast as they were discharged,
melting down the pewter plates for bullets when the ammunition bcgmi to
fail. At length even Rupert consented to retire his men under shelter ; but
fiudin^: A strong wind blowing from the fami-yard, he fired the barns, and
advancing wnder cover of the smoke, assailed the very doors. Then at lust
the brave lady came forth, and claimed protection for'ihe lives of her Utile
garrison. When the Prince ascertained their nunrjber, his anger was
changed into admiration; he complimented Mr. Abbott on his gallant
defence, and offered him a good command in his re;j;!ment, which was
declined. The Prince then respectfully saluted Mrs. Purcfoy and drew off
his troops \ nor did he allow a man of the garrison, or any property what-
ever, to be injured.' — VoL i. pp, 391, 392.

Rupert's way of dealinjr with ninyors and corporationa was
Bmmniaiy, and nwwi eadiy have disturbed the composure of
thoee bodies. In a letter to the Mayor of Leicester he required

*rinc0 Rttperi and the Cavalien*

two thoiisanil pounds sterling to be given for the King's service,
at ten of the clock next morning, adding to his letter the fol*
lowing ominous postscript: —

. ' P.S. — If any disaffected persons with you slmll teftise lliemselves, or
•^rsuadc you to neglect the commaiul, I slmll to-morrow appear before
your town, in huc\i a posture, with horse, foot, and cannon^ as shall inakp
you know it is more safe to obev tliaii to resist hh Majesty's command.'^
Vol. i. p. .194.

It is just to the King'to say that he repudiated such conduct,
but nevertheless 500/. was paid, in this case, at the appointed
hour. Rupert on several occasions acted a^ his own spy, and
adopted various disguises, such as the following extract de-
scribes : —

• Meauwhile tLe restless Rupert, chafing at delay, made a reconnoissance
towards Warwick, in order to employ himself, unattended by a single
trooper r it was au adventure in which his heart rejoiced. He waa over-
taken, when near the town, by a heavy shower^ and took refuge in an
alehouse. He there found a country fellow vtho waa on his way to
Warwick to sell cabbage-nets. The Prince could easily ingratiate himself
wlien he pleased with those about him, and was soon in liigh favour witli
all the topers at the inn ; he, of course passing as a Puritan, Suddenly a
thought seemed to strike him : •' Hold, my good fellow !" said he tu the
net-seller, "/ want to go to Warwick, and I'll sell your nets for you;
hcrc*8 a crown for you and these good fellows to drink tdl 1 come back, for
1 must have your horse; ay, and your coat too, my friend. I want to put
• a touch * on a friend uf mine." The countryman thought that this was at
the same time *' a good bargain and a good joke," so be dotted his long
coat and slouched old hat, and the disguised Prince having assumed them,
rode forward to the stronghold of his enemies. He goon sold his nets, as
the purchasers might have tbera at their own price ; he heard at the same
time all sorts of accounts of the battle, and no small share of execration on
himself, which he bore with great philosophy, and apparently luili reUsh.
He ascertained the state of the Roundheads* army, and all the approaches
of the town, and then returned to his expectant friend at the alehouse.
Having resumed his own attire» and mounted his own horse, he told the
countryman he might infurnj his customers in Warwick '* that Prince
Rupert had been their salesman ; that he was obliged to them for their
custom, and would soon be among them, to supply them with something
else." '■ — Vol. ii. pp. 41, 4:2.

The first cliarge of cavalry established Prince Kupcrt's
name. The Roundhead army were unaccustomed to so im-
petuous a rush J we give, however, the account in his own
words: —

* Rupert sprang to his feet, leaped upon the nearest horse, and called to
his comrades to charge, " For the honour of God and of their country ! "
Not one «ho heard him paused or waited for his men to follow him; in
gallunt rivalrj', each only strove to be first upon tlie enemy; unarmed as
they were, they spjirrcd forward with the cheering war-cry, '* For a
king!** and so charged their iron-clad enemies, and charged them home.
The Roundheads met them stoutly, too, though scarcely disengaged from
the narrow lane. They were mailed all over and well comm.anded, never-

II 2

100

Prmce Rttpert and the Catulltsrs.

theless, tbey could not stand before that furious charge. Rupert was ever
resistless when first he came upon his enemy, and now he and his comrade
Cavaliers, not only dashed tlirouj^h, but rode duwii the hostile ranlcs. At
the same time Lord Crawford \va3 ordered by the Prince to frill upon tlie
ri^fht think of the enemy, which he did with severe effect. Swords, how-
ever, struck almost vainly upon the impenetrable armour of the Round-
headis ; tlicy seemed un wounded, yet they were shaken, routed, driven into
the river and drowned, or utterly dispersed. The brave Sandys, their
colonel, did not share their tlight ; he fell in tlie firat shock, as did his
major, Gunlcr. The survivors never drew rein for four miles, when they
were eapied by Essex's life-gfuarda, g^alloping into Pershore with swords
drawn ; many unhelnieted, and all filled with such fear that they frightened
the lifc-g^uards too; then they galloped altogether to the bead-quartera of
the Lord-General, where they received but *' a cold welcome," which one
of them candidly confessea waa their due. As the Cavaliers returned from
the pur:juit, they fo\md, to their surprise, that but four nr live of their
Iroopers had fallen, whilst of the officers, who formed the front rank in the
irregular and chivalrous charge, all had received some wound, except
Prince Rupert. On the other side, four hundred are said, by Lord Falk-
huid» to have been slain; few were taken prisoners, but five or six
utaudards were won, aud many good horses, which proved far more
valuable.

* rije moral effect of this skirmish was very ^eat. That the best Pnr-
Uamcntary cavalry, fully armed and well mounted, should have been put
to sudden and utter rout by half their number of Cavaliers, without annonr,
and on wearied horses, appeared very ominous. The defeated troops tnag-
nified their opponent's valour, in order to mitigate their own disgrace;
many ^vauderetl altogether nwf y from the Roundhead standard, and spread
abroad the " terror of Prince Rupert's name; hid irresistible courage, and
that of the King's horac/"' — VoL i. pp. 403— -106,

The tnllowiTig surv^ey of the royal army is given bv our
ttuthor shortly before the great battle of Edgehill: —

* It ia diflficult, perhaps, for cpdet people, in the nineteenth ceatury, liviug
under a powerful and prosperous sovereign, to imagine the eutbusiastic
BGntimeut, the passionate loyalty that was excited by the misfortunes of
Charles L To all the dcviited alTcction with which in after times the Pre-
tendcr'a cause was cherished» there was noiv added the solemn sense of
reli^ous duty, and an intense conviction that in their King's safety, all the
glory and prosperity of England was involved. Loyalty was, then, to the
Cavaliers' politics, what religion was to morals, a rule, a cause, and a j'oun-
dation. Therefore it was that fathers, and mothers too, sent their only
sons, with joy and [jride, lo fight for the fatal standard ; loving wives em-
broidered for their husbands the scarlet scarf that wa* soon to be more deeply
dyed: man, woman, and cbiid, wherever loyalty was professed, gave their
heart's first wish, their souls most fervent prayer; for that they freely
ofFered up their wealth, their nearest affections, and their Hves, to the
Advancement of the royal cause.

* The King's array at Shrewsbury, where his little army was assembled,
is not to be regarded coldly, as a mere mass of men collected to do a mus-
ter's bidding t'cir a master's Wiiiges. Almost every gentleman and many a
poor soldier there, represented some home left tmprotected, and household
goods endEingered. No love of lucre or prospect of ambition had filled up
tiiose df>omcd ranks: the better, and the greater part, were not only %'olun-
teers, hut self-despoiled, iin order to promote the royal cause. Every
tfcatleraan brought with him a retinue, accordins to his mentis, together

Prince Raptrt and the CatalUn*

101

^ilh money, plate, and armB, to fiirnisli which, niRtiy a household was
stripped bare and many a comfort sacrificed for even But it was all for
their Kiii*^! And that, to thdr brave old-fashioned hearts, was a sacred
word and an irresistible appeal.

* Not that the royal army was altogether composed of such material;
had it been soj that King bad never died a felon's death upon a scalTold.
But that such true-hearted men abounded in lus rankii, is proved by
the long and desperate struggle they luaiiitaincd against all the power
of Purlianicnt. In our future pa^eti, we shall find tmrne traces of this
nobler^ purer spirit to the end, but they are far too few, and gradually
become still more so. Men of evil and violent passions always work their
way into foremost places in troubloua times, and leave the stain of their
own characters upon their cause : thus, Falkland, Hopton, Carnarvon,
are pushed aside by Goring, Digby, and even Lunsford, in the path of
notoriety, if not of fame, — as they were but too ofteiij even in the royal
favour.

' To the latter the King's preacher, Dr. Symmons, thus addressed himself,
in a sermon he preached before the royal array : —

' " Alas \ gailant g^entlemen and Christian people, you all know there
ure too many and too great occasions given by some amonfrst you to our
enemies to report evil of us, I beseech you, therefore, in the fear of God, to
walk worthy of your employment. You that he commanders [ beg of you,
that you would more strictly punish sin according to thoac military orders
set forth by his sacred MftjestVr your religious master."

* To the former, also, headdresses himself in these noble words; — -

• " A complete cavalier is a child of honour. lie is the only renerve of
Enc^Ush gentility and ancient valour, and hath rather chosen to bury hira-
Bclf in the tomb of honour, than to see the nobility [nobleness?] of his
nation vassalaged ; the dipnity of his country captivated or obscured by

any base domestic enemy, or by any foreign fore-conquered foe Po*'-

haps you now expect, that by way of use, I should stir you up to be cruel,
bat, noble gentlemen and soldiers, if 1 should do so, 1 should forget myself
to be a minister of the Prince of Mercy, and to be a subject of a most mer-
ciful King, whose meek and gentle nature^ as we jdl love and admire, so
should we strive to imitate. And I bicHs God for it, I could never yet apeak
that language of ^i//, sltitfy and desiror/, which the ministers of the rebel side
are so « kiLful in : I durst never incite men to llight np to the back in
blood. The spirit of the Gospel is an unbloody spirit^ — ' We,' says the
Apostle, speaking of himself and all true ministers of Christ, * have
the mind of Christ which endeavourcth the salvation, not the destruction
of men **'....

• The preacher then exhorts his soldier-hearers to spare and to be very
merciJ'u] ; to live temperately and in brotherly love : and, in conclusion, he
entreats them to fine every one for swearing, according to statute ; and of
the proceeds, to purcb«se comforts for the jioor rebel prisoners, Jeremy
Taylor was also, 1 believe, one ot the royal chaplains at tliii* time, and
many other eminent Churchmen attended the King's army throughout
their aer\ice,' — Vol. L pp. 412—415.

The battle of Edgehill, that terrible tragedy that stained the
peaceful fields of AYarwickshire, is tlcBcribed at considerable
length, one passage of which we extract: —

' The King addressed his soldiers in the name of theip country and their
faith. WiH royid nature ever rose with the occasion, and now be spoke and
looked as became a chivalrous monarch : and his devoted troopB regarded
htm with an enthusieam unknown to tamer times.

102

Prince Rupert and the Cavaliirs.

* " The King Ims come to marslml us, nil in his armour dresf,

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.
He leaked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye :
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was atern and hig-h.
Right graciously he smiled on ua^ as rolled from w'mg to winy,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, * For God and for the King/*
' Even thus Charles L looked and was received by his Cavaliers. He was
clad in armour, with the brightest star of chivalry upon his breast ; and hia
voice wan firm and clieerful as he addressed his soldiers in these brave
1^ ords : —

* '' if this (lay shine prosperous unto us," said he, *' we shall all be happy
in a glorious victory. Your King is both your cause^ your quarrel, and
your captain. The foe is insight. You show yourselves no 'malignant
party,' but with your aworda declare what courage and fidelity is wifhin
you. I have written and declared^ that I intended always to maintain and
defend the Protestant religion, the nghts and prh dcgcs of Parliamentj and
the liberty of the subject, and now I must prove my words by the con-
vincing argument of the sword. Let Heaven show his power by this day *s
victoryi to declare me just; and, as a lawful, sn a loving King to my
subjects. The best encouragement I can give you is this: that come life or
death, your King will bear you corapnny, and ever keep this field, this
place, and this day's service in bin grateful rememhrauce."

* There is no sound that ever rent the air so terrible as the deep sUence
of suspense before the battle word is given ; it is the moment when tlic
soul sinks under the awe of something that thrdls deeper than any fear.
During that dread pause many a fervent prayer was offered up by the true
hearts that abounded in both armies, but nntie was more simple and sincere
than Sir Jacob Astloy'si uttered manfully aloud : •* O, Lord I thou knowest
bow busy I must bo this day; if I forget thee, do not thou forget me;"
then rising, be exclaimed, ** March on hoys! "

' The Farliamentary army began the figbt by three shots from their guns
upon the right ; the King's Brtillcry instantly replied. Then the whole line
advanced : as the Cavaliers approached, a horseman darted from the enemy's
column and rode up to Prince Itvipert, flinging from him the orange badge
he wore. It was a lieutenant in Sir Faithful Fortcscue*s troop, to announce
the defection of his commander with all his men, and that the signal would
be the firing a pistol in the ground. The Prince, already on the move,
observed the signal, and forcbore to assail the deserters, but Kdligrew and
BjTon slew several of them before they discovered their purpose. Rupert
now led on the royal horse, commanding them to use their swords alone,
and " charge !" Before the ^\ ord was fairly uttered, that brilliant cavalry was
on the spur ; away in one wild sweep of magnificent concision the proud
chivalry of Kngland dashed, in generous rivalry each seeking to strike the
first home-stroke "for God and for the King!" What could abide that
thundering charge, nil spur, no rein, every heart within that flashing
armour was on lire, every voice a shout of triumph, every plume bent
forward to the charger's niane ! The Roundheads seemed swept away by
the very wind of that wild charge. No sword wns crossed, no saddle
emptied, no trooper waited to abide the shock ; they fled with frantic fear,
but fell fast under the snbres of their pursuers. ' The cavalry galloped
furiously until they reached such shelter as the town could give them ; nor
did their infantry Ihrc better. No sooner were the royal horse upon tbera
than they broke and (led; Manderviile and Cholniondelcy vainly strove to
r terror-sEricl^cn followers: tb^v wci

rally

cpt away

fiery

avaliers. •* But," adds the canting and profligate Lord Wharton, who, it
'fts said, hid himself in a saw-pit on the occasion, " il pleased God to begin

Prince Rupert and the CatalUvg*

103

The

tben to sbow hiniself, for their cavalry tm>k bait upon our baggage aDii
lost their advantage .... only three hundred of ours were slain!!" 1
more shame lor them it it had been true/ — Vol. it. pp. 19^ — 23.

The sacl havoc t!iat was going on on the other side, while
Rupert was thus Yictorious himtielf^ is well known, liupert wfia
not a general ta contiimnd a whole aruiv, tor it was ever his
fate to conquer and then find himsell' conquered. On this
account he can never stand htgh in military science. How
many brave general"? have been ttcterred from making brilliant
charges, for which they might have acquired a name, by this
very fear ; but Rupert thought only of one thing— to sweep the
very earth by the impetuous wave of his own regiment, regard-
less of what might haj^pen elsewhere during hi^ absence; thus,
when he returned flushed with the excitement of victory, he
more than once found his enemies in poi^sei^sion of the field.

An expedition from Oxford, tinder Prince Kujiert, which
passed over ^lagdalen Bridge plumed and gUtrering, ended in
the death of Hampden, which ijs thus described: —

* Hampden now came up from the enclosures nbout Wapsgrove House,
and endeavoured to check the Cavahers, and gne time to bis comrades to
rally; but he received his death-wound in hia first charge ; two carbine-
ballH struck him in ihe shoulder, broke the bone, and buried themselves in
Ma body. Hts course «as run. He feebly turned hia horse, and rode
away from the meih to^varda bis father-in-law's house at Pyrton. ** There
he had in youth mariied ibe first wife of hia love, and thither he vi ouldhnv.;
goj\e to die." But Rupert's fierce squadrons were now scallered over the
pJaiii, diiing fearful execution on the fugitives, and the wounded patriot
Wft5 forced to turn back towards Thame. At length he reached the house
of one ICzekiel Browne, where bis wounds were dressed, and some hopes of
life were heLd omtto him. He knew better ; he felt life's task was doue, and
Le passed his remaining hours in writing to Parliament the coun.sels be
could no longer speak. Atlcr six days of cruel sulTerinj?, he died, having
received the sacrament from a minister of the Clmreh of England, Hia last
words were, **0 Lord, pave my country ! O Lord, be merciful to . . . ,"
Hia utterance failed, be fell back, and died. He was followed to his grave
amongst his native hillK and wood?« of the Cbiltern by all the troops that
could be gathered for that sad duty. And bo he was committed to the
dust aa beseemed a gallant soldier/— Vol. ii. pp. 208, 209.

Our author exliibits much Bympathy for Hampden, and,
without doubtj he was more honest in his political views, as
well as lesa inchned to violence, if he had followed hia own
nature, than were many of his party ; bnt Ktill, there he was
amongst the rebel:?^ and must shure their lot of praise or dis-
praise: nay, his own dLsposition and his talents make him all
the more responsible, and all the more blatncablc for the part in
which we sec him, as a matter of fact^ engaged* Well wiis it
for him that he was spared the trial of further extremes.

It is true, however, that with Hampden died the original
claim of justice with wliich the rebellious party would sanction

104

Princa Rupert and the Cavaliers,

their proceedings. He represented the cause of a coiistitutioniil
^vTong, and after his death that pretence was almost abandoned.
Ttie stronger minds who, at the beginning of the quarrel, marked
out the political line of their respeetJve p:lrtiei^J were now much
thinned. Strafford, Laud, Pyni, and Planipdcn have now left
the scene. Tbe true elements of the j?tru(f<rle are with them
forgotten, and lirute force settles the question which had arisen
from the contact of high principles with evil pai*siona in the
deeper minds of the first generation in thiis unhappy reign.
Charles is bow left alone to an unequal content. Cromwell
rises up as his personal enemy, with a strange and de'^astaling
power, from which Kupert can no longer protect his cause.
The fatal tragedies of Mareton Moor and Naseby follow each
other, and leave Cromwell to his evil triumph, liupcrt is the
same to the last, but he avails not. The Ironsides oi" Cromwell
are more than a match for his desperate charges. At Marston
JMoor, Kupcrt had been successful as ever with his own regi-
ment, but the conclusion of the day is thus described; —

' And now the comquerors on either side Imve done tlieir work, and have
time to rally and breathe and look art>uiid them ; cai.li moving to regain his
battle ground. When lo ! as if starting from the dead, each victor meets
another, returning Jrom tbe slaughter cjf his enemies to claim the victory.
Then caaie the severest triul of the day. Each oecnpicd the ground his
enemy bad covered when the tight began: and tbrongh the lurid and
EuJphurous shades of approaching night, uaa seen tbe gh'aamig armour of
another hoatile Hue. Then it was that Ruperl's fullouerw failed him: the
high and sparkling metal of his Cavaliers, consuming ali before it in the
first outbreak, fainted now before tbe sustained tiame of fanaticism that
burned in the Furitana' excited heart.i, Stiil Rupert strove to rally the
pantmg and exhausted troops; still hin loud battle-cry "Fcjr God and for
tbe King !" rose above tbe din ; but he no longer found an echo to that cry.
The PoritaBH galloped up to his Cavaliers, and met uith scarcely an
antagonist; ** their enemies were scattered before them,"'' as they too truly
said. Away over the broken grnvuid and dismounted guns and shattered
cnrriages, the Cavaliers are flying through tbe darkness, and leave the
bloodily contested field to tbe Puritans — and Caoai well. '—Vol. ii.
pp, 459, 460.

The prestige of militaiy power now changes from Kupcrt to
Cromwellj IVoiu the furiuus Cavaliers to the indoiuituble Iron-
sides, whose fierce fanaticism and savage strangeness of nature,
which seemed to cut off* all bonds of sympathy with other
niortals, made them to be reputed as myeterious agents of
an unearthly power. Among the dead on Mareton I^Ioor was
Prince Rupci*t'i3 dog, which circunistanee was celebrated with
great exaltation by the parliamentary jotirnals«, as the dog had
Been aiispectcd of being the Prince's familiar spirit in disgtiiee.
Even this tot>k away eorue of the awe which had attached to the
name of the Cavalier*

Prince Rupert and the Catalien.

At Naseby, Rupert again won his part of the battle, but the
cause received its final blow. The conclusion of this battle is
thus told:^

' Cromwell's liorae were there carrying nil before tliem ; and ekirting the
mHfey waa seen the King, striving Tiiinly to rally hi« broken squadrons.
Such was the scene the Ol-slarred Rupert beheld uben be thought the
victory was all his own. In a mnracnt he plungred into ibe thickest of the
^K^t, cleaving: his way furionsly towards where the Kiii^ was cheering on
^18 dismayed troopers. *' Oue charge more, gentlemen!'* cried the un-
happy monarch, ** one charge more, and the day is ours !" Then, placing:
himself at the head of Ida most for^vard troopers he prepared to charge.
The royal impnlse communicated itself in a moment to thousands; once
more they faced the enemy, and in another moment the King: might have
won a gloriouii victory, or more glorious dc^thj when oae of his courtiers,
ever his curse, snatched at the King's bridle, and turned him from the path
of honour to despair. Was there no hand to smite that traitor to the
ground — not even the King's, that should have done it? The momentary
glow in the King's breast was past j he HufTered himself to be led away like
a child; he turned his hack upon his enemy, his kingdom, and his honour,
Rupert just then came up, but it was too late ; the battle-heart of his men
was broken; the horse were in disgraceful and lumnlluous retreat. Vainly
he strove to rally even his own devoted cavalry. They, too, were un-
manned. All was over except the akughter.'^Vcd. iii. pp. 108, 109.

From this time we may trace but one raelancliolj progress —
a gradual decline of power with Charles standing out heibre ns,
as a victim destined in his death to atone for the faults of one
cnut?e, aud to be the judguient of another by the fearful sin it
corunjitted. Of Rupert, it is enougli for the present to say that,
after suffering much from the vacillation of Charles's disposition,
whoj now refijsing to second his measures, and now even sus-
pecting his honesty of puqiose, grievously tried his constancy,
lie left this country and entered u[Jon other adventurer, of which
we may give some account if space permit. Charles wa^ wasting
in strength of resolution ; but what his enemies call weakness
was often but too lenient a heart towards his subjects even in
rebellion. After the battle of Kdgehill, Charles ought in mili-
tary tactics to htjvc pushed on towards London w'itbout delay,
but he did not, and, as it wotdd appear, from the very tempta-
tion of absolute conquest. He dare not trust bimself with a
victorious army to enter London as a conqueror.

Charles in heart w^as not a soldier, yet he had courage; for his
princely bearing, as misfortutic tried him, brought out tiiia as
well as otber excellences of his character. Some remarks on
Charles's character, and also his latter end, ^ve will extract from
our author.

The corameneeraent of fighting, and Charles's melancholy
expression on that occasion, is made the opportunity for the
folh

106

Prince Ha pert and the Cataliers,

* Well might lie be ** very raelaaclioly ;*' well might the shadow of his
soul's misfortune be dark upon that brow— that lofty brow, so famihar to
our memory J How many of us can recollect our childish sympathy for
the first timfj touched by the power of art, as we gazed upon the portrnit of
that mournful face : the innocent boyish enthusiasm that kindLed within us
aa we heurd from loyal lips of the wrongs and ssufTeriugrs for which so many
of our fathers di«d. It uns only in aftcr-yeartif when rciuctuntly forced to
abandon the once literal creed of *' kings can do no wrong," that vie
detected other chatactcristica besides those of nobleness and truth in the
martyr monarch of Vandyke and the Cavaliers. Yet even then, when better
read in the dark facts and darker calumnies that history reveals, we trace
in those sad features the chamctcrs of weakness rather than of wickedness;
the unerring signs of a vacillating mind are visible ; and that high-arched
brow and unceriain lip, the dchcate soft hand that droops by his side with
all the helpless grace of a girl, the very attitude in which he stands — all
bespeak a spirit, ill-calculated to encounter the atornia of a state. It is not
only after misfortune and disappointment had done their work, that these
characteristic:* become visible in the portraits of Charles. Fiom the very
first, even when he sat at Velasquez during his romantic visit to romantic
Spain, buoyed np hy lusty youth and a bridegroom's hope — even then his
portrait wears a sad, doomed look, as if he felt already destined to expiate
the crimes and the follies of his tyrant ancestors.

* Having accompanied the King of the Cavaliers so far towards his fatal
goal — having endeavoured to esLteuuate nothing, nor set down aught in
prejudice, it is time to consider what there was in this ill-fated monarch
that, notwithstanding all his faults, attached so many of the best and
bravest men of England^ not only to hiacausej but to his person.

* No human character has ever been so rigorously scrutinized by cotem-
poraries and historians as that of ChoTles the First, His public and private
conduct have been exposed to every test and inquisition that the most
malignant hatred could suggest, or the most subtle genius could invent.
The greatest writers of our own day have exercised all their ingenuity, nnd
practised all the easy but impusing art of deiuineiation upon this conspicu-
ous theme. The Milton, the Pym, and other leading minds of his own time,
aought out, as a matter of conscience and duty, how they could moat bit-
terly mahgn him. Every sentence that admitted of a second meaning was
perverted to his reproach; every action was distorted, exaggerated, exhi-
bited in the darkest point of view, and imniortatized in sublime inventive.
The ghiry of freedom was then the great theme of orator and poct^ the
crime of despotism was a necessary antithesis, and its atti'ibuted author was
magnified into proportionally colossal guilt. Charles L was idcn titled with
the principles that were then most obnoxious; he was driven forth, like
the scape -goat of the Hebrews, into the wilderness of rcprobulion, with the
curses due to all others* crime heaped thickly upon his devoted head.

'The very scurrility and bitteraessof the party pamphlets of that unscru-
pulous and heated time ha\e been ever since sustained, enhjrged upon, and
taken for truth by the anti-monarcliicnl writers of n hiter period. Yet how
little, comparatively, has this awful array of perscctition and arraignment
brought home against tluir victim, setting n^sidc his one great and inex-
cusable vice of insincerity, which he mistook for policy and state-crafl
necessity. Grievous and many wrongs indeed he wrought against the
liberties'of England; fatally he prrscvered in the jirejudicea instilled into
his youth concerning king-craft, divine right, and royal prerogative ; and
terribly he atoned for these his errors. Nevertheless, when we peruse,
even as chronicled by his enemies, his words, his letters, his expressioDs;
Avhen we observe his patience, his undaunted spirit, his pietj, his long-

Prince Rupert and the Catallen.

107

sufTcring, nnd Lis redeominp: death, we are forced to acknowledge that there
was somewhat of righteous nnd heroic in this miich-vilificd monarch;
something, apart from the high sentiment of loyalty, that justified the
devotion of his followers ; and thnt in the world of truth to come, vnll con-
fute thfi worst accusations of his enemies. Unhappy in his time, his reign,
his circura stance 8, hi>i friends, hi.s ejiemies.— he was Blili more unhappy in
that which gave evil power to ihem all — the fatal facility and weakness so
often and so pertinaciously misconstrued into perfidy and crime/ — Vgl. i.
pp. 328-^ai.

There >vas indeed cause for melancholy if we consider the
time which passed between ^ the beginning of blood, and the
conclusion of the sacrifice' in his own person, as opened to our
eyes in the following words :—

' The 30th of January, 1C49, was the day appointed for the great sacrifice ;
the greatest in profane history, when all its solemn circumatances are con-
sidered. It was not only that an illu^trioua and gallant mam was doomed
to die ; it was not only the sacrifice of an ancient monarchy to the vulgar
Amhitiou of a demagopie ; but it was the annihilation of the time-honoured
and most ancient sentiment of religious loyaltv. Never again was the intnit-
able hondage of humanity to be ennobled by belief in the Divine nature of
it5 government ; never again was the proudest spirit to bend reverently
before its King as before t!ie ^* anointed of the Lord! " From that day forth
the people were wiser, not happier, fnnn their dread experience. The grace-
fid ideal of sovereignty was turned into bloody dust bel'ore their eyes ; and
in its place rose up the harsh and capricious authority of brutal force.

' Some years passed on, and Cromwell was a king in all but name and
nature. He then recognised the power that still lingered in that sacred
name. He was already in enjoyment of all the irresponsible power
that ever cursed our earlier kings ; he had already exercised such des-
potism as no Stuart had ever dared to speak of; he had raised his country's
E re-eminence among the nations; he had stimulated her cnerpies^ revived
er prosperity, llatlercd her pride, and laid broadly the ibundations of her
future glory. Xevertbelcss, England cursed him in her heart. The nation^
down to his owu creatures, inditrnantly rejtK!ted him as kin^. He saw his
power departing from him before he died; and then the people took
refuge even in ihe vices and imbecility of the Second Chfirles from the
revolting mockery of a protectorate.

' Every imagination is familiar with the closing scene of the Civil War's
dark tragedy. The scaflbld erected in phaatly contrast to the fair archi-
tecture ot the Bau(|ucling Hall ; the bolls driven into the floor in the fashion
of shambles by the human butchers : the headsman's block so low that the
KinE^ WAS obliged to lie along the floor in order to reach it with his neck,

'The fierce array of fanatic troopers round the scailold; the uncovered
masses of the people^ reaching far awuv towards the green hills that
bounded the vista of old streets, or visible through the archway thnt opened
towards the venerable Abbey of Westminater. And high above the heaving
tiunuttoous masses of people and soldiers stood the King, with the hcnda-
inan bv his side : the royal victim showed a manly and cheerful bravery
towards his fellow men, a trusting and deep humility towards God. His
voice was calm and musical ns he uttered his dying words — brief, eloquent,
and full of forgiveness, of prophecy, and prayer; his eye was vividly bright
as he laid his neck upon the soiifTohL One moment's pause, and the King

favc the signal with his hand ; the axe Unshed through the diirk group on
igh ; and from below, "one dismal universal groan" burst forth from «l
nmion's breast, and all is over.

log

PiifH-e llupcrt a?id the Oaralicrs,

'Charles Stuart, slaughtered by hypocrites, fanatics, and traitors, lay
calmly in his coflrn, in the midst of the Banqueting Hall, in the darkness
and silence of midnight His destroyer was not so calm though he had
conquered : impelled by a horror of suspense, he went to visit the dead
Kin^. Did he not envy the dead majesty that lay there in calm repose, its
lifevork done ?

• When the next morning came, and the scaiTold was removed, and the
streets were thronged again with their usual busy crowds, the people
doubtlesa mar\'eUed to think how simple n matter it was to kill a king, and
yet how powerful must he ihoae who slew him. Btit even those w ho sought
the life of Charles acknouledijcd the gnintleur of his death, and CromweU's
own laureate celebrated the event in worthy English verse. The partizan
Has lost in the poet, and Andrew MarvcU has left us thia noble picture of

the scaffold scene i —

• • • • •

' *' While round the armed bands
Did clasp their bloody hands :
He nothuig common did, or mean,
After that memorable scene ;

But with his keener eye

The ttxe'a edge did try ;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpess right,
But bowed hi,s comely head
Down, as upon a bed." ' — Vol. iii. pp. 398 — 401.

The King's great companions in life were not parted from him
in death. The enda of Strafford and Laud are thus alluded to
by Mr. Wm^burton : —

• But Strafford was ever superior to circumatancea ; he now compelled
even his evil destiny to do him honour, by encountering it with lofty seli^
possession and maguanimity. Henceforth, until '■ that wisest head in
England" was bowed upon the scatfold, the whole interest of the time was
concentrated on his fate and the princi|des with which it was assiociated.
Straiford's impeachment, defence, betrayal by the King, and dying scene
contain one of the sublimes t tragedies to he found in history,

' This first great otTering at the shrine of English freedom was soon fol-
lowed by that of his friend find coadjutor Laud. The former was doomed
as (he great pillar of the raisgovernetl State, the latter of the Church-'^ —
Vol. i. pp. 182, laa

' In the meantime, however, the parliamentary lesulers stained their cause
with an act of atrocity that the reddest days of French rejmblicanism never
saw exceeded ; the condemnation of the poor old Archbishop Laud, to be
hanged,, drawn, and quartered. It was held to he a great favour that he
was only beheaded ultimately. They dared to seek the autljority of the
judges for this murderous and wanton deedj but even they, how evertimidly,
professed themselves unable to assist the Parliament in legalizing such
atrocity. To Laiul himself it was very merciful to take him from the
penury, and loneliness, and imprisoiuuent, in which they had long left Ids
grey hairs to whiten ; to promote !iini from the too just iiuputations of
arbitrariness and indiscretion under which he had long lain, to a noble
martyrdom on the scaffold. His defence was magnanimous and un-
answerable ; his dying speech is one of the noblest and most touching thnt
ever preceded a bloody death, and that death itself was but repose to him,
and a triumph for his fame.* — Vol. iii. pp, 42, 43.

Prince Bap^t and the Cataliert.

109

TIiroiit^lKtut this work there are mterestiog pjisisages descrip-
tive of the noble conduct, or noble deaths, of many who gave
their all to the cause of Charles. Also there is jibundiiTit proof
that Cavalier ladies were not behind their husbands in the cause
of loyalty, or in personal counige, when fairly called on to exert
it : Lady Arundel for instance.

* On the 2nd of Way, 1643, during the absence of Lord Anmdeli at
Oxford, Sir Ednvard Huiigerford presented himself before Wardour CaatJe,
demanding adinittam-c in stinrch fnr mRlignJinla, and upon being^ denied,
calleil a body of troops under Colonel Strode to assist him in reducing it by
force. With this army of thirteen hundred men he sumnnmed the castle
to surrender, and received no other reply than that *' Lady Arundell had a
command from her lord to keep it, which order ahe would obey." On the
following day cannon were brought within musket ahnt of the walls, and
continued to fire on the castle for six days and nighta : two mines were
also sprurisr. During all this time the heroic lady with her followers,
amounlin^ to about My servants, of whom only half were tij^h ting-men,
perseveringly defended her stronghold, the women supplying Ammunition
to the men, and exertiuj; themselves? in extinguishing the fiery miaailes
thrown over the walls. At length their povvcM of resistance being com-
pleteiy exliansted, and no hope of relief appearing, a parley wua offered,
and the castle surrendered on capitulation. The terms, however, were
only observed as fur aa regarded the lives of the besieged ; (or the rebela
had no sooner taken poaaession, than they at once set about plundering
and demohahing aO the vahiables it contained, and waatefully ravaged the
country round, so that the loss of property witz computed at 100,000/,—
Vol. ii. pp. 215,216.

The following letter from Lady Denbigh to her eon after the
death of her husband ia one of inopt pathetic eloquence. Her
eon, now to succeed to the honours of his father, had joined iho
Parliament, and her piiasionate appeal that he nuiy no longer
remain with the murderers of his i'ather is as refined a compo-
sition as we ever remember to have read.

*"FROM THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH TO BABIL, SECOND EARL OP DENBIGH-

« ** My DEAR Son, — I am much comforted with the receiving of your kind
letter in this time of my great sorrow for the losa of my dear hu.sbaad, your
deur father, whose memory I sluill ever keep with sorrow and a moat tender
affection, as he did deserve from me and all the whole world. (Jnd make me
able to overcome thi3 my nfUiction ! I beg tif you, my first-burn won, whom
1 do so dearly love, to give me that satisfaction which you now owe mn, to
leave those that murdered your dear father — for what else can it be called?
When he received hia death-wound for saying that *he waa for the King,'
they shewed no mercy to bin grey haira, but s words and shots, a horror to
me to think of O my dear Jesus ! put it into my dear son'a heart to leave
that merciless company that waa the death of his father; for now I think
of this party with horror, — before with sorrow. This is the time that God
and nature ckim it Oom you. Before, you were carried away by error,
now it seems monstrous and hiJeouij. The last word* your detir fitber
spoke, was to desire God loforfive you and to touch your heart. Let yoiir
dear father and unfortunate mother make your heart relent — let my great
iorrow receive aome comfort. If I receive joy, you shall reeeive blessing
and honour. 'Think, if I mny be ho hapjiy aa to obtain this my desire of

110

Rupert and the Camlters,

yoit : Jet me know, and 1 shall make your way to your best advantage. I
do know you shall be welcome. I give yon iriany thanks for the cure you
took in payings the last rites to your father j I have a longing desire to see
vou, ana if 1 had any means I would venture far to do it. The Queen bath
been very kind to me, and hath iTritteni to the Kin^ to stay the place that
Lord Denbigh held, that it may not be given to tiny, but that my lord'a
debts may be paid out of it; besides, the Queen did send me money, or I
do not know what I should have done, 1 was in so great want. I thank
you for the messaffe yon sent me by John Grime ; so, with my blessing, I
take my leave. Your loving mother, S. DKNBJfiii/' ' — Vol, ii. pp. 157j
158.

The deaths of Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle are

thus gmphically talcl : —

'The doomed Cavaliera heard their sentence with astonishment, but
without dismay, lliey were to die before auniiet ; they requested, but in
vain, to be allowed to live until the following morning, *' that they might
settle some things in this world, and prepare their souls fur another/'
They were imly allowed time for some brief prayer, and to receive the
sacrament. At seven o'clock they were hurried out to a green spot beneath
the castle walls; three files of musketeers, with Ireton, Rainsborough, and
Whalley received them there. Sir George Lisle was removed out of sight of
hiB coumide's execution, but the volley that announced hisi death rang
upon his car. The gallant Lucas had died as he had lived, with the unos-
tentatious courage of a gentlerafin: he knelt down upon the green sward,
and prayed fervently for a little w hile ; then rising, he stood erect, with a
cheerful countenance, belbre his executioners ; he opened his doublet, and
bared bis manly bosom to their fire: "See, I'm ready! — Rcbelsr do your
worst!** were the last words he uttered; before be ceased to speak, the
Roundheads fired, and he fell lifelesa; four bullets bad pierced his heart,
Sir George Lisle was now brought forward: he knelt down and kissed the
dead face of hia friend, with lips that were in a few moments to be as cold.
Then rising, and looking upon the firing party, he told them that they
stood too fan one of them replied, *' Never fear, sir ; rit irurraut we'll hit
you 1" The Cavalier smiled as he said, "I have been nearer you when you
have missed nie." TheiJ, after & short prayer^ he too gave the order to fire,
and nenrly in the same words his dying friend had used, — " I'm ready !—
Traitors*, do your worst V That raomentbe fell dead.* — VoL lii. pp. 405, 406.

We conclude this sad history witli a tribute to tlie loyalty of
Oxford, a [Aace of no email importance in these troubled times.

' On the 2yth the King reached Oxford, where the royal court was for
the future to be held. That loyal city " was the only one in England at
that time wholly devoted to his Majesty," and although it remained faithful
to the hist, it suffered but little froniita loyally. The parliamentary forces
under Lord Say had respected the scat of learning after a fashion, and
there are fewer mark.'j of Fmritan iconoclasm to be found in this majestic
city than in any other of siniihir beauty and similar visitation. . . .

* In those day a when Oxford lorraeti the rally ing-poinl for all the most
chivEilrous and loyal men of luigland, and constituted the great centre of
operations on w hicli the fate of cTiipires depended, the stately old colleges
inu§t have had some stirring exjieriences. When the streets rang to the
soimd of the trumpet summoning the young Cavaliers to mount instantly,
HB some daring lloundliendH hovered near the ciiy, or some foam-covered
trooper brought tidings of a stolen march, or to be stolen convoy within

mce Ruperi and the Cavaliers.

Ill

real
^^ com
^ft eSbi
^^i evei

tlieir reach. Or, when tbe students were rauatered by Dcnn and Warden
** in buff and banddicr" under Lord Dover, to suard the walls and prove
their manhood under their sovereiga's and the ladies' eyes. It waa only
when flssHuU was tbreateued, that these young volunteers were allowed to
act as CaTftlters : eagerly then they saw the '* toga yield to arms" and ear-
nestly they wished every success to the Roundheads that might bring them
within reach of Univeraity discipline. Musically, in those romantk tinies,
tbe old cloisters of AH Souls or of Magdalen gave echo to the armed tread
of ihe Cttvalierr or the faint rustle of the silken robe that flouted by his
side^ and shared in his ue weary watch.* — Vol. ii. pp. 44 — 46.

Elsewhere a note Informs 115 that the Qneen, and uuiny of
her ladic;?> resided in ^Vlcrtcm Ctiile^e, dnrmg her stay in
Oxford. The Privy Council was held at Oriel ; the King and
Prince Rupert had their quarter^^ at Christ Church.

It is time now that we conclude with a brief review of
Prince Kupcrt'a history after the tune that he lef^ Englantl in
the summer of 1646. One occupation in which he was em-
jjloyed still for the royal cause is thus told :—

' The na\ al expedition undertaken by Prince Rupert in tbe autumn of
164S, is of a nature without any parallel in liistory- We must look back
to the days of tbe Scandinavian Sea-kings for even a resemblance to
Rupert's present mission. His was a spirit cast in the old Northern heroic
mould; resolute, indomitable, adventurous aad dauntless. He wa« one
who could—

* '* Turn what some deem danger to delight,

And for itself could woo the approacbiog fight"

He lived in a romantic world of his own, not withstanding the dismal
realities of his position: tbe petty intrigues of the young king's petty
court ; tbe perpetual mutinies of bis own dissolute sailors; the humiliating
efforts to raise money ; the mercenary considerations that prompted almost
every exploit; even the details of captive cargoes, the forced sales of "sugars,
indigo, and hides," not one, nor all, of these things could bring down
soaring spirit for more than a moment to their own level. From the
time that he lirst trod the duck of hb gallant ship, he assumed the bearing
and the tone, as well as the habits, of the ancient Viking^r. In the commission
that he received, he whs invested with '*nll the command at sea that he had
held formerly on shore :" that is to say, be was absolute. To gratify the
oflDcial people about the exded court, tbe young Viking received what were
termed " Instructions," bat those instructions wltc dictated according to
his own resohile will, and were binding no longer upon him than be chose.
Nor was this power to be vTOndcred at; who else, in the midst of such a
storm of misfortune, woidd or could have umlertaken a post of auch difli-
cnlty and danger ? Who else could have borne the royal standard in such
a career as his, without dishonour to it ? Rupert tvas destined to main-
tain the name of Royal England on the seas, and to contend with his mighty
enemies not only for their naval supremacy but their wealth. This last
was the first great object of the Prince's cruise ; the Prince of Wales and
all his court were almost famishing in their exile; they looked to Ruperfs
squadron to supply tliem with the very necessaries of life. But for this
consideration, the extraordinary squadron we are about to sail with would
never have been fitted out. And while Ormond anxiously expected Rupert
to enable him to reconquer Ireland, the courtiers' first anxiety was, that
his Highness should enable them to obtain their bread. The naval specu-

112

Prime Rupert and the Cavaliers.

lation was perfectly successful in this point of vicir, Tlie King being per-
secuted by every one proved a source of {^reat profit to tlie royal buccaneers.
There wan scart^ely auy flag that had [lower to protect its owner. Wherever
a ship was seen she was pursued; wherever pursued, she was taken; and
the remaining process was wonderfully simplified by the nature of the
"Court of Adjudication." This high-sounding tribunal seems frequently
only to have comprised the ofticer of the wateh ; at other times it amounted
to a court-martial of tbe beggared and rapacious Cavaliers. A sail in sight
and ft well secured prize, soon became synonymous. There was something
very attractive in this sort of adveiiture, and it required all the native
characteristics of gentlemen to prevent the sea-going Cavaliers from carry-
ing their buccaneering to excess. Hut it was uof carried to excess ; at least
all was done fairly and above board, as to an enemy ; no cruelty was
practised; fair terms were offered and honourably kept towards the victim*
of this predatory war.' — Vol. iii. pp. 256 — 25J>,

For 60ine years after tliis Eupert was engaged in an expedi-
tion to the West Indies, of whicli a lengthened account k
given. We there find hhn in stiirma and shipwrecks at sea, aa
he had ever been on hind. lie was now amongst wild Indians,
as he had formerly been among the eavages which rivil war
develo|>s, even in the most civilized countries. On hi a return
to Europe our hero betakes himself to the more quiet occupn-
tions of inventing the mczzotinto style of engraving, aod also
to many chemical experiment« which might apply to tlie art
of war.

At the Restoration, Prince Rupert came to England, and
spent the remainder of his day 8 in comparative tranquillity,
with one or two naval expeditions against the Dutch. The old
town of Windsor was his principal residence, and his pursuits
maintained their scientific character. In short, he appears to
have been an eccentric old gentlojuan, sometimes immersed in
his laboratory, whither Charles II. antl Buckingham delighted
to visit him, and sometimes in the gayest scenes of those gay
times. Nor was he free from the vices of the Court; indeed,
Mr. Warburion is obliged to regret the fact that his hero was
not respectably gettleil early in life. His latter days are thus
pictured ;^

* The brief remainder of Prince Rupert^a existence was pfissed in tran-
quilhty and retirement ; a calm and quiet evcninfj^ closuig in after his life's
stormy day. The philosophical veteran is still visible to ovir imagination,
as be dvteU in the Old Tower at Windsor, aurrouuded with arnioiir, and
strange iinplomenta, ajid strange old hooka. The walls iverc hung over
with mapti of countries that he would have visited, and plans of battles that
he might have fought. As he pnzcd from his eitadel on the matchless
scenery that surrounds it. he coidd trace the course of many a niiduiglit
march and bold assault, He had aecii many of his faithful troopers pcriBh
on the very slopes beneath his eyes ; and farther oJT, to the very horizon,
there was no tovni th!\t had not echoed to the tramp of his hold troopers,
no church-tower that had not ^ven warning of his mareh. Those troopen
had all passed away i the very name of Cavalier was aliniost forgotten ; the

Prince Rupert and the Cavalitrs.

113

cause for vrhich they had fought ftud fallen whs how trimnphAnt, yet in
dishoitour, and he, their leader, waa estranged, if not exited, fruni the King:
he had served too well.

' Doubtless the royal rccluae had ample food forhia raedilation. Alt men
of activity in youth are thoug:htfEil in their age ; retroapeet is the ninunating:
of the mind, whereby memory is changed into exfierience, and becomes
profitable towards a future life, cither in this world or the next. In the
retrospect of Prince Rupert's lifct as regarded his fellovv-mcii, there was
little to visit him with a elf-rep ro ach ; if his career had been unprosperoua,
it had been unstained by one disshonourable act: he had striven manfully
to perform Mrhat he esteemed to be his duty; in council and in camp he
haa been ever fearless and eliaintercsted ; he had eudeavnured to promote
the prosperity of his adopted country with pratefiil solicitude ; and when
the country and the King; had fallen under the power of the Cabal^ he had
retired from all participation in the disgraceful proceedinars that he waji
unable to resist

** When impioitB men hear away,
The post of honour \n a private Btation*"

And that station he was contented to occupy until the hour of his death.' —
Vol. ill. pp. 510,511,

He died on the 2f)tti of Noveuilicr, 1682, aged sixtj-three,
and wafi buried in Westminster Abbey with great ceremonj.
Thus ends Prince Rupert, a man of genius^ of eelf-devotlon,
and unequalled bravery. His character will ever be one to
excite very diiiercnt feelings. Some will ever hate his very
name^ and we do not eay but that they cauld make out such a
case against him as to convince many that he is not the sort of
man we want among us very often. But some, again, will ever
moat gratefully preserve the memory of one who, with reckless
daring and chivalrous loyalty, strained every nerve to defend
our Iving and country from the dark and gloomy away of poli-
tical fanatics and republican tyrants.

wo. LXV. — N»8.

114

Art. V.— VLnt to Moim^leries in the Levant. By the Hon.
KoBEHT CuiizoN, JuN. London : Blurray. 1849.

The iiresent contUtion of the Greek Church, her practical
working, and future prospects, are certsiinly matters of Bufficient
importiince to claim our senoua consideration •, and yet, it
is a fact but too appsirent, thnt the utmost ignorance and luis-
appreheosion exists on this subject in England; and that great
indifference, to say tlic lea&t of it, ie nianife&ted towards this
living branch of the CJuirch Ciitholic, It is well known that she
has hut lately arisen from a long-protracted and fiery trial,
when her cliildren were the unrei?i8ting slavciri of a Mahomedan
power, and day by day the cry of the false faith went up from
her desecrated altars — while the cross w^as wantonly thrown
down and trampled under foot on the threshold of each one
of her polluted i^anctuariea ; hut whether lu these her days
of persecution and misery, ahc may not liave had her martyrs
and confessors, whose holy lives, and glorious deaths of torture,
were as the shining of stars in the thick darkness which
enveloped her— whether there be not in her, now, as then, a
singular faithfuhiess, in the fundamental parts of doctrine and
practice, to her first apostolic teaching, are rjuestions on which
most persons in this country are profoundly ignorant. Some
few able ami valuable books have lately ajipeared on the Eastern
(Jhurch, but tlieee are not generally read, and the universal
impression seems to be that it is a nn^e system of unredeemed
error and Huperatition.

It may appear strange, considering the vast numbers of
English travellers who yearly visit the Ea^t, that more accurate
details on this important subject sliould not have long since been
brought to England; but the truth is, that by far the larger
proportion are wholly indifferent to the matter. They are
lured to the shores of Greece by the charm oi" classical asso-
ciation. They luxuriate in the lovely climate ; and they wander
w^ifrh delight in scenes where the past seems no longer a great
shadowy idiantom haunting the imagination, but a thing real
and tangible, a shape, a form, whose vast remains arc mouldering
in the dust on which they tread ; wdio, every here and tliere,
before their very eyes, thrnsts out as it were a skeleton
hand from beneath its winding-slieet of ages, that they may
handle the crumbling bonce, and so form some notion of what
the bvinff frame has been ; hut it never occurs to them to

The Church in Greece.

11.

irtain whether this beautiful lami

tfic shrine of a i\

aacci

worship, or of a panil)'!?!n^ siiperstition ; nor do they ever
remember that the wild poetic people round theiu claim to
be their brethreu indeed, members with thenu^ehes of the
visible Church of Chriijt. Others, again, who might be disponed
to take gome interest in that branch of the Church whieli has
gathered eo large a portion oi' the Christian world within
her fold, are too fatally prejudiced a^ijainst her before tlieir
arrival in the East, to be at all capable of discerning her actual
condition. In their preconceived ideas, they have given full
credence to the charge of superstition and fonnalism, which
has been brought jigainst her, and they take no other means for
ascertaining its tnith or falsity, than by witnessing a few oi
those outward ceremonies and customary obaervances of the
people, "which often do not even form a part of her ritual;
whilst their ignoranee of the language and habits of the country,
t\A well as of the ancient i\wu\& <tf jiymbolisni, all combine
to furnish them witii the most ujietakcu and extravagnnt
notions, which they afterwartls proumlgate on the authority
of eye-witnesses.

We are convinced that nothing would tend so much to
remove these false impressions, as a few details, simply given,
of the actual working of theiireek Church at the present time,
not only in her public servicer, but in her private teaching and
discipJine. We were, consequently, well jileiiecd to witness the
publication of any w^ork calculated to cnlighteu the English
public in theso matters ; and we had ho[ied* judging from the
title of Mr. Curzon's book, that his * Visit to the Monasteries
of the Levant* might have h:id the desired etTect. We must
own, however, that in this reqicct we have been disappointed,
ahhough his volume is cleverly writtcii, and very interesting
to the general reader.

Mr. Curzon^s sole object in visiting the religious houses
of the Levant, was to procure any ancient MSS. which their
libraries might contain ; to gain this end he did not disdain
very discreditable mc;\ne, even to the extent of wduit in England
would be called drugging the wine of his guests; and he was too
much absorbed in the pursuit, to use bis own phrase, of his
* venerable game,' to find leisure for investigating into the
state of the Greek Church, or for correcting even those misap-
prehensions respecting her which he entertained in common with
most of his countrymen. Thus the advantages afforded him for
ascertaining the truth of her position were neutralized by the
bias his opinions had already received, although the gay ad-
venturous spirit wiiich renders the account of his travels so
nirmsing, often placed him in scenes of great interest and novelty.

I 2

116

The Chmrh in Greece^

It If, hijwevcr, with much regret tiiiit \vc are compelled
to notice in Mr. Cuizoii's book, something beyond mere indif-
ference towards the Eastern Church — ^there is a certain tone
of levity in his remarks, and an occasional disposition to treat her
with ridicule and contempt, which is c^ilcnlated to have a very
prejudicial effect. One of the great evils of the present age, whicli
we have reason deeply to deplore, ia the reckless spirit of contempt,
the thoughtless profanity with which many Lngliish travellers
are wont to write and speak of foreign Churches. Most often
profoundly ignorant of the nature of the things at which they
acoff, they scruple not to brand with ridicule the living branches
of Christ's Church, forgetting that they cannot aim a blow
at one portion of the Body without the sliock being felt
throughout the whole* It is this fatal tendency which daily
widens the rent in the searalesi? garment of the Lord, and places
ever further from us that distant vision of the blessed unity
tor which lie prayed in His hour of agony. But results yet
darker spring from it, for it does most surely pa%'e the way
for the scepticism which ia advancing on us from every side.
When these per8ons hold up to scorn and contempt the doc-
trine and practice of those who profess the Faith from the
8ame source that we do in our own communion, they think not
how, in the minds of others, they may shake the very foundations
of the truth itself. They may not design to mock at any, but such
matters as they themselves deem incredible or inexpedient; but
those who are led by them to scepticism on minor points, may
not be disposed to stop short where they do. We have seen in
revolutionary France, and elsewhere, that there is nothing too
Sficred or too awful to be exempt from human profanation when
once an opening has been given to the course of unbelief; and
though we doubt not that our countrymen are often wholly
unaware of the evil etFects of their own words, it ia yet cer-
tain that by all such levity, and scoffing at practices which
other men deem holy, they are but hewing down the barriers
before the feet of those, who are ever so ready to rush in where
angels fear to tread. We should be very sorry to assert that
Mr. Curzon^s pleasant book will produce such results as these ;
but, at least, we must lament in it the total absence of that
veiy different spirit with which we conceive it to be the
bounden duty of all men to treat of the Churches in other lands.
We would have them ever go there only in all brotherly^ love
and sympathy, ir^e from prejudice^ and treading cautiously, as
on holy ground, desiring earnestly to draw closer the bonds of the
fellowship which unite us, viewing with reverence and gratitude
the tnices of the Divine Founder*s Hand, and wherever they
may be discerned, and noting, if need be, the stains which the

The Church m Greece.

117

dust of centuries may have gathiired on them, gently and ten-
derly, a8 we would think of a brothers failings.

We have said, however, that u hi^rher unJ more correct
view of the Aj[K)atolic Church uf the East may be gained from
a simple account of her system as it work;* in the present day ;
and we !?hall find much to corroborate thia statement in the
actual facta vvliich Mr. Curzon witnej?ded.

The first part of liie volume gives the narrative of his journey
through Egypt and Syria, It is full of interesting information
respecting the Cojjtic and Syriac Churchea, and it affords, also,
a valuable testimony to one liict we are tuo apt to overlook, —
that in many a spot unknown to the worki, in the desert
and in the mountain solitude, Christian devotion abides and
flourishes, ujjheld hy no human care, and adorned with many
of those earlier graces of her iirst purity which she haa well-
nigh lost in lands more busy and tumultuous. The following
account of Mr, Curzon's meeting with the Abyssinian monks at
the Coptic monastery of Souriani, which is situated in the
desert of Nitiia, gives us a striking instance of this fuct^ though
we cannot but regret that it is written in such a style as to
throw a shade of ridicule over the self-devotion, which, under
any circumstances, must claim our highest respect,

♦ While we had been standing on the top of the steps, I heard from time
to time some iDconipreheusible sounds^ which seemed to arise from among
ihe ^een branches of the pulms and fig trees in a eormir of the garden at
our teet, ** Whnt^" said I to a bearded Copt, who was seated on the steps,
" is that strange howling noise which I hear among the treea ? 1 have heard
it several timea when the ruHthng of the wind among the branches haa died
away for a moment, ft sounds something like a chant, or a dism:*! moan-
ing song; only it is diflerent in its cadence from anything that I have heard
before." "That voice," repUed the monk, " is the sound of the service of
the church, which m being chanted by the Abyssinian monks. Come down
the ateps, and I will ahovv you their chapel and their library. The roonas'
tery which they frequented in this desert has fallen to decay; and they now
live here, their numberH being recruited occasionally by pilgrims on their
•way from Abyssinia to Jerusalem, some of whom pass by each year; not
many now, to be sure, but atill fewer return to their own land." Giving up
my precious manuscripts to the gimrdianahip of my servants, and desiring
them to put them down earelully in my cellj 1 accompanied my Coptic
friend into the garden^^ and turning round Home huaheSj we immediately
encountered one of the Abyssinian monks walking with a book in his
hand under the shade of the trees. Presently we saw three or four more ;
and very remarkable looking persons they were. Thcae holy brethren
were aa black as crows ; tall, thin, ascetic hjoking men, of a most original
aspect and costume, I have seen the natives of many strange nations^
both before and since, hut I do not know that 1 ever met with so singular
a set of men, so completely the types ol' another age, and of a state of
things so opposite to European, as' thc-se Abyssinian ereniitcrt. Tliey were
black, as 1 have already said, which is not the usual complexion of the
natives of Habesh, and ihey were all clothed in tunics of wash-leather,
madej tbey told rac» of gazelle skins. Tbij* garment came down to their

118

The Charch in Gre^e.

knees, aud iras confined round their waist with a ieaibern girdle. Over
their shoulders tliey had a strap supporting a cnse, like a cartridge-box, of
thick brov( n leather, coutaiiiini^ a manuscript book ; and above this they
wore a large shapeless cloak, or toga, of the Bam© light yellow wasli-leather
as the timic \ I do not think that they wore any thmg on the head, but
this I do not dii^liiictly remember. Their legs \vere bura, and they had no
other clothing, if I may except a profuse smearing of grwiae, for they had
anointed themselves in the most lavish manner^ not with oil of |;ladneas, but
with that of castor, which however had by no means the effect of giving
thera a cheerful countenance \ for, although they looked exceedingly stt^
pery and greasy, they seemed to he an austere and dismal set of fanatics,
true disciples of the great Macariun, the founder of these secluded monas-
teries, and excellentlv calculated to fisrurc in that grim chorus of his inven-
tion, or at least whicli is called after his name, '* La danse Macabre," known
to us by the appellatiou of " Dance of Death.'* They seemed to be men
who fasted much, and feasted little ; great observers were they of vigils,
of penance, of pilgrimages, and midnight masses ; eaters of bitter herbs for
conscience sake." — P. 93,

Many of the cuatoms of the early Christtan Church, as well
as its peculiaritiea of architecture, are Btill palpably evident io
the Coptic monasteries. It is singular that Mr. Curzon*a de-
scription of one of tlieir most ancient churches— a huihlinpf half
catacomb, Iialf cave — is in most respects strikingly similar to
the Greek chapels of the present day ; his account of the great
Coptic establishment called the White 'Monastery has some
interesting details.

* The peculiarity of this monastery is, that the interior was once a magni-
ficent basilica, while the exterior %vas built by the Empress Heleoa, in the
ancieDt E«jyptian style. The walls slope inwards tuwards the summit,
where they are crowned with a deep overhanging cornice. The building iu
of an oblong shape, about two hundred feet in length by ninety wide, very
well biiilti of line blocks of Btone ; it has no windows outside larger than
loopholes, and thcae are at a great height from the nrromid. Of these there
are twenty on the south aide, and nine at the east end, The monastery
stands at the foot of the hill, on the edge of the Libyan desert, where the
sand encroaches on the p1ain« It looks like the sanctuary, or cella, of an
ancient temple, and is not unlike the bastion of an old fortification ; except
one solitary doomed tree, it stands quite alone, and has a most desolate
aspect, backed, as it is^ by the desert, and without any appearance of a
garden, either within or outside its walls. The ancient doorway of red
^anite ou the south side has been partially closed up, Icaung an opening
just large enough to admit one person at a time.

' The door was closed, and we shouted in vain for admittance. We then
tried the effect of a double knock, in the Grosvenor-square style, with a
large atone, but that was of no use \ so [ got one still larger, and banged
away at the door with all ray might, shouting at the same time that we
were friends and Christians. After some minutcsi a small voice was heard
inside, and several questions being satisfactorily answered, we were let in
by a monk ; and^ passing through the narrow door, I found myself sur*
rounded by piles of ruined buildings of various ages, among which the tall
granite columns of the ancient church reared themselveSf like an avenue on
cither side of the desecrated nave, which is now open to the sky, and is
used ns a promenade for a host of chickens. Some goats also were perched

The Church in Greece.

119

iipou ffa^inents of ruined w&Ilat, and looked cuiiningly at iia as ue iitvadcd
their domaia. I saw some Coptic women peeping at me from ihe windoWM
of iome wretcbed liovels of mud and brick, which they Imd bMdt up in
tfOmerti among the ancient ruhus, like svvuilowa' nests.

• There were but three poor priests. The principal one led us io the upper
part of the church, which had lately been repHired and walled olT from the
open nave, and eiichiscd the apsis and transepts, which hud been restored
in some measure, and lilted for the pertormance of Divine Bcrvice. The
half domes of the apsis and two traneepis, which were of welUbiult ma-
sonry, were still entire, and the original Ircscoea remain upon them. Those
in the transepli* are stiff fig;ures of saints ; and in the one over the altar is
the gre^t fi«5ure of the Redeemer, such ay is usvmlly met with in the mosaics
of Jtalian basilicas. These apsides are above fifty feet from the ground,
which gives them a dignity of appearance, and leaves greater cause to
regret the destruction of the nave, which, with its clerestory, must have
been still higher. Fbcre appear to have been fifteen columns on ench side
of the centre aisle, and two at the end opposite the altar, which in this
instance, I believe, is at the west end. The roof over the part of the east
end which has been fitted tip as a church, is supported by four square
modern piers of plastered brick or rubble work. Ou the nide walls, above
the altar, there are some circular compartments containing paintings of the
saints ; and near these are two tablets with inscriptions in black on a white
ground. 7'hat on the left appeared to be in Abyssinian ; the one on the
other side was either Coptic or uncial Greek j but it was too dark, and
the tablet was too high, to enable me to make it out. There is also a long
Greek inscription in red letters on one of the modern square piers, which
looks as if it was of considerable antiquity ; and the whole interior of the
budding bears traces of having been repaired and altered, more than once,
in ancient times. The richly ornamented recesses of the three apsides have
been smeared over with piaster, on which aorae tremendously grim saints
have been portrayed, whose present threadbare appearance shows that
they have disfigured the walla for several centuries. Some comparatively
modern capitals, of bad design, have been placed upon two or three of the
granite columns of the nave; and others, which were broken, have been
patched with brick, plastered and painted to look like granite,

• The principal entrance was formerly at the west end, where there is a
small vestibule, immediately within the door of i,vhich, on tlio left hand, is
a small chapel, perhaps the baptistery, about twenty-five feet long, and still
in tolerable preservation. It is a splendid specimen of the richest Roman
architecture of the latter empire, and is truly an imperial little room.

• The arched ceiling is of atone; and there are three beautifully orna-
mented niches on each side. The upper end is scmtcircular, and has been
entirely covered vvith a profuaiMn of sculpture in panels, cornices, and evejry
kind of architectural enrichment. When it was entire, and covered with
gilding, painting, or mosaic, it must have been most gorgeous. The altar
on such a chapel as this was probably of gold, set full of gems ; or il' it was
the baptistery, as I suppose, it most likely contained a nath, of the most
precious jasper, or of sunie of the more rare kinds of marble^ f*ir the im-
mersion <»f the converted heathen, wiiosc entrance into the church was not
permitted until they had been pm-ilied with the waters of baptism, in a build-
ing without the door of the house of God— an appropriate custom, which
wa-s not broken in upon for ages; imd even then the infant was only
brought jast inside the door, where the font was placed on the left hand of
the entrance— a judicious pnutice, which is completely set ni non-jht in
England, where the stjualling imp oltcn distracts the attention of the con-
grcgation* and i:* finally sprlidvled, instead of being immersed; tlie whole

120

The Church in Greece,

ceremony liaviog been so much altcrcti and pared do\vu from its original
symbolic form, that, wctl- a CbriHtian of the early ages to return upon the
earth, he would be nimble to reco^iae its meaning. '~F. 131.

The concluding remarks in this passage are much to the pur-
pose. We believe that even in the present day the Eastern
Church may he shown to maintain many of these primitive
cuatams with a singular accuracy. Unforttmately, Mr, Curzon
gives UB very few details on the subject in the aecount of his
journey through Egypt and S)?ria, and we shall therefore pass
on to the hiatory of his visit to continental Greece, and to the
tiywu opo?, the Holy Mountain of Athos, which seema to stand
alone in tlie world as a special monument to the power of that
faith which, with its strong and sweet persuasionj can draw
men away from all the joys of life, when most the ardour of
youth and hope would make them seem alluring, and constrain
them to abide in a salitudcj where no human ties can chain
back their hearte from heaven* We must fin^t, however, notice
what a])pears to us a mistake of Mr. Curzon's, respecting the
Greek quietists, of whom he gives some account when describing
his visit to the monastery of S. Sabba.

• It wjifi in one rd" the caves in these rocks tliat the renowned S, Sabba
passed bis time in the society of a pet lion, He was a famou;) anchiirite,
And was made chief of all the monks of Fale^itLue by SaUostius, Fiitriarch of
Jerusalem, about the year 490. He was tvTice arabusaador to Conatanti-
nople, to propitiate the Emperors Anastaaius the Sibut and JiistiniAn;
moreoveTf he made a vow never to eat apples as long as he lived. He waa
born at Mutalasca, near Ceaarea of Cappadocia, in 439, and died in 332, in
the ninety-fillli year of bis n^e ; lie is still held in high veneration by the
Greek and Ijfttin Ghurchea. He was the founder of the Laurai which was
formerly situated among the clefts and crevices of these rocks, the prcactit
monastery havins been enclosed and fortified, at I do not know what period,
but \un^ ailer the deceaaeof the waiut. The word Laura, which is oilen
met with in the histories of the first five centurieu after Christ, sigiiifies,
when appUed lo monastic instituiiona, a number of separate ceHs, each
inhabited by a sin«;le hermit or anchorite, in contradiatitiction to a convent
or monaster^j which was called aCGenobium, where the monka lived together
in one buiidmg, under the rule of a superior-

* This species of monasttcism seems ahvaya to have been a peculiar cha-
racteristic of the Greek Church ; and in the present dav, these ascetic
observances are upheld only by the Greek, Coptic, and Atvasinian Chris-
tians, among whom hermits and quietiats, such as waste the body for the
improvement of the soul, are still to he met with in the cicHs of the rocks,
and in the desert places of Asia and Africa.

* They are a sort of dissenters, as regards their own church ; for, by the
mortiflcations to which they subject themselves, they rebuke the regular
pnesthood, who do not go so far, althou;^h these latter fuiit in the year
above one hundred days, and always rise lo midnight prayer. In the dis-
sent, if such it be, of these monks of the desert, there is a dignity and self-
denjring firmness mwch to be respected. They follow the tenets of their
faith, and the ordinances of their religion, in a manner which is almost
sublime.

• They arc in this respect the very opposite to European Dissenters, who

The Church in Greece.

121

are as undignified aa they are generally stiug and cosy in their mode uf life.
Here, among tlie foUowers of S. Anthony, there are no mock lieroics, no
turning up of the whites of the eyes, and drawing down of the corners of
the mouth ; they form their rule of life from the ascetic writinga of the ejirly
fathers of the Church ; their self-denial isj extreme ; their devotion heroic ;
but yet to our eyes it appeitrs puerile and irr^iUonaL that mm should give
up their whole Uvea to a routine of observances uhichj although they are
hard and stem, are yet so trivial that they app&ir almost ridiculous.'
—P. 20<J,

We are glad to read even tbis partial tribute of admiration to
these devoted men, but we are certain that Mr, Curzon is mis-
taken in applying to tliem the term of Dissenters ; he h pro-
bably not aware of the great didtiuetion between the two classes
of clergy in the Greek Churcli, — tlje monastic bodies and the
working priests; the latter are not expected to live, in any
reapect, bj the same severity of rule which is enjoined upon the
former. Under all circumstances, it seems quite anomalous
to euppoee that an extraordinary sanctity exhibited by an
individual within the pale of the Church, should be qualified as
dissent: and certainly, with regard to the quietists and other
ascetics, it serves, ou the contrary, only to i>hiee them very high
in the estimation of their brethren, and to entitle them to the
most sacred and difficult offices.

Before we proceed further to extract from Mr. Curzon's
book such pa&sages as bear more directly on the Church of
Greece, we would now endeavour, by a few details of her prac-
tical working, to elucidate somewhat the truth of her actual
condition at the present time.

There is one primary fact concerning her which must not
lightly be overlooked — it is the glorious testimony which she
can offer to the abundant fuliihjient of the great promise once
made to the Church of Christ ; for there has been in her,
throughout ages of unparalleled trial and suffering, a constant
manifestation of that xVbiding Presence, without which she
never could have survived, living and triumphant, to appear
before us this day, as a witness to His love and truth. Let it
be remembered that, from a period so remote as that which
preceded the triumph of the Venetian Republic in tlic East,
until within the last few years, this Church has been exposed to
the blighting influence of the Mahomeilan faith ; the darkness of
that debasing and yet seductive creed has been around and
within her, seeking by every conceivable means to extinguish
the light of truth, of which she was the guardian— by persecu-
tion, and by the puwer <if a hopeless slavery — by the fire and
the aword~-by the temptation of ease and luxury— -by the
licensed gratification of human passions, which renders the
Moslem superstition fio dear to human coi'ru[*tion— by alt these

The Church in Greece*

waa slie long and sorely tried ; but still, amid Iilt many
etruggles^amid the convulsions of contending powers^ whea
Turks and Venetians fought for every inch oi' tJie huid where
the feet of Apostlea had trodden — during the hist hundred yeara
of unbroken and paralysing subjection to the Turkish rule, after
the Venetians had been expelled from tbe Ottoman empire —
still ahe has kept the faith once committed to her, with her
fluccesiiion inviolate and her ritual tinclianged. Through gloom
and tempest, century after century , the Greek Church has aent
in her liarveBt of soids to t}ie garner liouisc of the Lord—not a
few entering therein to receive a martyrs crown ; the voice of
her prayer and praise has gone up to heaven eclu/mg back the
very words of our elder brethren in tlie faith — S. Chrysostom,
S. Janiee, and many others. Twenty years have seen her at
length the authorized Church of a Christian land, and if she has
not come out of her great tribulation with garments altogether
unsoiled, there is yet muc!i in her primitive temper — in the
dcvotedncss of her priests — in the Bimi>le faith and obedience of
her people, and in many of her beautiful and touching ceremo-
niea> which betrays the impress of apostolic times.

The Church in Greece is altogether independent of the
Patriarch of Constantinople ; it is governed solely by the Holy
Synods formed by seven Archbishops, one of whom, generally
the Archbishop ol* Attica, is president. The Bishops arc ex-
tremely numerous, each having their separate diocese, where
they hold a complete authority over all the priests within their
spiritual jurisdiction ; whilst these, in their turn, have uncon-
trolled influence among the people comniitted to their charge.
The bishops arc elected by the Synod, the civil power having
no share in the ai)pointmcnt; they must be single men, or at
the least widowers, whereas the parish priests are all, without
exception, married. There is a thii'd class, entitled the irvev^a-
Titcoly or 'spiritual,* who have alone the privilege of being con-
fessors ; these are specially appointed by tiie Bishop, who, before
granting them a licence, never fails to make the most rigorous
investigation into their life and conversation. They are almost
invariably chosen from the monajstic bodies, but of late this rule
has of necessity been infringed in some degree, as the members
of the brotherhoods have been greatly diminished by the legal
prohibition against the admittance of any new members into
the smaller monasteries.

It is only within the last few years that a university has
for the first time been established in Athens; before that
period there was no other means whatever provided for the
education of the priests, even of the Ingiicst rank, but tbe oinii-
nary village schools, and such casual opportunities of acfjuiring

The CAurcU in Grsece,

123

^B koowledge ai5 their own desire of improvement tiiight lead them
^■to seek. The institution of this new college is of too reeent
^■date to have wrought any change on the Greek priesthood of
^■the present day, although, doubtles?, its influence will be felt by
^B their successors. We musL treat more of tlteir past history than
^Bof their future prospects in judging of their prej^ent condition ;
^" «nd we arcj tlierefore, ready to admit the charge of ignorance
which has been brought against them. At the same time the

I state of poverty and oppression under which they have su long
yeaned, and their distance from the European held of science
luid study, considerably exphun and excuse this defect ; and
where lliere is a valid excuse ibr want of learaing, we may
readily believe that a Himple ikith is permitted in the scheme of
providence to supply its place. Hie Greek priesthood raot iSmr
telief with simple trust on the Creeds, the bulwarks of the
Christian faith, and on the teaching of their Church as eon-
Teyed to them through tlic canons and liturgical books. Nor
do tJiey only, with childlike submission, hear and obey her
voice in the weightier matters of doctrine, but also in the
most minute details of her enjoined observances. They know
nothing of that strange anomaly which would permit them to
accept her instruction as a divinely-appointed guide on certain
points and reject it in other8,^to follow her commands so far as
they agree with their own views ami inclination, and systema-
tically neglect them whenever they clash with their self-ibrmeil
ideas. They have not mtellectual skill to sift and examine into
the minutiie of her various instructions, in order tliat they may
^^ determine whether Kome points in her doctrine be not erro-
^H neous, or some observances in her practice inexpedient and
^m Buperfluous. If in certain things she be to them a true teacher,
^P worthy of reverence and submission, they hold that she must be
" 60 in all ; they receive her teaching, not in part only, but as a
I whole, and, giving themselves up to her guidance imreservedly,
^B they yield her an active and imphoit obedience even in the
^m most trifling particulars.

I These remarks? apply C(pmlly to the Laity as to the Clergy.

We would not pretend to say that the former do not often dis-
play much laxity in their appreciation of Church privileges, and
that individual unworthiness is not sometimes to be found
i amongst the latter; hut with respect to the actual disciphne ui"
K the Church, it is an undoubted fact that, hovvevcr nmch a priest
V might wish to shrink from the lieavy duties laid upon hini, it
is a thing unheard of that any should dare to omit or alter one
iota of her enjoine<l observances.

There is another striking peculiarity in the Greek Church
which is an inestimable blessing to both priests and people. It

124

The Church in Gresee.

consists in tbe I'act that it is their iu violate practice to take the
MCtual worda in which their Church's teaching w conveyed to
them quite literally, never stopping t?!iort of their full meaning—
never goinfT heyond it — not reasoning on them — not attempting
to analyze them— not seeking to give them a different interpre-
tation from that palpably evident. The result of this strict
adherence to the letter of their instruction is especially re-
markable as regards the Holy Sacraments; the various words
which assign to them their distinct value and importance are
taken in their plain and literal sense by each and all ; thus it
cannot be with thera ns we see it elsewhere, that the same ex-
pression should convey to one person the idea of an empty sign
or symhul, and to another the belief in an awful and mysterious
conveyance of grace ; for instance, %vhen the priest administers
the sacred elements to the communicant, he uses no other words
than these: * This is My Body,'—' This is My Blood,' and as
such the celebrant gives them and the recipient receives them,
but in her practical teaching no attempt is made to penetrate
or define the mystery. In like maimer, in res^pect to the
clause Filfogue in the Creed, which caused the separation be-
tween the Eastern and Western Churches, the members of the
Greek communion do 7iot make any dogmatic assertion on this
subtle point of doctrine,— they simply declare that it is an inter-
polation on the Creed, and therefore not to be accepted by them,
—they do not pronounce as to whether the actual getise of the
addition and the doctrine it involves is or is not to be rejected;
but they refuse to receive 7Hot*e than their Churcli originally
taught them.

To this conscientious acceptance of her simple statementa
we believe may be traced the origin of the remarkable obedience
and reverence manifested by the members of the Greek Church
to their Clergy, They are taught by the ' Holy Catechism
or Orthodox Instniction,' that Christ hath delivered over
seven sacraments to His Apostles ; viz. Bapti^^m, the Holy
Myrrh,' the Holy Communion, the Repentance, (Le, al>golntion
of the penitent^) Extreme Unction, Ordination, and Marriage.
Of these. Baptism and the Lord's Sujiper arc termed ra cvq
tcupia Koi k^aiptra fivimrfpia ; and in treating of them separately,
it is added, tovto to fivarrjpioif Sierd^dBt} vw avrou rov Z&jrjjpo?;
but the remaining fivQ are not the less explicitly stated to be
sacramental means of grace ; consequently, in the sacrament of
Ordination, when, according to the form of the Greek ritual, tlie
Bishop says: * Let u8 pray that the Holy Ghost may descend

' The Catechism proceeds to explaiu the Holj Myrdi na l)cing * the ceremony
of auointing, by which the bjiptiitcd persona receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit.*

The Church in Greece^

125

upon him,' ihey believe that through the laying on of hands,
as the eaoie Catechifijii proceeck to i?ay, the awful hiessing does
in fact deseend, and the priest hecomes a mfiii set aj>art, con-
secrated by Divine authority and power to be their spiritual
guide in all things. Therefore do they obey him with reverence
and humility ; for this cause they wait on the threshold of the
church till he appears, that they may bow down to kiss his hand,
and ask for hirf benediction as a good thing gresitly to be longed
for; for this, when lie comes into their liouse, they hapten to
place l>efore him of their best, as for their most honoured guest,
and never fail to pray him at lea.^t on the first day of every
month to visit their dwellings and bless them, that if the Son of
Peace be there His peace may rest upon it; still more for this
cause when they make to him their humble cimfcssion of past
miedoingis, they believe that if He who tries the reins and the
heart can indeed discern in themselves a deep and true re}>ent-
ance — -so surely as their sins arc remitted to them on eartli by
Jlis servant's hands, they shall be reu^itted to tliem in heaven.

The self-denial and frugality displayed in the livci* of the
Greek priesthood wonld, we believe^ be scarcely credited in this
country if fully known; — tlie asceticism, the total abstinence
from the luxuries of life, whicli elsewhere are counted ta^ the
evidence of peculiar sanctity, by them are practised habitually,
in the most unostentatious manner, as duties of an ordinary
nature. Poverty is not necessarily abstemious or self-denying;
and therefore these good qualities should be mentioned though
they are in a measure the fruit of circnmatances, which have
saved them from the great peril of riches ; in practical illustra-
tion of which we may mention that the salary of the Archbishop
of Attica i**j if we remember rightly, about 120/. per annum.
Government has taken possession of all ecclesiastical property,
and awards a very small salary to the Bishops only ; the other
priests receive no payment excepting the very trifling offer-
ings matle at baptisms atid weddings. Thus, even the highest
dignitaries, the members of the Holy Synod, live with a humble
simplicity, far removed from the world's pomp and pleasure, which
must have many points of resemblance with the holy lives of the
early Fathers of the Church. Although it is amongst these
that are to be found various exceptions to the almost invariable
ignorance of which we have spoken, and some of them are noted
for deep research and learning,, they yet never seek to raise their
condition above that ot" the poorest around them;— they are
generally men single of purpose, lowly in heart ; their dwellings
are very humble, their attendants few ; day by tluy they pursue
their quiet round of duty — preventing the morning watclies at
the altar, where the daily lu-ayer and praise are offered up, —

126

The Church in Gresee.

•2foitig; on foot from house to house where the sick or sorrowful
hnjilorc tlietr presence, and retitrriinf^ ttt the church at night- fall
to repent their solemn act of worship before they betake them
to tlieir needful rest, — ^living all the while with an ahetemious-
ne83 which would eeem to characterise their whole lives as one
loner fast, hut for the contract with their severity of abstinence
at the appointed seasons of humiliation ; and yet, with all their
simplicity of habits, there is a peculiar calm and dignity in the
rajinnera and appearance of these men which is very atrikinrf :
they never sectn to forget their prie?!tly chiiracter and responsi-
bility, even as they never, on any occasion whatever, lay aside
the priestly robes ; they are always to be seen with the dark
flowing garment:^, high cap, and black crape veil, which from
time immemorial hnve been their appointed coistume, moving
along with an aspect of unworldly repose, which seems involun-
tarily to command respect from alL They seldom, if ever, uj^e
the customary fonns of pahitation, hut silently offer tlieir hand
to receive the reverential kiss, or bestow their dearly-prized
blessing in return for any act of courtesy ; nor does their low-
liness of mind and practical humility ever cause them to forget
the great autivority committed to tliem^ which they sometimes
exercise with a wholesome severity and an uncompromising
determination. We may give, as an Instance of this, a striking
t*xamplc nf rhiuTb-discipline wliich occurred some time since.

There was a certain priest, named Kait'es, a man of remark-
able talent and great intellectual powers, — energetic* ambitious,
and full of the most zealous patriotism; self-taught, be hiud
availed himself of all such opportimities of acquiring knowledge
as Greece could afford him, until he had in fact become one of
the most learned amongst his countrymen; hut bis earnest and
aspiring mind was not easily contented; he longed for yet higher
attainments, and still more for the means of conferring such
Bignal benefit,^ upon his country as should cause his name to be
held in honour of succeeding generations. lie made bis way to
Europe with the two-fold design of increasing his stock of know-
ledge to the uttcrmo.^t, and of obtaining pecuniary assistance in
aid of a scheme which had become the object of his life. It was
to found in Greece an extensive college* of wbicfi he was to be
the sole director and principal instnictor. It seems clear, that
at this time KaTres was actnnted in no degree by a pure desire
for his Masters glory, but more probably only by an unholy
ambition to win for himself a crown of earthly fame, which will
readily account for his swift yieltling to the temptation which
shortly overtouk biin. In liis unbounded zeal for knowledge of
all kinds be seems to have cared little from what poisoned source
it came to him, antl he gradually imbibed tliosc fatal Rational-

Tha Church in Greeca,

127

Utic c>|)ini«m8 wlik!li threw so tearful a bll^lit over Western
KnrojH'. It was mv doubt his arro*(aucti of intt^Ucrt aiul pre-
8unjpUious iitteiDpt at jiHlcpentlence of iiihid^ whioh soon led
him OH to a cotnplcte nvcrthruw of the faith; but wJuitever
might have been his previoiLs opinion?, it is certain that Kairea
returned to Greece a confirmed Deist.

He concealed his real views, however, and continued to hold
his place as a priest in the Church; for he had returned from
Europe with a 3ura raised by Subscription wbieh was 8ul!ident,
when increased by hi** own litlle fortune, for the execution of
his great scheme. It was j?peedily carried into cilbct ; he opened
hiis college, and aa he was believed to be a man, not only of va^t
learning, but of great piety, pupils were sent to bim from all
partB of the country. Nothing could exceed the admirable w ia-
dom and judgment which guided him in the arrangement of this
institution; his sclioola were a model of order; the instruction,
so far as regarded secular knowledge, was first-rate, and his
college very soon becauie a ttmiridhing establishment, where the
education of a vast number of young men was ably ooridueted.
This had continued, however, but a very tiboi't time when strange
rumours began to gain ground respecting Kaires's oi>iuions : he
was said to be a propagator of Ariafiism ; finally, it was asserted
that he actually tanglif Deism in his echool;!. No sooner was
this susjjected than, withmit delay or circumlocution, lie was
summoned to a[i[jcar before the Holy Synod to answer to the
charge brought against him.

The scene of Ka'ires's trial in the ecclesiastical court is said to
have been veiy remarkable. The six Archbishops, of whom at
that time the Synod was com poised, were in no way remarkable
for learning, but in all probability much tlie contrary, although
Bome were, we believe, noted for holiness of lile. They were
Bged men, simple and unpretending in epeech and nianne]\
Tidiil-^t the accused, who stood before tliem, was not only well
known as a man pre-eminent in their country for knowledge and
talent, but he \\ti6 celebrated most especially for hi.? extraordi-
nary eloquence* He was told plainly the charge which had been
made against hitn. He answered with a powertul and beautiful
address, in which we believe he detailed, in glow^ing language,
the rise and progress of his institution, the wonderful effects
which ha<l already been produce<l, and tlic sure prospects he now
had of retidering a lasting blej*sing to their dear country, to
which end he had devoted his life and energies as well as his
worldly goods. The Synod heard him without comment, and
when he bad concluded they simply desired him to repeat the
Creed— (of course as a distinct act of faith), Kaires eva<lcd the
order, and again addressing them, implored of tlicm, if we

128

The Church in Greece.

remember correctly, not for any peculiarity of doctrine, or shade
of opimon, to impede a scheme >vhich might prove the glory of
regenerate Greece, and be the means of her ultimate restoration
totlie hiorh place she once held in the .scale (>f nations. He spoke
long, and eloquently ; they heard him patiently ; but, when he
paused, they repeated their former command in the Belf-same
words. He was tlien forced to answer that his conscience refused
to let him utter that declaration of a faith which he did not
hold. At once, although the room was crowded with those who
had well nigh idolized liira for his active patriotism and brilliant
genius, although serious tumults might be expected from his
disappointed pupils, the Holy Synod commanded KaVres, then
and tlicre, to strip himself of those priestly robes which, as he
was not a Christian, he coidd no longer be permitted to wear —
they were the tokens of the holy office from which he was hence-
forth expelled, Kaires refused, as by so doing he must have
resigned hi oj self to give up the institution from which lie hoped
80 much— none but a priest being permitted to take the direc-
tion of any school or college. On his refusal the Synod proceeded,
without delay, to sentence hioi to imprisonment — ^an order
which was instantly put in execution ; and he was kept in close
confinement until the sanction of the civil power had been
received for his further condemnation to perpetual exile. The
schools were of course abolished, and the progress of the fatal
error he was disseminating effectually stopped.

We have spoken much of the obedient habit of faith y if we
may use the term, so remarkable in the Greek Church; but we
would not be supposed to assert that she has altogetlier escaped
the taint of that modern scepticism wdiich is ruining the souls
nf 80 many baptized members of other branches of the Church.
There has been too much of intercourse with young Fi'nnce and
revolutionary Italy for her to pass unscathed in this respect ;
but the evil is confined to a certain class only — chiefly to young
men who have been educated in Europe, and even these have
sufficient reverence for the Church of their fathers to abstain
from bringing their opinions very prominently forwaixl ; while
certainly of the great mass of the population we may confidently
assert that they do, as obedient children, fullow the form of
sound words once delivered to them.

From what we have now stated respecting the unvarying
obedience of priests and people to their Church, it will be readily
understowi that her practical syBteni must everywhere be the
same, and when we have given some idea of her discipline and
observances as displayed in a country parish, we shall have con-
veyed such information as may equally be applied to other
localities, and to the higher grades of society.

The Church m Greee^f,

129

In this 11W6 of (krce unrest anil intellectual strife, when eiicli
unholy wisdom and so many subtle ci'rurs ;ire striving for llie
maatery, tliere are 6j>ecial chiu'ms wliich btloiig to u quiet
Greek village^ deep buried among tlu:>se lofty mojjn tains which
enclose it m a peaceful fiolitudc. Tlie simple aud intelligent
people are altogether cut oft" from sceuljij- knowlcdge—tliey
know nothing of the arts and gcienccs— of the mighty works
of mail 'g invention, the dLviee^ of Imman intellect ; there are
no influences from witlioiit to tell them of the evils that are in
the world— of the errwiJ and eoiitruversy> tlic deep questions
fitirring the minds of many to very nmdnese— they have but one
teacher for things temporal and eternaJ, their own unchanging
Chureli. Tlieir prieat, like themselves, lias probahJy never gone
beyond hie native village; lie is the successor of Jiitu who lasi
held that sacred and responsible office, and who has been his
guide and instructor in all things pertaining to the fuillu Chosen
by his predecessor, almost in infancy, for the position of neo-
jjhyte, he has been taught by him all that the Church would
imve him to know; he lia;3 learnt to repeat the canons and
formnlariee by heart, and to read the Scrijitures witli at least
BuflScient case to enable him to deci|iher the lessons for each
day; he has »pent his childlwod and youth ministering in the
CouTte of the Lord's house; for more tliau twenty ycara he has
gone about with his bead uncovered, however fiercely the sun
might ehine upon him, in token that he is set apart to minister
in the presence of things holy ; then at the appointed time he
has been sent on foot, or perhaps on horseback, over oiany a steep
and difficult path, to be admitted Into Holy Orders by his Bishop,
and to receive from him, if his characwtcr can Btaud the previous
cxanjination, the licence of confessor, which office, being sole
priest in the village, it is necessary he should likewise hold. He
has then returned probably to lay in tJie grave his former guide
^od master, and to take his place as spiritual fatlier of the little
flock whom he will quit no more.

Ignorant of all save that, which his Church has taught kirn,
he has sufficient knowledge for his people's wants. Of lieresy and
error, of doubt and difficulty, be knows nothing. The dogmatic
truth once given to him, he faithfully received. Faithfully as he
received it, lie gives it to theiu again, and is in all things their
Epiritual governor, counsellor, and friend. In him t'ley reverence
the authority and wisdom of the Church; to him they ever turn
for guidance. As he alone can teach of right or wrong, it is
Jittle likely tliat they should arrogate to themselves the right to
specuhite upon his conduct, or dispute bis conunands ; nor coidd
any question iu fact ever be raised by them upon the pcr-
formajxco of his duty as priest, for he can but himself follow

NO. hXV, — N. S, K

130

The Church in Greece*

implicitly the ritual onjoiiicd. They cannot so mucli as read
the Holy * Evangelia' which Dight and morning they kiss with
such deep reverence ; but he requires to give them but little
oral instruction in the truths wlii<^h tlicy well know it containsj
for by the simple medium of tbeii^ ciiBtoinary Bcrvices and
ceremonies, they are taught all that is 'fitting in doctrine and
practice ; by the very eacraments wliich convey the blessing,
they are told of its existence. From their t^olemn Burial
Service they learn the certainty of immortality to soul and
body • in the Holy Eucharist the mystery of their redemption
is made manifest ; the necessity of regeneration is shown to
them in the plunging of their children beneath the baptismal
waters, where they must die to sin, and rise anew to live in
Christ; while they are abundantly reminded that they must
repent of sin, or they ahall all likewise perish^ in their confession
find absolution. In the beautiful marriage ceremony they per-
ceive that all human ties must be sanctified by the heavenly
benediction, in order that they may become the antepast of that
unutterable communion of saints, when the whole family of
heaven and earth shall be gathered into one in Him ; and
from infancy to dt'ath, they are shown that in Him alone all
fulness dwells by many significant tokens. Long before their
infant fingers have received strength they are guided to form
the sign of the cross^ and ever afterwards tney never fail
to repeat it on all occasions : in their moments of grief or
danger, bccau.sc from Him alone cometh help; in the height of
their joy, because from Him all blessings flow; most especially
before tasting food, in remembrance that the same Hand which
dispenses to them the good things of life, once for their sakes
was pierced with the torturing nail; and ever when they lie
down in the sleep that is so like to death, or rise to the day that
may be one of sin or sorro^v. They cannot read the record of
their Lord's holy Hfe and sufferings in His written word; yet,
could any know the details of His fasting and temptation, His
bitter cross and passion, better than they do, who, after thirty-
fieven days of severest abstinence and mortification, enter on that
solenui Friday, (by them called ^ The Great,') within their
darkened church so still iind silent, though intensely crowded,
there to prristrate themselves at the l)ier which represents His
tomb, and watch beside it during the long hours of that awful
night and day, till with t!ic first nmment of Easter morning, the
sudden bursting ft»rtli <if lirjht and music^ and a multitude of
glad trininphaut vniccs, pr(»c!aims to them that He is risen, and
they shall rise again with Him?

Besides all this they daily hear the portions of the Gospel
recite<l frnm the altar, and tlnir zenl or laxitv in ohevinsr the

Tk0 Church in GreccZ

131

precepts therein enjomed, is fully laid i>iicn to the priest, and
duly noted l>y him at the period of conies^ion.

They are not devoid cither of powcHul incitements to that
self-siicrifice and devotion even to the death, which is far more
rare in lands of brighter light and deei)cr learning than among
the simple mcQibers of the Greek comnmnion ; for in their scanty
stock of Ivnowledge, conveyed to them, aa we have shown, chiefly
in signs and symbols, the histories of the niartyra and the
saints of old have a most prominent place; on the walls of their
humble cliurchcs are painted many a noble record of that
glorious constancy of faith which has well-nigh passed from
earth— the faith whose sincerity was tested in the name, whose
strength was manifeet in the torture ; and as they gaze daily on
the pictured faces of the martyred, smiling and serene in agony,
they gather unconsciously a etrange calm strength, for the per-
formance of many an act of bitter sacrifice and self-imposed toil,
which shows how Iioly a longing has stirred their childlike
spirits to follow on His steps of suffering. During the shock of
the convulsion which overthrew the Turkish dominion in Greece,
many a mart}r sold escaped unknown, iincheered by human
sympathy, from the world, where as an apostate he might have
dwelt in luxury, would he but have professed the Moslem
faitli 1 and many turned away from the intoxicating cup of this
life's pleasures, which was offered to their lips in the name of
Mahomet, and rather chose to drain the bitter draught of
death! Weak women even, young and timid, who were temjjted
with tlje promise of some luxurious home, where the loving care
and tenderness for which their nature craved should be around
them — even they, in the summer time of life, fainting and shud-
dering at the thought of violence and torture, yet offered their
breasts unliesitatingly to the piercing of the knife, and went
down to their uu timely graves in the name of Christ ! And
even now, although they need not to shed their blood for His
name's sake, the members of the Greek Church find ways and
means of oiTering up their lives in martyrdom with a simple
humility, far rcmcicd from ostentation and parade, which is very
beautiful. Independent, however, of the higher acts of devotion
which they may dioose to impftse upon tnem»elvca, the daily
routine of spiritual exercises to which they are called by the
discipline of the Church, is by no means easy of performance.

Before the rising of the sun, the bell calls then) to matins,
and it is rare indeed that any fail in their attendance — the
curing men ready to go and work for a few hours before tlie
jfl too intense — the wouru leading or carrying even the
it of their children — the agcil, who might well be
^ed to claim a ^k:\\ hours longer of rc^tose — all came

K 2

132

Th& Church in Greece.

tli rouging to tlioir open churcli, bo picturesque in its fantastic
Byzantine architecture. Mr, Curzon's description of the chapel
in the Greek monastery of Barlaam, gives so good an idea of
the interior of the Greek churches, wliich are all precisely the
BamCj that we will transcribe his own account.

' 'Hie monastery of Barlaam stands on the summit of an isolated rocl(,
on a flat, or neiirly flat space, of perhaps an acre and a half, of which about
one half is occupied hy the church and a smaller chapel, the refectory, the
kitchen, the tower of the windlass, where you are pulled up, and a num-
ber of separate buildings containing offices and habitations of tlie monks,
of whom there were at this time only fourteen* These various structures
surround one tolerably Inrge, irregularly-shaped court, the chief part of
which is paved; and there are several other small open spaces. All Greek
monasteries are built in this irregular way, and the confused mass of dis-
jointed cdificea is usually encircled by a high bare wall; but in tlua monas-
tery there is no such enclosing wall, as its position efibctually prevents the
approach of an enemy. On a portion of the flat space which is not occupied
hy buildingra, they have a small garden, but it is not cultivated, and there
is nothing like a parapet wall in any direction to prevent your falling over.
The place wears an aspect of poverty and neglect; its best days have long
gone by; for here, as everywhere else, the spirit of asccticiism is on the
wane.

* The church has a porch before the door, vapBt}^^ supported by marble
columns, the interior wall of which, on each side of the door, is painted
with representations of tJic Last Judgment, and the iorture of the con-
demned, with a liberal allowance of llames and devils. These pictures
of the torments oIl the wicked, are always placed outside the body of the
church, as typical of tlie unhappy litate of those who are out of its pale ;
they arc never seen within. The interior of this curious old church, which
ie dedicated to All Saints, has depicted on its walls on all sides, portraits of
a great many holy personaget, in the stiff, conventional, early stjie. It baa
four columns within which support the dome ; and the altar or bulv table,
ayia rpanrc^a, is separated from the nave by a wooden screen, called the
iconostasis, on which are paintings of the Blessed Virgin, the Kedcenier, and
many siunts, Tljese pictures are kissed by all who enter the church. The
iconostasis has three doors in it ; one in the centre, before the holy table,
and one on each side. The centre one is only a half-door, like an old
Enghsb buttery 'hatch, the upper part being screened by a curtain of rich
stuff, which, except on certain occasions, is drawn aside, so as to afford a
view of the book of the Gospels, in a rich binding, lying upon the holy
table beyojid. A Greek church has no sacristy ; the vestures are usually
kept in presses, in this space behind the iconostasig, iihere none but the
priests and the deacon, or servant who trims the lampR, are allowed to
enter, and they pass in and out by the side doors. The centre door is only
used in the celehration of the bofy mass. This part of the church is the
sanctuary, and is called, in Romaic, ayta Bij/ia, or 617^*0. It is typical
of the holy of holies of the temple, and the veil is represented by the cur-
tain which divides it from the rest of the church. Everything is symbolical
in the Eastern Church ; and these symbols have been in use from the very
earliest ages of Christianitj. The four columns which support the dome
represent the four Evangelists ; and the dome itself is the symbol of heaven,
to which access has been given to mankind by the glad tidings of the Gos-
pels which they wrote. Part of the mosaic with which the whole interior
of the dome was formerly covered in the cathedral of S. Sophia, at Con-
atautinople, is to be seen in the four angels below the dome, where the

The Churdh in Greece.

133

tringed figures oftlie four Evangelists stiJl remain. Luckily for tho Greek
Church their eacrecl buildings are not iinder the authority of lay church-
wardens— ^ocers in towns, and farmers in villages", — who feel it their duty
to whitewash every thing which is o!d and venerable and curious, and to
oppose the Cicrg^yman in order to show their independence,

• The Greek Church, debased as it is by ignorance and superstition, has
still the merit of carefully preserving and restoring all the memorials of its
earlier and purer nges. If the fresco painting of a saint is jobbed out or
damaged in the lapse of time, it is scrupulously repainted, exactly as it was
before* even to ihe colour of the robe, the aspect of the countenance, and
the romutest accessories of the composition. It is this systematic respect
for every thin^ which ia old and venerable, which renders the interior of the
ancient Eastern churches so peculiarly interesting. They are the unchanged
monuments of primieval days. The Christians who suffered under the per-
secution of Diocleaiau, may have knelt before the very altar which we now
see, and which wag then exactly the same as we now behold it, without
any additions or subtractions either in its form or use.' — P* 286,

, There is of course thia diflTerence between the chapel of a
.monastery and the church of a countrj^ parish — that in the latter,
.one of the aisles is appropriated to the use of the women, the
other is filled by the men, and the centre is left unoccupied;
behind the iconostasis, as Mr, Curzon observer, bo lay person
is allowed to intrude.

Whilst certain parties in En^jjland look upon it as an insup-
►portable deprivation of comfort that their cushioned and carpeted
pews should be exchanged for open benches, in the Greek
churches there are no seats whatever provided for either priest,
or people. On the stone floor, where there is no mat or carpets,
they are expected to stand and kneel, and no other posture
is so much as contcniplatcd- At all times it is required of them
that they should stand during the reading of the Gospels ; and
even on Jlaundy Thursday, when the portions appointed to be
recited occupy the time from sunset till midnight, they are not
^allowed to change their attitude, unless, as not unfrequently
Jiappens, they fall down from actual fatigue* The matin service
is extremely simple, and resembles that appointed for daily
'morniiiii nravcr by the Churcli of Eimlund; there is first the
eolemn invocation, Ayio^ o r)fo<rj evyio^ o IJYi/po^, ayio^ o
\\QdvaTo^, l\kj}aov i^fid^:. Then the Psalms and Lessons are
chanted by the pricBt in ancient Greek, which, however, so
nearly approaches to the modern Romaic, that even the most
rtinediicated can understand them ; the prayers are then said.
They are chanted with a very peculiar and inonotonous intona-
tion, the priest standiofr before the screen with his face ttirned
to the unseen altar* The prayers concluded, he brings the in-
cense in its silver censer from behind the iconostasis and offers^
it to each worshipper in turn, uttering at the same time ihi
words of the ble^ing ; he then retires, and the people silently

134

The Ckurch in Grmk

go to kias the feet and hands of the pictured gaiota. Tliis act

of simple reverence to tlie memory of tlie holy departed is

.distinctly 6tated by the Seventh Council, which authorized the

admission of pictures into their churches, to be merely the

a<77rao'/i09 or (fiiXij^ia — that is, the common tialutation or kiss

bestowed in ordinary life by one friend upon another ; but the

precise nature of thia reverential act as practised by the Greek

'Churelij is practically illustrated cixch time that the corpse of

me but newly called Irom earth is laid before the altar^ there

'to receive the last rites and the last tokens of love from those

.who can hope to hold sweet converse with him a^ain only in

the blessed communion of saints. When the burial-service on

the^e occasions has been concluded, and the holy words have

died away — when the priest for the last time has traced on the

brow and breast of him, for whom the storma of life are hushed,

"the same sig-n that in infancy was imprinted there, in token

["whence the grace and strength would be obtained to bear hira

[^through them — then the friends and relations arc desired to

i^draw near, and one by one they press upon the cold lips the

'VeXeuraEo? dfTTracr/io?, whilst each in turn addresses the corpse

I with many a loucliing and eajuest word, beseeching of him in

'the huly realms, whither he has gone, to watch and wait ti»r

them who yet must weep and struggle here. Exactly similar

to tliid toucluDg ceremony h the salutation given to the pictured

saints, bnt we will give the words of the* Orthodox Instruction'

on this point : —

* Tlxe invocation of saints is aot repu^ant to the firat commandment.
The mvocfition of God is a most profound homa«je to His DLvtfio Majesty,
and a universal trust in Him aloue. The invocation of saints is a uniting
our prayers iTith their prayers j the saints, when alive on earth, prayed for
others, and entreated others to pray for them; hcc Rom, xv. 30 ; 2 Cor. i. 1 1 ;
Phil. L 4 J and Acts xii 5 ; much more afler death when they are nearer to
Goil, united to Him, and continually enjoying Tlin presence, must they
rifeel an ardent deairc for the salvation of believers known to (tod. Such hcing
I 'the ease, what ehoukl prevent ua from itniting our prayers, that is, our
desire for our salvation, with the deaire and prayer of S. Paul for instance,
or any other saint? Now in this consists the invocation of saints, which
80 far from snpcrscdingr, im])ltes the mediation of Christ as the sure and
necessary foundation both of their pravors and ours. The greatest hononr
we can pay the aninta is to strive to imitate their lives, and like them to
pat our truat iii God alone.'

Notwithstanding much that has been asserted on this sub-
ject, it is, however, a faet, that in tlie practice of the members
of the Greek Church, they do but seldom avail themselves ot'the
licence here given to unite tlicir prajens wltli those of departed
eaints. In respect to the reverence due to the Blessed Mother
of our Lord, wham it has been declai'cd lliat they w^or?hip because
they never fail in like miuiner to bestow upon her pictuie the cus-

Jke Vkurek in Greece,

13o

tomar}' eKTrraa-fio^?, wc will also give tlie statements of the ortlio-
dox Catccbi;3m. After Bayiii*|, that * the most Holy Mary re-

* mained antl remains a virgin, before tlie birth, during the birth,

* and after the birth of the Saviour, imd is therefore called Ever

* Virgin,' it proceeds to ask, * What other great title u there

* with which the orthodox Church honours the most Holy

* Maiy?' * Answer-That of Mother of God.' * 2. What

* thoughts should we have of the exalted dignity of the most
' Holy Virgin Mary?* * A,— As mother of the Lortl, she cxeela
^ in grace and nearness to God, and so also in dignity, every

* created being.' This is the only formal in.^truction given by.
the Greek Church. At t!ie same time we are ready to admif
that many, too careless, or too ignorant to have undcratood th< ^
hidden meaning of the outward act, do in fact give an undue,
and unwarrantable interpretation to the reverence which they
are enjoined to pay to the Blessed Virgin.

At sunset the community of the country parish are again
called together for the vesper office, which is similar to that_
of the morning ; the Greek Church, however, is not satisfiec
with claiming the attendance of her people twice in the daj
to public worshlp^she abo duly regulates their private devo-?^
tions ; in the words of the * Orthodox Instruction' they arc taught
that * the duty of a Christian in private prayer is to say, at least,
' the " In the name of the Fatlier," the Lord's Prayer, the Holy

* Creed, and the Salutation of the AngeL* He is also ini-tructed
at what hour he ought to pray, and for what special benefits;
and it is remarkable how univerrfally and rigicUy these directiona
are followed, although by no means to the exclusion of spon-
taneous prayer. The great benefit of this watchful care on the
part of that Church, in the ortlering of her children's ways, may
be aptly iUustrated by the effci^ts to be perceived in this country |
from the neglect of a similar discipline. It was but the other
day that a forcible instance of it came under our notice. A person

.residing in a town in England, where there were churches and
[Schools, and every apparent means of instruction, on being asked
what form she was in the habit of using for |>rivate devotion,
answered that she had for forty years recited the same ' beautiful
prayer,' and forthwith proceeded to repeat Watts's hymn,

* How doth the little busy bee,' We believe it might be a
curious subject for investigation to ascertain how many of the

jasantiy in England limit their devotions to the old rhyme.

There are foui* corners to my bed,' &c.

Such then is the daily public and private routine appointed for
members of the Greek Church. On Sundays the Holy Com-
munion is regularly celebrated at dawn of day, and all who will
may partake of it weekly: if none present themsclveu, the

T36

7^ Church lit Cwreece*

pL-icst CQHiraunicuteaJ ftlcme, but on no occasion whatever ie tlie
^celebration uiiiitted. The people, it must be owned, are somewhat
Jax in availing theniselvcd of this great privilege, but we cannot
feci surprised that they are so, on account of the extreme severity
of the preparation required before they can be permitted to ap-
proach the Holy Mystery. The first great essential is, that they
must coniesB, and receive abtjolution; on no pretence whatever
can they partake of the Holy Eucharist without doing so. Their
catechism teaches them with respect to this sacred rite, th«t
' it is the sacrament by which lie who confesses his sins, and
' repents sincerely that he has sinned, receives Irora God lorgive-
* nessby the spiritual father/ and they especially believe thiU the
blessing eacramentally conveyed depends entirely on the reality
of faith aud repentance on the part of the recipient.

The iTvevfiartKtil or contessorij are generally monks, as we
have said ; but under any circumsJancca they arc men who
jnvaiiably devote themselves to severei* study and more ascetic
lives than the other priests, that they may fit themselves by
prayer and meditation for the difficult task of guiding the soul*
whose hidden lives arc laid bare before them. It is absolutely
necessary also that they should have attained, not only to a ripe,
but to an advanced, age, before they can assume this sacred
office. It is very rarely that they enjoin any penance on their
peof>}e, except in cases of gross violation of the laws of God and
the Church, when they generally refuse them permission to ap-
proach the Holy Communian until some stated period, when their
repentance shall have been tested; but they exercise a considerable
degree of watchfulness over the lives and conduct of those com-
mitted to their guidance, and often use a wholesome severity
towards them, in compelling them to abstain at any cost from
tilings hurtful to their spiritual welfare* Under no circum-
stances would they allow the slightest neglect of the Church'a
ordinances to pass unnoticed. It is generally considered ad-
visable that they should always rcsurt lo the same confessor;
but there is nothing to prevent either party making any change
m this respect which they may deem advisable, and there is no
confessor ever appointed in afamily. The actual ceremony is
couducted with the utmost secresy ; it is considered a subject too
sacred to be mentioned even amongst the most intimate friends
or relations. Although, as we have stated, the duty is never
omitted before the Holy Communion, yet the priest generally
enter^s and quits the liou-se unknown to all save the indiriduai
concerned. The confession takes place the day before the cele-
bration ; after it is concluded the communicant retires into com-
plete solitudct where he proceeds to recite a certain number of
prayers, which the Church positively commands to be repeated

The Church in Greece,

before communicating. They are long and futiguing^all are,
of course, «aid ^tamling^ or kneeling, and when concluded, the
communicant must not only last rigidly from all loud until the
ext day, after he han jmrtakeu of the Holy Kuch;Tri^t, but he
\%^i also abstain from speech and fruni all intercourse with hit*
family and friends, not uttering so much as the common saluta-
titui liefore retiring to rest ; they limit aUo the bourse of sluml)er
on thiis occasion, and there ia another part of their preparation
i^'hich is very beiuititul^ — knowing that they must appruacli that
solemn altar only in love and charity with all men, they go*
before commencing the prayers of which we Jiavc epoken, to all
the members of tlieir household in turn, not exrludLag the
lowest of their dependents, and re(|ucst their pardon for all
offenccis they may Imve committed against them in thought,
word, or deed, tendering at the same time their own for-
giveness for any injuriea received, and not quitting them until
they have obtained the kiss of peace in token of reconcilia-
tion. At dawn of day, fasting and etill silent, the conmuinicant
proceeds to the church ; he usually places himself at once kneel-
ing upright on the stone floor, where lie reumins, without
changing his jwsition, throughout the whole long ceremony.
It 18 at their option to stand during the introductory prayeri»,
but very few ever seek that relief After the general coufe4?8JoE
and the exhortation the priest retires for the consecration
beliind tlie Bcreen which hides t!ie altar from the people, who
remain during this interval in silent prayer. The itpTou or
bread is a round loaf made expressly Jor this pui-posc, and
Dcver used for any other i it is stamped with four crosses,
and after the consecration, these are cut out and laid aside to
be given later to the communicants, who carry them home to
any sick or aged member of their family ; it is then called the
dvTtZwpov, ^V^hen all is ready the priest comes forth, holding
the sacred elements, covered, w ith a silken veil upon his head,
in token that they are now consecrated; he stands holding
them in silence for a few minutes, and then retires to bring a
small quantity to each communicant in turn. He admintsters
in both kinds; they are given together in a spoon, and he utters
no other words, as w^e have already said, than these, * This ia
My Body — this is My Blood.' There is no limitation in respect
to the age of the communicant — the youngest infants are
brought to the altar, for confirmation folio w^s immediately on
baptism. During a certain number of hours after partaking of the
Holy Communion, no food is taken whatever excepting a little
bread and wine. The celebration cannot take place after noon.

Within the last few years the preaching of sermons has
begun to be currently put in practice, but these are generally

138

I'he Church in Gn^ce,

fleliveretl on liolidays. All eiiints* days and festivals are
obeierved with the utinoat strictness, and often greatly to the
injury of the people s worldly interests, as they perform no work
whatever on these occasions. In the country parisheB tlief
are kept in a very striking manner. There are thieidj ftcat-
tered over the whole of Greece an immense number of small
churches generally called ' rock cka^da,* because they are eo
frequently huilt in the mouth of caverns on the mountain side,
or on the stnmmt of an inaccessible precipice. 'J'hey are all
extremely ancient, some almost incredihly so. There is one
not far from Atliens, that stands as a strange monument to the
struggle of the light with the darkness during those bygone
centuries, whose trace yet lingers round it. It is very small,
and almost in ruins, but it bears within it the record of four
great epochs of alternate gloom and light, which seem to have
passed over it like sunbeama chasing clouds. There is first a
block of white marble, on which may be read in distinct though
very ancient characters, an inscription dedicjiting this temple to
Pluto and all infernal gods. Over this is placed the altju- of the
Christian sacrifice surmounted by a cross ; the rudeness of the
sculpture and peculiar form showing, that at some very remote
period the temple of Pagan worship had been converted into
the house of God by the followers of Christ. But the cross is
broken, the altar has been ovcrtlirown, and the pictures of the
saints bear many traces of desecration, at tlie time when ths
Christian Church became the Mahomcdan raosque, and the rites
of the false faith were performed within it Lastly, the Turk-
ish minaret then built upon it hjis been destroyed and trampled
under foot, the Moslem symbols all removed, and now the lamp
ever burning before the altar, ruined as it is, testifies that once
more the true faith of Christ crucified is triumphant there.

These chapels arc all dedicated to some one particular saint.
As there is, generidly, no population near then'i for very many
miles, the service is never performed within them except on the
day appointed for the commemoration of the saint to whom it
is dedicated. On that day the priest of the nearest village
makes a pilgrimage to the spot for this express purpose, accom-
panied by the whole of Km parishioners, who follow to att^jnd
the service. The distance is often fully a duy's journey over
steep and perilous paths, but they let nothing deter them from
what they hold to be a duty. Long before sunrise they quit
their homes and set forward in procession, the priest going
first, riding on his ass and carrying the books and incense
vessels ; the villagers following on foot, bringing with them
the provisions for the day and their children, i'or they are very
scrupulous in taking even their youngest infants to church,

The Church in Greece.

130

Fill in order tliat they may receive the blessing of the priest,
and because they believe that all must derive n. certain benefit
from being even witluii the holy atmosphere of that phice which
*Hi8 Presence has sanctified. Fainting under the burning 8un,
they toil along till they reach the little chapcb so utterly
deserted, excep4 on these occasions. At once, without waiting
to repose^ lest the tppobited hour should pass, the priest pro-
ceeds to perform the service; and thus there is not in all
Greece a mountain cliff, or desolate ravroc, hoireiner lonely and
inaoceBsiblc, where once in the year, at lejist, the voice of th«
Church is not heard to sound proclaiming the truth of Kevcla-
tion. Before the altar of every church in the country, and of
these chapels also, there hangs a HmuU crystal lamp filled with
oil, which must always remain lighted night and day. On
thia occasion^ when the prayers are over, the priest takes it
down^ trims it, and re-lights it. He then departs with hia Hock
leaving that little flame burning there in the midst of the great
solitude, with entire confidence that it will so burn until the
^came day in the next year, when they shall return again. It
IS not that they look for any miracle in the matter, but
this duty of tending the lamp of the sanctuary Is one of those
which calls forth tliat spirit of sacrifice, of wdiich we have
6jH>kcn as being eo remarkable in the practice of the Greek
Church. They hold that it would be a most culpable negli-
gence if ever this light, which typifies the brightness of the
true Faith, were to be extinguished j and, therefore, as soon as
tliey know that the oil must be nearly spent, sonic one of the
peafiants from the nearest village, however distant it may be,
-sets out alone, and on foot, to go to the chapel and replenish
it. This is no common act of self-sacrifice, for the journey is
oflten dangerous as well as difficult. It is generally performed
ttt night, for the humble villagei-s caunot afford to lose a day's
labour* Sometimes it is the working man who has toiled idl
day in his vineyard, who when evening coincs, acts forward to
spend the long hours of the night in journcjing to the spot
where the pious duty waits him. But more often it is some
poor weak woman, whose natural timidity and feeble frame
render the task indeed niost painful whicli she volunteers to
perform ; for it is not enjoined on any in particular. Quietly
and humbly, she makes her preparatious-^sbe binds a few rushes
round her feet to defend them, as far as may be, from the
stones and thorns— she tidvcs with her the oil as a voluntary
offering from her own scanty store, and commences at night-
fall her pilgrimage^she has a firm faith tliat, for her errand^s
fiake, a protection will \te around her, but she well knows it will
be needful; for even sltould she escape the mountain brigand^:

140

The Church in Greece*

on her path, it is very certain that the sound of her steps will
rouse the wolves, and jackals, and the poisonous snakes. What
she does is not assuredly for praise of men, for slie hns no other
witness to her deed than the quiet stars that light her on her
way : and when, exliausted, slie hcia reached the desolate chapel
* — when by her pious care she has seen the living flame burn
bright, which testifies to the shining forth of One who is the
Ijightof the world—and when, bowing down, with her bleeding
feet and aching limbs, ahe utters to no mortal ears her simple
Warep jj/taJi^ who shall dare to say, that hcra is not a service
acceptable to God?

There is another particular in which the members of the
Greek Church certainly approach closely to the earlier dis-
cipline in mortification of the flesh,^!! is the manner in which
they observe the fasts enjoined upon them. These are nume-
rous and moat severe ; they are appointed fiH' every Wednesday
and Friday, besides the vigils of certain holidays in the course of
the yean Thia ia independent of the principal fa^ts, which are
the three weeks of Advent, the forty days of Lent, and Holy
Week, which ia not included in that number. Lastly, the fast
in tlie mtmth of Augnat, which is called ^ Kol^tjcrif rrji; Hai^aryia^^
(the sleep of the Virgin). They do not hold the doctrine of her
assumption, but they maintain that she never passed through
death, and that her body only slept, in the grave. It w^ill be
scsirce credited how rigidly and univeriitally these fasts are kept.
During the Advent fast nothing whatever is eaten, but a limited i
quantity of shcll-fishj that being the season when this sort of fl
food abounds ; and as it is very unpalatable they obtain it for a "
mere trifle, so that scarcely any thing is spent on their eub-
sistence. During Lent they cat notliing whatever but a little
rice boiled in water twice a day ; they do not allow themselves
even bread ; in Holy Week they abstain almost entirely. The
last fast is the least severe; they arc then permitted to eat
vegetables, fl

It is precisely on account of the zeal and sincerity with which "
the members of the Greek Church obey these her comtnands,
tlmt they have been accused of formalism, and it is asserted of
them that they liuiit their attempts to do God service to these
outward observances. Even admitting that it were so, a fact
which we believe cx)uld easily be disproved, we w^ould simply
ask— What, after all, is the only acceptable service which man
can render unto God? Is it not obedience — obedience in that
path, and that only, which Providence has pointed out? la
there anything in the precise nature of the duties which a man
performs for conscience sake which can affect the Omnipotent
and the Unchangeable ? He needs, surely, no offering, spiritual

T^e Church in Greece*

141

or material, at our tands. If He were liungry He woultl not
tell us — His are the cattle on a thousand hills. He wili:^ on©
thing only,— that men g}ioukl serve Him in obedience ; nnd bj
the peculiar nature of the duties He impose:? upon them, it has
seemed good to llim that they should be subdued to Himself*
What right then have any to queation the acceptablencs:^ of the
service performed by the Eastern Christiana, since tliey arc but
following with severe and difficult faithfulness tlie command of
their Church, which is to them the interpreter of His will? We
deny, however, distinctly, that the Greek Church limits the
duties of her children to any outward observance ; we believe
that pure Christian charity is nowhere more beautifully illus-
trated than among her poorer members.

There are no workhouses, no poor-rates, no parochial relief
in Greece ; yet never did the fatherless seek a home in vain from
those who ol'ten had not bread to feed themselves — ^ncvcr did the
widow fail to find a hand ready to help her in her hour of need —
never did the stranger and the beggar pass the huudile^t cottage
door, without being invited to enter tliere as a welcome guest, to
eat, drink, and be refreshed. Indeed, one of the touching super*
s^titions of the country, which almost always have some holy and
beautiful truth hid beneath thcni, proves how universal arc those
pmctices. They believe that to adopt an orphan into tlie family
is to ensure such a blessing from the Father of the fatherless
upon them, that their own children shall never know want. A
child so adopted is called the son of their soul, and they bind
themselves by a solemn promise never to desert him so long as
they shall live. There is also another very ancient and singular
custom in tlie Greek Church, which has for aim and object to
provide any one left friendless in the world with a protector,
who is as much bound to care for liini in every way as
the nearest relation could have been. By a solemn religious
ceremony two persons, between whom no blood relationship
exists, are constituted brother and sister, or brothers, as the
case may be, and they are bound together by this strange fra-
ternal tie in a manner so distinct and positive, that even their
children cannot marry, being considered within the prohibited
degrees of affinity as first cousins. Kneeling before the altar
the priest dictates to them a sacred oath, whereby they swear
to be to one another from that hour to their life's end brotlicrs
in very deed and truth, nothing more and nothing less, and
vowing as they hope for the favour of Heaven, to perform to
each other all those duties which would have been incumbent
upon them, had they indeed been born of the sajnc parents.
The priest then pronounces over them the blessing nf the holy
Church, and this union is considered so very sacred that it is

Tke Church in Greece*

never violated in any way. In oases where the rich and the
poor, the weak and the strong, arc thus united^ it is mo^t
beneficial to both parties.

Tho^e traces of primitive and apostolic customs of which we
have spoken as pertaining to the Greek Church, may be found
in almost all her ceremonies, many of the details of which are
full of eii^nificance. In her baptismal service, for instance, the
child is first anointed with tlic holy oil on the eyes, cars, nose,
lips, and hands, in token that the five senses are to be con-
eecrated to God; then the Bign of the cross is made over the
water already sanctified to the mystical washing away of sin^
and a lock of the child's hair is cut off and thrown into it,
aa a eign that he is aljout to be surrendered altogether to
Hig Master. The infant is then innnersed three tiniesi in
the name of the three Persons of the Most Holy Trinity ; and,
finally, the priest holds hin^ up and presents him to the people
saying, * He is baptized ; behold the servant of Gx)d !' Again,
when a neophyte is admitted into Holy Orders, he kneels during
the whole of the ordinary service which precedes the consecra-
tion in a motionless attitude before the altar, his arms crossed
and his head bowed down. Before commencing the Ordination
service one of the officiating Bi8ho[i8 states to the people the
qualifications of the candidate, and tlicn coming forward he
stretches out his hand towards him, and demands of them E?i/a£
«ffo(?; (Is he worthy?) all instantly an8wer,*^Afto9 — tl^io^: and
some, if they know him, will call out Jlavrd^io^ t and then,
after the anointing, the laying on of hands, and the sealing
with the sign of the cross, they crowd forward to piu^take with
the newly-made priest of the Holy Communion*

We have spoken of the TeXet/raio? a<T7ra<r^d?, the last embi*ace
of the dead ; but the Church does not permit the survivors to
close with that farewell kiss all reverence for the departed ;
they are not allowed, as elsewhere, to bury them out of their
sight and mention their name no more, living as though they
had never been, forgetting altogether how closely, though un-
seen, they are still united to them in the fellowship of His body.
At stated periods the priests call together all the relations of
the departed for a ceremony entitled the Feast of the Comme-
moration. The family prepare a dish called xckvfia, made of
boiled wheat and spices; this is given to the priest, who sends a
portion to all the IViends, and ujipoints a time when tlicy are to
meet in the church. Tlie hour fixed is always at dead of night,
and the persons coaxe dressed in deep mourning, to join without
light or tumult in a few prayers;— a thanksgiving, we believe,
for those dejiarted in His faith and fear ; an intercession for the
whoh; body of His Church, visible and invisible; a supplication

Th Church in

for themiseTve!? in the hour of (leatli and judgment; finally, an
earnest entreaty thnt living and dead may alike come to tlio
perfect consuinination of bliss.

There is much nlsu that is beautiful in the wcddinjr cere-
monies : the signing of the bride and bridcirrooni with the
sign of the cross traced on their foreheads by the wcddiog ring,
and their immediate participation in t!ic Holy Eucharist, while
etill kneeling where their vows had been taken. GJJt crowns,
decorated with flowers, are placed on their heads by the jiriest,
ajid it ia one of their most toucliing observances carefully to
preserve the young bride's crown, and never again to place it
on her head, till cold and etlff she is carried out to make her
couch in the grave. It is most striking to sec the withered
corpse of some aged woman, adorned with the bridal crown,
going forth to seek again in the dust the huaband of lier youth,
the memory of whose buried love has been, perhaps, her solace
through long-widowed ycare.

The ceremony of blessing the hougc, to which we have already
adverted, b necessarily productive of very good results ; it
ensures the visit of the priest once in the month. On the ap-
pointed day he never fails to come, bringing with him oidy a
large croijs and a brancli of palm dipped in water, with which
he sprinkles the threshold, wlieu he panecs to pronounce the
salutation, * Peace be to this !iout?e;' he presents^ the cross to
each individual in turn, that they may press it to their lips and
forehead^ while he gives them his bleseing ; he then takes the
opportunity of inquiring into the state of the family, and gives
his advice or admonitions according to their necessity. This if,
of course, quite independent of his visits in cases of affliction and
sickness. Sorrow never enters a house in any shape whatever
but the servant of God is ready to follow in its steps ; he
comes to anoint the sick with the holy oil, to pray with the
mourners, or to speak peace and consolation to those who arc
In any way afflicted or distressed in mind.

One part of the Church system which tends most especially
to give the .^jiiritual father a salutary control over his flock, is
the rule which limits to the priest alone the right to teach in the
schools. In villages he u, in fact, tlie only schoolmaster, and he
thus acquires an influence over bis people from their earliest
ycai'd ; he assembles the children for daily instruction, but the
sum of his teaching is ever the same — the reading of the * Evan-
geliiV tlie Creeds, t!ic lives of the siiints and martyrs. The
neophytes are, of course, entirely under his care, and we
cannot but admire the practice of thus setting apart the can-
didates for the priest! mod almost from infancy, as a separate
rart* i»f Ivrin^s. The cflc'ct of this cuslom is mo«t liencficial

The Church in Greece,

botli to priests and j)eoi»le. The former naturally feel themsclvea
invesstcd with a pcciiluii' tlignity, with which it \a indeed mcel
that their lives and conduct should agree, while it greatly
deepetia and strcngtiiens the reverence felt for them by the
latter. Wc have seen the neophyte, while still but a young
cluld, avoidingj of his free will, all intereouri^e with the e^m-
paoiona of liis own a^e, and ever walking solierly by tlic eide of
the priest, holding his superior's garment with his little hand,
and bendinrr down his uncovered head over liis well-worn book
of prayers.

These are the details conceraiQcr the Greek Church which
Mr- Curzon had Ultle opporttniity of observing; but he was for-
tunate in gaining a eonsidcrahle insight into monastic life, and
most especially m being enaliled to sojourn for eonie time on
Mount Atlio:?. His account of tlie vmious monasteries in that
sacred spot is highly intcreefcing; but they all so nearly resemble
one another, that we will extract only his remarks on the prlii'
ciiml establishment — ihat of S. Laura ; —

' I will nowj from the infoTmation i linvc received from the motika and
my own observation, give tbc best RL-couiit I can of this extensive and
carious mouasLcry. It vvns founded by nn Kmpcror Nicephonis, but w hftt
pnrticular Nicephorus he was, nobody knows. N ice p horns, the treasurer,
got into (rouble with Cliarlcmaerrie on one side, and llarounat IlHi!hid
on tbc other and was killed by the Bulgnrians in 811, Nicephorus Phocoa
waH a great captain, a mighty man of valour, who fought with every hotly,
and frightened the Caliph at the gates of Bajrdad, but did c-ood to no one ;
and at lenjjth became so disa^^reeable that hid wife had him murdered in
969. Niccphorns Batnniates, by the help of AlextisComnenus, causcht and
put out the eyes of his rival Nicephorus Bryennius, whose son married
that celebrated blue-stockini^, Anna Comnena, However Nicephorus
BotaniatCH having quarrelled with Alexus Comnenus, that great man
kicked him out, and reigned in his atcatl, and Botaniates took refuge in
this monastery, which, as I make ont, he had founded some time before.
He crime here about the year \<A'A\^ and takes the \'ow of a Kaloyeri or
Cireek monk.

* This word Kaloyeri mcitns a g^ood old man. All the monks of Mount
Athos follow the rule of S. Basil ; indeed, all Greek monks arc of this
order, 'I'hey are ascetics, and their discipline is most severe ; they never
eat nieat ; fish they have on feast days; but on fast days, which are above
a hundred in the year, they are not allowed any animal substance, or even
oil ; their prayers occupy eight hours in the day, and about two during^ the
niglit, so that they never enjoy a real nighrs rest. They never sit down
during prayer; but as the services are of extreme len^h, they are allowed
to rest (heir arms on the elbows of a sort of stall without seats, which are
found h\ nil Greek churches, imd at other time* they lean on a crutch. A
crutch of this kind, of silver, richly oniameiited, forjn?f the piitriarchal staflF:
it is called the Patritxa, and answers to the crozier of the Romaii Bishops,
Bells nre not used to call the fraternity to prayers, but a long piece of
hoard, suspended by two strings, is struck with a mallet. Sometimes,
instead of the wooden board, a pit^e of iron, like part of the tire of a wheel,
is used for this [>urposc. Bells are rung ouly mi occasioas of rejoicing, or

The Church in Greece*

to Bhow respect to Bome great personage, and on the great feasts of ibe
Church,

* The huildings consist of a thick aod lofty wall of stone, which encom-
passes an irregular piece of ground of between three and four acres ui
extent ; there is only one entrance, a crooked passage defended hy three
iron doors ; the front of the building, on the side of the entrance^ extends
above five hundred feet. There is no attempt at external architecture, but
only this plaio wall j the few windows which look out from it belong to
rooma which are built of wood and project over the top of the wall^, being
supported upon strong beams like brackets. At the south-west comer of
the building there is a large stjuare tower, which formerly contained a
printing press ; but this press was destroyed by the Turkish aoldiera
during the late Greek revolution, and at the same time they carried off
certain old cannons which stood upon the battlements, but which were
more for show than use, for the monks had never once ventured to fire
them off during the long period they had been there ; and my question, as
to when they were brought there originallyj was answered by the regular
and universal phrase of the Levant — Tt €^f^po — * Qui sa?*— Who knows?
The interior of tlie monastery consists of several small courts, and two large
open spaces surrounded with buildings, which have open galleries of wood or
stone Deforethem^ by moans of which entrance is gained into the various
apartments, which now afford lodging for one hundred and twenty monks,
and there is room tor many more.

* Two large courts are built without any regularity, hut their architecture
is exceedingly curious, aud in it^ style closely resembles the buildings erected
in Constantinople, between the tifth and the twelfth centuries, a sort of
Jiyseanttne, of which S. Marc's in Venice is the finest speciraen in Europe,
It bears some affinity to the Lombardic or Romanesque, only it is more
oriental in ita style. The chapel of the ancient palace of Palermo is more
in the style of the buildings on Mount Athos than any thing else in Chris-
tendom that I remember; hut the ceilings of that chapel are regularly Ara-
besque, whereas those on Mount Athos are tlat with painted beams,^ like
the Italian basdicaa, excepting where they are arched or domed, aud in those
citaes there is little or no mosaic, but only coarse paintings in freeco, repre-
senting saints in the conventional Greek style of superlative ugliness.'

We must subjoin also the account of the shrine, gift of the
Hospodar of Walliiclua, which Mr, Curzon eaw at tlie monas-
tery of S. Dionyaius, for it may well put to shame the dona-
tions of kings in the present day.

* I was taken as a pilgrim to the church, and we stood in the middle of
the floor before the iKovoaTaaiif whilst the monks brought out an oUl-
fashioned low wooden table, upon which they placed the relics of the saints
wliich they presumed we came to adore. Of these some were very interestini»;
specimens of intricate workmanship and auperh and precious materiab.
One was a patera, of a kind of china or paste, made, as I imagine, of a
multitude of turquoises ground dow n toeether, for it was too large to be of
one single turquoise ; there is one of the same kind, hut of Tar inferior
workmanship, in the treasury of S. Marc. This marveUous dish is carved
in Tcry high relief with minute figures, or little statues of the saints, with
ioscriptionB in very early Greek, It is set in pure gold, richly worked,
and was a gift from the' Empress, or imperial Princess Pulcheria. Then
there was an invaluable shrine for the head of S. John the Baptist, whose
bones, and another of his heads, are in the cathedral at Genoa. S. John
Iw^teran also boasts a head of S. John, but that may have belonged to
S. John the Evangelist. This shrine was the ^ft of Neagulus, Waywode

NO. LXV.— N.8. T.

146

The Church in Greece*

nr Iloapoflar of Wallacbia : it is nbout two feet longantl two feet bigli, and
TL& ill ibe shape oi n, Uyzanline cliurcli ; the material is silver gilt, but the
admirable and stngular srylc of the ivork man ship gives it a vnlue far sur-
passing its intrinsic worth. The roof is covered xvith five domes of gold *
on each side it has sixteen Tecesaes, in which arc portraits of the saints in
niello, and at eiich end there are eight others. All the windowa are
enriched in opco-wtirk trneery, of a stmtige »ort of Gothic pattern, unlike
nnylhiug in Europe. It is altogether a wonderful and prex'iouj monument
of ancient art, the production of an almost unknown conn try, rich, quaint,
and oripnal in its deHign and execution, and is indeed one of the most
curious objects on Mount Athos ; aitboua:b the patera of Princess Pidclieria
might probably be considered of greater value. There were many other
shrincfl and rctiquariesj but none of any particular interest/—?. 418.

One very ancient and atriking custom, still forralng a part of
the nionastic system in Greece, seeius to have escaped our
author's observation, but it is too hig^ily characteristic of the
auatcrc, deep-searching spirit of their discipline to be left
unnoticed.

Tlicre is, belonging to every monastery in Greece, a small chapel
devoted to a very eolemn purpose. Those which we have seen
were always at some distance from the nmin building, generally
placed in the most lonely spot on the mountain-side. This chapel
is entirely deserted, and is never entered except on the one
occasion for which it is destined. The monks avoid it with care,
knowing that onoe only shall they enter it, and that in an awful
hour. Whenever it is perceived by the brethren that sick-
ness or iniirniity has fallen heavily on one of their number,
so that they can no longer doubt the speedy termination of hia
mortal conflict, the Superior announces to the dying man that
the time is come when he must retire into the prescribed soli-
ttidc, where be is to wrestle alone with that agony, when for
the lust time his living voice shall be permitted to utter a cry
of supplication. Pascars 'je mourrai seul/ awful as is tlie
truth it conveys with so much significance, is not enough for
them ; not only must their son I of stern necessity depart un-
accompanied into the land imaeen, but the living man also must
await his call w^ithout a sight or sound of earth to clog the final
prayers that should go as heralds before his advancing spirit, —
no friendly human voice must cause his eyes to turn back with
longing on the home of hia pilgrimage, — no look of tenderness
or pity must come between his gaze and heaven. During the
life-agony and the bfe-struggle wherein they seek to offer up a
whole and unreserved love to God, the monks of the order of
S. Basil are permitted to walk in company along the toilsome
paths; but those of death must be endured alone — alone, face
to face, must each one meet the dread messenger that calls bis
soul before his God. If his life has been in accordance with
his vows, thankful Iv will he seek during his last hours to com-

TM0 Ohtrch in Greme^

147

mune with none save Him in whose Likeness he tntsts so soon to
wake up and be eati&ficd ; gladly will he tnrn from all connexion
Avith the world and the things of it, to cling in every thought
80 cloaely to the Cross that it shall bear him safely over the
deep waters of death; but if it be otherwise — if in name only
he was the servant of hia Lord, then in the last moment of
permitted repentance, his sin ia made to find hini out, where
no beguiling words of charitable hope can soften tiie ntern
truth, nor the confiding trust of loving hearts dispel the salu-
tary terror by speaking of peace where there is none. So
Boon, therefore, as all prospect of recovery ia past for the
sufferer, the monks carry a sninll trestle bcdsteiul up to the
chapel, where they place it before the altar, setting beside it
only a loaf of bread and a jar of cold water ; the dying monk
is then conducted to this final refuge. Whenever his failing
strength permits he goes there voluntarily, toiling with tottering
steps along the last stage of bis lifeV journey, and lays him down
with cahn submission on his death-bed; the Superior then admi-
nisters to him the concluding rites of the Church ; the whole
brotherhood partake with him of the Holy Communion, and
witli this solemn act all intercourse with him closes for ever;
no breath trom the mortal world must henceforth sully the
spirit cleansed by the ISacramental Blood—no word designed
for human ears must pass his lips, now purified as with a living
cool. They all depart, and leave him alone to die in perfect
solitude. He lies there— no light is round him but that of the
lamp which hangs before the altar, no sound is lieard but the
sobbing of his own life-breath, as it ebbs away— hajdy in such
a fearful stillness it may seem to hiui that he can hear the
echoing footsteps of the swift approaching death ; or, more
awtiil yet, the whispering voices of forgotten sins rising up to
claim repentance. Once only in the twenty -four hours he ia
visited by his brethren; they come in the night to chant around
him the prayers for the dying; but they never speak to him,
for he is no longer of this world — tliey have nothing further to
do with him. Finally, they come to find him dead, but whether
his soul went forth in a bitter struggle, or whether gently he
fell asleep, none of this earth must ever know.

We liave now endeavoured to show how much there ia in the
holy Eastern Church to claim our sympathy and admiration ;
yet, we are not blind to the truth that severe and primitive as she
is in many respects, the leaven of human corruption ia working
there also. Many abuses have gained ground within her in
times past, many dangers beset her now ; but for thie very
retifion we would demand fur her from all otlier branches of the
Catholic Church the brotherly love and assistance of which she

148

The Church in Greece,

has been too long bereft. How complete is the neglect with
which she has ever been treated by our own communion, may
be snflicienfly proved by the mutual ignorance in wliicli both
Churchoa have been content to remain respecting one another.
She knows, perhaps, even less of us than we do of her- — ^her
opportunities of observation respecting our faith and practice
have been confined to such representationa of them as the
indiftcrcncc and frivolity of worldly persons travelling for
amusement, or the mistaken zeal of Dissenting Mssion-
aries, could display ; and she would be as little likely to look
for communion or sympathy from us, as we should be to offer
it. Surely these things ought not to be. If, as the wisest
and best among us seem to think, the Church must shortly pre-
pare for many a sore conflict with the powers of darkness, is it
not in unity that her strength must be ? We have said that dan-
gers now tlireaten the Eastern Churchy — dangers which, if she
fall a prey to them, would disable her altogether from working
with us in the hour of need. This peril is not now from perse-
cution, or the allurements of the ilahomedan creed, but from
the spirit of the world, from the encroachments of the civil
power and the ambition of foreign states, from the influence
of those whose interest it is to paralyse her and render her
voiceleaa, to sap her foundations, and cause her to waste away.
Alreatly is she wholly without resources j what little she pos-
sessed has been taken from her, and she has no means of remedy-
ing much that is hurtful in her present condition. Her want of
learning, too, will ultimately become a deadly bane, unless some
improvement, which however may fairly be anticipated, should
take place ; for she must learn to keep pace with the* world
against which she has to fight; she must learn to appreciate
her own high privileges, to know and act up to her own high
calling, which as yet she scarcely understands. Now if these
evils be already within and around the Greek Church, it must
needs he that we ourselves are affected by them^^if one mem-
ber suffer, the whole body must suftler with it ; and we know
not how our neglect and indifTcrence may one day fall back
upon ourselves, if we leave this sister Church to struggle any
longer with her deep poverty and many trials, unaided and
uncliecred. It is time that we should do something more
than dwell with an inactive longing on our desire for unity.
Although neither ourselves nor our children, nor 3^et, perhaps,
even succeeding generations, may hope to witness that glorious
consummation, still we may do something towards it, We
shall profit by the effort, though it seem fruitless now. Yes;
though it hear no fruit ibr many centuries, are we not still
working for ourselves, and for our brethren ? Christ's Church

The Church in Greece*

149

IB not dlvidetl —time, and spaccj and Individualityj have nought
to do with it. Vi^c form a part of what it was in Apostolic
timesj and of what it shall lie at the hour of the Lord'B coining.
The work of every individual must affect the whole. Each deed
of his strikes a chord that vibrates through the entire body
from first to last of its earthly probation^ and the responding
note may be far off in the vista of coming ages. If there must
needs be divisions now, yet sympathy towards our brctlu-en, and
loving help, and a mutual interchange of hope, will eurely
strengthen us all alike against the common enemies of the
universal Church ; and even had it no such result, it is, it must
be, our bounden duty.

"We would ask but little, however, for the Greek Church.
We would only plead for her that those who visit her from our
own shores^ instead of treating her with scorn and ridicule, or
with apathetic and complete indifference, would acknowledge
in her the one legitimate object of interest which ought to
claim their whole thoughts and attention.

We feel certain that it is incalculable how much might be done
for her, and through her, for the entire Church, if a very few
of those vast numbers of our countrymen who visit the East
would but go there as true follo^vers of Christ, with the single
devoted purpose of tendering by every means in their power
a hel[jing hand to this struggling portion of His own redeemed
flock. The crusaders of old counted it all joy to be permitted
to give up ease, and luxury, and life itself, for the rescuing of
Hb Sacred Tomb from the infidel ; and shall not some few per-
haps of ourselvc!?, no less by profession sworn soldiers of the
Cross, abandon our exclusive search for mere amusement, and
turn from the beautiful in art and nature, and the manifold
charms of the classic ground, to m\e tlieir time, and energies,
and substance, to this, a part ot His living body? It is a
bitter thing to see those men, baptized Christians one and
nil, bestowing not only their talents and attention, but their
superfluous riches also, on the fair relics of Pagan times, which
are around them thcrc^ making it often the sole aim and object
of their journeys to trace out the lingering remnants of heathen
mythology, whilst Hia own holy Church is languishing and
fainting in the land for lack of nurture and assistance- We
do not mean to condemn the natural pleasure which the scholar
and the student must take in visiting the very localities which
are connected with his earliest classical associations ; we know
well how strange a fascination there is, for instance, in that
poor fallen city of Athens, so beautiful in its great decay, lying
there all soiled and helpless, like a melancholy native of the
past, exiled into a strange generation ; but the pleasant dream-

150

The Church in Grs^e.

ing over bygone times, and the allurements of poetic recollecticm,
are too unreal, too unprofitable to occupy us in this brief period
when it ig called to-day, and we alone can work. The war
between the Church and Infidelity seems waxing fiercer every
hour, and no more urgent duty is set before us than that of
Btrenirthening our brethren.

We are well aware that it is a most Utopian vision to imagine
that even many of the ^ray and pleasure-seeking travellers who
visit Eastern lands will ever unite in serving the Great Cause
they all should have at heart ; but even indlviduala might do
much, were they but earnest in purpose and in hope. We may
bring this assertion to the test of most practical illustration, by
showing that the eum required for the education from first to
last of a Greek priest is infinitely leps than that which almost
all Englishmen visiting those countries are certain to bestow for
the popscsision of some relic of ancient art. Incredible tm it may
eeem, 20/. is all that is required to be paid by a candidate for
Holy Orders on his admission to the new University, where we
have ascertained that he does in fact receive during several years,
euch instruction as will render him perfectly fit for his sacred
office. We menticm this merely as an instance to show how
much good miglit be done, were some spirit of sympathy for
the Greek Church to animate all those who, like Mr. Curzon,
not only have an opportunity of judging of her position, but
who also give the result of their observations to the public*
Let them, therefore, whilst present with her, offer her, to the
uttermost of their power, all assistance ; and when they write of
her, let it not be with levity and «corn, but rather let them seek
to draw out the love and pity of our brethren towards her, and
a blessing shall surely rest upon their labours.

151

Art. Yl,—Jounial in France in 1845 and 1848, mik Lemrs
from Italt/ in 1847, of Things and Per soiu concernim^ the Church
and Education, Bij Thomas AVilliam Allies* SL A. Rector
of Launton, Oj^ott* London : Longman, Brown, Green Sc

1849.

Among all the Churches of the Latin commimion, the French
Church at thia day occupies the most prominent place, a place
distinctly and peculiarly its own, in point of importance and
interest. That it ap[>ears so to us in England, is no accident of
local proximity. Wo know very little, it is true, of the Italian
or Peninsular Churches, but we know that they do not come
forward on the stage of the world, and catch the eye, as the
French Clinrch does. It is the fit ecclcsfiastical representative
of the leading nation of Continental Europe. In thut stirring
and adventurous people, it is stirring and adventurous too — to
the most eventful history of modern days, it has contrihuted a
most eventful portion. No Church lias gone through guch
viciBBitudes, so sudden, so stormy, so extreme. No Church has
jet felt with such violence the rude shocks of political changes,
altering at a moment's notice all old relations, and forcing her
to adapt herself to new difficulties and new ground. From being
the richest Churcli in Christendom, elie became at once the
poorest; from being the proudest, she became tlie most perse*
cutcd. Her place could sciircc bo found in her own land, and
her Clergy received the alms of those whom they called heretics.
Then she was restored — restored to the patronage of those who
had confiscated her land and persecuted her priests — restored,
that she might do homage to the new powers of the sword, and
sanctify their title— retitored, but in chains, to grace an Impe-
rial throne. Next raised by one chance of war high enough for
envy, but not for power, another chance of war hurled licr down
again. What the cannon of Waterloo had won for ber was lost
at the barricades of July, Then at length she began to compre-
hend the stern lesson which events had been teaching her, that
her hope must no longer be m go\'ernments ; tliat she had all
but lost the French people, and that her last chance lay, humanly
speaking, in herself. The Inevitable necessity of BclfHlepeudence
and energy, felt very widely, soon took the ehai)e of a theory,
propounded and urged forward by no common advocate. It w a^
a memorable era when the Arenir proclaimed in words which
aatonished not France only, but Europe, that tbe Church of

15^

Allied Journal in France in \%45 and 1848.

revolutionized France must take new ground ; that, with her
coteniporaries, tthe nmet look onwards, not backwards, and take
lier place among the leaders of * progress,' in the adviuice of the
advancing age. It was vain> it eaid, to linger on the past when
the past was become a by-word ; ancient honours and venerable
prcrogativee suited not the hard-working Clergy of a democracy;
hut the future was well wortli the past, and that might be theirs.
But, then, they must break at once with the maxims, the tra-
ditions, the regretsj of the monarchy, and match themselves with
those daring parties which were competing for that common
prize — the future ; they must mingle with them, and share their
Dold spirit and fiery zeal, if they hope to tame and win them,
or even to defeat them. It cost the leader of this bold move-
ment dear — it cost him his faith and Christian hope ; but his
wonls stirred the whole Church of France, and went far to
decide her course. Her leaders embraced the idea of independ-
ence, the consetjuences it involved, the prospect it opened.
They entered on their new line with zeal, and with the chai-acter-
istic spirit and ease of Frenchmen, Governments had ignored
the Divine claims of the Church, — ^knew of her only as a fact
of society, — as a fuct, therefore, of society, they should find out
her strength. New vigour and activity were infused into her
institutiong of education and charity ; embarrassing watchwords
dropped ; towards the government, an attitude assumed of dis-
tance and jealous vigilance; and thus the French Church
appeared as an important and rising power in the country; one
which statesmeu found they must at once resist and conciliate.
The change, though easy to explain, was remarkable; the
Cliurch of the Gallican Articles — once the most jealous of the
Pope's power, became, in its leaders at least, the most ultra-
montane ; the most monarcliical ceased to care about forms of
gt>vcrnment in its exclusive allegiance to tlie centre of unity.
Yet the most ultra-montane did not cease to be in spirit and
character the most national of Continental Churches, Its
activity, its fearless assertion of broad abstract principles, its
organization, its venturous enterprises, its enthusiasm and senti-
ment, its cheerfulness in privations, its unconquerable hopeful-
ness, its militant and missionary character, were all peculiarly
its own, and reflected the chai-acter and circumstances of the
people to which it belonged ; its Clergy exhibited in a Christian
shape the natural excellences of their countrymen, yet symp-
toms were not wanting which betrayed their kindred with the
most logical, yet most unreasonable of European races; —
80 keen, yet so credulous ; so full of kind impulse, yet so bitter;
so prejudiced, yet so easy to move ; so variable ; so merciless to its
own faults, yet so self-complacent; so successful in theories,

Aliien* J(mrtial in France in 1845 and 1848.

153

and reclileBS of factfl. We will not fix on them the Vene-
tian's apology — Prima Veneziaui^ pot Cridiani ; yet it is cer-
tainly true that, however catholic they may be, they never
cease to be Freochnien.

Such 18 the prima facie aspect of the French Church. She
claims the interest even of the mere observers of the time by
her remarkable activity and zeal, and the novel position into
which she has been forced ; and to Christians she presents the
epectacle of a Church in which the unheeded forebodings of her
prophets have been fulfilled ; in which past neglect has brought
forth its bitter fruits without meaisure ; but which, in the midjjt
of her adversity, ia working in earnestj and working hard, to
mitigate the heaviness of her punishment, and to regain the
people whom another generation had loat to licr. Whether or
not, her measures are always wise ones — whether or not we can
always sympathize with her tone of feeling, or form of doctrine
and worship — she is the only body in France which attempts to
cope with error and moral evil ; she is fighting, and fighting
with success, the battle of faith and duty ; not with such un-
mixed success, or, as we believe, such unmixed trutli, as to
exempt her from that criticism which her leaders freely bestow
on others, but w*ith enough of both to make her an object of
deep interest to all, to whom the claims of home duty leave
leitiitre to think of what ia going on in other parts of Christendom.

Dr. Wordsworth was the first, we believe, to invite interest to
the internal condition of the French Church. He set the
example of seeing with Ids own eyes, and examining in detail
the machinery and working of her system. His diary is instruc-
tive and interesting; it supplied information on French educa-
tion, and on the views of the French Clergy, that at the time
was novel to many of us ; and what was perhaps its chief merit,
it was written on the whole in a spirit oi friendliness and fidr-
nees, with which the strong adverse opinions of the writer were
not allowed to interfere. I)r» Wordsworth was not a person to
sympathize much with ultra-montane theology, or with French
character; he had his theory, the French Clergy had theirs; that
either party should understand the other, or judge of the same
facts in the same way, was not much to be expected ; but there
ia seldom wanting on his part tlie real desire to do full justice.
It certainly appears to us that he has quite missed the true
position of the French Clergy in their relation to the govern-
ment ; that lie was in no degree capable of entering into their
difficulties, has judged tliem by an arbitrary and unreal rule of
\m own, and imputed to them faults with wliieh they are not
chargeable- But if his diary does not manifest all the sympathy
towards them which tbev would wish for, it shows both interest

154

Allies Journal in Frattee in 1845 and 1848,

and kind feeling ; and as a record of what passed under his own

observation, it lias the appeai*ance, though but a fragment, of
being caretul, accurate, and trustworthy.

Mr. Allied' book is a further contrilmtion to our knowledge
of the institutions and spirit of the French Church, to which
his attention was chiefly directed in the two tours which his
journal embraces. The book has been made the anbject of nauch
unfavourable remark— and we must say, in spite of the interest
we feel in its subject, and in the new facts which it brings under
our notice— not witliout reason. For professing to be a peace-
making book — a book to correct prejudices, to soften asperities
of feeling, to explain misunderstandings, to awaken sympathy'^
it fails in the first requisites for such a character and under-
taking— cnlmness of temper. !Mr. Allies' honesty and upright-
ness of intention are beyond question j he wished at once to do a
good work to the English branch of the Church, and to contribute
towai'ds the ultimate drawing together of the whole ; to provoke
to emulation his own brethren by the examples of the Clergy of
France, and to induce them to think more kindly of men who
are working in the same field with themselves, and working so
hard; and certainly, for our part, wq cannot say that this was
wrong. But he has done more than tJiis. He has spoilt a good
work by that very common but not less irremediable mistake
— impatience. He wished to give vent to feeling, as well as
to state lacta^he wanted to do what is perfectly right and
proper in an itdvociite, or an assailant, but is incompatible with
the character of a peace- maker. A peace-maker cannot afford to
be indignant, impatient, or even unguarded; it ivill not do for
him to have enthusiasm for one side, sareasm for the other * he
must not seem to be guilty of that most inexcusable practical
unfairness, being fail* to all but his own friends. If be forgets
these conditions, be must not be surjirised if people forget that
he is a [leace-maker, and view him as really hostile — unfairly
so, very probably — but unfairness and exaggeration propagate
themselves rapidly, and a heavy share of responsibility rests on
him who provokes by an unfair depreciation an unfair defence.
Surely the world has gone on long enough for us to have learnt
that if men may be possibly scolded, they are at least not to be
snuhMi into sympathy. It may be necessary sometimes so to
treat them, but certainly not at the moment when you arc
asking for their admiration or their assent. Mr. Allies too often
passes from the character of peace-maker, to which he has full
right, to that of reformer,— a character to which his right seems
to us more questionable,

Witli respect to various foreign usages and forms of doctrine
which make the principal visible distinction between the English

I
I

AUies^ Jourtial in France in 1845 and 1848,

155

and Roman Churches, ilr. AUica is not to our mind at all satis-
factory. He has said too much, or not enough. For a mere
journal and its reflections, he hjia said too mucn ; to explain the
strong and unqualiiicd approval he has given to Homan pecu-
liarities, he ought to have written a treatise. We do not ourselves
think that he Iiaa gone hejond the theological line, for which he
has good warrant from English authorities; lie has not gone
even eo near the edge of what ia defined by the English Church
as the mass of that party who are so clamorous against him,
have gone beyond it — but we must say he has often given his
opinion very rudely* with very little consideration either of the
judgment or feelings, or, it may he, tlie prejudices of those
whom he addresses and rebukes, lie has attempted to give the
key to those parts of the Koman Bysteui which most excite the
Buspicion and dislike of Englishmen — ^to give their interior mean-
ing and connexion with the great doctrines of Christianity,
which^ he says, Englislmien miss, and which recommend them
to the unquestionably religious minds which adopt them abroad.
More than once in striking words he has put doctrinea which
we shrink from in the light in w^kich he conceives them to
present themselves to persons jealous for the same Catholic
faith which wc liold, and drawn out the conjfolation and sup-
port which some of the more peculiar foreign ar ran gements may
be believed to minister to pure and devotional minds. In this
of itself there is nothing to complain of, though it is a difficult
task, and one not without hazard, requiring not merely knowledge,
but great caution and self-restraint. Yet anything ought to be
welcome which in any measure really explains that apparently
strange mixture of what is good and wTiat is corrupt in the
system of the Continental Churches: and that the most question-
able of its features have a good side, and are capable, in the case
of good men, of being turned to good, is probably not new to
any w^ell-informed and tlioughtful churchman. But the question
Btiil remains open, whether these are the only, the most natural,
the ordinary ways of viewing them, wdiere tliey prevail ; what is
their real foundation in doctrine j what is the balance of their
effects. And even if Air. Allies were more conclusive than he
is on these points, with respect to the foreign Church, he ^vould
still be a long way off from tlie question, whether they are
necessaiy, suitable, right, for us. Certainly he has not in the
book before us made good the ground on which he presses, or
suggests, the acceptance of continental peculiarities on the
English Church; and it would require a cahner mind than his,
a calmer mind than probably any of us possess, to discuss at this
moment the questions they involve.

We make these re marls with regret, both from our recollec-
tion of Mr. Allies' former services to the Church, and because

156

Miles' Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

attacks have been made on him so unwarrantable and so bitter
—on his honesty, not on the judfljment, or accuracy, or propriety
of his publication— that we are loth even to appear on the same
side with such asj^ailants. There la very much in his book which
ought not to be there — much tliat is grating and harah in tooe
— much that was certain to be misunderstood, left in bare and
crude statement. All the information which he has given us,
might have been given, we do not say without offence to the
ignorant or prejudiced^ but without aifordinj]^ them such a
plausible ground for clamour. But we should be very sorry,
if in the controversial feelings which the book has excited,
this information be neglected. There it ia — if not altogether
new in its general character, yet new in ita details to most
English readers — information, not of course to be taken on
trust more than any other, but interesting in its nature, and
deserving of attention and inquiry. We quite agree with Mr,
Allies, that it is no necessary part of an English chnrclmian's
character, to be uninquisitive about the Roman Church, or to
acquicijcc in those popular prejudices against her, which, though
we cannot think them so wholly without foundation as he does,
are fair matter of examination, and arc doubtless greatly exag-
gerated ; our knowledge about her is very imperfect, as hers is
very imperfect about ua : there certainly can be no harm in our
knowing more* And we cannot think that to acknowledge and
admire what is excellent in the Konian Church must needs go
along with disloyalty to our own ; or that it implies doubt of
her own claims, and disparagement of lier efforts, to think that
we may profitably contemplate, and it may be, where occasion
calls for it, imitate the example of foreign era. Where such admi-
ration has been dangerous, the danger has been more than half
created by the suspicion of it* It is high time, not merely as
a matter of fairness in a time of so mucli intellectual activity,
and therefore of increased variety of tastes and feelings, but
also as a matter concerning the safety and activity of the
Church, that it shall no longer be a practical axiom among us,
tliat respect for, and sympathy with, the Clmrch abroad is
incompatible with sincere attachment to the Church at home.
There is no telling what damage tlic Church here has received
from the effect of this false and mischievous prejudice, both on
the minds of those who felt that Bympathy, and of those who
feared it ; and its work of exasperation and disturbance ia not
over, unless those in whom it directs acts of authority show
themselves superior to its influence. Then it will cease to
harass consciences and distract minds, in no way alienated from
their Church, but in whom misgiving and perplexity are created
and kept alive, by the unwise suspiciousness of those above
them.

Allies' Journal in France in 1845 and 1848*

The most important infi^rmation in Mr. Allics's hook, U that
T\*hkh relates to the education provided by the Church, and to
the character^ positionj and spirit of the ccclesiastica in the cities
of the North of France, especially in the capital. It is not of
course a complete accountj and provokes rather than satisfies
our curiosity; but what there is, is of much interest, Mr, Allies
was received with nmch kindness by many of the leading men
among the Clergy, and appears to have been on as familiar terms
with them as a foreigner could be, who was staying but a short
time in the country. The picture that he draws is worthy of
attention ; no doul)t it is the fairest and be.'^t account we have
yet received of their ways of thought, and the interior state
of things among them ; and it is not less valuable, because, as it
eeems to ua, he discloses, sometimes unconsciously, their weak-
Besses, while he is jusf ly touched with their zeal and self-devotion.

A striking acccmnt is given of a school in the diuccse of
Rouen, wliich Mr, Allies visited more than once, and which,
from the chai-acter of its conductors, seems to us to have more
real interest than even some of the more imposing institutions
of the capital. It is a characteristic specimen, not merely of
Christian, but of French enterprise ; and shoves that tlic per-
severance, organization, end n ranee of hardsliip and privation,
hopefulness aud hardiliood, which unhappily mark the character
of the revolutionary parties in France, have found their match
among those on whom are now resting the hopes of Christianity
in that land of unbelief. The school was set up by two clergy*
men, brotliers, with the single object, as their course of twenty
years has ehuwn, of giving a Christian education to the children
of the middle class, to which they themaclves belonged. Tliey
started wjtli the slenderest means, and on an humlvle scale; the
design succeeded, and as their numbers increased and accora-
modation was wanted, they went on adding to their buildings
and their staffs living without forethought or care, ejtcept to
use to the utmost the advantages of the moment for the object
they had in view ; content to do little while little was in their
j)ower, extending their plans when the occasion presented itself.
Thus Mr. Allies found one of the brothers, a man of forty-five,
and a schoolmaster of twenty years' standing, setting to work
on his Greek grammar, andpractising Greek verses, that he might
be examined along witli boys of eighteen for a university degree,
which should entitle his scliool to some further privileges, and
enlarge its sphere of usefulness. The Ibllowing is the account
of the general aspect of the school :—

' Irefoi, June 2rj, 1R45. Thuritda^, — We called on M. Labb^ a little before
ten, and were with tim till bftlf-paat thrct*. \\m brother is Siip^rieiir of the
Petit Seminaire, in which arc 225 youths. The whole pay meat, on aa

158

Alli»8^ Journal in Fratics in 1845 and 1848.

average, is 360 iVancs per annum for board and instruction; some paying
as little ft3 200 francs, snme «s mucli as 500, but no difference m hatever is
made between tlicm* The children are evidently on the most affectionate
terms with the masters. "There are twelve priests, a deacon and sub-
deacon^ and three clerks in minor orders.'* — M,'

' The f hapel is a pretty and simple building^ of the early decorated cha*
racier, designed by Pere Robert, who was formerly an engineer.'

' We dined with them at twelve *'in the refectory. There was a crucifix
at one side, in the middle of the long room; and before it stood the Superienr
while we said grace/' — M. ; and we supped irith thera at seven, in the midst
of 1 80 boys. Absolute silence was kept, and a youth at a tribune in the
middle read fir&t a verse or two of the Gospels, and then some of** Daniel'a
History of France." Nothing could be more simple than their dress ; the
masters were distributed at iutervala down the tables. The school was to
educate laymen and ecclesiastics together^ and they showed with pride a
young man who had become priest out of their house, just twelve years
after hia firat communion. Thia is generally in the twelfth year, but earlier
or later according to the state of the individual. They take their first
communion after special confession, and before cnnfirniation; we narrowly
escnpcd Beeing thia sacrament conferred by the archbishop, who had only
left two days before- Confession begins at seven according to rule, hut
generally before that age »>i fact.
At 5 a.m. They rise. Half an hour to get ready,
5| to 6^. In chapel; prayers and mass.
6^ to 8. Study m sUence, in school-room,
8 to 8|. lirenkfast, with reading Lives of Saints.
8| to SJ. Recreation.

Class. Viva voce lecture.

Study.

Dinner, with reading.

Recreation.

Study.

Class.

Recreation.

Jitiidy.

Lecture Spirituelle, and Evening Prayeri ; the tune at which
the Sup6rieur took notice of any thing which had occurred,
gave advice, &c.

Supper.

Recreation. Then a minute or two of prayers in chapel, and
bed*

' Study commences always with the hymn beginning •' Veni Sancte
SpirituR," the collect for Pentecost, and " Ave Maria." One half holiday,
Thursday. " Afterwards we walked in their little garden and play ground.
IL being Thursday, the boys went out to walk with some of the clerks.
Some, however^ remained about the premiseSj doing some of the painting,
&c. that was rctiuired. Much of the work has been done by them. They
carried all the brickji and mortar w hile the chapel was building, &c. &c
They seem to be quite a fiimily." — J// Pp. 10, 13 — 13.

The leading point in French education, at least as admi-
nistered by the Clergy, is to establish a perfect intimacy between
the puplla and teacliers : — -

*They attend ccmfession once a months and it is very rare that they
fttU in this : this is the nde of the house ; hut bhould any avoid it much
longer, his confessor would not speak to him authoritatively at all, or send
or him, but rather take an opportunity of referring incidentally to his

8i to lOi.

104 to 12.

12 to 12i.

121 to U'

U to 3.

3 to4i.

4 J to 6.

5 ton.

71 to 1%.

7| to 8|.

H to B£.

AUM Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

absence. This liardly ever fails. ** They generally thank him for doing so,
the reason being; something about which they were uuablc to get them-
seives to break the ice," — M. They live entirely with their pupils;
sleeping, eatiup^, playing, teaching : in the centre of a large dormitory,
with betls on both sides, was a bed, nowise distinguished from the rest
save that it had a chair beside it : here the Superieur f^Ieeps. His Mnlary
is !000 francs a year ; that of the olhern about 000* They said, laug^hlng,
that it ttaa hardly what a servant in England would receive- The Superieur
has A very pleasing and paternal aspect. AVe heard him catechise the
children in the chapel for some time ; their aoswers were good. Several
were on the Bacraraentg, and the reply to them definitti aod precise :—

* Which is the most indispensable fiacrament?' 'Baptism.' ' How many
sorts of baptism are there?' 'The baptism of water, of blood, and of
desire,' 'Can any sacrament be administered by other than a priest t*
*Ye9, bftptism in case of necessity.' ♦ Can any other?' 'None, air/

* What condidous are necessary to receive the sacrament of Penance ? '
'Five,* *Are there any of those more indispcngable than others ?' ' Yes,
fervent sorrow for sin past, and a resolution not to offend God by shining
anymore.' * If a priest conferred absolution on a person who gave no
oa'tward sign of penitence, from his state of sickness, would it benefit him?'
'If be WHS able to make interior actions of the soul, it would; not other-
wise.* ('The Church,' said M. Labbc, in explanation, * would prefer bestow-
ing n sacrament often inutilcment^ to denying it oucc where it might
benefit.'; ' Which arc the three chief Christiao graces?' *Faiih, Hope,
and Charity.' ' Which is the moat perfect?" * Charity.' ' Why V * Because
it presupposes the other two/ {I think); and, again, 'because it will last
forever/ *Will Faith last for ever T ' Non, Monsieur/ •Why?' ' Par-
ceque, qnand nous verrona Dieu, nous n' anrons pas besoin de le croire/
' VMll you see God?' • Oui, avec nos propres yeux.' ' You have just re-
ceived confirmation; what docs it make him who receives it?' * Un parfait
Chretien.' ' Etes-vous done no parfait Chretien ? ' With hesitation, 'Oui,
Monsieur/ • Etes-vous un Chretien parfait ? " * Non, Monsieur.* 'Quelle
est la diff&rence ? ' ' Un parfait Chretien est celui qui a tous les moyens
pour parvenir au salut — Va. Chretien parfait est celui qui est sanspeche.'

* En y a-t'-il ? ' ' Non, Monsieur/ (with licsitation). ' Non, mon enfant, il
n'y en a pas/ ' — Pp. 11 — J 3.

On a stibsequeDt visit Mr. Allien was much struck with a
contirmatioa which he saw at this school : —

•At three we went on to Ivetot, and found a most kind welcome from
our friends. They lodged us in a house they have lately purchased, in
their garden, where, fur the first time in my life, I had .the honour of a
silver bason and ewer. Wc supped in the refectory, at a table in the
middle, with M. le Superieur. Silence is kept at the meals, and one of the
pupils reads from a pulpit on one side. The pupils act as scrvjiuts iu turn
during the meal.

^Afonday, Jttltf 10. — We heard two sermons, morning and afternoon, from
M. P. L. Labbi^ to the coufirmans, Dfty-nine in number. Our friend's
manner was mild and paternal, yet full of xeal and unction. His morning
subject was, " You have not received the spirit of bonduge again to fear,
but ye have received the spirit of adoption whereby we cry Abba Father.'*
He distinguished between servile fear and filial fear — between Jewish
bondage and Christian adoption ; beseeching his hearers ever to cherish
in their hearts the sense of God's pfitcrnal love, and that *' we can never
know how much God loves us in this world/' and then he urged them, if
ever they fell into sin, to fly to Crod at once for pardon, never distrusting

IGO

Allies' Journal hi Fratice m 1845 mid 1848-

Hira, however great their own unworthiness ; reminding them that the
iribimal of penitence was ever open to them. In the iiftemooii his subject
waa, " Ye sball receive power after that the Holy Gliost is come upon yoa,
and ye shall he witnesses unto me." Thnt at confirmation there was a
larger infuBion of the Holy Spirit than at baptism — what it was to be
witnesses to God— witnesses by our whole life and conversation. These two
addresses much pleased me, both as to manner and matter.

* We had the privilege of saying our Enghsh oflice in their chapct, where
the single lamp marks the presence of the Holy Sacrament, How great a
blessing: ts this^ that the Lord of the Temple dwells bodily in it — how ^cat
a realiising of the Incarnation. The chapel is a very pleasing; limitation of
the middle Gothic style, built from the designs of M. Robert, who, being a
pupil of the Ecole Polytechnique, gave up all prospects in the world for
the hard and painful life of a priest in a petit seminaire : and not only he»
but all who are there, seem to have their daily life supported by a spring
of charity in themselves ; and the great self-denial which accompanies it
seems borne as if it were no weight at all, for they look for the recompense
of the reward. During the five days we passed at Irctot we remarked
again and again to each other the atmosphere of fraternal charity which all
seemed to breathe. There was no looking for success in the world — no
thought of gaining wealth ; but the one thing in view w aa to train the
children committed to them as members of Christ and heirs of His king-
dom. This one thought pervaded all their actions. In the evening the
Archbishop of Kouen came, attended by his vicaire genera!, M. Surgia.
The masters and ourselves supped in private with him j and I was con-
founded at being put on his right, as P. was on his left. His own aila-
hility, however, and the unaffected kindness and ease of his demeanour
with hia clergy, soon made one feel cnmfortahle.

* Tuesday, Jutij 1 L — The confirmation was at nine. The pupils formed in
procession along the corridor into the chnpcl, some sixty or eighty of the
rear in albes, followed by the masters and some other clergy^ the cross and
crosier immediately preceding the Archbishop ; we followed behind, and
then mounted to the latticed tribune at the end of the chapel, whence the
whole disposition of the congregation, the multitude of albes, the altar
dreaaed for the Holy Sacrifice, and the splendid habit of the Archbishop,
formed a most pleasins scene. He said MasH, and communicjited, I should
think, a hundred pupils ; as they knelt two and two all up the chapel and
received successively from his hands, nothing could he more solemn.
There wa^i a moment in this service particularly tonchxng — the Archbishop
took his crosier in his hand and, standing before the altar said, '' Bene-
dicat vos omnipotcns Dens, Pater, et Filius, -{-, et Spiritus Sanctus."
It seemed like the great Hi^h Priest Himself blessmg His people. After
Mass he stood before the middle of the altar, and, requesting them to be
seated, addressed them for about twenty minutes. His manner was a
mixture of grace and simplicity most pleasing to behold ; indeed, hia whole
demeanour represented exactly the priest, the lather, and the bishop, and left
behind it a perfume as it were of the heavenly hierarchy, among whose earthly
counterpart he ranked. He enlarged upon the triple blessing bestowed
upon us by the Holy Trinity, in creation, in redemption, and in sanctifica-
tion. Presently he spoke of the Holy Eucharist as an extension of the
incarnation, (rapi^tissant,) gathering it up into little; and of Christ therein
really, substautijiUy, and personally present in us. His vicaire general
said, that in daily confirmations during two months he never repented
himself, hut varied each address. He had no note, and spoke without
effort. Tlien followed an examination of the confirmans by himself during
abont thirty-five minutes. He took boys here and there and asked them
questions on the elements of the faith, the sacraments, &c,, in so low &

Allies^ Journal in France tn 1845 and 1848.

161

Toice that I coiild on!y catch the general import. Then came the confir-
mation itself, which, lUte our owe, is very short.' — Pp. 172 — 176.

The following curious scene is somewhat at variance with
Engliflb ideas both of etiquette and of amusement. But national
jdeae on both these eubjects are incommensurable. Certainly we
sympathize more with our French frientls at Ivetot in their
eeriong than in their jocose moods : —

•After dinner, two of the pupila, one from the older and frora the
younger division of the school, recited verses before the Archbishop, and
the whole school seemed dehghted at the words of kindneya he ad-
dressed to them. I heard our friend, io one of his addresseSj remind
them thttt the Archbishop was the head and master of the house, and ao
they all appeared to feel him to be.

' In the evening we were all collected^ in n somewhat suspicious manner,
for some exhibition in a long hall, at the end of which a carpet was spread,
and a chair placed for the Archbishop, I ask M. Robert what was coming j
but he replied, " Pour nous autrea Fran^aia, vous savez, nous sommes dea
fous : il faut c|ne nous rions de tout! " I will not say that the entertain-
ment verified his former proposition, but ccrUunly it did the latter. M.
Picard, cure of the cathedral of Rouen, took out a paper, and began reading
a copy of verses by himself, commemorating a recent fall from his horse of
one of the tutors. At each verse the boys took up conplet and refrain,
and sung it with hearty good will. This continued for some twenty or
thirty stanzas. The boys needed but the hint. I thought to myself, I
doubt whether it would improve the discipline of Eton to collect the boya
in the loag school-room together to commemorate an equestrian lapse of
my friend C. or A., Qupposing them to have met with one. The refrain,

*^ Quel est-ce cavalier-ld
Qu'il mene bien son dada?

Tra-la-la tra-la-la."

aounded by 250 voices, still rings in ray ears. This was succeeded by
another song, lecited in the same manner, on M. Robert's propensities to
atudy the moon/— Pp. 177—179.

And the following scene — a distribution of prizes at a school
in Paris— 'iiS not less quaint. It seems to mark the weak aide
of French education : if we interfere too little, and our affection
for manlinesfi degenerates into rudenesB, they meddle too much,
and their tendernees is in danger of becoming mawkishness ; — -

*At one went to the distribution of prices at the Petit Seminaire, 21
Rue N. V, des Champa, llie four vicaires gdn^raux of the Chapter of Paris
sat in front, to crown with a cbaplet the gainers of the prizes^ and to pre-
sent books to them and those who gained an acceasil. There were a good
many other clergy, and a tolerable number of laity, men and women, pre-
aent, friends evidently of the young men and boys'* . . When this was done,
the giving of prizes began. It took an hour; and no wonder, for at least
two hundred wreaths and two hundred sets of books, single <*r double,
were to be distributed. Many indeed received several wreaths and prizes.
The winners came forward, ascended four or five steps, and were succes-
sively crowned and saluted on each cheek by one of the vicaires g^neraux ;
now and then they were taken to a friend or relative, mnle or female, when
present to receive their crown. It wns put on the head, and then carried
m the hand. I thought that at least the principle of emulation was not dis-

NO. LXV.^N.S. M

les

Un Journtil in Francs in 1845 and 1848.

conmffed. But tlie grent number of subjects which were rewarded wie as
reiuftrkable as the number of prizes. It seemed as if they never trould
end. There was Excellence and Sagesse ; Greek, L^tin, and French com-
position f Latiti verse; philosophy, rhetoric, geography, Eng^iih hiug^uage,
J^ I and iH03t of these divided into dilfereut fonns. * No merit could Jse
.fud to be neglected. There was a firat prize, and a second, and aometimes
three aocessit hcBidcs; and some reached nine, or even ten re wards. I
dare say they all felt as young Greeks receiving the laurel crown. Cer-
tainly the mounting those steep atairs, in order to receive their crown,
must have been a nervous operation.

' At the couciusiou, one of the vicaires g6n^rAiix rose and delivered a few
words to the pupils with great simplicity and ease ; the day of return was
then announced for Thursday, 5th Oct. I marked many ingenuous and
pleasing countenances among the successful candidatCvi. A father near me
waa in a state of the greatest excitement at the prizes of his son, a lad of
thirteen/— Pp. 229—231.

Mr. Allies is minute in his details respecting the great ecclesi-
astical seminary of S. Sulpice, the mtxlel institution far the
training of the French Clergy. He received the following ac-
count of their employment of the day: —

•From him we obtained an account of the day's occupation in the Sdmi-
naire de S. Sulpice, which I took down from his mouth as follows, incor-
porating with it Bome further information given noe by M. Oalais, professor
of Canon Law therein t-^

5 a. m
5 to H.

54 to 6J.

^1 to 7,

til

lov

lOj

ttl

111

112

12,

12 to 12|.

They rise; recite the *' Angelus" (angelic salutation).
Dress, come down stairs ; tlie most pious go for two or three

minutes before the Holy Sacrament.
Vocal prayer for ten minutes, and tlieti prayer for the rest of

the hour^ each by himself kneelmg, without support.

The Profeaaor says his prayer aloud, in order to teach

the pupils, on his knees, in the ball.
Mass; those who have communicated attend another mass

for returning thanks, which may last to 7}, The rest

mount to their rooms.
Reading of Holy Scripture in private.
Breakfast, — dry bread, wine, and water ; nothing else allowed,

save that in case of ueceBsity milk or «oup is sometimes

given. Each reads in private.
Preparation of theological lesson in their rooms.
LesHon in theology, Mc>rale.
Visit to the Holy Sacrament.
Deacons have a lesson in theology ; the rest a singing lesson

for half an hour, and then go up to their rooms.
Private examination of conscience. During seven minutes,

meditation, kueeling, on some fact of the New Testament ;

and for the next seven, Tronson read.
Dinner For three minutes a chapter of the Old Testament

read aloud, then the life of a saint, or ecclesiastical history.

They end with the Roman Martyrology for the morrow.

Then a visit to the Holy Sacrament for a minute,- recita-
tion of the Ancjclus.

Dinner consists of a little soup; one dish of meat, pota-
toes, or " legumes." For dessert, an apple, or such like.

Drink, wine and water.

A Urn* Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

1l.

4*.

5i.

«i

12 to If. Recreation. At 12| talking is allowed for the first time in
the (lay. Letters are delivered. The Frofessora are bound
by their rule to take their recrcatious with their pupils ;
they make a great point of this.

Recitation of the **Chapelet;" sixty-three Patera and Avet.

Private study in their rooms. From 2 to 3|, class of eccle-
siastical singing four tiroes a-weck. From 2 to 5^ adoration
of the Holy Sacrament by each person for halfan-faour.

Tlieological class. Dogma.

Visit to the Holy Sacrament.

According to the season, bell for all in holy orders to say their
breviary. Time for conferences,

" Glose," — spiritual reading by the Superior,

Supper. One dish of meat, " legumes," salad, wine and
water Reading at all meals. Talking never allowed but
at the Archbisho])'s vii^it once a-year. A chapter of the
New Teatament read ; a verse of the ** Imitation of Jcaus
Christ/'
7.J. They go before the Holy Sacrament ; recite the Angelue.

7 4 to 8j. Recreation,

ii\ to 83. Evening prayers; Utanics, vocal, with private examination
of conscience. Mount straight to their rooms, or go first
before the Holy Sacranjcut. Tlie Superior remains in his
place; each, in passing beside him, accuse himself of any
outward faults committed daring the day against the rules.
9 to 9^ Bed time : at f)| to he in bed. Each has a room to himself;
a table, a bed, a candlestick, and fire-place, A priest sleeps
in each corridor.

Special Lectures.

Hebrew; two courses.

Aforal Theoloey ; a great conrsc. Young men admitted who have
ab^eady studied the elementary course— about forty or tiBy.

Canon Law ; a special course.

From Easter to the vacation they are instructed in the duties of a pastor
in great detail.

Private study of the Holy Scriptures by each half-an-hour a day.

At three o'clock on Sunday, at S. Sulpice, the young men exercise them-
selves in catechising, except from Kaster to the vacation.

Before the first communion there is catechising at S. Sulpice for two
months thrice a-weck, (not hy the pupils).

OBSERVATIONS.

There ia much sickness ; (the building has not gardens or sufficient space
for recreation attached to it).
Not time enough for study.
The vacation is from Aug. 15, to Oct. K
The cassock is always worn/*— Pp. 29 — 32.

On a Bub sequent occasion he went over it, and thus de-
scribes it : —

* Thursday, July 10.~M. Calais took us over the Seminairc de S. Sulpice.
There is nothing remarkable in the building. The pupils are rather more
than 200: their appearance is very devout; they seem of low rank in liJe
generally, and this is no doubt the case, but with exceptions ; for instance,
we heard to-day of the son of M. S6gur, who is there. Each pupd has a
small room to himself, which opens on the corridor ; it has a bed, table,
little atove, and hardly anything more, with a crucifix and little statue of

M 2

164

Aiiie/ Journal in Fratvce in 1845 and 1848.

.^e Blessed Virgin, belongijag to the house. They mftke their own beds :
they are not allowed to enter each other's rooms at iillj but, if they wish to
speak to one another, the stronger atands in the paasape, and the occupant
at his door. The whole is under the inspection of the Archbishop, who
has a chamber here, but does oot often couie. There are twelve masters.
The atftte of instruction as regartis the Church is as foOoirs id France gene-
rally. In each diocese there is one or more petita sdminnires, w Inch are for

Ifjhildren, not oidy such as are to be eccleaiastics, but laymen also. These
are the only schools in which morals and religion are made a primary coti-
sideration ; and, therefore, though they have nothing to do wrib the uni-
veraity, and are excluded from all privilegea, they are sought after by the
sounder part of the community, To these succeeds, for ecclesiastics alone,
the grana s^minairc for each diocese; this of S. Sulpice is the most eminent
in France, The studies are for five years ; two in philosophy, three in
theology. They are thus arranged^ as we took them aown from the lips of
M. Galais.

Philosophy {First Yeae).
Logic Psychology, — ^naoraing.
Arithmetic, Geometry, beginning of Algebra, — evening.

Second Year.

Th6odic6e \

Morale ) ™"""S-

Geology
Physics
Astronomy

evenms.

Chemistry )

* Sometimes, perhaps in half the dioceses of France, these two years of
philosophy are contracted to one. The three years of theology are thus
arranged : —

First Year.
Morale. Le traits de actibus hainanis.
„ de legibus.
„ de pcccatis.
„ de decalogo.
Dogme. „ de vera religione,

„ de vera ecclesia.
„ de locis theologicifl.

Second Year.
Morale. De jure et justitia.

De contractibus.
Dogme. De Trinitate.

De Incarnattone.

De gratia.

Third Year.
Morale. De sacramento poenitentiae. (Under this head
would fall the whole direction for tlie guid-
ance of souls.)
De matriraonio.

De ceusuris et irregukritatibus.
Dogme. De sacramentis in gen ere.
De bap tig mo.
De conGrmatione.
De Eucharialirt,
De ordine. (TTiere is also a special course on

on this),
De extrema uuctione.

[ilies* Journal in Frame in 1845 mid 1848.

165

* A course of Holy Scripture twice a-week, exclusive of private study
of it.

Authors used:—
Bailly, 8 vols.

Bouvicr, Institutioncs TheologicsE.
Camere, De Jure, et Justitia, Sic,
Tronson, Forma Cleri-
*TTiese three years of thcologj' are aometimea expanded to four.*^ —
Pp„ 51—54.

Their Bpeclal spiritual preparation is strict and searching:
the account which Mr. Allies received was as follows : —

* They confess thcm.selvea every weak, ordinarily ie the morning during
the mt^ditation. They choose their own confessor among the masters, who
are at present twelve, hut the nomhcr ia not fixed. Aa to communicating,
they are free ; but arc exhorted to do it often. Often is all the Sundays
and' festivals. Some communicate besides tv\?o, three, four, five, times a
week, especially as the time of tljeir ordination draws near. The priests
every day. After the communion twenty minutes *' action de ip-Rces.'* On.
entering the seminary, a general confession of the whole past life is made.
At the coraraencement of each year, after the vacation, in October, a con-
fession of the year is made. At the bcgjinning of each month there is a
retreat for one day^ ordinarily the first Siuiday. Direction is twice a month.
It is intercourse between each young man and his director for the purpose
of making known his inward state. There is a general retreat after the
vacation for eight days ; in tliia no visits allowed ; no letters received ; no
going out into the city. There are recreations, but the rest of the day is
consecrated to prayer, to confession, and to sermons. Each has his own
rule (reglement particulier,) which he draws up in concert with his con-
fessor.

' The day, the hour, and the mode of using the following exercises, to be
determined on with the director.

Private examination of oneself.

Coufeasion.

Holy Communion.

Direction.

The monthly retreat.

La Monition.

Any special reading.

Accessory studies.

' What has been determined on by the director, relatively to the pre-
ceding exercises, ia to be written in the " reglement particulier" of each.

* The main resolution necessary to insure the fruits of the seminary ia
fidelity to the " reglement," and especially to silence at the prescribed
times, and to tlie holy employment of one'a time.

* The virtues to be studied are, collectedness, the thought of the presence
of CJod, modesty and good example, charity and humility, religion and
fervour in the exerdses of piety.

* The order of exerrisea for a day in the annual retreat is as follows : —
5 a.m. Rise; preparation for prayer; short visit to the Moat Holy

Sacrament.
54' Prayer.

Mes.se de comromiaut^.

Preparation for general confeaaion, or for that of the nnnunl

review, and especially for that of the time spent in the

vacation.

166 AUi&s* Journal in Frame in 1845 and 1848.

Breakfast

Petttea heures.
Sf. Reading, c>r '* direct ioa,"

9f. Visit to the Holy Sacrament.

94. *' Entretien."

lOi. "Dctassement," during which there may be citlier reading or
"direction."

1 1 . Writing of one's rcaolutionB, and then reading the preaciribed

chapters of Holy Scripture,
112. Private examinatitm,

12. Dinner, followed by the Aiigelua, and recreation.

1|, Vespers and Compline; recollecting of oneself, to examine how

one has done the morning's exerciaes.
2^. Reading, with meditation, of the chapters of the Imitation.
3^. Visit to the Holy Sacrament.

3|. «' Entretien,"

4i. Matines and frauds ; writing of resolutions. Then ** delasaement/'

as in morning at 10|.
5. Recitation of "chapelet," meditated.

Oi. A spiritnal lecture.

7. Supper, followed by the Angelna, and recreation.

SJ. Prayer; examination of conscience,

[i. Bed ; making prepanition tor (the morning's) prayer.

* The following means are recommended for profiting by the *' retreat."

* I. From its commencement have your •*rfiglement partieidier'' ap-
proved by your director; agree i^ith bira on the employment of your
time, on the subject of your reading, on the manner of preparing your
confeasiou.

' 2. Road the chapter of the Holy Scripture and of the Imitation marked
in the ** Manual of Piety," and never omit this reading.

* 3. Observe silence carefully, save at the time of recreation, and if you
are obliged to speak, «bk leave to do so,

"4. Do not read or write any letter*

* 5. If you experience dryness, disgust, repugnance, discouraging thoughts,
as generally happens in retreats, communicate them immediately to your
director, and follow his advice, as the moat assured means of overcoming
( eniptations.

' 6. If you have already made a general confession at the seminary, em-
ploy the time after mass till breakfast in examining yourself on the manner
in which you have done your actions in tbe seminary the past year, how
you have combated your defects and your ruling passion, and how you have
practised the virtues which you proposed to acquire.

' 7. Study especially inward recollectedoess, contidence in our Lord, and
in the Must Holy Virgin, serious and deep examination of your conscience,
and a great desire *' de faire un bon Scminaire."

' 8, After the retreat tell yonr director your feelings and resolutions, and
busy yourself immediately with drawing up your •• rcglement particulier,"

* There are, moreover, retreats for eight days before each ordination.
Exposition of the pontifical is given. Before the ordination of any indi-
vidual is decided on, there are tw o " appels" to be gone through ; 1st, that
of outward conduct; 2d, that of inward conduct, decided by all the masters
in common. If these are passed there is a third examination of himself
and his fitmss for tbe ministry to be gone through by the pupil in private.
Fourthly, if he ia iborougbiy persuaded of bis vocation, his confessor
linally decides whether he shall be accepted for the ministry or rejected.
The ordinary payment made by ciich pupil is 700 franca a year, but this.

^^^^ AUiei Jmirnal in France in 1845 and 1848. ^iS?

in case of necessity, or of promising persona, especially when recommcudod
by bisbopH, is reduced to 400.

^ In Lent one meal and one collation (a hiilf meal) are allowed: the first
at mid-day. Meat is permitted on Sundnys, Mondays, Tuesdays and
Thursdays, by the archbishop's " mandement." Fridays and Saturdays
are meagre days through the year, but not fasts. The other fasts of the
year are very fcw^ the f^^reater number having: been nbolinhed by the Con-
cordat. They arc Christmas Eve, Whitsun Eve, S, Peter's Eve, the vigils
of the Assumption and All Saints.* — I'p, 32—37.

The work Is a hard and painfid one : — ^

'M. Gaduel told me that the good professors of S. Sulpice receive no
saJary ivhatever. They live, he said, aa children in a father's house, pro-
vided with everything they ^vaut, but they are not given money. If ojie
has need of a coat, he aska for it, and has it. Should they be" taken ill,
and be unable to continne their functions, they will be supported and ten-
derly provided for all their days. Tbey take no votTs, and can leave xvben
they pleaae; and they retain whatever private property they may possess.
Those who have none receive 100 franca a year for their charities ; fur yuii
know, he said, they cannot go into llie city without a mm. Thus their hfe
is entirely detached from the cares of this world, from, the desire of wealth,
and all that attaches to it. Yet is it, from ita sedentariness and severely
abstract pursuits, an well as from the continued pressure on the heart and
conscience, a tr}'ing life. Health, I imagine, is only maintained by the
weekly relaxation of Wednesday, and the annual vacation of tw o months
in Au^fit and September/ — P. 37.

These accounts preBent, without questiotij a rare and touch-
ing picture of self-devotion, of high appreciation of the respon-
sibihties and duties of the Clergyj of zealous and disinterested
efforts to fulfil them. Such hard work of charity canuot, wo
would fain hope, be tkrown away even upon France, though
nothing less than that coidd hold the ground of the chm-ch even
for a generation, against the wild tumult of opinion, and the
activity and talent of the infidel sects. The French Clergy
have certainly done enough to entitle them to the sympathy and
respect of Christendom. Whether they are doin^ enough to
attain the great object of once more regaining and Christian-
izing the French people, time must show. Great as is our
admiration of their staunch unflinching bravery, and limited as
we feel our powder to be of cntlcieing what is at once so opposite to
our own way.*? of acting, and excels exactly in those points where
we are defective, we cannot hear the accounts which reach us of
French ecclesiastical education without some misgivings. Aa
a drili it seems admirable ; and drill, in a clergy as in an army,
is of the highest importance ; and drill is precisely that in which
our own Clergy are deficient ; but drill in an army, and much
less in a clergy, is not everything, and we cannot help thinking
may be overdone. It is a perilous thing for a man to have to
educiitc himself; but it is not less periloua to relieve him alto-
gether of the charge of his own education. Other men may

lea

AUitu^ Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

and were meant to help him in it; but we cannot think thjitthey
were meant to leave him nothing to do or to provide for, except
to co-o[>erate with them in will and ol>edienGc. The system of
S. Sulpicc, while it seema undoubtedly to promise obedience,
siibordinationj and an a\ craijje amount of kiiowlcdf^e, does not
seem to promise ptnver. Doubtless, a dorgy with far lower
fjualilicationa than those provided for by S. Sulpice, may do
good service iu a flock ready formed and disposed to hefiev^e
and obey: but the Church of France is now a Misiiionary Chuitih,
and has to reconquer , in an age not alone of corruption, but
of bold and powerful thought* Her present gyetem of educa-
tion avoids the dangers which fiurroiinded the freer and bolder
systems of the middle agea and the early Cliurch, but it also
gives up their advantages. It provides for the poor, to ita great
praise be it spoken^ with earnest and seriiius c^re ; but, so far
as we can see, it declines to cope with ijitcllect and refinement
We are quite aware that we are speaking at a disadvantage —
» disadvantage which a foreigner never can entirely surmount in
sj leaking of something so domestic, so complicated, so myste-
rious and unaccountable in its effects, as education, even if
lie sees with his own eyes. But we do not speak without
authority. We do not know whether the French Clergy are
altogether satisfied with their system of education, which is in
principle, though not in detail, much the same as in most parts
of Roman Catholic Europe ; but in Italy, one writer at leai*t of
high authority^ Rosmini, has comidaincd in strong tei-ms of it^
defectiveness, in some of the very points which are tlte first to
strike an Englishman— that it i^ too much of a drill, and not
enough of an education, — that it leaves too little to the pupil
himself, and is tito timid in trusting him,— that it confines him to
systems, instead of allowing him to come in contiict for himself
with the great works of antiquity* In an appeal which he
makes to his own brethren on the main evils which oppress the
Church,* and in the front of which he places the ^separation of
the people from the Clergy in public worship — the cutting off
the people from taking a full and intelligent part in it— he traces
one of the main causes of these evils, and of this last one in
particular to the imperfect instruction given by the Clergy ;
and this imperfection to the technical character of their own
education, compared with the freer or more living system of
curly times, when bishops were the immediate teachers of the
Clergy, and text-books had not supplanted the Bible and the
Fathers, His remarks on catechisms, aa at present in use, are
strong? fully admitting the great value of conciseness and pre-

' ' Ddle cinqtie pinghe della 8. Chiesft, trattaio dedicato ftl clero Cattolico: di
Anl. Hosmini- Perngis, 18l».' (Preface date^ 1832.>

[iJfiW Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

169

cialon of Blatement in conveying Cliristlan doctrine, and con-
sidering that this has been to a great degree attamed in such
hook?, he complains that this has in |)ractice served only a* a cloak
for a jejune teiichiug, devoid of substance, fulness, and Fife :^

•The lack of a living iind fiiU iiiatnictinii for the people ... is tlic first
cause of that wall of separation whicli b raised between them and the
ministera of tlic Cburcb. I say, ^'full and living instruct on," for as
regards material instruction, it is more abundant now, perhaps, than in
other times. C&techisma are in every one's memory ; these catechisms con-
t*dn the dogrmatic formulae, those last expressions, the simplest and most
precise, to which the united labours of all the doctors who have nourished
in so many centuries have, with marveUoua intellectual subtlety, and
above alU with the aid of the Holy Spirit present in the councils, and ever
speaking in the Church throughout the world, reduced the whole doctrine
of Chrii^tianitJ^ Such conciseness, such ex«ctnesa in doctrinal expressions, is
doubtless a step in advance. Words are become purely and entirely truth ; a
secure way is traced out, by which teachers may, without much study on
their part, make the deepest and sublimest doctrines reach the ears of the
faithful whom tliey instruct But if it has been rendered easy to con-
vey exact expressions to the ears of the faithful, has it become equally easy
to make these expressions reach their minds, and sink down into their heart,
w hich must be reached throujrh their minds ? Has this abridging of doc-
trine, this bringing^ the terms in which it is expressed to perfection and to
the last dogmatic exactness, this fixing them unchangeably^ — and making
them the only ones, — has all this made these expressions more accessible to
the common under»taudiug ? Is it not a question, on the contrary, whe-
ther a certain multiplicity and variety of expression is not a suitable means
to convey to the minds of the multitude the knowledge of tnith T . . , «
Is it not true that a teacher who repeats what he does not understand
himself, however careful he may be in repeating verbally what he has

received, makes his hearers feel the chill on his lipa Nay, those

formulae, imperfect it may be, which in former times were used in teaching
Christian doctrine, had perhaps in their very imperfection this good, that
they did not communicate to mankind the truth whole and entire, but as it
were broken into parts, and then the comment at length made up for the
defect, if such there were, of the expressions, gathered up and united those
parts of truth dismembered only in the external expression — or rather, truth
gathered itself up, so to say, and became united in the minds and spirits of
those whom it had penetratedt and thereof itself built itself up and became
complete- . . . It is true, that when a child is to be admitted to the greater
sacraments of the Church, he is carefully examined whether he knows the
principal mysteries. He recites the words ; and this is a proof that he
knows them. Yet is it not a question, whether the child who says by rote
the words of the catechism, knows a bit more about those mysteries than
he who has never heard these words? Has then the introduction in
modern times of catechisms been more prejudicial than advantageous to
the Church? Strange, indeed, would it be, if this were the result of an
institution, which in itself promised .'io much. But we may say of these
admirable abridgement.^ of Christian teaching, what the Apoailc said of the
law of Moses, that they arc certainly holy, and just, and good, that they
are useful if a man use them lawallly. 'The fault is in man, not in the
thing.'— Pp. 17, 18.

The following are hits remarks on flic practical working of the
seminariesi. After contrasting the difficulty in ancient times

170

Mies Journal in France in 1M6 and 1848,

oi' finding masters, with tbe comparative facility now, lie
8ays:—

* Consider, on the oftier hand, how in the present day we abotind, or
think at least that we abound, in masters fit to iuatruct the Clergy in tbe doo
trine and religion of Christ- Not only has every diocese its aerainary, and
in every seminary many roaatera, hut out of our overflowing abundance,
out of the exceeding facility which the Bishop has now in finding Priests to
he teachers of his routhful Clergy, the maatera are changed after a few
years of teaching, by promotion to some less meagre benefice, while in their
place are substituted others, entirely new men, who although they have
not yet gained any experience of human affairSt i<>"* finished yet their edu-
cation in the principles of common sense in the school of social intercourse,
have yet achieved the great course of the aerainary schools, the nepius ultra
of modem ecclesiastical learning: after which the yoinig ministers of the
altar are without further delay set tn work on their employments, and so
honourably released from further study. Meanwhile the science of reli-
gion which these young masters had received in the seminary, broken up into
parts, or rather confined to those parts which appeared most needinl to
enable them promptly and in actual practice to discharge the ecclesiastical
offices required of priests, as a matter of simple duty, by the people and the
government — this great science, I say, has acquired in tbe mind of the
young priest neither root nor unity — has not penetrated in the least degree
mto his mind. He wants the sense of acientitic knowledge — wants all true
comprehension of it ; he carries it fastened to him as it were, and lianging
on his youthful memory, and it is precisely on account of this memory that
he til inks himself more fit than a man of matured wisdom for the office of
teacher .... Lastly, in times in which the amount of the salary attached
to offices is a sufiiciently snre indication by which to judge of the ability of
the men who are employed in them, must we not feel considerable doubt
about the knowledge possessed by the roasters of our seminaries, to whose
oiBce is annexed so poor a provision, that often they seem to have reached
the term of human ambition, when leaving the seminary, they attain to
a parochial benefice, on which, beyond their tutorship, they hmve ever kept
their eyes fixed/— Pp. 36, 37.

We will further quote hia observations on the systematic
teaching in the seminaries; we do it the rather, because our
defects bein^ in the very opposite direction — in the want of
text-bookf*, and of a complete and consistent method of study —
we are eomettities apt to expect more than is to be attained,
from a plan of education wliicli avoid;^ these defects.

* Now if it is to such small men thiit the education of the Clergy is com-
mitted, it is no wonder that these teachers, removed from the writings of
the saints and of the wise, use for their text-books works compiled, as their
title-pages declare, in mumjuventutisf by men of the same small calibre as
themselves. For everything must be in proportion, part must correspond
to part, and one fault leads to another : and tliis poverty and weakness of
the books uaed in the schools, is precisely tbe third reason of the insufli-
eiency of their eduaition*

* There are two sorts of books. One are classical books, books of majesty,
which comprehend the wisdom of the human nice, ^mtten by the represen-
tatives of that wisdom— books where there is nothing arbitrary or uniruitfui,
cither in the method or style or teaehing ; in which are stored upj not
merely particular truths, in a word, erudition, but which set forth umversal
truths, those fruitful and wholesome doctrines, into which human nature

Allm' Joumai tn France in 1845 and 1848.

171

bas transfiiseii its very self, with its feelings, its ivants, And ils bopcn.
Tliere arc other hooka, again, books of jjettincss and detail^ of mere indi\ i-
dual interest, where all is poor and frigid, where trulli which is boimdlcKs
only appears in shreds, and in that shape in whkh a poor httle mind could
find room for it ; wlicre the aiithoi't exhausted by the labour of giving it
birth, has only retained vig^our enough to stamp on the book the senate of
his toil, and a fainting life— books on which human nalure when it iasiMa
from its pupillage, turns its baek for ever, for it fiiida in them neitber ilwir,
nor its tlioughtaj nor its alTections— yet books to which we obstinately and
cruelly condemn our youth, which with a natural instinct rejects them, and
too often, from a desire to exchange them fiir better, falls under the temptar
tions of corrupt writingSj or forms a determined aversion to study, or
Irora the long violence it has sufieredl under the rigour of the schools, che-
rishes a hatred, secret, deeo, life-long, against its masters, its superiors, its
books, and the truths whicb the books contain— yes, a hatred, I say, not
always clearly developed, but working continually under forma diflcreot
from those of actual hatred — which clothes itself under all pretexts, which
where it betrayB itself, astonishes even him who is conscious of it, because
he did not know that he had it» and cjinnot explain its cause — ^and which
wears all the appearance of impiety or rude ingratitude towards teachers,
otherwise excellent, and who have lavished so much care, so many words,
so much affection, on their pupils,' — Pp. 37» 38.

Then after spcitklng of the educational books of the Church
in former times, ^ — the Bible fii^st, then t!ie writings of the
Fathers, then the scientific abridgements of their teiiching by
the schoolmen, of which the Summa Theologlw of S. Thomiw*
Arjuinas was the most perfect example,— and after noticing the
ridvantages, and in hia view greater disadvantageSj wWch had
attended on the scholastic method, he proceeds: —

♦The schoolmen,' (he apecifilly excepts S. Bernard and S, Bonavcnturn,
whoj he Bays, * wrote with the digiiity of the early Fathers/) • the school-
meo had abridged Christian wisdom at the sacrifice of all that ap|>eals to
the heait, and that rendered it operative : tlicir disciples, (and the disciples,
once more be it said, are not greater than the masters,) continued to abridge
it, by cutting off from it all that was most deep, most essential, and by waiv-
ing the mention of its great principles, under colour of facilitating its study,
but in reality because they did not understand them in the least tliema elves.
'X'hus they reduced it miserably to material formuhc, to isolated conse-
quences, to practical directions, which the hierarchy cannot do without, if
it wishes in the presence of the people to carry on the service of religion in
the external way in which it has been done in times past. This \» the
fourth and last epoch in tlie history of the books used in Christian schools ;
the epoch of the theologians who succeeded the schoolmen. And by these
steps, from Scripture, from the Fathers, from the schoolmen, and from the
theologians, we have arrived at these portentous text-books which we use
in our seminaries — bonks which yet inspire us with such a sense of our
own wisdom, with such contempt for our ancestors — hooka which in the
a^es to come, wherein rest the hopes of the Church which can never perish,
wdl, as I believe, be judged the most paltry and repulsive of all that has
been written during the eighteen centuries' which the Church has lasted, —
books, to sum up all in a word, without life, without principles, without
eloquence, and without method, thouejh indeed in adaptation and regular
disposition of their subjects, in which they make method to consist, their
authors show that they have exhausted the whole power of their minds —

172

jiiUe^ Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

booka which not beiug composed for thi? heart, nor for the intellect, nor
for the imapnution, are not in triith books for Bishopa or for Priests,

' But if httli: books and little men go together, can there from these two
elements be formed a fjrcat school, — can there be an imposijig method of
teaching? No j and the defectiveness of the method is the fourth and List
reason of this sore of the Church of which we are speaking — the insufficient
education of the Ciergj in our times/

The view given to Mr. Allies by hia friends of the social and
religious condition of Prance^ and of the obstacles, in the way of
improvement, is a dark one. But hia informantfi speak aUo of
great chmigei' in their favour, both in the feeling of the mass of
the population, and in the external clreumstuiices of the Church-
The litter tlislocation and annihilation of all political ties, has in
eome respects though by no meana in all, facilitated the action
of the Clergy. The following account is gathered hy Mr. AOies
from an evening conversation with some Parisian friends : —

• Last evening we dined with M. Defresne, a very clever, able, and ener-
getic talker We met T Abbe Pet^tot, cur^ of S. LoniB d'Antin,

one of the parishes of Paris, with 18,000 inhabitants; he has ei^bt
curates, besides occasional assistance. They give the most astonishmg
account of the change which has taken place in France in the last fil^een
years in religious matters. Formerlv a young man dared not confess
that he was a Chrietianj or show himself in a church ; now the bitter
sarcasm and ridicule with which all religious subjects were treated have
passed away ; earnestness has laid hold of the mind of the nation, and
even those who are not Christians appear to be searching for the truth, and
treat Christianity as a reality, and conviction with respect. Even now, not
one ffounff man in a hundrtd is a Chrisfian. I asked TAbhiS Petetot particu-
larly, if he Mt sure of this proportion, and he conlirmed it* Out of the
thirty-two millions of French, they reckon two millions who are reaOy
Christians, practising confession ; many of the others send for a priest iji
their last illness, coufesa, and receive the sacraments; but M. DetVesnc
thought this very unsatisfactory, as we should. They are making great
exertions to chriatianisie the class of workmen, the great majority of whom
arc not even nominally believers. You may judge of their life by the fact
that they live with many different women in common, sometimes afler
a time selecting one of these, and confining themselves to her, but without
legitimate marriage. The Church has gained about fifteen hundred of this
class out of a hundred thousand in Paris, and worked a great reformation. At
S. Snl])ice they have every other Sunday a meeting of the^^e, called confe-
rences, at which they are addressed by different persons, dergj' or lay, on
religious, moral, or instructive aubjectg. We went to the" meeting on
Sunday night, and were much pleased with what we saw and heard- Their
minds are laid hold of and interested ; bv drawing together they get a sense
of union and the force of numbers, and are encouraged by each other's
progress ; they see their superiors in knowledge and station exerting them-
selves for their impro\^ement. L'Abbe P6tdtot told us he had preached
eifffiit/ times last Lent, seven times in one day. This is entirely without
note. Their labour must be very great. His manner of speaking is very
pleasing, and 1 think the priests generally speak with great propriety^ and
with an abundance and arrangement of matter which is not common with
us. We have just returned from a visit to M. Martin Noirlieu, once sub-
preceptor of the Duke de Bordeaux, ami now a cure at Paris. He has been

AUiea^ Journal ia France in tS^oand 1848.

173

in England, and speaks fevoumbly of us. He thinks there is much good
and Teal religion in the people of England^ though very defective, and
though the Chureh is suffering under many abuses. Me said they com-
puted that the Bishop of London received as much as all the French
Bishops put together. The state of things here i9 totally different from
vhat It is with as. There is no state religion, no temjjlation wbate\er to
pretend to be a Christian if you are not. The consequence is, that ibere is
little hypocrisy : iofideliity is openly professed by a ^cat number. On the
'Other hand, the believers are so from real conviction, and generally after
a personal conversion ; there are comparatively few hereditnry ChristiAus.
I ' The Church is gradually gaining, but much more in the higher than iti
[jhe lower ranks. There are 80U priests in Paris ; they want 400 more ;
lefore the great Revolution there were 3,000. '^Pp. 112 — 1 15.

Some of them took a hopeful view of the Revolution: —

* Wednesday, Juqvti 2,— Called on M. L'Ahbe P6tetot, Tlie last revolu-
tion has had a happy effect on the side of religion. The utmost respect has
been paid to the priests ; they have never ceased a moment to go abroad
en soutane. In 1830 they were obliged to give this up for two yearsj and

jonly recovered popularity by their devotion to the sick in the time of the
cholera. But now they have come to the priest to bless the trees of liberty.
He had blessed six. They even went in procession with the Cross, which

lis contrary to the la^vs, and woe to him who did not take off his hat. Hut
this is the only good side of the late movements. Commerce is at a atand-
itiil ; and the very boutiquiers talk freely of the necessity of having a king.
Paris subsists by articles of Ivxe^ and a republic is not favourable to these.
But what is coming nobody can see. In the riots of June, the insurgents
had possession of the church of S. Paul, in the Faubourg S. Antoine. The
cure induced them to go elsewhere ; and, before leaving the church, they
came to him for his blessing, saiying they were gomg to fight : and so they
went forth to kill and be killed. But all the middle clags — the bour-
geoisie— is profoundly hostile to religion : they w ill do anything to prevent
Its gaining mtlucnce. Although liberty of teaching would follow naturftlly
from the principles of the renublic, yet the Assembly has just passed a law
on primary instruction as bad as can be ; and another on secondar}' instruc-
tion will follow like it. Religion does not make any way with these classes ;
money is their idoh A workman or poor woman will give five francs to a
charity, where these people think much often sous/^Pp. 260, 2(J7.

The total alteration of political circumstances is given as tlic
explanation of the readiness of the Clergy to go along, as wafi
noticed at tlie time, with the revolutionary feeling. The fol-
lowing words express what all must have felt who have paid
attention to French politics; —

' As we went home with M, Le Normand, he observed on the misconcep-
tion of their position by the Quarterly lately, which seemed shocked at the
acceptance of the republic by the Church ; as if it wns possible to do any-
thing else. I said it was a sentiment of loyalty among us, which dictated
that feeling. '*Z/<>yc(//y," he replied, "is entirely extinct in France; it is
a fiction, and it is useless to attempt to conjure it up ►" '—Pp. 270. 271.

Extinct, judeed, we fear, even in its etymological sense, and
yet the Church is not considered to have gained all the freedom
which would be the fair counterbalance for the loss of political
Btrength. M. Galais is a^ked :—

174

AUim Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

* Will the Jesuit* get more libertjr of action under the Revolution i He
thought not^ There waa no disposition to Apply the principles of liberty
either to the .leauita or the other religious orders. They had the reputa-
tion of hein«^ very '* habilcs ; " and " mibilcs'' they certain) v wcre^ hut not
so much aa they were esteemed. He doubted if they had been wise under
Louis Pbihppe's government; it waa known that in their colleges oat of
France, Bruj^elette for instance, devotion to the elder branch waa inculcated.
Now, the wise course seemed to be to accept the government de facto, as
the fatliers of the Church did. They troubled themaclves A'ery little who
was emperor. Had the Jesuits done so, they would not have been
suspected by Louis Philippe ; and so, perhaps, would have had colleges
entrusted to them, I asked what the actual position of the Church with
regard to the state waa. " There arc/' he said, ** in the Assembly sixty —
it may be as many as a hundred — good Calholica ; but all the rest are
indifferent, or even hostile to us. The immense majority arc bent on
resisting the influence of religion.'* ** It seems to me then," I said, " a kind
of miracle that you subsist at all." " It is so," be replied. *' The thing in
our favour is that, small minority of the nation as we are, we are firm,
compact, and banded together, wliile our enemies are divided in cverj' way.
They hnve no common principle, and so they have a dread of ua, a fear of
our aucccediug in winning back the nation to religion, by which they would
fall into a minority. The real feeling which influences this unbelieving
mass is the luHt of domination ; they have got their lect on the neck of
religion, and they mean to keep it there. For this reason they will allow
no liberty of teaching if they can help it." " But I suppose you have won
ground since 1802 ; have you not?" I said. ** We have won and we have
lost," be replied. *• Doubtless the Clergv arc better constituted now ; there
J8 a great devotion among them. Our bishops are in the main well chosen,
and do their duty. They undei*stand the crisis, and arc fully convinced
that they must fight the battle stoutly, and make no concession. But, on
the other hand, in 1S02, ihcmgh religion had been ovcrthroun, and impiety
had publicly triumphed, yet the great mass of the natirm had received
a Christian education. It is the reverse now; this mass is now unbe-
lieving, they have not been brought up as Christians, their first im-
pressions were not in favour of religion." •' You are then as mission-
aries among unbelievers," I said. " Precisely so. And this enormous
unbelieving mass has the greatest jealousy of us. We only ask fair play ;
liberty, not privileges ; and this they will do every thing to keep from us.
They are making, quietly but dcfmitely, efforts to secularise, as they call
it, the education of girls; tliat is, knoiviog the importance of first impres-
sions, and of the female sex on society, they would take this primary
education out of religious bands. There are infernal plots abroad. They
dread us, and have a feeling, that if xve were allowed a fair trial we should
win our ground, I am convinced that we should recontpicr France if we
were only allowed liberty of action. Even the multitude who seek to
satiate themselves in sensual enjoyments, even these come to us sooner or
later for aid. Few after all can gain these enjoyments, and those who do,
feel that they have not reached \vhat they were seeking for. And then in
the young clergy I am continually seeing instances of the most touching
generosity and devotion. Many give up fair prospects, and fortunes, and
surrender themselves wholly to their ministry." ' — Pp. 272 — 274.

But with all these discounigements, they still pride them-
selves, and with reason, on being the most energetic branch of
the Roman cotnmunlon. ' I asked M. Galais,' sjiys Mr. Allies,
^wliich nation io tlie Bonmn Church was at present most

^^^^ Allied' Journal in f'ram^ in 15^45 mid 1848, 175

*coDspiciioiis for its missionary exertions. He said, the French
'by far J there are ten French for one Italian raissionarj\'
And 80 the Fere Ravignan : —

' He agreed with M. Gftlais in thiDking that France was at present that
part of the Roman Church in which there was moat movement, ** Italy is
always the head and heart: there are, and always have heen, there many
ecclesiastics of a holy li!k Still it cftnnot be doubted that a certain reform
is wanted there — a reform, of course, to be wrought % the Church, and not
ill separation from bcr. This is only aaying that where there are men,
there is a natural tendency to degenerate. We have passud thronti;h this
reform in France." 1 asked whether he tliought^ if liberty of teaching
were grantedj that the Church would regain the mass of the population.
Me hesitated. A certain effect would doubtless be produced: the mere
establiiihnient of a house of education in ^M^ry diocese would be a conside-
rable step. It was very difficult to know the number of practising Catholics
in France. There were not above two millions of Protestants. Out of the
million of Parisians there might be from a hundred to a hundred and fil'ty
thousiind who communicated at Easter, men, women and children: of
women one half were Catholic; of men, perhaps one-twentieth. Paris was
one of the worst places in France \ so, again, the North ^enerally» and the
centre, Bourges, lierri, le Nivernois. On the other hand, in Bretagne and
the South, religion was much more generah'— Pp. 278, 279.

It is romarkaltlc to observe that the centralization of evcry-
thing in Paris which is so observable in other tliiuge^ is spoken
of as true of religion also : — •

* Monday, July 7- — We called on M. Defresne; much atruck by his con-
versation. He said all that was best in religion was at Paris ; out of a mil-
lion of inhabitants there were ,300,000 going io mass, and 50J)00 practising
Christians ; this was the kernel of religion in the country, the pure gold.' —
P. 41.

Mr. Allies has collected some interesting and striking informa-
tion with respect to the MissionH of the Front'h Church, The
following is the account of one of the congregations, to which
are entrusted the missions in the Pacific : —

Hie Abbe Coudrin gathorcd by degreeis a number of young persons
[round him, and succeeded in setting his Congregation on foot, which was
'TTcognised in i817 by Pius VII. In the year 1837 he died, having mtnessed
many establishments of his Congregation in France ; the fouudation of one
Bt Valparaiso : many of bis di.'sciples cvau^eliaing the Polynesian inlands,
and two of his children bishops^ M. Bonamie, first Bishop of Babylon, and
then Archbishop of Smyrna, «nd M, Rouchouze, Vicar Apostolic of Eastern
: Oceania. On bis death the former was chosen for the government of the
f Congregation bv its general (!hapter.

* At present tne Congregation has, besides twenty-four eatabliahraents in
France, two houses in Chili, and two in Belgium ; one at Lotivain, the other
at Enghicn, for instruction of youth. It has about one hundred missiona-
ries, priests and catechists, in the Sandwich Islands, the MarqueHa.s, Oceania,
and elsewhere.

' The object of the institution h to retrace the four periods of our Lord's
life: Hia infancy, His bidden life, His evangelical life, aod His crucified life,

* With respect to our Lord's bifaney, gratuitous schoola are kept for ptjor
children ; and larger schools, to which a certain number of young persons

176

AllU^' Jminial in Frame in 1845 and 1848,

is admitted tree ofchargej according- to the resources of each establishment.
Those intended for the Church arc here prepared for their sacred fancrions.

* As to onr Lord's hidden hfe, all members of the Congcegatian are to
imitate it by repairing iu the perpetual adoration, day atid night, of the
Must Holy Sacrament, tbe wronf^s done to the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and
of Mary, by the sins wbirh are committed

* Priests imit-ate our Lord's evangelical life by the preaching of the
Gospel, and by missions.

' Lastly, alt members of the CongTcp;ation should recall, so far as iu them
lies, our Saviour's LTucified life, by pniclising with zeal and prudence works
of Christian mortification, specially in the mastery of their senses.

* In 183.1 Gregory XVI, entrusted to the Society of Picpus the missions
of Eastern Oceania.

' There are houses for tli e novitiate at lasy, near Paris, at Louvain^ and
at Graves, near Villefranche. It continues not more than eighteen, nor
less than twelve months. Here are priests and candidates for the priest-
hood, preparing themselves to live under the laws of religious obedience,
and to devote themselves either to the instruction of youths, or to missions,
or to the direction of souls, in the post assigned to them by their obedience ;
or to deeper atudiea, ivhich shall enable them to serve the faith according
to the talents God has given them.

* Young men and adults UHtewise are received, who, without being called
to the ecclesiasticjil state, wish to consecrate theraaelvea to God for the
advancement of His glory, and the assuring of their own salvation by the
practice of reliicious virtues,

' Priests besides, and laymen, arc received as boarders, who, desirous not
to remain in llie vw orld, wish to prepare themselves in retirement, and the
practice of the virtues of ihcir estate, for their passa^^e from lime to eternity.

* This society baa just applied to the government for permission to send
out chaplains with those who shall be transported for their participation in
the late revolt. I do not know a higher degree of charity than this; and
many other priests have inscribed themselves for this service.

* In the chapel we saw one of the brethren continuing the perpetual
adoration of the Holy Sacrament.

* I'be Archbishop spoke in terms of great contempt of the ignorance of
the Greeks; and likewise anticipated a large conversion of the Turks,
whenever liberty of conscience is allowed. He had just sent out some
misaionaries to Oceania.' — Pp. 211—214.

The French Church can boast of martyrs among her IMission-
aries. In Cochin China a Missionary Bishop, M, Borie, and

BOtne of his priests, as well as many among tlieir converts, went
through agonizing stiffen ngs, and gained their crown. Heroism
in France is not monopohzed by the army or the mob ; and any
Church might well be proud of such nohle brethren. Yet the
tone in which Mr. Alllea' friends arc represented as speaking in
reference to thera, suggests the thought that self-complacency is
an infirmity which even French Clergymen find it hard to era-
dicate. Take the following remarks of M. Parisis, Bi^^hop of
Langres : —

* *• You must not look for the faith among the mass of the people here,
for they have it not, hut in religious houses, foreign missions, Cathohc
institutions, &c. You have not had martyrs, I think, in the last twenty
yemra : we have had many ; and it is remarkable to observe how entirely

Allies Journal in France in 1845 atid 1848.

177

tne icenea of the first ages hnvc been ri^produced; the Spirit of Christ has
given birth to prwisely the same unsweTa to questions put to martyrs aa ol
old by the spirit of the devil j nnd torraenis aw terrible, tearing of the tlesh,
and hewing in pieces, have been borne. I wns dining^ not long- ago at ihc
Forcigrti Missions, and was saying that the life of a Missionary in China Tra*
not good, when all present cried out at ouee, clapping their hands , 'Oh.
yes ; but it is good — it is good.' French Missicmaries have subsisted," he
continued, "for a long time without even breadj which ia mnch for us,
though not for you; while yours go out with wife and duldrcu pour faire
le commerce." '^Fp. 193, 190.

We will add one extract more, giving an account of one of
the modes in which the French Clergy meet the infidelity of
the lower orderi*. We must not of course jtitlge such a scene
by English feelings. The French mind in its most serious and
earnest mood;?, oscillates on the edge of a laugh, and easOy
recovers from it ; and it may require a bold and startling, and
even ui itself hazardous system, to cope with that mixture at
once of outward levity and terrible meaning, wliich has turned
the Gospels into a Socialist text-book, and parodied Liouardo
da Vinci's 'Last Supper/ aa a »SociaIiat hnnquet:—

' In the evening we went to the Eeole des Fr^res Chretiens, 6 Rue de
Fleurus, and were conducted by some of the brethren to the most cjttra-
ordinary scene we have witnessed in France. It was a meeting held in
the parish church of S. Marguerite, to give prizes to the assiduous members
of the society of S. Fran^yis Xavier, which is composed of artizana, who
attend periodically to be instructed. After VeBpera and ComplinCf Mon-
fleigneur the Archbishop of Chakedoine was introduced, under whom the
seance wtm held. The cur6 then briefly stated the course of proceedings,
and presently ccjmmenced a dispute between M, I'Abbc Masaard, pretre
directeur, and M. l' Abbe Croze, on the subject whether there were or w^ere
not miracles ; the former maintaining the negative, the hitter the affirma-
tive. The usual philosophical objections were put by I'Abbe MassartI,
very fairly and with gjeat vivacity, and were answered by FAbbe Crosce
with vivacity still greater aud superior ingenuity. Constant approbation
and laughter attended both cjueation and answer* there being a lat^e
mimher of women outside the bnrricr in the aisles, the workmen members
occupying the nave, and all seemed to relish to the utmost the nature of
the colloquy. It was, indeed, extremely well imagined to convey to minds of
that class a ready answer to specious philosophical objections against the
truth of religion j and, though uo doubt previously arranged by the two
disputants, had all the air of hein^ poured forth with extreme volubility
on the spur of the moraent. To give a notion of the thing :— " M, Mas-
eard proposed the subject of Miracles; and on being asked, What about
miracles ? said, he should dispute against them, L'Abhe Croze asked him
what be meant by miracles. M, Massard began, piirsonaliiig an eager and
hasty infidel, with a rough account of them. ' I don*t mean to give a
philosophical definition; I mean what every body means — an extraor-
dinary thing, such as one never saw — in fact, an impossible thing.' L'Abbe
Croze complained that this waa too vague, and gave his own detiuition —
• an act surpassing human power, and out of the ordinary course of nature,
and which consequently must be referred to some supernatural power.'
L'Abbd Maasard then made a speech of some length about the impoasi-
biUty of miracles, and the absurdity of some that were found in history,
NO« LXV. — N.S, N

178

AUks^ Journal hi France in 1845 and 1848.

and cijjicl tided by {leuyiiijc? all. M. Croze made him begin to repent liis
Rr^umt'iitti one by ane, tsuyhig', he vioiilt! tlitin srrve him as Iloratius did
the CurititiL M, Massard snid, in r*'peUtitm, * God caniiut work a mtrajcle,
for it would be ii disorder ; it would be H^jCAiiiHt ld» own laws,' &c. L'Abbe
Croze »aid, ' lie could not see why He, who makes the sun rise every day,
jni^ht not stop it one d»y, as the maker of a watch can stop the watch.
A miracle is no exertion of (orce in tbe Almig:l;ity, no more thun for one
who walks to stop walking an instant." <SL'c. M. Masaard changed his
g;roun(l, and "^ — M. — urfjed Hurae*a argument, that even if a miracle were
acted before our eyes, we could have no proafB that it wsia a miracle equal
in force to the amecedent improbability that a miracle would be done. M.
Croie pulled this to pieces, to the great amujiement of the auditory. '' What,"
said he, ''can anything: be more ridiculous than to tell me that proofs are
wanted, when a miracle ia done before my ejes? If I see a man whom I
well know in the Just stage of sickness, witness afterwards his death and
burinl, and, a year or two after that, that qian reappears before ray eyes,
do I want any proof of the miracle? If I meet nn am in the street and
lay to him, Ass, apeak, philosophiza; and he forthwith opens hi?i month
and argues, do I want any proof that it ie a miracle? If I meet an ox
going along, and I say, Ox, fly; and he flre.^, do I want proof of the
miracle? If one evening all the women in Paris were to become dumb,
and could not speak," — here a burst of laughter broke from all parts of the
church, and it was some time before this orator triumphant could proceed/
—Pp. m^BG,

* Such wna the nature of this conference between M- Massard and M,
Ctoze, which latter hud a countenance remarkable for finesse, and subtilty,
and comic humour, Profaneness to the church was supposed to be guai'ded
againgt by stretching a curtain before the altar at some little distance.

'This was followed by an energetic and rhetorical sermon from l/Abbe
Frappa?!, on the !ove of Christ, and on faith, hope, and charity, which was
listened to with great attention, and applauded more than once. " After
this they san^ * Monstra ie esse matrenr* to a lively hopping air,** — M,

'Then came a loiig distribution of prizes*, in books and pictures, to the
moat attentive memberSi which were delivered to each by the Archbishop
of Chalcedoine, while at intervals the choir struck out verses of a hymn in
honour of S. FVanci^ Xavier, which was echoed through the church. In
the meantime the curtain had been ^lithdrawn* and the altar brilliantly
hghted np for a salut pontificalement c^lebr6. This, however, we did not
stay for, as it was already past ten.'— Pp. OR, 70.

Our extracts are but specimens oi" the various matters con-
tiected with religion and education in France, on which details,
many of them very interesting, are collected in Mr, AUies's
Journal. The general inipregsion left is one highly favourable
to the zeal, energy, and self-devotion of tlie French Clergy
where Mr, Allies came in contact with them; that is, in the
great cities of the Nurtli. We are less satisfied with his account
of their explanations of theological ditliculties, or of the perplexi-
ties of their political position, — points*, no doubt, where both
partiej?, the stranger and the native, are almost equally at
a di^ad vantage' in convcrf^atlon. The information it* conveyed
apparently in the same rough form in which it took shape in the
writer*^ note-book, so tliat it is scattered, often incomplete, and
often wanting explanation. But these dii?advantages of form

JlUa' Journal in France in 1845 and 1848.

179

are connterbalanced by the force and truthfulnesis wliich accom-
pany the first notings of immeditite iniprcssions. One reranrk
more we must make. Mr. AlHcii must be considered as a partial
observer. It may be asked, it is true, Who is not? And cer-
tainly the spirit in which he made his inquiries is incalculably
higher than that which influences our travelling countrymen in
general. Yet the disposition to put a favourable construction
on every thing is as visible in him, as the contrary disposition is
aa obvious in others; and he would have produced, we think, a
better and more convincing book, if he had allowed himself
more freedom of judgment, and not thwarted altogether the
natural suspiciousness of a foreigner in bis strong effurts to be
perfectly fair, and to keep down insular and En^ifHsh prejudices.
One word, in conclusion, in reference to euch peace-making
attempts. In saying a word on such a subject as the re-union
of the Church, we would not willingly forget that we are speak-
ing of matters which hold the first place in the councils of
Perfect Wisdom and All-controlling Power,— of that Divine
Chanty, wliosc last prayer was for the unity of His Church.
Standing between those great cominutiions wliicb we believe to
be the branches of the Universal Church, an individual must be
very insensible who dues not feel the insignificance of his position
when appearing to arbitrate between tlienijand to judge of their
awful interests and awful claims. Little, indeed, it is, that man
can judge about them; little that be can do or say with clear-
ness and confidence ; and he must be very narrow-minded, or
very bold, who does not feel himself cowed and fettered in the
presence of these great questions — so heart-searching, and so
dark. But what individuals judge right, and recommend, indi-
viduals may criticize. Further, God forbid that any woixl of
ours should discountenance or damp that desire for unity which
all true Churchmen ought to feel as an inatinctj or should check
any hope which rests on God*s promise and power, and not on
man's Welshes or forccastings. But those who feel most deeply
the desire for unity, and pray for it morning, and mid-day, and
evening, cannot force on, by any effort of theirs, that which
God sees not fit to grant. They certainly can act for themselves
if they please ; but the present re-union of the Church, so far
ss we can judge of men and circumstances, is not an object that
any man, or set of men, can with reason hope to bring about.
There is nothing in tlie aspect of things to lead us to hope that
God will accord it yet. Who can say that he sees his way
towards it? Plainly, before it could be, even in the hollow and
diplomatic form in which it has been sometimes tried, circum-
stances must widely change; plainly, they must change far
more widely, if it is to be a re-union in heart and spirit. To

AUies Jounial in France In 1845 and 1848

Bpeak only of the West, — union, in the terms of the Roman
Church, means simply aubmis^sion ; her strenf^th would seem to
be forfeited by concession ; she can only pardon, not negotiate.
The English Church is certainly not more disposed to surrender
than the Eoman is to treat. Both have too strong a case ; both
are too deeply founded in actual fact, and each is fidly sensible
of the weak points of the other. There is a dead lock : it is
difficult to see what direct efibrts can be made to disentangle it.
The cliange must be from within — ^by a softening and inclining
within, not by impulse from without. This has been said often,
but is not lesiH true* Wc mu!*t change, and they must change,
and l)oth improve, before any direct or immediate measures can
be dreamed of. Till then, we can but prepare, aa best we may,
by preparing ourBelves. This is the most we can do ; this at
any rate, this alone, will not lie done in vain. But one tiling ia
quite plain, tliat it will not be bustened on either sitle by what
exasperates without j>cr^nading. It will not be hastened on
either side by what throws men on their self-defence, by the arts
of controversialists ; nor, we must say^ will it be hcl(>ed on our
owuj by exaggerated unbalanced self-depreciation, by conceding
for tlie English Church, in tone and language, to those who will
concede nothing. If the English Church has a good standing
ground in controversy, — if she is the only body which 1ms a
cliance of maintaining Catholic truth in our strongly marked
and fiemdiar race,— if she is worth working in, and improving,
she is worth defending ; and her defence, as a system, is
subject to the same conditions aa that of any other system ; it
cannot bear, to any unlimited extent, concessions or assaults
from within. Men have corporate duties. If the claims of tJie
English Church come in competition with those of the Univer-
sal Church, this menna that her case is given up; but if Home
and England are between themselves, as we believe them to be,
but two parts of the Universal Church, the claims against which
England sets hers, are not those of the whole but of a part ;
and none of us have a right to transfer to that part, however
imposing, however united, the reverence and prerogatives of the
whole. •

While, then, Rome maintains her present position of unbend-
ing Jiostllity, no other position is possible for the English
Church but one of watchful reserve ; and if forced to it, reso-
lute self-defence. This is the simple necessity of the case,
su|*po8ing her to have any meaning at all in her cause. Beyond
this, however, parties or individuals may feel her own attitude
docs not go : within this, however, her feeling and tone cannot
but be affected by the policy and language of others towards
her. She wants neither the moral temper nor the dogmatic

AUles^ Journal in France in 1845 and 1848,

181

creed whioh in themselves would lead her to s^y input hise with
those partij of the Church which are separated troiii lier; which
are tending ever to the re-iinion of shattered Christendom; hut
here^ a& in otlier things, it is plain that sympathy, co-operation,
re-union, depend on many other conditionij hesidcs tliose of
essential jLt^reement in fj;eneral prinejpk\s, — Jn teuijKT and
belief. "What is trne every day in tJie case of individuub, is
not less true in the case of hodies of men— it does not require
/7rm^ differences to keep tliem apart: the lesist are often the
most impracticable. W hile the claims of Konie remain what
they are, it is too much to require from the EngHt^h Church, vr
from members of it, more than that pergonal !?ynipatliy which
gCK)d and Christian men naturally excite in those who wish to
follow the same steps which tliey are follow^in*^.

^leanwhile, whatever tends to make either side realize personal
excellence in the other, which brings it before men in visible
and individual shape, tends to that softening of hearts wdiich
must precede the work of the peace-maker. Such an exhibition
will produce its effect in proportion as it is, not merely striking,
but natural and unatudiedj and will fail in proportion as it appears
one-sided, or arranged for a pur])osc; but it is in danger of
being sinqdy nselees, if it bears, or can be made to bear, a con*
trovcrsial aj^pect, — if the contemplation of foreign excellence not
only goes along with an ignoring of foreign defects, but with a
keen and unrelenting exposure of domestic ones. If great and
good deeds are presented, not merely a« an answer to ignorance
and calumny, but as a w^arrant for things which our knowledge
and religious instinct shrink back from, they do at the utmost
but perplex,^ — they certainly cannot attract : and if they are
thrown in our face, and made matters of reproach and argu-
ment to silence ub, no one can be surprised if men turn
their eyes to the other side of the picture— for another side
there surely is.

But we should have thought that in the present state of
European society, it was no time on any side for irritating con-
trasts. The materials for them arc no doubt abundant, and
lierhaps temjJting — contrasts drawn on one's own principles, and
on those of our opjwnents — contrasts between systems and be-
tween results — between profession and practice. We know
enough to make them more circumstftntial, and therefore more
telling than formerly ; but we have as yet seen no proof that
we know enough to make them fair ones; and all sides will do
well not to trust cither for attack or defence, to a mode of argu-
ment which acts indeed strongly on the imagination at the
moment, but which a change of circumstances may falsify
to-morrow.

182

Art, VI L — 1. A Hhtory of Ecctenastical Arehitecture in Fng-

land, Lhj George Ayliffe Poole, M.A., Vicar of Welford.

London ; Masters. 1848*
2. A Historii of Architecture. By Edward A. Freeman, M*A.,

lote Fellmt of Trinity Col!e</e, Oxford. London: Masters.

1849.

Toe new Renaimance — the revival of Gothic architecture in our
own times — is, under whatever aspect it ia regarded, a remark-
able phenomenon. Daring the last fifteen year« a complete
change haa been in proereas in the taste and feelinga of the
more educated classesj with res|>ect to the proprietiea of reli-
gious architecture ; the architecture, that is, of churches and
coUegea, parsonages^ hosj^itals, and schools. The Pointed style,
from being simply ridiculed, became, first, an object of curious
and scientific inquiry; next, it began to be eclcctically imitated^
though without any discriminating perception of its principles;
then, as if in indignation — ^impltcit rather than explicit — ^at the
monstrosities which pretended to the name of Gothic, many
different classes of tliinkers and explorers applied themselves to
the investigation and vindication of its rightful claims aud meritf.
The late Mr, Hope led the way, in his 'Historical Essay,' by
laying down, with a perspicuity still unrivalled, broad and philoso-
pliical foundations for the historical study of architecture and
for the successful understanding of the genius and capacities of
its several styles. Dr. Whewell and Professor Willis, from a
different quarter, brought their great scientific acquirements to
bear on the examination of the constructional laws of the
medifcval styles ; while Mr. Pugin, in the Koman communion,
and the writers of the * Cambridge Camden Society ' in our
own, devoted themselves to the discovery and the assertioa
of all that waa not merely mechanical and exoteric in arclii-
tectural study— in other words, of the * True Principles ' of
Gothic architecture, of its symbolienl or esoteric signifie^nce,
its ' Sacranientality,' and, in particular, its ritualistic develop-
ments and adaptations. Meanwhile, Mr. Petit and ilr. Gaily
Knight were doing excellent service by contributing a know-
ledge of foreign buildings, which has since raaterially corrected
the too narrow and insular views maintained at first by the last-
named writers ; and Mr, Bloxam and the author of the ' Glos-
sary of Arcliitecture,' among others, were scarcely less usefully
employed in collecting and arranging facts, and familiarizing ua
with details. To this list, those of our readers who are at all
interested in these pursuits will add the names of other writers.

Poole and Freeman on the Historic of Avchii^iure* 1 83

valuable in their way, who have thrown light on particukr sub-
sidiary tjepartments oF tJiifi wide suhject.

All thia, however, would have beea vain, and perliapa iinpos-
sUile, without a contem[iriraneourt and nearly parallel develop-
ment in architectunii practice* Our liniita would not allow ua
to trace this at anv length : fiuffice it to con)|Mire the Pointed
of Rickman'a builduigs at S. John*s CollegCj Cambridge, with
8. Augustine's College, Canterbury, by Mr. Buttcrfield ; Mr.
Ynibaniy'i* church at llighgate with Mr, Scott's at Canil*crvvell;
Mr. Barry's church of iS. Peter at llriglitou wilh S. Paul's in
the ftanie town by Mr. Carpenter ; Jir, Chantrell with Mr.
Derick in the pari f^h- church and S- Saviour's at Leeds.

Now we shall not, we believe, be thought enthusiasts^, if we
express our oi)inion that the extraordinary revival we have so
succinctly traced ha.^ been jiermitted, for some worthy end, by
Divine Providence. For preeieel}' at the time %vhen the Church
of* England wa** awnkening from its long sleep, and beginning
to expand and grow in a measure to which, since the primitive
ages, the hif^tory of the Church affords no parallel, the art of
architecture— the eldest of the si&ter handmaids of the Church
— itself revived to tender its services flhen most needed. The
almost incredible number of churches builtj within our own
memorieB, in England, created — to use the language of the day
— a demand which was pretty sure to be supplied. But how?
Humanly speaking, some one of the eitete pseudo-classical
styles, or sonie degratled parody of Gothic, or even some con-
venticular type, might have been |>erpetuated among us. It ia
surely a matter for earnest gratitude, that the Chm-ch of Eng-
land should have, abnost instinctively, avoided all these dangers,
and should now be provided with an arcliitecture — every dayl
becoming more fully recognised as its own — which, like its doo^
trine, is no new invention, hut a return to its old inheritance ;
— a vigorous descendant of the art which raised Salisbury,
Lincoln, and Westminster so many centuries ago for our pre-
decessors in the faith.

The moment when church-building received go extraordinary
an imnulse.j proved to be a happier epoch for the Church than
when Wren was called upon to rebuild London. A hundred
,«nd fifty years had (juite worn out the mischievous school of
that great man : and no single architect of any deserved emi-
nence was at hand to impress a character on the rising move-
ment Churches began to be built in all directions, but exhi-
biting a chaotic confusion of plans and styles and arrangements.
The Church, in its greatest need, seemed to be without a reli-
gious and appropriate architecture ; and had any of those, to
who(se exertions we more immediately attribute the resuscitation

184 PooU and Freeman, on the Histortf of Architecture*

of a pure Gothic etyle among us, been able to foresee the extent
of the movement they wore tryinor to control and direct, their
hearts, we think, would have faded them at the prospect.
Plappily^ they did not bcc it : tliey enimciated principles full of
the vitality of truth ; and these have worked their own way
have triitnijihed. There can be no reasonable doubt, at the pn
sent time, that the great majority of the intelligent members of
the Church of England are ]>ersuaded of at least two funda-
mental positions :~tl lilt the Pointed style is the most proper kind
of architecture for a religious structure , and that a chiu-ch is not
merely an aitdllotiitmj but a building arranged according to cer-
tain essential principles, for the proper performance of united
prayer and of a liturgical worship. The importance of these
points, already gained, can be hardly overrated* That they are
gained, every one's own expencnce may testify. The 6ame
principles tuo arc gradually jiervading the Colonial, and have
taken ruot in the American Church. Nor is there any reason
to suppose that their extension has reached its limit. We are
not concerned now with foreign countricsi, but it is a remark-
able and significant tact, that in many of them, before the last
fatal year of revolutions, an analogous revival was in pro-
jsrress. Whatever may be reserved, however, for the Continental
Churches, we believe that we may humbly but hopefully anticipate.,
such an advance of architectural art in our own communion^ that
we shall be able to look back to the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries in this ptu*ticular, without either envy or regret.

And this consideration enables us to feel less surprise and
sorrow than we often hear expressedj at the present compara-
tive backwardness of religious sculpture and painting in this
country. Tt is true that Gibson, though the most hopeful uame
we know of, has as yet scarcely shown the least capacity for
true Christian sculpture ; while Overbcck, Steinle, and Fiihrich
have still no English disciples ; and while Dyce, Herbert, and
Eastlake have not yet satisfied the high expectations many
have ventured to form of them. But architecture ought to pre-
cede its ancillary arts ; and we believe that whenever we shall
really want their aid— whenever mere church extension shall
be no longer our first, if not only, duty— the decorative arts will
follow their mistress pari paMtt. Meanwhile, such works as those
from the pen of Lord Lindsay, Mrs. Jameson, and others, which
have obtained so deserved a popularity^ are doubtless ei^ns of
the futui^e, and are preparing the way for developments of these
arts yet to come,'

' We regret thiit the last-istiued nurabars of the series of plaicH published l»v
Ibe Society for tlia Diairibution of Religioiif^ Prints are so very inferior in cxccu
tion, as well a« in dpirit and design^ to the three specimens which first ftppeared.

pQole afid Fryman w* the Histoty of Architecture. 185

To return from this difrression — the literature of the new
architectural Renaissance is hyno means exhausted by the works
mentioned above as those which had mainly contributed to the
earlier stages of its progees. Professor Willie's successive his-
tories of so many of our inoc<t celebrated cathedrals, distin-
guished by an extraordinary intelligence and penetration, have
directly, as well as indirectly, been of a value wliich it would be
difficult to overrate. Mr. Webb's * Continental Eeclcsiology,'
alrejidy noticed in these pages, Iras opened a new and wide
field for speculation and gencrahziition. The two volumes
which form the subject of the present article, Mr. PooIe"'8

* Ecclesiastical Architecture in Enghmdj' and Mr. Freeman's

* History of Architecture,' have been published almost simulta-
neously within the last few months, and claim from us an im-
mediate notice, as well by their own pretensions and iniport-
ance, as by the general interest with which the topics oi* wliich
they treat are regarded. And we may fairly anticipate still
more contributions from the press: in proof of which we may
add that, even since tbe preparation of this article, the author
of * Modem Painters ' has given the world a fanciful but very
suggestive volume under the strange title of * The Seven Lampa
of Architecture.'

For in fact the Pointed revival Is &tlll in progress, and no man
can foresee its term. Ten years hence many ol' our own asser-
tions may be shown to have been false, or but partially true ;
our predictions may be proved to be erroneous, and results, at
present quite unexpected, may have followed upon causes now
in imdlscerned operation* This must be taken into account by
our readers, even when we speak positively to the Ijcst of our
present judgment? more especially when we C4ill attention to
the present state of the architectural parties — to use so dignified
a word— ^whlch respectively invite onr adhesion.

It is hard to decide, at the present moment, whether the
science of church architecture is in as hopeful a state na we could
wish, or whether it is suffering a temporary check. Practically
we incline to the forn^er view : but the want of union among
most of those who claitn to be working for a common object is
very conspicuous to an unprejudiced observer. Altliough all
seem to w^ish it, no organization has yet been framed for the
combination of so many independent efforts into one powerful

Thift step backwarde, lli'm falling short of Trbat might have been expected from
the earlier numbers, is altoge^iher a bad sigtt, though the whale undertaking hoR
too mnoh of & mercantile aspect Another stiriei of a \tm pretending kind, but
eqiiatly well intentioned, ' Soars' Bcripturo Printfi/ ia a contemptible failure : it i.^
Tery likelv that the projectorB meant well, l>uL thoac entrusted with the execution
are entirely ignorant of a single principle in roligiona art.

186 Pode and Freeman on the BisUr^ of Architecture.

engine. The various bodies among ug betray, not imfreqiiently,
a considerable jcjdousy of one another, and seldom or never
imite even for jmrpose?* independent of their peculiar opinions.
For instance, the recent whitewashing of the mural paintings
discovered at S* Cro.^s, — said to be of remarkable beauty, — by
order of the Karl of Guildford, (a name on other grounds of no
good onjen to the Churchj) wiiOi i\B we have seen it statedj
woidd not even permit an artist engaged in copying them to
eompletc hiiS taslc before they were etiliced — excited no com-
ment, no remonstrance, ironi archaeologists, ecclesiologists, or
mere architects, separately or united.

Let US hope for ^orae better understanding; and we would
gladly contribute to such a result by any means in our |>ower.
DiiFerences of principle cannot be healed by a compromise : but
differences of detail may be. One fertile source of disagree-
ment of the latter kind is as to tlie principle of ckssificatlon
and the consequent nomenclature of the Gothic styles. Now
this dispute positively hinders the success of architectural
study. In the observations we sludl make on this subject, we
heartily wish that, if we should be thought to adduce any good
reasons for adhering to one of the three rival nomenclatures
before the world, the advocates of the others would, for the
sake of the manifest advantages of unanimity, wave their own
prejudices*

Mr. Freeman, in his Introduction, speaks at much length on
the two chief schools that i)rcvail among the students of church
architecture, and comes forward jvs the originator of wliat would
be, in some measure, a third one, occupying a middle place
between them. lie distinguishes especially, we said, tw^o schools,
which lie ajipropriately designates the Archaeological, and the
Ecciesiologictd* lie might probably have added tlie pure archi-
tecturalists; to which Dr. AVhewell, Professor Willis, Mr. Petit,
and perhaps Mr. Poole properly belong* Mr. Freeman himself
differs totocah from the archieologists, to whom he ie an unsparing
and persevering enemy, thuugh he is found occiisiooally fighting
on their side, (on wholly dili'crent grounds, however,) against the
ecclesiological nomenclature of styles. But all his resjiect and
sympathy are rc^^crved fortius latter school, whose motives and
principles have never been more eloquently and more generously
defended than in the volume before us. His immediate object,
which is, as he defines it, * to give in the strictest sense a history

* of the science of architecture, as a contribution, however humble,

* to the philosophy of art,' (p. 7,) justifies him, Imwever, in declar-
ing that his history has too wide a scope to be regiirded a^? s
merely ecclesiological work: and thus he is the better able to
take up an independent position, and to suggest an original

f PooU and Freeviun on the History of Architecture, 187

classification in place of that employed by those writers with
whom, iu other points, and in general sentiments, he is anxioua
to show that he coincidea. We quote the following extract
firom bia Preface ;<—

' No one can deny tbe dircrt and most importnnt benefits conferred
upon architectural science by tbe ecclosiological jncboot. I do not think
they cnn be fairly charged with introducing into architectural studiesj
matters unconnected therewith ; architecture ia only nn incidental feature
in their pursuitSj just as it is in thoae of rtrchajologians. The two Ktudica,
diflering^ in other respects, have a common point, and each, vievking^ that
common point from itsovin position, tTftats it accordingly. If I consult
the *• Ecclesiolog^iat " nn an architectural question, I have no ripht to com-
plain if I find the informalion I nm aearchin§c for side by side m ith an
article on Gregorian Chants, any more than if a similar search in the
'* Archaiological Jonniar* bring:H me into the vicinity of a discourse on
bronze celts or Eomaii pottery- Neither tbe chants nor the celts have any
interest for myself personally, but both are legitimate objects of study
treated of in their proper places.

• For I would repeat, at the riak of wearinesat both to myself nnd my
reader^ that it is not to wrchajology or archajologians that I object, but to
the position which thev assume. Their researches are vnluabh" and neces-
sary : it ia only to the liostile tone which they often asKume, tbe uncflsiness
and jealousy which (heir organ invsirinbly displays at anything^ like the
deduction of a principle or a theory, that any objection can be brought. And
against this hardly any objection can be too strong. 1 may allude to one
subject in which I certainly have no sort of personal biaa. The nomenclature
of the ecclesiologiats I neither employ nor approve ; but the manner in
which any use of it is met with in certain quarterst the frivoUma, contra-
dictory, often spitefnl objertiooB which I have seen and heard brought
against it, would be almost euoujib to make me introduce it even now into
every pa«fe of my book, had i not myself objections to it far stronger, as
I hope, than those to which I refer.

' It ia not archieolo^ in itn right place, as something subordinate and
ancillary, but archieology excluHive, assuming, claiming a rank which docs
not belong to it« which is at i\\\^ present tuoment tbe bane, not only of
architecture, but of a yet nobler study, of history itself/^ — P. xiv.

In the firi*t chapter of the history, Mr. Freeman recurs to the
same subject in most energetic hinguagc. He complains (p. 3)
' of the mere antiquariane, who look on bnildings solely in the

* light of antiquitiein, with whom the most sumptuous display of

* Grecian or Gothic art has, after all, scarcely any other interest

* than that raiecd by a barrow or a kiatvaen, a ritisty dagger or

* an antique potshertl."' And again, ' It is only in quite recent

* times that what deems itself a more enlightened archtPology
' bos taken up a jjo^sition which must be looked upon as clietiuctly

* and formally hoatile to religion.' Our next extract, though
long, ia too important to be omitted, [jarticularly as it clearly
exUibits, in contrast, Mr. Freetnan^s own object in writing hi^
hbtory.

' Our only ground of complaint ib, that some writers of this school forget
ktliat they huve only paved « way fijr others ; they ni>t only atop short at a

18S Poole and Freeman on the Hktofy of Jrchiltdure,

certain point tliemaelves, but gmdg^c ihnt Any one else should go farther j
they Imve iupplied fHctts, nnd ciiiarrel ivitJi Uiose who \ioiild theiiec deduce
principles ; they have provided a complete but lifeless body, and look with
suspicion on any attempt to infuse a vilfll principle into the inert mass;
they are like a dry plodding iimialiat ahakiiig his head and Inokino: gjrare
at the *' fanciful " reflections of a Tliueydidea or an Arnold, or a pedag:o{jfue
whoae mind had never taken a (light bey nod nccideiice and bireh, looking
aghast at the extended philolosry of the Comparative Graininar.

* On the other hand is a nobler race, the aulhors of tlie great eccle^io-
logical movement; the men ulio have fought the battle of the Church in
her material sanctnaries, and have, amid suspicion and Blanderi stood forth
8o manfully to convert the modern preaching-house into the Catholic
temple of prnyera and saeraments* Nothing i» further (Vom the thoughts
of the present writer, hiniHelf a humble fellow-labourer in the great work,
than to cast a moment's alur upon their hi^h and holy cause. But still it
is manifest that their eifons do not necessarily tend to promote the study
of architecture as an art. The first phase of ecclesiology was simple
antiquarianism ; raised indeed by the end at which it lumed and the objects
with which it was converfiant, hut still, in its theory a mere leciinical
acquaintance with the sacred buildings of a particular age, iu its practice a
careful reprodnction of their features. The science has now taken a bolder
flight; Christian temples of all agCH nnd all c aim tries arc to be studied,
painting, sculpture, muaiCf history are all pressed into its service ; a single
period is no longer put forward' as the necessary standard of perfection,
but new developments of Christian art are confidently looked for. But it
b manifest that thia is not the direct study of architecture, bnt one
which I freely allow has a much better and higher scope „ it ia essenliany
religious, and only incidentally artiaticah It occupies a field at once too
wide and too narrow for our present purpose ; it of course excludes all direct
attention to any hut eoilesiaatical architecture, and moreover includes a large
vanety of subjects which have no place in our present investigation. Every-
thing that can add fresh solemnity to the Christian temple and it^ worship
comea within the natural and legitimate scope of the ccclesiologist; every
fine art, almost every mechanical one, has there its place ; the painter^ the
sculptor, tlic glass-stainer, the goldsmith, the worker in brass and iron^ all
contribute theiriiharc; the proprieties of church arrangement, the refine-
ment of church symbolism, the splendour of vestments, the hannony of
music, the deep treasures of rilual antiquity, are all ajJpropriate branches
of hm studies. But it ia manifest that while our present design openis on
ihe one hand a wider field for iuvestigaiiou, as including the architecture of
all ages and nations, it is <in the other more narrowed in its rangCj as it has
no connex^ion whatever with any of these latter pursuits, unless when they
happen incidentally to aitect the style and proportions of strictly archi-
tectural works. '—P, 4. '

Mr* Poole, on the other hand, has carefully abstained from
committing himself to any architectural party, and as mucli
m possible from allowing Ms own opinions or preferences to find
uttcmnce. His nomenclature is the old one, or that of the
archaeologists. It is to an excess of caution, and to an unwilling-
ness to be considered as a fautor of extreme opinions, and not
to intentional disingenuousness, we are sure, that we must
attribute his occasionally adopting without sufficient acknow-
ledgment the contribution^! to otir architectural km>wledge of
some of the most able, hut unpopular and theologtcally ^us-

^f Pode and Freeman an the HtBtori/ of Architecture. 189

pcctcd, writers on the subject The contrast, however, in this
respect, between tlik aiitlior and I!klr. Freeninn is very striking.

The two works before us, though wc Lave classed them
together for the sake of convenience, huve little in common.
TMr, Frecmun'fi object has been to provide for the adept in the
philosophy of mind, as well ne for the arehitcctural student, a
guide to the history, in all its branchca, of arehiteetural science:
— -to carry out what Mr. Hope and jMr. Petit* who, as he re-
peatedly and emphatically dcckrcj?, arc his great authorities
and examples, have only partiidly accomplished, and to do for
the whole what they have done for parts. The result is a
volume of singular power and extreme interest ; most of which
demands our complete concurrence, and all of it our careful and
patient c^nBidcration.

Mr. Poolers object, which he Bomewlmt obscurely defines to
be, ' to combine a genenxl history of the greater English eccle-

* aiastical architects of the middle ages, with an equally general

* view of their works, and of the characters which distinsjuish the
' buildings of their respective ages,' (p. vii.) is much more limited
in its ranjje, and is designed for a much smaller and less im-
portant class of readers. We must award him the credit of
liaving amassed much curious and not easily accessible informa-
tion as to many of our early architects ; but wc cannot think
that he has been happy m so describing their works as to leave
any marked impressitm on his readers' minds. Indeed, his de-
scriptive style is so unusually lifeless, and his architectural
criticisms and argnments treated in so uninviting and diiluse
a way, that we should think his book would be schlom consulted
except for some biograidiical facts about a Gundulf, or a Poore,
or a John of Wisbeach, and that consequently' many of the
valuable facta it contains will be overlooked.

It would be too great a task, and would scarcely interest our
readers, to give an abstract of Mr. Poole's volume. We shall,
therefore, content ourselves with calling attention to a few un-
connected points ; in some of which we think he has thrown
additional light on his subject, while in others we shall have to
express a decided dissent from his conclusions.

And first we notice a valuable hint in its description of * The
Saxon Period:' where he points out the great influence on
architecture that Archbishop Theotlore's division of the country
into parishes must have exercised. Before that period, from
A.D. 678—690, {Poole, p. 76,) no village could have boasted of
a church. Towns and monasteries may have had churches, while
the country was dotted over with nothing better than small
chapels, one, probably, in each manor. The grouping several
manors into one parish, made it possible, of course, for the lords

190

Poole and Freeman on tlte Hlstorif of ArchiUc\

of these manors to unite io building a larger church. Now this
fact may l»c vahiahle in limiting speculation as to the antiquity
of any reputed Anglo-Saxon reiiiains, on the one hand ; while
on the other, it is conceivable that it may help to make it pro-
bable that some such particular remains may be a fragment of
the first church ever built on that site, and may date, tberefore,
from^ tlic time of Theodore himself, in the seventh century. But
wc have referred to this point more particularly for the sake of
suggesting that it would have been quite in accordance with
Mr. PtHjlc's design to have examined how many parishes, in
any given district, mentioned in Domesday book, retain churches
of which the whole or part is of such early Romanesque as to
be possibly of ante-Norman date. We sliall see, hcrcat^er, that
there is a growing persuasion in the minds of the best qualified
observers, that very many mare ante-Norman churches, or parts
of churches, exist, tlian have usually been believed : and we
would call Mr. Poole's attention to two copious lists of Anglo-
Saxon places, in a late communication of Mr, Kcmblc to the
Philological Society, (No. 76, vol. iv,) which have already, we
Ijelievc, served to vindicate, with much probability, the claim
of some supposed Norman remains, in a village church, to an
Anglo-Saxon origin.

The next point which we shall mention is the statement that
Hereford Cathedral, after being destroyed by the Welsh, ivas
rebuilt by Bishop Kobert de Lozinga {1079^ — 1107} ad e.remplar
Aqmsfjraneti^is \eccksiw\ a Car oh Ma</no extmctw {Poole ^ p, 106).
This curious fact is stated by Mr. Poole on the authority of
Godwin, and may be as new to many of our readers as it was
to ourselves. It would well repay the energetic Dean of Here-
ford if he could discover any traces of this in the fabric of the
existing church, or the records of the aithedral. For it must
be observed, though Mr. Poole has failed to see this, that a
church built on the model of Aix-la-Chapelle must have been
octagonal in plan, and have had a Byzantine element in its
style ; two circumstances that must have exerted an immediate
influence on English architecture, of which as yet no account
has been taken.

As the use of what is called * the priest's door' in our parish
churches is the subject of much controversy, we give the fol-
lowing sugijestion of Mr, Poolc^ though quite unable to think
it a probable one. The passage contains also a hypothetical
explanation of the principle of internal decoration in the Nor-
man style, which seems to us equally untenable : —

'The Norman architect never seemefl to eontemplntf Llic possibility of a
worsliipper tumm^hack, VInteririg at the rich door, w bich presents agtorious
ttsscmblagc of decorfttioiis to the advanciB^ eye, we leave beliiiid us, as we

I
I

W Pooh and Ftmman on the History of Architecture. 191

[prtss the threaliold, a perfect blank. We look to the chftiicel-arth, aiiJ,
[•tven in very small churches, find three or four concentric orders, with their
uiimbs and jamh-ahn.fts, each crowded with rich and effective decorations -
b^d beyond this is the apse with its three wii^dowg, cRch aurmounfed with
Lft glory of ziaizag moiildtn^, and separated by vitulting shafts, Ifrom which
finoulded groming^-ribs ariae to one point over the place of the altar, like a
mch imperialcrowii; and, ut the south of the ekanceh is the little side
door throush which the worshipper passes out, irithout havinaf discovered
[that if he had turned his head at any Htaoje of his advance, he would have
Ueen but bare walls and unadorned arches. All this may, or may not,
[have been desired tu express such a meaning, but it surely looka like an
[sBmbodying of the worda of our Lord, *' He that puttcth his hand to the
hilough, and lookrlh imek^ i« not worthy of me.'* '—Pooh, p, l'!7,

I Mr. Poole devotea hig eleventh chapter to * The Connexion
[of Heraldi7 witfi Architecture' That there was such a con-
pexion is undoubted, and that an accomiilished ttrchitectuml
[iuiti<]uary shnuld have a caiwpetcut knowledge of heraldry may
l«,l9o be conceded ; but we protest against an undue estimate of
[this science. Heraldry h uwful merely in reference to the
fpaet : it is a mere skafri as to the present. The altered con-
ditions of society have long ago made it an unreality; and tho«e
["who can even desire its revival now-a-days, must be as blind to
[the temper of the times as they are insensihlc to ridicule, A
||p€;?/(/o-heraldry, indeed, is tolerated, not only in this country,
where every seal-engraver * finds* crests and arms, but in tlie
United States, where each consistent Republican heiirs the
.insignia of some imaginary ehivalric ancestor: it survives be-
■cause, liarmless and absurd in itself, it has never deserved a
Cervantes to give it a coup de r^race. What serious meaning —
we would ask even of a mo<ieni herald — can possibly attach to
the following lament of Mr. Poole :— * I fear it is too much to
hope that heraldry shall again be accounted a reUphus science,
[* or its application so much aa capable of receiving a soul of
devotion?' (p. 210.) Heraldry has its value in ascertaining
itefi, and in settling genealogies ; but at the present day it ia
limply instrumental.

We have next a more serious difference with Mr. Poole with
regard to his extraordinary views aa to mural painting. We
mst give it in his own words, and shall do this the more readily
the passage is a fair specimen of the literary characteristics
of bis style : —

• The revival of the use of mnral painting has now become a part of ihe
hisfory of the art, and it would be atfectation, or carelessness, not to advert
to it. Indeed, it induced us to commence the subiect as a practical one,
and now leads us to add some remarks on the subject in the same tunc.
If we speak aa advocating^ the use of pnintin^sj, (a» we nhall do williiu
certain Uniits,) we are met by what seems to »ome an objection af,'amat
them, from the very fact of their having been used before the Reformation:

1 92 Pooh aud Freeman on the Hhtor^ of Jrclu'teclurem

ati ofyjection wliich I need not say would tell just aa strongly agcainst every
visible tbiiin;, or service, thiit we atill posaesa in the Chureh of England;
the Commination Service and the setting' up of the royal arms excepted,
which last, however, has no authority. The tjuestion really ia^ whether it
was one of the* Wf things in use before the Kefonnation ; and this ia
nowhere decided in form, though in spirit 1 think it is fidly determined by
very hi^h authorities. If there ia a body of men \vhich,now that Con-
vocation is silenced, more than any other represents the anlhoritative
voice of the Church, f presume it is the Society for Promoting" Christian
Knowledge, which contains on its lists the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty,
the two Archbiahops, and every Bishop in the Church of England. Now,
this Society sanctions, by ita publications, the uwe of pictures of Scripture
subjects, I do not consider myself charged with the defence of this prac-
tice, and indeed I confess a dislike to all pictures which includo a repre-
sentation of our blessed Ijord, whom as God-man {i.e. in the very same
nature in which He is represented), we worships so that I think they are
contrary to the decree of the council of Eliheris in 305, which forbad mural
paintine[8, lest that be renresented which is worshipped or adored.

• The usage of our Church, too, has ever been in harmony witb this
judgment. Emblematiciil figures, as of Faith, Hope, and Charity, of Time
with his scythe and hour-glass, seem tn be nowhere objected to ; that is^
not on ecclesiastical grounds, Moses and Aaron are nlwavs admitted to
hold the two tables of Commandments. Altar-pieces are found in mnny,
if not most, of our fine churches ; and by way of memnrm ttchmcu^ to fix
the time at which such things have been done, Sir William Thornhill
painted the dome of S. Paul's; liogartb painted three pictures which now
surround the altar of S. Mary Redcliti^ Bristol; West painted the altar-piece
of Winchester Cathedrid; an ancient picture had been placed in the new
parirtb church in Leeds; and a promising native artist has given a large
painting, which is suspended over the aJtnr of S. George's church in the
same place. It cannot, therefore, be contrary to the spirit, to the usage,
or to the antboriticH of our Church, to employ pictures for church decora-
tion. And this use of paintinga is very greatly to be desired, even for
aeemliness, in the restoration of old churches. Except in churches of
the highest order, the walls arc commonly of rubble, and must have some
coating. Whitewash, and all the tbrms of lime and ochre, arc cold and
dull. Plaster without lines in iuiitutton of masonry is too unitbrm» and
with lines it ia olTensive, because it iw evidently sham. The use of paint-
ings occurs then to fill up the vitid, which there can be no manner of ques-
tion it would do with the beat efl'ect, if it were judiciously employed.

' Now, for subjects, I should suggest such parts of the sacred history of
the Old Teatfiiment and of the New, as do not involve an attempt at repre-
senting the First reraou in the ever blessed Trinity at all, or the Second and
Third Persons except in the way of symbol, "^/*o'o/«% p. 2n<>.

It need scarcely Le pointed out in refutation of this last opinion,
that any effigy of the First Person of the Holy Trinity would be
quite inadmissible in our churches; but to represent the Humanity
of tJie Second Person is not only allowable, but the very highest
and worthlei?t aim of Christian art. It is one of the chiefest of
the j*econdary blessings of the Incarnation, that we are no longer
confined to the languarre of i^yinljol, but may— and, if our faith
in the humanity of Gotl the Sou be lively, must— have in otjr
niindi? some ideal of His sacred person. Can any oue, we ask,
read the Gospela witliout pictm-ing to himself the gracioua

Poole and Freeman on tkti Hhtory of Arekmc^re*

scenes therein described? Is the chief Person in those ecenes
to be wanting? Is our Saviour to be an abstruction ? la a lamb
to be extended on that croas to which the eye of faith so often
turns? Are we, in a word, to be conipelled to regard our Lord
as a spirit, when the main truth of Ciiristianity i-s tliat *a body
hast Thou prepared Him?' TIi4i authority of the Council in
TruMo, which ordered that our Lord's person ehoukl be depicted
in future, instead of the t^ymbol of the Lainb^undei' which
disguise, am on^ other8,_t!ie earliest Cbrii^tians during the agea of
persecution veiled the objects of their faith — ^16 got rid of by
ilr, Poole in a note, under cover of tliat most unfair supposi-
tion of Bingham, tliat ' by thia time the worsliip of images waa
'begun, anno 692; and it was now thought indecent to pay

* their devotions to the picture of a lainb, and therefore they

* would no longer endure it to be seen in the church.' (P. 297.)
Bingham, w^e need unly add, would doubtle&d have been more
consistent than Mr, Poole, and would have objected to religious
painting akogether.

We turn now, Avith unfeigned satisfaction, to Mr. Freeman's
more interesting pages. We have already described the object
that ]Mr. Freeman proposed to himself We think he hag very
successfully accomplished it. No one can open bi^^ pages with-
out deriving the greatest benefit and Instiuctton, both irom the
largeness of his views, and the ability with w^hich he Biipport«
them, even though occasionally, as is the case with ouraelvea,
one is compelled to dissent from his conclusions^ We propose
to give our readers a general idea of the important contents of
this volume, discussing, as we proceed, several particulars with
respect to which we have the misfortune to disagree with the
writer.

And first, we would willingly (but our apace forbids it) trans-
fer to our pages the whole of the introductory remarks, in
which the dignity of architecture—* the art whose name be-
speaks it the chief and queen of all, wbicli presses the noblest
of other arts into its service, and bends them to its will/
(p. 2.) — is vindicated, and in which the causes of the contempt
with which even the more educated still regard it and its pro-
fessors are inveatigated and denounced*

The philosophical history of architecture, — ' the arrangement
of suceessive styles, not by mere date^, but by the pervading
and animating principle of each;' ' the tracing its developments
among all nations ;' the consideration of the effects produced on
the art * by the events of history, as exemplifying the character
and position of nations, and the working of pohtical and eccle-
siastical circumstances:* to select some of the many forcible ex»
presaion£ in which Mr. Freeman labours to distinguish his aim

NO, LXV, — N. s. o

194 Pode and Freeman on the History of ArehUeciUff,

from that of all contenrporary writere,— oblifij^ed him of course to
discuss at length every known architccturul style. He enume-
rates the Celtic, Pelftsfjiau, Hindoo^ Central Aiucriean, Efjyp-
tian, Grecian, lloman, Romanesque, Saracenic, Gutliic, and the
Kevived ItaUnn. We think he rather uonecessarily labours to
prove that he m justified in payln*^ attention to all these styles.
Is he uot ilghtlnof a shadow wlicn he thinks any one would
deny his rifiht to do bo? Pereons, Burely, who praeticjdly con-
j^ider i\\<^ Pointed styles as those only fitted for our present
ecclesiastical use, are not debarred from the scientific examina-
tion of other arcliitectural forms on the one hand, while on
the other they ought not to he thought bigoted, or narrow-
minded, if they decline the study of these Jess luunediatelj
u.sel'ul branches of the subject. All persons cannot take a
broad and philosophical view; Mr. Freeman must be content
for a icyf to read Lis whole book, and may be glad that muny
will read at least that part wliich deals with the media?val
Christian styles. For our own parts, we have profited most,
and have been most interested, by the discussion of all those
styles that are not Christian; it is only as to the Christian
styles that we must maintain opinions opposite to those of our
autlior-

Mr. Freeman attributes the causes of the diversities of styles
to ihe diversities of the inner mind, aud the physical and intel-
lectual cojidition, of diverse nations :^ —

* Every iirdiilcftiirftl work,' heatntes, 'both in its geneml coaception and
in its most remote detnil, bears on it tlae Blimip ol'its own age and country : i
not only ia it oWt'u possible at oncu to recognise iheir impress with almost
the cerUiinly of historicitl testimony, but a deeper iavestigalion will shovr
Umt Iht'se forms are not merely so many Rutiquarinn facts, but the expo-
nents of some pervadiner principle, to be Bought for in the peculiar circuni-
Btances of the nge and country whose stamp they bear.' — P. 13.

Besides tliie, the varieties of climate, the geological diversities
of material, and new mechanical discoveries, exert the strongest
influence on architectural development; while plan and arrange-
mcnt, outline and proportion, depend in an untold degree on

Khe requirements of religious worship. The power of habit and
as?80ciatloD> again, haa an ever-living and ever-present tendency
to reproduce accustomed ornaments and forms. The folluwlng

i beautiful extract is almost a eummary of the material exhibi-
'lions of these various coincident causes, as Mr, Freeman dis*
tinguishes them in various styles:-—

* For every nation, as it has been poiverfully traced oul by Mr. Hope, i
continues lo reprodnce under fresh cinuimstniicea, with fresh materials,
the one original type to i\hich it una at first habituated; a process whirli
produces a third fbrra, differing from that in which either material would
naturally be treated. Thu^, alter ho many ages, the Chinese reproduces, in

5 and Freeman en the HiHcry (f Architecture, 19.1

wooi], stone, or porcelain, the tent of his nomad Ancestors; the temples of
EgApt and Hincloaiau alill recall the sub terraneous cavern; Greece in her
roost glorious days, in her most sumptuous temples in all their stately
columns of the choicest marbltfs, amid the elaborate grace of their momld-
ings, the living foliage of their cjipitals, the friezes where I^pithsc autl
Centaurs are called to breath and motion by the chisel of a Pheidias, did
\et preserve unchanged, undiispiii^ed, the one unvarying nrodul, the woodeu
hut of Pelasgus; yet mure, the soaring nave of a Gothic minster, in ihc
cluKtered and handed stalls of its lofiy pillar;?, the curling leaves of its
capitals and cornices, the interlaciii^^ iirches of itM fretted vault, tlie inter-
miDftble entwiuings of its tracery, the countless buca that spurklc from
roof, and chupiter, and wall, and uindow, recalls no uork of man in-
deed,— no tent, or hut, or cavern, — but the sublimest temple of natural
religion, the avvJu! gloom of the deep forcsld of the North j the aspiring^
height of ihe slender piuCj the spreading arms of the giant oak, rich witlj
the varied tints of leaf and blossom, with the wild bird's song for its
anthem, or the rustle of the breeze in its waving branches for tlie voices of
the mighty multitude, or the deep notes of the solemn organ." — P. 15,

But while all ety!es are deserving of a scientific exaiuination,
yet two, the Grecian and Gothic, are intrinsically more worth
considering^ and have had n greater influence amont^ mankind,
than all the rest put together; and to these two AJr. Freeman
devotes the care and attention that are due from a most enthu-
siastic admirer of hot k

* What is the whole history of the Eat^t^ the countless dynasticH of Chinii,
India, and Egypt, with all their vjist duniiniuns, their early civihzauon,
their fixed and ancient instilutioiis, but a barren caialogue of kings, and
priests, and conquerors^ when it is viewed side by side «ith one bving and
stirring page of Greece, or Rome, or mediaeval Europe f One word from
one man in a little town of Greece or Italy, had otVtmies more effect on the
future destinies of the human racr. than all the hms and victories of a
thousand ^habs or Phuruuhs. Atid thus too with their architecture ; all
siyles are not of the same merit, all do not equally coutjiin a principle of
lite, ail are not equally the expression of an idea ; partly from these in-
herent differences, partly tVom external causes, all have not the same hiy-
toiicjtl importance in influencing the arts of future ages. It hence follows,
that all do not present the same facilities for an investigalion of their per-
vadiiig principles of construction, decornlion^ and symbolism. The vivid,
piercing intellect of the Greek, his inherent perception «f grace and loveli-
ness, have given birth to a style of art utinvalkd forsitiiple elegance and
dignity; the stert>, practical mmd of the Roman, bis calnij delibetiite, un-
vifclding eoergy^ cuuld by the moral power of bis instiiutions, and the very
name of bis mighty empire, mould alike the institutiuns Htid the arts of
Europe for ages after his political povter had crumbled in the dnst. These
ncre the wonks of heathendom, the breathings of unrenewed, though not
abandoned nature; the olfTspring ot the keen intellect and the indomitable
will. It was for other lands, and for another race, tt> manitest the influ-
ence of a higher and a holier principle, to give birth to a siyle that speaks
not of the things of earth, but whose every stone should breathe of the
religion of heaven. As ibe art of nncicnt Greece uas tbe purest and love-
liest child of mere intellect and taste, of mere human aspirationa after the
noble and thebenuiilnl, that of mcdiaival Christendom is the holiest offspring
of moral power, the yearnings of a heart renewed from above, and in every
thought and affection soaring heavenwards. These, then, are the two
points mhich irresistibly draw our thoughts towards them; the Greek

o 2

196 Pooh aftd Freeman on the Hhto^ry of ArdHetture.

Willi bis earthly luveluies^i, tlic Teuton with liis almost bemenly awe; the
one faullkaa g:riice, the other soaring ninjesty ; the one telling of the faint
glimnicrlnp;* of heathendom, the olhur kindled by the full blaze of the
Church^B light ; the one, in a word, human, the other divine.'

These same two styles, philosophically regarded, are found to
exemplify respectively the most perfect and bcuutifiil forms of
the two opposite principles of mechaincal cunstructioii ; thotse
principles which Mn Freeman felicitously adopts as formiug an
absolutely exhaustive division of architectural styles— the en-
tablature and the arclu

• Every definite style of architecture/ he continues, 'has for its animating:
principle of construction eiiher the entablature or the arch ; ita forma and
details ndapt themselves to this couatruction ; and it is the dilferent ways
in which this con tit ruction ia eong^ht to be decorated, and the different
deirreca oi' excellence attained by each^ which constitute the subordinate
distinctions among the members of the two main j;p*oup3.' — P. 20.

The invention of the arch, or rather of its capacities in
mechanical conBtruction, Mr, Freeman assigns to the ancient
Etniriiin?: tlmt the Romans failed to develop these capacities^ is
attributed to the ' denationalizing spirit' which led them to
mask and conecid this vast mechanical discovery under the bor-
rowed and imitated forms of Greek art. We cannot quote the
vigorous passages in which, in the remainder of his Introduction,
Mr. Freeman describes the Egyptian, Hindoo, and Grecian
styles J nor even the acconnt of the subdivisions of the Arch
architecture,^ — the Roman, Romanesque, and Saracenic. He
defines *thc idea which ia the soul of Gothic,' (p. 27,) to be
* that of vertical extension ;' and concludes with an indignant
denunciation of Revived Italian,

' With the |2;radual extinction of the Gothic fctyle, the history of good and
cooHiBtent architecture terminates, or rather becomes dormant till the happy
reviv/il of ecclesiaHticid art in otir <iwn day. Not that great genius, some-
tiinea real beauty, la not tlisphiyed in many specimens of the Revivkd
iTALtAS^; but as a style it is, except as a warnings, completely valueless.
It is, in the rirat place, open to every objection to which the classical Roman
is liable, mid is besides loaded xvith e\ery apecies of fantaalic vagary, of
which impi^rinl Rome, amid her worst corruptions, had never dreamed.
Then, ha not beiag a real development, but a violent reaction, a return to
worn-out and abandoned forma, it lacks— in this resembling even the best
Gothic of our own day— the interest which attacbca (o every natural and
original phase of the art. And, above all, when we consider that this
corrupted style waa deliberately, by a formal purpose, in contempt of all
ancient precedent and tradition, and in despite of every religious and
national feelinur, aiihstituted for the moat glorious forms that Christendom
baa ever beheld, it ia imposaihle but that our admiration for the genius and
skill of many of its authors mie«t be altog^ether overbalajiced by a feeling
approaching to disgust at the utter perversion of their mighty powers,
St. Teler's at Rome, and St. Paurs in London, migbt, a thousand years
sooner, have commanded feelings of unmixed homage, and might have
ranked side by side with St. Sophia'a and St, Mark's \ but uhen we know
they wcie reared in contempt of Cologne, and Westniinater, and St. Ouea's,

I 'Poole and Freeman on the Histortf of ArchUedure^ 1 97

our feelinjjs of udmirntioii at the vRst j'onception of the whole, tlie
wonderful mechanical skill displayed, the reiil m*ijes(y and beauty which
Ciinnot be denied them, are lost in the slmck sustained by our best ideal of
a Christian temple, nnd in the moral fondemnation which a hieh view of
Clirii5tiaii an must of necessity pronoitnee upon their authors.* — F, 28,

The way in which Mr. Freeman fills up the outline which we
have describe'! is very iiiasterly. In trie Pehisginn styles of
Greece and Italy he finds sx development of will aiul power,
such as we niiij^Iit have expected in the art of that important
elemeot of the Roman nation. Under the head of • Early]
Columnar Architecture' are reckoned the mysterious remains in
Central America, and the styles of China and Siam ; andhere
we arrive at a discussion of extraordinary interest.

Every informed person has heard of t!ie notion of the early
Jesuit mis-sionaries in India, that the devil had anticipated
Christianity, hy instituting the monstrous parody of it that was
presented in the doctrines and discipline of Buddhism. That
Buddfiist architecture shouhl similarly have a semhlance of the
Christian style, is a most remarkable circumstance in illustra-
tion, Mr. Freeman thus alludes to it: — -

• The outward resemblance \^ hich the religion of Buddha [** a diabolic
mimicry of Christiauity," aa Frederic Schlegel expresses it] beard to some
of the doctrines and cercmouies of the true faith, (reudcrin*^ it ihereby a
more thoroughly hostile system than any other false worship,) ha« been
oJlcn remarked, sometimes with evil purposes. But it may bt; alloivable ta
compare the undoubted fact w ith the circumstance that some features in
pthe Buddhist temples of Siani present an exactly similar reseuiblaDce to the
architecture of the Christian Church. The gables just mentioned may he
considered as An instance ; and it is still more strikingly mIkuau in tbe
sacred spires. These are of divers forms and outlines, but all of the same
•apiring tendency, and all seem to cry aloud fur the cross as tlieir natural
finish. The most remarkable is that of a temple c:dled Wai.^-nusia, which,
in its genend outline, most vividly recalls the appearance of such erections
as the Eleanor crosses or the market cross at Winchester, its open character
lUtBimilating it more closely to the latter. But upon exammatiou it will be
found, as I have heard it expressed, literally living with demons. Pointed
arches, or their appearance, occur in two stages, but t!ie hiwer range, as if
in direct mockery, are actually formed by the extended lees of some mon-
strous portent of depraved idolatry. It Buddhism really be a Satanic
burlesque of our religion, one might be almost tempted tn consider such
erections — of the age of which I can give no information, though there are
reaiions for supposing none of the Siamese buildings to be very ancient — ^to
be, in truth, a similar burlesque upon Christian architecture and Christian
emblems.* — ^F, 50,

In Ellora,. also, Mr. Freeman finds auotlicr example :—
' Instead of the multiplied and flat roof colonnades of Elepbanta,* he says,
*we have here the entire arrangements of a Christian cburch. The remark
before made that Buddhism presents in its buildings, as well as in its tentsis,
a Satanic mimicry of the coming Gospel, applies with still more force to the
long aisles and apsidal termination of the present temple; even so minute
an arrangement as the two det;iched pdkrs in front lind their like in the
plan of many an early Basilica.' — P. 50.

1 98 Poole and Freeman on the Hbtory of ArchUeclarB*

In opposition to Mr. Fergii9:3on and otherii, but supported by
Heercn, Mr. Freeman jissigna an cxcavatory urigin to Hindoo
nrchitecturo. And to the same origin he refers the architecture
of Egypt, in a chapter remarkable tor his skiltul argument and
eloquent descriptions. His account (p. 72) of an Egyptian
temple abnost places us before it. And we cannot help noticing
the peculiarly happy observation, {p. 74») suggested by the
lieavinesB of Egyptian architecture, tliat tliis is to he attributed
to the eaine cause which, imdcr the ojjpo^lte conditiongi, both of
(iothic and Grecian art, produced a piecisely opposite effect.
For io an excavatory style, he argues, the less you have to cut
away— in other words, the more you leave — the better; while,
on the contrary, * in the development both of Grecian and

* Gothic architecture there is a constant tendency towarda in-

* creased lightness, both as giving, when not carried to an

* cxtravar^ant cxcesSj additional elegance, and ns actually saving

* materials, and thereby time and labour,' Not, however, that
Hindoo nnd Egy|itlan ardiitccturc, though Imving a eimilar,
have the identically same origin; the latter being derived from
artificial excavations, the former from the ImitatloQ of natural
ciivea. The following striking sentences conclude the history
of the Egyptian style : —

' As long: a?* the Egyptian idolatry flnrvived, the forin of architecture to
which it is^ave birth survived nlso. With tlie prt'domiiiwDce of Christianity
it fell ; nmi when the Pntriarchate of Alexaiuirift took the place of thehierar-
(hies af Thebes and Memphis, the Homan arclutecture of the early Church
succeeded in all new religious striiclures to the fonns whieli, fctr two thou-
siuid years, had been renred iii honour of the gloofny hcathcutsm of Ej^ypt.
Many aucient buildings w ere, however, converted into chiirchea ; several
temples have been found where the demon form has been erased to make
room for the triuniphs^nt cross and the i^aintly elfiiz^y. And now the candle-
ftliclc is remove<I from the Church of St. Mark and St. Atlmnasius ; and the
^vandcring Arab desecrutea, and ilie traveller gasscs wiih aniaKement on, the
ahrinen which have wi messed a false and a trae religion alike perish from
among them.' — P. 8 1.

All his readers will regret that Mr, Freeman had not IImj
advantage of consulting Mr. Layard's Nineveh while preparing
liis chapter ' On the Ancient Arehitecture of Western Asia;'
hut a second edition will, donhtless, be enriched from these
most surprising discoveries. The Persian style is shown to be
by far the best and purest in this part of the world, and to have
a timber origin.

In approaching Grecian architecture, Mr. Freeman manifests
the most eager enthusiasm. Me claima for it the praise of being
indigenous ; nu^st unmercifully exposing — as indeed he takes a
malicious pleasure in doing on every occasion— the opposite
opinion of the author of the 'Glossary' on this siihject. Its
construction, he shows, has a timber origin, quite different from

Poole and Freeman on the Hidor^ qf Architiscture* 139

the Btone origin of the PelaBgian style, which it supplanted.
The Parthenon is a faultless vision of beauty* in Mr. Freeman's
judgment ; and tlie Dorie the ideal style : " it is that,' lie says,

* ot' which the others were modifications, not to say corruptions,'
(p, 101-,) tliough such beautiful corruptions, that he calls them,
further on, ' the three jiriuclpal phiises of j^race to vvhicli the
consummate taste of tlie Greek gave birth.' The Doric style is

thusexceOently characterised :—

* The Grecian Doric, the eldest, the plainest^ nnd yet the most thorouplily
laultless mid beautHul of aU, is the very masterpiece of dignified simplicity.
A shaft of massive proportions, vviihaut a base, cruwned with the simplest
of capitals and the heaviest ni abaci, supports an entablature mnssive like
itself, and composed of a very few bold tnembcrs. Yet oxit of tlrese few and
sevete elements a composuion ia produced, not merely sublime, hut the
very [jerf'ectioii of vii;orotis and manly beauty. It thonjiighly realizes the
Aristoteliiin conception of the latter, the tjAu ^ctu (pof^tpoTfiTo^. Nothing is
weak, uotbinj^ frittered away: simple, but never rude; unadorned, but
never base; severe, and yet in the highest decree attractive, the if^schylean
majesty of the Doric order is the very highest conception that even Grecian
art could realize. The contemplation, even in the meanest engraving, of
one of its matcbteas porticoi?, in all the stern oacc of column^ capital, and
cornice, is absolutely overwhelming:. And this climax of pure digiiity,
this expression of heathendom in its nobleat form, this embodied KctAoi',
such as the Hellenic mind alotie could coinpaas, tac are gjravely lold waa
borrowed from the hideous and unmeaning monstrosities of the race who
paid divine honours to the lowest vermin ^ and whom tlieir gardens supplied
with appropriate objects of veneration !'— P. lOG.

We must pass on to the very able chapter in wliich Mr, Free-
man gives a general view ai:td summary of Grecian architecture.
We at^ree in theraain with all he says, though we detect in parts
some exaggeration ; but this is the natural iault into which this
kind of writing is apt to fall Siinidicity and uniformity are
stated to be the main characteristics of the Grecian styles ; all
of which were but different methods of working out ^ a single
conception of beauty ;' and this, in Mr, Freeman^a opinion, mere
beauty, earthly beauty, such tis ' comes within oui* own grasp,

* not soaring ahovc lis, and overwhelming ua with a superhuman

* majesty.' ' Grecian art/ he cuntinues, * is definite, local, per-
' sonal, lovely; Gothic glories in beuig infinite, uafettcrcd,
^ spiritual, majestic ; it is the expression of sotucthitig not to be
'comprehended vvitliiu the ordinaiy limits of humanity, or

* indeed of aught of the material world.' (P, iSo.) ' Grecian

* architecture,' be says again, * is horizontal, definite, rectangular,

* with one unvaried construction, and one unvaried outline/
With this he contratits that * embodying of tlie itifinite— that

* direipoj/ which (he Greek deemed a form of evil— in the in-

* terior of a Christian minster, especially in its noblest form,

* the soaring and heaven-pointing Gothic' And he selects
Oxford cathedral as au example of a * literally boundless view'

2U0 Potih and Freeman on the flittortf of Archtttcture. 1

being obtained in a comparatively small chorch. Now, we
allow that eucb dturches as Amiens^ Wetitjuiiister, Befiuvais,
and Cologne, do indeed embody tbis aTretpov ; but it is only the
highest developments of Pointed art that can be said to succeed
in doing so. To our own minds, the internal arcades of S, Paul
withont the walls, and tliir external colonnades of tlie ParthenoD,
the Walhalla, and the Madeleine, suggest the idea of illimitable
horizontal extension scarcely \^m Buceefsfully than vertical
infinity is embodied by the t*j>lendld churehea enumemtcd above.
So that wc think this* ciiieation has not been sufficiently worked
out by Mr. Freeman ; and, as to his chosen example, it is purely
an unfortunate case to be liuoted. The internal impression of
Oxford cathedral is to the eye of marvy observers distressingly
narrow and confined :^ —

' hunc aogustique imlaice tecti
Parietibusqiie premunl ftrctia— /

And even the positive size of the gigantic pile of Ely fails^ from
its simplicity of plan, its want of a retrochoir/ and the absence
of chapels, to prwlucc the effect that might have been expected.
We repeat that the subject of the Infinite in architecture re-
quires much more illustration tiian it has yet received. The
power of producing overwhelming impressions of our ow^n little-
ness does not reside exclusively in Gothic, Few persons are
not painfully *^truck with the narrowness of the l)eBt French
Gothic wdicn first returning from the broad naves of the Italian
CinqueCento; and the memory of Brunei! escbi'a dome at Florence
dwarfs the height even of Amiens and Westminster, when these
are first seen again by the bonic ward-bound traveller.

To conclude this part of the subject, it follows from the
chnracteristicg of tlie Grecian style noted above, that a Grecian
building is precluded from attaining any comparative height;
that no division of the height is allowable; that no means of
enriching a large blank suriace of w^all exist in the style ; that
no circular or polygonal forms can be introduced into its out-
lines; that * the wliole end and aim of Grecian architecture i3
to produce an exterior,' and that any boldness of mechanical
construction la precluded by the want of the arch. In other
w^ords^ pure Grecian architecture is wdioUy unsuitable, under
any conceivable circumstances, for modern iniitation.

The architecture of the entablature being thus disposed of,
we turn to that of the arch ; and first, of course, to those forms
of the latter in which the round arch predominatea. The

' All lovers of true church architecture mmt rejoice that there is reason to hope
the Dean and Chapf^r of Ely will remove oue of these defects by carrying back thfl
choir ta the archcF tbat join the central oclag^'H ; thuB forming a pres^hyiwy
beyond ita eastern end.

PoM and Freeman on th Hutory of Archiudure, 201

Romatia^ inheriting from Etniria tlie knowledge and use of the
arch, wight have been expected to develnj) a iTKignificent etyle
of arched arehitecture. And Mr. Freeman findj?, in the greatest
Roman works — for instnnee, in the Pont du Gard — evidences of
the possihiUty of euch a ehniraeteristic architectnre beinfr Ibrinetl.
Such a style, he says, may be defined as ' essentially and pre-
eminently the architectnre of strength, the material expression
of the steady, undaunted, unyielding wilJ,' But it was never
perfected; the imitation of Greek forms became the favourite
practice of the Romans in architecture as in literature; and
in vain attempts to combine, in one structure, the opposite
mechanical principles of the entablature and tfic arch, the
opportunity was lost, and it was reserved for the Romanesque
of the dark age^ to develop the perfection of the rouiid-arched
style. The history of Romanesque is introduced by the follow-
ing brilliant summary of the preceding styles : —

* Thus far liavc wc traced the history of architecture through the different
acres and nationa of what is commonly known as the ancient world; the old
U'orld of heathendom in all its countless forms, from the dark mysteries
of Kgypt to the sunny britjlitiieBs of (jreece ; from the low and grovtdling
idolatry that bowed before an api3 or an oniun, to the soul of art and poetry
that kindled the glittering aplendonra of Olympus ; from the dim and
awftil vaiilneas of the shrines of uu Apis or an Anubi.s, to the livipg ^ace
that befilted the pure Apollo and the Athenian Maid, Wc have also seen
how conquered Greece led captive her couqueror* : how, while the Pnyx no
longer echoed to the voice of Pericles, and the groves of Colon ua were no
longer vocal with the song of Sophocles, the spirit of Homer and Callicrates
had (bund an empire in the land of their bondage, in thefonira of Komulua,
and by the banks of the yellow Tiber. We have seen, too, how little kindred
was the soil on which they lighted j how the grace and buoyancy of the
Greek proved but an incongnious garb for the stern greatness of Roman
enersfy ; how hia poetry waa but the feeble echo of the harp of Chios and
the lute of Lesbos, his architecture a vain attempt to bring the massive
piers and ponderous vaults of his own land into harmony with the tall
coUimna of the matchless fihriiiea he vainly sought to imitate. The beau-
tiful forms of Grecian art were a mere yoke, which kepi the genuine spirit
of Roman btiiMing from its legitimate expression. It is, as we have seen,
in the buildings least affected by it, that the real Uoman construction, the
pier and the round arch, cornea out in all its purity and majesty ; and it
was by these element^, more than by the Grecian system unnaturally
anited to them, that Rome has exercised so wide and lasting an influence
ypon the arcliitcctiire of the whole civilized world." — T, 146.

The development of Romanesque began when (aa at Spalatro)
the entablature wjus first cast aside, and the construction of the
arch rising front its supports avowed and revealed. It ended,
in Mr. Freeman's opinion, in the perfection of our own Norman
Romanesque^ which he riinks higher than any other variety of
the style, either than the Lombard, or than that of the Rhine, to
which Mr. Petit assigns the palm.

The Baailiean architectnre, however, niusi firr>t Ue diepo&ed

202 Fooh and Freeman on the Hisfory of Arcldtseimre*

of. ^Ir. Freeman appears to us to have Joet sight of many of
the most interesting cliaracterij^Ucis of this style, in his eagerness
to view it as a trophy won from Faganism—aa a spoiling of the
Egj^ptiaus. But he has devoted to it, in this aspect, much
eloquent and very true panegyric. We find, however, two
points in which ive cannot follow him. He lays down the
|K)sition, which wc think he has not adequately proved, that the
colunm is in essence a detail of the architecture of the entabla-
ture ; and tlmt, in strictness, an arch ought to have musses of
walls, and not columns, for its support. Columnar supports
therefore, as in the Basilican arcades, he considers a Grecian
detail retained in tlie nascent Homancstpie. From this follows
an inference, to wliich we Bhall have to recur, that the last
Pointed style, where tlic pier had come to take the form (though
not universally even in that style) of a uuiss, and not a pillar, is
the most perfect development of the architecture of tlie arch.
We can in no respect agree with him here. The moiiulithlc
columns of the Basilicns, generally taken from earlier buildings,
naturally gave a character to the earlier Itnlian styles ; but in
the Romanesque of the north, wliere the columns of necessity
were of masonry, there was no reason for the marked preference
there shown for the columnar form of pier, except that it
must have been regnrded, ntKt only as in perfect harmony with
the style, but as more beautiful in iti^elf than a mass of wall,
however treated. We can scarcely believe that Mr. Freeman, in
his heart, can prefer the massy piers of S. Alban's to the ctjliinins
of Diudiam or Tewkesbury, or the sufiertici ally -moulded wall-
piers of the l^erpendicular, to the pillars of Salisbury. His
theory of continuity, as it seems to us, has been a hobby -hoi'se,
and has carried him away. We canuot, in short, admit that a
pillar is inconsistent with the genius of the arch: rather we
believe it to be the most perfect and beautiful development of
the support of an arch. It may be true that a column had a
timber origin, and an arch ii stone one: but in the arch-archi-
tcctnre — which as a development is confessedly later than that
of timber, (and which we believe could never be independent
of timber, as timber nxay be of stone,)— the column, however
derived, was assimilated and adopted for ever — became a natu-
ndized member of the style,

JVIr. Freeman paves the way also, in this same early chapter,
for (mother view in which we can scarcely follow him; viz.,
the utter reprobation of Italian Pointed— by dweDing, w^ith
peculiar stress, on the permanence of the Basilican type in Koman
church building : and he adduces 8. Maria in Trastevere as
rebuilt in 1139, and instancing at that late date, * an actual
return to all the absurdities of the combined arch and entabla-

Pode ami Freeman on the Hhtoiy of Architecture^ 203

ture.' Now, we contend that this example is not fairly quota-
ble: for though tliii* late date ia f^ven by Gally-Knight, yet
Mr. Webb (quoted also by Mr. Fvceman in a note) assigns
this building to tlie fir:*t half of the eighth century : and, Tipon
looking further into authoritic^i, \vc find that Canina, Vaai, and
liossi, all ignore the complete rebuilding in 1139, which is
nsaerted by Bnnsen, Severano, and Professor Willis* When
opinions «d much ditler, it \a scarcely fair to quote this cxam[)le
B proving what is, at Xo-'H^i prima faci^ most improlHvble.
Pa>??ing on to liysjantlne architecture, we are glad to see that
r. Freeman adopts the view so ably advanced by Hope, and
Adopted by ourselves in a previous number, that it was strictly
a new atyle, deliberately invented as a Christian style, by the
great architects chosen by Constant ine to build his new capital
on the Bo^pliorus.

At BjKantium there was no Buck feeling ns at Home tiiiist bave induced
mformity to the eldei' Ibrm ; nor was there the same store of elder
lifices which at Rome supplied both nmterifils and models for Christian
larches; there were neiiher BasiUcas enont^h to converi uti changed to
iclesiastical use*, nor vet trmplca whose colnmoa might supply the in-
reasin^ want of '' church nccommodatioiii" in the first Chrisriau city. The
tyzantine buildiniiH were then, hi the words of t!ie nutliur just quoted,
'<lisencumbere4ol the reetruiiits which accompniiicd die superior resources
they could command in Itnme;" they were not only at liberty, but were
absolutely driven, lo find their own materials jiud their own architecture;
and a style arose, which lacks indeed the simplicity and elegance of hea-
ihen Greeecj the avifut nifijcsty and vastness ol' mediBBval France and
England, but which must be allowed to possess in the highest degree a
rhnracier both oriffinal and enduring, vigorous alike in intellectual concep-
tion and mechanical execution. '^F. 1G6.

The peculiarities of the Byzantine style are exceedingly well

jized by our author and det^cribed. The foUowinf^ observation

very happy : * The rjiF:*pnng of the arch Is the vault ; of

the vault the cupola; and this inajestic ornament u the very

life and soul of Byzantine architecture, to which every other

feature is subordinate.' Still, upon the wliole, we incline

the opinion that the merits and capabilities of Byzantine are

indcr- valued by Mr. Freeman; but we must allow with him,

that the few examples of it as yet known to us by accurate

description or by drawings, are biircly sufficient for justice to be

fully done to the style.

Our space warns us that we must hurry on to those etylea
w^hich more immediately concern our own country. We Bhall|
therefore, merely give a passing mention to the intermediate
links of the chain.

The next great advance, after the Byzantine, was made by
tlie Lombards, who not merely infused a new life into the old
Roman forms, but fused into a harmonious whole principles

204 Pode and Freeman on the HUlor^ of ArchUedura.

taken not only from the Baailican, but from those Byzantine
churches that were by this time scntterecl over the West. Mr.
Freeman dUtinguisheB three pei'iods of Lombard architecture,
and then, crossing the Alpa, showa us the next development in
the Romanesque of the Rhine. In thi^^ he finds an additional
element of Byzantine^ beyond that whicli in regular descent it
inherited from tlie Lomhard. lie follows Frederic Schlegel in
thinking tiiat Byzantium exercissed a fresh and immediate iuBu-
ence on Rhenish arcliitecture, by means of the intermarriages
of the Saxon C-aesars with the court of Constantinople.

It is ^ufticiently remarkahle, that in discussing the last-nien-
ttoned style, Mr. Freeman should so entirely have forgotten one
of its chief peculiarities, the Mannerclior, or triforial gallery,
as to venture the as^sertion, that ' The tritbriura is by no means
a necessary feature even in great churches, nor very conspi-
cuous when it occurs.' (P. 193.)

We now come to an interesting chapter on the early Roman-
esque of Ireland. There can be httle doubt that this style re-
presents, and descends independently from the very earliest
Christian architecture, that of the first three centuries of
our era.

* While other inquirers into the arcbitectiare ftnd aniiquitiea of the earlier
days of Christianity have investigated every country iu which temples have
been reared to ih^j service tif our relij^ioti— whiU* nearly nil the mft^nilkent
cathedrals and nhbeja of Europe have been .subjected to such minute
investigation^ that, withwut lenviiig our own lirosiide, we may bring betbre
us, with nearly all the vividne»H of personal knowledge, the spires of Burgos
and the domcH of Byzantium, the basilicas of Italy and the log-churches of
Norway^ — one patient, enterprising, and zealous inniiirer, has by hia own
shigle exertions opened to im a field hitherto uiitruddenj and the glory of
whose discovery ia wholly his own. The maguificeut volume of Mr. Petrie,
on the architecture of Ireland, forma indeed an epoch in eoclcsiasticftl
reaearch j it brings the Church and her material fabrics before ws in a new
garb i one less gorgeou.s, indeed, than that which we used to contemplate, —
one not gleaming with the go!d of rurtessua, or the jewels of the Eastern
land, — but un soiled by the touch of the world, severely arrayed in the sterner
holincsa of her earheat days, in all the immaculate whiteness of her vii^n
purity. In that far island of the west^ in whose air the Roman eagle never
fluttered^ and iVom whose shore no captive w as dragged to enrich a Caesar'a
triumph with his combats and hia agonies, we have most vividly brought
before us the estate of the Church when her temples were hut the damp
cave or the rnde butt when she dwelt not as yet in the halls of the patrician
and the palace of the emperor, and when the outcry of a populace, or the
frown of' a tyrant^ hurried away her Pontiff^ from their lowly thronciS
and altars to seal their witness in the recking amphitheatre. These build-
ings, themselves of the most venerable antiquity, the earliest exialiag Cbrisj-
linn temples in northern Europe^ are tlie representatives of others more
venerable still ; they derived not their origin from the gor|jeou8 basilicas of
Constantiae and 'I'heodosius, but ia them we behold the direct ol&pring of
the lowly temples of the days of persecution, the humble shrines wiiere
Cyprian bent in worship, and which Valerian and Diocletian swept from
olTthe earth.

^K Poole and Freeman on the Hiitorif of Architecture, 205

' ** ft ia, indeed," says Mr. Petrie, " by no means improbable, that
the severe simplicity, as well as the uniforinity of plan and size, wliidi
MBwally characterises our early churches, was leas the result of the poverty
or i^orancc of their founders than of their choice, originating in the spirit
of their fiiitb, or a veneration for some model given to them hy their first
teachers ; for that the earliest Christian churches on the continent, before
the time of Constaiitiue, were, like these, small and unadorned, there is no
reason to doubt.*' And this position tieeniH to he stroni^ly corroboTftted by
the fact that the apse is unknown, which manifcKtly points to ii type ante-
rior to the basilican model, as otherwise we can hardly account for the
omission of that clmracleristic and almost universal feature," — P. 19G*

We wish Mr. Freeman, adopting as he tlocs these conclusions,
had boldly set the example of fdvin^ this style precedence to
the Basilican, and named it the First Konianesqiie, or the Primi-
tive style.

We have now arrived at tlie earliest Romanesque of England ;
in other word?, to the much di:<puted Anglo-Saxon style.

Upon the res summa of this question > we have already in this
paper expreseed our own persuasion. It is well known that the
Glossary of Arcliitecturo, and many of the pure archaeologiste of
the day, eagerly maintain tliat no ante* Norman buildings existt
among us. Jlr. Freeman, with a degree of scorn that makes ua
feel for its objects even while we admit its justice, speaks of thi^i
Bchool as writers who * seem animated with a desire to prove,

* in the teeth of all probability and all evidence, that every frag-

* ment of Saxon architecture has been swept from the earth j or

* rather, that some physical or moral incapacity prevented our

* Saxon forefathers from putting stone and mortar together*

* The event of the field of Scnlac,' he continues, * is held to have

* introduced, by some myi^tic influence, a previously unknown
' power of constructing buildings into the British isles : some-
' times they seem inclined to add, into tlie whole of Europe,

* The year 1066 beconjes an urchonahip of Eucleides, before

* which things either existed not, or may not be remembered; the

* slightest hint that aught can have sur%'ivcd, causes an uneasi-

* ncss to the propouuders of these theories,' {P, 203.) Then
follows an able argument, to show that certain buildings mmt
be ante-Norman, and that i'rom them may be compiled a satis-
factory knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon style. With this view,
too, Mr. Poole fully agrees: his volume appeared just long
enougli before the publicatiun of Mn Freeman's work to enable
the latter to exprees his assent to the important proposition, that
probably much of what is now considered Nmman may be here-
after proved to be anterior to the Conqueet (Freeman, p. 205,
Poole, p, 69.) Mr. Freeman, in elucidating this style, makes
one very happy observation, suggested by a hint from Professor
Willis, that * the Saxon tower is a rude imitation of the Italian
wwnpanile,' (p. 212); whether the V>alancing part of the same

206 PccU aj.d Freeman on the HisUri/ of ArchtUcture,

Bentence— tlmt * the Norman tower ig the legitimate successor
of the cupt»la ' — be equally true, we doubt. A more common-
eeuse view would surely be, just as \vc argued above as to the
column, that no particular feature could thus preserve an un-
mixed independent descent ; but, however derived, would lu its
development become adopted into the style, and lose its indi-
viduality. We mean, that the Norman tower must be the
Buccessor as well of the Italiau campanile aa of the Byzantine
cupola. Granted, that its situation in the ground plan, and
even other particuhirs, vv ere derived from Byzantine : yet Mr.
Freeman would not ass^^rt that the Norman architects carefully
kept it distinrt in idea from the campanile. On the contrary,
the external treatment of a si]uare Norniau lower is decidedly
a development of the tower and not of the cupola.

In comparing Saxon and Norman Romanesque in England, ISIr.
Freeman proposes a principle of subdivision for the Romanesque
styles according to the form of the pier. In Saxon the pier is, he
states, a rectangular mass ; in Norman it is columnar. So far
then, according to Mr, Freeman's own theory mentioned above,
(though we believe he omits to draw this unpleaaing inference,)
the latter is the less consistent and harmonious style. A bold,
but we think quite justifiable, suggestion follows for dividing the
Anglo-Saxon into three styles: the firet, the uncouth imitation
of Soman remains with Roman materials; the second, 'the
most truly and purely Saxon,' of wliicli the powers of the two
Bartons are the types ; the third, an approximation to the
coming Norman, due to the ' denationalizing process' going
on in the reign of the Confessor.

The Provencal style hnving aiibrded an instructive intercalii-
tory chapter, we arrive at last at our own Norman Romanesque.
IVe have already prepared our readers for Mr. Freeman's
opinion^ that this form of architecture presents the perfection
of the round-arch style. His own pages (chap, xiv.) must
be consulted for his satisfactory arguments in sujiport of this
position J though we may be allowed to quote his verdict: —

' The historjr of RomancBque, as traced in our former cbftptera, may seem
inconsistent with the theory of its perfection, mid Irns led both cUissical
and Gothic exclusivencss it> despise it. To the former it ia a mere bungling
corrviplion, introduced by men who knew not how to work archkraves, or
prt'KePve tlie proper proporliona of cuhiiniis ; il is not dtissiciil and is
therefore worthless. To the Utter, it is clftssicfth ^^nd theretbre worthless;
it is PAgau, horizontal, at best only \aluabie aa a groundviork on which
Gothic was built up. The one cannot conreive bow northern harbariiinst
ignorant of the principka of Vitruviua, could introduce improvemeulH
into the fine arts; to the other a round arch or an acanthus leaf appearat
alttigethcr profane, and is a subject for absolute lonibing. But those who
allow that good architecture is not the exchibive properly of any one a^e
or natioDj will perceive that a eiyle may be neither classical nor Golliic,

Pooh and Freeman on the History of ArchUecture, 207

and yet have principles and incriLa of its ouu, distinct from both. And
in ibia vieiv it will appear nothings wonderrnl tlmt tbe destroyers of tbe
Roman power might be the Improvere of Roman art. More skilful hand-s
inifljbt bfive perpetuated the old system of urnament in all its incontfrunuHi
splendour; with bnildera who could raise the pier and turn the arcb, but
nut measure the column and enrich tbe frieze, the ornamental feature,^
died away, and the mere skeleton, the unadorned construction, remained
r ead y lor m o re ap p ru p ri a t e f o rnis to be e og r n f t e d 1 1 po nit. A re b i I e c tu re w as
brought back to the point which we may conceive it bad gained amoujjj the
ancient nations of Italy, when the splendid inventions of Grecian art ;\cre
first made known to thcra. The pier and arch stood ready for the Germau
or Norman architect to adorn abke with the creations of his own geniua,
and with such of the spoils of beaihendom as might be fitly pressed into
the Church's service. The arch bc«;an to be recessed, its square section

ito be enriched with gor^ijeous moulding ; the pier has the taper shaft, with
its rich capital attachetl to relieve tiie heavy mass, and to support each
receding order. The column is now reduced within the limits of the small
Urcade, now soars uninterruptedly from the floor to the roof, Tbe laws
of classical proportion are sacrificed, as only cramping tbe energies of the
•tyle ; but the construction which tbe classical architect was content
to disguise, now stands forth in all its majestic Bimplicily, its immovtihle
Bolidity, its severe individuality of parts, admitting alike of the naked
plainness of Jnmiegea, and tbe lavi.-ih gorgeouaness of Bayeux. Surely the
Adorning of this construction in a manner so harmonious and so splendid,
is as much the mark of a pure and perjlxt style as aught that Grecian
or Gothic skill has reared, and may fairly challenge a plnce parallt-l to
theirs, among the noblest developments of the art of architecture/ — P. 256.

Aa the soul of Grecian arcliitccture was asserted to be horizoii-
tiil, that of Gothic being vertical, extension — the distinguishing
characteristic of Ronianesqtie is now asserted to be, that neither
vcrticality nor horlzontality shall be allowed to obtain a marked
predominance, liest, therefore, and solidity, * an eiiduritij^ and

I immovable finnness/are the idea that Romanesque priociimlly
embodies* Its moral lesson is * a warning against despondency
in days of affliction, a living teacliing of the everbtstingness
of the Church on earth, so long us tlie world itself remaind.' —
P. 266.
Pointed, on the other hand, (for we must with Mr. Freeman
anticipate the style,) * is the language of the CJiurch, when she
'throws off her mourning, and, going forth intrium]>h over her
* persecutors, arrays herself with a victor^s wreath of tlie fairest
* foliage; then was the lesson needed, — and sot forth in the tall

* shaft, the soaring arcli, the airy spire,— -not to be corrtijttcd

* by prosperity, not to rest in a worldly triumph, but to rise in all

* things heavenward.' It was this vivid idea of the genius of the
two styles, Bhown in this graceful sentence, that led Mr. Free-
man, if we remember rightly, to suggest on one occasion, that in

■the present depressed condition of the Church, we needed the

liuunil lesson of Romanesque, and ought to hulUl in that style;

Kand, not dissimilarly, the IJishop of New Zealand proposed,

when about to sail for his diocese, to build hia first churches

208 Pod^ and Freeman 091 the HLtortt of Architecture,

in Norman^ that the newly planted Church might begin its
existence with an architecture characterised by rude and
undeyelope*! strength, which might grow and expand, siraulta-
neou:5ly with the lioped-for growth of the Church, into a
Pointed style.

We cannot, before leaving this style, refrain from comparing
with what we have €|UQted, Air. Poole*s much less poetical idea
of its characteristic spirit. He finds in it, ho tells us, *a
squareness* and a ' directness* impressed upon ita details ; and
adds, * AVliether or no it has any connexion with the character
of the people^ the Norman is the most straightforward Btyle,'—
Poole, p. 154.

There remains the most important architecture of all, that of
the pointed arch, to be considered : with respect to which we
shall find many theories of our author which we are altogether
unable to accept. The pointed ai'cli itself, according to Mr,
Freeman, was first extensively used in Saracenic,— a style
which he refuses to reckon amonj^ the legitimate off-shoots
of the Byzantine, but which held this form of arch ai* a lifeless
seed, never having been able to develop its latent powers.
From the Saracens it was introduced into Christendom by the
Crusaders, and still earlier into Sicily,- — an island which has
always existed under the most extraordinai*y architectural con-
ditions. We cannot ourselves subseribe to the opinion that
much influence was exerted on general European ai'chitecturc
by the Saracenic style ; and the idea of Italian Pointed in
particular borrowing ' a good deal ' from that source, as Mr.
Freeman (p. 293) ventures to hint, seems only referable to the
extreme aversion with which, as we shall sec, he always regards
that much vilified style. We hasten to Mr. Freeman's defini-
tion of Gothic,

' FortuDatcly,' be says, • ilierc is tio style wLicli admits of so easy
Rnd philosd-piiiciU a definition; none is so completely the carrying out
of one grand prinflpl^j of wliicli all ita feiitures of coustniction and decora-
tion are but the exhibition in detail. This has been alreadv detiiind to be
iJie upward tendency of the whole hnilding, und of its minutest details ;
in a tvurd, the vertical principle, which, wTien fully earned out, renders
a Gothic cathedral one harraonions whole, seeming actually to rise heaven-
wards. The eye is guided upwards throughout ; the whole building rises
from the floor to the roof; no part seems an after-thought, as soraethiiigt
unavoidably put oiij but each portion grows out of that beneath ; all
is light, airy, and soaring. '^ — P. 29f*.

Now, of thiB verticality, the most prominent and fuiidaraeutal
example is the pointed arch, by Mr. Freeman's own admission.
We defer the further eonsideratioii of this point and the conse-
quences that may he drawn from it till we come to discuss the
best nomenclature of the styles. Here we will only add, that

Poole and Freeman on the History rtf Architecture,

^Fr. Freeman eomevvlmt elahoJ-ately argues in favour of whnt ho
calls (p. 320) * the combined Otstrogothic and vegetable theory '
of the origin of Gothic: /. £?. he beheves tlmt the pointed sirch,
the germ of the **tylej hiiving been brought from the Saracens
of the Etist bj tiic returning Crusaders, was developed by the
architects of the West ; \v]io introduced, as they went on,
ideas borrowed from tlic rcr;enibhince the style suggested to the
leafy alleys of a forest; to which, — he folh>w3 Mr. Petit in
thinking — * we may owe the intricate tmeery of our windows,
and the rainnte ramifications of our fan-vaulting!?.*

Mr. Freeman's opiniona with regard to the Gothic styles
may be represent cil^ not unfairly we hope^ in the follownng
ffiinnnary : —

The ordinary threefold division of Gothic, — the First, Middle,
nnd Third Pointed of the Ecclcsiological Society, and the Karly
English, Decorated, and Perpendicular of Kiekman and his imi-
tators,—Mr. Freeman rejects iis unphilor^ophical ; and he g^ub-
8titntc8 a twofold diviision into Early and Continuous, Early
Gothic is that which retains any kind of dit^tinctness in its
individual parts ; Continuous is that which, destroying the sepa-
rate existence of parts, fuses the entire outline and dctJiil of
a building into a Continuous whole. Hence, Geometrical Mid-
dle-Pointed being — to supply a term whicli we are surprised
that ]Mr. Freeman has not used, if only to bahmce bis temii-
nology— discontiruious, it luUovvs that it belongs to the former,
and not to the latter, or Continuous half of the twofold division.
*i'iie supjx>9ition then of a middle style, though in practice con-
venient, is unphilosophicaJ in theory. Mr, Freeman, however,
for the sake of practical convenience, proposes a fourfold sobdi-
vision : Lancet and Geometrical, in Early Gothic ; Flowing and
Perpendicuhvr, or Flamboyant, in Continuous. It is under this
classification that he describes, in language always both inter-
esting and instractive, the succession of the most famous Gothic
buildings in the north of Europe. Th& abbey of S. Ouen at
Rouen, is his ideal of the utmost perfection as yet attidned in
the Gothic style,

A succeeding chapter reviews the Gothic of tlic south of
Europe: the conclusion being, that all of it is worthless, a.nd
the Italian variety the worst.

The last chapter traces the decay of tbe Pointed architecture,
the rise of the Kenaissance (in which Mr. Freeman accords to
the dome of Florence the most unqualified admiration), the
Caroline revival of Gothic in this country, the Revived Italian,
the Revived Grecian, (under which head the Taylor buildings
at Oxford suQ'er the last of tbe countless sneers which are aimed
at this unhappy design throughout the volume), and ends with

NO. LXV. — N.^■. ' P

210 PooIb and Freeman on the llislofy cf Arekitecturc, '

a genial, but warning welcome of that new Rcnaiseancc which
our own timcB have originated.

It is a matter of regret with ub, that having agreed so much
with Mr. Freeman in tiie course of onr analysis of hia * Hietory
of Arehitecture/ wc Fhould dow have to enlarge upon our dif-
ference from him in his eatimatc, as well as his principle of
clae^ification, of the most imjiortant atid most beautiful arelii-
tcctiii'al style that the world has seen.

Let us 8ee how the cape stands at present with respect to the rival
nonicnclatiu'cs and divisions of styles. Rickman 'was among the
first to notice, —and all succeeding observers Irave followed him —
that in what went under the general name of Gothic, there were
three principal varieties to be distingiiijehed in this country : the
first, in which the Romanesque elements were nearly or quite
discarded, and the princi].dc of Gothic, whatever that was, had
stamped itself on the whole style; the next, in which all the
promise of the former style was matured and satisfied, in the
same way as the glories of a full-blown rose take tlie phicc
(though often almost to our regT'ct) of the more modest beauty
and the pure promlee of the opening bud ', the tlurd, in whirh
a general deterioration might be detected, and which was only
saved from the corruption of form and ornament that seized
upon it in its continental varieties, by the introduction of a
new and uncongenial clement in that kind most common in our
own country. As he was the first to remark, so was Rickman
the first to name these three styles: and after him, at first all
writers, and of late a great number, liave called them respec-
tively the Early English, the Decorated, and the Perpendicular,
or Flamboyant.

The absurdity of tliis terminology became soon apparent.
Take the term Earl// Em/iisL Why, it was naturally asked,
should a style be so called, which had been preceded in this
countiy by at least Noi-man, Saxon, and RomaUj in church archi-
tecture ? And, if one crossed the channel, or went into Ireland,
and found any similar buildings, were these to be called Early
French, Early German, Early Irish, &c. ? Tlicn, as to DecoratetL
The architectural student was astonished to learn that the style,
80 far from the luxuriance of detail of its predecessor, and from
the excessive ornamentation of its suceessorj positively athnitted
of a greater simplicity in its unpretending examples than any
other I Again, Perpendicular and Flamboyant, which differ
from the others in being adujirably descriptive of species, were
equally nnsuited with the others to be generic. It was, how-
ever, a great credit to Rickman thnt his division should l)c
followed, and no disgrace at all that his tenua should be in
time superseded by better ones.

m Poole and Freeman on the Uigtory of ArMltcture, SI 1

The Eccle4iolopht in due course proposed and Btoutly main-
tained a new nomenclature. For tLc term Gotliic, which had
been given in if^norance and contempt, and was it&elf mis-
leading and inadequate, it |)ropo5cd Pointed as a substitute-
This, it was surjgcated, would have the advantage of deseribing^
the most 8tnkin^ and fundamental charactemtic of the new
style, as distinguiBhed from its round-arch predecessor We
may urge, in addition, the important argument, that it is in
harmony with the improved continental terminology. M. de
Caumont, in France, has divided Gothic architecture into three
subdivisions, which he called re&pectively le sttfle ogind primitlfi
$eco?idaire, and tertiaire. M. Ikmras?^ has followed him, and M.
Sehaycs had adopted the same nomenclature in Belgium, in a
Treatise, translated hy Mr. Austin, in Wealc'a * Quarterly
Papers,' vol. i. German architectural writers, too, are begin-
ing to use the words Spitzbogenkitn^t^ Spitzhogeiisti^l^ as opposed
to Rundhogertknmty in their ordinary descriptions: and even
Italy has adopted from De Caumout the term Architettnra di
sesto acuiv, subilivided ijito the styles a lancftte, a raggi, and a
Jiamma,

The name Pointed being conceded, the classification into
First, Middle, and Third Pointed is a small matter ; and we
cannot sufficiently express our surprise, that writers who adhere
to Rickman^s threefold division, should have so ungraciously
received a nomenclature, which, retaining the division, merely
provided for it a more consistent and reasonable set of names.
Certain it is, however, that the Ecclesiological nomenclature
has been an object of continual assault to the archasolo-
gists, who in this one point are supported by Mr. Freeman,
leagiied with them in an imhuly alliance ; for he really has,
from his own theory, intelligible and philogophic4il, though we
think inconclusive, reasons against the threefold division alto-
gether.

Our readers may have already gathered, that in our own
opinion the Ecclesiological nomenclature is the one least open to
objections; and whioli, if only for uniformity's sake, wc would
gladly see in general use. It has the further advantages of being
very easy to learn, convenient to use, and, by the fact of its
^mmitting itself to nothing more than the Pointedness of the
Iftyle, being ready to give place when further investigation or
profound discernment shall have provided us with a better.

It is as being a better one — more philosophical, more true,
more exhaustive — that Mr. Freeman proposes nis novel division,
with its terminology. And were it indeed so, we sliould our-
selves adopt it, {MkI so, wc believe we may assert, would the
Ecclesiologists themselves. But we are not convinced of the

212 Fods and Freeman on the Hulortf of ArchUecturB,

principles on whicli Mr. Freeman's conclusions are based. We
cannot persuade ourselves that the one chief ruling yjrinciple of
the Pointed style h the continuity of parts; and consequently
that tire perfection of that architecture is to be found in the
Perpendicular Tliird-pointed, in which that continuity of parts is
most perfectly attained. On the contrary, we hold that the
culminating point of Gothic architecture was reached in that
full expansion of the Middle-pointed period, when, with match-
less grace and most justly halaneed proportion, every construc-
tive and decorative feature alike found its full development
without injury to others ; when every part was taught to combine
in moat perfect harmony with every other partj and not one waa
slighted or extinguished. The moment this delicate adjustment
was transgressed, the corruption of Gothic began. Some mem-
bers of the architectural body w^ere degraded, and next effaced ; '
tracery, not content with windows, usurped first the w^alls, and
then the roof; pier and arch forgot their mutual de|>endeDce and
support, and disguised, for they could not annihilate* the impost
which reminded them of their due relation ; and the roof was
lowered, because the lowest members of the building must visibly
and ostentatiously (not as of old, unseen but really) assert their'l
share in bearing it. In short, the Middle-pointed reminds us
always of the due gradation of the heavenly hierarchy :—

' Tlie heavetiB tliemselvea, the planets, and ibis centre,
Obaerve degree, priority, and place,
InsiBture, course, proportion, seaaon, form,
QSice, and custom, in all line of order/

But the licentious facility and flow^ of Third-pointed is like the

misconceived liberty of a modern republic. We would meet
Mr. Freeman, therefore, on his oivn chosen ground of continuity,
and argue, that what he considers the triumph of the principle,
is it« excess and corruption ; and, consequently, the Third-
pointed, so far from being the perfection of Gothic, we regai"d
as its degradation and decline.

The best way of pursuing the subject will be by examining
the value of some of Mr. Freeman's objections to the Ecclesio*
logical nomenclature, and his arguments in favour of his own.

He declares, we find, that in two impoitant particulars the
former is defective : in that the term * First-pointed ' is meant
to apply to Gotliic in general, whereas that style * in any form
worthy the name of Gothic, is exclusively English f and m that
Third-pointed embraces ' two such different styles as Flamboyant

Tbe trirorlum, mora cepecially, wm utterly IcMt in late Pointed. Mr. FreemaiL
rejoices over ita oxtinclion !

Pook and Freeman on t/ts Hktor^ of Architecture* 213

incon-

and Pcrpendicubir; to yoke which under one title is cle

Bistent in writers who assert the fbmier and deny the latter to

be a le^tiniate development of the Gothic principle.', — P. 339.

The first of the:5e we mu.^t think a somewhat shallow objec-
tion : for First -pointed, though rarely, in a pure ibrm at least,
yet does oecur on the continent of Europe, The Seminary
chapel at Bayeux 18 a notable instance ; and a German example
has been made known to ua in the chancel of Remafzien, on the
Bhine. Antlj which is much more importnnt, M* de Caumtmt
and the Abbe Bourasse, whose names stand as high aa any ict
France for this kind of learning, have, as we saw above,
actuaVIy laid down a Primary Ogival, or Lancet style, as of
universal application. And eurcly it is not unreasonable, in a
broad view of tio widely-extended a style as the Pointed — one,
too, of which we know so little as to the means of its diffusion —
to assign to the style of Salisbury its precedence in the formal
development of Pomtcdj since it confessedly u^ strictly speaking,
the first development that can be conceived of Gothic forms, —
even though ttiis or that country may have in its own ea^e no
example of that style to show. An illustratitm will best show
what we mean. Suppose future study should class Romanesque
according to a similar division; and, as probably would be the
case, the ancient Irish churches (as we proposed above) were,
by consent of European Ecclesio legists, reckoned as of the First
Romanesque. What difficulty w^ould there be, for example,
in England reckoning her Anglo-Saxon churches as Second Ro-
manesque, or Germany her Rhenish churches as Third ? Ima-
gine, again (as in Spanish America), a country christianized in
late Third-pointed times : are its churches not to be reckoned
Third-pointed because First and Middle-pointed exist only in
the old continent ? The question seems to us fo be simply tliis:
on a general review of all known examples of the development
of the Gothic style, which form is the eimplebt and earlie^jt — con-
sidered as to principles, not as to actual dates? Confessedly the
First-pointed — even though its idea were only fully realized in
a remote isknd- Then we say, tliat philosophically that may be
called the First-pointed etyle.

Mn Freeman's second objection is a captions one. It appears
from his note, that a writer in the * Ecclesiologiet ' contended
that Flamboyant was a legitimate corruption of Flowing Middle-
pointed, while Perpendicular was that corruption, saved or partly
redeemed from its degeneracy by the introduction of a new
element— absolute perpendicularity of lines ; the idea (as he
suggested) of the great Wykeham. This view may be true or
false ; we are not concerned with it : but any one holding it is

214 Pode and Freeman on the Histori/ of Architecture,

not precluded from regarding the two fonua aa coatemporaaeouB
but unequally good phases of the deeaying style, and tirom
designating them respectively the Flamboyant, and the Perpen-
dictdar Third-pointed.

Mr. Freeman's own two-fold divii^ion is practically identical,
he tell» us, with Mr, Petit's ' Eai-ly Complete' and * Late
Complete * Gothic, But he diifera wholly from that writer's
opinion, wdiieh makes Transitional Romanesque the i« -complete
Gothic ; the resemblance between the two cla^iaifications being
only in this point, that both agree in considering Geometrical
and Flowing Middle-pointed to be two Btylea, and not varieties of
one style. It ia a fair inference that Sin Freeman's view i\ho
repudiates Mr. Petit^s notion of both Eai'ly and Continuous
being Cmnplete Gothic styles.

But we muet aliow ilr» Freeman to apeak for himself in
behalf of his division of Geometrical and Flowing into separate
styles.

* The Enrly is marked by the application of the principle of destroying
the separate exieteiice orpart» unly, to the eons traction of iheprimEur; parts
of the building; that is, it BubordinateB the shaf>, and capital, and arcu, to
the 1.1 bole formed by tliem, the picr-arcb, the trilbrium, the window^ ^,,
without completely subordinating these to the whole ; the secondary parts
lose thmr separntc cxiatencCj, but the primary ones retain theirs. They
still remain distinct, united by harmonious juxtaposition, but not actually
fused into a aingle cxiatcncc. The CoutinuouiSi, on the other hand, effects
the Bubijrdiualiou ol' the secondary parts more completely, while tt extends
the applicatiati of the principle to the furtber subonlination of the primary
parts to the whole, ao that ibc parts sink into nothing of thcmseWcaj but
exist merely as parts of the whole. The beauty, then, of the Early 13 that
of parts ; the slim and delicate shaft, the f!:raceful foliasre of the capital, the
bold rounds and hollows of the mouldings, not only exist, but arc brought
into prominent notice — they are forced on the eye at the fiurst glance; ia
the Continuous they are not noticed, il' they exist, but it is the whole alone
that is seen and con tern plated*' — P. 341.

We have anticipated the answer to most of this, when we
showed that the difference between the forms of Geometrical
and Flowing Middle- Pointed is raucli less marked than the
above passage aflaerts it to be j in fact, that the latter is iden-
tical with the tbrmer, with the one exception of having tlie la^t
roughnesses of the Geometrical forms s-oftened into the graceful
continuity (we are not afraid to use the word) of the Flowing,
Let us grant that the gain of continuity is the indication of the
climax of the Gothic being reached ; we assert that the decay
began from the moment that this continuity overatepped its duo
limits, and invaded the rights of other elements of the style*
We all agree that the new element did so develop itself —
rightfully, says Mr. Freeman — wltile we say, in a corruption;
nsomueh that, substituting the word Perpendicnkrj or Flam-

^ P^t^ and Freeman on the H'ustorif of Architdchire, 215

boyant, for the word Flowing, wc would adopt all !Mr. Freeman
asserts of the ili^tuiction between tliu Early ami Uoutinuous of
hb clivssitication, as true of the diritinctiou between ^lidillt-
pointed and Ferpeudiculaa'. All lie .says ia true of Tlurd-
IMiintcd, in each of its form.?, but it u not true of the Flowing
Middle-poiuted. Geometrical ^^liddle-poiotcd Wii5, we repeat,
perfection eliort of one quality — via., entire ease and grace:
Flowing Middle-pointed was that one wanting etep, more or
less succesdftilly, supplied. But we also hold that perfection
wa3 either never reached, or, at least, never maintained, For
whatever rcaj^on— we need not here even hint an opinion fur
what reason — a corruptioii iniiuediately began. With the gain
of perfect grace came the loss of severity ; and architecture,
enervated by relaxed disci idine, declined. So in paintings
Itiiffaelle had scarcely approximated to perfection before the
decay began.

There is nothing niurc difficulty of eour:*c, than to dniw an
accurate line as to where legitimate develoiimcnt stopped, and
degeneracy began- Few Avould probably be found to agree as
to the exact point. But we conceive this difficulty to attach ad
much to Mr. Freeman's division aa to the one we are defend-
ing. The whole duration of Pointed architecture is, in fact*
a time uf perpetual transition. But, in spite of this perpetnal
transition, tour ^ub-divisions have been recognised by all ob-
servers alike; those, namely* in which the Lancet> the (icomc-
tricul, tlie Flowing, and the Perpendicular forms prevail. Why
not, then, at once adoi>t this fourfuhl division, and reckon four
styles of Pointed architecture ? Because nearly all observers
have remarked a much stronger line of demarcation between
the tirst and tlio second, and tiimilarly between the third and
fourth, than between the second and third. That is to say,
they have grouped Geometrical and Flowing into one, and so
reckoned three etylcs. Mr. Freeman thinks he has detected a
subtle principle, which is to be a safer guide for drawing the
line of division than the combined observations of all his fellow
students, and on the strength of it recommends a two- fold
division, which places the greatest interval exactly where most
but himself perceive the leaat ditrercnce, and which eombmea
under each of the hesids. Early and Continuous, two vainetiea
wliich have been nearly universally nia»ntaiiied to be pretty
broadly distinguishable one irom the other. Now if any un-
prejudiced reader, not particularly interested in this discussion,
has accompanied us so fiir, he will probably be inclined to
wonder why the dispute is continued after each side has stated
its arguments. Is it not, after all, he will say, a nunc (juestioii
of opinion? Pointed ai'chilccture, yuu confess, while it lasted.

'216 iW<? and Freeman on the History of Archit^iure,

had an ever-^liirtlng, ever-develoinng existence. You investigate
itj3 facts, and search after its principles, and make arbitrary
classifications, Imt cannot agree among yourselves ei liter as to
the best system of subdivision, or as to where the perfection of
the style resides. What hope is there of agreement if there is no
further authority to appeal to, and no further argument to adduce?
We think there m a further authority, and an appeal to it
shall be our cheval de bataille; we mean MoftMii}Q$. It is quite
singular how seldom Mr, Freeman refers to Mouldings through-
out his volume, and when he does 80, it is always in the most
vague and general terms* We believe that a careful rerrard to
them would not only have eaved him from what we thmk his
mistaken theory about the perfection of Pointed, but will nia-
terially support tlie eide we have taken in this controversy as to
the division of styles. We believe it is now generally ad-
mitted that IMouidingg are the very gnmnnar of Pointed archi-
tecture; tliat form, eifect, and even principles, may all, con-
Bidcred alone, lead sometimes to erronef*us conclusions, to which
nothing but a knowledge of Mouldings can provide a corrective.
We are not going to dit?cuss Moiddings technically. Any of our
readers who may have little or no practical acquaintance theni-
gelvcs with this somewhat difficult and uninviting department of
architectural science, may follow all we shall say b}^ referring
to the plates of Mr. Paley's excellent nianuaL So far iVom our
finding there any etrongly marked difference Vjctween Geome-
trical and Flowing moulding?, it is absolutely impossible to dis-
tinguish them apart J while between the ibrms of early or late
First, or those of early and late Third-iHanted, there is the
most obvious varlatinn. That mouldings group themselves
neither into two, nor fcmr, but into thi-ee, and only three, classe*,
a cursory inspection of IMr. Paley*a plates will prove ; and that
great authority carefully cla'^sifics them accordingly. In other
worda, he tlerives troni mouldings the same conclusions that
others Iravc arrived at in different ways — that the Geometrical
and Flowing forms of Middle-pointed essentially belong to one
and the same style, a style which, with nearly all writei*8 but
^Ir. Freeman, he considci^s to be the highest attained develop-
ment of (xotliic architecture ; for he hazards the strong assertion
respecting it, that * there can be no doubt that the perfection

* of mouldings, as of all architectural detail, was attained in this

* style,' (Manual of Gothic iVIouldings, p. 37.)

Strengthened by the weight of this imlei^ndent testimony
ft'ora IMouldings, we venture to assert that Mr. Freeman is not
justified in dividing the two forms of Middle-pointed into
separate styles, and we sincerely hope that he will make no con-
Tertd to his system of ehiissification and his new nomenclature.

Poule and Freeman on the IlUtory vf jlrchiteclure, 217

For this place we have reserved an extract from Mr, Freeman^
which, while arguing for his favourite theory, contains so many
remarkable admissions on our eidcj tlmt we reckon upon receiv-
ing coneiderahlc support from it for our own position : —

* It will be thus seen tlmt 1 completely ignore the exietence of a Decorated
or Middle- Pointed style as a philosopbical division. At the same time, m
desm')ing churchca, it is almost nee<!;8«ary to retaia some such name,
for distinct as are the fully developed Flowing and the pure Geomctrienl,
^Ely choir and Lichfield nave, — totally opposite aa are their principles,
it la utterly irapossible to draw a hartf line of demarcation betweeu one
and the other. Eyen the two fontia of windowa are murh confused,
and much more the other details. One sees that the earliest Decorated
churches are esgentially Early, the latest essentially Continwoua; vrhere
one style overcomes the other, it is impossihie to say. In fact, if we
relaiii a Decorated style, it can only be as one of transition, but of not a
transition of the same kind as that from Grecian to Romnn, or Rnman
to Gothic. Those were attempts to combine a new principle of const ntc-
tion with an ohi principle of decoration ^ the present transition is not
between two principles, but between two applications of the same principle.
And it is to the constant commingling^ of the two applications, both being
for a lime in Bimultancous use, and indeed often employed in the aarae
structure, that I attribute the notion of the Decorated as a definite style : a
class of buildings is marked negatively, as beiii^ neither Lancet nor Per-
pendicular, and xvhicb agree pretty much in some points of detail. But if
we are lo divide, not merely by date and detail, but by some pervading
principle, or application of a principle, we shall surely see that two very
different ones are at work itr buildings of this class. It is very difficult in
individual instances to separate Geometrical from Flowing tracery: they
are sometimes palpably of the same date, sometimes part of a window is
Geometrical, part Flowing; yet this commingling in fact does not prevent
an entire diversity in principle. And surely a pure Flowing window is as
simply Continuous, as though its niullious were contimied in straight
instead of curved lines. So, too, in other parts of the building; the details
are mingled up in the individual instances, yet we can trace out two types;
the one with Geometrical windows j deeply hollowed mouldings, jamb-stiafts,
clustered cohimns, arcndcs, parts retaining a strongly marked individuality;
the other with Flowing tracery, channelled piers, pannelling, parts subor-
dinate to the whole. It may be that no perfectly pure example can be
found of either, yet even this would not hmder the existence of the two
models in idea; and clearly one must rank with Lancet, ihe other with
Perpendicular. Their union in one style is most convenient in practice, as
avoiding the necessity of nltempting a most painful and often fruitless dis-
crimination of detail; but investigated on philosophical jmnciples, the
unity of the Decorated aiylc falls to the ground/ — P. 353.

His own volume affords many instances of the inconvenience
he here acknowledges of denying the existence of a Middle
i^tyle. AVe o!>servcd, more than once, in pem&ing it, that a
building or detail was pronounced to be * Early Gothic:' it is
impossihle to say, without fui*ther description, whether this
Tiieans First-Pointed or Early Middle- Pointed. Elsewhere
(p. 367) we read, 'a Continuous arrangement with Early de-
titils;' which miffhi mean, a Third-Pointed etritcture witii First-
Pointed mouldings^ but which dt}€» mean — for he is describing

218 /W/cJ a fid Fixemau on the Hktortf oj ArckiUclure.

the nave of York— what otlicr pcnsong would call a specimen
of early Third-PointeiL Aiid the olas^ificatiou will appear
still more unpractical, if pat to the tc^t in an actual example.
Let U3 imagine a village church, tlio whole external wallu of
which have been rebuilt in kte Third-Pointed^ but in which the
old arcades remain under an added clerestory. If theae arcadea
do not exhibit any continuity, there id no possible method of
ascertaining their dates^ except by examining their mouldings.
The mouldings will jnforro us infallibly whctlier the piers are
First, or Middle-Pointed :- — they will nut tell us whether they
arc Geometrical or Flowing ; they will not tell Mr. Freeman
whether they are Early or Continuous. It is quite impossible
for him to decide to which of \m two main diviaions the pier in
such an example must be unsigned. We can scarcely conceive
a stronger testimony to the inconvetiieuce of his ehis.silication.

It is a sufficient reply to that final assertion at the cml of the
last extract, that ' investigated on philo.-^ophical principles, the
unity of the Decorated style falls to the ground,' to remark
the curious circumstance that Mr. Freeman, in discussing
Romanesque, argues (p, 231), that * we may safely treat the
Norman style, both in England and Normandy, both of the
eleventh and twelfth centuries, as a unitji^ in spite of such
deeided transitional combinations, that many writers distinguiah
a separate Tninsitional style, and Mr. Petit, from whom he so
riu'ely ventures to differ, actually considers the Komanesque of
the twelfth century an incomplete Gothic style.

If^ thcn» Mr. I*rccman*a didsion and nomenclature be not
accepted^ we must fall back upon the tlu^eefold division, and, for
all reasons, we think, to the Ecclesiological terminology of the
styles. We need scarcely advert to the great benefit that would
result, both to the advanced architectural student and to the
tyro, from a fixeil system of terms.

An objection however to the generic name of Pointed has been
raised by Mr, Freeman, to which we must here offer a reply.
He has expressly condemned the term Pointed, on the score of
the Pointed arch not being the essence of the style, and because
tlie correlative term of Round arcliitecture has not been adopte<l
for Roman esque.' And yet he has been himself, we believe,
the first to lay down that the Round and Pohitcd forms are an
absolutely exhaustive division of the arclutectm-e of the arch.
He speaks distinctly (p. 149) of * the round-arched form of
arcliitecture ;' and, still more inconsistently with his own theory
(p. 312), of 'a Christian Pointed style/ Then again he speaka

' How little weight there is in this ohjcclion will appear, when, the reader i«
remitidcd tluit Mr. Freeman haa numal hii* owu two great divitiiontj Early ikwK
ConLinuouft— tiiniib which have no nulsktioji wliaiovcr tu cocii other*

I
I

■ Poole aiid Freeman on the History of Architecture* 219

(p. 300) of the Pointed arch as being the * first instance alike in
date and importance' of the development of the vertical prin-
cif»le ; he aims a severe sarcasm (p. 302) at the * Glossary ' for
denying its importance ; he contends (p. 307) against Dr.
Wheivell for malviiig the flying buttress a more important elc-
[ment in the development of Gothic; he defends (p. 310) 'the
old antiquaries, who reduced the inquiiy into the origin of
[5 the Gothic architecture into an inquiry into the origin of the
* pointed arch,' as being ^ accidentalh not so far wrong as might
^' be, and often has been supposed. Again, a little further on
['(p. 314), we read, * The pointed arch once firmly established,
tvery other detail followed as a inattei- of course f and, histly
). 323), the pointed arch is reasserted to be * the first and most
Important feature' intro<luced intii the new style; while Mr.
Gady-Knight and Mr. Paley arc approvingly quoted (p. 314) aa
[laying down the same position. Are not tnese statements alone
ufEcient to justify the assertion, that the tenn Pointed architec-
ture is not only not an incorrect one, but is the most descriptive
md appropriate that could be found ? And still more particu-
trly, adopting as we do Mr- Freeman's theory of the entablature
and arch, we may safely declare, that the moat philosophically
accurate generic name for what has been called Gothic architec-
ture is the tenn Pointed, which expresses the main chai-acterlstio
of the style — the Pointed arch.

The further question, as to the style which must bear the
palm in Gothic, is intimately connected with the last discnssioii,
but is not absolutely identicaL JMr. Freeman stands nearly
if not quite alone, m his preference of Tldrd Pointed; the
great majority of architectural thinkers have decided with sin-
gular unanimity in favour of the very earliest phase of Flowing
Middle-Pointed. There are some, wo know, who think even
this one degree too late, and take their stand by Geometrical ;
and fewer still, who go so far as to claim for First Pointed the
glory of being the purest development of the style. But tliese
last two classes arc in truth ecarcely at issue with our own view,
while their opinions tell with t!ic force of an a fortiori argument
against Mr. Freeman. For their only difference with us is, as to
whetlier even the Geometrical forms arc not too great a relaxation
of the austerity of the first pure Pointed style ; they altogether
agree with us in believing, that in that perpetual transition of
Pointed, never stationary for a single year, we must exiiect to find,
not one legitimate development, but a rise, a climajt, and a falL
Mr. Freeman is solitary in seeing no corruption at all in the
whole progress, till (we presume) Pointed collapsed into the
Elizabethan ; and the onm probandi fairly rests with hiui for an
assertion so contrary to tlic generally accepted belief. But his

220 Poole and Freeman on the Hidorf/ of Architecture,

proof, we think, is confined to the argument, that continuity is
the essence of verttcality, and eo of Gothic ; whence. Perpendi-
cular being most continuous is raost vertical^ and so the inost
1)erfect Gothic. We have shown, we hope, that continuity is
)ut one of many co-ordinate principles of the Pointed style,
and that having reached its lawful growtli it immediately
exceeded it, and was tlienccforward a symptom of decay. We
reject, therefore, that latest Gothic, which we hold to be a cor-
rupted and a degenerate style, and fix the acme of Pointed as
nearly as possible at the point where its every principle found
a full, but proportionate develoi)ment, and all its elements were
fused with justest harmony and grace into a perfect whole.

We have yet another lance to break with Mr. Freeman in
behalf of Italian Pointed- With all his prejudices against the
style, he spares the Duomo of Milan,^ mainly because Jlr.
Petit has most truly sjiid of it, that it must be seen to be
estimated, and that * the more accurately it is described, the less
favourable will be the impression on the mind of either architect
or artist; whereas, if he visit the building, he cannot but be
lost in admiration.' This observation must be extended to
Itidian Pointed in generah We must express our own belief,
that no one who has not been fortunate enough to visit Italy
can justly estimate, or even understand, her Pointed schools.
They still need to be thoroughly and fairly examined ; and the
constantly forgotten or ignored fact, that the whole architecture
of large portions of Italy, in vilhiges as well as cities, civil and
military, as well as ecclesiastical, Avas really and truly Pointed,
in the times when Dante and Petrarch sang, and wdien Giotto
I>ainted, and continued so till the Kenaissancc^ — needs to be
urged and urged again on people*fi minds. We do not deny,
that in many respects Italian Pointed may be found to differ
(and, perha[^, in most cases for the worst) from the Trans-
alpine styles; but w^c should attribute this to several causes ;
such as new conditions of climate; the properties of other
materials than were used in the North (marbles, for example) ;
and new national charactenstics, Mr. Freeman » we confess to
our surprise, does not enter at all on the consideration of the
question, whether his favourite Gothic architecture can be
transplanted as it is, into a tropical climate, or whether, and
how it must be modified ; w^hether, in short, it pretends to be
an universal style. The historian of architecture might weU,
w^e think, iiave devoted a chapter to this subject, and have
brought the benefit of his thought and experience to bear on the

' The Duomo of Milan kept up a coiutaut Buceegsion of Pointed architects and
warkmeo till the preacat century : and the l&niernj, which, as Mr. Freeman owna,
' whether bcautiM or not, is certoiiilj wonderful/ (p. 413>) is a very late d^ij^o.

I
I

^^^ Pook and Freeman on the Hufor^ of ArcMtectiire, 221

important and pressing question of tlie best f*tyle to be adopted
now in the churches rising in our Colonial Dioceses, Had he
turned liis attention to the influence of climate upon Pointed,
we think be would have pussed a more lenient judgment on the
southern styles. In truth, his chapter on this subject is unequal
to the scope and execution of the rest of the volume. We
observe in it no account whatever of the Pointed school of the
Pisaui, nor of the architecture of Giotto or Orcagna, nor of the
Dominican architects, nor of the remarkable Neapolitan style.
In a history of architecture one may fairly look for some notice
of these styles, and we hope the omission may be made good in
another edition.

A new defender of the Italian Pointed has veiy recently come
into the field, in the person of Mr, Ruskin, to whose last work
we refen*ed above. Siany of his observations as to the differ-
ence between northern and southern Pointed show much pene-
tration, and if duly weighed, would, we believe, tend to expand
jx>n8iderably the exclusive predilections of many among us for
'le northern forms. Let us take an incidental example: *Tho
method of decoration by shadow/ he remarks, ' was, as far aa
we have hitherto traced it, common to the northern and
southern Gothic. But in the carrying out of the system, they
instantly diverged. Having marble at his command, and clas-
sical decoration in his sight, the southern architect was able to
carve the intermediate epaces with exquisite leafage, or to vary
his wall surface with inlaid stones. The northern architect
neither knew the ancient work, nor possessed the delicate
material ; and he had no resource but to cover liis walk with
holes> cut into foiled shapes like those of the windows.' — {Seren
iOmps of Architecture^ p. 86.) Now the more this thought ia
raaered, the more pregnant with meaning will it seem; it
juggesta a view which will defend the Pointed of the South on
its roost assailable aide, and leads directly to that most inte-
jsting question, whether the northern Gothic is the only true
levelopnient of the style, or whether new climates and condi-
tions may not produce other developments not less beautiful,
lor less truly Gothic. We shall leave the question here,
kfter quoting one more apposite passage from Mr, Ruskin,
expressed with an eleganee that has been seldom ct^ualled,
fHaving enumerated and defined sixteen 'conditions of archi-
tectural beauty and power,* he continues:—

' lliese clmracteristics occur more nr less in different builditt^s, some in
one, and some in nnather. But all togctlicr, and all in their liigkest poa-
ftible relatiye degrees, they exists as far fts 1 know, only in one buildiin^ in
the world, the Campanile of Giotto, at Flutciicc, . . , . la its (irst appeiil to
tbe alranger's eye there is sometbing un pleasing \ a mingling, aa it seems
to him^ of ovcr-ae verity \\\ih over-niinuteiiess. Ihu let him mve it time,
AS he should to all other consummHtc uit» I remember ivell hoAT, when

222 Peoh and Freeman on the Historp of Architecture.

ft bov, I used to despise that Campanile, ftnd think it mcnnly smootli and
finislied. But I Imve since lived beside it many a day, and looked ont upon
it from my VTiiulowa by sunligbt and moonUgrht, and I sball not soon forget
hovi profound and gloomy appeared to me the savageness of tbe northern
Ootbic, when [ afterwards stood, for the first time, beneath tbe front of
Salisbury. Tbe contrast is indeed strange, if it could be quickly felt,
between the riaing of those grey walls out of their quiet awarded space,
like dark and barren rocks out of a green lake, with tbeir nide, mouldering,
rough-grained shafts, and triple ligbt^s, without tracery or other ornament
than the martin's neat in the height of them, and that bright, smooth, sunny
surface of glowing j asp er, those spiral shaftji and fairy traceries, so white,
80 faint, 80 cryBtaliine* that their slight shapes are hardly traced in dark-
ness on tbe pallor of the eastern sky j that serene height of mountaiu
alabaster, coloured like a morning cloud, and chaaed like a sea aheU,'^ —
Sci'en Lamps, p. 131.

There arc several other minor questions, though very nearly
eannectcd with the history of architecture, which Mr. Freeman
has wholly omitted to notice. Forexainple, what, if any, influ-
ence the supposed system of Freemasonry exerted on mediaeval
architecture has been often disputed. Mr, Freeman probably
altogether disbelieves it : but he might well have ^wqh \\h
readers .some mcana of knowing^his mind, or forming their own
opinion on the subject. IMr. Poolcj we observe, repeats, with
little or no commentj the common account of Freemasonry and
the influence and importance of the fniternity.

Still more important is that theory lately advocated by Mr.
Gnfllith, — and there are numerous very similar theories afloat, —
which finds a key to the whole mystery of Pointed design in
abstruse geometrical and symbolical combinations. This prin-
ciple, if accepted, woidd cause a complete rcvoluti<»n in the
general ideas on this subject: and we regret that both ^Ir.
Freeman and Mr. Poole have entirely ignored the controversy.

Symbolism again, in its several branches, Mr. Freeman has
in this volume passed over without notice. Not so Mr. Poole,
who has tliscusscd it, (p. 170,) though without originality, and
without assisting us to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion.
He seems, indeed, in his chapter on this subject, to be arguing
for truisms which no one ever denied, and to be conteuding
against quite imaginary opponents.

One more thing we will mention, and that is Polychrome,
Mr. Freeman has discussed the whole history of architecture,
without, we believe, one passing allusion to the decorative
colouring, either of the ancients or the mediaeval architects.
Mr. Poole's notice of the subject (p. 27o) is so superficial as to
offer nothing available for an extract. As usual, he scarcely
ventures to let his own opinion escape; we may gather it, per-
haps, from such an expression as the following : * The stalls at
"VVcnsley were never, I am persuaded, injured by the addition
of colour,'

We will now draw these remarks to a conclusion, having

JPook and Freeman on the Uiskry of Jrchitecturc*

detained our renders too loiinj already in tlic attempt to give
them not only an idea of tlie merits of the^e particidar vohinies,
but a view of the present state of this branch of knowledfre
among ns. No true Ciuircbinan ean be uninterested in the
jiiitiire ^rowdi of the theory and {>nictice of Church arehitec-
tiire. Besides our own immediate duty to conseerate to the
eervice of Go<l the beet of all we have — the highest art, the most
pkilful workmanship, the richest materials — wc have a secondary
duty to perform to our f^ueccijisors in the faith; we ought now
to be huildinfT churches which shall be to them what Lincoln
and WeMniingter are to us. There ii* work to be done at the
present crisis in which all may cooperate. Architecture can
never flourish till people in general are competent to appreciate
what is built. An academy will never rescue art froni degra-
dation ; art cannot but languish so long as it ia not the expres-
eion of a people's life. Our people must be educated then ;
men must know what chiirch architceturc is, — why it is so;
they must siiffer a real craving after good churches a;? the
exivonents of their inarticulate feelings of worship, and must be
able to gee and feel for themselves whether their craving is
satisfied, before wo can hope for any great progress, 1a it not
go in painting ? The^c are bad days for that art also : but in
what departments of it do our native artiste moet succeed? In
precisely those, and only tliose, in which the public taste is
intuitively interested, and in which it is competent to pass an
intelligent judgment: for instance, in landscape, and the school
of Wilkie. The English mind must be strung up to a higher
tone before it is ready to welcome, Itcforc it is able to elicit, true
eacred pictures from Englifc?h art.

Now in architecture we have seen already that there ia a
deep-rooted revival in progress, of which we may form high
expectations. It really seems as if, at least in this one point,
Englishmen were likely to exchange that eclecticism which is
the result of ignorance and indiflerentism for something like an
unanimous sentiment in reference to tlie proprieties of church
building. It m most important that this growing feeling should
be encouraged and maintained. Every one who u able to do so
should do his best practicaUy to spread information about the
history, and to enforce the importance of church architecture^ to
point out the advantage of one uniform style being ailopted, to
explain its principles, capacities, and beauties, to demonstrate its
fitness, to interpret its symbolism, to develop its associations*
We heard lately of an * elocution-master,'— ivs those persons are
called who form the nondescript chiss to which the final educa-
tion of our young women is generally entrusted,— prescribing a
course of cluirch architeclure, as now-a-dnys necessary for a

^i Pooie and Freeman on the Hhtorff of Architecture,

lady in society, Wc accept tlic omen. We heartily wish tint
every one felt ii real personal interest in the suhjeet ; that every
one were qualified to enjoy that glorious inheritance of Christian
art in which he has a right to share. Conkl we but all agree
and work together — then, in proportion to tlie growing intelli-
gence and a]>preciation of architeetural fituees and beauty, would
be the successful advancement of the ^science : the feeling that
he was appreciated, woidd inllame and sustain the efforts of the
professed architect, and the successes of the latter would react
in increasing the knowledge and improving tlie taste of the
community. Architecture would become inseparably identified
with the life and energy of the Church, and would be in the
fair way of entering upon soiue new and glorious development.
Is it mere enthusiasm to anticiijate anything of this sort?
We believe it is not so. Let uh remembLT, as we said before,
that the Church having demanded an increased number of ma-
terial temples, the impetus thereby given to architecture has
already not only produced an unparalleied advance of architec-
tural skill and Bcience, hut, contrary to all ex])ectation, has suc-
ceeded in estahlisliing the persuasion that the Church has an
appropriate religious style of its own, which is not only the best
adapted to meet the practical wants of Catholic ritual, but is a
Bignificant expression of the Chui'ch's iiaind and doctrine, suited
by some essential fitness for a temple of the Christian faith.
We trust that neither our Church uor our nation are eftete or
approaching dissolution. The religious movement among us is
a source of fresh life, which need not be stifled If it be God's
will that his Church among us shall prosper, we have in it a
germ of life more than sufficient to reanimate the arts which
are at best but the Church's handmaids. It is in this light that
we try to view our own architectural revivaJ,— as a revival, not
merely of dead forms and mouhlings, but of the living spirit of
architecture. We believe that our people and our architects,
in growing uumbers, demand churches on the one side, and
supply them on the other, not as mere academy studies nor as
the gmtifications of individual caprice, but as houses of God
— designed to meet the practical exigencies of God*s worship,
and to be material expressions of the Christian faith. What are
the elements of architectural life if not these? If this spirit be
among us, as we believe it is, ive may trust that it will in
time mould into subjection to itself the mechanical foims whicli
it has to use* Look at the Lombard movement in architecture ;
there was an instance of a new life reanimating old forms, and
of a new development being the consequence. So far as we can
at present see, the new life among us is seizing upon, is per-
informing, (as we should most wish) the Middle

img,

Poole and Freeman on the History of Architecture, 225

Pointed details of Gothic architecture. It is there that we have
fixed the point from which the Pointed style began to decline.
Thence, if from any point, it must take a new beginning.

Taking warning by the failure of their Third- Pointed prede-
cessors, our new architects may tread a safer but narrower way
•in developing, or, if no further deyelopment be possible^ in
exfaaasting, though this is even less possible, the capacities of
of the Middle-Pointed style. We have been endeavouring to
show how all may help forward this consummation. Meanwhile,
it is deeply to be regretted that such an author as Mr. Freeman,
who haa done so much as this volume cannot fail to effect for the
sake of church architecture, should have nevertheless thrown
one great impediment in the way of the revival, by — at the very
moment when agreement among ourselves is the main condition
of success — doing his best to confuse the generally admitted
classification of styles, and placing the perfection of Gt>tbic in
its most vitiated and degenerate form.

NO. LXV.— N» S.

226

Aet. Vin. — Principles of Geohgn ; or, the Modern Changes of the
Earth and iU Inhabitants comidered as Hhtstratite of Geology,
^j^ Charles L YELL, MA. F.R.S. Seventh Edition. Murray:
1847.

2. Elements of Gedogii* ZJ^f Charles Lyell, JSifr/. F.KS. First

Edition. Murray 1*1838. Second Edition. 2 vole. 1841.

3. The Earth^s AniiquitH in Harmon}^ ttiih the Mosaic Record of
Creation, Bif the Rsv, James Gray, London : J. W. Parker.
1849.

Sir Charles Lyell may be regarded as the representative of
the prevailing school in Geology. The chnracteriiitlcs of that
school may be stated in a few words. It avoids all discussion
and even speculation^ as to ihe first origin and condition of tlie
earth we inhabit, as a snare, an iguiifatum by which geolo<]^ist3
of former times have nlrcudy too often been diverted from their
true task and vocation, the examination of the actual existing
state of the globe wc inhabit, and the inferences which it
8Ugge4?ts. Moreover, its great principle is, that tlie existing
geological ithenomena, including mountains, valleys, continents,
islands, and the like, as well as those which appear on a more
minute examination of the strata, — the embt^ddcd remains of
land and sea animals, sheila, wood, and even forests, may be
explained by reference to the canines now in operation u|K>n and
within the surface of the globe ; so that we must bani«h
altogether from our minds the ideas of sudden convulsions,
destruction and re-ereation of worlds, great revobitions crowded
into a few years or days, and the like, and have recom^se
merely to the action of nature m her present state, continued
for such a period (whatever it may be) as wall suffice to account
for the existing phenomena. It almost necessarily follows.,
that this school carries on its geological investigations abso-
lutely without any reference to the declarations of Holy Scrip-
ture as to the creation of the work], and the events which
have since taken place upon it. We believe we do not exagge-
rate, when we express our deliberate opinion, that the thought
of the first chapter of Genesis no more occurs to the mind of Sir
Charles Lyell when examining the question, for instance, of the
period of the earth's history at which it was first inhabited by
any particular animal, say tlie elephant or the whale, than it
would if be were writing upon the principles of mathematics or
medicine. We are tar from accusing the K^hool in question of

Gtolog^ and Revelation*

227

cllsbelief in Kevelation, much less of any intention to assail it
by means of their philostijihical studies. Such things we all
know have been,— they may be again; there may be, even now>
writers who are thus actuated ; but of the scliool as a school we
neither believe nor would insinuate any charge of the kind.
Still, the fact is undoubted, that whether believers or not, they
do alike, aa geologists*, ignore the tact of Revelation ; their
inquiries are caiTied on exactly i\B if none had ever been given.

In the |>resent article we shall suggest soine considerations
upon this fact, and on the bearings of geology, in its present
state, upon Kevehitiun and belief, and do not intend to enter
iDto the facts themselves which geologists have ascertained, or
the theories by which they have arranged them, more at length
than tills subject requires or suggeste.

And, first, concerning this investigation of geological pheno-
mena and turmatitui of geologicid theories, wholly without
consideration of the revealed history of creation, the queetion
at once r>ccur?. How far is it consistent with our faith aa
Christians and Catholics?

It must, we think, be admitted, that this very question could
hardly have been asked without ollencc a few years ago. The
notion of scriptui-al geology was so deeply ingr;iined in the minds
of men, that the believer and unbeliever alike seem to have
aasumed that the thing existed, whether it could or could not
be reconciled with existing facts. The history of the study in
this respect has been, perhaps, nothing more than might reason-
ably have been anticipated ; but, however this may be, it haa,
unquesfionably, been very curious. Men to whom the Scrip-
ture histories of the creation and the deluge were, as to
Christians they must be, fixed and established facts—first
princii>Ies of certainty in a dark and mysterious world, — natur-
ally judged at once of the phenomena around them by those
facts, which almost alone were certain and undoubted in the
history of the visible world. To thera* almost of necessity, the
fossils in ancient rocks spoke of the deluge; and the date of
the material world was assumed without further inquiry to be
the 5ame as that of man^s residence upon earth. Thus the first,
and most natural theory of Christians was a scriptural geology.
They rejoiced and trembled as they found themselves brought
into continual contact with the remnants of that older world
whose destruction by water they knew as one of the very fact8
of their own inmost souls.

That their feelings and belief were really natural and reason-
able, was curiously attested by unbelievers as well as by be-
lievers. So plainly did the fossil remains testify of the general
deluge, that Voltaire denied the existence of fossils, lest he

228

Gedogy and Rerelatmi,

glionld be compelled to admit the fact of the deluge. They
iverc, lie .^aidj *fc.j)ortii of Kature/* The shells embedded in the
A!j>int> rocks were no doubt real ehelli?, but they iiad dropped
from tlic hats of pilgrims on tlicir return from Syria; the fossil
plants were not plants at alb Sir C. LycH observes: —

*Tbey irhrv knew ihnt hia attncks were directed by a desire to invalidiite
Scri|jlijre, nnd wlio were imAcquniiit«d willi the true merits of the question,
niigiil wi'M deem the old diluvian h\ pothesis inconlrovcrtible, it Voltaire
cowld addiu'e no better iirtriiinent against it than to deiij the true nature of
orgauic remains.^ — Principifs, p, 57,

It IS interesting and instructive to observe how gpeedlly ajid
entirely unbelievers cliaiiged their views of geology. It was
soon whispered that geological phenomena seemed to indiciite
that the antiquity of tlic globe was much greater than that
attributed by the Mosaic account to the human race, and, a^ all
ChriKitians then presumed, to the world which they inhabit. So
VLtluntary are belief and unbelief, that geology which had been
rejected and derided in spite of the clear evidence of the senses^
ai3 long as it was believed to corroborate the Mosaic liistory of
the deluge, was at once honoured and cultivated;^ and its most
doubtful deductions were treated as certain truths, as soon as
it w*as supposed to impugn the Mosaic history of the creation.
This innocent science seems really to have been regarded by
infidel philosophers first with the animosity with which partisans
regard an antagonist, and afterwards with nil the partiality they
could show to a convert. In Mr. Brydonc's ' Tour tlu"ougli
Sicily and Malta, in 1770/ eight years before the death of Yul-
taire, the immense antiquity ol' the globe as proved by the geolo-
gical phenomena of ^I'^tna, is treated of with a radiant satisfaction
which is really hardly exceeded when he descants upon the pro-
fligacy of the Sicilian monks or knights of Maltiu lie seems to
have the same sort of pleasin-e in dwelling upon the number of
strata and the years required for their formation, which he
shows when lie makes an opportunity fur detailing an indecent
story, real or imaginary, of a wicked Capuchin.

Sir C. Lyell laments and complains of the habit wdiicli thus
prevailed in past years of discussing geological suVyccts upon
theological grounds, and for purposes religious or irreligious as
tjuitcd the prepossessions of the writer; for he considers it as an
injury to his favourite science. There is no doubt that such
h:ia been the case. Still we do not see that believers in Chris-
tianity acted in this nmtter unreasonably. The unpression that
the date and manner cd' the formation of the material globe arc
revealed in Scripture, if it be, as we believe, erroneous, is yet

I * LyclI ; Elt'iLcntaj p. 56.

OMfffSf ^f^ Rezelation.

229

I
I

certainly not at first sight unnatural ; and uUliougli we take
a deep interest in geolog^^ we will still, by Sir Charles LyelFs
permission, point out tfie important distinction, timt without
geology the world has done well, and may do well, but without
n belief in the truth of the Bible it cannot do at alL Under
these circurnstancesi, some degree of over-sensitiveness, even if
it were mistaken, may well be excused in thaee who undeniably
saw that the facts of geology were employed as an instrument
of assault upon Revelation.

Had we been writing only a few years ago, we should have
thought it little necessary thus to defend those who maintained
a scriptural geology, but should rather have been called upon to
prove that a geology not founded upon Scripture may be adopted
by one whose belief in Revelation is of all tilings dearest to his
heart. We should then have entered into an inquiry which ia
not now required, because thinking men in general are agreed as
to its result. We should have tliought it necessary to inquire
whether there are indeed grounds for supposing that it was the
will of the all-seeing Autlior of Revelation to convey to us
information as to the geological changes which have taken [>lace
upon the globe, and the phenomena which have resulted from
them. We shoidd have insisted that it is plainly not His will to
reveal to us either all that forms the subject of His own infinite
consciousness, or even all that portion of it which our finite
understandings arc capable of embracing — that the real question
is not whether He who knows all things knows t!ic exact date
and manner of the formation and change of every rock upon and
within the world, which He has made and sustains, but whetlier
or not Hehajs really been pleased to give us information (as He
might, had such been His pleasure), with regard to these points.
Upon these points we say we do not now consider it needful to
enter, because they are not at the present day seriouslj^ discussed.
We doubt whether there are any persons remaining, who
seriously believe that it was the pleasure of the All-wise God to
occupy with these subjects the pages of His Revelation to man.

We assume^ therefore, that the modern geologists arc reli-
giously justified in carrying on their investigation of nature, and
in theorizing freely upon its phenomemi without reference to
the creation as recorded in the Old Testaments We believe
this course to be on the whole most consistent with a reverent
vahie fur the Divine word. We have no overweening sympathy
with the temper of mind which would refer men to nothing but
the inspired pages lor controversial purposes, even if the con-
troversy be purely theological. When indeed controversy
arisen, we must refer to Scripture; as the Church has ever done:

230

Geohify and B^telation,

yet it ia for devotion uut for controversy tliat Kevelatton wa§
given, and fur devotlou rjitlier than for controversy we tlesire all
men to Imve the Scriptures in their Jiand.s. But if this he ao ia
controversies of theology, how much more iu those of a geculnr
nature, J!^ore]y it is cvidmit that needlessly to introduce tlie
word of God in dii*cueisions merely eceular, exposes men to the
danger of an irreverence, somewiiat akin to that wliich is engen-
dered by introducing the Name uf God in secidar conversation-

But it is sometimes replied that this is a misstatement ofl
the question. It is not, whetlier we shall go to Scripture
for geological facta, hut whether when a fact is, (for whatever!
reason,) distinctly stated in Scripture, we shall reject it a»
inconsistent with facts ohservcd and theories adopted in modera^
times — whether moreover those who do reject it, can defend
themselves from the charge of rejecting the Divine testimony by
urging that the subject is scientific and not religious, and there-
fore not that upon which it was the pleasure of God to make
revelations to us.

Now, fully holding the great princijdes upon which modern
physical philosuphcrs maintain that their inquiries ought to b«]
made, inde|icndent of lievelation and witliout reference to il
we must still admit that tliis objection is not without weight. li
cannot surely be doubted that to reject any one fact really
and confessedly revealed in Scripture is inconsietent with
belief in its Divine inspiration, as that inspiration is believed
among us. For that which the Divine Author of Scripture
was pleased to teach us, whatever he its nature or its subject,
rests upon His omniscience and His truth; and if it were
His will to declare that this material globe ivas called int»>
existence out ol' nothing, 5,9U0 years ago, we could reject the
dechiration only denying one of those fuiidauicutal tacts ; that is,
by denying God Himself, Uis nature and peribctions ; for He is
wisdom and is truth. Those therefore, for example, who deny
the historical facts recorded in the Old Testament must of neces-
sity deny the inspiration of Scripture, as it has id ways been
understood.^ However ihey muy intend to preserve sacred tlie
religious facts and doctrines of Kevelation, they cannot maintain
tlie Divine origin of the book, except in that limited sense which
would confine the Divine communication or the superintending
and controlling grace of God, guarding the writer from error, to
those parts which they regard as strictiy theologicaL

The doctrine of inspiration, therefore, which alone is con-
Bistent with views such as those of M. Bunaen, Ewald, and even

* &6Q the notice on the Cheviilicr Buiiscd ftiid Ewaltl, in the fifty- third number
of the * ChristiaD llcmcmbruucer,' in a letter feigned E. B. P.

Getjlogjf and Rtt^latioiu

231

Kiebuhr, (not to mention names in the English Church,) is pre-
cisely that which the Konian Churcii tuaintaios with regard to
the authrn-ity of the existing Cliureh m successive ages. That
it hiks pleased God to enlighten the exititing Church with a
EUpernatural knowledge of scieiitifie or historical factis, or any
othefij save those of a purely religious character, no Roman
theologian believes. U[>on tloctrinal questions, on the other hand,
she speaks with His authority* Thus, if tlie Church declarer eis
cathedra that a certain doctriuc \v:i3 maintained by Origen, and
that it is heretical; the latter of these dcchirations re^ts, accord-
ing to their bellcti upon a Divine, the former upon a merely
human, aulhurity. Whether or not it would be consistent wdth
the principles of the liotuan Church to e-\tcud this distinction to
the writers of Holy Scripture, and to maintain us (5?<y/(/e that their
religious and doctrinal assertions are from God, admitting mean-
while that upon other questions they were left to tlie unaided
light of fallible luinuui tcatiuiony and hujiian intellect, we do not
here inquire. Such at best must be the view maintained by
those Protestant philoa4;jphcrs, who reject any fact really re-
corded by the inspired writers upon any subject whatever,
while at the same time they admit their inspiration upon matters
of religion.

►Such a view of inspiratltm, however, would be utterly abhor-
rent tVom the religiuus convictions and sympathies of English
Churchmen of every school oi opinion ; neither, so far aa we can
see, have those who adopt it (aa seems to be the case with the
more oilhodox and devout of the Lutheran body) any security
whatever for the maintenance even of the must eaicred religious
truths, unless they admit along with it a living teaching
authority. For those who admit no Divine voice upon earth
save the voice of Scripture, and who at the same time deny tlrnt
Scripture speaks with Divine autliority upon any other than
religious subjects, need only deny that any question is indeed
necessary to tlie reality of religion, and they may immediately
deny its truth, however clearly taught in Scripture. This
view therefore appears to us to require, as its necessary supple-
ment, a living voice which may from time to time declare with
authority wluit are and what are not necessary religious doc-
trines and facts, and the subject-matters of inspiration.

It seems, then, that upon our own priucipleSj to admit that
any one fact wdiatcver is clearly stated in Holy Scripture, and
yet to deny the truth of that fact, would be in truth to deny the
Divine authority and inspiration of Scripture.

But it is widely different when the question is wdicther such
and such a fact is really declared or not That men, and even
learned and religious men, have before now assumed for ages

232

$UkffS and Retelatlon,

togetlierthat certain facts are Inconsistent with Scripture, which
we now all hold to be perfectly consistent with it, it is too plain
to be denied. There is no doubt that the antboiities of the Konian
Church felt the astronomical ductrinea of Galileo to be contrary
lo the interpretation of Scrijjture usually received In his day,
hoth by lionuui Catholics anti all other Christians. It is shown
indeed by an able writer in the 'Dublin Rcview/(July 1838, > that
this was the extent of tbe j?entence against him, and that the
great Bellannine, by whom, among other:*, it was passed, felt
that the usual and most obvious interpretation, was a thing so
far distinct from the Divine verity itself, that Galileo^s doctrine
might hereafter be established ; and that should such be the case,
the ordinary interpretation of Scripture upon the subject would
be proved to be mistaken. Such has accordin*;ly, as we all
ktioWj been the course of events, and there is now probably
hardly any one above t!ie lower claes of a national school, eo
half-learned as to be puzzled by the apparent diiicrepancy upon
this point between the word of God and Ills world. May it
not be worth while that one who is scandalized at any appa-
rent contradiction between the conclusions of geologists and
Divine Kevelation, should very carefully consider whether they
too rnay not, perhaps, contradict our established interpretations
of the Jlosaie history of the creation or the deluge, rather
than the Divine record itself? That such contradiction will
always exist between the observed facfs of every progressive
science and the records of Kevelation, seems to us, beforehand,
ahnost certain. The words of Scripture, be it remembered, not
only arc not designed to teach natural science, and therefore cannot
be expected to be fitted for a work to which their Di\^ine Author
has never * sent them;' but what is even more important, they
are, as we well know, the heritage of all nations, and of every
age; and we may say chiefly and perha[)s in the first place, the
heritage of the simple, the ignorant, the poor, ihe unscientific.
Kow, if in the Divine wisdom the volutiie of inspiration had been
80 written that the facts of nature which came under review,^for
example * the sun standing still overGibeon,' — had been described
in the language of sciences not yet discovered; the very meaning
must of necessity have been altogether a riddle to every agj and
nation until the progress of science had unlocked the mystery.
Thus the scandal (such aa it is) of a popular and unscientific
style, when it is first discovered that it does not accurately
describe the physical facts, would indeed have been avoided ; but
at the cost of those many generations which elapsed, and rend,
and mused over the sacred record, before the physical discoveries
had been thought of: the poor would have been sacrificed to
the great and intellectual, the simple to the objector. How

Geolo^tf and Eerdatmi,

isz

different all this from the whole course of His Reyektion, who
' has hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed
• them unto habcs, for so it seemed good in His sight!* We might
enlarge upon other considerations akin to these — for instance, on
the opposition 1)et\veen science and poetry, and the distinctlj
poetical cast in which He who made and loved iis, has been pleased
to mould his communications to us, both in nnturc and grace.
AVhat would the 1 9th Pr?a!m be if translated into the terms of
science? Wc might point out the benefit and necessity to in-
quiring and intellectual minds of diflicullies, which exercise
peculiarly those virtues which are to them most nectlful and
hardest of attainment, — the virtues of humility, distrust of self,
and simple submission to God. But we have said enough, we
think, to explain and justify our expectationj that as in times
past, so in fnture, the progress of physical science will be marked
by apparent discrepancies of observed facts with Revelation, by
the scoffs of the infidel, and the apologies of the believer. We
have seen this already in aslronomy, in geology, in ethnology.
We may expect it in the farther investigation of these sciences,
and perhaps in others ; even, for example, in cxpcrimeuts upon
the nature and conditions of animal life, and the like.

Not that we doubt that diflficultics like these, if so they are
to be considered^ will clear away in future as in past times, as
the subjects are more carefully and fully investigated. W<3
enter through clouds into a region of light. And in the mean-
|w time w^c have no sympatliy with the state of mind wiiieh we
Bptannot help occasionally observing, which hastily takes alarm at
every new investigation which seems to threaten results incon-
sistent with belief. Men who indulge this spirit mean well no
doubt, and are to be treated with respect; yet we cannot but feel
them to be but dangerous friends to the causf^ of Trotli, They
seem always in a panic lest its unsoundness should be found out
—they arc alarmed lest the miracles of Scripture should be
rivalled by ilesmerism, — lest the Mosaic history should he con-
tradicted by geology,— lest the descent of man from one original
stock should be impugned by an examination into the history of
nations,— lest the theory of nebidje should suggest something

against the creation of the world by Gud. Surely this is but a

eak sort of faith after all. Wc would say to such men, Cheer
"tip and take courage, for you are on the side of truth, and
this is the prerogative of truth, that she may indeed for a
wdiile be eclipsed by olyeetions, but that as facts are fully
examined^ they uuist be found in accordaace with her. No
ne truth can be contrary to any other truth — if it is your
xiom that the Gospel is true, tlien is it certaiuj demonstrably
certain, that bo fact in the universe — in heaven above or earth

234

Geologif and R^dalimu

beneath, or ia the waters or the rocks under the earth, can by

possibility be rea!ly inconsistent with it.

And llierei'orc, Jia Christiimsj we wanld say baldly let inquiry
find invcstigutiou }u*oceed. We fear them nut. Some opiDions
wliich we huve in tinica past supposed to be revealed truths, may
indeed be found to have been mistaken inferences from scrtptnral
expressions. But when the iiiquir)^ has been fairly and fully
carried out, it i^ utterly impossible that its rc^sult can be ineon-
eistent with any one doctrine of our faitli, or any one fact which
God lias really revealed. To shrink from the inquiry would, in
our mind, be as unreasonable as if we should fear lest the
working out of some abstruse calculation should exhibit results
inconsistent with the axiom, that things equal to the gfLme are
equal to one anotlier. We really cannot percfuade ourselvegj
feel nervously anxious, lest it should be proved that two
two are not after all equal to four.

Thus then we would bid the geologist go on boldly — collect
all tlie facts you can — do not fear that any real result of
facts can be injurious. No truth ever was or ever can be in-
jurious; it is only falsehood which ever did injury to any one-
Collect your facts and systematize them; if the results seem in
any degree inconsistent with Itevelation, it is either because
Revelation does not really say what you liavc supposed, or
else because your theory is founded upon an imperfect induc-
tion of facts, Le. because it ia not true. But go on boldly, you
need not be pausing at each step to inquire liow far will this
agree >vith the Mosaic record — is there anything in this opposed
to religion ? You are working indeed on another part of GocFii
works, but they are His works still. Do not be afraid. It is not
the <levirs world whose construction you are examining, but
God's ; and in it there can be no contradiction of anything God
has eaid. Only let us know exactly what His works are, and
they w^ill be found to be in agreement with His words.

With these feelings, we confess we think that upon subjects
like these, men of science and divines will do well to agree upon
a division of labour. Let the geologist go on ascertaining and
an*auging his facts and drawing his inferences as best he may,
unchecked by any fear lest conclusions should be inconsistent
witli religion, and let it be the business of divines to inquire,
after the conclusions have been attained with tolerable certainty,
whether they agree with the preconceived opinions of religious
nicn, and if not, how the discrepancy is to be set right.

But if this c^u'tel is to be established, there is one condition
which men of science must carefully preserve. They must
stick to their last ; they must leave theology to others. If
they leave their proper province, the investigation of physical

G^olopp and

235

fiicU, and encroacli upon theological groimd, they must not ex-
pect impunity because they are not divines but philosophers*,
A foreigner is ameimblc to tlie lawc* of Eugtand if he comes
amongst us — a man oi' science, if lie chooses to write on qiiestiooa
of theology at all, must write tike a Christian, or bear from U3
the imputation of heresy or infidelity. To illu:5trate our mean-
ing. A genlogiet may state hia opinion, that the causes now
in operation are sufficient to account for the existing strata
and organic remains, but that those causes must have been in
operation almost for countless ages. He may state that he can
find no truces of any general inundation over the whole earth ;
he may declare that the organic contents of the ancient strata
must have belonged to animals which lived and died long prior
to the creation of man. These subjects are his legitimate field
of inquiry. But if he chooses to examine the questions, whether
S^'oali's deluge was universal, in what sense * death came into
he world by sin/ and the like, he is writing theology ; and must
>e tried by the same rules which are a]>ijhed to other theologians.
For be it well observed, that ttiere are two styles of writing
^which may secm^ at first sight, much hkc each other, but which,
truth, spring from principles and imply tempera diame-
[trically opposite. Of tlie one we have already spoken ; it is that
,of a man, who, firmly convinced that the Revelation of God
fie and must he true, goes boldly fbrth Into His vvurld, certain
that any discrepancy with it most be only superficial and appa-
[Xent^ and theretbre piirsucs his inquiry without fear of a con-
licting result. The other is that of one who, by no nicana
convinced of the trutli of Revelation, and fully persuaded of the
rejility of his own studies, pays a formal acknowle'Jgment at
starting to the one, and then goes on to the other quite willing,
upon any ten>ptation, to make statements really and plainly
opposite to the truths which he began by formally adnntting.
The ditferenoe may be illustrated by our own feelings. If we
Iiear a story which seems to attach a suspicion of dishonest or
dishonourable conduct to a friend, whom we know to be wholly
incapable of it, we say at once, * There is some mistake, when tlie
facts are fully known it will appeal-;' but we do not even for a
moment feel a doubt that perhaps it may be as it is represented.
How different this from the official protest of Shakspeare's
Antony — * Brutus is an honourable man,' while he is labour-
ing to prove liini a villain. Now it cannot be denied that
there was, especially in the last century, a class of writers who
habitually used this policy towards the religion of Christ. It
was adopted by Voltaire, by Hume, by Gibbon, and by the vulgar
herd of their fol lower?!. They canted about ' our holy reli*
gion, especially when they conceived that they had found some

€M^ atid Rerelaii

071,

telling weapon agninat it Voltaire writes, in a letter to the
editors of the first edition of liis works; —

* A I'egnrd dc qnelqiies t'crits phis scricux, tout ce que j'ai a

* vous dire, c^e^t que je suis i\^ Fraii^uls et CathoHqye; et c'est

* principalement datis un pave Protestant que je dois vous niar-

* qtier inon zele pour nion patrie, et nion profood respect pour la

* religion dans Iiiquclle je suis nt5 et pour ecux qui sont a la tetc

* de cette religion,' Hume concludes his * Essay on Miracles/

* I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here

* delivered, as I think it may serve to con found those dangerous

* friends or tlisguised enemies to the C'hrietian religion, wlio have

* undertaken to defend it by the principles of human reason.

* Our most holy religion is founded on Faith, not on reason,

* and it is a sure method of exposing it to put it to such a trial
' as it is by no means fitted to endure.'

Now it is evident tliat a geologist may very easily act in the
spirit here exposed, who begins his work with a protest of his
belief in Christianity, and of his being now engaged on a wholly
different subject j which must be examined, not as a question of
cosmogony, but as one of pure science; if he afterwards takes
opportunities to sneer at Cliiistiun doctrines, or at those whose
writings show that they heartily receive and embrace them as
uoqiicsticmable truths. And this obliges us to express our deep
regret that Sir Cliar!c9 Lyell, — we sincerely trust without in-
tending it, or congsidering the inference to which his words lairly
expose him, — should in several i>laee» have written in a manner
which exposes him to the charge of* writing in this very spirit.
^V^e will give one or two examples out of several which He
before us.

' In f\ rude state of societj', all great cfilnmiriea arc rejicftrded by the pcnple
as jutIlg:mcntM of God njion die wickeJnesa ofiniiri. Thiis^ in our own lime,
the priests perauiided a large part of the popntation of Chili, a»id, perhapK,
believed theinsclvc:*, that the fatal cartlujuak(3 of 1822 was a sign of the
urath of Heaven for ibe pfreat politicul rcvohiuon just then cousun^matttd
in South America/ — Prificipfeji, p. 10.

Speaking of llay'a * Essay on Chaos and Creation/ he says:^ —

' We perceive clearly, from his wriiinfi^s, that the gradual decline of our
Kystem, and i(s linuro t-"onsumniatiuii hy fire, wuh held to he as recessary
ail article of Jkith hy the orthodox as was ihe recent oriu^in of oi»r planch
His discourseat like ihnHv. of HookCj are higldy interesting;, as attesting; the
ikmiliiir association in the miuds of phihisophera ra the aj^e of Neuton of
questions nf physics and divinity* It i.s curious to meet with so niRny
citations from the t'bristinn Fathers and Prophets, in his " Essays on Phy-
Btcal Science;" to find him, in one page proieediiig^, hy ihe strict rules of
indnctionj t(j explain the Jormer cliangcs uf the jrlohet and in the next
gravely entei'tainiiij; the question, whether the yun and t«tJirs, :ind tlie whole
heavens, shall be nnnihihitcd tt»gether with the earth at the erji. of the grand
cojjtlngrjitinij/^/*/7>»ri/j/t'*, p. ^U.

I
I

Oeohgff and Eeukttioru

237

TTere Sir Charles Lyell assumos tliat it is tlie error and
euperstition of a riidc ^tute of society to suppose that * earth-
quakes and other great cnlaniitics' are * jiidgineiits of God upon
the wicked nces of men ;' he treats, as a similar weakness, the
opinion that the world will one day be destroyed by fire, and
tlie inquiry liow far tliat conflaij^ration will extend. Now, be-
yond a doubt, these arc questions of pure theo!og3\ If he
chooses to speak upon ihem at all, he is bound to speak of them
as a Christian, and ia as mncli open to censure and criticism as
nny professed theologian. Ilis theology may be good or bad, but
theology it is ; and it ia not too much to demand, that a pro-
fessed Christian writing on points of theology, should tell us on
what religious grounds he rejects conclusions which have ever
seemed unquestionable to all Ctiristians who have discussed
them. Docs he mean tliat we have been mistaken in supposing
these doctrines to be revealed ? If so, let him show it. Does
he mean, that, though revealed, tliey arc not to be believed?
We trust not J for in that ease his profession of Christianity
would but too nmeh rcsemlde the zeal of Hume for our * most
holy religion.'

We have enlarged upon this point because we think we see,
in much of the populai* literature of the day, a tendency to con*
fuse togetlicr the just and healtliy tone of a scientific inquiry^
(we mean that which, assuming earnestly and sincerely the truth
of Revelation, proceeds upon purely inductive principles of ob-
servation, as if Kevelation did not exist; confident that truth,
when really diteovcredj will be found to agree with truth re-
vealed;) with that other temper, the very worst in which such
an inquiry can be carried on, which renders to Revelation a
hoUow and pretended acknowledgment (which, however intended
as a compliment, is really an insult), — and then proceeds upon
the real assumption of its falsehood; as if it were something ludi-
crous that a practical man should really believe its facts to be no
less certain than the results of the most rigid induction, though
attained by another metliod of proof.

Neither arc we by any means convinced tliat the interests
of religion are safe, because philosophers i>rofe39, above all things,
to reverence the First Cause, the Deity, the Author of Nature,
and the like. Our re«ders probably remember that Lord
Brougham appeals to phrases like these, in the writings of Vol-
tiiire, for the purpose of proving that lie was not an impious or
irreligious man, although unfortunately disgusted with Chris-
tianity, which he knew only under the garb of Popery. We
would employ the same fact for another purpose: we would beg
our philosophers not to consider themselves sound Christians
because they employ, and employ sincerely, expressiona which

Geid^tp^ and Rfitelatton.

were eqimlly sincere in tlic month and iroiii tlic pen of Voltaire.
They can hardly think us uncharitable or bigoted if we require
something more than this ; in faef, we are but acting upon prin-
ciples which they would themselves apjily to any other subject-
matter. IVc are not conlent tliat a Christian sliould think it
much to acknowletlge and rest in natural theology, because in
him, tn rest in thiit truth, implies the rejection of n^any trutli?
more important, more practical, more strongly attested. That
Cicero or Plato t?hould appeal to the works of nature, and trust
in their great Author, was indeed a great thing, because their
doing so was, ai? S, Paul says, *a feeling after Him' who had,
for a while, siiftered all nations to go in their own ways, and
had left Himself witli only this imperfect witness. But for him
who knows ihe true God, the Father of our Lord Je.*ns Christ,
to content himself with this mesigre theology, is nn ungrateful
rejection of truth; not a craving after it and reaching toward it;
it is groping for the wall, and shutting his eyes to the glorious
light of day* For these cause.'*, we cannot acknowledge such
passages as the following as any jiroof of the Christianity of the

writers althouich we do not for a moment mean to deny that

...» *

they are sincere Christians, Sir Charles Lyell says of Hutton,

<|uoting the words of Playfalr: —

' " Up had always displayed/' snys Plftyfair» *' the utmost disposition to
admire the beneficent design manitcsttd in the atruclure tif the world, and
be con lem plated with dehght those parts oT his theory wlitch made the
^eatcst nadititm to our knovvledj»:e of final causes.'" W<^ may say, with
equal truth, that in no scientilic works in our language can moro eloquent
paHsiiges be found, eoncerniiig the fitness, harmony, and grandeur, of all parts
of the ereatiout than in those of Playfair; they are evidently the analTt'cted
expresoions of a mind which contemplated the study of nature, as best
cftlcukted to elevale our conceptions of tbe First Cause/ ^c.—Prificiple*t
p. 5&,

Our objection to all this is the same which our author would
feel to any woi*k which should, in the present day, announce as
great discoveries, geological tacts which wxKikl have been im-
portant accessions to knowledge a hundred years ago. There
was a time J befbi*e (Jod had spoken, when the study of Nature
was perhaps * best calcidated to elevate our conceptions of the
First Cau8c.* Is not our author employing conventional
language, tlie meaning of which he does not realize, when he
says it is so now ? Dues he really mean that the physical
works of God are higher, nobler, or more glorious than His
moral and spiritual works ; — that the strata of our hills have
a tendency to elevate a Christian mind higher than the word
and the works of Hiui who has brought for us life and im-
mortality to light through His Gospel ? We trust, nay, we
flincerely believe, he cannot mean what he says. It i." an idle

I
I
I

Geology and Reteluiion.

339

fashion wliidi the miserable stutly of evidences and natural
theology, and the like poor fare, which was of late so jiopiilar
among us, haa introduced; and which custom, we trusty now
keeps up among men who really mean better ; eke the
pai?8age we have quoted would really amount to a denial by im-
.plication, of aU that ia really great, noble, and gtirring in God'a
"lievclation of Himself through His Son ; if, after all, we may
say, that He has been born, and lived, and died, among us, and
men have seen God manifest in the flesh, and ' have Been with

* their eyes, and have looked upon, and their hands have handled,

* the Word of Life ; for the life was manifested, and we have
|-* seen it, and heur witness, and sliow unto you that eternal life,

* which waa with the Father, and was manifested unto us;* and
jet that still, after all thie, it i.s true as it was befure, that it id
the study of nature which elevates man most near to God ; and
that the rocks of the earth reveal Him more fully, more nobly,
with more transforming power, than His incarnate Word,
Surely, * if these j^hould htdd iheir peace, the very stones would
inmiediately cry out.' Inanimate nature herself will witness to
her Lord, if man, to whom He has spoken, will not hear and
love Hts voice; yet it ia only because these hold their peace- —
not because the stones speak of Him more clearly or more
nobly than His revealed Word, but because He will not be left
without meaner witnesses, when they who should be His wit-
nesses refuse the task which is their true glory*

W^ith what indignation must wc suppose that glorioua Apostle
would have reatl words like these i'rom the pen of a Christian,
who cried, * God furlnd that I sht^uld gloiy save in the Cross of
our Lord Jesus Christ f and again, * We all with open face he-

* holding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed after

* the same image from gk>ry to gloiy, as by the Spirit of the

* Lord I' Yes \ it is the Word made flesh that is alone the true
elevator of mankind.

In these remarkiji, be it remembered, we are not by any means
demanding that philosophers shall intermingle religious with
ecientific subjects. We think they had better usually be kept
separate. All wc require is, that if Christian philosophers
choose to theologize at all, they should theologize as Christians,
and not merge the Christian in the natural philoso[)hcr, when
speaking upon theological subjects. Neither do wc think of
denying that the Christian may and will make a religious use of
the works of nature. Of course he wilL But he will not come
to them aa one ignorant^ to be instructed in the great First
Cause, as he might and would have done had God ne%'er spoken.
On the contrary, he will go to them in the spirit of one who
knows God already, Jind turns to His works, not for proofs of

240

GeolcH^y and RetdQtlm,

Ilia power and wisdom and love, but for perpetual instanoai
ftnd memomls of that love, wisdom and power, which be knowi
atrcafl}% not in His works hut in Himself. He adores jo them
the God whom lie alrciidy knowe, insteswl of seekinfj in them for
proofts of One whom he knows not. He receives them as gifts,
not from an unknown benefactor, whose jroodness he infers from
them, but endeared to him even beyond their intrinsic value
because be knows them to be llie works and the gifts of Hira
who has loved him and given Himself for him. The one
temper woukl be but a deifying of the works of nature, the
other is to see and worship the true God in His w^orks. The
one is the religion of Nature, the other the faith of Cbrist
Thus it is that the Christian contemplates nature : —

' Mis arc the inounluiiis, And the valleys his,
Audi ihe resplendcut rivers ; hia to enjoy
With ft propriety that none can feel,
But who, witli filial confidence inspired,
Cnii lilt to heaven nii iinpreaiimpLiious eye,
And smihng say. My Fatjikr made tliem nil!

' Acquaint ihyself with God if than would^st taste
His worka. Admitted once to W'm emhrnce
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before ;
Thine eye shall be inslrucled, And Ihinc heart
Made pure, aliJill relish with Divine delight
l"ill then iinfett, what hands Divine have wrought.'

Neither will we deny (hat he who brings with him this tem-
per to the worka of (iod will draw conclnaions with some degree
of diftidencc as to the mctliod of their creation* He remembers
that he is scanning the works of Ilim whose * judgments are
nnsearchalile and His way a past finding out C Bnd he applies to
bimself the reproof of God to the Patriarch : * Where wast

* thou when 1 laid the foundations of the earth? dcclarcj if thou

* hast nnderst^inding. Who hath laid the mea^sures thereof", if

* thou kuoweat ? or ivho hath stretched the line upon it ?

* Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened ? or who laid
'the corner-stone thereof; when the morning stars sang

* together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?' In this
spirit be will not indeed abstain from a careful and rigid analysis
of nature, nor from logical induction from its phenomena ; but
he may, perhaps, sin-ink from deciding that it is only in thia
manner, or only in that nninner, that it can have been iramed.
To exemplify our meaning: — the moilern geologists, as we have
already said, assume that all the existing rocks of which we
have cognizance, (wlietbcr stratified as deposits from water, or
massy as the results of fusion,) have gradually been formed in
the course of successive ages by the operation of the same

Gedop^ and J^erelatton.

241

causes which are now at work upon the globe, and that simi lar
results are at this moment be'mj? produced by the action of the
same causes; thus they entirely reject the hypothesis of any
gudden and violent changes formerly taking place in some chao-
tic Etate of our earth, wholly dissiroilur to any which are now
going on around u8. But they are ibrced to assume that thia
material globe has existed and been inhabited for a period
of time which it almost perplexes the human mind to contem-
plate. The period indeed of man's residence upon earth would
be sufficiently proved to be con)paratlvely very i^liort (apart from
Revelation) by the mere geological records of the earth. But
that it must have been replete with vegetable and animal life,
not merely for centuries, but thousandg, and more probably even
millions, of years before the creation of Adam, seems certain, if
the existing rocks were formed by a processs exactly eimilar to
those which are in progress around us. Fully convinced of this,
we do not hesitate to admit that Christian geohsgista are jus^tified
in esaniining the physical records of the eaiih, as if unqucistion-
abJy the result of existing causes acting fur a period of years
almost countless. It is the work of theologians to adjust what-
ever may re:dly be discovered with existing systems of belief, to
show whether in any point the popular opinion has too hastily
assumed, as the true meaning of Scripture, facts, which are not
indeed rec("rded there; or if not, to show in what other way the
face of the world and the words of God may be shown to be, as
when rightly understood they must of necessity be, perfectly
hartnoniotis. And this has already been done in a great measure.
There is much that is very valuable upon this subject in Mr.
Gray's little work, especially in the thiixl chapterj on * The har-
mony between the Word m\d Worke of God, in relation to I he
Earth's Antiquity/ Mueli had been done before, as lor instance
by Bishop Wiseman, in his *- Lectures on the Connexion between
i^cience and lievealed Religion,' and in some valuable remarks in
a note supplied by Dr, Puaey to Dean Buck land's * Briclgewater
Treatise.' Dr, Pusey shows that the creation of the world out
of nothing, at an indefinite period before the creation of man,
(although inconsistent no doubt with the usual opinion of
Christians as derived from the book of Genesis before geological
facts were investigated,) is yet so far from being contrary to the
words of that Divine Kecord^ that great authorities go understood
them long before geology was studied. He says, * The time

* of the creation, in verse 1, appears to me not to be defined;
' we are told only what alone wc are concerned with, that all
' things were made by God. Nor is this any new opinion. Many

* of the Fathers (they are quoted by Petavius, lib.c. cap,ii, s. 1 —

* 8,) supposed the first two verses of Geneais to contain an account

NO. LXV.— K.8. R

24S

Geology and Retelatlmi.

* of a distinct and prior act of creation ; some, as S, Augus-

* tine, TheodorcL and otliers, that of the tTcation of matter;
' others tliat of the elements . , * . Accordingly, in some

* old eJitioii8 of the Etif(li^h Bible, where there i.s no division
' into vers^es, you at'tually find a break at the end of what ia

* now the second vcr^e; and in Luther'ij Bible, (Wittenburg,

* 1557,) you have in adilitiuu the figure 1, placed against the
' third verse, as being the beffinning of the account of the

* creation on the first day. Thi.s then is just the sort of confirma-
' tion which one wished for, because, though one would shrink
' from the impiety of bending the language of God's book to

* any other thnn \U obvious meaning, we cannot help fearing
' lest we might be unconsciously influenced by tiie floating

* opinions of our own day, and tiierefore turn the more anxiously

* to those who explained Holy Scripture before those theories

* existed,'

III a siziiilar manner may be explained (what seems the most
startling ditficulry) the creation of the sun on the fourth day
of the Mosaic creation, while it appears as if the world had ex-
isted for countlcds ages betbre that last work of God, under con-
ditions simihir to tiujse in which it now is. It is shown by
Bishop Wiseman, that ' S. Basil, S. CiEsarius, and Origen,
' account for the creation of light prior to that of the sun, by
'supposing l\\H luminary to have indeed before existed; yet so

* that its rays were prevented by the dense chaotic atmosphere

* from penetrating. This was, on tlie first day, so far ranfied

* as to allow the transmission of the sun's rays, though not the
' discenimeut of its disk, which was fully dis[tlayed on the

* third day.'

Another difficulty had loner atro been observed— the dietribu-
tion of animals as well as plants over the globe. Men have
often inferred that all were created in one district; and, mora
naturally, thnt after the flood of Xoah, no auimal life remainedi
upon the world except that preserved in the ark ; and, that,
from this renmant, all creatures now existing on earth had their
origin. This at once suggested the question, how animals,
and in many cases noxious animals whom man would not trans-
port, were carried fnnn the centre of Asia to distant islands ;
and how it ca.me, that many of them are found only in those
distant lands? Thus, for example, all the quadrupeds of the
great Australian continent, about forty in number, are pecuHaTj
to it. This seems to negative the idea that they have sprung from
individuals preserved in the ark and casmiUy transijlautcd across
the sea; for, had this been the case, it would be miraculous
that none of thcni should have left any of their race, in any of
the countries through which they must have passedj and which

and UifveiattuH,

243

are well adapted far their increase. The same remark applied
to the American continent, and to many distant ii^lands. This
difticulty was obr^crved by 8. Augustincj who inquires, whe-
ther God, by the ministry of angel:-, may have tr:inspDrtcd
them across the sea after the flood? It now appears tliat the
fossil remaina of Anstrulia, for example, are eliiiracterised with
the same peculiarities Mdiich are f<njnd ako in it^ recent animal
races. This geema to indicate, tliat the Almighty planted the
creatures which it was Ilia pleasure should inhuhit different
lands in those lands at their first creation^ that Auiitralia* for
instance, has been occupied by mar^npial animals^, not merely
since the Hood, but for ages before, Difficuhies like these will
be adjusted by degrees; whctlier the judgment of divines may
finally acquiesce in the opinion, that the universality of the
deluge consisted, not in its covering the whole face of the
globe, and sweeping away all wild animals; hut rather in the
entire destruction of the race of man, (which is a point of
religious belief, attested by the clear wurds of Scripture, aad by
the tratlitions of all nations,^) and the animals de[>endent upon
him, and all his works ; or, whether they may decide, that alter
the cartli had been swept by the flood, it pleased God to
replenish it by creating anew in each land, as at first, creatures
eimilar to those which had before occupied it In either caae,
we arc of opinion, that as it is nowhere declared in Scripture
that all animals now existing are descended from those pre-
Berved in the ark, so, on the other hand, that opinion, natural
AB it is, will not be found consistent with f^icts.

From what we have said, it will be plain to our readers that
we are far from regarding the modern systems of geology, ftjunded
as they are upon observation and indueiion apart from any
consideration of Seriptnre, as in any degree ineonsistont with
the iiacta iherc rtcorded. On the contrary, we are convinced
that a sincere and earnest believer may consistently admit the
conclusions of the geologists, which are in the main these: that
the world baa existed in substantially its actual state for count-
less ages l>efore the creation of man, — that -the existing rocks*
which meet our eyes in all known Cimntries have been gradually
formed, and have assumed their present shape and cliarficter,
while the earth has been enlightened by the sun as it now is,
divided as now into sea and land, rivers and hikes, plains and
naountains,— that during these ages tlie climate of diflerent parts
of the earth, as for instance of that which we inliabit, ha^s been

* Thb U shown by BUhop WUemaa iu a very interesting manner in Ma
* Tjcctures,'

* The term rock, as used by gtjologists. h teohntcal. and Big^uifi(M? not merely
miisfcs of hard Rtone, but any mass of mineral wnUer, clialk, day, s?iind, itc.

R 2

24 1

{hokffff and Mtteiaikm,

greatly modified, at different periods, by changes in the propor-
tion and situation of land and sea, the growth and clearing away.
of forests and the like,^ — tliat since the creation of man the saniej
causea have continued to operate and to produce similar effects,
so that there are, no doubt, many rocks now existing, (though
they may be chiefly hidden in the bed of the ocean,) part of
wliich was formed before men were created, while part exactly!
eiiiiilar has gradually accumulated 8ince-=but that the peritidl
&ince the creation of man is so small compared with tlinse whichj
elapsed before, that the geological results of that period are as'
yet scarcely appreciable, aa compared with the vast monuments
existing in actual mountains, valleys, minesj and the like, of
changes wdiich took place before the first man tenanted the^
globe, — in particular, that we cannot decide with certainty that
any existing remains which have yet been examined arc the
results of Isoali's flf)od, and that there are in most countries
many races of animak which do not appear to have sprung from
those preserved in the ark* Of these couclujjions, indeed, somo^
are startling at first sight, and differ from those suggested by
the first view of the Scripture narrative; yet we think that
even these are by no means inconsistent with the real meaning
of that sacred history, and that a fair and candid mind will not
feel itself obliged to censure those who maintain them aa sub-
verting the truths of Kevelution.

Yet fully admitting all this, and that the views entertained by
modern geologists may he actually correct, we still cannot but
feel that our author and his compeers exaggerate their certainty.
Take wdiat view you please of the formation of existing strata,
allow for it what time you please ; but at last we are met
by that one stupendous fact, however distant, the point at
which matter and spirit come into contact, the great won-
der and mystery of this visible world, the fact of creation",
* In the beginning God created the heavens and tfie earth/'
This is a certain theological truth revealed by God Himself, and
wliich (even when unrevealed) reason itself showed to men of
higher souls. Indeed, is it as evident to reason as to faith ?
For all life upon this globe has its beginning no less tlian its
end ; and it ia almost a contradiction in terms to say that
a series has lasted for ever without any commencement, every
individual of which had a beginning. One uncreated cause,
without beginning, is indeed beyond our conception or under-
standing, but euch a eeries as this would be contrary to our
reason. Moreover, the fact of creation is witnessed even by the
organic remains, which geology brings to our notice ; for no fact
ia more certain, than that many species of animals have come
'nto exiateoce within geological periodis : and of course (unlesa

Geology and Rectlaticn,

245

I
I

philosopbera are disposed to return to the ' fortuitous concurrence
of atoms'), this can only be referred to an tict of creation. Now,
who shall undertake to sny in what state God would create any
of the works of His hand. Who is sufficient for such a specula-
tion? This is that ultimate difficuUj which remaina behind
every creological theory, however complete.

Sir Charles Lyell states at the end of his book, in language
which wc think might well be more positive, the argument from
analogy as he accounts it, agalnt^t the existence of the present
order of things from everlasting; but if it ever had a beginning,
if there ever was a period, however remote, at which animal and
vegetable life first commenced upon this earth, (and that such a
period there was, we are aseurcd by reason no less certainly
tiian by faith,) then at that period we are met by the act of
creation^ by the Divine agent and the creature of His lumd.
Now, what human intellect shall presume to conjecture what the
state of this world wa8 a6 it came thus from the hand of the
Creator, and before any changes liad been wrought in it by the
course of iiges— the formation of new Btrata — the embedding of
organic remains? Far be it from us to answer: yet one sug-
gestion may be offered. The only approach towards even a
probable solution, must be made, not upon princijjles of a priori
probability — not by asserting what God nnist needs have done,
(in all cases a perilous course,} but by analogy — by inquiring
what it has pleased Him to do in other instances. For though
this is no demonstration that He will do the same in every
case, yet, inasmuch as * lie is not the God of confusion, but of
order,* it is a jiresumption of a high oitlcr. Now, the only
analogy we can consult, is the case of the creation of the exist-
ing state of tilings as recorded iu the book of Genesis. We find
there that He created both Adaui and Eve in a state of perfec-
tion ; it has generally been supposed euch as they would have been
after twenty or thirty years' life upon earth ; not, indeed, such
as their children since tlie fall have been ai'ter so many years,
but such as they would have been, had they been born sinless
and without intirmity, into a sinless world, and had then gradu-
ally advanced to strength and perfection. Certainly, in neither
of tlicm was there any lengthened period of infancy and youth.
The same seems to have been the case with 'every beast of the
field,' created for their use, and put under their subjeclion. They
were created such as their progeny w^ould gradually become in tho
process of time. Itloreover, the same rule seems to have olitained
ill the creation of the trees of the field, for He created * every
plant of the field before it wns iti the earth, and every herb of
the field before it grew.' It seems then, that tho?e things which
were called into existence with and for the use of man, as wtU
as man bimeelf, wcro brought at once by the creative will of

240

Geolofjf/ and Revelaimn

God, to that state of perfection which it would have taken a
lapse of ycnr.^ to produce in the usual course of growth* If, d
then, any phUosopher hud stood aiuong the works thus produced, ^
l)tit a few years after their creation, what mu^t have heen the
effect produced upon hitn I He would liave seen around him
ohjcct.-* which bore no witness of any sudden change or violent
con\ulctlon, which spoke of nothing hut silent grailual growth
and iimturity, but wliieli must liave required numy year^ to
bring them to their existing state. The whole world that
eurrounded him wouhl bear witness to the long -continued
action of still existing causeB* Nay, there are many of the
w^orks of nature which bear upon their face a record of the pre-
cise number of years which has parsed over them. A tree, for
instance, of the fir tribe, shows this so distinctly, that the phi-
Inrtnpher could have no difficulty in stating exactly how many
years it had stood : every successive layer of wood being the
reer>rd of a year of growth. More than this, if the trees origi-
nally created "wcrej as the book of Genesis seems plainly to
declare, such tree^ as have grown since, they were couipoaed of
wood, the internal rings of which tell each of one year's |
growth* In like manner, Adam himself, if he was a man such
as other men, must Iiave borne in the sutures of his skull, and
in other [nnnts of his anatomical structure, distinct traces of that
wondrous state of imperfection and infancy, through which it
was the purpose of God that nil his children should pass Thus
much seems clearly implied in the history of the book of Genesis,
the only account, be it remembered, which has been given us of
any act of creation. If, then, it had been tlie will of God to
call into existence the material globe at the snme epoch with the I
creation nf man»what reason have we to 8up[iose that He would
niit adopt in this instance the same course which we are told He
adopts in the other acts of creation at the same tinie ? And, if He
did, would not the world be created at once in the state to which it
would have been brought by the action, for a course of ages, of
the same principles, and the continuance of the same clianges
which since the creation have been passing upon it? Thus we
infer, that analogy, (the only argument, as far as we can see,
which bears at all upon the sulyect,) suggests the belief, that if
it had been the will of God to call at once into existence a globe
for tlic habitation of men. He would probal)ly have created such
an one as we actually find this to be, namely, one which to all
outward appearance liiul gradually come to its state of perfec-
tion through the continued action of natural causes for many
years. Now, the only reiison for supposing that the Avorld was
not created iuimedialely l»etbre the creation of man, is, that it
has this appearance \ the analogy, therefore, which we ha^e
pointed out, if it be just, altogether removes every reason which

Gmlogij and Revelathih

247

niiolit have had for

believing

til at it is in fact more

ancient.

One objection we have Iieard to this yiew, namely, that it
woiiW be inconsistent with the Divine truth thus to create at
once objects (as organic remains) wliicb, to all appcariince, were
the gradual result of many yearB, aud of the life and death
of uumeroug animals. This objection, however, i?eem» to us
obviated by what we have seen of the reoncled history of crea-
tion. Adam, as be came from the hand of iiis C ret dor, t^pake a;*
plainly to liuman undcretanding of years already gone over hiiu,
as any of the fossil remains on tiie rochs upon which be stood.

Whatever there is of strangeness in this theory at firM sight,
appears to us to vanish, when we remember who lie is of whose
works we are reasoning. Not to enter at present into the deep
and mysterious subject of the action of the Divine will upon
those creatures whtim God has been pleased to create in Ilia
own image, giving them a free will and power to choose the
good or evil — leaving this mystery, which is alien to our present
f^ubjcct, it is plain that whatever is done in the physical and
material world, He alone is the doer of it. So reason tells us,
and Revelation confinus it; assuring us, that God clothes the
grass of the field and numbers the f^parrows. Let us, then,
assume the correctness of the prevalent theory of geology, and
admit that for many ages before the creation of man, this
world had been inhabited by inferior animals; and during those
ages had been gradually made fit for his use by the revolutions
which passed upon it. It is certain, then, that in the mind and
will of the Creator every one of tliese revolutions, every indivi-
dual rock and stratum, every animal wbo^e remains now astonish
us in the ancient strata — all these must have been present from
the beginning, a^ they were when they existed, or as they are
Dow: lor to Ilim time is not. No detail could have been other-
wise than it actually was, without interfering with the perfection
of His work and His plan. Thus tlien every geologist, who is a
theist, must admit that the whole course of events in all the ages
of the geological eras, was present to the will of the Creator, at
the moiiicnt of creation ; and afterwanls gradually developed one
after the other in the course of ages. The only difference then
between this view and that of the creation of the world as
it was when man first entered it, is a question of time— of the
time in which God would produce a certain work.; a question,
that is, of time with regard to Him who does not exist in time —
to whom time is not. Will any wise man venture to say, that it
might not be His will,— that it may not have been the very idea
of creation to compress into a moment (to employ Inmiau lan-
guage, which cannot really apply to Him) that course of events.
tliat succession of cause and elFect, which He saw to be requisite

248

Gmlogij and Retehtion*

for proJucin^ such a world as it was Ills pleasure to create?
Before any man undertakes to decide time, let him consider how
entire is our ignorance of the nature and process of creation,
(ttd Dr. Pusey observes in another part of the note from which
we have already made an extract,) how entirely ignorant we are
even of the more kindred cventa which most intimately touch
each of us indlvidiuilly. We know not how God acted in the
creation of our own individual souls ; how He framed our bodies,
^ secretly, beneath in the earth; ' how the jiowers of our souls
grow, not to mention the body ; what birth is, and what death,
Above all, we are absolutely ignorant of the very nature of thm;
and know only, a^ is shown in a well-known paper of the
* Spectator,' that even to men in our present state i)f being the
eame period may vary almost indefinitely.

These cousiderationd do not appear to us calculated to dimi-
nish, but, on the contrary, greatly to augment, the interest of
geological inciuiries In the minds of those who arc disposed to
give them full weight. In examining these phenomena it ia
certain, that we have before us, presented to our senses, the in-
strument by which it pleased God to [jreparc this His world
fur the inhabitation of man and for the hutuiliation and incarna-
tion of Plis Only- Begotten. All tilings indeed come from Him,
and bear the impress of His hand, and therefore, unquestionably,
these among otiiers. In any case, the geologist is analyzing the
course of events by which it was His pleasure to prepare the
theatre of this great event. He is tracing back to the best uf
his feeble powers the succession of event and cause which existed
in the will of the Creator from the beginning. This \% certain ;
yet to our imagination at least, and we think to our reason aleo,
it would invest it with a fresh and deeper interest, and the ob-
jects which we contemplate would appear to come more directly
from the hand of the Creatorj if it wa^ indeed the case that they
were all called into existence in the moment of creation by Hi«
Alniij^hty Word; in the same manner aa we should look with
greater interest upon a tree, an herb, or an animal which we koew
to have been created, than upon one which was indeed equally
the work of the Creator's hand, only by the instrumentality of
the usual powers of Nature. Thus, we think tliat the Christian
geologist, while he will not condemn the prevaiMng opinion of
philosophers as irreligious, will not for liis own part find the
subject less, but rather more, interesting should he be inclined to
think that in a subject beyond the reach of human intellect the
balance of probability may be rather ia favour of the actual
creation of this world, including all its strata, and all their
organized contents, both animal and vegetable, nearly in the state
in which we see it, and at a period little preceding the creatioa
of man.

249

NOTICES.

Tmr depArtmeut of our laboura which 19 in many respects the most
unsatiafactory to ourselvesf, is that of noi icing the quarterly massea of
well-intentioned and generally wcII-principlcd ' little books ' which are
now-a-duys published. We have so often — ^and hitherto s(j ineffectually^
rechiLmed againat these numbcra numberless of ' Children's Books/ arul
* School Prizes/ and ' Religious Tales/ that we abandon the task, or duty.
The whole world is against us : men of the highest acquirementB — l&dies
yoiUTg and old^ — doctors and senior fellows— ^publisher aud printer — ^pro-
bably six out of every ten of our readers— all write or are interested
in writing good little books, or at least what are meant for good; and
we are expected to praise all this. We respectively are Church-pub-
lishers, Chnrch-printcrs, Church -writers, Church-rhymeaters, Church-essiay-
ists, Church-pamphleteerSf Chiirch-tract-mditers : we have a right, each
and all, to have our little works praiiicd in a Church review : the mere fact
that we are all w orking on the same side, and for the same enda, as the
Christian Kemembrancer, establishes onr claims to a favourable notice.
This is really the languaj2:e addressed to ua : and as it is so, we can but in
all humility, howev^er sad, submit to what seems inevitable. We cJemur to
the claim. We have duties towards English literature, as well as to friendly
partialities. The * little volumes of nonsense/ of which Sidney Smith
spoke, are so many, and of late bo very nonsenBical, thateven the proverbial
patience of our much-enduring craft ihils us. We do not desire to hurt the
feelin'^3 of well-meaning people: so, without specifying or naming a single
publication of tiie class to which we allude, we simply state that, in our
judgment, of its twenty-one rcpreaentativ^ea which this quarter has brought
before us, in all its varieties of the small blue and red feuiUeions^ manuals
catechetical and aemi-catechetical, tales illustrative of this or that office, or
this or that portion of truth, reward-books and atory-booka, tracts and fictions,
allegories and verses, (and we have rej^lly read them ail,) there is not one
above the average — moat of Ihem far below it, even taking that at a very
low pitch. If people would but remember that if they have nothing to say,
it is far more prudent to be silent ; and that, on the whole, reading is a far
more healthful occupation than writing \ among other useful ends which thia
abstinence would compass, stands foremost that of saving money, which
is at present wasted either by themselves, their publishers, or their pur-
chasers. The market is stocked and over-stocked. One of the most sen*
sible ordinances of a certain period of ecclesiastical history was that which
stopped preacliiug for a whole twelvemonth. We will offer no opinion of
the expediency of its literal revival among ourselves : to the advantages of
its apidieation to check iho rank luxuriant under-growth of 'good books,'
perhaps the booksellers tbemsclveH can bear the most practical testimony.

250

Koti'ces.

One iUustnition we are not sufficicnlly RscelLc to suppress : frcim a verse-
book for the use of scbools we extract : —

My (ionkcy, I ivould love him bo, * I'd feed him well, atirf «peak blm kind,

I know tbat 1 could make him go For that's the way to make him imad j

Witboui ike Jear of blow or kick, And ly hiji aide I'd trudge alung,

Not eireo of a hazel stick. Aod sitig a little donkey song/

We can quite assure the writer that he haa riiiaappUed his moods and
tensc!^ : any form of the couditionnl is out of place. He has already sung
* a little donkey uong.'

* Adelaide's Gift; or, New Year's Day, by Misa M'Anslane,' (Ediu-
burpfh, Grants, 1848,) is, however, a small collection of tales satisfactorily
Blrutig^ together. The spirit is good, the refert^nce to sacred considerations
just iTbal is right and needful in nny book aimiing at morality and designed
for the young, and not too much for one which does not profess to be
theological; and the last story indicates really considerable inventive and
constructive power. We mention the book as something above the
average.

The same may be said of the * Shejilicrds of Bethlehem.* (Masters.)

* Baptism : its Nature, Efilcacy, Src., by Mr, Maxwell Nicholson, of
Pencaitland.' (Paton & Ritchie.) * The Holy Eucharist: its Nature and
Laws, ike, by Mr. John Marsliall, of Burnside/ (Patun and Rilchie,) It is
by tio accident that these two pamphlets are bracketed ; they arc in every
Bcnse antis trophic. They are curious illustrations of the TrHn.s-Tuedine
religions tendencies. The same publishers send its by the same post a
correlative antagonism in controversy. The two chief sacraments are
illustrated by a happy and unhappy detlection from their own principles of
two Cbriatian teachers. Mr. Nicholson ib a Presbyterian preach en whose
views of BaptiBm are nearly as deep as those of the C:itholic Church.
Mr. Mariihall, a Scotch priest, degrades the other sacrament into a mere
Puritau commemoration. It were, on the one hand, a^ unreasonable to
expect, as on the other it were uufaithfal to believe, that either writer
represented more than an exception in their respective connnunions.
Mr. Nichulson's tone is as warm and able as Mr. Marshairs is cold and
common-place. The latter reflects upon the important question, opened
by Mr, Palmer (of Magdalene) on • j^/ws/t-^ ami non-pasxite communion.'

Chancellor llarriugton has printed a Postscript to his searchiug pamphlet
against Macaulay's History of England. (Ri\ingtoaa.) On this branch of
the subjecS; the case is complete. But perhaps, ou the whole, the most
damaging ass;mlt yet made on the most readable and amusiug historian of
this or any other day, is Mr. Churchill Babington^s * Macauhiy's Character
of the Clergy considered/ Apart from its triumphant euncluHion, Mr. Ba-
bington's Essay ia a very finished piece of criticism: it is as minute and
exact fi3 one of Croker's attacks^ without that writer's captious littleness of
thought and style, Mr. Babington knows what Jf r. Macaulay — we will
hope — did not know, the moral value of the authorities he cites. • The
young Levite filling himself with corned beef and carrots,* is just the
tfort of phrase never to be forgotten. Mr. Macaulay's strength lies in
hii* brilliancy. Unfortunately for his credit^ however, his malice getting

Notice**

251

the better ol his drscTctkin, he produces for fact what at the best was
iiicHTut for banter : and when Aristopbanen happens to be accepted as
on historica] authority for the character of Socrates, or when Captain
Leniael GulJiver supersedes U'Anvillc, then Mr. Macaulay may aspire to
the historian's sober robe — but not till then. Mr. Babingtnti*8 last chap-
ter proves that Macaulay's Tt^nj Parson and Tory Squire are taken,
feature by feature, in aio uuack do pledged but most direct plagiarism,
from conicoiporaneous sketches, in a pamphlet entitled *The character of a
Whig under several denominations.:' we can acqutesce in the present
writer's caotioua seventy : * It was a bold and perhaps not very politic

* stroke of Mr. Macaulay to take the above dtiscriptionj reproduce it mufaih

* mntandijt^ and apply it to the Tory Clerr^y, And all this* not in an avowed

* work of fiction, but in a professed History of England. Some may cou-

* sider the fraud pious ; all mudt confess its conception facetioua : but his
joke, once discovered, is at the expense of tbe author and his history.'—

P. ilO.

Two pamphlets on Baptism, of which the writerti respectively seem
alive to the unhappy state in which the particular question rests, are
before us, ' Baptism mia understood, the great trouble of tbe Church,
by Mr. Alfred Gatty,' (Bell,) and * Discourse on Baptism, by Mr. Richard
HibbSj* (Hamilton^ Adams and Co.) The former, while cautious, i^ earnest
und sound ; the latter, while^ we have no rea-ioji to doubt, equally
earnest, in quite unsound, Mr. Gatty pleads; Mr, Hihbs decides. He
tella us, which will surprise most, ' that during ibe eighteen centuriea
of the Church's continuance, either no consistent view of Christian
baptism has been elicited, or that his own xiew is least of all known
or received:' this view being only the very ordinary 'charitable as-
sumption' one, Mr, Hibbs complacently assttres his Church of England
hearers, that to deny infant baptism altogether is much better than
to believe in baptismal regeneration: the latter 'is far more' {p. 22) dan-
gerous. We have not heard that Mr. Uibbs has been censured: being
n Suffolk curate, it were hn.rd to expect it. But what we fear is any thing
like ihe growth of a disposition to accept this state of things as normal :
not only to admit the fact, that our Church, by its living authorities, does
permit contradictory teaching, but to acquiesce in it; in other words, to
Bay that a Church even on fundamcntuls need hold no doctrine.

The two metropolitan Archdeacons have published their recent Charges,
(Rivingtons.) To Archdeacon Hale we are thankful for a manly and
intelligible protest against the incestuous Marriages Bili and the (so-called)
Clergy Relief Dill. Archdeacon Males language is eminently plain and
satisfactory: one can always tell his meaning; and though we do not
perhaps meet with very high language, or very expansive principles, there
is a wholesome English, common-sense, practical character about nil that
be says. We detect a contrast between the bliintnefis of London and the
feunvity of Middlesex: suited, vrc suppose, to the more deUcatc and coarser
fibre of their respective conatituencica. The allusions to * lowering
irretrievably the social position of the whole clerical body,' (p, fi3^) and
to * the young men of birth and properly who are induced fo enter into hofi/

252

Notices*

orders,' (ibid.) and to the courtly fact of * almost every family of any eon-
tequence in the kingdom having ties of kiodred or affinity connecting
it with the Church,' {ibid,) had, we had hoped, become obsolete in archi-
diaconal Chargea. Wc should have been glad, moreover, to have seen some
allusion to the Marriage Bill, and leas approval of the Management
Clauses.

* Remarks upon the Record Newspaper, A-c, by an Incumbent of the Die
cese of London.* (Thomson.) If this I<ondon Incumbent had contined hii
'•elfto his appointed task of exposing the 'malignancy, profanity, falsehood, J
inconsistency, evil speaking and e%il thinking, selfishness, ignorance, andi
narrow-mindedneas,' (p. 23) — to use his own words— of the newspaper with.,
which he finds fault* it would have been little concern of ours. We should sim-
ply have sympathised with the excellent intentions of such a writer, as well
AS with hia deplorable, however amiable, ignorance in attempUng to improve
in a quarter alike incapable of appreciating argument, principle, common
sense, or common decency. But the London Incumbent is an Arnoldite;
and, true to liis party, runs a-muck against all the self-called religious
journals and religious criticism of the day. Aa in Archdeacon Hare'a
various worka^ those who will not ' speak of the ** Victory c»f Faith " and
** Mission of the Comlbrter " as the grandest expoaitions of the ti^o central
veritien of Evangelical truth which our English literature contaiuy,' (p. 10)
— those who begin to doubt the propriety of n Theological professor tell ijig
us 'that the popular Eiiglisb religious systems cannot last,' (one at least
of those popular systems simply claiming to be that of Christianity before
ita corniption) — all such persons, if they happen tu express their opinions,
current opinions meant to meet current errors, are denoimced by Air. Hare
and his many friends as 'bravoea of orthodoxy,*— as * hired and anonymous
scribes,' whose 'favourite employment is to blacken and traduce,*— as ' Ingo,'
and possessed of a 'hoof,' — as * link boys,' or what not. Of course we have
a word to say about all this. Dr. Arnold himself was either proprietor or
editor of, or a constant contributor to, a newspaper : he was a re vie wr writer;
nay, he wrote, aa everybody knows, the most virulent 'blackening and
traducing' and personal article which ever brought disgrace upon any
review ; so that IJt. Arnold's friends and w^orshippers will have some diffi-
culiy in showing, at least from the example of * that true and righteous
man of God, Dr. Arnold himself,' (p. 8,) that in themselves religious reviews
and periodicals are unlawrul. They will have greater difhciilty in showing
that * falsehood and inconsistency, ignorance and narrow-mindedness, self-
ishness and suspiciousness, ' are iuseparnble from periodical writing in
^period icals. And while it is not for us to say what reviews are, or can do,
the world has not yet learnt from the tone which replies to criticism in
^certain quarters have taken that no disturbance of temper can force its
entrance into the serene temples of the wisdom of Hurstmonceux, or the
academic calm of King's College.

Mr. E. V. Vangban, of Wraxall, has addressed a very important 'Letter
to Mr. Miles,' (Nisbet,) on one particular part of the practical working of
the Minutes of Council on Education. We do not know whether thia letter
baa attracted attention — ^it fully deserves it, Mr. Vaughan shows what is

Noti'cra.

253

^
^

actually at vfotk ; ^liat a miserable class, the rou^h material of 'dangerous
classes,' as dangerous aa those of Paris itsnlf, the present system of
Govcrnmtnt inspection is actually brhig:iiig: up ; and yet more, how, in
cases quoted and produced, the State iu&pector seta aside pupil teachers,
against tbe deliberate judgement of the parish priest as to their moral and
religions acquirementa and general aptitude in teaching and docility, and
against bis testimony of their twelvemonth's daily diligence and proficiency,
only on hm own dislike to a provincial accent in a nervous child during^ a
quarter of an hour's viva voce exHrnination by a stranger. The fact is — and
the sooner the Clergy learn it, the better — that the Government grant and
the system of pupil tenchers and salaried monitors have already turned our
parish schools info a very plain instalment of the Prussian Staats-system,
It is not a contingent danger ; it is a fact daily at work. We are not
alarmists, but the classes who at this moment have overturned all the
authority and faith of Europe have been educated exactly and precisely
upon the principles of which the paid monitors, and pupil teachers, and
CJovemment certificates, and Her Majesty's ioBpectors, are the actual
exponents.

Mr. Cosserat has printed a ' Letter to the Bishop of Exeter,* (WalUa,) on
the necessity of catechiising. It is judicious and useful.

There is, to those disposed properly to use it, some important information
in Mr. C. il. Cottrell'a 'Religious Movements of Germany,' (Petheram,)^-
thftt is to say, Mr.Cottreira facts are important. For himself, be only adopts
tbe swaggering tone of one to whom all religious movements are equally an
object of contempt. The principles avowed in this pamphlet are hardly
other than infidel. We gather from it that the result of tbe poUtical con-
vtilsions of Germany has been, that the so-called orthodox party, as repre-
sented at least by Krummacber, is now 'using the most conciliatory," indeed
ralionalidtic, ' lunguage to the very persons whom they have hitherto treated
AS freethinkers and unbelievers.' (P. lOB.) In other words, & fusion of
orthodox and pietists, the Friends of Light and tbe Rungeiy.ts, in ' that
young and renovated Church which is, with its ft-ee institutions, developing
itself before our eyes," to use Krummacber's own words^ ia all but openly
recommended by the most respectable of German so-called orthodoxy.

Mr. C. J. Lyon, of St. Andre w*8, has reprinted from a very promising
periodical, *The Scottish Magazine,' three admirable 'Letters on the Duke
of Argyle's recent work/ (Lendrum,) j\lr. Lyon's is a searching and
closely-argued piece of criticism.

Mr. J. Lockbart Ross,— one keenly alive to tlic necessity of practical
reforms* — has addressed some useful * Letters on Diocesan Colleges to (he
Dean of CbichcPter.' (J. H. Parker,) We are entirely at one with the writer
AS to the desirableness of a distinct theological curgugf and even of distinct
theological colleges. But tbe real dillkulty remains, how to make this course
compulsory on all candidates for orders ; or, which ia only another way of
stating it, bow to bear an increase on the present enormous expense of clerical
education. On tbe one band, our existing theological seminaries, planned
to supersede the expense of Oxford and Cambridge, oi^y produce second*

2:a

A'&iicei.

cIass Clergy : ou the other, the existing diocesan colleges are only aiteuded
by the more efiruest B.A.'s. The question ia how to force upon the crowd
of imperfectly-taught and imperliectly-disciplincd candidates for Orders,
a creditable amount yf divinity. Are we prepared to add to the four years
at Oxford nnd Cambridge two more at the Dincesau College? or are we
prepared to abridge the University period?

The Hun. Riebard Cavendish has addrestied one of the most striking
pamphlets which have come before us, *■ On the actual Relations of Church
and State,' in the form of a 'Letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury/
(Ollivier.) Mr. Cavendish's position^ as bearing the name of the highest
among the great Whig aristocratieal families, gives his words only an
adventitious weight : they are in themselves entitled to aiteniion, whicb»
however, they had scarcely secured had they come from a leas influeotiAl
fjuarter, lie says plainly that to ' mnUiply Bishops/ as at present ap-
pointed, * would serve but to multiply the evil,* (p, 18.) He puts a ques-
tion,—nnd, considering both who it ia who asks the question, and to whom
it 18 putf it is an awful one,— in the plainest language which we have vet
seen. We extract the passage: — ' Men who ean only sign the Articles

* in ft non-natural sense have justly been made to feel that the Church

* has no denire to retain them within her fold. Shall olherg who use

* the most fiolenin addresties to Almighty God in a non-uatural sense,
' believing thcni, aa they must, when taken in their natural sense,

* to be •• moat blasphemoua frivolities," — shall they any longer not
'only be tolerated, but cherished ns the very salt of the Clergy?
' My Lord, if all truth aad uprightness are not to die out amongst ns, her«
t is a nuitter to which the rulers of the Church muat look. Here in a moral

* plague which must indeed be stayed. If it be not, what can result but an
' upgrowth of the rankest and most deadly infidelity? The nders of the
' Church r Are Ibey all untainted ihcmselvcfl? Not long ago a Bishop of

* our Cburcli had occasion to refer in a Vrsitation Charge to some of these
' " blasphemous frivolities/' He informed his Clergy that to question the
' maintenance by our Church of one of the chief doctrines so termed by

* Mr. Noel, is absurd and impossible. But, says his Lordship to those of

* his Clergy who may reject it, this doctrine is iu the Prayer-book, but an

* undue importance ia attached to it. There, indeed, arc the words, but
' they arc only worth, Srty them and hear lbem» but say them and hear

* them as if they were empty sounds, destitute of all menning. In a cor-

* respondcuce with one of his Clergy, relating to some other "blasphemous

* frivolities" in the Prayer-book, the same Bishop informed bim that they
' were allowed to remain in it by our Reformers out of pure compassion to

* human ignorance and infirmity. Now, my Lord, if any unprejndiced
' man will only pay one moment's attention to the aolemn and awful invo-

* ciitious which accompany these "idle words," he cannot fail to acknow-
' ledge that if such were ihe intentions of our Reformers, then they were
'hypocrites the most accomplished, abettors of perjury the most shame-
' less, and breakers of the third commandment the most reckless, whom the

* world has yet seen, or, it may he hoped, is ever likely to see. My Lord»

* when one of the chief pastors of our Church ventureH on such assertions,
' and gives such advice to hia Clergy, what wonder if some of the startled

Notices,

25j

* sheep should wander awa>% some in one direction, some in another, from

* a fold which is thus pronounced, ex cathedra^ to be polhited uith falsehood

* the most revoltifig, and profanity the moNt impious? ' — Pp. 21 — 23.

Mr. Brudenell Barter has added to his many warm-hearted appeals ' A So-
lemn Wariiingf against that doctrme of Special Grace which causes divisions
in, thi! Church, and prepares the way for Infidelity.' (lliving^ons.) Mr.
Barter's title is perhaps not very clear : Ma matter is unriucst ion ably so.

With reference to Mr. Heurtley's * Tract on Public Worship/ (J, R,
Parker*) we must repeat his own iibatemcnt, 'It is tnie: but it is not the
whole trutli," (p* 7,)=-iiot more tbnn half the truth : 'thanksgiving, praise,
the hearing of God's word, prayer/ are not the objects of public worship;
not even if we add Mr. lleurtley's * fifth : vix. to partake* of the SarratnentM,'
which, significantly enough, *- it is beside his purpose to dwell on/ (P, 18»)
Such a purpose announces its own inadequacy. There yet remains amon*^

* the objects of public worship ' all that does not concern individual edificJi-
tion : auch as come under the ideas of sacrifice, offering, mystery, the
i*imple abstract glory of God, announced by angel voices, asone*half of tlie
purpose of the Gospel, the witness to the faith, and sympathy with the
unseen Church.

A useful and scientific ' History and Description of Exeter Cathedral,'
has been printed by Mr. J. W» ficwett. (fi olden.) It is of exactly the
light proportion and in the right spirit. We do not accord with Mr.
Hewett's doubts about the paintings on the choir-screen.

AU that Mr. Winston writes upon the subject which he has so deeply
studied deserves respectful consideration, or even deference. With this
view we recommend this gentleman's ' Introduction to the Study of Painted
Glass.' (J. H. Parker.) We are entirely satisfied with his historical prerh
it( the art, with bis tccbiiicfil descriptions, and his accurate and tasteful
criticism of ancient art. And while we can quite enter inlu bis vigorous
condemnation of the modern mediayvalisms, we are by no means satisfied
with the exi.sting specimens of an improved style which Mr. Winston
praises. Wc should be sorry, for example, to admit that such glass as that
lately placed in Westminster Abbey was an iraprovement, either artistic or
technical, even upon the nwst servile tmitalions *»f old glass practised by
mere copyists, such as Willemcnt and Warrington, On the contrary, we
look rather for the terftum ffuid of an improved style, not in a development
commencing npon the vitiated einque cento^ which .Mr. Winston seems dis-
posed to take tor his starting point, but rather upon a combination of the
mosaic principle of colouring with the careful religious draxving of early
Italian art. An advance in the right direction has been lately mnde in a
window at Clirist Church, Hoxton : of which, however, the chief defect is a
want of relief, arising from the absence of cool white glass.

In our January number, after commending the improved practice which
had been introduced into the education of the choristers at Westminster,
we added, * When we hear of similar care being taken at S. Paul's, we yhaU
gladly withdraw the whole of our observations/ We are very happy in

256

Notieet,

being able to state tbat our stricturee had been preceded by a recent i
iinpoHRnt cbange for tbe better: a change, however, only as recent, in its
completeness, as Midsummer, 1848, The details may be learned from a
courteous communication which we have received : — ^' . . . first premising

* the system, pursued by our forefftthera centuries ago, which no modern

* system v.&n outvie, and which it is a pleasure to state we are imitating a»
' nearly as vre can. . . .

' In the earlie^st periods to which our records refer, we find the educa-

* tion of the Choristers of St. Paul b Cathedral intrusted to the following
' officers: —

' I, The Almnner^ whose duty it was to clothe, board, and tuperitiUnd the

* education of the Choristers^ both reli^ous and secular*

'11, The Chance iior^ whose duty it was to teach them grammar, writ-

* ing, &c.

' II L The Music Mmtert whose title sufficiently denotes his duties.
' After a time, the Chancellor, whose revenues tlien began to increase,
' (and possibly then his zeal and love for scholastic duties began to de-

* crease,) appointed a Deputy, under the title of "Magiater Grammaticse,"

* the duties of the two oflicers, Almoner and Music Master, remaining^ un-

* touched. This change appears to have existed for a \cry long period.

' But afterwards it appeara that the Dean and Chapter departed seriously
' firom the well-projiected and matured plan of their predecessors, and for
' some reasons aniaigamated all the above mentioned offices in one person,

* that person sometimes being a Minor CanoUj but generally the Organist,

* or a Vicar Choral,

• This plan remained in operation until the death of the late Mr, Hawes,

* Almoner and Vicar Choral, when, upon some little lapse of time, Mr. Arch-
' deacon Hale (whose energy has been of much service to the Cathedral)

* accepted the office of Almoner, (independent of its emoluments,) and
' appointed a Music Master, a Gnimraar Master, (unconnected with the

* Cathedral,) who taught the Choristers grammar, &c. iive days in the week

* for two hours per diem j and the office of Divinity Lecturer was given to

* one of the Minor Canons, Mr. Povah, (to whom praise is due for the

* interest he has generally taken in their m elfare,) with the condition that

* he shoidd catechise the boys, which he did one day in the week, and then
' only for one hour, his avocations not allowing him to do more,'

This system commenced in 1845; but it was obviously one in which a
very important element in education was wanting, namely , the formation
of character, and the correction of the general conduct of the Choristers
both in and out of choir : the moral teaching of the boys belonged to no
one. There was no provision for anything beyond a technical training. In
this difficulty, an individual Minor Canon^(and we are glad to connect Mr.
J. H, Coward's name with this movement) — offered to undertake the educa-
tion of the boys, both religious and secular, as ' Magister GrammaticsE/ —
Mr- Archdeacon Hale still retaining the Almonry, and Mr Bailey the office
of Music Master. This scheme was commenced at Midsummer last. It3
details consist in providing for the instruction of the Choir-boys in Latin,
HtBtory, Geography, Matheraatica, and Arithmetic, with Music, in all five
hours per diem, for live days in the week. It is much to be regretted, how-
everj that the Almonry cannot provide funds to board the boys, who at

I
I

Notices,

257

present reside at home, ftnd are not very sufficiently paid. To state the
whole matter io full, vvliile it is but a simple act of justice to the present
Dean atid Chapter, gi^-eg us fiatisfaction, as a proof of the vast improvement
daily taking place in ali departments of the Church practice.

Mr. J. H, Parker'a devotional series has heen enricbed hy a new edition
of Sherlock's • Practical Christian,' edited, with a very nice preface, by one
of the autbor*a descendants, Mr. Harold Sherlock, of Winwick.

Jeremy Taylor's 'Life of Christ' has been usefully reprinted in an
abridged form. (Mozley.) This is one of our most admirable books, and
eniineatiy suited for the poor : as, indeed, all high-caste books are.

We have, in a single particular, done the editor of Mr. J. W. Parker'i ' Liber
Precum* wrong in our recent review of that publication. We stated that the
' In commcndationibus Benefactorum/ &c., was omitted. It is printed at the
end of the preface — not a very likely place to look for Occasional Offices,
nor exactly corresponding with the place which this Office, and that for
Communion at funerals, occupies in Queen Elizabeth's Liiiirj Prayer-book,
which Mr Parker's recension ofTera to folhnv. We willingly put on record
the editor's private avovral nf hii " most earnest desire of his lile lo devote
himself entirely to the ser\iee of ibe English Church, and the chuhs of
Catholic truth,' though we still regret moat strongly tbat^ witb whatever
good intentions, he \ms piihlisbed a book which will not serve hiu zeal in
that cause.

* Self- Murder," an affecting and solemn Pastoral Letter, Addressed by
Mr. Andcrdon, of Leicester, to bis parishioners on a case of suicide.

The second, and completing, volume of Dr. Hook's ' Sermons on the
Miracles' has appeared. (Bell.) They make an interesting series.

Mr. BowteH's admirable work on ' Monumental Brasses,* (Bell,) which
has appeared regularly, wants but the couchuling part. — Mr, Sharpc's
equally interesting series on ' Decorated Windows* (Van Voorst) has been
in this predicament since February, 1846. It is a groat pity that it should
not be concluded, especially as its delay forma (|uite an exception to the
publisher'a usual punctuality.

' Protestantism and Catholicity compHred in their effects on the civiliza-
tion of Europe,' by the Rev. J. Balmez. (Burns.) Tbia is a translation of
a Spanbh work, which has attained an European celebrity, Jt readv^ very
like ft sensible and prose echo of Mr. Digby's * Mores CatboUci.' There is
a great deal both of argument and elegant illustration in the work. The
chief part of it glances over our heads. Indeed Mr. B^lmnez wmild have
little quarrel witb the Church of England had he had opportunities of
riglitly underBtanding our ow n position ; for most of that impulse upon
civilization which he claims for CatholiL-ism attaches as much to ourselves as
to the rest of the Western Church. On one occasion, if we remember rightly,
we found Mr. Balraez admitting a very fundamental distinction between
England and the other Protestant bodies, as, speaking according to hi.9
brief, he of course stylea ua. The present translation ia taken from a

NO. LXV,— N. S. 3

258

Notices*

French version, by Meiira. IlanfortI And Keraliavv: uhoever these gentle-
men may be, they are not scholars sufficient for this or any other work of
learning. Thus vvc find * Justin Clement of Alexandria/ p, 56; ^Penestea/
(p. 6«,) which, if it he the French form, is neither the Greek nor
the English; * Chio/ {iltid.) which ia a mere Gallicism. In another place
the French translator's phrase ' Ics fillcs dc Chypre ' ia faithfully done into
English, (p. 386.) * tbe daughters of Chypre," which, whatever notion it
may carry, is scarcely ci/pr^ to the original.

The most important work of the qnnrter we pniftounce to be Mr. George
Williams's very elaborate second edition of his * Holy City.' (J. W. Parker.)
We shall call future attention to it: in the mean tinie» ue can at present
only Rpeak hij^hly of the very happy results at which Mr. WilliAms has
arrived^ Professor Willises share in the work is a great improvement to it;
and it contains, for the lirst time publiahed, the Ordnance Sun^cy of Jeru-
salem, not the least valuable fruit of our brief successes in Syria.

Mr. Robert Montgomery, we believe, is desirous to take higher standing,
and to represent a better tone of Church doctrine than the world has
hitherto assigned to him. This praiseworthy purpose will not be furthered
if he stands forward as the sponsor of such books as * Nitzsch s System of
Christian Doctrine/ (Clark,) vrhich has just appeared under his auspices as
joint-translator. This book ia intensely German : a happy defect, which
wdl render innocuous its intense heresy. NitEsch's own * soteriology/ to
use one of his own frightful inintnges, ia a mere eclecticism from the
various German, so-called, systems ; and it entirely ignores the dogmatic
teaching of the historical Church. Indeed he ignores Church, the creed
and Sacraments, as objective realities. The notion of the implanted
Christian life docs not seem to have occvirrcd to him. As a system — and it
is revoltingly systematical — the work is n vast fabric of difficulty and
danger.

Dr. Wordsworth has published, byway of supplement to his recent Lectures
on the Apocalypse, an extremely full and scholar-like edition of the Text
of the Apocfilypsc, with an Lngliah translation and harmony. (Rivingtons.)
The volume also contains a full appendix to its sister volume of Lectured*
We are not called upon to repeat what we have already said of Dr. Words-
worth a private conclusions on the interpretation of the Revelation of
S. John J but the present undertaking, as a whole, is decidedly such as to
raise its author's reputation. Wc desire entirely to preclude ourselves, in
this place, from passing any judgment on its details. The bias ia so strong
and patent, that the exegesis must be judged on \'ery different groundi
from the judgment passed upon the formation of the text,

* Westminster : Meraoriala of the City/ Src, by Mr. PiLickenzie Walcot,
Curate of St. Margaret's, (Masters,) is a handsome volume. It embraces
a good deal of curious matter, historical, biographical, and topographical ;
it is interspersed with lively anecdotes and minute personal details. It
contains also much antiquarian information : and were it nut disfigured

Noiicis*

259

by an over ornate and stilted style, we couM recommend it uncon-
ditionally. A paragraph in the first page will illustrate our objection:

* Its [Westminster's] fittest emblem is the oak of our native land, upon

* whose rlud the succesaive ring^s of a tlioiisniid yeara denote its gradual

* g^rowth from the tiny acorn into the kingliest forest-tree/ &c. The meta-
phor is false in fact, for the annual rings are not on the rind at all. Mr.
Walcot*s work does not embrace the history of the Abbey. We detected
some uiii;ly mispriutSj such aa : ' Velasco," p. 52. We demur to calling the two
westward looking seats? i|i the sanctuary of S.Margaret*8 *two sediUaforlhe
officiating Cler^.' (P. 136.) All Souls' towers we have always understood
to be the work of Hawksmoor, not Dean Aldrich. (P. 158.) We are not
aware of the alluaion to the ' rival schools of St. Paul's, and St. Peter's
Cornhill, in Loudon.' {P. 170,) We regret also that a clergyman, and one
so right-principled as the present writer, should have pronounced such an
eulogium on Milton as that which— we say nothing of its taste — may be
found at p. 291.

We suppose that Mr, Hobart Seymour does not remember JEsop*
But the hint ivhich the lion gave the forester, how the figures might
be grouped were lion^j the statuaries, should have suggested to Mr.
Seymour how his Matineea Theohgiqucs would have read if the Jesuits
had published their complement to his recent volume, * Morning among
the Jesuits at Rome.* (Sceley.) If the Jesuits are what Mr. H. Sey-
mour represents them, their teeth have been drawn and their claws
pared. Instead of any dread of Maynooth, the Irish Protestants ought
to patronize it as a vivarium of living theological victims, who might
safely be brought out to be baited with perfect security on every recurring
festival of S. William of (Jrange. Mr. Seymour seems lo have found aa
good sport with the sons of Loyola as OJivcr Proudfute did with his
'Soldan or Saracen j' — 'With him 1 breathe myself, and wield my two-
handed sword against him, thrust or point, for an hour together," Alany
is the downright blow that Mr, Seymour has aimed- — 'in troth the infidel
has but little of his skull renmining to hit at.' Mr, Seymour's sword and
prowess are as good as the honest bonnet-ranker's, we have no doubt :
from his own showing, he is a very formidable polemic. However, the re-
semblance to the slashing burgher of Perth does not end herei we own to
a sort of Uking for Mr. Seymour: his bustle is so much on the surface,
that we can quite tolerate it for a fnnd of fairness and honesty which
underlies it. Though, seriously, the sly way in which Mr. Seymour, only
intent upon trapping the deluded Jesuits, and drawing them out for the
theological triumphs of himself aud Mrs. Seymour, under the pretence
that he was but a meek inquirer after truth, instead of the confirmed
champion of Protestantism, cannot be quite reconciled with some strict
codes of ethics.

' Parthenogenesis,' by Professor Ovren, (Van Voorst,) is scarcely within
OUT province, but we understand it to be an able and original essay.

There is much that is pleasing in Mr. Thomas Knox's ^ Daniel the
Prophet, &c/ (Hodges and Smith). It consists of reflections written in a

260

Notices,

meditative furm ; without mticb dcptli or origitiatjty, the volume reads
equably and usefully. Hhs tlie amiable writer, or bis publisber, regulated
bia impression in any anticipation of (he wish expressed in the Prelace —
his ' fervent hope lliat, niih the bletisitig of God, this little book may be
kindly received into emr^ one's library V

Of a much higher range and cast of thought is the Tolumc of Sermona
left by the late Professor Butler. This has been published, together mth
an interesting Memoir, by Mr. Thomas Woodward, of Fetbard. (Hodges
& Smith.) Professor Dutler \rftfl a writer not only of merit but promise,
and hia early death aeema to be regarded in Ireland in n way somewhat
similnr to the removal of Mr. II. J. Rose from ourselves. His life waij
curious, ns he forms* ftlmost a solitary instance of one who quitted the
Roman Catholic communion without passing into the ranks of Ultra-Pro-
testantism. It must be borne in mind, however, that one of his parents
wn.s an An^licaiij and he himself became so before he was eighteen. The
Irish Chun h could, we fear, little afford to lose a son so full of hope : one,
however, whose opinions, ihougjh very raoderAte, the majority of the Irish
Clergy felt but little the duty of fiyi^P*^*hising with. We should perhaps
have been pleased had the volume consisted rather of a selection of his
SermonSj together with some of his Atlvenaria^ Some papers in the Irish
' Ecclesiastical Gazette' we remember thinking very powerful,

Mr. Prichartl, formerly Fellow of Oriel, and lately Vicar of Mitehnm, has
left for the recollection of his friends, and for more general usefulness, two
works: a volume of Sermons, (.\iasters,) quite of a parochial and simple
character, yet displaying much thought and evenness of temper ; and the
* Life of Hincmar/ (Masson: Littlemore,) which displays a great amount of
painstaking in a dtflkult period of Church History. Mr. Prichard certaiidy
had many of the historian's qualifications — calmness, and a close habit of
judgmeut and discrimination. He «eema studiously to have kept in view
the severity required in such compositions.

Three volumes of Sermons have reached us, each of which we think above
the average : one by Mr. Chanter, of llfracombci (Masters,) of a level and
practical character; one by Mr. Harper* of Bideford, (Cleaver,) warm and
direct; ' Lent Lectures,* by Mr. Jackson, of St. James', Piccadilly, (Skef-
finijton,) alight in texture, but useful ; and a vfdujne by Mr. Heurtley,
fj. H. Parker,) of which the first, elsewhere noticed as a * Tract on Public
Worship,' is an average specimen,

* The Devout Chorister,' (Masters,) edited by Mr. Smith, Fellow of Mag-
dalene, we think suggested by a religious appreciation of a great need. It
is a very useful book, which we have great sati'ifactioii in recommending.

Sir Francis Doyle has translated the *(Edipua Rex,' (J. H. Parker,) with
a view of familiarising uneducated persons with the beauties of the Greek
stage. We always thought C. Lamb a solitary instance of one who could
relish the tranaldtion of Greek plays ; he however deUghted in the literal

Notices 261

Latin * cribs." But such works can only touch the poetical miud. The
present version is both spirited and scbolar-like.

* A Plea for Sisterhoods/ by the Bishop of Brecliia, (Masters,) is a very
Bolernn and religions appeal.

Dr. Wordjj worth has edited, in an abridged form, for the use of a lower
class of students, Ma well-known 'Theophilui Anglicanus.' This shorter
fonm is published under the title of * Elements of Instruction on the Church/
(Rivmgtons.)

Butler's • Six Sermons' have been reprinted, with a Syllabus and Preface
by Dr. Whewell (J. W. Parker.) They form a sequel to the * Three Ser-
mons on Human Nature,' executed on the same plan. Whv the Six
Sermons do not range with the Three, we cannot say.

* Rodrignez an Christian Perfection ' has, we believe, generally been found
too cumbrous for general use. Its plan is confusing for most persons. An
edition for * those living in the world* has been published by Mr. Bnrns.
There is so very little in it which belongs to local differences, that this
publication, of which the praise is in all Churches, may be employed to
general edification,

' T!ie Christian Consoled, and llie Christian Instructed/ by Quadrupani
has issued from the same publisher. It is entirely addresaetl to the spiritual
life ; and being strictly of an internal character, has few or none of the
drawbacks which not iinfreqnently are believed to attend the use of prac-
tical hooka of the great branch of the Western Church.

A very pretty pocket edition of * Herbert's Poems
has been printed by Mr. Waahbouxne,

,nd Country Parson,'

There is a considerable range of fancy and reading in Mr. T. H. White's
* Marigold Window; or, Pictures of Thought,' (Longman,) but Mn White
wants discipline : his volumes are not, as liis fantasiic title would suggest,
gay with an orderly variety. His is not the Mosaic of a painted window,
but TAther that of a kaleidoscope, — not of a kaleidoscope viewed through
its tube, but only its receptacle, with all its untidy bits of broken glass,
crooked pins, scraps of lace, and chequered beads- Mr. White's mind must
be perlectly chaotic: occasionally he says very bright sparkling things.
But there is no occasion for him always to be thinking: — still less for hiin
to write down all his gleaming fancies : — ^least of all to print tliem all.

Another volume of the ' Annals of the Colonial Church/ by Mr. Ernest
ffawkins, perhaps exceeds its predecessors in interest. Its subject is the
Diocese of Quebec :— audit has some very suggestive illustrations,

* Judith; a Romance,' (Hatchard,) is an unfortnnate idea unsuccess-
fully executed. Because the Rook of Judith is not canonical Scripture,
there is no occasion that it should he turned— not into a Romance, of
which there is nothing,— but into a very tedious story-book.

262

Niiiic€9*

Not that we are prepared to say that tbe Scriptural lives or narratives
cannot be reproduced in other forms. Jeremy Taylor, to take the most
direct iiistancc, is a case in paint: he did not scruple to write the ' Life of
Chost/ Bio^aphiea of the Apostles have been al^uiys the privilege of the
Church* Dr. Biber has, we think, been unusually successful in Ma recent
' Life of S. FhuI,' (Cleaver.) Not only does it contain the narrative of the
Acta, but it weaves up most of the substance of the Epistles ; and ind-
dentally, of course, the history of all the Apostolic Churches. The parallel
only suggestH what least fits the subject, an unpleasant association, but tbe
history is elucidated from tbe Epistles, something on the pliin of Middle-
ton*s ' Life of Cicero/ Tlie result is an instructive volume. The acbeme
leads Dr. Biber, incidentally, through much doctrine, which must, from the
nature of the case, be represented in a book of this sort under a single
definite phase. Here the writer will not expect his readers to accompany
him implicitly. We do not desire to do so ourselves.

Mr. R» A. Willmott's ' Summer-Time in the Country/ (J, \\\ Parker,) is
suitable to the season. To some mind:*, the hazy, musing, half-dreamy
images which such a Hcriea of quiet thoughts suggests, is almost better
than real holiday-making. It is seldom in this windy, showery climate
that, except in bookSi one —

* Comes into a land
la which it Rcemeth always afternoon ;
Where round the eou^t the languid atr doth swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.'

Perhaps, too, it is better to dream of idling than to idle : idleness never is
to a true heart but in anticipation ; one seldom really sinks down into the
full luscious moss bank shoulder-buried in enjoyment and 'greenery:'
and it ia better to do it in essays and verses than in fact. And Mr.
WUlmott is a pleasant, suggestive writer: he never bunts bis thoughts,
literary, artistic, and poetic, down. He just places them before you, to do
their work. You may follow or not, according to taste : but their mere
presence is pleasant. Mr. Willmott is always graccfulj and often origiual ;
and he displays true criticism. Wc Ukc this book much.

To those who mean to make their holidays a matter of hoUday-task^ —
happily the majority— we can recommend Dr. Harvey's * Sea-side Book,'
(Van Voorst,} for those who are for the sea-board. It is beautifully
illustrated,

' Ornithological Rambles in Sussex/ (Van Voorst,) by Mr. Knox, ia
rather for rustic use. It is a genial, good-tempered book r all the writers
on Natural History seem good-tempered. They have but one drawback
— a merciless delight in enriching ' my collection ' at the expense of their
friends^, furred or feathered. Mr. Knox seems occasionally to shoot for
the sake of shooting. Surely Mr. Waterton's kind practice, by which even
the hawks and owls are all over his estate as tame as chickens, is more
rational. The * Eleron alighting on bis Nest' is a very graphic sketch by
Mr. Knox, who \% equally spirited with pen and pencil ; and one gets

Notices,

TOO

tamiliar with a pair of mvcna, -vt'hose lives and fortunes Mr* Knox delighU
to tell.

Major Trevillian has published an extremely important book, ' A Letter
rm the ADticliristiaii character of Freemanonry, &c.' (Biith : Biuns &'Good'
win.) It bears out and illustrates a recent article in our own pages on
this aubjccL There seema quite a movement in the right direction with
respect to this question.

* Notes on various Distinctive Varieties of the Christian Church. By the
Rev. R. W, Morgan, Perpetual Curate of Tregynon, ^!untgomcry shire/
Scattered thoughts are sometimes an influential form of authorahip, and
we are not surprised at Mr. Morgan trying the experiraent, aa he has done
in this volume. Such a form, however, is not generally very effectual,
except the author has made some previous impression on the public by
nieans of regular composition. The interest of a book of scattered thoughts
lies principally in an appeal to the curiosity of the reading public, who are
anxious to know vhat such a person, previoualy known to themj thinks
and says on auch and auch points. Without this previous iutroduetiQn,
such thoughts rest entirely on their own merit, and ret|tiire the aid of
formal composition to give them weight. With this drawback, we are glad
to acknowledge that we have come across many remarks in this volume
which show a writer of considerable thought and varied reading, and who
has been observant of the signs of the times. It shows, too, sound Church
feelings. Its defects are a want of that pithiness and force winch such a
form of writing ought especially to have. The thoughts, when they are
good, are often weakened by dilTusenesa, and a too copious and cumbrous
style ceases to arrest and fix the reader,

• Cyclops ChristianuB,' — an epigraph which we cannot understand, — Is

♦ an argument to disprove the supposed antiquity of Stonehenge and other

* jnegalithic erections in Kngland and Brittany, By A. Herbert, late of
' Merton College.' (Petheram.) Mr, Herbert is a decided innovator ; yet,
either of purpose, because his theory is intended to connect itself with
ulterior speculations, or from defect of method, he is not very clear in an-
nouncing his own position. It is decidedly opposed to the ordinary * Dra-
eontian' theory of Stonehenge and Amesbury, as well as of Carnac : neither
is he less merciful to the ordinary Druidical, i. c the ante-Roman view.
As far as we can collect Mr. Herbert's own theory, which is very obscurely
announced, it is that at or about the end of the fourth century, af\cr the
Roman power had declined, the erection of Stonehenge was connected with
the renewal of an EngJish independence, with a revival of » modified Pagan-
ism, engrafted upon and adopting some features both of Christiauity and
of the religion of the Norman settlers. In other words, that there was an
occidental type of a depraved Christianity exhibited in these megalithic
structures somewhat akin to the oriental Gnosticism: a point of union
would be the Mithraie rites. It is well known that heathenism did, per-
haps does still, survive in some fiiint way both in Brittany and in the
southern and western parts of our own islands ■ and that in some way or

264

Notictt,

other it was preserved, not iii opposition to, nor in fusion^ but in a strange
parallel witK tlie Cliurcli*s rites and worship. This is a view, and requires
to be met. WtJ need hardly aay Low important it is upon the character of
what we esteem the original British Church before the mission of S. Au-
gustine; Mr. Herbert, we believe, propouuda it without theulogical bins*
to ^1 hich he is, or aflfccts to be, profoundly indifrcrcnt. There is a good
deal of strange learning in the volume, which, whether sound or not, recom-
mends itself to those who are interested in its very curious subject.

' Vogan's Lectures on the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper,' (J. H,
Parker,) have reached us very late in the quarter. Upon ft cursory inspec-
tion they appear to represent the received theology of Wat^rland on this
subject.

Our anticipations that the first number of Masters's Guide t<i Daily
Prayers ' could not be very correct, ^ — as indeed the Etlitors confessed, —
were amply veriiied. The second number, however, vihich has since ap-
peared, has corrected the mistakes, which were very numerous, of the first,
in great measure : though a few errors have still been pointed out to us.
U raises the number of churches with Daily Prayers to ^ about 40(K We
were led, by too iaiplicit a rehancc on the first number, into one or two
errors in our recent article on the subject ; but none, that we are aware of
calling for particular nolire. In some of the counties which we mentioned
ai absolutely without Daily Service, the second edition of the ' Guide' states
that there arc one or two instances. But, as Dr. Johnson said, ' If I go
into an orchard, and say, Here are no apples or pears,^ — and a man, after a
diligent search, says, '• Sir, you are mistaken : I have found one pear and
two apples,"— what does that prove?' In the same article we have to
apoiogizu for a curious typographical error. The paragraph, p. 343, 1, 12,
' Next come Gbucester, .... sixteen,' was a correction for p. 342, L 37,-^
on the preceding page, • Next comes Devon/ &c.

Mr. Oakeley must excuse us. We trust we are prepared to read a palinode
on any proper occasion : but we cannot think that he has established a
claim of that nature upon us in a publiBhed • Letter to the Editor of the
Christian Ileracrabraucer,' &c, (Uurns,) complaining of a passage in our last
number. The statement made by vis was, that, in the communion to which
he now belongs, an utiequnl prominence is given to the sacrilkial, as com*
pared with the sacramental, aspect of the Eucharist. As indications of this,
we adduced the urgency with which frequent ' hearing ' of the rite is en-
joined, and the comparative deficiency of exhortations to actual communion^
referring, in proof of our statement, to a manual of their own upon the sub-
ject. The passage quoted by us was very strong, and went the whole length
of our assertion : Dr. Pusey, in his ' Letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury/
(first edition,) had adduced one equally to the point. And the impression
conveyed by these extracts was fully confirmed by all that we had ever
learnt of the practice of that communion. Mr. Oakeley slurs over the evi-
dence of the books ; but even what he does say, on the other hand, amounts
tn an admission of as much as we had asserted The book quoted by us,

Noiicee*

265

wc «re told, was publislied aoine twenty years ago ; neither are the regrets
expressed by preacliers or teachers, as to the decay of communion, to be
taken an pied de ia htlre. Hut these pleas will hardly meet the case.
The book has been reprinted qtiite lately ; and we know that everything in
that quarter must come forth under sanction ; and Mr. Oakeley himself
speaks of it with commendation. And we contend that, this being the case,
the complexion of the hook may be fairly taken to reflect, with some fidelity^
the mind of the communion from which it emanates. Now so it is, that in
a very thick little duodecimo, no more than one short chapter is devoted to
the consideration of communion ; and even there it is dealt with in the * fal-
termg ' manner which we exemplified. We have examined other manuals
of theirs with the same re«uU. This fact speaknj much in confirmation of
what we said. We are told of a particular manual which has of late been
specially recommended by their authorities, and which certainly ia free
from the defect in question; but as wo cannot be supposed to know, as
soon as it takes place, of every sudden improvement \vhich other commu-
nions may make under an awakened sense of duty, we can but speak from
our knowledge of such of their own uncontradicted teaching as falls in our
way. So, again, Mr. Oakeley brings a great array of e^'idence from various
coimtriea, for the existence of activity in the Roman Church in bringing its
member.^ to communion at the present day. We, on the other hand, could
allege counter evidence, collected partly before and partly auice, and apply-
ing to parts of the self-same countries. Such an utter desolation of com-
municating Christians in those parts, as is testified to by persons on whom
we can place the fullest reliance, only too sadly proves our point. The truth
is, firstly j — ^and it would have placed Mr. Oakeley in a much better contro-
versial position to have owned it, — that the constitution of the Roman rite
fuis a tendency, unless great diligence be used to counterwork it, to induce
the practice o'i non-cammunicafmg attendance upon it. Witness the demand
of the Dcvonahire iusurgeuts at the time of the Reformation : ' They wiU
have mass celebrated a» ii has been formerly ^ wlihoul atiy persons comfmmicatinif
with the priett^ because, as the office is now managed, the mysteries are
treated without due regard/ (CoUier, vol. v. p. 315.) And the truth is,
secondly, that a reviml has taken place in that communion as well as in our
own: but that is all. It ia tacitly admitted by Mr, Oakeley himself, that
twenty years ago the stale of things we speak of was nniversaL He has
only proved, and we rejoice to learn it, that it is universal no longer : but
it is too much that he should take a tone, as if he had shown that it never
did, nor could, by any possibility, exist at all. Mr. Oakeley would have done
better by his adopted communion, if he had immediately admitted and
deplored what cannot be denied. As to the necessity of yearly communion
for remaining within the Church, wc know it is their theory, but we also
know, and so does Mr. Oakeley, that it is not insisted on in practice.

Two or three important works which we have lately received require
further consideration :—' Wales/ (J. W. Parker,) by Sir Thomas PhiHips,
an extremely valuable volume on the Education Question. — * Corpus
Ignatianum,' (Rivingtons,) by Mr. Curetou, a complete recension of all that
he has to say on this subject. — * The Church of our Fathers,' (Dolman,)

NO. LXY.— N.9. T

266 iVo^tV^.

by Dr. Rock. This last we shall perhaps reserve till the third au4 com-
pleting Yohime appears.

Among single Sermons, we have to acknowledges ' Penitents and Saints,'
the second edition, witib a preface — Ardideacon Manning's well-known seSs
mon preached for the Magdalen Hospital. (Pickering.) ' Modem FhOo-
sophical Infidelitj," &c., an University Sermon, preached by Mr. Gaibett,
(Hatchard,) containing some usefhl matter, disfignred by Ae anther's gro-
tesque style and parade of technological terms. ' On the Inspiration of Holy
Bcriptore, Ire.,' also an Uniyersity Sermon, by Mr. Harris, of Magdalen
Cmiege, exhibiting much serious thought, and an accnrate reflection of
Bntlei^ method and spirit. <The Sacredness of lifiB, and the Doom of
Murder,' by Dean Lowe, (Wallis,) a forcible reclamation against the nn«
christian sentimentalism afloat on this subject. * The B^uty of Holi*
ness,' by Bishop Doane, (Atkinson, Burlington,) the sul^ect justifying its
ornate style. A Sermon by the Bishop of Exeter for the Plymouth Fund»
(Croydon, Torquay,) vigorous and practical. * Charity under Persecution,'
a Sermon on behalf of the Devonport Sisters of Mercy, by Mr. Martin, of
S. Martin's, Liverpool, (Masters,) very afifectionate and stirring.

TflE

CHRISTIAN EEMEMBRANCER.

OCTOBER, 1849,

Art. I. — The Works of Qtthitus Horatlus Fiaccus: illtfst rated
chkftu from the remains of ancient j^rt. With a Life. Btf the
EeV.^ H. H. Milman. * Murray. 1849.

It may be a blblionianiacal prejudice, but we are inclined to
doubt wbetber, so far fis mere printing goes, the classics may
not be read more plcasurably hi the editions of the ln«t century
than in any that have succeeded them. It is possible that the
rejjroach which this feeling dictates may attach to foreigners
rather than to our own countryoien, and that the fact may bo
merely that the Germans, of whose labours we most naturally
think when speaking of modern classical philology, arc almost
without an exception insensible to the charms of good paper and
elegant typography. Still, while we thankfully acknowledge that
English workmen arc in this respect far superior, and recall with
satisfaction editions like those of Messrs. Harding & Co., twenty
years ago, and Mr. Pickering's of a later date, our instinct is never-
theless to look yet further buck ward. Mr. Murray, in the book
now before us, has made a bold attempt to vindicate the honour
of his century ; but his success does not strike us as complete. It
is a very beautifid work, but the type is hardly equal to that with
which Horace has before now been embellished in more than
one instance. We do not liappcn to have Pine within call, nor
yet the immaculate edition of Foulis; but we can safely speak
for Bnskerville, and also for Bensley, who was Gilbert Wake-
field's printer. There is, indeed, much for Mr. Murray to full
back upon, even if it be allowed that Messrs. Vizetell/s fount
16 inferior to the silver type of the old Birmingham press. In
the combined force of its attractions, his book is, so far as we
know, unique. There are vignettes without number, gems, and
hmdscapes, and groups of figures, quite a Horatian gallery j and
each page stands in a graceful iVamework, varied with consider-
able skill, though perhaps the cflcct of the whole is not quite
distinctively classical, and reminds us too much of mediaeval
illuminations, and other developments hardly congenial to the
spirit of Augustan Rome.

KO. LXVI.— N.S. U

MilmaiCs Horace.

But whether the tatite of the present period in externals be

rctro*;rade or progressive, in the more substantial requirements
of ebfiisical c(lit*a*sliip we have decklctllj advanced^ as this
edition shows. In tlie hi^t century it wouhl have been difficult
to secure such eervices as Mr. jMihimn's, which t^hould attract
the Engliiih reader by embodying critical learning in the forms
of elegant literature. Had lonson a hundred-and-twenty
or thirty years ago resolved to delight the world with a model
HcvracCj and enn>loycd Addison to write t!ic life, whatever
might have been the impression made at the time, it would
scarcely now be a book quoted and appealed to. Something
must be allowed for the disadvantngc nndcr which even the

Eurest specimen of eighteenth century English would come
eforc us now. We might abstractedly admit the style to be
equal, or superior to our own, but many of the terms of ex*
prcssion will be such as have now become practically obsolete —
i^erfcctly intelligible indeed, but imsuited to our modern habits
of thought. We should ^^mile, for instance, to see Horace called
the most shining wit of the emperor's coiu't, or^ perhaps, an
exemphir of Koman civility and polite letters, mid might thus
be prevented from doing full ju!?tice to the real excellences of a
memoir where such phrases abounded. But setting aside all
these prepossessions, we may affirm confidently that a life by
Addison would in a'sthetical, and still more in historical, requi-
sites be infinitely behind this of jMn ]\lil man's* The sketch of
previous Roman literature, if given at all, would be superficial
to the last degree ; nor could much more be expected from an
attempt made in Queen Anne's reign to give Horace his proper
rank in poetry, even by the critic who first showed a tendency
to appreciate the * Paradise Lost.* In our days there is, it may
be said without vanity, a larger amount of knowledge, and
truer, wider views; and when we meet with a writer like ^Ir.
Milman, exhibiting a ha])j>y combination of the English and the
classical scholar, we are led to reflect with some complacency on
the improved literary circumstances under which we livcj and
the improved literary atmosphere winch we breathe.

Save, in the nro forma revision of the text, which appears to
be that of Orelli,^ JMr, Milman 's editorial labours are entirely
prcriminary. Besides the life, which extends to five chapters,
he lias given us a tabic of Horatian chronology, and two long

* The pliilologicAl world has i^ustaincd ft great \ctsB in the recent de&th of this
cxcellcEt scholar. To estimate bis meritji ns a critic would be beyond ourproTince.
It is more in point to remark thiit, as we learn from a late number of the Claii^icali
MuaouDi, the very last book with whieh he waa occupied was Horace, a third
edition of which he had almost coinpleieit. The ficeond edition, now before us,
is admirable for ita learning and critical acumen, though rather deficient in natiTo
poetical taste.

Milman*a Horace*

269

lists of notices of the various historical personages and brother
poets Avlioni Horjice happens to mention. He has also, by a
fortunate power of assimilalion, contrived to favour us with a
letter from Mr. Dennis {antlior, a^ many of our readers probably
know, of an elaborate work on the sepulchres of Etruria,) de-
ficribiuf^ lIorace*s villa. Thus, without making himself respon-
sible for anything in the shape of a critical commentary, he has
accumulated a large amount of information, temling to illustrate
the personal and poetical character of Horace, — his position in
relation to his own time, and to Roman litemture in gencrah
and so to commend him to the perusal of the reader, not aa a
stranger, but as one wliosc life and oirciunstaiices are already
known and understood, We should have been grateful if he
had added a few notes^ such as would have come very appro-
priately from him- — notesj which, taking for granted the results
of philological investigation, would decide the meaning of doubt-
ful passages by considerations of tnste and poetical feeling,
precisely of that class which we seek in vain from ordinary
commentators, but which an flccomplished student might easily
furnish. What he has done already is quite conclusive as to his
perfect ability to have done more. He displays, we think, great:
jutlgnient in the manner in which he deals with the vexed
question of Horatian dates. We do not pretend to go into the
controversy, or to arbitrate in any way except on grounds which
would apply to any collection of poems, no less than to the
Odes, Satires, and Epistles: but we cannot doubt that hia
instinct (backed, as it apparently has been, by a careful inde-
pendent inquiry,) has guided him right. Bcntlcy, as might
have been expected from a man who, though a giant in classical
scholarship, ie not known to have written more than one copy
of English verses in his lifCj drew out a scheme, which, correct
as it seems to be in the main, is far too simple and unbending ;
and the consent of subsequent editors, till a very late period,
has been generally in his favour, Tate's *Horatius Restitutus,'
for instance, is a restoration on strictly Bentloian principles. On
the continent, however, an attack on his theory has for some
little time been going on, and various exceptions have been
satisfactorily estabhsbcd by a diligent comparison of passage
with passage. Mr. Wilman sees without any ilifficulty that the
publication of a collection of poems does not show that all
the pieces contained were written at the same date, nor that the
author may not have had by bira at the time some production
of a different nature, reserving it for a later volume. He sees,
too, what an antiquarian ouglit to have seen, that in those days
the private circulation of works was much more frequent even
than now, and that Horace may have been known as a poet of
name in more branches than one, before Ug <i^<iT -sciVi^wT^i^ \r*

u 2

270

Milmaas Hm*ace-

piiblbli at all. Of course it is not meant to assert tbat a sepa-
rate (late can be assigned to every ode, though that has been
niairitaiiietl by the all-encouutering hardihood of the Germans — -
* Ego vero tunc Ronu\J non fui/ is Orelirs shrewd and 8arcastic
remark on tlie subject of one of these disputes. Differences of
style and tone may furnish good reasons for believing one part of
a poet's writings to belong to a later stage in bis mcutal growth
than unother; but these, belonging as they do to questions of
general interest, will mostly be at once discernible by an in-
structed comprclicnsion, not merely dependent on the individual
subtlety, however valuable in itscUj of a professional critic
Supposed allusions to historical events, thougli eeemiiigly more
definite, are really much less amenable to broad prineiples of
judgment J and except in certain tangible casee, more likely to
be due to perverted ingenuity-

And now, jjrcsuming that Mr. ^lilmau, like a loyal editor,
would widh (he main interest of the reader to be centred in his
autlior, not in himself, we shall make no apology for speaking
exclusively of Horace — of Horace as the representative of a
note-worthy period, both of literature and of society. It is a
•picture which has often been drawn with various success; but
perhaps there may be something in the disposition of the lights
and shadows, as it appears to us, which is not included in the
view ordiniu-ily presented, and lor which it may therefore be
worth while to nm the rii?k of a little sameness in the general
outline. The Augustan age certainly ia one which, without
tliere being any difference about the facts, will be estimated
differently by different minds; and each year, independently of
the direct iatlucnce it may exert on the question by means of
historical re^icarch, is sure to affLct its bearings indirectly, as
adding to the data out of which intellectual developments and
social plienomena are to be judged.

The literature of Home, more particularly Its poetry, at the
time that Horace appcaretl, wajs undeniably cxhil)iting strong
signs of vigorous life. It had been already conquered by Greece
gome time before : the expulsion of the Saturnian measure, of
which Horace speaks as such a step in civilization, really
amounted to the banishment of the one metre which was of
native Latin growth ; and though the hexameter had the right
of the stronger on its side, its triun^ph is no more to be imputed
to the Latin language than the victories of the Norman kings
— a point which Mr. Macanlay has just been putting with so
much force— to the national glories of England. But the
parallel with our own conquest holds so far that the native life
of the conquered was but overlaid, not crushed, by the con-
queror. Specimens might be quoted from Knnius, even without
going beyond the two or three lines which Mr. Milman happens

Milmans Horace.

S71

to cite in one of bis foot*notesj to show tlmt the Ijatin tongue
Wfi5 failiiooing itself to poetical expressions which might have
established themselves as original and independent. When we
get to Lncretlu8 and Ctttullus, the possibility of Roman poetry
seems to have been proved beyond a doubt. The poem of the
former especially well deserves more systematic consideration
than it has yet received, or than we can now iiftbrd to bc&tow
on it. We suspect Mr. Mihnan is right in intimating that it w»3
the finest burst of didactic poetry that the world jiad as yet heard
— far beyond anything which had been iiroduced in that strain
by the Greeks. In ita main object it is indeed a failure, not so
much from the unjwetical nature of its philosophy, as though,
doubtless, it ia by no means the most capable of all schemes of
doctrine to be exhibited in verge, jmctry has overcome greater
difficulties in its day — but rather irom the poet's want of art,
hindering him from grasping together the ideas which he appre-
hended separately, and forcing liim at last to leave a composition
where the two element-*, the poetical and the doctrinal, eeparate
and fall asunder the instant they arc touclicd. But tlie attem[)t
Avas a hirge one, especially for a man whose life was not ^ ery
long protracted, and who seems to have lived in some way under
a cioiid : defective as was its execution, it was conceived and
carried out on a great scale. Nor has any one since wholly
succeeded where he failed, and effected a thorough conjunction,
without trace of heterogeneousuess, between poetry and didactic
philosophy. It is not enough to reason in verse, even in excel-
lent and genuine verse ; the reasoning itself must be such as
belongs to verse, and to verse alone — the logic of the imagina-
tion. Conclusions must be brought before the mind, not by the
tangible cliain of dialectical syllogisms, but by the impalpable,
yet no less appreciable connexion of poetical images. Where
Lucretius ha^ turned both eyes on poetrj^, instead of endeavour-
ing with a double vision to take in two objects, he sees more
than was ever seen by most Roman poets, and many of other
nations. The passage on the physical decay of t!ie world at the
end of his second book, has a solemn and overwheliniug gran-
deur, which affects us more than anything that we recollect in
Latin verse. The majesty of Nature rising up to rebuke her
creature for his puny and querulous dread of death, described
in the third book, is even more than poetical ; it is, pro tanto^
an exception to the general failure of the attempt, and gives
the poetry of Epicurean doctrine as truly as man can ever hope
to give it. In the copiousness of his phraseology too he affords
us a better notion than any one since his time of what the
resources of the Latin language ap])earcd to promise. A careful
examination of his style will detect a great deal of slovenliness
and inartificiality, as in all works written befoY'a \\v^ ^^^^ "^^

272

Milman^s Hcraet*

taste has been tliorouglily formed ; but it will discover no less a
surprising imniber of pbraees and terms of diction, most of
them of high oicrity hazarded apparently by him, and only lost
to Moman poetry by the timidity of those who succeeded hiin,
Catullus, who cannot be more than mentioned here, was a poet
of the same stainp^by the fault of his time deficient in art, as
the most cursory inspection of his longest %vork, the Epiiha-
lanium of Peleus and Thetis, at once shows — by hia own
genius a writer rarely surpassed for strength and sweetness, as
the fourteen lines on Slrmio alonCi received and worked out by
a kindred nature, would be sufficient to prove.

Unfortunately, however, Greece was not content with a
single conquest, once for all. It was not enough to have esta-
blished a supremacy over Latin literature, which miglit then
have been allowed to develop under its ffhade into a gradual
independence — to have given a primary form which the reci-
pient might have been trusted to fill up troin his own resources.
There was at hand a second invasion, by which Koman tliought,
ju9t recovering from its prostration, was to Ijc overthrown
afresh, and reduced almost completely to bondage. Already.,
in the boasted works of Cicero, in and through whom^ to
quote the highest authority on Roman history, the literature of
Home attained its perfection, it must have been plainly dis-
cernible that the matter was in danger of being sacrificed to
the form. Character is, doubtless, very closely connected with
genius; and a man whose morale is not in some sense inde-
pendent and 4^ elf* sufficing, is nf>t likely to show a very sub-
stantive intellect, Cicero's deficiencies, as a man, are well
known ; and thus we should be prepared to presume that, as
a writer, be would let the external preponderate over the
internal. But, in the period which followed, even a degree
of indei)eiHlence like Cicero's was a thing to be coveted. Con-
eequently, we may expect to find an increasing tendency to
make style and manner everything. Literature had arrived at
a crisis which, in any case, is sure to be peculiarly perilous.
Men were becoming every day more sensible of the require-
ments of taste; more impatient of tlie rusticity and inelegance
of what had pleased them a few years before. Ennius had
spoken with contempt of Kitnius, as of one who Jiad lived
before poetry existed at all. He was now to be relegated
himself by public oi)inion t<j the same Ijarbarous age. Nothing
as yet produced in Konse had been composed with a suflicicnt
knowledge of the rules of art. A model was wanted; aiul
tu whom coidd they go more profitably than to their old
musters, the Greeks? Greek literature was not exactly living
then, being, in fact, in a state of extreme decrepitude ; but it
had enjoyed such a life as no phenomenon of the kind had ever

Milmaiii Hora6$».

273

equalled. The great authors of Greece were in every one's
liancld ; they were the real sovereigns of the Eomaii mlndj as
surely as the phj'sical energies of the nation hntl given way
before Rome. The gods had not bestowed every thing on
Rome ; she had no real poetry of her own j tlierefore, slie must
borrow. There was much in the nature of things to recom-
mend such a notion. No one will say that the liomans were
Ci^sentinlly a poetical people, or that there w^erc not elements in
their national character, their aptitude for law and empire,
whieli are as uncongenial to poetry as to ?pecohitivc philosophy.
But the stern senatorial dignity of Iloman nature had that in
it^ which might have expressed itself in solemn ^Esehyleiin
music, as Lucretius had practically shown; and the question
should have occurred, whether a literature borrowed from
another people was, indeed, a literature worth having. Aiter
the battle of Aetium, howeverj tliese eousiderationa were not
likely to suggest themselves. The austere gravity of tho
Roman citizen had, in the person of Cicero, the pattern pnblic-
)i)an of the time immediately preceding, so far as externals went,
become a kind of peace-loving pompouisness, hardly sacred from
riclicule, thougli not reaching to the comic conception of
a modern civic functionary^ and, at any ratc> no living source of
inspiration or enthusiasm. The great men of the day were
cjttra-national ; foraiing no class which could be said to repre-
sent Koman interests, Init animated by personal hopes and
a spirit of personal ambition. On the other haudj there was
a decided appetite for literature^ and plenty of workmen, some
of them men of extraordinary artistic ability, prepared to
supply the want by studies after the Greek. Cicnerally speaking,
tliere was no lack of judgment exhibited in these copies; but
in one remarkable instance they showx^d themselves ignorant of
the analogy whicli is the iirst law of imitation. They regarded
epic poetry, not as the wild, luxuriant growth of an eai*Jy age,
but as a plant which could be reared in any atmosphere by
ordinary pains. A narrative poem with similes and episodes,
and a heroic action extending over a given number of books,
twelve, or four-and-twenty, was to all intents and purposes
the representative of the Homeric rhapsodies. Wliat bitter
Barcasm there is, wlietlicr intended or no, in Niebuhrs state-
ment, that Virgil admitted a few archaic forms into his ^TCneid,
ineontbnnity with a rule resjiecting epic poetry, wliich bad been
laid down by the Alexandrian grammarians! Home needed an
epic, ibr the older poems had gone out of fashion; and Virgil
was asked liy Augustus to supiVly it. It was to be on a great
national subject; no mere common history of two or three
hundred years back; but one as old as the very oldci^t origin of
the Latin race. The poet had abundant grace and tendiii:v\<i:yi.

274

MilniatCs Hi^aee,

and a certain majeaty, besitles an inimitable style ; but the
whole feelini^ was modern. Those wlio used to maintain that
iEneaa wa;a intended to prefigure Aufrngtus Avere unconsciously
maintaining a truth. It i» an xVugustan poem, — a splendid glori-
fication of Augnstan Rome, — incidents, image?, characters, all of
the Angustan stamp, slightly transformed, in tjrder to look
atitique* — hut with no trace of the heroic life and manners.
But the Romana thought it a genuine epic ; and it has been
a common-place with critics ever since, whether the -^neid or
the Iliad be superior.

It wa« among this band of poetical regenerators that Horace
came forward. He was every way qualified by temperament
and bent of genius, to take rank as an Angiistan poet In
versatility of mental experience he eeemed to have the ad-
vantage over some others of the class. He began life as
a republican, among the last school of political enthusiasts which
Home saw ; and in his later years he frei|uently recurred to the
recollection, and described, though with an apology for meddling
with such serious eulyects, how, when all else on earth had
been conquered, the fierce soul of Cato alone remained untimied.
But he had no mind to seek a Konian deaths eitlicr in tlic field,
or by his own sword ; and he lived to think better of hia
youthful heat* and to find that he could live and please his
readers veiy well though the republic was gone lieyond recall.
Educated in the best style, first at Rome, and then at Athens,
he early foniied his literary taste, and was even ambitious to
be distinguished as a Greek poet, when his better genius wisely
counselled him not to bring poetry into a language where none
Avos wantedj^advice which a supernatural informant might
have taught him to apply to imitations from the Greek as well
as to Greek originals. His fiist attempts, however, were in
a department almost purely Roman — that of satire* From
very early times it had existed in Italy ; firsts in a rough
dramatic form, analogous to that of Greece, afterwards in a
tiliape of its own, not scenic, nor yet lyrical, like tlic satire of
Archilochus, but entirely devoid of the external marks of
poetry, save the metre. No denationalizing chunge had p:issed
over it, if we except the introduction of the hexameter. One
great master of it at least had nhcady appeared ; Lucilius, an
anthor whose w^orks were read as clai^sical at the time when
Horace wrote. Many years after t!ie Augustan period, it still
flourished in full vigour, increasing rather than waxing feeble
as the rest of Roman poetry and the remains of Roman
character fell into corruption, and, like history in prose litera-
ture, roused into more vital intensity by the utter badness of
everything around it. It was the most real intellectual birth
that the nation produccO, generated by the old eternness of

Milmaua lit/race.

275

dispofiitlun and unideat legislative temper; wtkI, so long as a
trace of those cliaraeteristits remained, it was likely to induce
a stroncrer and more velieincnt protest the more spreading the
evil to be protested against. In Horace's time, and in Horace's
hands, it had no such temptation to indecorous el siuiour. Liberty
went out, not with a violent exph>sion, hut in a gentle exhala-
tion, almost imperceptibly ; Oetiivius seemed so like a heneliecnt
person, destined to restore order and tranquillitv, and to put
down that long-continued b trite of factions which had been
proved to be tlie banc of rational frceduni. Everyttiing would
isoon come right in the political world; and ail that a satirist
could do was to testify against a few moral and social delin-
quencies, such as the extremely illiberal passion of avarice, or
perhaps an immoderate and vulgar indulgence in sensual
plcastu'C, in neither case as absolutely wrung, but as interfering
M'ith the amenities of life, while at the same time no favour was
to be shown to the Stoici«, or any people who dared to he over-
etrict. Some mock-moralist is reported to have remarked that
it 18 exceedingly diflicidt to strike the golden mean between
vice and virtue; and this difficulty is exactly what Horace
surmounted himself by his own happy constitution, and wished
to make others do so too. He disliked violence of any kind,
■whether in the pursuit of good or of evil, as offending against
the rule which he wanted to have regarded as the rule of t'oeiety,
the rule of toleration. Fortune had not cast liia birth among
the nobility; but it did not prejudice his innate social qualities;
he did not mind the accident ; indeed, he turned it to good
account, and while he speaks with that gratitude and warmth of
his fathers maguauimity in resolving, in spite of his circum-
stances, to give his son as complete an education as the best, he
feels that to have escaped the vioraiie aristocrattipte is a blessing,
and that the true thing is to live among the great without
being troubled with greatness one's self. His perception of the
outward appearances of life was consummately keen, and sharp-
ened by ilaity practice ; all beyond was a territory which he
neither knew, nor cared to know — a region of abniirmal mon-
strosities, of exaggerated feelings and useless questionings. In
coming before the world as a censor, he touched on literary as
well as on moral topics, and lost no time in proclaiming himself
a decided champion of progress. There seems to have been
a tendency at the time to over-estimate the old writers, and
to despair of getting bejond them, tliough we do not hear that
it enlisted much intellectual activity on its side. Horace at
once opposed it, beginning with an attack on the writer who
in the very province of satire wa^ supposed to have precluded
all further improvement, Lucdius, and replying to the clamour

276

Mtlmau^s Horace.

which he thus excited by a second note of spirited defiance.
With this, his first collected publication seems to have con-
chuled; wtico he next [Rjts forth a series* of satires he is seen
as the establislicd favourite of the public, not requiring to make
any bold strokes for their applause, but licensed to disport him-
eelf as he thinks fit, and take for granted that they will feci
interested in his pen^onul humours and fancies. lie next
appeared, if our chronology be correct, with a lokinie of'epodes,
a species of composition half-way between satire and ode.
These were after the Greek, heiu"^ in imitation of Archilochus,
and may be regarded as Horace^s first conti'ibutiun to the
literature of the new echooh Some of them at least look as if
they had been composed e^u'lier than some of the satires, as the
Epicureanism is scarcely eo ripe, and the tone, whether in
laughter or in rebuke, rather louder, though the change of form
inay perhaps have given tlie a[>[)eanuice of a change of spirit-
'Even in the most satirical of tliem there is something dithy-
rand)ic; even in tiiose which rise most nearly to a high lyrical
strain there is a dash of bitterness. However, they paved the
w^ay for his presenting himself before tlie public as a purely
lyric writer. lie produced two books of odes, and afterwards
a third, consisting chiefly of addresses to gods and goddesses,
great men, (who nre made rather more prominent than the
immoi'tals,) and male and female friends, Pindar and Anacreon
appear to iiave been the two extreme points on which he fixed
his eyes, Sappho and Alcajus lying between. From these last
he took some of his metres, following the Grreek form, ai
Niebuhr remarks, much more closely than had been tlie custom
in the generation just before. To the full height of Pindar he
did not venture to a^^pire. But he evidently thought himself,
or wished to be thought, a Koman Pindar. Between the
rcid enthusiasm with which the Theban bard deifies his heroes,
and the mock enthusiasm with which Horace deifies Augustus,
there is, indeed, a step. Still, Horace had a certain belief in
that great personage — the belief of a quiet, easy-going citizen
in the restorer of order, reinforced by that of a literary man in
his patron ; and he trusted to poetical art to do the rest, W^e
read them as they are^admire the consummate skill of the poet,
but pity him for his not having had a better subject. Yet it is
by no means clear whether he would not have felt the inspi-
ration of a more exalted name a burden to him. * Mature
formed the poet for the king :' and ju-obably as mucli fervonr
was called out as his composition was capable of. The ode
in which, after first endeavouring to stop a friend's grief for the
loss of a favourite boy by an ap]»eal to the greater moderation
observed by the convulsions of the physical worldj he ends with

Milmaiii Horace*

277

recommending him by way of diversion to sing the praises
of CiBsar, whatever eke it proves, (and it might be taken as
11 text fur proving a good deal,) m an argument, at any rate,
that hifl faith in tlie man on the throne must have been
coosiderable, at least for biui. But he was not quite eatisfictl
ihat his vocation was to celebrate great men and great deeds.
He rarely gives a specimen of Pindaric song without begging
jjai'don for having forgotten himself, and confe:*sing that lil:i
province after all is, what he significantly calls 'joci/ a term
nearly panilh 1 to 8. PauFis evrpaweXia. It is as tlic Roman
Anacrcon that he is in his element. Then his exquisite grace
and playfulness come out, and we fuel that the man ia
thoroughly equal to liis3 subject. As he advances in years, he
Muctnutes more and more. He seems half to wish to withdraw
his diselaimer, apparently being conscious that the happiest
occasional pieces on love and friendsljip would fortn but a
slender basis for his permanent reputation as tkt^ lyric bard of
liOine* At the be^rinmng of the third book he sets forth ode
after ode, each of them attempting soniethmg of the moral
sublime. Later still, in putting out a fourth iMXik, he dwells
more exclusively on his dignity as a poet, and his power over
posterity. To be ihe Homer of Caesar's battles is on the whole
felt to be beyond hit? hopes ; but he gradually draws to the
conviction that he may yet be remembered in connexion with
the peaceful glories of the Augustan period. A short time
before, he had returned to his old manner, and published a col-
lection of epistles, the satires of mature life. He now added
a second series, containing only three> but those of much greater
length, and mainly on literary subjects. He makes a final
protest against the old school of poets, sketches a sort of
Biographia Literaria of his own poetical life, past and present,
and lastly, embodies the rules and traditions of his art, all the
precepts which a long experience had enabled him to leave
to the world, in a didactic treatise in verse. He was not only
to revive at liome the spirit of Aleieus, Anacreon, and the
Greek comedy, but to appear at last as the Roman Aristotle
wepl IXoiTjTiKtjf;. This was his last character ; and it was natural
that the curtain should fall among thunders of applause.

Such a career would doubtless lead us to expect great in-
cidental succesg ; but it is scarcely prohable that a man so
ch*cumstanced should have realized his main object. \Vc see
a most skilful artist availing himself of liis consummate felicity
of touch to a1 tempt works of diOerent and almost opposite
characters, half eunseiously with tiie intention of taking more
than one t^hare in furnishing a gallery of lioman literature. Of
course, he would be the idol of his contemporaries ; teeling how

278

Miimaun Hvrace,

completely he was one of themselves, they would acknowledge
in liis varied powers the versatility of their own national clia-
ractcr, and rejoice to observe what perceptihle progress tlie Latin
mind was capable of making. It wae, indeed, a stooping to
conquer. Kojne hail coudej^cended to learn from Greece, and
Avas amply rewarded by the sudden impulse given to its mental
dcvelopnieut in almost every branch, and the posj^ession of those
provinces of intellect and imagination which it seemed in
a moment to have made its own. But an impartial observer
will estimate tlie marvel eomcvvhat diftercntly. Guided by
a view of the literary interests, not of this or that people,
but of mankind at large, he wilt set no great value on the
facility with which a national literature can he run up in
& single generation by persons content faithfully to follow
the best foreign models, except so far as any characteristic
genius may be incidentally maniicsted in the process. He will
not acknowledge the right of a Koman to produce a copy,
however artfully adapted, of Pindur or Anacreoii, merely
because there hapjtcned to be at liome a demand for lyric
poetry. A certain 8tej> has been made by the masters of former
times; but it will not help the advance of literature simply to
have that step gone over again, however truly the pleasure
arising from the first exhibition may be repeated in the second.
It may be made with a tiiffercnce; and then the difference
alone will be set down as a gain, and the rest ignored. l\''ith
these principles he will approach the examination of a work
like the odes of Horace. He will find undeniable Roman
oHusions, illustrations, adaptations. But the qucetion w^ith him
will be, Is the whole w^ritten in a Roman spirit? If not, the
lyric spirit disjilayed will be restored to the fountain, whatever
that be, from which it wa^ dcrivetl, and only the Koman externals
credited to Horace, as proofs of more or less art. And tliis
last lie will probably find to be his duty. It will ajipear that
there wan something in the old lloman character that might
have overflowed in lyric poetry of a certain kind ; it will
be equally evident that no such element is to be found in
Horace, A Greek, brought up from his childhood in Koine,
and able to wield the Latin language completely, might have
written almost anything in the odes, so far as national indi-
viduality is concerned. Such a criticism would of course
ajiply mainly to the greater odes. The 'songs of love and
wine' Home was still capable of protlueing, though Grecized,
perhaps all the more for having been Grccized, They are the
genuine growth of the poetical life of the Augustan era, as
epics and dithyrarabics are the eimrious. Still, after the case
has been decided against Horace's title to be considered a great

Milmaiis Horace,

279

Romnn lyrist, it is possible to leave him a large proportion
of the praise with which men have a^j^reed to honour hini.
There ia that iinsurpaisscd style of which he and the other
Augustan poets were such masters; not, indeed^ the style
which Komati poetg might have attained, had they been
able to walk in the footsteps of Lucretius and Catullus, but
admirable as far as it reached, in performance nuich beyond
anything; previous in Latin, posgibly, even in Greek, antl
[jowerful in its influence on literary composition many centuries
afterwards. Coleridge was inclined to trace what lie regarded
as the depravation of English poetical style to the practice
of writing Latin verses in schools. It cannot be doubted, that
our poetry from the Restoration to the beginning of the
present century was very materially affected by Ovid, Virgil
and Horace, either in themselves, or through the instru-
mentality of their French imitators. And there arc other
beauties, which though going ileeper than the mere phraseology
of a passage, are yet to be reckoned among the externals or
accidents of poetry, being not thoughts, but metlia through
which thought is conveyed, though thcTn^elvea frequently sug-
gesting thoughts of their own, which give them a substantive
value as isolated pieces of writing. liorace may lay claim to
many of tlicse, even in thoi?e odes which most fail of accom-
plishing their real purpose ; and the existence of ihem tells
80 far in favour of Koman poetry, showing that there were
fiubordinate spheres in whicli, even in tlic atmosphere of
Augustan influences, it was tending to genuine excellence. We
will mention only the increasing appreciation of the picturesque
in natural objects. The reader of Humboldt's Cosmos will
have followed with great interest the sketch there drawn of the
manner in which this innate feeling has developed itself with
more or less pronnnence in the literature of the several nations
of ancient and modern times. The comparatively small space
which it occupies among the expressed sentiments of classical
antiquity has often been observed, and is, doubtless, to be
accounted for by tlie causes ordinarily alleged, the absence
of a reflective habit of mind, and the like. AVe shall under-
stand it better by looking to the siuiple question of the division
of mental labour. In early times the various provinces of
thought were not likely to be clearly mapped out. The
physicid philosopher and the poet were continually trespass-
ing on each other's ground. The former was not free from

the idols
province
nides
to

of tl

miagmation-

the latter thouijht it was his

were
himself
aires

reruui cognosccrc causas.' Xenophanes and Parme-

sion which Virgil proposes
itions, would in

ibj

aspin

later ages have been left undisputed to Newton and Gaasewlv

te0

Milniatis Horace.

Tbe very nnmcs of the Muses find their respective offices
show liow completely at first all things were in common* It
is only since the full reception of the Baconian method that
a lo\e of nature, like Words worth's, has been possible. Hum-
boldt will not dlow tlmt the Romans were so appreciative
as the Greeks, but to us they acem to have been a stage
nearer to the modern point of view. They were, indeed,
sufficiently removed from anything like an admiration of
romantic scenery. Tiie Alps, ns he remarks, appear to have
suggested no other sensations than those of pure diecomfort.
But we think there is a greater sense of the quieter beauties of
nature t^hown by the Romans than can be paralleled from
the poetry of Greece, except, perhaps, in Theocritus. Tbe
Greeks were, doubtless, more naturally alive to tbe charms
of their country j but as Roman civilization advanced, scenery
seems to have been contemplated more definitely as a separate
and distinct source of pleasure. It is at Rome that we first
see gardening becoming au art. And if this be admitted to
be in any way characteristic of Latin literature, no Latin
poetry can be named possessing it in a greater degree than
J Horace's odes. We hardly open a page without finding some-
tliing about the headlong Anio, and the orchai'ds watered
by ductile streams, or tbe gtjats wandering through the shel-
tered wood in search of arbutes and thyme. He has few direct
attempts at regular picture drawing; but he is fond of noting
some feature of the landscape, as that on which Jiis eye
happens to rest.

It is possible, however, by regarding a poet'e works as a con-
tinuous process of self*revelation, to extract interest even from
the \QYy points in which we consider bini to have failed, sup-
posing of course his failure to be in itself a matter of any im-
poi*tancc. The curtain is the painting ; and a very good paint-
ing it may be, if we make up our minds to expect nothing roore.
As an Augustan writer, the poet of society, striving to express
himself in Orphic song, Horace is worth studying in his Odes,
no less than in his Satires. But this is only saying that his
moral and didactic poems are the real groundwork of the in-
terest that is felt in him, as being the genuine issues of his
mind, and thus supplying a point from which his other writings
are to be judged. Those who delight in the Satires and Epi-
stles, will he glad to turn to the Odes, and see how that worldly
wisdom, that courtly adroitness, that easy fluency, stood the
author in stead, when he strove to prove that Rome might have
her lyric poetry no less than Greece, It shows no great appre-
ciation of tbe mission of a poet — a vates, who sees the future
by the light of imagination — to address an ode to a states-
man, in the most majestic passage of which he id told not to

3Iiiinan^8 Horace.

281

be anxious about anything beyond the present hour; for that
all the rest is hoiTied away like a stream which none can check
or measure. But we miiy admire tlie description of the river,
now flowing cuhnly on to the Etruscan eea, now rolling along
fragments of corroded Btone, and trees, and cattle, and cottages,
while mountain and forest re-echo to its roar; and we may
moreover be pleased with the pliilosophy as characteristic,
without defending it as highly poetical. Thus we are sent back
to the more prosaic works of Horace as the true foundation of
bis fame. They are the objects on which, after our school days,
men most often dwell, whenever they think of him at all Nor
can there be much doubt that they entitle him to something
very like the credit of an inventor. Lucilius had discarded the
lyric and dramatic acconipaninients of tlie old comedy, * mutatis
numevis pedihusque f but his prosaic simplicity may have been
due to the rudeness of his age, rather than to any principle of
writing, consciously and definitely embraced by him. But
works like the Satires and Epistles of Horace may fairly be
regarded as forming an epoch in the history of poetry. In thera
we first plainly see the question raised, w bether the language
of poetry be not the hmguagc of common life? Certain subjects
come before the mind, as those which are felt to be most real
nnd vital at the time, and they plead to be admitted into
poetry: the heroic age may have been thoroughly poetical, but
it is no longer a living thing ; even those who draw their trage-
dies out of it, are compelled to breathe into their characters
their own spirit and that of their age. May not we take any
phase of society as such, so long as it be our own, and get our
poetry thence? If this be conceded, tlie monopoly of poetical
diction has not long to live; for every-clay subjects require
every-day language to express them, or the effect is at once
felt to be frigid. The question is one of special moment to us,
as it is being worked out among us now in more ways than at
firet sight appear. Even in the past generation, those who thought *
they were contending against \V"onk worth's doctrine most effec-
tually were in reality promoting it* We may now see that on the
literary question Don Juan was on the same side as the Excur-
sion, both battling for the language of common life against that of
conventional versifiers ; though the every day existence of the
one poet was sufficiently different from that of the other, and
supplied very different images and expressions. The distinction
between tragcfly and comedy does not settle the question ; but
rather shows that the apparent difference between poetry and
prose resolves itself into one of subject. Take up a translation
of ^schybis into prose, and one of Aristophanes into I'erse,
and they will be as far from one another as ever; the former
will not have been made lesa serious^ or the latter less comic.

282

Mihmns HojYice.

English poetry at tlic present moment has not very much direct
imitatiou of Wo nla worth, and still less of Byron ; hut the revo-
lution in style is going on no lesa. Those who have tried to
copy Mr, Tennyson s diction^ or at any rate have studied it
carefully, will have been surprised to find how much there is
which they would have before set down as prosaic, esj>ecially
technical terms and phrases borrowed from philosophy. It
wonld be easy to accumulate proofs ; but it is sufficient to have
indicated the fact. Of Bucli a change in poetical language no
more proper epoch can be chosen than the time of Augustus,
It had, dou!>tlc!*8, been going on long before, especially nuder
the influence of Euripides, and his school in Athens: stillj tlie
experiment there was hardly a crucial one, for the reason men-
tioned above in the case of the Attic comedy, the retaining of
certain adjuncts which had been oi"dinarily held to distinguish
poetry from pro^e. Cut in Horace, society appears to contem-
plate itself, in and by itself, through no medium but that of a
studiously unmodulated metre. He binds himself to nothing
when he begins the Sutire or Epistle^ — ^ perhaps it may turn
out ft song, perhaps turn out a sermon;'— (a habit of mind
which he carried with him into the composition of his Odes)^
but runs on just as his thought, at no time very deJinite or sus-
tained, may happen to lead him ; insomuch that his critics
liavc often proposed, with some apparent reason, to change the
places of whole paragraphs, even to the extent of inserting
what now stands as part of one poem in the middle of another.
Cicero's Letters are a marked literary [ihcnomcnon — a species
of writing which has been cultivated most successfully in
modern times, and for which they iiave to thank not Greece,
but liome. What they are in prose, Iloracc^s Epistles are in
verse ; the product of a similar state of society, which has ad-
vanced so far in the study of art that it can aftord to be negli-
gent on ])rinciple. At Athens, life was too much c*u*ned on
• out of doors to admit of what we call really social intercourse ;
the sentiment destroyed itself by its very dittusion, as where
men were constantly meeting for public purposes, they could
have hut little strictly domestic feeling: while in Rome, the
family princi[)le had been always strong, so as to counteract
anything like an ultra-political spirit; and even now, when
both the antagonists were being swept away by the common
enemy, indifiercntism, the first appearance of the evil rather
tended to develop the social capacities of the people; and men,
at length set free from other cares than those required for a
graceful existence, easily formed themselves into circles round
the imperial centre. Thus, it may be said, that the poetry of
society was for the first time made possible in the cage of
llorace.

I
4

Milman^a Horace u

2B3

The place then which we a&sign to Horace must depend on
the estimate formed of this poetry of society, viewed in ita
simplest aspect* It is, us Mr. Miltnan perceives, to a great
extent, the Byroa imd liowles controversy ahout Pope, over
again ; and if anything i^ to he said now more than was said
theo, it must be owing simply to the change which twenty or
thirty years? of testhetical improvement may have effected in
common hahits of thought Certainly now we shall hardly hear
it asserted, that the dispute turns on the comparative aptitudes
for poetry of nature aod artj or he called upon to assist at the
analysis of some of Shakspere's best known passages, in the
hope of ascertaining which of the two great factors was most
concerned in their production. We eliould much rather gay
that the point is?, wdiether the object, be it of nature or art, is
idcahxed; not literally represented, but glorified by the imagi-
nation tfiat looks on it. It has now become a formula so trite
as hardly to need repetition, that wherever there is imagioation,
whether in verse or prose, there is poetry ; and that every sub-
ject on which imagination can be exercised is therefore poetical.
On this general position, that there can be such a thing as the
poetry of society, Mr. Mihnan will find few to dispute with
him : what lie is bound to prove is, that Horace's view of society
was a poetical one. Pie seems to ignore the very common dis-
tinction between truth in general, that is, any kind of truth,
and poetical truth ; if indeed, he docs not directly contravene
it, and suppose that conventionnl literalncss is the essence, in-
stead of being as it frequently is, the antipodes of reality.
Goetlie, we take it, would he readily accepted by any one as
pre-eminently the poet of civilized life; Lot his insight was not
merely tliat of a keen observer, but that of a diviner, not col-
lecting isolated facts, but seizing the spirit of the whole. How
fiir this higher praise can be claimed for Horace, may admit of
some doubt. He was, indeed, practically indjucd with the
spirit of the society in which be moved; but this, for a poet, is
hardly enough* A man tliorougldy absorbed in the life about
him, teaches others, not by precept, but by example: he may
himself be held up and flashed into light by a poet's imagination,
but he can scarcely exercise the gift of imagination himself.
Byron, at once below and above his age, was able to sketch
boldly and truly from his own point of view ; we see tlie poet
standinfT aloof for a tiuie^ and rrazitw on the mddy wbirl about
him, though himself accustomed to join in it more recklessly
than the rest. Horm;e was too much occupied with mere present
enjoyment, not sufficiently violent to cause any revulsion, to
have the [lowcr of doing more than note down the different
things which [jaesed before him, as mere matters of sensiUion,
and generalize from those. Afterwards, when his blood became

NO LXVI. N,8. X

284

Milmans Horace.

coaler, and his pleasures more philosopliical, hU standing-point

coiithiued virtiinlly tlie Bame ; he is still an essentially social
Leiiig, thtaigh hi^ i'lieiKls are fewer, and moral disquisition is
quite a*; much a thiog fur company as ever Epicurean practice
was. If he 18 more of a spectator than he wjis, he still likes to
have some one at his elbow to whom he can make liis com-
meats, and from whose face he can gather that he is observing
as a wise man i^liould. He is evidently doubtful himself
whether he has a rij^ht to be called a poet on the strength of the
Satires and Epistles. This might he put down to the diffidence
which a knowknlge of the world teaches a man to feel, or at
lc:ist to express, did not the appearance of the Odes look like
the evidence of a more genuine feeling. We do not hear that he
liegan to write lyrics merely at the request of Augustus, or
Mecienas; while it is undeniable tliat he talks at intervals, as
if in producing thcoi he were establishing a real foundation for
his fame. No one has ever questioned the happiness and ai>-
plicabilily of the expression strmoui proplora; it can hardly
be contended that it is merely meant to extend to the metre
and language, and not to the manner of treating tlie subject.

It IS at all times diffictilt to point out exact historical pandlels
between one period and another; the elements are sure to be
indefinitely varied, and even when t!icy are all to be found in
one plane, they will not prove to be spread over the same sur-
i'ace in two given cJises. On the wholc^ if it were asked what
aj^e in Engli.sli literature corresponded to the Augustan age in
Kome, it would probably be most correct, as it would be most
natural, to fix on the times following the Restoration. The
French writers had then begun to be to us what the Greeks
were to Horace and his conteuqiornrics. The national spirit,
after a lung and apparently iticffectual struggle, had at lenglh
given way, and the general feeling was to sacrifice every higher
consideration to tlie maintenance of peace and settled order.
In each instance the lull was favourable to the growth of
literary ambition. Neither generation perceived how com-
pletely that wliich must tbrin the heart of a living literature
had died out ; but they had become better critics, more sen-
sitive to the requirements of taste, and they were anxious to
ap|dy their newly acquired knowledge to practice. Thus wo
had French tragedies, French satires, and probably only escaped
French epics because France had no very standard model to
furniah. Had not the earlier writers of England had infinitely
more strength than those of Rome, great as we have allowed
these last tu be, and had not there stiU remained something in
the English mind which after t!ie hipse of more than a century
could beget a wish to return to old things, poetry among us
must have eventually become mere rhetoric, and served only aa

Milmans Horace.

28a

the matter out of whose decomposition 8omc new life might be
generated. But Shakspcare and 3IiUon were afc once the wit-
ness of the existence of a fuiidixmenlally poetical element in the
national character, and the cause of its revival. A people could
not be despaired of which had once given birth to such a litera-
ture, and was yet ])ermittcd to retain it as an example.

Yet it is not among the inuiiediatc post-Restoration worthies
that we should i?eek for a counterpart to Horace. Tlicre may be
some particles of his spirit discoverable among the Sedleys and
the Bnckluirsts, were it worth while at this time of day to
look back to tlicir writings : but not one of them can be named
as presenting any fif his really distinctive featuren, any in short
wdiich he has not in common with Petronius. Pope has, nn-
doubtedly, much stronger claims of cousinage, and most courts
would not scruple to pronounce him hclr-at-law. As a versifier,
however, he is rather the Ovid tlian the Ilonice of English
poetry. Whatever may be the Horatianisms of the Moral
Essaysj or the Easay on Criticism, they cannot outweigh 8uch a
fact on the other aide as the translation of Homer. Nor are the
resemblances between the characters of the two men very ex-
traordinary. The Roman, even witliout making allowance for
the difftTence of the light in whicli he lived, was clearly a more
amiable and better-heai'tcd man than the EngHshraarij whose
intense pcn^onal vanity, capacity for intrigue, literary jealousy,
rising to positive malevolence, and consequent uncharitableness
in judging of the motives of others, have nothing whicli coidd
be get off against them. We should rather bo incfmed to main-
rtain tlie pretensions of Cowpcr, admitting freely the great

iperficial dliiparity that exists between them, but contending
that at bottom their natures had strong mutual afBnity. Of
course we suppose ourselves to abstract the influence of that
singular cfiange wliich pa.'^sed so early over Cowper, and may
almost be said to have transformed hia whole being, as though
due abatement should be made for the predisposition of tem-
perament which such an event implies, the case w^as to a
great extent an individual one, and the subject of it, retain-
ing his place as an Englishman in the eighteenth century, might
quite conceivably have developed without it. Even with it in
its full ibrce, not resisted by tlie intellect, but suffered to work
as the law of his mind, he displays in his seclusion from the
world a social freedom, a genial playful humour, a faculty of
quiet observation and judgment, an innate gentleness of spirit
and sympatliy with human frailties, in spite of the severer
standard recognised and upheld by his conscience, which show
what the good side of Horace's character might have become.
His [mre, unatfected vein c>f Engl'sh, runoing out, not in
epigrams and antitheses, but in real conversational verae^ blsLwk

X 2

286

Milman^s Horace,

or rhyme, is the nearest thing we have to Horace's poetry pto-
eaicizctl Plardly any two inetaDces could be mentioned in
which the raw material of character has heen worked up on more
discordant principles ; l>ut from the likencsis yet discernible in the
result, we feel tlmt it must have been originally much the same.
After all, however, thege parallels scarcely amount even to
illustrations; lliey may be curious as cases of coincidence, but
they do not really affect our judgment of the phenomenon in
behalf of which they are adduced* Horace is to be estimated,
not as the type of nny other person in any other age or nation,
but as a man occupying a certain position in his own time. To
arrai»^n the poet of goci;il life before the tribunal of an austere
morality, may seem like breaking a butterfly on the wheel ;
condemning a comedy because it does not fulfil all the require-
ments of a sermon; yet when we consider wliat Rome was,
and to what it was luistening, we shall pcrha})s feel that a little
indignation will not be misdirected against a citizen^ who having
the ear of Ids covmtry said so few true words — whose philosophy
at itfi highest did not really rise beyond inculcating a decent
moderation in sensual pleasure, and a good-natured tolerance of
other men's peculiarities — whose patriotism, if occasionally it
vented itself in denunciations of the progress of material pro-
Bperity, a species of political zeal easy to realize, and almost
worthless unless accompaiued by a spirit of far-seeing practical
wisdom, was, in general, quite satisfied with the government of
Augustus, and saw without pain all the wide-spread energies
of the nation gradually lost and absorbed into the person of one
man, A poet who could really find pleasure in living at the
imperial court, and enjoying the personal friendship of the
emperor, without, so far as we know, a single thought that he
was doing what in him lay to swell that vast mass of Koman
corruption, of whose existence and gradual increase he some-
times showed himself conscious, will hardly conunand the full
jsympathies of any, except such as, like liiui, are content to
barter the future for the present, and employ their thoughts in
attention to conventional decorum and the art of standing well
with the world when society is going to ruin l>efore their eyes.
It was because the better sort of men in the days of Augustus
consisted of men like Horace, that the next generation pre-
sented such a spectacle as we see when the curtain draws up,
and Tacitus sliows us Tiberius in the act of ascending the
throne. As to the mere material Rome, the city with houses,
and porticos, and aqueducts, and temples, it may be perfectly
true that Augustus found it brick and left it marble ; it is no
less true that he c;imc upon the moral Rome, when, though con-
vid**ed with strong figonies, it had yet much life to show, and
that at the time of his quitting it, it was a mouldering system

Milmans Horace,

287

"With scurcely a seed of vitality. Men of gooias oiiglit to be
the salt which keeps a nation from decay ; the restoratives
which diffuse a healthy action tlirongh the whole body* But
Roman literature had lost its savour ; it scarcely even prolonged
tlie existence of the people from which it sprung : decoin-
position went on unchecked by it, if not actually assisted. And
where writings do not appear to have exercised any renovating
power in their own jieriod, it i& hard to see how they can main-
tain their place in after times aa permanent soelal companions^
We are bringing no new charge against Horace: we are
merely stating facta and suggesting conclusions which all man-
kind is supposed to be ready to draw*

fStill, there is no denying that lie has ever enjoyed, and con-
tinues to enjoy, greater popidarity thnn many who have a much
better title to be reckoned as tlie masters of liuman thought.
With the late Archbishop of Canterbury we understand he
was a constant favourite. *'I know nothing of your Tract 90,
and your Tract 89/ said a country getitlcnmn some years ago,
when the conversation happened to turn on fhe Oxford con-
troversy; * I always say, Give me my Horace.' Nor is it
difficult to see how many persons of literary pretensions may
gladly take refuge in the Horatiaii philosophy, as tlie best
after-dinner antidote to otlier and more perplexing ciuestions.
Eveiy one, however unworldly his disposition, has probably a
latent wish at times to be thought a man of tlie world ; every
one, however strict his moral coiIe> lias doubtless moments at
which an Epicurean view of life appears the most tenable. This
is tantamount to saying, that there are times when" Horace will
be felt to come home to the breast of every one. It is not
well to despise or overlook any definite regularly constituted
instinct in human nature. We may not think it the highest j
but if we see even the best men occasionally abandoning them-
selves to it, we may be sure that it has its place, though our
scheme of ethical duties may seem to have been framed without
a view to its admission. Where there is nothing that strikes
the conscience as actually wrong, or as reaching to more than a
venial offence, we may be sure that there is eon^e genuine sym-
pathy, however in significant, asking for its jtropcr satisfaction.
Whether those who look upon Horace as one who after the
lapse of nearly two thousand years may still be a friend by
day and a solace by night will be content with this concession,
we cannot pretend to say ; but such as it is, they are welcome
to take full advantaf'^c of it,'

' It may Beem^^Btnmge that we have made do mentioD of Mr. Keblc ; but,
tbough tbe BentimotitA horc depressed coincide more or less with tlioso dcUvore4
in UuLeetures, thoy were not coneciouBly derived from llieiii.

288

Art. IL^ — Scenes tchtre tha

Author of The Gaol Chaplain.

r ha» triumphed* B^
London : Bentley,

the

There is a clasd of writers wlio rejoice in great solemnity of
title, and an attractive programme as represented by the contents.
Now, this is all quite right as far as it goes, but for the very
reason why a grandiloquent title and a list of subjects euphoni-
ously arranj^od are rather jileasing to the mind, it also happens that
they are caiculated to produce a more than slight feeliug of disap-
pointment if the book itself should not ansTver to the expectations
ibrmed by it: *wc like a profession just so fur as we associate it
with the reality. If a title attracts us, it does so because it pre-
sents to the mind a certain idea of a book, which book we picture
aa desirable ; but if we discover that the previous idea is not
realized on further acquaintance, that book henceforth becomes
only a part of our experience as to the emptiness of mere words,
and the difference between professions and their fulfilment.

The same feeling also applies to the general subject under-
taken as the foundation of a book. If stirring and thrilling
scenes for instance are chosen, wc have a right to expect in re-
turn for such an advantage taken by the writer, that he shall
give something of dramatic patlios or powertul moral tone, or at
least take great care to accomplish a concise and vivid descriiv
tion of what is before him.

With regard indeed to all books of a descriptive or an historical
character, there are certain instinctive laws in the literary world
which it is rash for an author to violate. There is a sort of cove-
nant understood to exist between the writer and the reader.

The writer chooses his own groimd, and the reader forms hia
judgment according to the advantages of that ]3osition. To
illustrate our meaning, we will first take the ease of pure
roniauce or fiction. The writer here is bound to a certain pro-
bability of events, and unless indeed he professes the super-
natural, he must follow^ a natural order of things, such as life
may be imagined to bring to any one's experience. Events
deecribed may perhaps be strange, but still they must be possible
and not violate our notions of probability too much. If stranger
events and more thrilling scenes arc ventured on than can be
thus supported, the effect instead of being sublime, from over-
stepping the mark, baa become ridiculous. A thrilling scene or
u catastrophe can only be admitted in any legitimate manner,
as the cUniax of a plot gradually leading up to it, or as the

Scenes where the Tempter has trhiwphed»

289

fonu walorum of a coming history. To arrive unnecessarily or
frequently at such a mcuns of enchaining attention is takino; an
unfair advantage, contrary to the true art of story-making, and
consequently produces either an empty or a ludicrous eticct. A.
child's first atteuijjt at a story rushca headlong into fires, and
the tumbling down of houses, whereas a niaturer judgment sees
the propriety of setting off more exciting events hy a pre\iou9
train of quieter transactions. This rule is peculiarly observable
in dramatic writing!*. High drama may include most frightful
tmgedies, hut there is always some deep ph)t, either represented
by the continued working of human passion, or by the idea of
lute, or whatever the case may be, and thus a complete ground-
work is discovered to exist, on wdiich to raise the climax. Low
drama on the contrary is often distinguished by its too great
profusion of vapoury tragedies brought in with uo art or no
plot, but only for scenic eflect. The attempt is made to unite
the thriUing climax of several histories into one, by which
mcansj that process, through wiiich we arrive at a condition to
be really affected, m altogether neglected, and the final result is
a vulgar appeal to the eyes, or the very outside surface of our
sensiti^'e powers. The same argument holds good in things
altogether disconnected with literature. For instance, iu
painting, great brilliancy of colour requires some reason and ex-
cuse lor itA introduction. It is the luxury of painting, the
crowning feast of the eyes, which must come in ap[tro[triute!y,
and with due moderation to be itself fully appreciated, or to
avoid the charge of vulgarity. Again in music, the stormy
climax so Avonderful and absorbing in its place, without the
fjuietcr history which the rest of the symphony discloses, would
come spoilt of its interpreter, and would simply gratify an un-
meaning love of noise. One proof, if any w^ere wanting, of the
necessity of due proportion between the preparatory stages of
any work and the climax may be found in the utter fruitless-
11688 of attemjjting to satisfy the mind without its observance.
The mind, if it looks for excitement or amusement from the
mere relation of horrors, or tVoni mere scenic effect, or, in the
arts wc have referred to, from brilliancy of ci>lour and the
clanging parts of music, becomes a more insatiable monster,
than any earthly food can satisfy. You may heap one thing on
another ad ififinituin, but you cannot keep pace with such dis-
proportionate desires. This has been the ruin of all modern
theatriciil managers. To make up for dmmatic talent, they have
commenced scenic representations. That ]irinciple once begun
is self-condemned to |>crpctual increase or to decay. Nobody
cares to witness such things a second time, except on a grander
scale. The expense soon overreaches all bounds, and empti-

290

0 tfie Tempter has triumpkein

ness of mind is the only result. The same result may be ob-
served in the ever-growing expense which the desire for a splendid
manner of lix^iiig entails, if everything h not kept in proportiun
by what U ctUled good taste, that is, an ajjprcclatlun of the
fitness of things*

To return, however, to the province of literature, we will
enm up our notice of ronianco or fiction, generally, by the
remark, that an attempt to excite interest by an appeal to the
morbid sensibibtiCsS of the niitid, not in proportion to the ground
work or plot of a story, is a fraud in literature, oidy meety with
admiration in the vulgar qualities of the mind, and must have
a most ephemeral existence.

Other ca^^es, however, need consideration besides that of
general romance or fiction, where the whole ground of human
events is before the writer, and he has to make his choice. We
may take the ease of a particular period of history, that of a
very tragical character, being ado]>ted ai? the i^ubject cither for
narration, or on which to found an hit<torical romance; for so far
as the descriptive powerii are concerned there U equal room for
powerful writing in both. In thi^ case, tragctly of course will
occupy a larger place tlian on the fonner supposition. But still
there need be no dtEfproi»ortion in the work as a whole; for those
preparatory t^tages that work the mind up, so to speak, for
tragedy arc presupposed. The writer professedly starts from
that point, and therefore may be perlectly cunsistent with
nature and good t«iste if he deals ygyy greatly in scenes and
horrors, just as an artist, if he chooses tor his subject any scene
like as the destruction of Sodom, is at liberty to indulge in an
otherwise unnatural amount of wild and fiery sky. In this case,
however, the point from which the writer starts h laid to Ida
account in the mind of the reader, as so much in his advantage,
in return for which privilege of subject he must give an equiva-
lent in the manner of narration and the power of hia language.
Even newspaper reporters, whose business is simply to commu-
nicate facts, and that on the sliorteat notice, they are aware of
the privilege which great events afford them, and feel it incum-
bent on them to exalt their style of writing in jiroportion to the
emergency. Much more then in writing a book, which is sup-
posed to be a work of mature consideration; should this instruc-
tive contract between the writing and the reading world be
8crupuloU!?ly observed.

We now take another supposition, which we will put into n
definite form, exemplified by the work at the head of our article.
The circumstances o\' this book, we will premise by saying, are
very favourable for the indulgence of a certain thrUling manner
of wanting. This is an advantage gi^anted to the author, or

Scenes where the Tempter h€ts triumphed.

291

rather chosen by himsolf, in return for whicli we expect a
powerful t^tyle. In the first ploce, his professed {^iiKjcct ts
tragedy ; he depicts sin in it 8 deepest forai, and follows out its
most calamitous results on the well-heuig of society. Here 16
the foundation of tragedy, but further than this he k granted the
poetical sublimity of heavenly vengeance and earthly retrihu-
tion. He dej^cribes first the sin; he traces the mental agony of
convicted culprits ; he followis them to the scaffold^ and brings
in death, with its most awful accampaniments, at the end of
every chapter. Wliat would a worn-out novelii^t give for 5uch a
happy licence? lie knows, however, that in his cane it would be
ludierouis to indulge so freely in tlie nltimatiim of sceite.*. Witli
regard, however^ to the present book, this privilege, from the
nature of the casc» is granted. A sad reality, again, with regard
to facts, though melancholy in itself, is another advantage in aid
of the writer; and to increase our cxitectations from such mate-
rials, if it were po^t^ible, the relater of them lias been himself an
actor in tliose or similar scenes, as we conclude from his being
the author of 'The Gaol Chaplain/ and also from the intro-
duction. Beyond this inference we have no personal know-
ledge of our author; he is consequently surrounded by the
mysterious power and authority which the anonymous style
affords to a writer in place of the gratification of any personal
vanity. The author of the 'Gaol Chaplain' stands before us,
hiniBelf also one of those solemn functionaries. In that charac-
ter only do we know him ; we liave not, like young Cop[)crfield,

* seen liim without that white thing.' Surely, then, taking all
these means and apphance^ into cnnsideration, a nervous-minded
person might almost begin to shudder before the book was
opened. The recollection ol* otlier storie?, whei*e a like advan-
tage of subject had been taken, sucli as gome parts of the

* Diary of a late Physician,' and * Death-bed Scenes/ comes
into the mind, and expectation is raised very high, hoping that
the same interest is about to be again excited through means
of the present volume.

The title of the work also gives still further hope of ita
interest. ' Scenes where the Tempter has Triumphed ' throws
a supernatural gleam of horror on the too familiar associations
of vice ; and also it assumes that the nature of crime is dis-
cussed as leading to certain terrible results by the inevitable
disposition of Providence. Both in the title, and also in the
headings of eaeh chapter, we have an assurance tliat the aiitlior
knew^ and felt the strength of his position. Each instance of
crime which he selects for description is announced under the
head of the original .snare which first led its victim from the
right course, or else is meant to convey 8ome proverb of mighty

202

Scetm where Uie Tempter has triumphed.

im|)ort Tlius we have * Wounded Vanity' at tbe head of one
clmpter, * ropnlmity ' at the head ot" atiothLT; and, of the
IjittcT kind, * Tlie Engineer hoist by his own Petard/ Again,
'The Traitor Clergyman/ 'The Gaining-house, an Ante-room

the Gallows/ ' The Viper who stung his Benefactor/ are

iples of the profound moral and philosophieal aspect in which
irime and its punishment are seen by our author. But what-
ever the sentiment or aphorism may he which lieada eacli
chajiter, there is but one conclusion to all^ — that uf the gallows;
to thi:* point we arrive with mieJ*ring certainty. We are secure
of vengeance if indignation is roused at the crime, and may
always land tlie hero of each tale beyond the reach of earthly
mischief.

Now, to Fay that this book does not answer to its oppor-
tunities, or fnltil expectation, will convey no adequate uotion of
its many deficieneies. All hope, indeed, of any brilliancy or
poetic manner of treatment, any well-followed out view of divine
Nemesis working tlirough human justice, is checked by the
general views of crime and punishment expressed in the first
chapter, where he states that * tlic sole and legitimate object of
all punishment is the prevention of crime/ but we were not
quite prepared for the meagre account given in many instances
of bare Ihcta to illustrate the ponqious headings under which
they are arranged ; or, again, for the very indifferent language
in which they arc given, Ulie morals, also, drawn from each
case, as it comes in review, arc not sufhciently novel in our
opinion to warrant the sole amity of their introduction. They
are too much like the verbal address of a chaplain in the per-
formance of his office. Then, indeed, they might be appro-
priate; and, considering to whom they would be adtlressed,
might even not strike the listener as common-place ; !>ut to other
persons, and those who are at all likely to read the present
vulume^ we cannot but imagine that they will appear very trite.

We w^ill give, however, one Idstory complete, to show the
ground of our complaint ns to poverty of facts and triteness of
morah The chapter is beaded ' Industry in an Unholy Cause.
Denton, the Coiner.'

Mt is an Engl is lim sin's boast that in his own freecoimtrj^ no distinction la
unnttninabie t*i the aspirant wlio combines in liis own person taUnit, industry,
and character ; that an adventurer, no matter how humble hia birth or how
obscure hia femily^ may, if deserviog, grasp the highest honours of the pro"
fession of hia choice.

*TIie boast is a noble one, nnd based on centuries of experience of our
free institutions. Many a bishop lias first seen the light in a lowly eottagc;
and many a law-lord been cradled in the little "keepiog-room" behind the
shop of some petty tradcsmau in a provincial town,

* But in each of these inetances, to talent and industry, there baa been

Seems te/tere tlte Tempter has triumphed*

293

added principle. The determination to excel has been vigorously mani-
fested, and has decidedly the resolution to rise fairly.

' A simihir boast may be uttered with reference to that importfint boon —
education. The Engflishman says proudlji ** it is not withheld from the
people, it b promoted amone^st them."

' But to eaucntion and industry, a parity of rensoning will Apply.

* Industry to be availing must be rightly directed : and education, if it ia
to bless and benefit, must be based on Christian principles.

' Othermse, the former resolven itself into activity in wickedness — a mere
multiplication of misdeeds ; and the latter into a training for the gallows.

* The fate of the chemisit-eoiner illustrates these eonclu:siona : —

* Thomas Denton was a native of Yorkshire, his birth-place being a little
\illage in the North Ridings of that wealthy county. His orij^nal position
in life was humble — that of a tinman, Selt-instructed, and naturally of an
aspiring disposition, be lost no opportunity of gaining information and
laising himaelf in the scale of society. Success scema to have attended his

efforts, for, in 1779, we find him a bookseller in the city of York. Soon

Imfkerwards he visited London, where, seeing a speaking figure made by

[i«ome ingenious foreigners, it occnrred to him that be could const ruct a

similar piece of mecliariiam. lie made the attempt, and triumphed. A

;indred figure was completed in a very Bhort space of time; by exhibiting

which in various parts of England, he accumulated a considerable sum of

money. 'I*he speaking ^lg^^rc he subsetjueutly sold to a printer, in London.

He then made a writing figure, which xvas in existence at the close of the

.last centnry, Science claimed every leisure hour. He became an adept in

chemiiJh-y. From early youth this appears to have been a favourite pur-

luit. To it he grudgetf no expense or labour, so far as experiments were

tncerned, if they promised in the most remote degree to further his mas-

of the science. One among many of his suceiessful efforts lu thia

'iiepartment deserves distinct mention, namely, his translation of" I'infitti'a

Book of Deceptions," with notes. From his acquaintance with chemistry

he obtained the art of plating conch-harne.ss, which he carried on for some

time in connexion with the business of a bookseller, in High-strc'Ct, tlol-

born. While thus engaged he, most unfortunately, formed a connexion

with a person notorious for making plain shiUings. The same abihtiea

which had enabled him to construct several mathematical instruments, such

as pentagrnphs, sextants, Arc, gave him facilities for imitating the current

coin of tbe realm with a perfection that deceived the best judges.

* Detection at last overtook him ; he w^as apprehended, indicted, and ar-
raigned. His trial lasted seven hours: and such was the tact with which
he liad conducted his jiroceedinga that, from the beginning to the end of
the investigation, it was more than doubtful whether any verdict could be
secured against him. The result waSj that he was acquitted of coining, but
convicted of having the implemenls lor coining in his possession, Sentence
of death was passed upon him, and, pursuant to it, he was executed July
Uty 1789.

* Will men never learu that any deviation, however slight, from the
narrow patli of integrity is necessarily perilous? Uo they retjuire to be
reminded that it is an fttmesiand meritorious aim, which srinctifieH industry,
and draws down the blessing of Heaven upon it? No cJlbris, no toil, no
perseverance, no amoimt of patience and self-denial can hallow a bad cause.
Wovvcver fair its outside, the seeds of shame and sorrow Inrk within it,

*Iiad half tlie patient and continuous industry which Denton displayed

in acquiring knoi\ ledge for purposes of fraud* been honestly and properly

directed, opulence, security, ami an untarnished name might have ocen his.

•Hia love of knowledge, his thirst lor information, the perseverance with

Scenes where the Tempter has triumphed.

which lie carried out his plan of self-inBtniction, the avidity with which he
grnspcd opportunities of strengthening his hold on science^ these are so
many noble feutureH in hh cimracter.

* Had hia aims been hone>>t all would have been well.

' As it was he " sowed the wind to reap the whirlwind.'* * — Pp. 99-^103,

What there is in this rehearsal worthy of the form in which
it is now put Ijefore the world, is bcjond our power of iuveatiou
to discover. We neither have the curious piece of mechanism
descriheil, tior the nianner of the culprit's detection, nor even
hia execution; but only something about a free country, a
bishop, and a law-lord, with an extnict from a gaol sermon
tacked on at the end.

The chapter, * The Gaining House, an Ante*room to the
GallowB,' lias, on perusal, very little concern with the peculiar
vice it holds forth, as leading to such disastrous consequences.
The whole chapter i8 eight pages in lenfrfch, disposed of as
follows :^One page and a half, remarks about the Teiopter,
full of notes of inteijection ; two, a confused account of some
dishonest transactions in the I'uuds, by Henry Weston; one,
stating the fact, that the said Henry Weston was hanged; anr
after his conviction, exliortod all young men to take better cai
of their money than he had done ; and three and a half, de-
flcribing another man who, though he lived by phiy, yet went to
church) was temperate in hia habits, and died comfortably in his
own bed. The only positive notice of a gaming-house in the
account of the man who was hanged, occurs incidentally at an
end of a sentence about the funds, and stands as follows: —
' And other great losses which he had experienced at different
gaming-tables.' To tnake up for this deficiency of appropriate
niuterial, it is so managed, that the reader's eye sliall rest on
the words * T/te Gamhtg-home T in the course of the first page,
forming a whole paragra[>h, and obviously meant to tell its own
story, as the author had no story to tell about it. The end of
this unfortunate man is conveyed with equal brevity in another
paragraph, coni?l:?ting of the word 'Death.'

Another chapter is headed * Extravagance, the Highway-
man's Training School. Robert Walpole Chamberlaine.' The
first page and a half wc will extract, as it contains all that has
to do with the subject, the remaining four being about some

lady, whose hands were not so delicate as those of Lady ;

but yet who was a more pi'aiseworthy character.

* The cry is often loudly raiaed, and as often slavisbly heeded — " Ab I he
will siieceed because be is backed by me^ns ; nnd he will assuredly fail^
because he haa to atrnggle with poverty." But it is not ftlways thns.
Means are aometiraes a positive evil. Where pnuiencc and principle are
wanting^ they are deatrnctjve. Whcrean poverty, tbongfb a severe school,
teaches many a snlntnry lesson, affords many a valuable check, subdues a

Scme$ tcAere the Tempter hat triumphed.

2»d

man's heart, renders it soft and sympathisingj and nerres him for fuhire
eflurt and for future uaeftdness.

* AVhich of these assertiouB will the following facts support?

' Early in Jime, 179lf Mr. nellamy, of Ewell, in Surrey, and his lady, as
they were returning to that place in their carriage, were stopped near the
twtrlve-mile stone, on the Epsom road, at nbmit tea o'clock at night. Their
assailants were three footpads, who robbed them of their watches and other
valiiftblLeB, together with a considerable sura of money.

* But with robbery they were not content. Dragging by main force the
lady and gentleman from their vehicle^ tkcy cut and wounded the latter in
a most cruel, wanton, and danfjernus manner.

' Many months elapsed without bring^mg with them a diacovery of these
ferocious aasailanta. No means were lel\ untriDd to detect the gudty per-
petrators, but in vain.

* At length, in 1793, a clue was obtained to the parties, and Robert Wal-
pole Chamberlaine was apprehended, tried^ and convicted at the Summer
Assize, held at Croydon, for high^vay robbcrv and maltreatment,

* No mitigating circumstances presenting iliemselves, he was executed on
Kenuington Common, August ,>th, 1793* lie had numbered only 23 years
of age, and at the decease of his mother, a very iew years before, had in-
herited ii fortune of 10,000^, which he dissipated in three year»*—V\i, 265 — 267.

The cliapter headed ' The Traitor Clergyman/ commencea
with some general remarks on the restlessness of man, the ne-
cessity ot'govcnitnt'ntj antl tlie s?in of rehcllion. The particular
instance of the crioie which he adduces, is thus described: —

* Such was presented in the person of the Rev. William Jackson, uhose
designs admitted oidy of one coustniction. Treachery placed these in pos-
session of the government, and on the 23d of April, 179a, ho was put on
his trial Ibr high treason, at the bar of the Court of King's Bench, Dublin/
— R 120.

The trial is dwelt on more at leno;tli in this case than the
former, and is interspersed with long speeches, beginning
* Gentlemen of the Jury/ the whole scene ending in the
prisoner at tlie bar dying irom poison. All this is told in a
cooftised, pointless manner, the common routine of every trial
occiiiiying as much space as the peculiar features of the one
under consideration.

The principal crimes for which death has been the penalty in
the histories now before us, arc murder and forgery. Of the
former, that headed * Wonnded Vanity,' is, perhaps, the most
interesting, and contains the lUllest account of the facts oF the
ease, Ou the subject, indeed, of wonnded vanity, as leading to
such disastrous conseciucnces, not much is proved, for tlie murder
itself is a very imimportaiit part of the story; and is even sup*
posed by our aulhor to have been accidental. The peculiar
feature of the case was, the coticcahiient of the dead body for
a long time in the house betore anything was suf^pected, and
the absence of any attempt on the part of the murderer to
effect his escape. Theodore Gardelle,~if we remember right
this man was of the same country as CourFoisier and the woman

296

Scenes where the Tempter hag triump/ted.

Mannin^if — was a portrait painter, and had lodgings at the house
of Mrs. King, in Leicester-square, * a gay, showy woman,' who is
the institiicc of wounded vanity ; Gardellc not havin^^ done justice
to licr ehanna in hiB attempts on Iier portrait. One morning,
when these two were alone in the house, the servant being out
on an errand, (which occupiea several pages of the book to
explain,) the following scene took place : —

' ImmLHlialely after the girrs rlepnrtiirc, Mrs* King, hearing tlie sound of
footsteps in the ]mrlnnr, called out, *^U'/to is ihcre ?*'" «nd at the same lime
opened her chambtM' tloor. Giirdellc waa at a tiible, very near the door,
Ijavin?^ just thcu taken up a book that lay xipon it. He had some short
time helbrr. hcen enjira;j;^cd on Mrs. King's portrait, which it was her wislll
shoiiUt he hiirhly flattered, and had teased liim so much on this point thaC^
the elTcct was the direct contrary. The portrait wan undcnifthly plain. It
happened, uorortiinately^ that the very first thing she said to him when she
saw it was he who was wBlkinfj; ahoiit the room, was some remark of a re-
pro-ichful and angry nature toueliiiig the plainness, or inferior execution,
or faulty likencsa of her portrait ; — something in diaparagement of his
efforts.

* Gardelle was provoked, and speakings English but imperfectly, told her,
in lieu of sonic nmre guarded expression, that she waif an {mperlinenf woman*

' Tliia threw Jier into a transport of rage, nnd she gave him a violent blow
with her fist on the breast, so violent, that he said he "could not hava^
thought such a blow could have been struck by a woman," As soon at
the blow had fallen she drew hack a little, and at the same instant he laid
hi3 hand on her shfuddcr, and pushed iier from him, rather in contempt than
in anger, or wilh a design to hurt her. At this juncture her foot happened
to trip in the floor-cloth. She fell backwarks, and her head crime with
gfcnt Ibrce iigninst the corner of the bedstead. The blood immediately
gushed from lier mouth, not in a continued stream, but na if by dift'erent
strokes of a pump. He instantly ran to her and Btooped to raise her, ex-
pressing his eouccru at liie accident; f)ut she pushed him a\Tay, and
thrcntened^ though in a feeble and faltering voire, to jumish him for what
he had dtme. He wag, lie said, terrified exceeding^iy at the thought of being
condemned for a eriminul act upon her accusation, and again attempted to
raise her up, as the blond still gushed from her mouth in large quantities ;
but she exerted all her strengh to keep him off, and continued to cry out,
mixing threats xvitb her screams. He then seized an ivory comb with a
sharp taper pointy which she used for adjusting the curls of her hair, antl
which lay upon her toilet^ and threatened, in his turn, to prevent her eryinp^
out; but she continuing to scream, tbougli her voice became famter and
fainter, he struck her with the comb, probably in the throat, upon which
the blood llowerl from her moutlv in yet greater quantiliea, and her voice waa
quite choked. He then drew the bed-clothes o\er her, to prevent her blood
from spreading on the floor, and to hide her from his sight. He stood
some time motionless before her, and then fell down by her side in a swoon.
When he came to himself he perceived that the maid had returned^ and
therefore left the room without examining the body to sec if the unhappy
woman was quite dead; his confusion was then so great, that he staggered
against the wainscot, and struck his head so violently as to raise a bump
over Iiis eye. As no person wa;* in the hnusc but the murdered and tb«
murderer while the deed wiha committed, nothing can be known respecting
it, except from Gardelle's own lips. Tlfcsc detadn contain the substance of
what he related both in his defence, and in the account whicli he drew up
jin French to leave behind him." — Pp. 11 — M,

Scenei whrs the Tempter has tnampJted,

297

The concealment of the murder 13 described with far more
prolixity of detail thim would warrant us in extracting the story,
as tbe author himself ha^s related it ; of thi^, the following
passage, which ia continued from the last extract, will convince
our readers:—

All was quiet wlieu the aervant-girl, Annie, returned, wbich, ahe says,
vas in a quarter of an bonr. SLe went first into the parlour, where Gar-
tlelle had promised to wait till she came back, and saw noboiiy; she bad
paid three sbilbngs ami nincpcncc out of the guinea at thesnulf-shop where
sbe delivered one of the lettjcrs, to the other she had no iinswcr, and abo
laid the change and tbe aiiulT-box, with the snuff sbe bad fetched in it, upon
the table ; nbe then went up into Gardelles room and found nobody, and
by turns she went into every room in the house, except bep mistress's
cbamber* tthich she never entered umummnnefL Visit wbal room she would
sbe found nobody : slic then lieated some water in the kitchen, made some
bnttered toast, and sat down to breakfast, '—Pp. 14^ 15,

The suUstanee, however, of the case is, that Gardelle sent
the servant out again, and on her return, stated that her niijs-
tresa had unexpectedly left home for a short time, and that her
services were no longer required. She then left hiui alone in
the house* and in spite of another loili^er w!io slept in the
house, and of a char-woman, (called a partf/j) whom eonie
friends of his own sent in conscqucucc of the servant's absence,
he maintained the secret for a wliole week without any suspicion
being raised. Duriog all tlVis time he never attempted to
escape, but employed hioiself day and night in making away
with the body, burning some jiarts and concealing others, and
wa."*hing out all traces of blood. This last process led to sus-
picion, which was followed by conviction. The execution was
thus conducted: —

* lie was executed, amidst the shouts and hisses of an indigjnant populace,
in tbe Hay market, near Paaton-street, to which be was broujjfht by n route
that conducted him paist Mfr. Kiof^'s bouse. Here tbe cart slopped, and
the wretched man g:avc one basty p:lance at it — no more. His body waa
banged in chains on Hotuislow Heath.' — P. 32.

The chapter headed ' The Penalty of Sin Delayed, but
Certain,' contains a singular instance of a struggle between
avarice and self-preservation. An elder brother, was all through
life at the mercy of a younger, from the latter's knowledge id' a
crime committed by his brother. He bis exposed his chiltl
under a hay-stack, in order to cause its death, and accordingly
i t was found dead early next morning. In spite, however, of
the elder one being thus ia his brother's power, he behaved
most dishonestly to hini in all pecuniary transactions, and, him-
self very wealthy, suffered his brofclier to remain in abject
poverty, occupying a very huml)lc cottage at his own gates,
wliich he was in the habit of opening for tlie brotber'a carriage,

298

Scenes where tlie Tempter has triumphed.

without receiving any token of recognition. On several occa
sions the younger brother let out the secret casually, but the
matter was hu.sJicd u[), and spread no farther, as of too long
standing to be dragired before the public. On one occasion,
wlien the circumstanco was hinted abroad, and legal proceed-
ings were actually commenced, the younger brother, from
apprehension of the serious cunscqncnce^ of hia own evidence,
offered to leave the country, if five pounds were given him for
necessary expenses, but avarice refused even this sum ; and at
lastj in old age, he buffered tlie penalty of death, for a crime
commilted in early youtli*

The chapter somewhat pompously entitled, * The Engineer
hoist by his Petard : Isdwell the Jew Schemer,' is first made
the occasion of some remarks on the general respectability of
Jews, and also on the generous impulses of Lord John Russell,
for wisliing ' to remove every remaining relic of persecution
from so peaccaljle, industrious, and compassionate a community.'
The story itself is given as follows: —

* Indwell, \\\m waa conihunl in die New Prison, Clerkenwell, liad manjiged,
by the aid of "enornioug Ijing/' to pcrsiiadc tw<i of the turakeys tliitt
an fiunt of his, who waa very rich, then lay Bt the point of death, iind
that, coii!d she see liim before she died, she would gnve him a thousand
pounds. For their aid in acconipUshiop; this interview and securing tho
money, be promised a bberal rcninoeralion : the terois to wliicb he pledged
Liniaelf, were these: that if ihey ivouhl let him out, and accoaipnny him to
bis relative's residence, he Mould give tbera fifty guineas each for their
trouble, and suprfz^cisted that the interview might be effected without the
kjuiw ledge of the keeper of the pruson, or of any other person, they having
the keys of it at night, and the time refpiired being very short. To i his pro-
posal the Uirakeys assented ; the rink was deemed ligpht ; the visit prac-
ticable; and the promised douceur by no means comemptible. The
preliminaries being arranged, and a thorough understanding existing anioiig
the parties, about one o'clock ia the morning the gates were opened, and
Isdwell, with hia irons on, was conducted in a hackney-coach by one of tlie
txirnkeys, John Dny^ armed wilb a blunderbuss, to his aunt's house, which
be stated to be in Artillery-Inne, Bi^hopagale-street. Here they gKiucd
immediiLtc admittjince on ringing a bell^ and on making inquiry for the sick
lady were ushered up stairs.

* Isdweli went into the rotmi first, on whieb several fellows rushed forth
and endeavoured to prevent the turnkey, John Day, from following him.
Failing in that attempt they extinguished the lights, wrested the bluudcr-
busB out of Day's bauds, and discharged it at him. At this instant, it is
supposed, Isdwell was endeavouring to make bis escape out of the door, as
he received the principal part of the contents of the blunderbuss in his
back, and felt dead! Dny also fell, one of the ahiga having grazed the
upper part of hie head. The confederates, by somo means detecting tbeir
mistake, though in the dark, beat the turnltcy so severely with the butt
end of the bluuderhiiss, while be lay upon the ground, as to break it in
pieces, fracture his hcuU ia two places, and inflict frightful bruises on his
body. The noise which the atTray occasioned brought the ni^jbt patrol to
the house, who secured ten perssons therein — all, with sciircely an excei>-
tion, Jewx. The intention of the BS^^ailant.■? was obvious. They would have
murdered the turnkey, had not timely assistance been rendered.* — Pp. 92 — 91.

Scenes tohere the Tempter hat triumphed*

SIM

The trial and concluding moral we spare our reader?, with its
solemn paragraphs, * 'IV* ef>er tkmf

* A deppenite Stratagem* is an interesting story, if the prefa-
tory remarks on bankers' clerks io general be omitted, wliereia
bankers are exhorted to place that class above temptation, a
phrase innocent enough, if meant only to say that men should
be paid for their work, but unmeaning and incorrect if taken
literally.

The case of the Stanfield-Hall murder 36 given at some length,
imder the head of * The Criminal carefully cloaked in Religious
Professions j' but as the account contains no improvement either
in novelty or style on the newtipaper reports so lately before the
world, we pass it over. ' A Worcester Tragedy,' a c^'isc of
matricide, and also the case of Richard Patch* for murdering
the man to whom he was most indebted in life, are horrible in
the annak of crime ; but the manner of their relation is to the
last degree mean and desultory. The last in the book is ciilled
* Murder for One Word — Barbot, the irascible Attorney,' which
on investigation turns out to be nothing but a v'ery uninteresting
duel, arising, as such things commonly do, out of hasty words.

Several cases of forgery are given at some length, with more
than ordinary minuteness of detail. A eort of tender sentiment
is made to hang over the memory of Dr. Dodd, as the victim
of his love for popularity: as the law, howeverj then stood,
be deserved hie fate perhaps more than the majority of those
who were offered up at the shrine of commercial probity. It
may be a subject of congratulation that forgery is no longer a
capital offence, but we should not forget that the intricate
syistem of commerciul credit, which so facilitates busifiess, may,
during its earlier stages of growth, have absolutely required the
extreme penalty of death on all who so violated its principle.
There must be an instinctive horror attached to the name of
forgery, or all paper transactions must cease, and all the business
of a civilized comnumlty must return to a simplicity of monetary
affairs quite incompatible with the most ordinary mercantile
transactions. If we can dispense with death as the punishment
for a forged name, so much the better ; but at a former age of
legislation the question may have stood before the world in
some such manner as the following :-=Here is an immense
advantage to be gained from simplifying the conveyance of
money — ^a convenience so incalculaole, that with it we may
extend our commerce into a fresh stage of existence, but without
it we must lay beliind the world, and not be able to remain even
stationary. But a certain condition is requisite before this can
be done. The signature of a name must be sacred ; the feeling
of honour as connected with paper must be equivalent to the

NO. LXVl. — N.8, Y

300

Scenes where the Tempter has triumphed*

love of gold, for the one is to represent the other. Precautions,
indeecl, may be taken to render forgery as difficult aa possible,
but BtiU there needs a poweriul protection and t^afeguard beyond
that< On this ground it may be explained why the protection
Becessary to establish confidence ap[)c«red to our forefathers to
be nothing less than death to the oiteiider.

Another ground of complaint we would bring against tbia
book, arises from a coaiparison of its title with the particular
instances of crime recorded in it. The reader is, undoubtedly,
led to suppose, as we have said before, both by the title and the
introduction, that the author is a* Gaol Chaplain,' and, therefore,
he not unreasonably expects that the book will contain histories
that have come under his own experiences, and thus bring to
light something new in the annals of crime. If an author tra-
vel, aud comes home to write an account of those countries
which he has visited, we certainly have reason to he disappointed
if the book is a compilation from other Bources, and has no refe-
rence to the author^s own ex])erience. Yet this * Gaol Chaplain'
writes a his lory *ofvanou3 criminals, which turn out to be cases
about which he has no more infonnation than other people, or
even as much, in some instances. Wc are not benefited by
the peculiar fitness of the author for undertaking such a work;
therefore, he stands before us in a false position, when, having
anticipated otherwise, we make this discovery.

l»[ow, 80 far from the instances here brought forward being
the experiences of one man, they arc the moat familiar catises
ctitbres of more than a century, from Gardelle to Rush, and are
all of most common-place notoriety, being, moreover, much
better told in the ' Annual Kegister' of the dates. Gardelle,
for instance, is familiar to all, not only from that most accessible
source, but from Hogarth's awful portrait of him.

But not only has our author selected instances of common-
place notoriety, but in doing this, he has displayed singular
Ignorance as to the history of those very cases, and also great
C4U"eleseue88 as to the sources from which lie gathers his facts.
Take, for instance, the above-named case of Gardelle; he accepts,
unhesitatingly, the murderer's own account of what passed, which
made it appear an accidental occurrence. As well might we
weave up a story out of Rush's fictitious accounts of the Stan-
field Hall murder, or take any version of the facta of a crime
which a prisoner may assert in self-defence* Now, Gardelle
was pretty generally known not to have taken the innocent part
in the affair which he would have had supposed. T!ie real facte
of the case, as believed at the time, hatl very little to do with
wounded vanity * on the part of the woman King, but throw
>le guilt on the murderer.

Scenes where the Tempter has triumphed, 301

We now close the book before us, again repeating that it does
not answer to the expectations raised by the title and the sub-
jects discussed. It is an attempt to take advantage of a certain
morbid appreciation for histories of crime, which exists in the
minds of some, in order that a book utterly void of all the proper
qualification of interest, may yet go down with the public. This
is the principle, above all others, which it is the critic's work to
detect and expose. The honour of the literary world, and the
dignity of a book, it is his duty to defend and sustain against all
the trashy, ill-digested publications of those who would write a
book, yet have nothing to say, nor would even know how to
write it if they had.

Y 2

302

Art. IIL — 1. Pmlni9, Hi;mm, and Spiritual Son^s, B^Uba,
Watts, D.D.

2. A Collection oflhmng,for the Use of the People called Method-
i'Hg. Bt/ the !iev. John Wesley, A*M.

3, Hf^mniy founded on tarhm Tea^ts of the Hol^ Scriptures. B^
Philip Doddridge, D.D.

4. A Collection of JJtmtns for Social IVorship ; more pariieularlu
designed for the nm of the Tabernacle and Chapel Con^re^ations^]

Bif GeORG E WlIlTEFIELD, M» A.

5, The Ohieif If if mm.
tJ. Hymn^ on tariom Passapes of Scripture, J5y Tuomab Kel.ly.

7. Ht/}nm. Bt/ Auqustits Toplady, M.A.

8. H^mm, Bij Reginald Heber, D.D. Lord Bishop of Cal-
cutta^

9. The Cottage Hymn-hooh Published by the Religious Tract
Society.

10. The Christian Piahtmt: Hf^mm selected and originai, Bf
James Montgomery.

\\. A Selection ofPmlms and Hpmtg. Bi/ the Hct. C. Simeon,M. A,

12. A Selection of Fmkm and Htfmm, Ileriged f&r the use of
Peretf Chapel* Bt/ the Rev, Jabies H. Stewart, A.M.

13. Pmhm and Hf/mn^f adapted to the Services of the Church oj
England* Selected % the Eev. W, J. Hall^ M.A.

14. Btfmni EcclesitJe : e Bremario Parisietm,

1 5. Ilpnni Ecelesirse : e Bretiariis Romano, Sansburienst,
Eboracensi, et aliunde.

16. Themurus H^mnohgicm, Confecit H, A. Daniel,

\1, Tramlations from the Roman, «S*t\ Breriarieit, bg Bishop'
Makt, Copeland, Cuandler, Isaac Williams, "^J. Wil-
liams, Caswall, Wackerdarth, &c.

18. A Selection of HgmnSjfor Public and Private Use. London :
J. Masters.

19. Hymns for the Public Worship of the Church. Leicester:

J. S. Crossley,

20. The Sn Samour's \^L€ed/\ Collection of Hgmns.

2L 2)ivim Songs. By Isaac Watts^ D.D. Society for Pro^
moting Chnstian Knowledge.

English JIi/miiolo(/t/ : its History and Prospects, 303

22. N'urseri/ Eht^mci. Bf/ Jane Taylou*

23. The Child's Vhristian Year.

24. Ilffmm for Children,, in accordance with the Catechism. By
the Rev. J. M. Neale, M.A.

25. Hf^mm on the Catechism. By the Uev. Ibaac Williams, B.D.

26. Hifmns for Little Children. By the Author of ' The Lord of
the Foresti ^'c.

Among the most pressing of the inconveniences coneequent on
the adoption of the vernatular language in the office-books of
the Reformation, must be reckoned the immediate dicuse of all
the hjrans of the Western Chnrch. Thut treasnrjs into which
the eaints of every age and country Jiad poured their con-
tributioni*, delighting, each in his generation^ to express their
hopes and fears, their joys and sorrows, in language which
should be the heritage of their Holy ^Mother to the end of time
— those noble hymns, which had solaced anchorets on their
mountains, monks in their cells, priests in bearing up against
the burden and heat of the day, missionaries in girding them-
selves for martyrdom — ^henceforth they became as a sealed book
and as a dead letter. The prayers and collects, the versicles
and responses, of the earlier Church might, without any great
loss of beauty, be preserved; but the hymns, whether of the
sevenfold daily office, of the weekly commemoration of creation
and redemption, of the yearly revolution of the Churcli's
seasons, or of the birthdaya to glory of martyrs and confessors^
those hymns by whtcb day unto day bad uttered speech, and
night unto night had taught knowledge— they could not, by the
hands then employed in ecclesiastical matters, be rendered into
another, and that a then comparatively barbarous, tongue. One
attempt the Reformers made — the version of the Veni Creator
Spiriim in the Ordinal; and that, so far perhaps fortunately,
was the only one. Cranmer, indeed, expressed some casual
hope tliat men fit for the office might be induced to come
forward; but the very idea of a hynmology of the time of
Henry VIII. may make us feel thankful that the primate's
wish was not carried out.

The Church of England liad, then, to wait. She had, as it
has been well said, to begin over again. There miglit arise
eaints within heri^elf, who, one by one, should enrich her with
hymns in her own language; there might arise poets, who
should be capable of supplying her office-books ivith versions of
the hymns of earlier times. In the meantime the psalms were
her own; and grievous as was the loss she had sustained^ she

304 Enpliih H^nolo^ : its History and Prospects,

might Ijc content to suffice lierself with those, and expect in
])utience the rest-
But the people, reduced in great measure to the prose of
a read service, clamoui'ed for metrical compositions of eoinc
kind, wliich would necessitate a portion of music; and Stcm-
liold and Hopkins arose to supply the want. With their
versions, or rather perversions, of the Psalms, of the Ten
Commandments, of the Creed,' of the Te Deum, and of the
other prose liynms of the Church, she was contented for nearly
a century and a hiiif* To Stcrnhold and Hopkins, however, we
arc indebted for one hyran of striking pathos ; that which com-
mences,— J
' O LoRDj turn not Thy face away ! * ■

The Puritans were satisfied ivith the use of the Psalms and
some few, hut very few, compositions of their own teachers ;
and an Enjrrlish hymn-hook was unknown,

AUhongh between the accession of Queen Elizabeth and the
Revolution several sacred lyrics of great beauty were added to
our literature by Crashaw, and Herbert, and Wither, and Henry
Vaugban, and others j and though the Countess of Pembroke,
and Crashaw, undertook, and not altogether unsuccessfully,
versions of the Psnhiis; it would be difficult to specify more thaa
four hymuti in any way suited to the service of the Church,
which were composed during that period. Two uf them arc
George Herbert's, and are therefore in every one's bands. We
refer to those which commence j— J

* Ye glorious spirilSj who, after all your haads/ M
and, — I

* Teach me, my God and King.' M

The other two will probably be new to our readers, and W€^
shall quote a portion of each.

The first is by the dramatic poet Shirley, who, whatever
might have been the excesses of his youth, died a true penitent ;
and it reads to our cars very much like a penitential ^ prose'
from 8t>me earlier Breviary : —

* Cunst Thon, O LoRD, forgive so soon J
A soul hath sinnM so long;? I

Cfliifit Thou submit Thy a elf to one I

That loads Thee still with wrong ? M

' One specimen of the theology of the New Version of Ihe Apostles' Creed is
worth <|yotitiig. • The forgivencMi of atnii,' so clearly explained in the Nicene
Creed ty mean the * One biptism for the remiayion of sinV ia ihna paraphraAed : —
* Forgiveness of repented «ins
Through Clirit(t our Sacrifice/
In 0 similur epirit, the Qio^n'a in Exo'J-ns is called Iho ' ThankBgiving in the
ffiurch Communion Service ;* and this in a Prayer book 1

English Hymnology : its History and Prospects, 305

* Canst Thou invite me to repent,

And woo me to return t
And will Thine anger, Lord, relent,
And bid me cease to mourn ?

* It is no merit of my own,

But blood of Him That died,
Our elder Brother, and Thy Son,
Whom my sins crucified.

* For every chrop of crimson dye

Thus shed to make me live,
Oh wherefore, wherefore have not I
A thousand souls to give?'

Undoubtedly, there is much of the old spirit here ; but there
is also much of that individualizing tendency which makes
modern hymns as carefully employ, as the ancient scrupulously
avoided, the singular number.

The other to which we alluded is the following ; we will not
mention the author till the reader has concluded it : —
' Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before :
He that into God's kingdom comes
Must enter by this door.
' Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet
Thy blessed face to see ;
For if Thy work on earth be sweet,

What must Thy glory be ?
*■ Then I shall end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful days.
And join viith those triumphant saints
That sing Jehovah's praise.

* My knowledge of tliat life is small ;

The eye of faith is dim :
But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with Him I '

Now let US clothe these verses in an ancient dress ; and when
we have made one or two slight alterations, the reader will,
perhaps, not think them altogether unworthy of earlier times : —
' Per nulla nos Christus vocat
Nisi Ipse prsecessit loca :
Qui gloriam quterit Dei
Hoc debet ire tramite.

* Veni, Redemptor, dum Tuo
Nos prsepares adventui :
Tam suavi si pro Te labor
Quid gloria tecum irui ?

* Nullus metus, nullus dolor,
Nullo ^ravantur crimine,
Quo mille mille coelitum
Hymnis vacant perennibus :

< Si scire nondum Patriam
Terrena pr»valet fides,

306 English Ht/muologtf : iu UUtory and Pr&apecta*

At novit omne, Qui rocat
Et nos futiuos bospite*.'

And yet the author was liichard Baxter I

We are c'arncd on perforce, then, from tlie era of StcrnhulJ
ftiul Hofikins to that of Tate and Brady— a at ill lower abyss of
wretchedneea. Considering what the court and age was, the
Poet Laureate of the end of the seventeenth century was
hardly the man to versify a Psalm of penitence or praiHe.

About the time of the publication of the New Yeri^ion, Bishop
Ken composed tliosc hymns, two of which form the whule
recognised, though unaccredited, hymnology of tlic Euf^lish
Church. Addison published his two versions from the Psalms ;
and those three lyrics,

* How arc Thy servunts bless 'd, O Lord !*

* Wbeu all Thy mercies, 0 my God!'
and,

* Wbeu rising from the. bed of death ;'

whidi, however sweet in tbeniselveSj could never by any po5j?i-
bihty be euitable for the offices of the Church. Dryden versified
the Veiii Creator Spirilus^ and Hosconimon the Di€» Irw, the
two last linoa of which he repeated with great fervour on his
dcath-bcd.

It IS Burprielng, at that tlmc^ how strong the objection Heenis
to have been against metrical compositions in public worship.
Bishop Comptuii, of London, mentions in his commendatory
notice of Tate and Brady, ' the unhappy objection which haid
lain against it;' as an antidote to which the warrior- prelate 'did
heartily recommend unto his brethren' the New Ven^iou. To
the New Version, then, AVllliam and his court betook them-
selves ; but the villages of England clave to Sternhold and
Hopkins; and, with Hannah Morc*s Squire, —

* They thought 't wonid show a falling statCj
If Stemhold should give vrviy to Tnte.'

The objection among the Dissenters seems at that time (so
tboronghly a popular religion Avill change I) to have been as
strong, as we shall see preset! tly, till Dr. Watts C4ime out first
with hi.s Hymns, in three books, and then with his paraphrase
of the Psalms. From his timcj in or out of the English Church,
a succession of hymn-writers, such as they are, have appeared j
and it will be our duty to notice in turn Watts, the Wesleys,
Doddridge, Newton, Covv]>er, Toplady, Beddome» Kelly, and
IMontgomcry, before we turn to more modem writers, and to
more practical points.*

1 It will be undcretocHl that we do not profess t/j speak of veTBionBof iho Psalms,
whether licfore Watt^, as tho Scotch oinl Patrick'^, or aflcr, m Merrick, Cottle, and
many others. We confine oureelvca strictly to hymnfi.

I^" EnfflUk Uymndogf/: iU History and Prosf^eeta* 307

Dr. Watts'a Preface, which is now eeldom reprinted, contains
a great portion of curious matter. The following passage ia
worth quoting, as forcibly stating the very exact converse of the
Church's theory : —

' I never could persuade myself tliat the beat way to raise a devout frame
in plftiu Christians was to brmg a king or captaiu into their churches, and
let him lead and dictate the worship in his own style of royalty, or in the
lan^age of a field of battle. Does every menial servant in ibe assembly
know £qw to use theae words devoutly — '* When I receive the congrega-
t!on» I will judge upriglitly ;'* '* A bow of steel is broken by mine arms :"
" As soon as they bear of me, they shall obey me ?" Would 1 encourage a
pariali clerk to stand up in the midst of a country church, and bid all the
people join with Ms words, and aay, " I will praise Thee upon a pHaltcry :"
or, ** I will open ray dark saying upon the harp r" when even our catbe-
drftla sing only to the sound of an organ, most of the meaner chuiches
can have no music but the voice, and some ^^lU have none besides? Why,
then, must all that will sing a Psalm at church use such words, as if they
were to pray upon harp and psailery, and know nothing of the art? You
will tell me, perhaps, that when you take these expressions upon your lips^
you mean only that you will wiirahip God according to His appointment
DOW, even aa David worshipped him in his day, accordiii|r to God's appoint-
ment then. But why will ye confine yourselves to speak one thing and
mean another? Why must we be boiuid up to such words as can never be
addressed to God in their own sense ? And since the heart of a Christian
cannot join herein with his lips, why may not his lips be led to speak bi»
heart? Experience itself has often shown that it interrupts the holy
melody, and spoils the devotion of many a sincere good mun or v\oman,
when in the raitlst of the song some speeches of David have been almost
imposed upon ibeir tongues ; where he relates his own troubles, his
banishnient, or peculiar deliverances ; where he speaks like a prince, a
musician, or a prophet ; or where the sense ia ho obscure that it cannot be
miderstuod without a learned commenlator.'

On these principles, then, Dr- Watts set to work; and flat-
tered himself that he was sensibly improving the words of
inspiration.

' In all places I have kept my grand design in view, and that is, to teach
my author to speak like a Christian. For why should I now address God
my Saviour in a song with burnt sacrifices of latliiigs, and with the incense
of rams ? Why should I pray to be sprinkled with hyssop, or recur to the
blood of bullocks and goats? Why sholild I hind my sacrifice witli cords
to the horns of an altar, op sing the praises of God to high-sounding
cymbals, when the Gospel baa shown me a nobler atonement lot* sin, ana
appointed a purer and more spiritual worship? Why must I join witli
David in bis legal or prophetic language to curse my enemies, when my
Saviour in ilis sermons has taught me to love and bless them? Why may
not a Christian omit all those passages of the Jewish Psalmist that tend to
fill the mind with overwhelming sorrows, despairing thoughts, or bitter
personal rcBentments, oone of whicb are well suited to the spirit of Christ-
umity, which is a dispensation of hope, and joy, and love?'

And yet men like this are they who upliukl the Bible, the
whole J3ible, and nothing but the Bible, against all interpreta-
tions of fallible men ! At tlie end of his i*reface we find that
the then usual practice among Dissenters was to sing six etanzaaJ

308 EnjUah Hiimnoloffi/ : Us History ani Prospects. **

and that the clerk read line by line before the congregation
sang it. Tliia intolerable method of psahnody puts us in mind
of an occurrence which once happened to ourselves. We were,
in the days of our youtli, fated to be present at a large
evening evangelical party, to which one of the stars of that
time happened to be inviteil. He, of course, wjis to expound
the Scriptures, and to offer prayer; but his ideas were not thus
to be liinited. Family prayers began with a hymn ; the lady of
the house sat down to the piano ; the tunc was played over, and
the hymn commenced. The first hne was concluded, when Mr<

exclaimed, in a loud voice, * What ! is there to be no

exposition?' The obliging hostess paused j the happy moment
was seized; and to one line after another, to the horrible dia*
jointing of sense and music, an exposition was affixed, through
a hymn of four or five stanzas.

But to return to Dr. Watts. On the appearance of hla
liynms,* Bishop Compton addre^Bcd a complimentary letter to
him, rejoicing to be able to drop ' those lesser differences, on
which bigots dote,' in sympathizing with his labours. With
these we are now concerned.

The three books comprise three hiindrcd and sixty-five
hymng. Now, it might be well to say that we have no business
to criticise, by the laws of the Cimrch, the compositions of those
who are out of her i>ale^ were it not that, as matter of fact,
A\^atts's Hymns are deeply studied, devotionally used, and
enthusiastically admired, by many persons who profess to be
Churchmen » and that many of them are to be found in every
collection of hymns in every proprietary chapel in England.
We once fell in with a church where Watts was ui?cd, and Watts
alone. It is a miserable thing to find the Society for Pro-
moting Chriatian Knowdedpje republishing, and so many national
schools using, the same author's ' Divine and Moral Songs/

We do not think, therclore, that we shall be performing an
useless task if we point out a few instances of downright
heresy, and of the most striking (though unintentional) pro-
fanity and irreverence, which occur in these compositions.
And we own that nothing more surprises us in Dr. Johnson's
writings than that he should voluntarily have reconmxended the
works ol* Watta for insertion among the British poets.

It is well known that throughout the writings of this volu-
minous author, lie completely overlooks- — nay, more, he abso-
lutely denies— the part which the First Person of the ever-
blc^aed TitiNiTY bore in the work of man's redemption. Here

' Or, nitlier. aller ecein^ them in BIS., for Bishop Couipton died in extreme
old agCp ill 1713.

Enyliih U^mnolw/i/: iti Ilhtort/ and Prospects.

309

again we have another melancholy example, how seripturaljstg
depart from Scripture; how the enemies of the traditions of tlie
Church make the AYorJ of (ioD of none effect by tlie traditions
of Calvin, Only let the mind dwell for one moment on such a
text us, * God so loved the world, that He gave his only-
begotten S<^N ;' and then compare it with siich past^agee as the
following : —

' But eU was mercy, nil was mild,

And wrath formuk the throne^
When CniiiST on tiie kiud errand came,

And brought ealvation dowii.*

Or the next, which, to say the least, is Bhocking; —

• Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath,

And shot devouring tlame;
Our God appear'd cousummg fire,

And ven^eancG was His name.
Rich were the drops of Jesus' blood,

That calin'd His frowning face.
That sprinkled o'er the burning throne,

And turn d His wralh to grace.'

Or a hymn which thus begins :—

' Well ! the Redeemer's gone
To appear before our God !
To eprinkle o'er the tlamitig throne
With His atoning blooti'

And this written by one who professed his belief in those
words of our Lori>, * The Fatuer himself lovetli you ; ' or that
declaration of S, John's^ * In this was manifested the love of God,
because that God sent His only-begotten Son into the world,
that we might live through Hhn.' And the same tenour of
thought runs all through Dr. Watts*s compositions. Till the
aacrifece of God the Son, the Father is ail wrath, all ven-
geance. He threatens damnation ; He promises nothing • all
the mercy is from the Sox: the 'everlasting love' of the
Father is tacitly or absolutely denied.

Most remarkalilc, too, in another point of view, is the con-
trast between this 'scriptural writer' and Scripture itstdf.
According to him, our Lord's death reconciled God to man,
S, Paul teaches us tliat it reconciled man to God: * God, who
hath reconciled us to Himself.' * We pray you, m Christ's
Bteatl, be ye reconciled to God.'

This error has never, that we know, been condemned by the
Church, simply because it never seems, in primitive or medieval
times, to have existed. The nearest approach to it is perhaps
to be found in the heresy of Sotcriclius Panteugenus, con-
demned in the Council of .Constantinople, 1156.

On the subject of imputed righteousness Watts held, of

310 English H^nmolog^ : its llistort/ and Prospects*

course, the Lutheran idea ; and Bometimea brings it out id the

most offensive maDuer possible. •

* Audi lest the shadow of a spot
Should on my soul be found,

He took the robe that Jesus wrought,
And cast il all around.

♦ ♦ • •

* The SIMRIT wrought nay faith, and love,
And hope, and every grace ;

But Jesus spent His life to work
The robe of righteousness/

Granting that the Lutheran heresy were the Catholic faith,

could any reverent mind for a moment endure the comparison
institutecf in the last lines between the respective works of our
Lord and of the Holy Guost ?

But on these points we need not stop to quote such passagets

* When on Thy name we trust.
Our faith receives a riglilenuHiieaa
That makes the sinner just/ —

because, knowing the writer, we might naturally expect them-

Atijain, on the Incarnation liia views are lamentably defective.
That our Lohd took on Himself our flesh we constantly find in
these Hymns ; but there they stop : that He became man Watts
never comp r ehe ndc d.

' Hoaanna to the Prince of Light,
Thftt clothed Himself in clay.'

And, —

Aside the Prince of Glory threw

His must Divine array,
And wrapp'd His Godhead in a veil

Of our inferior clay.'

Most remarkaldy are the words of Nestorius akin to the last
expression, ' On account of the employer, I venerate the vest-
ment' (Ncale's Hist. Alex, i. 236.) Yet Watts was not a
Nestorian J for the expression, *a dying God,' is a favourite one
of his ; and in one place he ascribes honour

* To God the King, and Gon the Priest,'

an expression which, in the mouth of S. Proclua, Nestorius
bitterly attacked, His views ^eeni ratlier to have been Apolli-
narian ; a heresy which naturally allies itself with Sabellianism»
For, indeed, a pure Sabellian must of necessity be a Nestorian
or Apollinarian, else he runs into Pat ri pass i an ism ; a heresy
whicJi, we believe, in modern times, the Swcdcnborcrians alone
maintain. But to 8abcllianism Dr. Watts unduubtedly yielded
in many of his controversial writings. Belsham, in his Memoirs

Englhk Hi/mnohgy : its Ilistmy and Prospects* 311

of Lindsey, claims Watts as an Unitarian, at least in liia
later years.

In the Hymns we are cansiderlng, we shall hardly open a
page without being shocked by &on>e gross piece of irreverence.
It is no pleasant task to collect such ; but it may be useful to
show what could be written by one whoae works so many
Churchraen admire, and whose Hymns for Children the Society
for Promoting Christian Knowledge reprint.

Under the head of. The Soft of God incarnatCy wc find this
ahocking expression :—

' This Itifdirt is the Mighty God,
Come to be suckled and adored.*

A Vision of the Lamb thus speaks : —

* Glory Wm fleecy mbe adorns :

JMftrk'tl with the bloody death He borer
Seven arc His eyos, ami «oven His horns,
To apeak Ilia wisdom and ilia power.'

The Description of CnRiST the Beloved is the title of another
hymn i- —

* Tlie wonderiuff world inquires to know
Why 1 shoiildlove my Jesus so :

« • • •

Yes ! my Beloved to my sight

Shows a awect mixture, red and white.'

The 130tb of Book L bcginB,—

* Now, by the bowels of my God/ —

and the 98th of Book U.—

* My heartt how dreadful hard it isT

In another place it Is said of the delighte of Paradise that, —

* Not the fair fields of heath'nish bliss
Could raise such pleasures in the mind ;
Nor does the Turkish Paradise
Pretend to joys so well refiued/^ —

which comparison reminds us of one in a writer who much
resembles Watta, and is almost as popular — ^Abbot. The
Young Christian is calmly told, what we almost tremble to
write, that our Lord on the cross presented a more sublhne
spectacle than Regulus in his place of torture.

Of the Holy Eucharist we are told, in language as revolting
as profane^ that —

' Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls.'

But enough, and too much, of this. We do not deny that
Watts has left some few — some very few^ — pieces, which,
with alterations, would grace a hymnglogy oi the English

312 EnglhJt H^mnohap: He Hisiorf/ and Prospects*

Church. Far example :^ — ' Give me the wings of faith lo rise;'
' How can I eink with such a prop f ^ There is a hind of pure
delight;' *Why i?hould the children of a King;* *BkBB*d be
the everlasting God ;' and, * When I survey the wondrous
crofis.' Of the latter we will attempt a version, which wiU
show some faint rec^einblance, we think, to the hymns of old
tiiue: —

EXALTATIONE CRUCIS AD

Vesperas.

Watts. Book HI. Htmn 7.

' When I survey tlie wondrous cross

00 which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
Aod pour contempt on all mypride-

' Forbid i(^ LoEi>, that I should boast,
Save in the cross ol" Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most.

1 s&crifice them to Hia blood.

* Cmcem sequenteg pncvmra
Qua Hex pependit gloriaj^
Per lucrft damnum qua'.rimuaj
Et tcrajiiraus snperbiom,

* O Crux, tuorum cordibua
Tu sola s'm jactatio :
Pendent! s ad Regis pedea
Spretrc voluptates jacent.

" Qu^ vana complex! sumns.
Jam non placebunt amplius ;
Dum per pedes, manu«, caput,
A more raixtus it cruor :

* O cui nee an tea cruor
Talis se amori juuxcrat !
O nulla Regis ispineai
Corona comparabili^ I

' Qui debitaa victoriae
TantEE rependemus \ices,
N], Qui redemit nos, Deo
Fiamus ipsi victimiu t

* Sit laus Palri, laua FiUo
Tristi levato atipite :
Cum Spirit u Paraclito
In sseculoFiun soecula. Amen.*

We next come to the hymni? written by Dr. Doddridge.
They were publislied after his death, which took plaee in 1750,
and are three hundred and seventy-five in number. He evi-
dently took Watts for hia model ; and while he never equalled
that writer in his few really good compositions, he never fell
into his vulgarities and profanities* He constantly avails him-
self of a licence which Watts endeavoured to avoid, and pro-
tested against : a ' common metre,' in which the first and third
lines do not rhyme.

Doddridge is the author of the two hymns which are ap-
pended to Pate and Brady— by whose permission or connivance
it were now vain to inquire — * Hark! the herald angels ein^,'
and * My God, and is Tliy table spread.' The last^ utterly

' See from His head, His bauds, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down :

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet.
Or thorn i compose »o rich a crown f

* Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small:
Love so amazing, so diviuef
Demands my soul, my life, my all'

Engliah Hymnology : its History and Prospects. 313

unworthy of the subject, is not bad, considering the time and
the man. The second verse, in particular, is remarkable : —

* Aye, sacrum coDvivium, * Hail ! sacred feast, which Jesus makes :
Quod Jesus Ipse perficit : Rich banquet of His flesh and blood/ &c.i
Quo Corpus Ipse dat suum,
Suum dat Ipse Sanguinem/ &c.

The most pleasing amon^ Doddridge's poems is, undoubtedly,
the * Evening Meditation, beginning, —

* Interval of grateful shade;*

but this does not profess to be a hymn. The following, which
is little known, and in which we have made one or two altera-
tions, strikes us as worthy of a better place : —

* Do not I love Thee, O my Lord !

Behold my heart, and see :
And " cast each idol from its throne "
That dares to rival Thee.

* Is not Thy Name melodious still

To mine attentive ear?
Doth not each pulse with pleasure bound.
My Saviour's name to hear ?

* Hast Thou a lamb in all Thy flock

I \«ould disdain to feed ?
Hast thou a foe, before whose face
I fear Thy cause to plead ?

* Would not my heart pour forth its blood

In honour of Thy Name,
And challenge the cold hand of death
To damp the immortal flame ?

* Thou know^st I Iqve Thee, blessed Lord :

But oh ! I long to soar
Far from the sphere of mortal joys,
And learn to love Thee more !'

Again

* Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love :
But there's a nobler rest above :
Oh ! that that rest we might attain.
From sin, from sorrow, and from pain.

' " The heirs of that blest land" shall be
From everv mortal trouble free :
No sighs shall mingle with the songs
That echo from immortal tongues.

^ It ia remarkable, too, that this Christian phrase of a Dissenter should be
thought too high for a Churchman. Mr. Hall's collection, dedicated to the Bishop
of London, and so generally, and so unfortunately, used in many of the London
■churches, dilutes the second line into

' Memorial of His flesh and blood.' (Hymn 271.)

314 English Ili/mnolo^^: its History and PrcspecU, I

^^^ • No rude alftrros of rngln? foes, M

^^H No cartes to break tlie long repose ; 1

^^^ No mldn^lit sliade, no cloudetJ aim, 1

But sacred, high, eternal noon/

Tlie hymn, ^Teru^aletn, my happy home/ the author of which
was a Priest of the Scotch Church, is quite of Doddridge a
school :—

• Jerusalem, my liappy home !

Name ever dear to me! ■

^^^ When shiill my Ifiboura have an end I

^^H In peace, and love^ and thee ? M

^^H * When shall these eyei thy heaven-built nails M

^^^P And pearly gates behold ? ■

^^H Thy bulwarks with salvation strong, fl

^^V And strecta of shiniug gold? ■

^^^B * When, oh I thou city of my GoD| I

^^w Shall 1 thy coortii ascend, 1

Where the assembly ne'er breaks up, — I

The Sabbath hath no end ? I

' There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, I

Nor nm nor sorrow share : ■

1^ BleiJt seats I through rude and stormy scenes I

■ I stUl pre&s onward there, M

I * Apostles, martyrs, prophets, saints, I

■ Around my Saviour stand; I
And all the elect of Christ belovr I

Shall join the glf>riou3 band, I

* Jerusalcmi, mv happy home I I

My soul etill pants for thee: I

Then shall my labours have an end, ■

When I thy joya shall see!'

Next we come to the hymna of the Wesleys. John Wesley
entertained sufficiently high ideas of them. * As but a small part/
sayshe^ 'of these hymns iv^ of my own composing* I do not think

* it inconsistent with modesty to declare, that I am persuaded no

* such liy mil-book as this has hitherto been pubhslietl in the

* English Lmguage. In what other publication of the kind have

* you BO distinct and full an account of Scriptural Christianity?

* — such a declaration of the heights and depths of religion,

* speculative and practical ? «- so strong cautions against the
' most i>lauaible errors, particularly those that arc now most

* prevalent? ... * With regard to the poetry .... Here are

* (allow me to say) both the purity, tlie strength, and the

* elegance of the English language, and, at the t*ame tin^e, the
' utmost simplicity and plainness, suited to every capacity.

* Lastly, I desire men of tiiste to judge (these are the only com-

* petent judges) whether there be not in some of the following

English Ht/mnoioffy : its Hidortf ami Prospects,

315

' hymns the true spirit of poetrj, such aa cannot b2 acquired by
* art Jind labour, but must be the gift of nature/

One remarkable circuinstaiice connected with these hymns,
is the populanty they have acquired with the new sceptical
school. In our la^st number we quoted a passage from one of
these writer!^, which spoke of* that glorious hymn-maker, Charles
Wesley,' One reason of tliis preference is, no doubt* the in-
tense subjectivity of these compositions; while the darkness, the
strnggles, the perpetual feeling after a strength and wisdom not
belonging to man, too often dissevered from any connexion
with, or acknowledgment of, the Man Christ Jesus, may add to
their popularity with this chisa. Among the Wesleyans it is
well known thiit the Hymn-book has almost usurped the place of
the Bible ; and translations tVoni it, in the foreign missions,
form about the first productions of the Missionary press.

The Hymn-book contains 560 hymns, the greater part the
compositiun of Charles and John Wesley ; but there are also a
few from Dr, Watts, and one or two from the Olney collection.
We must do Wesley the justice of acknowledging him the
introducer of several new and very appropriate measures into
English hymnology» or, at least, the first who employed them
to any extent, and with any success* Of these, the most suc-
cessful are Trochaic dimeter cataUctic (Sevens), and Trochaic
tetrameter catukctic: —

* Urbs Jerusflileni beata,
Dicta Pocis V^iato.*

But the offensive vulgarity of some of the Wesleyan anapaestic
compositions almost exceeds anything of the kind in Wntts,
The very cadence of a verse like the following, borrowed aa
it is from the ' Sir Trusty shall be my Adonis," of EQSamondy
is as profane as was the Thalia of Arius : —

* We remember the word
Of our cniciiied Lord,

And tiie spirit of ffl-ith lie imparts :
Thea, Ihcu we conceive
How \i\ heaven they live,

By the kingdom of God in our hearts.*
Again: —

* Come let us ascend,
My companion and friend,

To a taste uf the banquet above :
If thy lieart be as mine,
If for Jesus it pine,

Come up into the chariot of love.'

There is nothings we may observe in passing, in which it Is
more difficult to preserve dignity than in rhymes, recurring at

NO. LXVI* — N.S. Z

316 EtHjlUh Hpnnolopy: iu HUtory and Pro9f*ecig.

very short intcrv'aU; oor any trial of skill from which the
liymnogrn pliers of the C hurdi have come out wkh greater sue-
oeam Por example ; nothing can be more reverent than the
following stanzas of S. Casimir of Poland, where, actually, in
the alternate verseSj Irnlf the syllables rhyme :^ —

* O Benta, per <iuam djitft

Nova muiido gftutlia ;
Et apertn fide cert a

RegnM sunt cselestia \
Per te miindus lEeUbiinduij

Novo fidget lumiiie :
AnticitiEirum tenebrarum

Ex 11 ill a cnltgine.
Ntiuc potentes sunt egentes,

Si cut olim dixcrns :
Et egciii fiunt pleni,

Ut tu prophctavcftts.'

To return to the "VVe«ley«. It may be tloubted whether any
of the original hymns ineluded in this hook eoiild poesibly, and
by any change, be inclnded in an Engh!?h hymnology. There
ore, it is true, some eompojfiitions among them which show no
mean skill, ear, and taste ; of these, the chief le the celebrated
hymo, ' Come, O thou traveller unknown I' in which, to use
the iforaewhat partial criticism of a popular hynm-vvriter of our
own day, ' he has, with consummate art, carried on the action of
a lyrical dmma.' 80 again, the hymn, * Thou God of glorioua
majesty !' composed by Cliarlcs Wesley at t!ie verj^ extremity
of the Land's End, is remarkably striking, especially — to any
one acquainted with the locality — the stanza —

' Lo ! on a narrow neck of liind^
Twixt XvfQ uiibounded seas I stand,* &c.

Yet nothing, it Is clear, can be farther removed from the true
idia of a Clmrch hymn than these two compositions. If two,
which might in some small ^legree approximate to that model,
ninst be selected from the five hundred and sixty of the Wesley an
llymu-book, they would be, * Jesu, lover of my soul,' and
* Ha[jpy soul, thy days are ended !'

As to the theology of these compositions, it is wliat might be
expected. The mischievous Wesleyan idea of the necessity of
faith only, for the forgiveness of sine, — in plain words, believe
tliatyou are pardoned, and you arc pardoned, — is kept, perhaps,
Tnore in the background than one might have supposed likely ;
but the other — and, comparatively, innoxious^ — doj^ma, of the
sinless state of perfection attainable by every Christian, is again
and again repeated* Yet, against the worst errors of Calvinism
Wesley takes an opportunity of protesting constantly, and occa-

^P Efiglish Hffmnolopjf : U$ II i$tortf and Prospects, 317

sionally altera an obnoxious verse, where he admits the hyxnn of
another iiiithor. For instance, in the well-known Cahinian
hymn, * Jesu, Thj blood and righteousness/ we read : —

* Bold Bhall I staDd in that great da^ \
For who fiLight to my charge shall lay?
Completely cloth *d itj Christ alone,
And all my filthy garments gone.'

AV^esley softens the last lines into —

* Fully absolv 'd by tbeae I am,

From guilt aivj fear, from sin and shame.*

It was the boast of Wesley, in the Prelace from which we have
before made an extract, — * Here are m\ cant expressions, no
* words without meaning; those who impute thia to us, know
^ not what they say.' Yet we will venture to asftert, that no
Hymn-book, except tlie Moravian, contains lialf so much. This
alone, were there no ot!ier objections, would ruin some of those
attempts which might otherwise be passable.

From Wesley it is natural to proceed to Whitefield. He, too>
published a Hyiiin-buok — the first wdiich may fairly claim to
be a collection of hymns j for he drew largely on Watt^i, Wesley,
and other sources : and after his death, the Oliicy book was, in
like manner, kid under contribution. AVhitefield himeelf had
no pretensions to be a writer of verse ; and his book contains
specimens of profane vulgarity — and that in a form till then
new — of parody. Thus : —

* My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent.
When Phoebe went with me wherever I wentj'

18 improved into —

' My time, O ye divuj^hters of Zton, did run
Most sweetly and softly, wheu Christ was my sun,'

In this series, however, we first meet with one of the best
hymns of a certain cla^s we possess, — ' Sweet the moments, rich
in blessing,' — the author of which was a Mr- Batty ; and another,
which is not without its beauty, but which is less known—

* Is there a thing that moves and breaka

A heart as hard as stone?
Or warms a heart as cold aa ice ?
*T\^ Jssu's blood alone.

* One drop of this can traly cheer
And heal tb' afflicted soul ;

Wimt multitudes of broken hearts
This living stream makes whole!

* Hark, O my soul ! what sing the choirfl
Around the glorious throne?

Hark I the slain Lamb for evermore
Sounds in the sweetest tone :
z 2

Eitaliih Jltfrnnolop^

* The elders there cast down their crdwne*
And allj both night and day.

Sing praise to Him that shed tiis blood,
And wash'd their giiilt awfty.

* But Thou, O Lord ! make every day
Thy grace to na more sweet ;

Till we behold Thy wounded side,
And worship at Thy t'eet,"

At the same time with Whitcfield and Wesley, flourished
Ceiinick, a class-leiwler, if we remember right, in Somersetshire,
iind a man of great intliience among the Methodists of the we^t.
He eventually became a kind of leader in a sect, virtual or
declared, among the A\ e^leyuns ; and seems to have been a low
and violent person. Ilis hymna wure published at the end of
a series of sermons. It is many years since we saw them ; but
we remember that they struck us as peculiarly offensive, both as
to matter and manner. He has left one, however, which might
certainly, when purged of one or two expressions of ' assurance,*
enter into Bome future English hymnology. We mark them in
italics : —

* Children of the heav'nly King,
As ye journey, sweetly sing ;
Sing your Saviour's worthy prAise,
Glorioufl in Hia works and ways.

* Ye are trHvelliufC home to GoDj
In the path the Fathers trod ;
They are happy now — and ye
Soon their happiness ihaiisire,

* Shout, yc ransom'd tlock, and blest!
Ye on j£SU*s throne shali reat :
There your seat w now prepared ^
There your kingdom and reward.

* Fe^ir not, brethren f joyful stand
On the borders of your land \
jEsi'sCiniisT, Gon's only Son,
fiida you inidismay'd go OD.

* Lohd! submissive may we go,
Gladly leaving all below ;
Only Thou our leader be,
And we stUl will follow Tliec.*

The offensive part of the third verse might easily be al-
tered ; —

'They, yc ransom'd flock and blest,
Now on Abrahain*s bosom rest ;
Ye, if well ye nni tlie race.
In their Joys shall find a place,*

Next we come to the only name among Engliah writers who
seems fitted to have added greatly to the value of our hymns^ had

Etigli$h Hymnolvgy : tf^ History and Prospects, 319

he been brounrht up in a more perfect knowledge of the truth —
we mean Topladj. "^ Rock of ages, cleft for Die,' is undJoubtedly
the beat originul hymn in the English language, provided it be
taken as a penitential devotion, and not as the ordinary and
proper expression of a Christian's every-day prayers. The
thrilling solemnity of the last stanza—

' While I draw this fleeting breath — ^
When my eye-strings break in deatli—
When, 1 soar to worlds unknov^n —
See Thee on Tbv jiidgmeDt-thronc :
Rotk of Ages, cieft for me,
Let me hide mysell in Thee !'

is not quite unworthy to recall to the mind that wonderful

apostrophe^ —

* Quid sum miser tunc fact ur us,'
Quern Patroims rogatunis,
Quum viK Justus sit BCcurusT

And the two devotional odes* * Deathless principle, arise T and,
* When languor and disease invade,* show what Toplady might
have done had he lived in better times. The concluding etanza
of the laat-namcd composition has just the turn of a Breviary
Hymn —

' If such the sweetneaa of the streains,
What must the fount ain be,
Where Snints and Angels draw their bliss
Immediately from Thee!'

Probably, the worst orif^inal collection of hyrana ever put
forth is the Olney Book. In some of Cowpers there may be
beauty: but Newton's are the very cfipencc of doggerel. The
prosaic stnieture of his verses is such that we wonder how any
rhymester could write them — should be able, we mean, to make
verse at all without getting some of the trick and knack of it.
For example i —

' 'Twaa He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer:
But it has been in siwh a way
As almost drove me tn despair.*

We may very safely affirm that Newton is quite out of the ques-
tion for Church purposes ; or, indeed, for any Hymn-book
whatever, and in whatever sect*

The genius of Cowpcr, though it certainly never shone less
than in his hymurf, raises them far above his friend's. * There
is a fountain fillVl with blood/ might, perliaps, be admitted as a
Lent Hymn; while, * God moves in a mysterious way,' and
* God of my Life, to Thee I call,' we migbtj without much hesi-
tation, make our own. * Oh for a closer walk with God,' though

320 English ITt/mnolopy ; itt History and ProspeeU*

not without its beauty, ia quite out of the question for our
pwrpoRo.

It is wonderful, indeed, how the Olaey Hymn-book acquired
its popnliiritj. The compositions of Cowpcr were far above the
general run of its rpfvdergi. The fact is partly to be accounted
for by the immense influence which Newton possessed among hb
own party, and partly perhaps by the consideration that the
work in question was the first Imjok of original hymns published
by a Priest of the Church of England.

We muBt not pass over the name of Bcddome, a Saptist g

minister, because his hymns, bad as they are in all otlicr rej?pectB»^M
pos^^cea tlie rare merit of having a beginning, middle, and end.^H
If wc might venture to take any one of hia compositions, it
would be that which begins, * And ahall we sit alone?* Uiit we
forbear to extend our quotntiona.

At the beginning of i\m century, Thomas Kelly, an Irishman,
brought out a prcat number of original hymns, and accompanied
them with original tunes. Flad he written three or four,
instead of three or four hundred, there is a warmth about liim
which might have produced fe-omcthing not altogether contempt-
ible. It was he who brought that Trochaic measure into

I fashion, for it had been attempted before, of which this verse

I may serve aa a specimen : —

Led by that, wc brnvc the ocean.
Led by tliRt, the storms defy ;

Calm amidijt (.umiiLltuous niolintif
Knowing that our Lord ia nigh :

Waves obey him,
And the storms before him fly/

James Montgomery added a century of hymns to the * Chris-
tian Paalmist;' his collection of the best compoyitioud, in his
judgment, of thia kind. Notwithstanding some very neatly ex-
prefixed pnomw which occur in them : e.ff^—

' 'Tis not the whole of life to lire,
Nor all of death to die ;'

W6 doubt if there be any that would suit the nurpoeea of the
Church, with the exception perhaps of one, begmning —
* Lord God, the Holv Guost,'

Bishop Hcber deplored deeply the miserable estate of English
hymnology, and set himself In earnest to raise it. But how f It
was hut in a slight degree that he turned to the old sources
of Christian devotion; Ins chief conception wa.s original com-
positions, lie brougbt an elegant mind, but little else, to the
task; and accordingly aome elegant verses were the result;
aonie also, we are bound to add, remarkably inelegant.

English Htftnuology : its Hintorg and Prospects. 321

We have now*

think.

thi

fh all the authors of

note ill this way, for we certainly shall not notice the raving
profanity of the Countess of Huntingdon'^ Hymn-book, or of
the Moravian collection. One or two single hymns will be
atlded from other quarters: for example, that by Logan, * O God
of Bethel, by Whose hand.'

These were the resources of the English Church about thirty
years ago. By that time people seem to have been convinced
that hymns were not to be made to order ; that so many yards of
print could not be manufactured at the shorte&t notice ; that no
one rann could hope to supply tlic acknowledged deficiency.
Collections^ therefore, originally brouglit forwiird by the old
evangelical party, by JVIadan, liomaine, Walker of Truro,
Sinie^ni, Berridge, Riland, Adam of Winteringhara, were mul-
tiplied ten-fold. Every one, as in the Apostles' time, liad a
Psalm. Preeminent among the rest stood the * Percy ' col-
lection, the 'Simeon' collection, the 'Cottage Hymn- book,'
and Mr. Hall's, usually called the Bishop of London's col-
lection, because unhappily dedicated to him : this is one of the
worst; and other collections were, generally speaking, nothing
but compilations from these. More or less of heresy attached
to all of thein : happy he that, in a church where a collection
was used, got off with irreverence or nonsense^

But the movement began in the English Church. Evangeli-
calism tottered, liujiliing into an opposite extreme, the leaders
of the movement eschewed the very name of a hymn, Tate
and Brady, and Sttrnhold luid Hopkins, again came in tri-
umphantly: our churches were in danger once more of resounding
with the —
. * How long, ye stupid fools, bow long?'

^^ or that comjiliiintj savouring of such thorough knowledge of
^H polite society and the deep philosophy of morning calK
^^K ' SujppoHe they formal visitB make,

Tis all but empfy sliow
They gather miscVief in their hearts,
And vent it where they go,'

of the one ; or the-

* Oh pluck it out, and be not slow
To give Thy foe^ a rap,'

of the other. Mr. Keble was induced to publish r new
version of Psiilms; in hopelessness, on the one hand, that
chanting would ever take a firm hold of English people; and,
on the other, that a Hymnology could be formed for the use of
the Church. In the former case wc believe that he will as
readily and gratefully admit his error, as at the time of pnb-

322 English Hpmndoffy : ib Hittort/ and Profpeefs,

lication he expressed doubts about the practicability of his
Psalter meeting the latter eaj^e.

At lenrrth, men befran to turn their attention to the possi-
"biliiy of the English Church deriving, as her prayers, eo her
hynioi?, from ancient stores. The principal saurees from which
an Kngligh reader would derive a knowledge of the H^Tnns of
tlie Latin Church are, the translations, chiefly from the Itoman
Breviary, of Mr. Copcland, Bishop Mant, J. Williams, (an
American author,) Air. Newman, (in a privately printed trans-
latlun of part of the 'Para Hyemalia,' of the Roman Breviary,) and
Mr, Ca^ wall— who alone has translated all the Hymns of the
Konian Breviary and Missal; besides those w^hich occur in ^
Anglo-Roman Missals, and in diiferent cullectionSj such as those ^H
of Mr, Pidmer, of Maj^dalene, and the selection for the use of ^H
Margaret-street chapel; while of transktions from the Paris '
lireviarv» we have Mr, Williams's, Mr. Chandler's, and the
Leeds ilymn-book: 'the third little more than a transcript,
howevtT, of the eccond.

All these, however, together, and much more any of them
separately^ fall very short of what we want. We will point out
some of t lie reaa^ons of this.

1. It was a very natural mistake that, after the Breviary
Hymns had experienced such long neglect, they should, on their
revival, be thought in all cases absolutely perfect It was also
natural that at first the Paris Breviarj-^ should be preferred to
the Roman. It is more like that to which English ears had been
accustomed; it is prctlier, more tlowing, more classieal, than
even the Roman reform; it is far more subjccti^'e; and though
the amazing Htrcngth, the awful solemnity, of the earlier hymns
be gone, it was perhaps not the less popular on that account
Yet, if any one will remember that a great part of the Parisian
hymns, so far aa they were original, are merely the composition,
done to order y of some very respectable French divines and
scholars of the seventeenth century, — ^tainted, even now, in some
places with heresy, more tlian tainted with it at first, {e, g^ the
alteration, 'Jesn, Redemptor /)/jirmw,' for the Church's ' Jesu,
Rederoptor omnium,') — he will perhaps be disposed to smile at
the great energy with which people went to work in versifying
the moat jejune, common-place compositions of the Gallican
Church. It is noticeable, that Mr. Newman, in his selections
frum the Paris Breviary, filled two hundred pages, while in
that from the Roman, York, and Halisbury, he could not find
nearly so large a number of hymns which he thought fit to
republish.

2. Another objection to the modern tnmslations of the Bre-
viary has been the extraordinary measures in which they have

English Iltfmnoloay : its HUiortf and Prospects, 323

been composed. It is tlie peculiar beauty, indeed, of English,
as compared with Latin, that any kind of strophe is allowable;
but then it behoves English writers to be the more careful, lest
this liberty of theirs become licence. Especially is tbis ueces-
aary in translating verse, so simple, so unchanging, as are the

freater part of the hymna of the Church. But the tranalators
ave often oflfended in this particular. AYhat a monstrous stanza,
for instance, ia this : —

• Lo ! the Baptist's herald cry
Shakes the Jordan;
IM the waken "d eye and ear
Wckume the great Harbinger.'

Again ; it may, we think, be laid down as a general rule, that
in modern languages a translation \y\{\ fail in conveying a true
idea of the origin^ unless it adopts the same species of verse.
We rcracniber but one instance of a version in any degree suc-
cessful where this rule is neglected, and that is the * Lusiad' of
Mickle. And wc will venture to say, that, on this very account,
the translation ia intolerable to any one at all acijuainted with
Camoens. But ecclesiastical Latin is, to all intents and pur»
poses, a modern language. It not only employs the same mea-
sures that wc use, but its whole struct ui-e of phrase, and
sequence of thought, is the same. Then, further, it is desirable
that we should be able to employ the same ancient tunc to a
translation of the same ancient nymn : how can this be, when
the metre, perhaps even the rhythm, is changed ? Besides this,
there seems a natural concatenation of thought peculiarly attach-
ing itself to certain rhythms; and this is sadly violated by the
substitution of one for another. Take, for example, the version
of the * Deus Tuornm tnUkum^^ as given in the 75th Number of
the ' Tracts for the Times,' by setting the original and the trans-
lation side by side : —

* Deus TuoTum mil i turn
Sors eL corona, prfemium,
Laudcs canentcB martyria,
Ahsohe noxam servulis.

* Hie van a Mimdi ^audia,
Et blandimenta nuxia,
Caduca riiie deputans,
Pervenit ad coeiestia,

* Pcenas cucnrrit fortiter,
Et snatinet viriliier;

Pro te effundcna sanguine m^
£ tern a dotia possid^L

* Ob hsec precatu Hupplici
Te poscimtis piissime,

In hoc triunipho Martyris
Dbmlte tioxam scrvwtiis.

*0 God, of Thy aoldiepa
The Tortion and Crown,
Spare sinners, who hymn
The praise of the blest ;

* Earth's hitter joys,

Its lures and its frowns,

He weigh 'd them, and scorn'd

them,
And MO is at rest*

* The Martyr be ran
All valiantly o'er

A highway of blood,

For the prize Thou hast given ;

* VVe kneel at Thy feet,
And meekly implore
Our pardon may wait

Oa llis triamph in Heaven.

324 EnglUh Hymnoloptf : its History and Pronpeets*

' Glork Tibi* Domine,
Qui Burrexisd a mortuis,
Cum Pfttre, et Sancto Spiritu,
In sempitcrna saecula.*

' Glory and praise,

To the Fallier and Son,
And Spirit be done,
Now aiici always/

There is no one, we imagine, but must feel that the anapaestic
rhytlim oi" the EngliJ^h has utterly altered the calm majciatic
severity of the Iambic Latin, It is curioufi how, in the third
verse, it has iiitrodueed the vulgarisni of * The Martyr he ran/
and has brought in ' the liighway of blood,' which does not occur
in the Xiatin.

Wc will now take an exactly opposite instance: one, namely,
where an aiiapajstic rhythm becomes Iambic in the translation.
It shall be the celebrated '' Ade^te fideles :^—

* Adeste, fideles,
Laeti, trlunnphanteSj
Venite, veiiite in Bethlehem :
Natum videte

Reg^eni Angelorum.
Vetiile ado rem us,
Venite adoreniua,
Veuitc adoremua Domiuum.

* Deum de Deo,

Lumen de liimine,
Ucstant Puella; viscera;
Deum veruin,
Gcnitum, noii factum,
Venite adoremuSj &c.

* Cant^t, nunc, lo
Chorus Angelorum *.
Cantct nuUcoelestiuin:
Gloria in

Excelais Deo ;
Venit« ado rem us, fire,

' Ergo Qui natuB,
Die hodiema,
Jesu, Tibi sit gloria,
Pat r is eterni
Verbum Caro factum ;
Venite adoremua,' &c.

Oh come, ye fRithful, and your homage

bring
To David's town, with one accord :
Ikhold the Son, behold the Angels*

King,
Oh come ye and sing praises to the

Lord!

♦ For He, the GoD of Goi>, the Light of
Light,
The Vii:g:in'B womb hath not ab-
horr'd :
But QoB hnow reveal' d to nittrial jilght.
Oh come ye, 5:c.

*And hmk! the Angels through the
lofty sky
'llieir praises to His Name afford^
All glory M#*/ ascribe to GoD on High:
Oh come ye, &c.

O Jesu, Virgin-boro ! Thy name shall be

For aye on this Thy day adored :
Incarnate Word of God, we worship

Thee!
Oh come ve,' &c.

It Will easily be seen how this hymn— the wildest effusion (so
to speak) of joy which tde Church ]ia.s permitted herself to use-
is tamed down by tlie matt er-ot- fact s^tatemcnts and prosaic
epithets of the translation, wbicli also has the fault of being in
a mesiaure represented by no known tune, whereas that of the
* Adeste^ is famous over the world. We will now attempt a
version of the same hymn, confinhig ourselves literally to the
Batne measure: —

English Ht/mnokiJif : iis History and Praspects, 32.5

» Be present, ye faitlifal,
Adoring, triiimpliant,
And Imsten, and hasten^ to Bethlehem ;
He lies in a manger,
The Mouarch of Angels:
O cfjme and let ua worship)
O come and let us worship,
' O come and let us worship the Lord wiLh them I

* Very G 3D of God,

Liglit of Light everlasting.
The Virgin's womb lie hath not abhorr'd-

True God everlaating,

Not made, but begotten i

O come and let ua worship,

O come and let us worship,
O come and let us worship our Gob and Lord f

* Let them raise their llaaanBas,
The chorus of Angels,

Let it echo, the hall by the blessed trod ;

To Go 13 in the highest

Be ^lory, be glory ;

O come and let us worship,

O come and let ua worship,
O come and let us worship our Lord and God 1

' To-dav Thou art bom

For Thy people's salvation,
To 'n»ee, O Jesu, all praise he poured ;

Of the Father eternal

The Word incarnate ;

O come and let us worship,

O come and let us worship,
O come and let ua worship our GoD and Lord,'

We will give one more instance, and it sliaU be a striking one.
S. Thomas thus writes : ~

* Adoro Te devote, latcns Deitas,
Quae sub hb figuria vere latitas :
Tibi 3C cor meum totum aubdidit,
Quia Tc CO ntcm plans totnm deficit ;
Visus, tactUB, guatus, in Te fallitnr,
Sed audita soli tuto creditur.
Credo quicquid dixit Dei Filius/ &c.

The spirit of this is much lost in Mr. Williams^s blank verse : —

* O drfaifful, unapproached Deity,

Who 'nealh these symbols gw^t J'htf^rl/ta me:
The heart ofhearti prostrate before Thee fallB,
And cannot reach Thee : coutempladJon fails,
Jn dread amazemeid fast : I hear Thy worda,
T/tis is Mil Bodt/,' dec.

That which is marked in italics is not in the original; while
out t>f the seven lines quoted t'roni the Latin two are omitted.
We foresee, however, two objections that will at once occur

326 EnpllsA I/i/mnolopy : its Hutortf and Prospdctif,

to the retainiDg the measure of the original in tranalations from
the Breviary, The one is, that classical measures cannot be so
rendered. We are not quite sure that they could not. Dr.
Watte's attempt at a religious Sapphic is not altogether unsuc-
cesflfuL Witness the verse—

' SucK shall tJie noiae be. and the wild disorder,
If the eternal may be like the earthJvt
Such the dread terror, when the great Archangel
Shakes the creation.'

But the truth is, that there is hardly a hymn in classical mea-
sure which we can look upon as absolutely necessary for our
Hyranology, except the ' Gloria, Laus, ct Honor.' We will,
however^ make an attempt — it will be for the reader to jutlge of
its success ; and will take the Paris hymn at Lauds for a Virgin
Martyr : —

^L ' Quid sacram, Virgo, generoaa Mwrtyr,

^^^^ Ainbiutit front era diiplJices coronae f

^^^^L Nempe non uno geminum reportas

^^^^V Hodte triuinphiim.

Mollior frept neque tc voluptnH ;
Irapotens tlexit ncrjuc te tvrannus;
Tu graves poenas, panten|ue bland os
Vincis nmorea.

' Liliia S pons us recubat, rosisque t
Tu, tuo sfemper bene fida Sponso,
Et roaas martyr, simul et dedisli
Lilia Virgo.

* Sumnrm laus Pntri, genitoque Verho,
Et Tibi compar, ntri usque Nexus :
Fac Tibi semper placeamus uni
Moribus aequia.'

* Wherefore, O Virgin, venerated Martyr,
Glitters the two-fold crown upon thy forehead?
Is it that two-fold was tlie face of battle,

Double the triumph ?

* Neither did pleaaurcs lure thee with their aoftness :
Neither did tyrants bend thee with their terrors :
Terrors on this side, and on that afTcction,

Vainly beset thee,

* Roses and lilies are the Rridegroom'a portion }
Thon, to thy Bridegroom evermore found faithful,
Bringest Him roses as a Martyr, bringest

Lilies, a Virgin.

' Laud to the Father, to the Son be glory ;
To the blest Spirit equal aduration :
Grant that fhy yervants evormore may please Thee
Liviog or dying.'

Whatever may be the case with Sapphics, we have a remark-
able proof that hexameters are not altogether foreign from the

E/ipla/t Hpnuoloffy ; its History and Frospects, 327

genius of our language^ ad applietl to religious aubjects, in the
iact that the poetical parts of the Bible often throw them-
selves into that form. What a noble example, for instance,
is this :• —

* Blessed and holy is he that li«th part in the first resurrection ! '

Or, again, (omitting a clause) —

* Unto the Lord our Goti — And again they said, Alleluia I

And the emokc of her tontieut went up [ascended] for ever and ever.'

Or,

* There is a natural body, and there la a spiritual body.'
Or,
*■ And they shall see His face : and Hia name ahtkll be in thdr foreheada.*

MoBt remarkably in Isaiah : —

* How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!
How art thou c!ut down to the ground, who dost weaken the national
For thou hast said in thy heart, — I will ascend into heaven I '

Ami by very sDght alterations considerable passages fall into
this measure : —

' Hear, O heavens ! and g:ive ear, O earth I for Jehovah hath spoken :

1 have nourished children, and they have rebelled against me.

Loj the ox knoweth his owner, the asa the crib of his master:

Israel doth not know,— My people doth not consider.

Ah, for the sinful nation, the people iniquity-laden !

They have forsaken the Fjord, have provoked the Holy to anger/

Not that we have any desire to see the adoption of hexametrical
rhythm in an English hymn-book : the laws and niuhial
provinces of English accent and quantity must be much better
uuderstood than they are.

Another objection is, that on the systera of slrailar metres,
our usual fourtecn-syllable Iambic measure, * Common Metre,*
must not be employed in translation. But this does not seem
quite to follow. It was clearly contrary to the genius of the
Latin language, that an uneven number of Iambi should form
a line. All such attempts in niodern Latin are most unsuccess-
ful, from the time of Sir Thomas More with his

* Jam tempuB id petit,
Monetque, Candide,
Vagia auioribus
Tandem renuncias,* —

down to the Neo-Latin translator of Schiller —

' A primo mane, vesperae
Dum precem redtat,
Uni vivehat Doniinae,
Nil satis judical.'

Both of which measures arc, to our ear, truly horrible. Yet
iigain, neither is the genius of the English language sufficiently

328 EngUih Hijmnolopif : its Hhtory and ProspecU^

suited to Long Metre with alternate rhymes ; and it will gene-
rally be found that ench a verse can, with great advantage, both
of 80und, Henae, and flow, be cut down to a Common Metre.
Tate and Brady- — were they worth the iinproveraent — ^would
be greatly benefited by the compression: e.^g. —
« Ye tbat His just commands obey,

And hear aud d(j liia saertd will,

Ye hosts of His, this tpibute pay,

And atill whut He ordninft fultil :*
' And what lie bUl*,fu(Jii:

But now, as it is clearly competent to any one to translate
an Iambic dimeter into this alternate Long Measure, so, we
argue, la it, to turn it into Common Metre. There is no alter-
ation of the rhytluu; none, in ctiect, of the cadence. Now
we will take an example; — the Long Metre translation is froni
one of the established versions ; the other, an attempt of our
own.

In Sabbalo ante SeptuiLgesimam.
Ad Vesperas.

' Tc laetft, mundi Contlitor,
Uriuin inaiiet semper qiti<M,
Festiva coelestes chortia
Semper decent prajconia.

• Nos, sanctitate perditft,
Pccnalis cxpectAt hibor:
Hymnosne dulces Patria;
Mtcsti canamus exulea?

' Qui Te piia plucftbilcm
Spondcs futuram fletibus,
Lugere da lon^, Pater,
DellctA, causjis exilL

' V'ftrtim Balubrem t-emperet
Spe nixa nicerorein Fidea :
Tw mox qaieti nos Tiiaj
Lastisque redder canticis.'

* Thou, gre^t Creator, art posscssedj
And Thou alone, of ciidleaa rest:
To angels only it beloiiga
To oiler Thee their ceaseless songs.

* But wc, mid earthly toil:* and pains,
l*ong peniiivcc hear for native stains ;
How tnen can we, in exile drear.
Raise the glad aoog of glory here ?

' O Thou J who wilt forgiving be
To all who truly turn to Thee;
Grant us to mourn the heavy canse
Of all our woe, Thy broken lawa.

' Then to the sharp and wholesome grief
Let fiiith and hope bring due relief:
And we, too, aoon shall be posseas'd;^
Of ceaseless aonga, of endless resL*
' Maker of earth, to Thee alone
Perpetual rest belongs ;
And the bright choirs around Thy throne
May pour their endless songs.

* But we, — ^ahj holy now no more !
Are doomed to toil and pain j

Yet exiles on an alien shore
May sing their country's strain,

* Father, whose promise hinds Thee sti!!
'o heal the suppliant throng,

Grant ua to raourn the deeds of ill
That baui»h us so long !

* And while we rooum, in faith \o rest
Upon Thy love and care :

Till rhon restore us, with the blest.
The song of heaven to share/

EngUsh Hffmrwlopy : iu Histort/ and Prospect** 329

We have bow touched on Bome of tlie causes why translations
from the Breviary have generally been unsucceasfiiL But the
chief remains: the great carelessness, haste, and slovenliness
with which they have been written. Tliia remark applies to
every translator^ except to Mr. Wackerbarth, Mr. Caswall,
too, is less obnoxious to it than the rest.

That which should now be done — on competent authority—^
seems clear. Let all the versions from the Breviary be col-
lected : let some scholar, possessed of a good ear, and well
read in our poets, select the best parts of each, — and, where
they all fail, endeavour to supply the deficiency with something
of his owTi. Let him be content with thirty or forty good
translations J and let him spare no pains in rendering them
the model versions: to these let the twelve or fifteen best
English hymns we at present possess be added; — with such
corrections as the Faith may require, or taste suggeat. Then
let the book be submitted to the correction of such members of
the English Church as have a right to be consulted ; and let
then a second editor decide }}etween their corrections, and the
oritrinal of the first compiler. The forty hymns we so obtain
might perhaps be sufficient till some future convocation shall
authoritatively decide the great question of Hymnology.

As an example of what we have been saying, we will take
four versions of the celebrated Fame lingua. The first is
Mr. Wackerbarth^s ; the second, Mr. Williams's ; the tlurd, the
improvement of it m the Leicester Collection; the fourth, that
given in Ur. Pu&ey's Translation of the Paradisus Aninue.
To enable the English reader to judge of the rcBpcctive racrita
of the translations, as to closeness, we subjoin a literal version : —

• Pange, lingua, gloriosi

Corporis Myaterium,
Saiinruiniaquo preliosi

Quern in muiidi pretium,
Frnctua ventris generosi,

Hex efrndit gentium.
' Nobis datua, nobis iiatua,

Ex intftcta Virgine,
Et in raundo conversalus,

Spai'ao verbi seaiine,
Sui mcjrHs inculatiis

Miro clauait ordinc.

In 8upreraa3 uocte CociitE,
IlwumbeiiB cum fratribus,

Observata lege plene
Cibia in legalibus»

Clbum turbiu duudcnie,
Se dat Hiiis mauibua.

* Sing, mtf tongue, of the glorious

Body, the mystery :
And of the precious Blood,

Whicbj for the price of the world,
The fruit of a noble womb,

The King of Nations poured fortlt.
' To us given, for ua born
Of a Bpolleaa Virgin ;
And having had Ilia conversation in the
^vond,
The seed of the word having been scat-
tered,
The delays of Hib dwelling therein
He dosed after a wonderful order.

* In the night of the Last Snpper,

Lying at meat witli ///« brethren,
The lavr having been fully observed

In the reception of the legal meals,
jis food to tJie twelve-fold company

He giveth Himself with His *o\vn
hands.

330 EnfflUh Hifmnolo^y : its Historif and ProspecU^

-very

* Verbura Caro paoem veram * The Word made Flesh maketh
Verho carnem eflQcit, bread

Fitque Sanguis Chbisti raerum, By a word to be flesb,

Et »i Bcnsus deficit And wine becometh the Blood of Christ :

Ad firnmndlum cur siucerum Ami if aense fails,

Sola Fidesj Mifiicit. To confirm a sincere heart

Faiih alone suffices.

Tantuni ergo Sacramentura

Venerenmr cornui,
Et antiquum d(jciimcntum

Novo cednt ritiii ;
Prtestct fides aupplementum

Sensuum defectid.

Genitori, Genitoqiie,

Laus et jubilatio^
Salus, honor, virtna quoque,

Sit et beuedictio,
Ppocedenti ab Utroque,

Compar ait iaudatio,'

Such a Sacrament^ therefore,
Let H8, prostrate, adore;

And let the old ceremonial
Yield to the new rite ;

Let faith afford the supplement
To the defect of the senses.

To the Begetter and the Begotten

Laud and jubilation.
Salvation, honour, virtue also.

Be tfiere and benediction ;
To Him that proceedetli from Both

Be there equal praise,'

* Of the glorioua Body bleeding, 4.

O my »ouK the mystery sing,
And the Blood, all price excetading,

Which for this wodd*« ransoming,
From a nohle womb proceeding,

JcsuH shed, the Gentiles' King.

' Given for ns, for us descended
Of ft Maid from evil freed,

And His life for ua expended,
Scattering Ibe Word's blest seed^

Hia career at length He ended,
Wonderful in word and deed.

' At the last sad Supper seated,

Aided by His chosen band,

Moses* Law in full completed

In the food it doth command,
To the twelve as food He meted
Forth Himself with His own hand.

* At the Incarnate Word's high bid-

ding,
Bread to very flesh doth turn ;
Wine becoraeth Christ's blood-
ahedding.
And, if sense cannot discern,
Guileless apirita never dreading,
May firom Faith sufficient learn.

* To the aacred Host inclining,

In adoring awe wp beod.
Ancient forms their place resigning

Unto ritea of nobler eud ;
Faith the senses dark refining,

Mysteries to comprehend.

* Of the Body bright and gracious.

Tongue, rehearse the mystcrv,
And the Blood, all pure andprecfous.

Which He shed, our world to buy ;
King of all its realms so spacious,

Fruit of high-born Purity.

* Given to us, His birth and nursing

Taken of that holiest Maid,
Here and there His Word dispersing,

In the world a whUe he stayed ;
Then, a wondrous Law rehearsing,

End of weary sojourn made.

* At His final Supper sitting;,

With His own, that nwhd even.
All th' old Law for aye completing.

Pas chid meat made Meal from
Heaven,
To the Twelve for solemn eating.

By Hia own Hands see Him given.

' W^ord made Flesh ! the bread of
nature
Thou by word to Flesh dost turn,
Wine to Blood of our CrcRtor : —

If no sense the work discern,
Yet the true heart proves no
trai tor ;
Faith unaided all shall learn,

* Then in love and heart's prostration,

Own we this great Sacrament-
Gospel Rite, come, take thy station ,-

A ncieot Law, be gone and spent!
Faith, thine earnest adoration.

Passing eye and touch, present I

History and ProspecU* 331 ^|

^P * Sire and Son, all power possessing,
^ Unto Thee all glory be,

Mit;ht, suIvatioH, lioaour, blessing,

Unto all eternity J
Holy Ghosts from Both progreasing,
Equal glory be to Tbee,'

* Praise and glad notes, heavenward ^M

speeding, ^H

To the Father and the Son. ^1

Blessing, glory, power exceeding, ^H

And salvation dearly won ; ^|

To the Spirit, of Both proceeding, ^H

Equtd, endless beniaon*' ^H

2. < Speak, O tongue, tbe Body broken, ^^^H
Given to be the spirit's loud; ^^^H

And tbe Word Almighty spoken, ^^^^H
Which bath turned the wine to Hloodi ^^^H

or tbe King the awful token, ^^^1
And celestial brotherhood, ^^^^

* Born for us, and for ua given,
Of a V'ir^^bi undefiled,
Scattering wide the seeds of Heiiven,
Sojmirird He in this viorJd's wild;
1 And on that remember'd even,
^ft His appointed course fulliird.

^H * Meekly to tbe kw complying,
^H He had finish d tta commands;
^B And to them at supper lying,
^H Gave Himself with His own hfuidsi
^H A niemorial of Hiu dying
^H Hence to be unto all lands.

^B < Tib His word to our receixing, 3.
■ Makea the bread His Flesh to be;
^H And tbe wine, our sins relieving,
^H Blood that llow'd upon the tree :
^H Though not seeing, yet believing,
^H Take we this great Myatery.

* God the Word by one woihI maketh ^^^B
Very Bread His Flesh to be; ^|

And wiiio.^o thai cup partakctbi ^|
Tastes (lie Fruit of Calvary; ^|

While tbe carnal mind forsaketh, ^|
Faith receives, the Mystery. ^|

^H * To our smitten rock ^^xw^^ fleeing,
^H Drink we the new covenantj
^H Wbicb to ancient types agreeing,
^H To the latest time va sent ;
^H Still believing, though nut seeing,
^H Take we tliis dread Sacrament.

' Unto that His presence veiled, ^^
Draw we nigh, with headn bow'd ^H

All that Paschal rites entailed, ^|
Yield lo higher blessings now ; ^H

Earthly touch and sight have ^H

failed, ■

Fatib ftdores, nor questions how. ^H

^^f " * Now all might and adoration,
^1 To tbe dreadful Trinity ;
^H Houour, worship, and salvation^
^H And immortal glory be ;
^H Co-etenial Three in station,
^H And in power co-equal Three/

' Power ascribe we, praibc and bleaa^ ^^

ingi ^^H

Both to Father and to Son ; ^^^1

Holy Spirit, Thee addressing, ^^^H

One with them, as Lohp alone; ^^^H

l%is right ikith we hold, con- ^H

fcssing ^H

Persons Three, in aubstance ^|

One.' ■

^1 Now, of these versions, it is very clear that 5»Ir. Wackerbarth's H
^H is by far tlie be&t, but yet by no means perfect. 'The glorious ^^
H Bocfy bleeding,'' ia an utijitsliliable interpolation for the gakc of a ^|
r rhyme. We are not called to contemplate our Lord's Passion, ^|

^^ NO. LXVI. N.8. A

.^^H

English Ht/mnolopy r its Histori/ and Prospects,

but His gift of Himself to us as our footl. The last five lincfl
of ilm first Mixnxii are nearly perft'ct, as a translation; In the
Becoiul, the term desctrnthd^ for I'onf, is nio^t awkward ; and the
rendering the itikfcta Virginc, clearly meant only by S. Thomas
to express the maiden purity of tlie IMother of God, by an
expression which hints at the luiiuaciilate Conception, is hardly
a fair licence. Neither ia the * Et in mnndo eonvcrsatus' well
^iven by ' And His life for us expended.' In the third stanza,
the close contexture of the original is fully licpt uj), with the
one exception of the w^ord fratrihm, Tlie lieauty of the idea,
that it was to \\i^ brethren that onr Lurd gave Himself, is
quite lost. The fourth stanza is not so successful. 77/^? Word
(made) Fleshy bf/ a word maketh tert/ bread to hejitfd. The repe-
tition of the tcrmfi h quite lost by the substitution of utcariHite,
i'or made fle»k^ and Inddutq, ^^"^ tcord ; and the phrase Uood-
sfiedMiifjy for htjod, is extremely au'kward. The Leicester hook
is better \ but, by giving * God the Word/ for Verbum Carot
misses one of the points. Dr. Pusey*s seems the best, tliongh
the Bnad of fiattirey instead of terif Bread, is not so well ; but
the two antitheses ore perfectly kept up. In the fifth stanzti,
S. Thomas's idea, that faith is the supplement, or rattier com-
plement, of sense, is quite lost by Mr. Wackerbarth, and by all
the translators. The doxoloojy gives a very awkw^ard rhyme
in the second line; and the similar commencement of that and
the fourth, should have been avoided.

Mr. CaswalTs translation of the above Hymn we have not
given ; and that for the reason that, by dropping the doulile
rhymes, he has put himself out of the pale of comparison w' ith
the other translators. He had a very much easier task; but,
notwithstanding this, and his having borrowed some lines from
Dr. Puaey'a translation, w^e doubt whether his version is so
good as Mr, Wackerbartirs. This indeed is the great fault of
his work, — the difficulty he seems to have experienced in
finding rhymes, and their consequent paucity and poverty; f*y.

' Well fitting it was tliat a Son so divi/ie
Should preserve from all taint of original Mfti;
Nor snJTcr by smallest defuct to be st4iin*d
That Mother, vphoiii He for iliinaeU'hadordftinMJ

We will, however, to do Mr. Caawall justice, give in this
place one beautiful hymn, beautifully translated. It is S« Francis
Xavier'a 0 Deus, ego amo Tt\

* My God, I love Thee* not bccnuse
I hope for heaven thereby;
Nor bceiinse those i.vhf> h>vc Thee not
Must bum etertmlly.

English Hymnohgy : its History and Prospects, 333

' Thou, O my Jesus, Thou didst me
Upon the Cross embrace ;
For me didst bear the nails and spear,
And manifold disgrace ;

* And griefs and torments numberless.

And sweat of agony,
Yea, death itself; and all for one
That was Thine enemy.

* Then why, O blessed Jesu Christ,

Should I not love Thee well?
Not for the hope of winning heaven.
Nor of escaping hell :

< Not with the hope of gaining aught.

Not seekinff a reward ;
But as Thyself hast loved me,
O everloving Lord.

* Ev'n so I love Thee, and will love,

And in Thy praise will sing,
Solely because Thou art my God,
And my Eternal King.'

Mr. Caswairs unwillingness to take the trouble of rhyming
is still more strongly shown in his translation of the prose,
VictimcB Paschali. We will first give his blank-verse version,
and then an attempt of our own in rhyme.

* Forth to the Paschal Victim, Christians, bring

Your sacrifice of praise :
The Lamb redeems the sheep :
And Christ, the sinless One,

Hath to the Father sinners reconciled.

* Together Death and Life
In a strange conflict strove :

The Prince of Life who died now lives and reigns.

* What thou sawest, Mary, say.
As thou wentest on the way.

* ** I saw the tomb wherein the Living One had lain :
I saw His glory as He rose again :

Napkin, and linen clothes, and angels twain :
Yea, Christ is risen, my hope, and He
Will go before you into GalUee."

We know that Christ indeed has risen from the grave.
Hail, Thou King of Victory !
Have mercy, Lord, and save.'

* The Paschal work is wrought.

The Victim's praise be told :
The spotless Lamb hath brought

The sheep into the fold :
The just and innocent was slain
To reconcile to God again.

A A 2

334 English Hffmnology : its Ffistorv and Prospects.

* To womlrtms strife cnme Deatli and Life ;

Slmrp was the conflicl, but 'tLs rj'cr:
BeholJ, He livctk Ibat un,.* de«d,
And ia alive for evermore I

' Mary, sud mourner, say,
What saw 'at thou in lb e way T

* ^' I saw tbe Sbiin Ones earthly prisou ;
t riftw the glory of the Hiaen,

The angel giiardiS that kept the cavc^
Tlie useless gamienis of I he grjive.

My hope hath risen from the dendf
And ]^onii before you, as He ssiid.'*

' CiriiiKT hutb arisen ; He is risen indeed :
Thou viclur Monarch, for Thy suppliants plead.'

The only general atlempt to provide a hynHi-book for the
English Cliurch appeared in 1847, tinder the title which stands
seventeenth at the head of this article. We noticcfl it at the time,
and pronounced it to be — what cmphaticiilly it is — an utter
fai 1 u re . 1 1 co n t a i n 8 2 3 G h y m n a, c viden t ly rak ed together \v i t h t he
utmost speed, and reminding one of the Wise Mans declaration
■ — * An inheritance may be gotten hastily at the beginning:
but tlie end thereof shall not be blessed/ Perliaps of the local
col lections, that marked No. 18 in our Hat is the best. This
contains a hundred hymns — about twice as many as it ought
to embrace :— but there are none very bad, though we rai^rs
Beveral of the best*

One difficulty still remains to be disposed of. How far is
the Church juatified in selecting for her Hymnology the com-
positions of those who were never within lier fold? some of
whom, moreover^ were tainted with the most gross and glaring
heresy.

To us, we confesSj the question seems perfectly easy. In the
same way as the Churcli has dared to inherit the earth p!iy-
eically, and intellectually, and {estiveticaJly, eo she may vindicate
to herself its moral possession. It would be as reasonable to
say that she should not reconcile the temples of heretics, — that
she should not avail herself of the treasures of Pagans,— that
she should not render subservient to her own purpose the art
or the discoveries of Greece or Kome, — that she should not
have stamped the Aristotelian philosophy with her own approval,
and made it that of the schoolmen; as that she may not lay
hands, whenever and wherever they may occur, on the writings
of those that acknowledge her not, adopting them either wholly,
or moidding them to her own creeda. A precisely similar case
occurs in the fact that a part of the authentic version of the
•Scriptures, as employed by tlie Eastern Church, is, actually.

Enali&k Htfmnoii^u : Itx Hutonf and Vrvspects. 335

the work of a heretic. If it be urged that thia approprlatjoii
can only be made by a Synodal Act of a provincial Church, m
far we agree; but the Hy umology, the composition of which
WD are conteiiiphitin«r, can <^iily h^ viewed in the light of a
tentative work, and subject, of course, to the final a^iproval or
rejection of her supreme authority. Ail we urge is, that the
hymns of Dissenters will be accepted or rejected by Convocation
on their own merit or demerit, and not on the bare smiple
ground that their authors did not hold the Catholic faith.

And we cannot help ex presiding our thunk fulness that our
Church ha^ hitherto been kept from conmiitting herself, as her
American daughter has done, to a ha:?tily compiled and trufhy
hymn-book. A judgment of extreme chanty only can hinder
us from branding some of the compositions of the latter a^
undoubtedly heretical.

We now, finally, have to speak of a class of hymns which
completely belongs to modern times: we mean those for chil-
dren» Till the late movement there were but two original
works of this kind which attained any celebinty :^ — Dr. Watts'«
Divine and Moral Sungi*, and Jane Taylor's Nursery Rhyines.
Now, with the views that Dii^scntcrs take of hymns — as com-
positions designed to teach some religious truth in verse, — we
neither are surprist^d, nor at all disposed to blame them, if they
have hit on this method of inculcating their own tenets, on their,
and other people's children. Could they have done it more
Buccesi^luliy ? Wn.s any one composition had more influence
in forming the nrinds of English children, — we do not for a
moment except the Catechism,— than Watts's Divine and Moral
Songs ? Is it not a fact, that where the parish priest himself
has preached the doctrine of tlie Church, he has allowed the
children committed to his charge to suck in the poison of thia
book, — to believe themselves reprobates from the cradle; he has
i breed them to say—

* if tliis rebelliuus heart of mine
Despise the gmciuus calls of heaven,
1 may be '•artleu'd in mif thi,
And never have repeutauce given.'

Instead of being tauglit that the work of salvation is already
accomplished for them, and that all their part is to ' continue in
the 8a me unto their life's end/ they are cfilled upon to bey in it
at once, — they are called upon to begin it themselves, — they
are furiously threatened if they delay this beginning.

♦ I wmikl rint puss another day
Without this worlt he|run.*

How it ia to be begun, h plcntiiully repeated:—

To UmA duUran dw m '^aemg the Holt Srarr of
God,* Whose iiitiiriiw are m rtrang witluB dMH% bj teOtng
them that the3r mre th&cAnt^ grroi «p and sold mwjgr dui;
— ii 10 tfafhiiig them to tnut in llifMinrWrn ftr tlMsir nl-
TVtioii, sod to dnpMe the ^ift of God; — it is thnnrigi^ mmrnw
thftt oi»e pndoiiB opportmutj whidi cui never be rtatorod;—
it ii nuM|^ a vaotac^ ^tmod for afl foliire iWinUt of their
great enemj ; — it la aieoociiagiiigaQ fvture rontanoe to i
tion ; for why should he be lensted who it alrea^ in

noo f And 80 the child argues^ — I am bad now, and I maj aa
well be bad a little longer.

We caimot resist uttejiiig one word of wu-Dix^ in leipect to
this yery book, to those who call themselTes £e ETangelioal
party. Does it not show that there rou»t be somethtDg totally
and fimdamcDtaliy wrong in their mtens, when in a work thai
to so great a d^ree forma the mina of Uieir children^ there is
but one reference— and that of the mo^t casual kind — ^to the
Third Person of tlie ever-blci^sed Trinity ? In the hymns on the
Bible^ and on the Sunday, where we ^lould have thought that
the writer oonld hardly fail of referring in the one caae to the
hii|»ration« in the other to the descent, of the Holy Ghost, there
la not the slightest allusion to either. This ought to startle
those who are in this error. One warning they hare already
had, of a similar kind, — the avidity with whicli they dispersed,
(recommended in a preface written by one of their leaders,)
a work composed by an Arian, — his Arian creed developed
most strongly in the book itself^ though not then acknowledged
by Dublic report as now.

So much for Watta's Hymns : — Jane Taylor's come less
under our notice. If they were never possessed of so much
influence, they are at all events less dangerous, and iar less
offensive. A few lines in that on Eternity are so excessively
striking in themselves, and so admirably adapted to the capa-
cities of those for whom they are written, that we will quote
them here : —

* Dfij9, montlis, and years will hare ait end,

Eternity hath none ;
Twiil always have as long to spend

Ab when it first began.

English llf^mnoht^n/ : itis Histon/ and Fro&pecta, 337

* Great GuD ! an infant caonot tell

AVhat such a thing may be: i

1 only pray that 1 nmy dwell
I'httt luDg, loug time with Thee ! *

However, on the revivnl, the question immediately opened
itself'j — What is to be done with respect to hymns for children?

Of* modern hymn-books written to this end, we have placed
four at the head of our article. The ChildU Christian Year is
good, both in style and thought, tliough perhaps too much in
advance of the intellect of a common child.

The second is IMr. Williams's ' Hymns on the Church Cate-
chism:' of which the following Hymn may stand as a specimen;
the most beautiful, which is the last, is too long to quote;—

* To Sarah old a child was given,

And promised iVom on high ;
It was the child^ at call of Heaven,
His father gave to die.

• * To Hannah, who had none before,

A child did God award;
She gave to God the son she bore.
And Samuel served the Lord.

* rHizabeth was grey and old,
When holy John was given;

These births were all of Hen v en I'orelold,
All miracles of Heaven.

* But these all hasted fast away
Though marvellously born;

But Mary's Child is like the day
Of everlasting tnorn.

* Blessed above all m omen thou,
Thou mother of our God;

More bletjscd they His love who know.
And in Ilia stepH have trod/

The third are the Three Scries of Hymns for Children, in
accordance with the Catechism, by Mr, J, M. Neale, Their
recommendation is, that they teach no false doctrine, and that
they are written in easy measures ; their great fault, that many
of them are intolerably prosaic. We will give one as a spe-
cimen : —

'SUNDAY EVENING.

*'rhe Apo:jtle3 were assembled,

Fearing all their hopes w ere vain j
For their Lord they w ept, and trembled,

Lest he should not rise again i
And the doors were shut around them,

And they hardly dared to a peak ;
So it waB tlit'ir Saviour fuund them,

On the lirst day of the w eek*

SS8 English Uf^mmlopj : it^ Hlstonj and FrospecU.

' He 19 aometjmea just tin tiigh ua

Wlien uc think Him far away ;
And Aliniglity God waa hy u3

When we knelt in church to-day ;
There to mark whose thouglitd might lAFauder,

Til ere who prayed indeeu to eee ;
Watching us with love inuch fonder

Than our mothers* love can be.

* Saviour, iCTliou hadst despised ua,

Thou woultlst not have made uh Thine,
When Thy faithful priest baptized nsy

When he sign'd U8 with Thy sign;
And when all was finish 'd duly,

Wc received another hirth,
And became the members truly

Of Thy holy Churcli on earth.

* Yet the Devil will deceive ua.

If he have us at his will;
We shall perish if Thnu leave iis ; —

Having loved ua, love us Btill :
Father, Son, and Spirit, take as

To Thy mercy and Thy love y
Lead us onwani, till Thou make us

Members of Thy Church above ! '

Tlicse hymns arc principally deisigned for National Sclioole :
those wc arc about to notice, on the contrary, jire better adapted
for those of the upper classes. And wc must confeas that it Is
deep matter of tluiidt fulness, after having found children threat-
ened by * dwelling with devils/ * in dsirkncss, fire, and chains,'
and 'young sinners being sent alive tu hell,' and having their
portion ' in the lake that burns with brimstone and with fire,' —
and being brought to consider themselves, ' by nature and by
practice too, a wretched alave to sin ;' to have the following
liyinn proposed for their daily use. It is like coming into an
atmnspnere of health, light, and freedom, from a dark and
pestilential prison : —

' We are little Christian children ;

We can run, nud lAugh, and play :
The great God of earth and heaven
MadCt and keeps us every day.
' We are little Christian children :
Christ, the Son of God Most High,
With Hid precious blood redeemed u»,
Dying that we might not ilic.
' We are little Christian children *
God the Holy Ghost is here,
Dwelling in our hearts, to make ua

Kind and holy, good and dear.
' We are little Christian children,

Saved by Him who loved us most;
We believe in God Almighty,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.'

Engiiah //(/mfwlopt/ : Us HUtQrtf and Pn>.<peL'ts. 339

So again, instead of hearing tliat children who kugli or play
in church are struck dead, and tormented by fiends, and turn
all God's love into tiiry, we arc taught^

* Haw to keep Cbrist's holiday
In the happiest fittest way j
With our fathers aad our mulhers,
With our sisters and our hrothers,
To the holy church we go,
The dear church of high and low,
Where the poor man, meanly dreas'd,
Is as welcome as the best ;
And the rich and poor may gather
All around their common Father ;
And our risen Lord h there,
Listening kindly to our prayer."

One more contrast, and we have done. Hear Dr. WattsV
warning * Agaimt cun'uig^ atid iweartng, and taking Go^s Name
ia rain .*' —

* Angels, that high in glnrv dwell.
Adore Thy Name, Alnii{;£jty God;
And devils tremble down in hell,
Beneath the terrora of Thy rod.

* And yet, how wicked children dare
Abuse 'liiy drcfidluh glorious Name f
And when they're angry, how they swear,
And curse their fellows and blaspheme I '

Having forthwith, after hia custom, consigned these wicked
children to perdition, AVatts proceeds with a sort of savage
exultation —

' There never shall one cooling drop
To quench thek burning tongues oe given.*

Now, hear the writer of the Church:—

' Hush ! little Christian child!
Not with a laughing; lip,—
For the Great God of all
He will remember it

Hush J for Hia hosts unseen
His angels spread their wings,
Wilt thou with words profane,
Scatter thine angel-guards,

Speak not that Holy Name,
Not in thy playful game;
Heareth each word we say,
In the g^reat judgment day.

Are watching over thee ;
Thy keepers kind to be.
Hash and uiiduliful.
Glorious and heaulifid?

Speak it with thought sincere,
Breathe it in earnest prayer;
In thy light joy or pain:
Tliat take His Name ia vain." '

* Honour God's Holy Name ;
Sing to it holy hymns,
But not with sudden cry,
" God will hold gniky hTI

We will add Mr. Williams's hymn on the same subject : —
' When men or children curae and swear.

We hear the words of hell ;
The dovil's mark iheir tongues declare,
And with him ihcy must dwell.

340 En^lhh Ilifmnolo^ff : itn Hidorif and ProiptCU,

* And they who nse religious spcccb,

Protane that awful word,
If all the while their acticma teach
I'hey du not fear the Lord.

* Angels which iire iu Heaven above^

All tremble at that Name;
And Saints, when they adore and love,
With thrilling awe proclaim.

* Have mercy, Lord, and teach us more
To love Thee and Thy will,

And, more than we have done before,
Thy holy law fulfil/

We must now conclude these remarks. We make no apology
fi>r their length, because we feel that tlic itiiportaucc of tlie
subject cannot easily be overrated. If Sir Philip Sydney eald
truly, ' Give me the making of a nation's ballads, ami I care not
who makes its laws/ — so with at leaet equal trtith it might be
lidj * Give me the selection of a Church'fi Hymns^^ and I care
not who makcSj — or rather, in the present instance, who lias
made, — its Articles.' No doubt the Puritan depression of the
Church of England in the first thirty years of the present cen-
tury waSj in great measure, brought to pass by the heresy of
its hymns ; may we not, under God, expect the happiest resulU
from Catholic teaching in her future llymnology? And does
it not depend on all and each of us, by the hymns we now
employ in our churches, or sanction hi our Bchools, what the
future Hymnology of the Englieh Church shall be?

Since the above article was written, we hare perused the
* Evangelical Melodies,' which many of our reatlers will have
seen quoted in a late article of the Quarterly Review. God
forbid that we should endeavour to raise a laugh at such a bouk.
We have not so learnt the Apostle's words : * For many walk,
of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping,
that they are the enemies of the Cross of Cuiust.' Yet we shall
certainly make some quotations from the hook, that our readeca
may judge for themselves what that religion was, which, twenty
years ago, so nearly engulfed the Church of England*

First, the writer shall tell his design : —

* Suppose, then, we took a letif out of our worldlinpf brother's book^
suppusie there were erceted, at capable bands, a spiritual ballad literature,
which, with professiiigeirelea, mi^^bt hueonie what the worhi's ballad litera-
ture has §0 long and so uifltientiiilly been with its votaries. Suppose, when

English Ih/mnolo(jFi/ : its Hldonf and Pro»picU. 341

such circles are visited by some jQung worltUy acqimiiitiince, who requested
Mies Matilda or Miss Caroline to favour him witU a song, that the young
lady, on reaching her instrument, in placeofaonie mere worldly diity, some
Did yfou ne'er hear of Kate Ke/inte^i or As Cupid was one dai/ near Julia »
hawtr, should be prepared with some graceful ballad, presenting, insteiid of
the repulsive lineameDtu of the nauseated psalm and hymti, all the mrtrical
aiid niusical attrtictions of his own favourite ditties, but uf whi«h the burden
should bi\ some one of those thousand lesser features of evangelical expe-
rience, of which strictly devotional compoaitiuna rarely, if cver^ take cog-
nisance'

Next, he sball speak of his capabilities : — -

* I was not conslitalionally grave,
Nor of a morbid temperameot the slave :
I've sung and written, and with some Ixlait
More than one comic song in days of yore/

And a good many more lately : —

* Ay, and been deem VI, if I may mention it,
Atolerable humorist and wit,' &c, &c.

Now for exaraplea : —

(*' Ilich and rare were the gemn she ware")

* Few indeed were the things he sought
That on earth by men are of moment thought :
But oh 1 his riches did far exceed
The riches of those who scorn *d his creed V

* Ah ! but your taunt about new brooms
Applieth not to me :

With me these ways have long since shed

The charm of novelty.
Eleven years — perhaps rather more —

Have' tied since first I tried
To realise that great It is,

Christ and tlim crucified I'

Again : —

* And though metres like these arc not quite those in which

To treat of the sacred theme you adducPj
Yet when denunciations and sneers you would pitch

At my scheme of adoption, it may be of use
Just to ponder the hint the above lines suggest,

And sec whether awe of the kind w hich you mean,
Is not something akin to that briefly expressed

In S. James's Epiitle, cap, two, verse nineteen !*

Once more i —

' My back must I turn upon men who rely

On the same source of hope whence my own is begot.
Because we perchance may not see eye to eye

Touching Prelacy, Liturgies, Tithes, and what not ?
Must I count as no brother the man who I ken

Is of meet opportunity ever in search
To glorify Goii and cvangeliae men,

Because he goes to chapel and I go to church ? '

342 Engthh IIi/mni>lot/f/ : iu IlUtortf and Pratpictt*

The writer — a merohaot — thus addreasea his partner; —
' For we adiicreuts are, altl friend.
Of that ** lic€iitinuH " creed,
Whicli nuake^ salvation's wealth devolve

On an yaH?arnin!^ seed :
And ontr> thoae who urge that creed

To lawlessness diapones^

I amiply sav, heboid the way

Of life of* Wiiliam Jones!*

The following,
Matilda or
* drops ID.'

WG suppose, must be intended for the * Miss
]Misa Caroline* to produce when Sir C. E. Smith

' Brothers^ nonconfonnist brothers,

Are ye wholly now
Wliat ye were when ye could bonst of

Doddridge^ Watts/and Howe?
Arc yc not a shade too bitter,

Too political :
Wilh yc are " essentials " now as

Whilome^'all in all f"

This complaint of too great bitterness comes rather strangely
in a book which i?peakj3 of ' these days of Satan-Ilt)nie-an<f-

* Oxford-plotting ogaint?t heart relinrion, spiritual worishi[), and

* Chriat-salvatiou— tfiese days of aad eeclesiolatry, saoraruent-

* debauchery, fas t-and -festival perversion,*

And again i —

* Ah, but, aorae one will sa\% Tractarianiam has had its day. Has it ? Look
at the accursed poetry, novels, talea, and other poisons of like stamp, con*
Btantly pouring from our presses. Three of these hideous compounds came
in one dread batch under the wriler's notice but a few daya since. If
Tractarianiam be not a crowning effort of the great adversary under a con*
acioiisnesH that hi« time is short, verily the depths of his subtlety are un-
fatlinmable. Thorough-going llomaniam is a fool to it/

Here is another specimen : —

' To church let ud go at eve, noontide, and morning;

But if thence to theiktre or ball we repair,
Our many church-goings lefa not be suborning

To cover and cancel our worlcllLness there!
Fast we raorniitg and night if by fasting we cherish

Devntinn that laatetii when fasting is o'er;
But oh ! let our fraudulent fantin^ go perish,

If to poBt-fasting license it open the door !
Empty-atomach devotion to-day ^ do not let it,

For the winebibbing banquet to-morrow at one ;
Nor yet of our Lenten acckision the merit

Give sin a carte bhnche when Lent season is flown ! '

And here is the commendation of the ' good City Mission :* —
* No " I am of Paul, sir, and thou of Apollo3,"

la heard In the ranks ofthwt brother-like hand ;
One in faith, thoup;h in diHcipline encli brother follows
What tbc dictates of conscience in each may command.

English Hymiwlogy : its History and Prospects, 343

No " touting " for churches (excuse the expression)
Or chapels you shall 'mong its members perceive ;

To the Church of the First-bom alone the accession
Of perishing sinners they seek to achieve I '

We must conclude. Our author seems to have had some
idea of leaving the English Church, as being now somewhat in
the condition that she occupied —

* When, Stuartised even to Popery's brink,
Her children began to forsake her in fight.'

But he fortunately remembered that —

' She's the Church of John Newton, of Cecil, of Goode,
And dozens and dozens of like saints beside.'

And so there we will leave him, with one quotation more :—

' Confound not with Baptism Regeneration,

That dogma which hath many soulfl undone ;
For justification and sanctification

Sunder them not, yet never deem them one.
Ye shall find the Invisible then will award ye

A rest, a peace, a joy, an ecstasy,
Which TVactarianism can never afford ye,

That infant mystery of iniquity ! '

344

Art. lY.^Sidmiiay the Sorceress. Bf/ William llEmnoLD,

Author of The Amber Wik'h, Trandaied for the Parlour
Librartf.

It is an interesting question, and one not easily settled, what
amount of deception ia lawful in authoreliip. Even tlie most
avowed fiction has fiome pretence at reiditj, and is ushered in
with as many circumstances of likelihood and probability as the
writer can devise. The allegory c^irefully penned at the study
table is announced as a dream, tbe fairy tale as a veritable
legend ; while white-haired dome^ticis, maiden aunts, way-side
travellers and venerable priestij are the standard narrators of
novels and hi??torjes, which nakedly set forth on their own
account would want some link to connect them with the reader's
imagination. It is only Simg tlje joiner, * a very gentle bea^t,
and of a good conscience,' wliu thinks it necessary, before he
roars as hon, to announce his true nature and calling, and no
illusion can stand against such odds. Fiction does not deserve
the name till it has, in a certain sense,

' power !

To render things irapoasible believed, ■

And will them vndi the credence of an hour ■

To be for trulba retxnved.' |

Buch deception is of its very essence ; and, wdiatever the Puri-
tans may once have done, we apprehend that few quarrel with
it now. The objection to plays and romances rests now rather
upon their intrinsic demerits than on the simple ground that
they are not true.

The historical novel is a step farther in artifice. The small
a<hnixture of truth claims a sort of credit for all the rest, and
in this conjunction, fiction, woven by a skilful hand^ keeps its
hold on the reader's mind with more than the credence of an
hour. For example, we all know how the mind of a nation
may be permanently imbued with a mere fancy, as if it were
the very truth itticlf, when a lofty genius undertakes to inform
it on matters concerning the creation of this world, and the fall of
ijian : till many do not know whether their impressions on these
i^reat events are derived from the Word of God, or only from
the poet's imagination, received along with it, as its interpreter
and development.

But quitting such high and hnzai'dous themes, we still feel

MelnhMa Sidoma.

345

that we must kuow the author, — that he should come to us with
some credcDtials, — wlien we are to take from him our more inti-
mate acquaiotance with jinst events, and tiee [»ersoiiages and
8cenc8 under t!ie ghire of his illumination, outshining the pale
dim twilight of history. But ali this is between the author und
JuH own conscience. If he verilj believes he is representing
principles and parties as they really were, if to the beet of hia
power he it* truthful and impartial, we hold him justified in hia
attempt. The reader, in his turn, must use discretion, and not
take imag^ination for more than it is worth. All people have
their special gift. The poet cannot write a history. It was Sir
Walter Scott^s best way of giving us his ideas of the actions and
motives of other times ; and hia researches into and opinions of
those times were very well worth our knowing. There are wits
so keen that they can conceive a just judgment of a character
from one recorded trait, as Cuvier could draw the fossil animal
true and complete, on being shown a single bone.

It is otherwise when the author, to gain a credence beyond
what his imagination hy its own inherent force can win, pro-
ceeds to assertions connected with his story as a whole, which
are nut true ; when he says deliberately that it was w^ritten by
another hand than his own, and when he surrounds this assertion
with so many probable circumstances that the reader is ready to
believe it ; and here we apprehend that the deliberate inteution
to deceive must be the only test. No one quarrels with the great
novelist alreatiy quoted, when the schoolmaster of Gandercleugh
gives U8 hia account of the chscovered MS., from which liis aa-
sistant, Peter Patticson, weaves a beautiful romance, because the
simplest and moat credulous of his readers is able to exclaim
with the unveiler of the great Mrs. Harris fiction — ' There 19
no setch a jterson.'

It seems, then, to us, that the question is entirely one of
degree, and almost adiuits of a typographical illustration and
'lomtioD. The tej-l of all fiction is its legitimate ground. There
tibe author may re]>rcsent himself as whatever and whoever he
plefltea. It is an additional step in artifice when we have an ela-
borate introduction, professing to account for the narrative. We
come to deceit if the preface makes a false and at the same time
probable statement ; and when the title-page confirms and clenches
all this evidence by additional circumstances intended to mislead,
the subterfuge is complete. However much we may disapprove
of such irapostures, w^c are not going to launch out into veiy
strong invectives against them: such warmth would endanger
our own credit for dtscernment. The critic should never take
such matters too much e?i serieux* A practised eye and coiTect
laste can, in most cases, distinguish, in a moment, truth from

346

Meinhotd'8 Sidonia,

its counterfeit ; and the owner of these good gifts is too well
j>leascd with the exercise of his own peculiar faculty, to be very
indig;nant against those who call it into play. Nor, indeed, are
readers very ready to believe that deceit U iiieantj till they
are themselves itti victims. It is those who are taken in whose
mora! sense is most shocked at the deception ; and justly so, for
in all men's eyes truth is sacred : and we realize a falsehood
%vhcn we have been brought fur a time to believe it. In most
casesj however, the author has much to say in vindication. He
intended a jest, and found himself taken in earnest ; or, perhaps,
fileascd with his own conception, he surrounds it with every
accessory, to give it external semblance of reality, and find?, to
his eurprise, that it is taken for reality itself. Such must have
been the experience of the auth<j»r of * Lady Willoughby's
Diary,' who, we imagine, could no more have expected the as-
HUMied quaintness of style necessary for hia design to mislead his
readers Into supposing they were possessed of a genuine diai-y of
the sevcnteeth century, than the printer supposed his miniicry
oi' old type would persuade the pui'chaser lie was buying a
choice and perfect copy two hundred years old. Again, the
scrupulous author of * The Old Man's Home' was shocked
by letters from the admirers of his pretty fiction, taking <(>r
granted it was all fact, and wanting further particulars; and
had to Bet matters right as well as he could with a too crediduus
public in a second edition. It may be that where the character
of the work is devotional, tlua deception is ill-timed. It may be
akin to jesting on serious sulijccts. We do not like imaginary
prayers, composed with all the fervoiu' and unction of which
the writer is capable, and skilfully adapted to the cliaracter and
times they profess to belong to ; for we can hardly understand
or sympathize with the author's posture of mind, which must
be an imitative and not a devotional one. Thus those who are
most pleased with the performance, are least willing to think it
a simple exercise of talent and ingenuity.

In the case of the author at tbe head of our article, who has
distinguished himself by a most successful deception, there is no
room for the excuse that he was taken too literally at his
word. In his first work, * Tiic Amber Witch,' he practised
upon the credulity of his countrymen as deliberately as Chat-
terton and Ireland did upon theirs. It was, in fact, a pious
fraud, How it succeeded as it did with the critical German
wT>rld, we arc at a loss to imagine ; but the intention to deceive
is as certain as the success of the deception itself. ' The Amber
W^itch' is an illustration of our ty pograpliical scale; and as a
crowning art, the title-page is made to commend the story — the
author laying aside the modesty of hie calling, and announcing

Meinhohfs Sidania.

347

the narrative as ' the most interesting trial for witchcraflt ever
known ;' and in the preface he artfully apologises for leaving the
MS. as he found it, except in the case of certain needful
interpolations, whicli, for the sake of the general reader, he does
not point out, concluding with an insidious compliment to the
critics:— ' for modern criticism, which haa now attained to a

* degree of acutenesa never before equalled, such a confession
' would be entirely superfluoua, as criticB will easily distinguish

* the passages where Pastor Schwcidler [the alleged author]
' speaks, from those written by Pastor Meinhold.' The work,
thus ushered forth, had all success. It was received as literal
truth, no one, as it seems, doubting its genuineness — ^till after a
time Meinhold published a contession, or ratlier a boast, of his
deception in the AU^emelm Zeitung, together witli the motives
wliich had influenced him ; to the great indignation of the critica,
who refused to believe themselves taken in, and some of
whom maintain, to this day, the genuineness of the greater part
of the book, Tlic reason for this elaliorate trick i>racti8ed by
n Doctor of Theology is to be found apart from his care or
interest for the story, which he professed to hold as quite a
secondary concern. He had long been persuaded of the fal-
lacy of those rules of criticism by %vhich his countrymen judged
of the authenticity of Holy Scripture, He believed that the
seal and test of it3 truth and divine origin lay within,
and that all external rules by which it was tried were unsound
and fallacious. He wrote his witch story to prove the worth-
lessness of such rules, and, by showing how easily critics and
commentators may be misled into believing a fiction of the
nineteenth century a true narrative of the seventeenth, convince
the world how little their rules are to be trusted in deciding tlie
date and authorship of writings of the most reiuoto antiquity.
The argument ought certainly to have great weight with his
countrymen, who, to the surprise of more than one English
reader, so readily swallowed the bait ; and M. Meinhold has so
much at heart the proving of this his main point, as to feel
indignation rather than amusement and triumph at tlie obstinate
credulity of some of his victims.

We have thus briefly given the history of a literary deception,
unilcrtaken for an end which, in the author's eyes, no doubt
justifies the means. M. Mcinhold's new work at the head of our
article is an argument in proof, if any were wanting, of the danger
of such practices, and of the influence for harm they must exert
on the mind. The admirers of ' The Amber Witch' will think
this second witch story a great falling ofll Those who saw in
the first much to blame and disapprove, will find these faults
exaggerated ten-fold in ' Sidonia;' though here, too, the motive

KO. LXVI, — N. S, li B

fur its composition profeMca to be a religious one, as we are in-

ibrmed in the * Preface i' —

* 1 truvst that all just thinkers, of every party, will pardon me for having
here and there introduced my superniitural views of Christianity. A man's
prijiciplea, as put forward in his philosophical writings, are in general only
read by his own party, and not by that of his adversai-ies. A Rationalist
will ily from a hook by a Siipematuraliat as rapidly as this latter from one
by a Friend of Light. But* by introducing my views in the manner I have
ailopEedt in place of publishing thera in a distinct volume, I trust that all
parties will be ioduced to peruse them, and that many will find what is
worthy their particular attention, and matter for deep and serious reflection.'

As people have refused to believe M. Meinbold in Lis assertion
of bis fir&t story being an entire fiction, he declines to say what
h true, and what invention in 'Sidonia;' but the style of the giame
period ia ufFected throughout. There is soniethin*^ in the necea-
gity of always wearing a mask and supporting a character which
luuat interfere with tlic finer arts of composition. An author
nuist feel hampered and constrained, in delineating scenes of real
interest, by being forced to the invariable use of a quaint
phraseology. He can never forget himself in his theme; and
in the most exciting momenta must be most on his guard, lest
his own fcclingfl, rather than those of the imaginary narrator,
should transpire. This was felt in ' The Amber Witch,' where
the charactenstic peculiarities and wcakncBses of the old pastoFj
amusing in themselves, grew importunate when our interest
was really excited* It ia not possible to write in an assumed
charactei' and age, without giving undue prominence to triHea
and points of detail. Human nature is always the same, but
the garb in which it shows itself varies with each succeedin
age. It is all-important that this should be correctly given ; an
it h easier to keep up the illusion by truth of detail than by
truth to our common nature: just as in modern historical pic-
tures the costume of all tfie characters, down to the most insigni-
ficant, is accurately given, and every accessory true to the letter;
hut in anxiety to secure this servile exactness, all the passion and
nature for wliich the scene was worth depicting at all, is lost
sight of, and we have a gaudy array of well-dressed models in its
place. Again, it is chiefly by giving prominence to the defects
of a ruder age, that the image of it ia most easily raised and
kept alive. Every one can be made aware of the dlflerence
between uncouth and civilized usages, and is kept in good
luimour by tlie contrast ; but it cannot be doubted that that dig*
nity which, in all times, belongs equally to an honest and upright
course, sntTerg consideraljly ; and the actors in it fall in our
respect, when the solecisms and roughnesses which accompany
their best achievements are ostentatiously laid before us. We
may see them exactly as they were; but, after all, we should

Areinhol<I*8 Sidonta.

349

have a corrccter notion of them without these lowering details:
for wliat Molierc eaya of models to be followed and iiuUiited
applies, in some sort, to their simple dehneation :■ —

* Quand aur ime persontie on pretend se regler,
C'est par les bcniix cotes fjiiil lui fnut ressemhlcr ;
Et ce n'est point du tout la prendre pour modeiej
Ma accur, que de tousaer at du craclier commc cllc.'

Yet these points are of the very essence of a inere imitation.
But if thei?e and kindred defects were apparent in * The
Amber Witch,' they are flagrant in ' Sidonia.' M. Meinhold
finds his assumed style, in epite of its inherent difficulties, a
convenient excuee and blind for many faults in taste and
feeling. Thus, it was a coarse age, and our author finds it a con-
genial soil for the indulgence of great natural coarsencsis ; and
we have scenes and jests which would not be tolerated in a
writer representing our own times. Again, it was a prolix,
proj^y, and diffuse age ; men had not learnt the art of expressing
themselves with order or conciseness, and it falls in wonderfully
well with M. Meinhold's natural turn of mind to be prolix and
diffuse, while thereby he alt the more correctly personates a
Lutheran di\^nc of two hundred years ago. It was a superati-
tious age, and by this means he can imply a larger belief, with-
out deliberate assertion, in all the witcheries and conjurations
he describes so fully, than it would be possible for a man now
to do in a formal treatise or statement of opinion. No one can
find out positively how much of it all he docs believe ; but that he
puts faith in a great many absurdities is beyond question.
Lastly ; it was a cruel age, and that must needs he a cruel na-
ture which delights to dwell on scenes of pain and torture with
a minuteness of detail and gratuitous horrors that make the blood
curdle but to think of However, we ought possibly to abate
sontewhat of tlic charge of cruelty in regard to the former charge
of supei^tition, which in a mesisure excuses it, inasmuch as
superstition believes all such horroi's well deserved, and a simple
a^t of justice. So that the reader is actually made to witness
tortures, to consent to them, and, by the author's gootl-wiU, even
to take pleasure in them, on the ground that they were richly
merited l>y the diabolical wickedness and extensive powers of
mischief of the miserable victims. In many cases M. Meinhold
protests against the cruelties practised in those times, and em-
ploys the strongest language in denouncing them j but there is
a satisfaction evident in the thought of his genuine witches
cn4luring the same, which comes from the heart, and is some-
thing bey««nd the assumi>tion of a character.

But though we hold M. Meinhtild deficient in the higher gifYs
of imagination, for which his voluntary trammels would be too

D B 2

350

Mdnhold'$ Sidonta*

severe a reatramt, he ia yet a remarkable writer, and possesses
powcra of entering into his subject, and realizing each scene
with a fidelity and exactness, creeping and eervile though they
be, not often met with ; as if he literally did see all that he
described. This is, indeed, so striking a feature in his writing,
aa to make it at first eight a matter of surprise that his books
are not more interesting. But vivid as many of his scenes are,
and exciting, in a certain sense, we defy any one to read
* Sidonia ' through without extreme weariness. It is matter of
surprise at first sight only, and until we call to mind how neces-
sary it is to the success of fiction that its general tone should be
pleasing. Men are happily so constituted as not to endure, for
any length of time, the contemplation of unalloyed wickedness.
There must be some sort of contest between good and evil, or
what the writer and the reader conceive to be such ; but unmi-
tigated baseness needs, happily, a most |)Owcrful pen and rare
graces of style to chain the attention upon it for any long
period. We get positively tired of it, and our nature rebels.
Sidonia's low, sordid, detailed wickedness wearies us. It is like
watching a toad for hours. Nor do the inferior actors in the
piece do much to redeem the revolting featiu*es of the heroine.
M. Meinhold has a taste for the mean and the nasty. He
delights in abject scenes. At one time it is the peasants licking
up the wine as it streams down the palacc-steps ; at another, a
party of Jews, in their long beards, scrarabling for spoil on the
j>avement. Or it is a rabble, accompanying, with jeers and
laughter, some innocent victim, tricked out in dismal mockery,
to the gibbet ; or Sidonia and her base lover interchanging vile
reproaches and blows ; or a poor jester, frightened to death in
jest.

Nor do his superior characters escape contamination ; indeed,
the profession of high aims tempts our author to administer this
species of huraihation, which, ivith the fiend for his ally, ia easily
effected. The Priest of the Lutheran convent, a man of simple
and blameless life, and who, for conscience sake, so bitterly
offends the witch, that in the end he suffers a dreadful death
through her malice, is first made ridiculous through the instru-
mentality of a love philtre, which causes him to fall into a
paroxysm of admiration for a hideous witch, and, when in his
coflftu, his body is the subject of a revolting glioul-like attack.
And a nun, who has devoted herself to a virgin life — an act not
necessary for a nun, under Lutheran changes— is represented as
a prudish, weak-minded creature, who, under some of Sidonia'a
potent spells, disclaims all her former professions, and, by her
Avords and thoughta, scandalizes the whole community.

M. Meinhold calls himself a supernaturalist ; it is the ten-

M einh old's Sidmi ta*

351

dency of this mode of thought to bring down mind to the level
of matter, and the effect is not to refine matter, but to degrade
Bpirit. All systems which believe that mind and sph'it may be
brought under involuntary evil sway — that make them subject
to foreign control apart from the consent of the will — seem to have
necessarily this conscqueDce. Such notions are in their very
nature impure, and break down the broad distinctions of right
and wrong. They are the fruits of a depraved imagination, or
they are temptations towards it. Magic, Avitchcraft, conjurations,
the doctrine of sympathies, somnambulism, mesmerism in its
mystical stages, have all this feature in common, and cannot
long engage the thoughts or occupy the imagination without

harm. XKey reduce the great enemy of mankind to a profane
jest, and our contest with him to a simple war of wits; they
break in upon the security and majesty of innocence, and strike
at the root of our simple union with, and dependence on God,

Amidst all the atrocities to which the prosecution of witch-
craft has given rise, it is a matter of congratulation, a testimony
to the fair, humane, dispassionate cliaracter of our Church, that
it has little share in these cruelties, and fewest sins to answer
for. After the Refonnation, when the crime was first prose-
cuted with vigour, its clergy, as a body, discouraged such pro-
ceedings ; nor did the rage against witchci-aft attain to any height
till the ascendancy of the Presbyterian party. It was in Pres-
byterian Scotland that the longest and most systematic perse-
cution of witches occurred, as is shown in the Records of the
Kirk Session, especially those preserved in the recent publi-
cations of the Spalding Club. Under the rule of these rigid
and bigoted dogmatists in England our Churcli was even per-
seen ted under this charge; Baxter relates with satisfaction that
an oid reading parmn was one of the victims hanged for this
crime under tne impartial superintendence of his friend Dr.
Calamy. This unfortunate clergyman. Rector of Lewlg, near
Pramimgton, Suffolk, was brought under suspicion at the time
of the notorious Iklichael Hopkins the witch-finder's reign of
terror. He was then not far from his eightieth year, and, under
the combined effects of torture and compulsory wakefulness, was
brought to confess some raving matter iif possessing two imps,
having sunk a ship at sea, and other absurdities* of which we
may well believe the poor old man unconscious while he uttered
them. His spirit revived when the tortures were over; and
that religious animosity may have been at the bottom of the
persecution we must infer, not only from Baxter's epithet, but
from the old man's resolution that the burial service should be
read over his body, to secure which he actually read it himself
on his way to the gibbet. Again* in the horrible witch perac-

MeinkoltTis Si Jama,

ciitiona in New England, under the rule of the same party, tho
fiend was represented as listening very patiently und contentedly
to portiuns of uux* Prayer-book, wliile the very same passfiges read
out of the Bible tlirew the possessed person into couvulsioufl.

But the scene of our story carries us away from these reflec-
tions. It lies in Pomerania, where Luther had laboured, and
his powerful name gave a sanction to the witch persecution
which afterwards rnged in that terrltor3^ In the present narra-
tive, the widowed Duchess of Pomerania has a favourite story,
which she brings in on all occasion?, of the evil omen which
occurred on her wedding day, when Dr. Martin Luther per-
formed the marriage ceremony and let fall her wedding ring,

* at which he was evidently troubled, and, taking it up, he blew

* on it, then turnin^j round, exclaimed. Away with thee, Satan —

* away with thee, Satan, and meddle not in this matter.' The
supposed diabolical persecutions prefigured by this occurrence,
of wliich Sidunia was the instrument, form the groundwork of
the present work.

Sldonia is an historical personage who figures in the histories
of Pomerania aa the destroyer of the ducal family. The fol-
lowing MS. account, appended to an extant portrait of the
sorceress, will put the reader iu possession of the facts, or, we
should eay, historical assertions on which M. Mcinhold has
founded his fiction ; only following them, however, so far as it
suits his purpose :—

* This Siclonin Bork was in her youtli the moat beautiful nnd the richest
maiden of Pomerania, She inherited many QstatcH from ber parenta, and
thus was in her own right a possessor almost of a country. So bcr pride iii»
creased, and many noble genllemeo, who sought her hand in raflmag:e,
were rejected wilh disdain, ns she conssidered a count or prince alone could
be worthy ot her band. For these reasons she attended tlic Duke's court
frequently, in the hopes of winning over one of the seven young princes
to her lovc- At length she was aucceasful, Duke Ernest Louis von Wol-
past, aged about twenty, and the handsomest youth in Pomerania, became
her lover, and even promised her hia hand in'marriage. This promise he
V oald fftitbfidly have kept, if the Stettin prices, who were displeased at
the prospect of this unequal alliance, had not induced him to abandon
Sidonia,'| by meiins of the portrait of the Princess Hedwrg of Brunswick^
the most beautiful princess in all Germany. Sidonia thereupon fell into
Buch despair, that she resolved to renounce marriage for ever, and bury
the reraamder of hot life in the convent of Marienfliesa ; and thus she did.
But the wrong done to her hy the Stettin princes lay heavy upon her heart,
and the desire for revenge increased trith years ; besides, in place of reading
the Jiible, her private hours were passed studying the ** Amadis," wherein
she found many examples of how forsaken maidens have avenged theiu-
selves upon their false loveriJ by means of magic. So she at last yielded to
the temptations of Sntan, and after some years learned the secrets of witch-
craft from an old woman, Ily means of tliia unholy knowledge, along with
Bcveral other evil deeds, she so bewit*'bed the whole princely race, that the
»ix young princes, who were each vcddcd to a young wife, remained child-

MeinhoUTs Stdon ia .

353

less ; but no public notice wfCs taken till Duke Francia succeeded to tbe
duchy, in 1613. He was a ruthless enemy to witcliea; all in the land
were sought out withi ^eat diligence, and burned ; and aa they nnanknfmisly
named the Abbess of Marienfliess^ upon the rack, slie was brought to
Stettin by command of the Duke, where she freely confessed all the evil
wrought by her sorceries upon the princely race.

' The Duke promised her life and pardon if she would free the other
princea from the bann ; but her answer was, that she bad enclosed the spell
in a pndlock and flung it into the sea, and having asked the devil if he
could Fcatore the padlock again to her, be replied, *' No; that was for-
bidden to him ;'* by it every one can perceive tbat the destiny of God wa»
in the matter.

' And so it was, tbat, notwithstanding the intercession of all the neigh-
bouring courts, Sidonia was brought to the scaffold at Stettin, tbere be-
headed, and afterwards burned.

' Before her death, the Prince ordered her portrait to be painted, in her
old age and prison garb, behind that which represented her in the prime of
youth. After hia death, Bo^ialafTXIV-, the last duke, gave this picture to
my grandmother, whose busband had also beeu killed by this sorceress.
My father received it from her, and I from him, along with the story whicb
is here written down.

* Henry Gustavus Schwalenberg/

On this foundation M. Meinhokl has raised his image of the
witch cliarncter in its full development of malice and every
evil passion. It lias been objected tbat Sidonia is of too mon-
strous a wickedness, and that contemporary notices Iiave allowed,
indeed rather demand that she should be represented with some
points of human interest. This modification would no donbt
artistically have been a great gain to the work, which suffers for
the monotony of unrelieved evil ; but if we are to believe in the
modern notions of witchcraft at all, we should prefer attributing
it to such as had uniformly cfwsen evib rather than that they
should in any sort become the unconscious, unwilling slaves of
Satan^ like that unhappy old woman who, on being accused and
frightened into a half belief in the charges brought against her,
asked innocently if a person could be a witch without knowing
it. Sidonia, according to M. Meinhold'a view of her character,
was fully conscious of, and instrumental to her own perdition.

Being a zealous upholder of the orthodox faith, he uses the
somewhat disingenuous weapon, always in the power of the
writers of fiction, of making the imaginary personages of the
narrativo give a sort of historical support, to his views. Sido-
nia'a father is represented as an Arian, as well as a bold blas-
phemer and a monster of pride and cruelty. While putting
forward his heretical opinions at a feast in his own castle, one of
his retainers withstands them with such zeal and courage, that
Otto von Bork, not able to answer his argument,H, and incensed

' Sidoma never attained ihiB dignity, though ^iVmWiKa and otherB gave her thia
tltl«.

354

MetnhohVi Sidonia.

at his boldncB?, draws hia dagger and slays his theological op-
ponent ia the face of all his gucs^ts. This incident leads to our
first introduction to Sidonia as a chikl.

'As to Otto, (her father,) no one observed Any gign of repentance in him.
On the contrary, lie seemed to glory in Itts crime. And the neighbouring;
nobles related, that he frequently brought in his little daughter Sidonin,
whom he adored for her beauty, to the assembled j;yesta, nmgiilficcjitly
attired j and when ahe was bowing to the company, he would iiny\ " Who
art thou, my little daug^hter?" Then she wonld cease the salutations that
her mother had tatig^ht her, and drawing herself up, proudly exclaim,
" I am a noble maiden, dowered with towna and castles!" Then he would
Mk, if the conversation turned upon hia cneraietj— and half the nobles were
80 — "Sidonia, how does thy father treat his enemieK?" Upon which the
child would straigbten her finger, and running at her father, strike it into
Lis heart, eajing, '* 77ii« be treats them." At \ibich Otto would laugh
loudly, and tell her to show him how the knave looked when he waa
dying. Then Sidonia would fall down, twist her faee, and writhe her little
hands and feet in horrible contortions. Upon which Otto would lifl her
upi and kiss her upon the mouth.'

Tliis was her moral training; her religious edtieation was of
very much the eume school : her father having introduced some
curious blasphemies into the Cntechismj and instructed her ia
them. Thus she grew up in pride and cruelty, but of a mar-
vellous beauty, by which she was enabled to fascinate all men
who approached her; thougli she had early dcterndncd, under
her father's instructions, to marry none hut one of the House of
Pomerania, they alone being her equals in rank. This design
is helped on by the visit of the reigning Duke Barnim, who
comes to her father's castle, to be present at Clara von Bork'a
(her sister's) marriage. This old dtike is well described, though
with a coarse pencd, as an old, jesting, good*humourcd pro-
fligatCj with certain tastes for mechanism and the arts, which
excites the contempt of his aubjects. He constructed a musical
snuff-box, which played paalm tunes for his puritanical widowed
niece ; and he employed his leisure hours in carving little
wooden statuettes for churches, or as they called them, dolls.
He caiTied one of these puppets always in bis hand during hia
journeys, and rejoiced when a bad tract of roatl stuck the
carriage fast, that he might be rid of the joltings that so hindered
his work. Through this old Didce, Sidonia gets introduced to
the court of the '^vidowed duchess, his niece, the mother of five
hopeful sons, heirs to the dukedom ; one of whom she was
deteraiincd to marry. This resolution, however, by no mcAns
stands in the way of her desire to engage all men in her toils ;
and her arts and fascinations soon threw the widow's correct
court into strange confusion.

Her ignorance on all religious subjects had very early been
discovered* She hud not been able to say grace on the fir^t

AfeiiiMd's Sidvnia*

355

occasion of sitting down at the royal table, and tlic hfindsomc
and amiable Prince Ernest had come to her re.^cuc in the
emergency < Next Sunday, the Ducheaa was scandalized at her
ignorance of the Bible, so great as not to know the Xew Testa-
ment from the Old ; * whereupon the cunning wench be^ran to

* weep, and^ay, her father had never allowed her to learn Chris-

* tianity, and for this reason she had sought a refuge with her

* Grace/ The Duchess was softened, and promised that her
chaphiin, Dr, Dionysius Gerschovins, should examine her in the
Catechism. Of this learned doctor and hig Catechism, Sidonia
had an extreme dread; however the Duchess persisted, and
chose out from among her maids of honour a gentle luid discreet
damselj to give her preliminary instruction. The modest Clara,
however, found her lessons of theology sadly interrupted by
Sidonia s folly and levity, 'for she chattered away on all sub-

* jects: first, about Prince Ernest— was he affianced to any one?

* — was he in love ? Had Clara herself a lover? And if that

* old proser, meaning the Duchess, looked always as sour?— did

* she never allow a feast or a dance ? And then she would toss

* the Catechism under the bed, or tear it, or trample on it**

Her task in this spirit gets on slowly ; and some days after,
the following scene occurs:. the suppliant girl, at the conclusion,
is Sidonia's first introduction to supernatural wickedness, fcir
which that in her own heart so well prepares her. This Anne
Wolde in after years becomes her helper and humble com-
panion in all her witcheries, and their familiars in conjunction
make Sidonia all-powerfuL At this time, in spite of adverse^
appearances, Clara had conceived hopes of Sidonia'a reformation.
Her uniform kindness ended ultimately, as all fnendsliip or
tendcrneas towards the sorceress did, in her own misfortune ;
but this is anticipating events.

* Although SidoDia had absented herself from the spmeiing, on the pre-
text of learning: the Catechism in her cnvn room, yet, when Clara entered,
no one was there except, the maid, who aat upon the lloor nt her work.
She knew nothing about the young kdy ; but as she heard a g:rcat deal of
Innghter and merriment in the court beneath, it was likely Sidonia wag not
far nff. On stepping to the window, Clara indeed beheld Sidonia.

* In the middle of the court was a larg;e horse-pond» built round with
stonea, to which the water was conducted by n^ctal pipes connnonicaling
with the river Peeae. In the middle of the pond waa a small island ; upon
this Sidonia was standing, feeding the bear with bread, which Appelmaun,
iPFho stood beside her, first dipped into a can of syrup ; and scverat of the
joun^ squires stood around them laughing' and jesting.

* The young idle pages were wont to take y^reat delight in shootinn; at
the hear with blunt arrows, and when be growled or snarled, then tliey
Viould calm it aj;:ain by throwing over bits of bread steeped in honey or
syrup, So Sidonia, waiting to see the fun, had got upon the plauk ready
to give the bread, just as the bear had got to the highest pitch of irritation,
i^hen bo would suddenly change liis growling into another sort of speech

356

MeinhMs Sidonia,

after hia fasbion. Ail lliis amuficd Sidotiia xiiiglitUy, and she laughed and
clapped her bands with debght,

* When the modust CUra beheld all tbis^ and liow Sidouia danced up aiid
down ou tlie plank, while the water splashed over her robe, she called to
her, "Dear Lady Sidonia, come hither j I have aomeubat t« tell thee/*
But she answered tartly, '* Dear Lady Clara, keep it then ; I am too young
to be told every thing." And she danced up and doivn on the plank as before.

'After many vaui entreaties, Clara had at length to descend and seize
the wild bird by the wing — I mean thereby the arm — and carry her off to
the castle. The young inen would have followed^ but they were engaged
to attend his hin^hnesa on a fishing excursion that afternoon, and were
obliged to see after their nets and tackle. So the two maidens walked up
and down the corridor undisturbed ; and Clara asked il' she had yet learnt
the Catechism.

* lUa, — ** No ; 1 have no wish to learn it." IliFc. — " But if the priest has
to reprimand you publicly from the pulpit?" lliar — >*' I cowtiiicl him not
to do it/' Iltsc.—'' ^\'hy, what would you do to him? " lUa. — *' He will
find that out.'* *

Clara licrc goes on to remonstrate wHli the bold frecilom of
her inanuer, conchiding with a warning on the evident designs
she entertained npon the young duke, ErncBt,

* **■ Can you think that our graeioua prince^ a son of Pomeranxa, will
make thee his duchess? Thon who art only a common noblcman*»i
daugjhtcr."

* }Uu. — '*A common nobleman's daughter! — that is good from the peasant
prl. You arc common enough, and low enough, I warranty but my blood
ifi aa old as tliat of the Dukes of Pomcranin \ and besides^ 1 am a castle and
land-dowered maiden. But who are you ? Who are you ? Your fore-
fathers were bunted out of Mecklenburgif ^"^^ o^'y go* footing here in
Pomerania out of charity."

* ILfc.—**^ JJo not he angry, dear lady ; you say true j yet I mu&t add that
my forefathers were once Counts of Mecklenburg, and from their loyalty
to the Dukes of Pomerania, were given possessions here in Daber, where
they have been lords of cajjtlca and lands for 250 years. Yet I will
confess that your race is nobler than mine ; but dear child, I make no
boast of my ancestry, nor is it fitting for either of us to do so. The right
royal Prince, who ia given as an example and model to us all — who is
Lord not over castle and land, but of the heavens and the earth — the
Saviour Jesus ChriBt-='he took no account of his arms or his ancestry,
though the whole starry universe was his banner. He was as humble
towards the little child as to the learned doctors in the temple — ^to the
chiefs among the people as to the trembUng ainncr, and the blind beggar
Bartimeus. Let us take, then, this Friuce for an example, and mind our
life long what he Bays, — ' Come unto me, and learn of me, for 1 am meek
and lowly of heart' Will you not learn of him, dear lady? I will, if God
give me grace."

* And she extended her hand to Sidonia, who dashed it away crying,
" Stuff? nonsense ! you have learned all this twaddle from the priest, who
I know is nephew to the shoemaker in Daber, and therefore hates any one
who is above him in rank."

* Clara was about to reply mildly, hut they happened now to be standing
close to the public flight of steps; and a peasant girl ran up when she saw
them, and flung herself at Clara's feet, eulrealiiig the young lady to save
her, for she had run away from Daber, where thoy were going to burn her
as a witch. The pious Clara recoiled in horror, and desiring her to rise.

AJeinliold^s Sidonia.

8S9

said, '• Art tbou Aune Wolde, some time keeper of the swine for my fniJicr ?
How fares it witli my dearest falber and mother? "

* They were well when s!ic ran aw ay, but she had been wandering now
for fourteen days on the road, living upon roots and wild berries, or what
the herds gave her out of their knapsacks for charily.

*■ limc.^^*'^ What crime a ast thou suspected of, girl, to be condemned to
BO terrible a death ? "

* liia, — '* She had a lover named Albert, who followed her every where ;
but as she would not liaCen to him, be hated her, and pretended that she
had given him a lovc-driuk."

' 'I'here Sidonia laughed aloud, and asked if she knew how to brew the
love-drink ?

^ lUa, — " Yes ; she learned from her elder alster how to make it, but had
never tried it upon any one, and was perfectly innocent of alt they charged
her with."

* Here Clara shook her head, and wished to g:et rid of the witch girl j
for she thought truly, if Sidonia learns the brewing secret, she will poison
and destroy the whole castle full, and we shall liavc the devil bodily with
us in earnest* So ahe pushed away the girl, irho still clung to her, weep-
ing and lamenting* Thereupon Sidonia grew quite grave and pious ^ of
a sudden, and said :

' ** See the hypocrite she ia I She first sets before mc the example of
Christ, and then treats this poor sinner uith nothing but cross thorns !
Has not Christ said, ' Blessed are the merciful, for they lihall obtain
mercy?' but only see how this bigot can have Chrint on her tongue, but
not in her heart ! "

* 1 he pious Clara grew ouite ashamed of such talk, and raising up the
wretch, who had again fallen upon her knees, said, "Well, thou may est
remain j so get thee to my maid, and she will give thee food. I shall also
write to mv father for thy pardon, and meanwhile, ask leave from her
Grace, to aDow thee to remain, here until it arrives ; but if thou art guilty,
I cannot promise thee vay protection any longer, aad thou wilt be burned
here in place of at Daber." So the witch-girl wsia content, and importuned
them no further.'

Sidonia, it will be rendlly euppoSGi], loses no time in obtaining
the unlawful secret from tne witch-girl, and trying its effecta on
the young Prince Ernest, who however scarcely needed any
additional cliarm^ so completely was he already fascinated by
her natural arts and great beauty. However, under the in-
fluence of the potion, things came to a desperate pass. The
Duchess having been persuaded, on the occasion of a visit from
one of her sons, to give a great entertainment, resolves to
punish Sidonia for her contumacy about the CatcchiBm, by
forbidding her attendance, and to secure conformity to her com-
mands^ locks her up in her own room. In vain Sidonia sends
the most urgent and moving entreaties — in vain she dresses
herself In all her splendour, and stands weeping at her window,
in order to excite the compassion of the passers by — in vain the
whole court pleads for her— the Duchess is inexorable ; and
finally, the Prince Ernest by force breaks open her door, and
brings her into the hall just as his stately mother had concluded
dancing a measure with the old chamberlain of her casUe* A

358

Met fi hold's Sidonia*

scene of uproar and bloodshed is the consequence ; and Sidonia
is that same iiin^bt secretly hurried off from the C4i3tle, and before
morning is miles away. But now tlic philtre begins to work ;
and the young Prince i» pronounced dying. It is soon found
that nothing can save his life but Sidonia*a presence. And the
poor Duchese, who had sent her away with contumely, is obliged
now to entreat her return^ and to endure all the airs she give:§
herself in consequence*

In the end, the young Prince concerts a private marriage with
Sidonia, which is on the eve of its accomplishmentj when a low
intrigue is discovered, w^hich opens the Prince's eyes, though he
falls again into a dying state from the de=ipair caused by the dis-
covery, the love potion being still at work within him. He is
recovered from this state by counter magic. A prisoner con-
lined for sorcery offers to cure him for tlie reward of his life.
The 8ccnc is given with naivete.

'This was agn'eed to ; and when lie was bro^ight to the chamber of ihe
Prince, lie laid h'lH ear dov^u upon hia breast to Ikten if it were wUclicraft
111 at ailed hiin. Then he Bpoke.

* '* Yes, the heart beats tpiifc iinnatiimlly^the sound vras like the whim-
pering of ft fly caught in a HpiderM vicb ; ihcir lordships might listen for
thcTiTBelvea." Whereupon all present, one after the other biid their ear
upon the breast of the Prince,, and heard really as he had described. • •
• ♦ • And the carl gave him a red syrup, which be had no sooner
swallowedj than all care for Sidotiiia seemed to have vanished from hia
mind. Even before the goat's milk came, he exclaimed,

' •* Now that I tbink over itj what a great blessing that we have got rid
ofSidonia!'"

After this disgrace, Sidonia goes through many abject and
degrading adventures, detailed with a very wearisome minute-
ness J becomes associated with gypsies and robbers ; is dis-
inherited by her flither, who himself comes to great disgrace, and
destroy (? himself in consequence, and out of grief for Sidonia's
fiUL At length she is t4iken pity on by her old friend Clara,
who believes her penitent, and persuades her husband to admit
her as a temporary guest in their castle. Thither ehe goes,
with her famdiar in tlie form of a cat, of whom she has lately
become possessed; and to reward Clai'a's hospitnlity, she pre-
sently contrives a horrible death for her in revenge for Clara's
having been the means of discovering her intrigue with Appel-
niann and exposing her real character to the Prince.

After this, for thirty year^, we see nothing of Sidonia, her
biographer not being able to trace her course during tliis long
period. But revenge against the princely house which had
rejected and disgraced her was still the foremost desire of her
heart; and she now enters upon the indulgence of it.

The following is her first meeting with licr quondam lover

Meinholtr^ Stdonia.

359

duke Ernest after his disenchantineot. Such meetings there
have sometimes been out of the regions of sorcery and magic

* Summa. — On tlie 1st of Mayi 1592, wlien the witches gather in the
bracken to hold thuir Walpurgis night, ftnd the princely castle of WoWast
wfts well guarded from the evil one by white and black crosses placed on
every door, an old wrinkled hag was seen about ei^bt o'clock of the raorn-
higj (just the time she had returned from the Blocksberg, according to my
thinking,) walking slowly tip and down the corridor of tlie princely caatle.
And Providence so willed it, that at the momcut the young and beautiful
Princess EUzabeth Mat^^dalena (who had been betrothed to the Duke
Frederic of (Jourlandj, opened her chamber door and stepped forth to pay
her morning greetings to her illustrious Either Duke Erneat, and his
spouse, the Lady Sophia Medwig of Bninswick, who sat together drink-
ing their warm oeer, and had sent for her.

* So the hag advanced with much friendship,^ and cried out, •' Hey, ivhat a
beautiful damsel I but her lord papa w as called • the hnnd»orae ' in'his time ;
and wasn't she aa hkc him an one egg to another. Might she take her
ladyship^s little hand and kiss it ? "' Now aa the hag was btdd in her
bearing and the young princess a timid things she feared! to refuse, so she
reached forth her hand, alas ! to the witch, who first three times blew on
it, murmuring some words before she kissed it; then as the young princess
asked her who she was and what she wanted, the evil hag answered : *• I
would speak with your gracious father, for I have known him well. Ask
his princely Grace to come to me, for I have somewhat to say to him.**
Now the princess in her simplicity omitted to ask the hag's name, whereby
much evil came to pass ; for had she told her gracious father that Sidonia
wished to speak to him, assuredly he never would have come forth,
and that fatal and maligmmt glance of the witch would not have fallen
upon him.

* However, hia Serene Grace, having a mdd Christian nature, stepped out
into the corridor at the request of his tfear daughter, and asked the hag who
she was and what she wanted. Upon this she tixed her eyes on him in silence
for a long while, so that he shuddered, and Ma blood seemed to turn to ice
in his veins. At last she spake. '* It is a strange thing, truly, that your
Cirace should no longer remember the maiden to whom you once promised
marriage." At this His Grace recoiled in horror, and exclaimed, " Ha I
JSidonin I but how you are changed ! " '* Ah ! " she answered with a
scornful laugh, "you may well triumph now that my cheek is hollow and
my beauty gone ; and that I have come to you for justice against my own
brother in StramaW, who denies me even the means of subsistence j you,
who brought me to this pasa." '

She proceeds to ask him to proctu'e for her a proebenda In
the Convent of Marienfliess, After the lieformation, sonic of
these institutions were retained for the daughters of the nobility,
though of course without the old vows. The Prince promises
her anything she asks, to get rid of her. But the niischief is
done: the young princess is soon seized with convulsions, and
her possession continues, till the Eev. Pruiessor Dr. Joel, great
in white magic, disenchants her; though in the contest he
suffers a curious humiliation, for the sight of the poor princess
BO shocked him, that without taking much heed of his Latin,
he exclaitned : ^ Deus 7ni3er€atur peccatoris^ upon which the

360

Mmnhdcts Sldonia.

fiend, with a deep bass voice, corrected him, crying, ' Die pec-
* eatriek, dicpeccalrichJ At length, however, the demon was
exorcised. The unhappy father had ffillen, meanwhile, into a
tickness, which not even the fine Falcrnian wine of Italj, to
which he had always recourse, could cure, and died two months
after his encounter walh Sidonia. This was the first of the five
brotliers whom she had doomed to deatruction.

After this the witch disappeared for a couple of years, when
she arrived one day at the Convent of Marienfiiess, and struck
terror into the abbess, by announcing that she was come to take
up her residence there. She comported herself with her usual
pride and audacity, till the abbess, to her great relief, found she
had no credentials, and dismissed hen The abbess then flew to
the reigning Duke, brother to the last, and secured a promise
from him, that Sidonia should never be admitted into her con-
vent; he pledged himself that she never should in his lifetime;
a promise which resulted in liis death by the same means. But
wc cannot stop to recount all the deaths in the royal family,
which follow one another in quick succession. She at length
obtains the desired prccbenda, and Sidonia once more drives into
the court of the convent in her one-hoi*se waggon and scanty
e(iuipments, but with her full measure of pride and insolence,
accompanied by her maid, the old witch Anne Wolde, and her
familiiir Chim, and takes possession in grand style. What teiTor
Bhe spreads amongst its peaceful inhabitants may be easily
imagined

Kor is it, avc think, against nature, that while the innocent
were daily tortured and burned for witches, the real ttitc/t, sup-
posing the existence of such, should escape. She had such
ready means of avenging every insult and threatened attack, that
for a long time she curried all before her ; dispensing gout and
rheumatism, possession and death, at her pleasure. There is a
certain grotesqueness in the delineation of Sidonia at this stage,
which answers more to our notions of the probable, than a more
dignified impersonation would have done. The union of super-
natural powers with a merely human nature, must disturb the
balance of faculties which produce consistent and reasonable
conduct; as we often see precocious children eccentric and
unreasonable, from not having judgment to control their own
powers. Sidonia is reckless, desperate, cmel, greedy, luxurious ;
ehe ha^ a sense of the ludicrous, and appreciates what is absnnh
Alternately hypocrite and blasphemer ; now iawning, now
storming with passion ; eometjuics acting the pious abbess, with
an unction which almost forces belief in her sincerity ; and
then, when such display is most against her interest, singing
wild rhymes and dancing in triumph with her cat and her maid^

Mdnhdd^s Sidonia*

361

before the whole ehudJering convent. Sometimes praying a
prince to death, then fighting \¥ith the nuns for the best piece
of salmon ; alternately brewing philtres and good beer> and
equally proud of lioth accomplishments.

We none of us know how much what is called reasonable
conduct— that prudent line of action which guides the world at
large— 13 really caused, not by reason, but oy our inability to
do otherwise. Our life runs in a groove ; we arc hedged in at
every corner ; we are powerless to do otherwise, or to throw
aside these most useful tranimek. But let any of ua be endowed
euddcnly with unaccustomed powere^ whether it be wealth,
or newly-acquired rank, or release from restraint, and it will
need more than the usual retentii? and ballast to escape doing
gometluug absurd* A man's circumstances cannot alter, and
himself remain precisely the same. If we have experience of
this in mundane afiairs, what must be the change in a human
being becoming possessed of superhuman powers! And when
these arc of an evil nature, we can suppose any amount of
whim and grotesquenesa being the consequence ; f. €» supposing
these monstrous stones of witchcraft possible, we should expect,
on natural grounds, a witch to be a wild unreasonable creature,
using her powers capriciously and in a short-sighted manner, to
her own injury as well as for the destruction of others \ because
the natural care we have for ourselves would be loosened by
a sense of superior independence of action.

When Sidonia, who was as fond of good fare as if she had no
other passion, is angry with the sheriff for having sent her a
Buiall share of honey, instead of a simple remonstrance, which
would have done all she wished, she terrifies the poor man with
a vision of bee-hives and swarming bees, and stands at her
window amusing herself with his terror ; and when a grand
consistory assembles to collect charges of witchcraft against
her, instead of denying tlic accusation, as was her wont, or
using her powers for her own ultimate safety, she gives them
one of the most flagrant specimens of her art, contenting herself
with simply dispersing her enemies for the timcp For just as
the assemblage, with the aid of receipts from Albertm Ma^tiu.*,
FaracehuB, 4'(^«j are preparing to seize upon her, and en-
couraged by each other, are in a state of bold excitement,,
she, as it were, unable to resist the amusement of testing thcir^
courage, and witnessing the success of some of her own gla-
mouries, presents herself before them. The state prosecutor
valiantly exclaims : |

' " Well, Ihenj let them rush in, bind the dratron, clap the pitch-plaster
upon her mouth, and she is ours in spite of , ill tlie fiends/'

' '* lUght, all right," cried the doctor i *• never fear, hut I will pay her for

362

MtdnholtTs Sidonia,

her deaigna upon me/' ^And ho begnn to prepare the plaster with some
pitch he had got from the cobbler; when, siiddeulyj the stfite prosecutor
scream ed out ;

* '* Merciful heaven ! See there ! Look at the shadow of a toad creeping
over my paper^ whereon I move my hand I "

* He springs up — wipes, wipes, wipes— hut in vain. The unclean shadow
is there still, ana crawls over the paper, though never a toad is to be seen.

'What a commotion of horror this Satan's work caused among the
bystanders, can be easily imagined. All stood up and looked at the toad
shadow ; when the abbess screamed out, " Merciful heaven ! look there !
look there I the whole floor is covered with toad shadows."

* Thereupon, all the woman-folk ran screaming from the room, hut
scrtamed yet louder when they reached the door» and met there Sidonia
and her cat face to face. Hound they all wheeled again — rushed to the
back door — out into the yard — over the pond^ — and into the oak wood —
without daring once to look behind them. But the men rem nine d» for the
doctor said bravely : "Wait uow, good friends, patience, she can do us no
harm ; " and he murmured some worda. But just aa they all made the
sign of the crosSj and silently put up a prayer to God, and gathered up
their legs on the benclies, bo that the unclean shadows might not crawl
upon their boots, the horrible hag appeared at the wiJidow, and her cat in
his little red hose clambered up on the sill, mewing and crying. * ♦ ♦
Summa.-^She laid one hand upon the window, the better to look in,
and clenching the other, ahottk it at them crying out, " Wait, ye peasant
boors; I too will judge ye for your sins t '* ♦ ♦ » And iw she began to
murmur some words, and spat out before them all, the state prosecutor
jumped lip after the women, and SherilF Sparling rushed out after him»
and they never stopped or stayed till both reached the oak wood/

Always confidentj always sclf-poBsesi?ed and fearless, Sidonia
continues more than a match for her accusers. Having * prayed
the abbess to death,' she gets the nuns to elect her in her Bteatl ;
and on the then reigning Duke visiting the convent, impudently
advances at the head of the whole body of nuns, to receive hira
in state.

•Now his lligbncBs was a meek man and seldom angry, but his brow-
grew black wilh wrath, when Sidonia, stepping up to the coach, bowed low,
and in her cat's tippet — -herself a cat in cunning and deceit — threw up her
eyes hypocritically to heaven. " How now ! " cried his Grflce; " who hatli
sulfered you, Sidonia, to play the abbess over these virgins?" To which
my bag replied, "Gracious Prince, ask these virgins here if they have not
selected me to be tlicir abbess of their own free will ; and they are now
come to entreat your Highness to confirm the choice of their hearts."
** Marry," quoth the Duke, *' I have heard enough of your doings from
the neiglibouring nobles and others. I know well how you have made the
poor Abbess Magdalena bite the dust, Iteni, how you forced these poor
virgins to elect you abbess through mortal and deadly fear. Speak, dear
sisters, fear nothing; I your prince command you. Have you not elected
this piece of sin and vanity to be your abbess, simply through fear of
your lives ? "

' But the virgins hioked down upon the ground — were silent and trem-
bled, while my sheriff [the head authority in the district] plunged his hand
into bis wide boots for the kerchief to wipe his lace, for he saw well how
it would end, A second time his Grace asked, " Wtw it from fearT'
^Vhen at last one answered, named Agnest Kleist.

MHnhdd'i Skioitia.

aSa

* " In truth, gmcioua priwcpj it was from pure bodily fear alone tliat we
elected Sidonia as out abbess." '

In reward for her courage in making this confession he electa
Agnest abbess, and soleiuly warns and threatens Sldonia, giving
tlie sheriff directions if she leaves the convent to use the harshest
measures in punishment.

* So Ibe new ahbesa answered — ** Yoiir Higbness sliallbe obeyed :*''-

' But my sher.JT could not utter ii word from borror, and seemed stifling
with a thick husky coug'b in bis throat. But when Sidonia crept up close
to him, and menaced bim privately with her dry clenrbed band, be forg^nt
himself entirely, and made a spring; that brought him clean over the churcli-
yard wall, while bis sword clattered after bim, and bis plumed beaver
dropt from his head to the ground. All the lacqueys laughed loud at the
sight, even his Grace laughed. But my sheriff makes the beat of it, and
calls out —

' " All, sec, my Lord Diike^ bow the little boys have stolen the flowers that
I myself planted on the grave of the blessed abbesji. I'll make tbcm pay
for it, the thieving brata J " Thereat his Grace asked why the abbess was
not buried within tlie church, but in the graveyard. And they answered,
she had so commanded. Whereupon, he answered niildlvi " ITie good
mother m worthy of a prayer; I shall go and say a paternoster upon her
grave, and see if the youngsters have left me a flower to carry away for
racmory."

* So he ftligbted, made Eggert show him tbe grave, removed his bat and
prayed, while all bis suite in the six coaches uncovered their beads like-
wise. Lastly, he made the sign of the cross, and bent over the grave lo
pinck a flower. But just ihcn a warm, heavy wind blew across the graves,
and all the tlowera drooped, faded, and turned yellow as it passed. Yea,
even a yellow stripe seemed to mark its passage straight across all the
graves over the court, and up to the spot where the thrice accursed witch
Ktood upon the convent wail ; and peonle afterwards remarked, that all
plants, grajss, flowers, and shrubs, within that same stripe, turned palo
and faded; only some poison plants, as hemlock, nightshade, and ihe like,
stood up green and stilF along that livid line. When the Duke observed
this, he shook his bead, but made no remark, stepped hastily, however, into
hia carriage, after again earnestly admonishing Sidonia.'

Not long after this scene, and when all were looking for some
harm to come from it —

* Anna Apenhorg went to the brewhouae which lay inside tbe convent
walls, (it was one of Sidonia's praying days,} and there she saw n strange
apparition of a three-legged hare. She runs and calls the other Bistcm;
whereupon they all scamper out of their cells, and down Ihe steps to sea
the miracle; and behoM there siisthe three-legged hare; but when Agnest;
Kleist took otf her slipper and threw it at the dcvirs sprite, my bare is otf,
and never a trace of him could be found again in the whole brewhonse or
the whole convent court. Thereftt tbe nuns shiuldered ; and each virgin has
her opinion in the matter^ but speaks it not; for just then comes Mdonia
fitrth, with old VVolde and tbL- cjit, and the three begin their devils diuicc,
while the cat squalls and wails, aud the old witch-bag screams her hell
psalm r^ —

" Also kleien und also kratzen,
Menie Ilunde und meinc KatKnn."

* Next day, however, the poor virgins heard to their deep sorrow wbal
NO. LXVL — N.8. C C

jdMt MtUiftvWt Sidonia,

tbe tljree-legged liarc bctnkenc<], even ns they li;td suspected; for tlir cry
came to tlie cnnveut, that his Ciracc gnod Duke Cbilip was dend* and the
tidings rnn hke a sis^nal lii'c tliroupfh the people, thftt thia kindj, wise, just
priuc

c had been bewitched to death.

depi

18 no aepiirture a^ain from the truth of nature tliat tliia
sorceress, even if tlic real Sitlonia hatl been the wretch Af, Mein-
bokl choosea to represent her, wai? suticred to exist so hnig ; there
are instances enough in all ages, and cHpecially wlicrc life is least
regarded, of persons universally odious living on to a protracted
old age, while each little private caprice or grudge revenges
itself on the instant by the death of it.-3 victim, Alujxlcr, fear-
less for its own awh. seldom rouses itt^elf to act for the commii-
uity^-lo avenge the general wrong,^ — and the temptation to
it arises most commonly from some creeping inadequate pri-
vate cn(L In accordance with this view, Sidonia lives on the
centre of all evil and mi.slbilune, in the midst (sf enemies, and
(heir feel dc judicial elForts against her, till licr H4th year: when
history records her trial and tlcatli, Tiie reigning prince is now
the fourth brother, Duke Franci.s who liaving been impatient
of his brotlicr'a lenity, commences a furious crusade again "^t
witches, with a view it would seem to keep Sidonia in order;
Jbr no one dares to touch her in the ordinary course of law.
Here we make more formal acquaintance with the same Dr. Joel
whose latinity was called in question, andVho is deeply learned
in all the writers on magic, and so well able, as it proves, to con-
tend with the eorcercss, that the wonder is, he Ijad not volun-
teered his interference before; however he waits till he is asked
liy Duke Francis if there were no spiritual agency to break the
powers of tliis witch; fur as to human, it was out of the question,
^ince no one could be iinmd to lay bis liands on her. Whereupon
we ai"c enlightened by * my maglstci'' on many cabalistic seereta.
He has ascertained that ihcunly means of enconnteriug Sidonia's
Jiimiliai* is, through one out of two forms of conjuration: either
through the Snn-angcl, who may by certain dillicult ceremonies
be Inv(d<ed, or the >Sc/icni fFamphorasch^ or seventy names of the
Most Iliglh M, ^lelnhold speaks with such unction, that it is
difficult to believe his own disclaimer of Dr. Joel's exegesis in
a note- We arc tenqit^d to quote the exegesis tn oiu' readers,
as an example of the ingenuity with which any alisurdlty may be
supported. We belie vc there is still in the world a great
tendency to such speculations.

* " Wlicrcfore is it that the great God docs not appear to men now, as he
did hi times long past ? I answer, hecattse we no litn^jer know bis name.
Thifi nnmc Atlam knew in I'aradisr, juid llierelbro sjinVe with (>od as well
a!i uiLli nil aniinids and plants, NoaHi, Abraham, Moses, Klias, Ehjah, ^c
nil knew ihn nnnre, and perlbrmcd their uonders by it alone. Jiiit when the
beasllj' and idolatrous Jens ^a\c tlieniHelves over to eovetonstiews and

NeinholiTs Sidmia,

365

ftll imcleanlineas, tbey forgot tliis holy name; bo> as a punishment, Ihey
endured & year of slavery for each of the seventy names which they had
forgotten ; and we find them, therefore, serving seventy years in llnhjlonish
bonds. After this, tliey never learnt it iigainj and all miracles and wonders
ceased from among tbem, until the ever-blessed God sent his yon iiilo the
world to teaeh them once more the Seliem Hnrnphornseh; and to all who
believed on him he freely imparted this name, by nhich also they worhed
wonders; and that it might be fixed for ever in tlieir hearts, he taught
them the blessed Pater TSoster, in flhicb they were bid earb d ly to repeat
the words ' Hallowed be tby name.* Yea, even in that last gloriouit high-
pricstly prayer of his — in face of the bitter anp;ut3b and dcatli that was
awaiting: him, he says, * Father^ keep them in thy ntm o V or, ?is Luther
translates it, ' Keep them above thy name T For ho w easily that name is lost^
we learn from David, who says, that he spelt it over in the nig^hl, so that it
might not pass from \m mind. {Vs. cxix. .')5,) Item, after the resurrection he
gave command to go and baptize all nations — not in the name of the Father,
of ihe Son, and of ihc Holy tihostj as Luther has falsely rcmlcred the passage,
but/t>r, or % the name — that aach mig:bt always be kept before their eyes,
and never more paaa away from the knowledf^e of mankind. And tbo
holy apostles fnithfully kept it, and St. Paul made it known to the flentheni
as we learn Acts ix. 15. And all miracles that they performed were by
thiii name. Now the knowledge remained also with the early Christians,
and each person was baptized bt/ thin, name ; and he who knew it by heart
could work nuracles likewise, as we know by Justin Martyr and others,
who have written of the power and miraculous gifts of the early church.
IJiit when ilie pure doctrine became corrupted, nod the Christian church
(like the Jewish of former times) ji^ave itself up to idolatry, masses, imag^c-
worship, and the like, the knowledge of the mystic name was withdrawn,
and all miracles have ceased in the church from that up to this day." '

However, the attempt to procure the last seventy leaves,
which contain tlie name, falls, and tlicy arc driven to try the
other, and more hazardous conjuration* And here we are intro-
duced to a fair maiden, Diliana liork, gi^andaughter to that
Chira whom Sidonia he witched in her youtli, who is now informed
by her ghoBt tliat she mtist avenge her. A virgin of entire
purity of heart and thonght is needful for the success of the
conjuration : an<l after much difficulty, her father, Jobst Bork,
cousin to the sorceress, is brought to consent to hia daiightcr^s
being the instrument of conununication witli tlie angeL We
give the scene, which is pictured vf ith some force, and a touch of
tliat grotesque truth to nature for which M, !Mcinhf}ld is distin-
guished* The tln*ee— that !;=, the Duke Francis, the Magister
Joclj anil the virgin, Diliana, robe themselves in magic garments,
over which Ditiana drew a ehift of her grandmother of blessed
memory, which was thought needful to the conjuration. —
Old Jobstj who was not permitted to enter the magic halb in-
demnifies hitnself as well as he can by boring a giiidet-hole in
the door, and seeing tlirougb that orifice what transpire.*?. We
]Ta!?s over the preliminary ceremonies?, the circles, and interlaced
triangles, all necessary to invoke the Sun-angcl, Och,

Whereupon the wise Theargist, the brave priest of the grand priraitive

c c 2

366

Meinhold^t Sidonia,

old fftitb, rose up, made the sign of the cross at the north, aud hegaa the
eonjarntion of the angel with a loud voice.

* They were harsh and bftrbanms words that Le uttered, wliich no one
unders lood, and tbey lasted a good paternoster long ; lifter which the prieat
stopped aud said — *'Graciou!i Friiiee, lay the left hand upon the vinculum
of the heavenly creature ;^virg^n, step with thy left foot upon the signet
of the spirit, iu the north of the circle. After the third paitsa he must
appear."

*■ With these words he began the eouj oration again, hut behold, xia it wax
endedl, a Ibrni appeared, not at the nortli, but at the south, utid ghdid on
in a white bloody shroud, until it reached the centre of the circle* At this
signal the nuigister was Iransiixcd witli horror, and made the sign of the
cross- "All good spirits praise Cod the Lord!" Upon ivhich ihe spirit
answertNl— *Mn eternity amen."* Whilst DUiana exclaimed — '* (Iraml-
inother! Grandmother! Art thou indeed her spirit f"

' So the spirit glided three times round the circle, with a plaintive wailtng^
sound, then stepped before Diliana, aiul making the sign of the cross, said —
" Daughter, take that shift of mine fnmi off thee; it betokens misforluiie.
It is No. 7, and sec, I have No. 6 for my bloody shroud/'

* Whereupon it pointed to the throaty where, indeed, the red nuraber C
was plainly discernible.

' Diliana spake—" Grandmother, how did these thinga come to pass?"
But the spirit laid the forclingt r on its mouth in silence. Whereupon she
asked iigiiin — "Grandmother, art lliou hiippy ?"

*■ The spirit said, *' 1 hope to become so, but take off that shift; the angel
must suon appear; it will be Sidtmia's death Bhmnd." As the spirit said
these words it disappeared again towards the «onth, whereupon ihe knight
at the giralet-bolo cried out — ** There was some one here, was it the
atigel?"

' *'NoI no!'* screamed Diliann, while she quickly stepped out of the
circle, and drew off the shift. '* No, it was my poor grandmother f"

' " Silence," cried the magiatcT \ "for heaven's sake no talking more, we
have lost ten seconds already by that ghost. Now quick with the vinculum
of the earthly creature I My Prince, strew the incense upon the bumer.
Virgin, dip the swallows* feathers in the blood of the white dove, and streait
my two lips with ihem. Now, all be still if yon value your life; eternity is
listening to us, luul the whole apartment is full of invisible spirits.'*

* Then he repeated the conjuiation for thettiird time, and, beliold, at the
last word, a ivhitc cloud appeared at the north, that at every moment be-
came hrighter and brighter, until a red pillar t>f light, about an arm's thick-
ne&a, shot forth from the centre ofit,and the moat exquisite fragrance, with
soft tones of music, were diQ used over the whole north end of the ball.
Then the cloud seemed to rain down radiant flowers, hues, nnd beauties
«uch as earth had never seen ; after which a tremendous sound, as of a clap
of thunder, shook not only the castle to its foundation, but seemed to
shake heaven and earth itself, and the cloud parting in twain, disclosed
the Sun-angel in the centre. Yet the knight outside never heani thia
sound, nor did Old Kruger, the Dukcn boot-cleaner, who sat in the very
next room reading the Ihble; be merely thought that the clock had ruw
down in (he corridor, and sent his wife out tn secj and this seems to me a
very strange thiag; but the knight through his gimlet-hole saw plainly
thiu a chair, which they hnd forgotten to take out of ibe way of the angel
Ht the norlh-sidc w.is utterly consumed by bis presence, and when he had
pa^jscd, lay ibcrc a heap of ashes.

* And the angel in truth appeared in the form nf a heautiful boy of
twelve years old, and from bc;id to foot shone with dnzzling light. A blue
mantle sown with silver stars was flung around him, but so glittered

I
«

I
*
I

MelnhMs Sidonia,

367

tn llie eye, tlint it seemed a portion of llie niilky-wny lie liiicl lom from
heaven as he passed alongTi and wrapped roujid bis angelic form. On liis
feat, rosy as the first clouds of morning, were bound! golden sandals, and
on his yellow hair a. crown ; nod thus sorrotinded by radiant flowers, odours,
nod the soft tones of heavenly mosiche swept down in gjace niid glorious
beauty to earth. When the 'i'hcurgist btbdd thia, he fell on his knees along
with the others, and prayed: —

' " We praise thee, we bless thee, \s e adore thee, 0 lofly Spirit of Clod?—
thou throne angel of the AIniinjbly I — that thou hast deigjncd by the wvvd
of our father Ad:ce, by the word of our father Henoch, Rml by the word of
our father Noah, to enter the darkness of this our second world, to appear
before onr eyes. Help us, blessed angel ! help us ? "

* And the angfel said. " What will ye?"

* Then the Duke took heart, and gave for answer : '* Lord, an evil witch,
a devil's sorceressj vTJckeder than anything yet known upon earth,
Sidonia Bork by name — "

' But the angel let him continue no farther^ and with a glance of terrible
anger exeiainied i **^ Silence, thou drunken man of blood ! '*

* Then, lo<jking upon Diliaua> niurmured softly : '^ Speak, thou pure and
blessed maiden ! "

* At this the vir^n took conrao^o, and answered : *' Our gracious Prince
would know how the evil spirit of my cousin Sidonia can be overcome ?*'

* ** Seize Wolde first/' replied the angel, " then the evil spirit of Sidonia
will become powerless. What wouldst thou know further? " '

Diliana desires to know why Sutan is permitted so much
power upon the earth; on which the nngel makes a long speech.
It ia impolitic in scenea of thit^ nattirc to make heavLMily visi-
tants descend from the brief oracular style to ordinary human
prolixity. No writer can make an angel speak better than he
can himself. Thus, our curiosity, which hy every art he has
raised to a higli pitch, suffers a sudden fall. We find tliut we
are listening to the author all the while; we are duped hke the
poor madman who believed that each day he sat down to an
exqaisite dinner of three courses; but somehoiv, he could not
tell why, each dish tasted of porridge, in fact his only farei—
BO all these revelations, though dressed out with the utmost
preparation and pomp, taste of the author, and share all his
poverty of thought and expression. We are in the midst of the
argiuncnt when —

* Behold, at this word of the angel, a blue raVj about the thickness of an
arm, came up from the Ronth into the middle of the circle, and blended
itself, trembhng and glittering, with the radiant chmd and flowers. When
the angel beheld this, he said — ^** Lo J 1 am summoned to the ruins of
Nineveh. Let me depart ! "

* At this the Duke took heart again to speak, and began : " Lord, how
is my ancient race — * ? "

* But the fingel a|];ain interrupted him viith, *' Silencev thou nnnin of bloodi/'

* And when the M agister repealed the form which broke the conjuration*
the angel disappeared as he had come, \uih a terrible clap of thuudet ;
and clouds, light, flowers, odours and music all passed awny nilh him,
mid the hall became dark and silent as the grave,

' But in a couple oi' sceouds, just as the magister had stepped out of the

368

Meitihohfs Sidouia.

circle ^\'nh ilie virgin, uho trembled in every limb, even as be did himself*
my Jubst comes ntslun<5 in at tbe door witb a jayfal mien, ibanks God,
aobsj embraces bis little dfliightec twice, thrice^embmces her agaiD, and
at last ftska — *' What said tbe ftiigel f *'

* And they told bim nll^item, about (be poor gboat of his poor motber,
and what it desired. Tben fur the first time tbcy observed tbat tte Duke
stood still witbui tbe circle, with folded arms 'and eyes bent upon tlie
ground.

• " My Lord Duke, will you not step out of tbe eircle T* exclaimed Uie
M agister, WbercKpon tbe Uuke started, sprang from the circle where
they fitocxb and, seizing tbe Magister by the throat, ronrcd—" Dog of a
a irccrer! this ia some ot thy b!ack*nrt. Jobst, here, was right: thon hast
raised no angel, but a devil ! " At ibis tbe terrified Mngiatcr lirst tried to
release btmself from hi» Grace's hold, then began to explain j but ihc Duke
would liatcu to nothing.'

The bardli reproof had indeed ofTeiided hk highness mightily.
What blood had he shed but tliat of witches? wherein he had
Scripture to justify him : and he had not drunk that day : as for
hia ordinary Jiabit3 in this respect, he considered it to be no
affair of cither angel or fiend. After sonic contention his anger
abater, and he proposes to fininh the discussion over some ^Xo^
riona Miiscadcl he has in hia cellars; to which, however, the other
will not consent j after whicli foUow^s some further conjuration
founded on the doctrine of sympathies, by which Diliana is made
capaljlc of communicating with a perBon at a distance by a mode
of intercourse Uny obviouisly siitrgested by *he machinery of the
electric telegraph to do credit to tlie author's power of inven-
tien. Wolde ia seized by Diliana^s young lover, and is presently
brought to trial, with all the horrors that usually accompanied
these scenes. Sidonia wai* confronted with her, accuse*! by her
own accomplice, and defends herself with her usual effrontery.
Her power, however, is gone, and we feel for her when she is
furced to Jiavc recourse to a lawyer to plead her csntse. His
implied advice is discouraging, — even to make away with hcrj?clf
as soon as Bhe can. But she clings to life, and after all the
delays her counsel procures for lier, is at lengtli brought to
trialj tortured, and (bially beheaded tlrrough the intercession of
powerful relations Ittfo/v she is burnt. This portion of the tale
is hurried through; the narrator Dr, Theodore Plonnias, himself
a witness of her tortures, recoiling, as he says, at the recollection
of their horrors. We are at any rate glad that these abomina-
tions should for once be lightly dwelt upon. M. Meiuhold does
not commonly shrink from such scenes, w^hich fill the reader
with abhorrence for those who could act in them. And yet,
after detailing with minuteness on one occasion the tortures of
an innocent victim, M. Meinhold takes the opportunity to
dcclaiiu against modern times, and to sigh for the superior
faith of the age distinguished for these cruelties, wTongiu tliem-

Mein h olfVs Sidon ta ,

36^

selvea, but not to compare to our delinquencies. All ages
liavc tlicir cliaractcristlc sinsj yet \vc must protest iigaiut^t the
purity of that faith wliicli exluUits itself in reckless cruelty.
It ]33 at least the father and uutural precursor of dishelief.

But our readers will think we liave dwelt too long on an
iinplea^sing suhject. It luis struck xx^?, however, as a feature of the
times, that iu Rationalistic Germany, rejuieing in its new liglita
nnd (Jiscurtling all received modes of thought and prjuci])lcs of
faith, there ghould arise from the very spirit of renction, a believer
in exploded fancies and old wives' fablcc", But where religion
f^ets a cold welcome, superstition will creep iu< How far M.
Meinhold believes his own wonder:J> perhaji^ he himself does not
know J hut that he does believe that they or something like
them come w*ithin the reach of our mortal nature, is certain.

The whole time of the book persuades the reader of this?,
more, pcrhap:?, than any individual instance will give au ade-
(juate idea of j but there arc not wanting definite passages of
strength enough to prove our couclusious. For example, it ia
no injustice to a writer to suBpcct him of* putting some faith in
love philtre.^, when he can use the following language on the
Buhject of those drinks through which diviners in all timea
have affected to obtain an insight into futurity. The text says,
*and Isaiah xxviii. 7 explains fully how this madness Avas pro-
* duced ; namely, by wine and the strong drink Sehir,* To which
bold assumption he appends the following note : —

* It iH (InttbLful of whiit thin drh>k was composed. IlicronymaH and
Abcn Ezra imiigiDe thnt it was of the uature nf strong^ hcer. Probably it
resembled the potion willi xvhicli the mysterj-nicn nmonijst ihe savages of
Lim present d».y produce thia divining IVenxy. We find such in use through-
out Tarifiry, Siberia^ Americ^a, and Africii, txa if the usnj^e liad descended to
them trom one common tradition. Witclies, it is well knoviii, made fre-
quent use of potions ; and aa all somnarabnhsta assert that the aertt of the
Boul's ^ciilest n<'tivity is in the stomach, it is not incredible ivhat Van HeU
mont rtdates, that, having once tasted the root uapelius, his intellect all at
once, accompunied by an nnuaual feeliog of ecsta»y, seenied to remove from
his brain to hia stomach.'

The duclie88 at one time as.>?emble8 her whole household, that
they may learn from Doctor (icrschovius * the diffcrcnec be-
tween the prophets of God and tho.^e of the devil; ' on which
occasion we have the following niyBtic note on the [alleged]
facts of mesmerism : —

* Tliere arc but two modes, I think, of explfiining these extraordinary
phenomenii ; either by snpposing t!iem cfTected by supernatural agency, as
all eeers and diviners from antiquity, throDgh the middle ages down to oar
BomnambnIistK, have pretended that tliey really stood in comnuiniciition
with ^spirit; or, by supposing that there is an innate latent divining element
in iinr own natures, wniijli only becomes evident and nclive under certain
circumstances, and which ia capable of revealing the future \uth more or

370

3hhtholTg Sidonia.

less exAclilude just as ilie mind can recall the poMt, For pant and/uture arc
hul dltTereiit furma of our own subjective intuition of time ; and Iiecause
tluB intenml iiUuiuon represeiils no fi}i;ure, we seek to supply ihe deffCt hy\
an analogy. For time exists within us, not without us; it ia not something"]
which subsiata of itself, but it is the form only of our internal sense.'

And where one of Sldonift^s victims Is tlirown by lier incan-
tations into a stftte of soinnftinbulistic prophecy, the subject is fol-
lowed up in another note, where the writer eeeina to attribute to
Butauic influence the reported wonders of animal magnetism ; —

* The ancients w ere nware (na we are) that the magnetic and divining
slate can be produced only in young and somewhat simple {simplicwrf»l
persons. Porphyry coufinna thia in hia reninrliable letter to the Egyptian
priest of Annbis (to which I eariieatly direct the attention of our physiolo-
giiits), in which he asks, ** Wherefore it happens that only simple and young
persons were fitted for divination I " Yet there were many even then, as
we learn from Jaiuhlichusand the later PsdluH, who maintained the modern
rntinnalistic view that all these phenomena were produced only by a
certain condition of our own spiritual and bodily nature; althoiis^h sona-
nambulista affirm the contrary, and declare ibey are the results of exlernnl
spiritual influences working upon them,"

Sidonifi, on one occasion, makes the * Reverend David,'
priest of the convent, dream that he married her; on which our
author appends the tbllowing reflection in his own character: —

* 'Hie pow cr of producing particular dreams by volition was recognised
by the ancients and philosophers of the middle a^es. Kx, Albertus Mag^nus
relates (de MirahilibuB Mundi, 2Qh) that horrible dreams can be produced
by placing an ape*a «kin under the pillow. He also trives a receipt for
making women tell their secrets in sleep {but this I shall keep to myself).
Such phenomena are neither physiologically nor psychologically impos-
sible ; but our modern physiologista are content to take the mere form of
nature, dissect it, anatomize it, and then hury^ it beuenth the sand of their
hypothcHis. Thus, indeed, 'Hbe dead bury their dead," while all the
strange, mysteriouHj inner powers of nature, which the philosophers of the
middle ages, na Pselluy, Albertus Magnus, Trithcmius, Cardanus, Theo-
phrastua, &e., did so much to elucidate, are at once (bppantly audignoranlly
placed in the category of "superstitions/' ** absurdities," and "artful
deceptioua.* "

We may believe after this that, in IVi. Meinhold's appre-
hension, not only the power of inspiring dreams which be
attributes to Sidonia, but all her manikins, familiars, toad-
shadows, tliree-legged bares, philtres, ominous * prayers,' broom-
sticks hiid across, &c. &e*, come under his category of tilings
neither pliysioIogJcally nor psychologically impossible, however
strangely these Hard long words of modern science fit in with
our old homely notions of witchcraft.

In another place he expresses his sympatliy, upon occasion of
long peroration hy the Magister Joel on sympathy and
attraction, with the old cabalistic philosophy in the following
fltralji : —

I
I

Blein hiiltfi SiJon ia.

371

< AlmoBt with tbc List words of this Bketch, the aocond pnrt of Koamos,
bv Alexander vcm Humboldt, cr*me tu my hand. Evidently the |j;rcal
Ruthor (who so well deserves iimnurlality for his caiitribniianii to science)
views the viorld jdsn ns a uhole; nnd wherever, in ancient or modern times,
even a ^hmpse of this doctrine cati be fwiind, he fjumes it inid brings it to
light. But yet in a mubt iuconiprehcnalble manner he haa passed over those
very systems in which above all others this idea fnidsampk room; nnmeiy,
the new Piatonism of the ancients (the 'fheurgist riiilosophy) and the later
cabalistlr, alehvmieal, mystic philusophy (while magic) ; from w hieh
systems the decfucttoiis ol Magistcr Joel ure borrowed. But, above all, wti
must name Plutlnns as the father of the new PhitonistSj to whom nature is
lhrouj;hout one vast unity, one divine totality, one power united with one
life, la later timeH, wc find that Albcrtiis Maj^nus, Cornelius A^rippn, and
Theophrastua ParucelsiiA held the same view. 'J'hc latter uses the word
'* attraction ** in tiie sense of sympathy. And the systems of these philo-
sophers, which are in many phicca fiili of profound tnithsj are based up^u
this idea.'

It would seem as if no theory could ever be faifly cxplodeil,
no names ever lose \\\^\v prestige ^ when we finil these masters of
the magic wand brought down from their shadowy elevation in
the regions of wonder and romance, to form the stay and
grotindwork of modern systems of philosophy in our own en-
lightened and practical age. But * tlie thing that hath been it
is that which shall be/

To conclude ; we have been so much struck with the resem-
blance to Sidonia in a recent work of fiction that we can hardly
suppose it to be purely accidental No one, we think, cun
follow our sorceress throughout her career without being con-
stantly reminded of * Vanity Fair/ M. Meinhijld has super-
uaturatized Becky, We imngine these two heroines to |>o8se^s
the same style of beauty in youth ; both, for example, have
yellow hair, and the same exprcsu^ion Is attributed to the lii»s
and eyes of each. In their actions and adventures, too, there is
throughout a common resentblance. Both injure to the utmost
of their power the kind maidens who grant them their friendship
anil i»rotection ; both revenge themselves on innocent cluidren
with most unfcminine blows. After the success and tritimph
of each, there enriues a season of degradation, — Sidonia with
her robbers, and Becky at the gaming table with the German
students, — from whicli each is rescued by the friendship they
requite so ill ; and the last glimpse of Becky, as we see her look-
ing beliiud the curtain plotting the destruction of her hapless
dupe, Josh Sedley, answers to the climax of wicked power with
which the sorceress in her old age was invested, Ihe end in
each case is, we confess, difterent. The Cheltenham Charitable
Bazaar is no counterpart of the rack and lieadsman's axe. But
the genius of the two aiithoi*s Icacls to this variation* M. Mein-
hold has a simple t-liild-like delight in revenging himself on
his evil characters; he hates them, and seeks the wympatliy of

372

MtluholXii Sldonla,

Ina readers in their downfal and destruction. IMr. Thackcry
hjus a certain regard f*tr Iti* Jiccky, as well as scorn for received
modes of tliought. He sees tliat in the course of this world the
wicked arc sonictimea allowed to prosper, and he has no such
tliir.>?t for poetical justice^ as merely for the t?ake of a moral to
make his heroine its victim. Or may we suppose tliat his
motive lies deeper? That in establishing his fiuroinc in out>
ward comfort and respectability, hi8 design is to show not only
his disltelief In that common poetical justice, Imt that in reality
and truth it is not half ^^evere enough for such a fiend as Becky ?
Does he intend us to feci that the real Ate for her lies in her
own conscience, and that ^hc must actually suflTer more, kee|)-
ing her old mind and desires, by going to Church, respectably
and systematically, Sunday after Sunday, with a servant carry-
ing her Prayer-book behind her, than if she had been sent to
Iv^orfolk Island? There is stjmething to support this view in
the fact that she is actually represented as suffering niorc when
forced into a dull and melancholy decency of demeanour, than
at any other period oi' her career. Eut tliis may he attributing
higher and deeper alma than the work as a whole warrants. For
the rest, the palm must be granted to our countryman, who,
investing his heroine with no supernatural powers, and in-
fluencing her by none but human motives, has succeeded in
making her \i::^\\ times more hateful, because more real and pos-
Bible, than her mora showy rival, for our detestation,

373

Ajit* v.- — 1. Propomls for the better AppUratlou of CatMral
Imiiltttions to their intended tn^rs; in a Lttttr to the Very litv^
tlieDeanofSalitfbury. B^ t/teJiionr Hon. Sidney Hekbeht.
1S49. (Not Pubiyic'd)

2. Cathedral Trusts and their Ffdflment. Bf/ the Rev. I^obert
AV'HiSTON, M.A., Fellow of Triniti/ CoHeae^ Cambridtfe, and
Head'Mader of the Cath^^dral Grammar School, Jlochesten
London: J. OllWier. 1849.

3. The British Mayazlne, Ko. CCXIV., September, 1849. Lon-
tlon : Pet h cram.

4. A few Tlwf/d on Cathedral Mnnc and the Musical Systevi of the
Churchy with a Plan of Reform. Bt/ Samuel Sebastian
Wesley, 31 m. JDoc, London: Rivlngtons. 1849.

5. The Memorial and Case of the Chrici'Laici, or Lay- Clerks of
Canterbury CothedraL IFith an Introdaction and Jnnotations,
By CuARLES Sandys, F.S.A. London: J. K. Smitlu 1848.

6. Fine Speeches on Ecclemasttcal Affairs^ delitered by Edwauj>
HoHSMAN, Esq., M.P., in the Jlotise of Commmis in 1847 and
1848. London: Secleys. 1849.

7. j4 Flan of Chnrcit Extension and ileform, submitted to the RL
Hon. Lord John Jluasglly ly a Depntationy in March , 1848.

With It V marks. By J. C. CoLQUJiouN, Esq. 2d Edition.
London: Scclcys. 1849.

Were tlie alternative proposed to us, tliat the CatKcdral Cor-
porations ehould continue to exist us tlioy are and have been,
or be at once and for ever abolished, we confers we should Iiavc
some difficulty in deciding what choice to make ; and we know
of Churchmen both sensible and sound, %vho would not hesitate
for a moment to choose the latter part of the alternative. Nor
would they be without very strong reasons for a decision so
painful.

First, then, let any person who has been conversant with the
names and liiinily connexions of the Bishops of our various Seca
during the last thirty years, cast his eye over the present
occupants of the prebendal stalls of the several cathedrals, and
he will find strong grounds for suspicion, that respect has been
had to claims of family and consanguinity rather than of merit
in the dis2)09al of Episcopal patronage. It is as far a^s possible
from our wish to descend to jiersonalities in these or the follow-
ing remarks; but trutli compels us to repeat this unquestiomible

374

CatheJrah, ani Caihehal l/idttutioiis.

fiict, and to inquire wlietber it can be pretended that the nepot-
iaiii of which avc com plain, can be justified on the ground of
superior attainments or oF eminent services to tlie Cliurch, in
the caee of the favoured individuals.

Or again, to look to the decn.nal stalk, and to such canonrics
or prebend.-^ as are in the appointment of the Crown ; inujst it
not be confessed that such patronage is too often disposed of as
tlie reward of political services, or at the best of mere ocular
learning, or of eucce&s in some branch of science, ratlicr than in
acknowledgment of remarkable piety or of devotion to spiri-
tual duties or theological pursuits? We exempt no political
party from the gen (iral censure implied in this charge i while
we gladly acknowledge, that in particular cases, higher motives
appear to have operated with the official leaders of all parties.

To mention anotber abuse. Let the names of the residentiary
Canons or Prebendaries, incumbents of cathedral prelbrmcut,
particularly of such as owe their elevation to episcopal relaiives,
be referred to in the Clergy List, and it will appear that the
great majority of them are also possessed of other Church pre-
ferment of considerable amount, and amply sufficient for the
maintenance of a family in such circumstances as are consistent
witli the clerical cbaractcr. The consequences of this system of
pluralities is obvious at once. The time and energies, where
fbey exist, arc divided between the parish and the cathedral, to
the detriment of both ; for the brief term of rcsithtfce, taken from
the parish, is insufficient to confer any important benefit on the
cathedral citVj even where tlie disposiiion exists, which unbaiipily
it rani'lv does; and the mere compulsory attendance at the
statutable number of services, and the delivery of the stated
Hcnnons, is of very questionable benefit to a community with
wdiose religious circumstances and spiritnal needs the stranger
is necessarily unacquainted. The case is very fairly put by
Mr. Sidney Herbert, who takes the most favourable type of a,
Kesidentiary.

* Half tlic iuutililv of ovirprpspnt chapters nrispi? from , . . non-resi<Iencc.
Zealous ari'j nctive parLsIi prics)^, proinotrd to a. canonry, come up lo lhc*ir
rcsiflencL"i only Um iinxunis Ifi devote their tiirec nioutbs' leisure tt> some

jjTood wnrk or another, Htid find att their olTcrs rpjccted At the end

of three iiiimths' residcnre, they muiit withdraw from whntcver they have
undertaken. By the time (hey have learned their business, they must
give it np ; by the lime some one else has (brgotten hb, he must
recommence it.

' Their assistaacr, not beiiiff permnncnt or continuous, is valueless ; nntl,
irith every dsspositioji to uork, the members of the chapter are tbrced into
a state of imHOttled idleness. They saunter about their ealhedral closes, a
Bpectacle vihich dchi^lits the eyes of every eiieuiiyof the Church, and iillbrds
a point Ditd Ah epi;^ram ft>r every altflck on lier discipline. Their cure i>f
HouU, in the mcnn while, uhere they Awtv duties, and iniport;iiit ones, is lutb
to a curate, e<iually un^^cttled from the «hortneK3 of hh residence.' — P. 36.

Cathedmh, and Cathedral Insiilutions,

375

Thus then, the plea chiefly insisted upon, some ^^nw yeara
a^o, and urged with great eloquence against the suppression
of canonries, \vci^ not had the Bnmlleat justification in iiict.
It waa represented that the cathedrals afforded a learned
leisure to eminent divines, for literary pursuits most necessary
for the defence of the faith, atid of lingular service to the
Church: whereas the catliedral clergy^ while they are not,
for the most part, qualified by natural endowments or literary
acquirements to subserve the cause of religious truth, are
mostly resident at their cathedral town, for only a small portion
of the year, during the remainder of which they are oeeupied
with other duties, inconsistent with the learned leisure wliicli
that residence was pretended to secure ; and the late so-called
reforms, so far from remedying the abuses of non-residence or
plurality, have legalised and done their best to perpetuate them.

If from the cathedral staff wc proceed to examine the con-
dition of cathedral cities, our sen^e of the benefit iuthcrto
conferred upon the Cliureli by these imposing institutions will
certainly not be cnbanced. it is proverbial that Dissent is nO"
where more rife than in many of our cathedral cities, the Cliurch
nowhere iu worse repute, nowhere in a lower and nmre debased
condition. The statistics of Canterbury and Lincoln coyected
by Mr. Horsman, (pp. 60, 61, tu,) are, it is to be feared, only
a sample of other catliedral cities; and the manifest jireponder-
ance of Dissent, particularly in Lincoln, is a significant fact
surely, intimating that the salt has lost its savour, since it fails
to season the ground most subject to its influence; suggesting,
perhaps, a fear that the cathedral may after all be an evil
leaven, exercising a baleful, rather than a benefjciul influence,
since the lump is so manifestly Icavened-

And indeed, to come to the saddest truth of all, a nearer
inspection of the Cathedral, the Close and its occupants, will too
often serve but to confinn the fenr and to awaken fresh sus-'
picions. How often at the first entrance into some of those
glorious fabrics, whose majestic spire, viewed from a distance,
spoke a ' Sursum corda,' which thrilled tbrougb the whole
mauj or whose massive tower, rich in architectural decoration,
symbolises the stability, beauty, and mnjestie dignity of * the
Church of the living God'^how often is the pleasing delusion
at once (lis])cUcd, and Mammon stands revealed — ^Mammon
visible and obtrusively prominent in the restless eye and
twitching fingers and grasping hand of the verger; Mnmmon
in tlie squalid wretchctlnees t)f the sacred furniture; [Mammon
iu the perfuncttiry perfurmauce of the hireling Choir, careless
and irreverent in gesture, tune, and drcts, beeiusc uniiistructcd
and underpaid; in no way attached to the Church, its doctrine

CatJtedralSi and Cathedral Instilutiont,

or ritmil, except by a pnltrj mercantile considemtion, but rather
rc[»uiseil from It by a sense of their wrongs, and by the undis-
guised meanness of its dignified Ecclcsiiisties, And is Mammon
the only idol? Irf the Close harrcd ngainst the world? Have
' the luBt of the flet?li, the hist of the eye, and the pride of life'
no place there? Are pomp and vunity, and luxury, and such
like, cjircfnlly excluded from the sacred precincts? Is the hos-
jjitnlity which the statutes enjoin exercised according to the
intention of the statutes and uh becomes spiritual per^onsi,
or is it not rather ninde a pretext for an indulgent style of
living? We greatly fear that the character and cnnduct of the
cathedral clergy in gcnernl ha.^ nut hcon ^uch a^j to increase
respect for the clerictd office,, or to cxhihit even an avenige
standard of strictness to those witli whom they are brought in
contact.

All these things considered, and added to all, the scandal of
large ecclesiastical bodies, t^o powerful, yet t^o nttcrly inefficient
for good ; so anqjly entlnved, yet producing so little fruit ; so
worldly ric!i, and yet so sjnritually poor,— we repeat that
we are not surprised at people beginning to think they had
better cease to l>c than cootlnuc what they are or have been,
—mere means of personal or family aggrandisement, or lucrative
distinctions in return tor secular services to the state, or rather
to politicid factions; and most heartily can 'vve sympatJiise
with the hmguuge of one of our adtnirable Colonial prelates,
(wlio has deeply studied the theory of cathedral institutions,
and whose righteous indignation at tlieir manifold ctnTuptions
must be in jyroportion to Ids understanding of their immense
capabilities for good,) when he said^* It is to be hoped that
the title of a "Dignitary" of the Church will never be
heanl in New Zeahviid.*

Indeed it is only by contrasting what our catheilrals are
with what they might be, that we shall at all adequately coni-
prchend the depth of the decay in which they are sunk; and
w^e are sincerely oblif^cd to JSIr. Sidney Herbert for recalling
the attention of the Church to the excellent pamphlet of Bishoi>
Sel vvyn, published twelve years Jigo, in which he illustrated
from the statutes of Ely Cathedral what w^ere the uses which
our cathedral institutions were designed to serve, and what pro-
vision was made by their respective founders for carrying out
their designs. It is a subject of sincere gratification to all true-
liearted Churchmen that, while that laborious and apostolic
liishop is exhibiting in his own person, at the antipodes, a pat-
tern ot' the Episcopal oflice which may well provoke to emula-
tion all of his own order, at home and abroad, and while in his
heart-stirring Charge to the clergy of his own remote diocese

CaHiedrals, and CaUiedral Jmtiluiions.

377

he 19 instructing tbe Cliriatian priesthood throughout the worlJ
in the nature timl duties of their .sacred office — he has left on
record fur the * Dignitaries' of the Cliurch at home, with whom
he has now no more to do, a. renieDihrancer of their solemn
responsihiUty, a record which at the period of its puhlication
attracted perhaps less notice than it deserved, but the genuine
piety and practical reality of which Iiaa commended it to the
attention of Mr. Sidney Ilerbert, and led him to re])roduce it
in nnothcr forrn, and to propose its suggestions as an ideal for
Cathedral lieform.

Now it is because we arc persuaded that nothing hut a
thorough and radical reform can save the cathedral institutiona
to the Churcli, and make them really serviceable, that we spcnk
j>lainly of their present condition, and of the manifold abuses of
their actual administration. It is a most mistaken policy that
leads BOme sincere friends of the Church to paUiate or ignore
the blemisliea and defects of our ecclcBiasticid system ; and it ia
certain that the age will not be eatis-fied with such excuses as
are apt to quiet some not uvcr-scrujudtms consciences ; for tlie
age is not tolerant of sinecures ; — the nge does not approve oi*
pluralitica;— the age cannot comprehend the distribution of
cathedral revenues on a ecalc so disjn^oportiuncd to the services
performed by the various orders of tlie cathedral Clergy. And it
is certain, that unless some speedy measures he taken to render
these boihcs really effective* the work oi* tpoliatton and suppres-
sion will be completed, and the revenues wholly absorbed by
the all-devouring Church Commissioners. * The Cliaptera

* cjinnot be maintained in a state so anomalous and so dis-

* creditable,' says Mr. S. Herbert (p. IG); and again, 'The

* Church must decide whether or not her Cathedrals and Chap-

* ters are worth retaining. If they are to be retained, they must

* be made defensible, that is, efficicJit*' (Pp. 43, 44.) Already the
note of preparation for a fresh onslaught has been sounded ; and
new schemes of Cathedral lleform, as crude and ill-considered as
the old one, have been proposed and entertained.' ^le.anwhile,

* the dignitaries' themselves, secure in the persuasion that
' vested rights w^ill be respected,' and reckless of all conse-
quencea that do not affect their personal interests, look down
with characteristic sclf-comjjlaccncy, such as prosperity is almost
sure to engender, upon the ti<le of popular dissatisfaction which
is cliafing around them, and think the world vastly imreasonabic
not to appreciate, and imgrateful not to acknowledge their
eminent services, so very beneficial to — themselves.

To enter at all fully into these designs for the renovation of

^ \Xt& may niciitiDii (he plan of Mi'. Colqiilujuri iind hm fricail^ iia a uotaUlc
BpccVineii, utterly subversive of every notion of u cutheilml.

378

Calhedralfi and Caihedrai IttstUuttonf.

our Cathedral Inatitiitions, would be to transfer to our pages
almoBt all that Bishop Sclwyn has written on the subject, or to
repeat tlie proposals of Mr. Sidney Herbert, in his Letter to the
Deau of Salisbury* liut this is beyond our province, and the
neceaeity Ilov it h in some measure superseded by the pamjyhlets
referred to. We shall confine our remarks, therefore, to some
points in wliich the cathedral authorities appear to have been
most wanting in their duty, several of whicli arc brought pro-
minently forward in the publications noticed at the liead of this
article.

But, before we proceed to this, we have to ofier a few remarks
on a subject which apjiears to have been either entirely overlfH)ked,
or much misunderstood by those who have lately called public
attention to the state of the cathedrals. The celebration of
matins and vespers daily throughout the year, though too often
interrupted on some frivolous? pretext, or by tlie desecration of
tlie sacred building to secular and profane [mrposes, is yet snt-
ficicutly regular to keep up the tvmenibrance of the intercessory
office of these institutions. And a great comfort it is to a
devout mind to know that, notwithstanding the alnio5t universal
suspension of the daily offices in our parish churches during |}»e
past century, they have never been wholly abandtmed nor siif-
lered to become obsolete in any one diocese ; for if, indeed,

' An hour \iiibout prayer, from some terreatml mind,
Were a curse in the calendar of time, n spat of the bliickneas of durkneas/

there is comfort in the thought that our cathedrals have done
soniethiag to avert that curse, and that there has been no day
*^ unwhitcncd' by public prayer amid all the apathy and indif-
ference of tlic last century. No doubt the Divine Service has
too often degenerated into a mere form, an irreverent mockery
of sacred things, and the feelings of the dignified functionary
* in residence ' have been nearer akin to those of Doeg * detainetl
before the Lord ' in Nob, than to the devout aspimtioua and
longing desires of the Holy Psalmist. No doubt, amid

' Tbc Round a of otlicr yeftra.
Thoughts lull ofprRyer and aolerrm bnnaoniea*

of those ' blest abodes,' the question would sometimes suggest
itself — ^ But where is now the kneeling multitude ?' Yet the
promise continually pleaded in the Prayer of 8» Chrysostom,
assured the worshipper that he was not alone on holy ground,
opened hJs eyes to see * the solemn dead which lie around,'
and the courts * crowned with spiritual hosts about,' — opened hia
ears to the voice which whispered-^

* Be still, mid hnvlv bend,
While two or tlirt-e remivit*, tliy Lord ia here,
And wlierc U\a presence is, ills hosts attend**

4
«
4

Cathedrali, and Cathedral Institutions.

379

Not that we have any sympathy with Mr, Horaman, who seems
to take special delight in snowing how very few are in the hahit
of availing themselves of the privilege of daily ijruyer oftered
to tlic inhabitants of cathedral cities, and thinks he has gained a
trinmph when he haa demonstrated * that in Canterbury Cathe-
<lralj as in other placePj the attendance at eervice of the officials
is very nearly eqmil to that of the persons attending as nienibera
of the congregation.' It is no doubt a reflection on i\\c^ inha-
bitants of Canterbury, that they arc so insensible to the great
blessing that lies at their doors j and his synthetical table,
exhibiting ' the proportion of week-day attendance to popula-
tion and officials' (p^ 59), may involve in the same condemnation
other cathedi-al cities ; but we must add infidelity to the most
miserably low utilitarianism before we can argue ft'om this fact,
that the daily service is of little value. But the idea of public
-worship as an objecti%^e act, rather than a subjective duty, de-
siened for the glory of God even more than for the edilication
of man, an imitation and rivalry on earth of the ceaseless har-
monies of lieaven, is a view not apparently dreamt of in the
philosophy of ^Ir. Ilorsman and his school ; a view, however,
which must be revived before we can hope for any general
restoration of the daily services.

A nmch more serious consideration than tlic scanty attend-
ance at the cathedral offices, is the very inadequate imd defective
manner in which those otfices are there performed.

It is a lamentable fact, that although the weekly celebration
of the Holy rjucharist in all cathedrals is strictly enjoined by
the Rubric, Westminster Abbey is the only exception to the
universal disregard of this pious practice; the only cathedral
church^ — if indeed it can be called so— where the Liturgy is
pcrfonned in its? integrity, and the highest and most distinctive
act of Christian worship celebrated at least once a week. But
to speak now of the mutilated services that are retained.

One argument constantly adduced for the preservation of
the cathedral bodies in their integrity when threatened with
reduction in 1840, was the importance of maintaining the public
ivorship of God in becoming dignity, as a model to the diocese;
and such was doubtless one design of these institutions. But
those who have been in the habit of frequenting tlie daily offices
in our cathedral churches, will have discovered that this plea,
like so many others, has been, in effect, a sham; that decency,
and pro]n'iety, aiid reverence, are the very last things thought of
within their walls; that the cathedral is too often the very
last church in the diocese to which one would look for a pure
jjattcrn of ritual observance. The disgraceful conduct of the
members of the various Choirs, men and boys, unchecked by

NO. LXVI.^ — N.S.

D D

oBO

CathedraUi and Cathedral Institntioru.

their official superiors, has become proverbial; and the public
journals of tbe last few months would furnish distinct allega-
tions against nearly lialf the cathedrals in the kingdom for the
Blovenly manner in which the service ia performed, and the
reckless disregard that ia shown, by their very liighcat autho-
rities, for the sanctity of the building, the efficiency of the
ministering priests, or the common decencies of the Divine wor-
ship. Lincoln, Brigtol, and Eipon, have gnined a bad pi-e-
eminence in the late discussions; but we are by no means sure
that othcre have not deserved the same notoriety. It cannot
be denied that an efficient Choir, orderly behaviour, and becom-
ing reverence, are the exception, and not the rule*

What we mean by an efficient Choir we will explain in the
words of Dr. Wesley, who has exposed the present miserable
state of Church Music, and suggested reforms which he will
endeavour, we apprehend, to carry out in Winchester Cathedral,
in which he has been recently appointed organist.

* The least inmibcr of men which can cmistitiite a Catbcdrnl Choir capable
of perrormiiig ilic service is twelve, bcciiiise each Choir must have three for
tlie solo, or verse parts, nnd an extra three (one to a part) to form the
chorus, SIX on a side, that ia,'— -P. 7.

This is no individual opinion of Dr. Wesley; the same stiiteraent
of the 77ummum of voices required for the proper performance of
the Choral Service was published about ten years since in a
Memorial of the principal Organists in England, and h obvious
to any one moderately acquainted -with music* But, as Dr.
Wesley proceed!^* ' So far from this, the least amount of neces-

* sary strength, being what is found in anything like const4int
'attendance at our cathedrals f]fenerally, there is not one where

* such is the case: not one which has the requisite numlier of

* singers in daily attendance/ Six or eight is the rule; even
York has no more than six; Durliam hasten ; Canterbury, Wcst-
minyter, and Windsor alone number twelve ; so that there are
but three Choirs in the kingdom which possess the least number
of voices requisite for the due celebration of the service. Doubt -
leas, if the Minor Canons are considered as constituting part of
the choir, the apparent Btrength of the cathedral Choirs would
be much augmented ; but we have been painfully reminded of
h\te, that the mere knowledge of music is not considertNi an
indispensable qualification for that office; and it is to be feared
that too many priest-vicars would consider it a degradation to
bear part in the services with the lay-clerks; nor, indeed, is their
attendance generally required except during their week of duty.

But in order ta understand the extreme inefficiency of the
cathedral ChtTuv, it is necessary to take into account sondr)^
abaletiii'uls that must be made from their numbers as they

I
I

Calhedrahy and Cathedral ImtHuiions*

;8i

appear on paper. TliuSj at Canterbury the organist is reckoned
as one of the twelve lay-clerks. In nearly alt Cathedrals some
members of the Choirs are superannuated, and ouorht to be pen-
sioned off. In many cases, again^ the abuse of plurality is per-
mitted, to the weakening of all the Choirs to which the plui'alist-
clerks belon*; — -as we have known persons liolding appointments
at Westminster Abbey and the Chapel Koyal, or 8, Paul's,
sometimes uniting to these 8. George's Windsor, and Eton Col-
lege I and having dispensation from their duties in each, three
weeks in the month I

The iact is, these officials arc, in most instances, so miserably
underpaid that they are obliged to eke out their subsistence by
sucli expedients ; and it would be cruel in their superiors to
prohibit it until they make a more adequate provision for their
maintenance, as justice requires them to do. Forty pounds per
annum — the avei*age salary of the lay -clerks in our cathedrals-^--
though considered a sufficient remuneration for attendance nt
730 services, at such hours as must necessarily mtertcre with
any other regular employ men tj cannot maintain them and their
families. It is really difficult to write with becoming temper
and moderation on the parsimonious provision made in the
wealthiest of our cathedrals for the maintenance of the public
worsliip. W^c have often heard great satisfaction expressed with
the performance of the servtcc in the magnificent Choir of Can-
terbury Cathedral; and it was a conBolation to know that the
sacred offices were celebrated with somewliat of dignity in the
Metropolitical Church. It was, then, with a feeling of indigna-
tion that we learnt from the * Memorial of the Lay -Clerks' that
their very efficient ser\'iccs there are valued by the Cha]>ter at
an annual stipend of 40/. ; wdnle the poor choristers receive the
paltry pittance of 2/. a quarter,— and that in a cathedral where
the dividends of the non-reaident plumlifet Canons amount to
upwards of a thousand a-year ! Can such a service be acceptable
to Him who hates robbery for l>urnt-offcring?

But nothing is more lamentable in connexion with this sub-
ject than the utter disregard shown for the spiritual interests of
these servants of the Church by those whose duty it is to watcli
over them. As for any especial Pastoral supervision, that is, of
course, quite out of the question. It is not even expected that
they should be^ communicants. But what we hei*e complain of
is, that the amount of professional duty required of them, in
many cases precludes the possibility of their performing their
duty with anything of devotional feeling. The Divine WorFhip
is made a mere drudgery. It nmst be eo when, as at York, tl>c
lay-clerks are obliged to hold the appointment of parish clerk
besides, in order to procure a living, (for their salary is only 5/.

D D 2

382

Catkedrahy and Cathedral Institutionif*

a-ycar more than at Canterbui*)) ; or nt Oxford, where their
engagements acsircely allow them time to hurry from the cathe-
dral to tJie college-chapel, or from one chapel to another; or at
Cambridge, where five Sunday services are exacted of them.
Under these circumstances it were vain to expect of tlicm aiij-
tliin^ like a reasonable servicej or a devotional spirit; they
must learn to regard the sacred offices as a mere form— a solenm
mockery of religion.

And yet, after all, it is a question whether this acxiumulation
of sacred services is not more consistent with their clerical cha-
racter than those secular employments, to which they are some-
times driven in order to secure themselves and their families
from starvation. Thus, in the Choir at Chichester, (where the
salaries of the seven lay-clerks range from 50/. to 20/. per
annum,) we find two jobbinnr tailors, two journeyman carpenters,
and the town-crier ! at Canterbury, a carpenter, a shoemaker,
and ' fiddlers at jilacns of public amusement of tlie lowest de-
scription.' The only Choirs wliich allow anything like a compe-
tent maintenance to the lav-clerks are, Ely 80/., Westminster
lot)/., Durham, 1 14A, Lichfield about 120/., and 8, Paul's 200/.

The Kcclesiustical Commissioners, while reducing the number
of Minor Canons in many cathedrals, have done something to
ameliorate the condition of those that remain, for they have
raised the salaries to 150/. per annum, and given them a claim to
tlie cathedral preferment ; and it is wcll^if at least they can pre-
vent 'the dignitaries' from evading the new regulations, wnicli
they are well disposed to do ;— but it were much to be desired
that they shonid ako take into consideration the circumstances
of the lay-clerks. For whatever euspicion we may feel of the
])owerrt vested in that irresiionsible body, whatever jealousy of
state* interference with the a|ipropriation of ecclesiastical pro-
perty, onr sense of the injustice of the present mode of distribu-
tion, and our despair of seeing any effectnal remedy npplied by
Chapterg themselves, forces us to invoke their interference.
The suggestion of the lay-clerks of Canterbury, in their Memo*
rial to Lord Jul in Euspcll, is hardly likely to be acted upon :
we do not know that it ought to be. They there set forth as
follows; —

'That, nl though the rcvcnucH of tlie Calhedml Clnirdi of Canterbury
have prntligiouHly iiicrcascd since irs fnuiidntion by kiii^ ficiiry VHI,, your
Mpinoriahsts clo not expect m* desire thai the insiilHeiency of iheir siitipnids
should he supplied from the rcvctiuea of the Dcnij nnd Chnpter; but your
MpinonaliKlK Inimhly pray thnt the revenuea ul the Prebeiidnl Stalls already
si«pl>rfs«pd, and rd" tlwim liereafitT to he fiuppresaed in thia Cathedral
Churchy niriy, in tic Hist instnnee. be apphcd to the due niaiutenancts sup-
purl, Hiid rpimjiicrnitioii of the *' Clcrifi I^aici" ttf ihia the Metropolilicjil
('hrir<'h of Kogland.* — 'f/te MmtorUif, if*, p, Ul.

Calhedrithf, and Cathedral Institutiom,

3S3

It were much more equitable, ns well as more rcasoiwlfle, at
Canterbury and elsewhere, to mftke tlie augmentation from tlic
general fund of the cathedrals, to the diminution of tlie dividend
of all the canonries without distinction, and not of those only
whose revenues are paid over to the Coramissioners ; for such
would have been the effect if the salaries had been increased, as
they should have been, by the Deans and Cliaptera years ago.
And if the cathedral reformers in 1840 had been in the slightest
degree qualified for their task, tliey would eurely have provided
first for the proper maintenance of that part of the cathedral
body which tliey designed to spare, instead of perpetuating, and
in some cases increiising the scandalous abuses that already
existed, and rendering the efficient performance of the cathedral
service a practical impossibility. But nothing, perhaps, ciin
demonstrate their incapacity more clearly than the obstinate per-
tinacity with which they reduced the cathedral staff to their Pru-
erustean standard, without the slightest reference to the efficient
performance of the duties required of tlie several members.
This is w^cll put by Dr. Wesley: —

* Whether music be performed in the church, coQcert-room, tlientrc, or
elaewhere, the requisite detaila of action are all one \ and as tliey ever
existed^ so will they remaiu. A i'nct, which remlcrs inexplicable ibc ret:eiit
proceedings of the Ecclesiasticyil Commissiaaens, wha ccrmiiii^" did not pur-
pose what tlieir acts were sure to bring about, namely, the exunciinn, or at
least the farther duteriorution of cathedral worship, lly tbc musical system
of the Church, the daily aenicea are dependent ou the Qergyj the jMiuor
Canons being now, iia ia early times wheji cJiuira were first I'ornied, as well
aa when 8ub?cciuentlj reformed, rcsponaible for a nhare of tlic uiusical
duty; constitutni":, in fict, the choir; for without their attendance (the
whole of them) at tvenj service, the number prescribed is nrst made up,

* The Church Comniisai oners reduced the number of Minor Ciinoiiti to six,
or four, in all cases ; ftnd seem to have con tcra plated their rthstAiriijig froni
nil participation in the choral duties, and this without substituting the
reqniaite lay singers in their stead, or making; any provision, whatever fur
the duo performance of the chond vvorKhi|>/ — V. 8.

The remark of M\\ Sidney Herbert, with respect to the
Canonries, applie& with equal force, at least, to the Minor
Canonrics:^ —

•The Act of 1840 was drawn by persons who cither i^ored the fact of
tlierc being special duties to be performed by the Cathedral bodies, or who
were quite insensible to their value and importance if performed. They
found these bodies in an inert state, and their duties in abeyance. They
should either have insisted on the duty being performed, or they should
have abolished the oftkc. They did neither; they accepted the non-per-
formance of the duties, recognised and estahUshcd the neglect, and merely
reduced the numbers.* — P. IG,

And it is a curious and significant fact, that among all the weak
arguments urged in sundry Memorials against that reduction,
the only really valid olrjection was not so much as once stated,

384

Cathedrals J and Cathedral Itistitittwns,

viz. tluit the Chc>ir:?» which before were accideDtallj inefficient
* by lupsc and neglect,' would thus be made 'necessarily ineffi-
cient by law.*

Tlius nmcli must here suffice on this large and most important
Bubjcet, for we have yet to notice that department of their dutyj
in which the Capitular bcxlies have been, perhaps, most culpabl
ncf^ligent: we mean, the education of the middle and lower
ordcre.

It is not too much to say, that had the Cathcdrak been mind-
ful of their duty in this respect, and careful to discharge it, the
whole aspect, not only of education, but of religion in thia
country, might have been dlflferent from what it is. The Churchy
instead' of being engaged in interminable disputes with the Com-
mittee ot* EducatioUj might have had the education of the entire
community under her control ; instead of being opposed, and in
8omc places actually outnumbered by sectarians, and coldly
regarded by her own ill-instructed and disaffected members,
she might have commanded t!ic willing allegiance of a loyal
and intelligent nation. For the Cathedral city might have
been, and ought to liave been, the centre of education for
every Diocese, provided with an efficient staff of teachers,
training mastei-s and mistresses for the Parochial Schools. The
Choristers' School should have been made the nucleus of a
really efficient Grammar School ; offering a free education to the
choristers, and the advantages of better instruction, on more
economical terms than could elaewherc be met with, to the
children not only of the poor, but of the tradesman, mechanics,
and farmers. So far, how^ever, is this from being tlie ordinary
pnictice, that we know not a single instance in which such an
at tempt has been made^ while we do know several instances
wlicre no provision whatever is made by the Cathedral autho-
rities for the education even of the choristers: those at York
receiving instruction in the National School, as is also the case
at Chichester, Peterborough, and elsewhere. Sometimesj how-
ever, one of the lay-clerks is appointed schoolmaster, a.s an ex[)e-
dient for increasing his stipend, without proper regard being had
to his qualifications for advancing the moral and intellectual
improvement of the children. In some Cathedrals the boys of
the Choir are not even instructed in music, but sing only by ear ;
in very few do they receive even an elementary training in the
theory and science of music, but merely such practical teaching
as will enable them to scram l)le through the rout me chants
and anthems. And here we must take occasion to express our
entire dissent from a dictum of Dr. Wesley, which wo are sure
is neither philoso[>hical nor religious : * Tlie organist, if a man of
' eminence in liis art,' ho says, ' should hardly be teased with the

Cathedrals J aitd Cathedral Imtitatiotm

385

* ttiition of the singing-boys. The rudiments of an art may be
' better tauglit by those from whom uotliiog Is expected In the

* liigher branches.* This genenil proposition is falsified by uni-
versal experience ; and the p*irticulur application of it ia utterly
unworthy of a professional organist, and augurs ill for tlie future
of the WinclicBter Choir; for an organist, however eiuineut, who
can be * teased ' with such duties, must have a very inadequate
conception of the sacred nature both of his own office, and of
the Services in wliich the Choir h engafrcd. Besides, docs lie
really think that the boys at Westminster, Norwich, and Durham,
for example, could have attained their exquisite perfection and
fiuish of taste and tone, from less able tuition than they have
received from their respective organists, whose constant assidu-
ous attention to their duties merits the gratitude of idl lovers of
Cathedral music ; or would he Jiimself rest satisfied with any-
thing short of that perfection? But he seems?, while differing
i'rom nhe dignitaries' in many points, to agree with them in
their estimate of the poor choristers, who, as being the weakest
and most defenceless, have consequently been the most oppressed
of tbe Cathedral officials ; receiving the most miserably inade-
quate remuneration for their services until their voices break,
and then turned adrift on the wide world, often without any
provision for their future life.

We cannot deny ourselves the pleaaurc of mentioning a
contrast to the indifferent treatment of Choirs which we have
had hitherto to record. Magdalen College, Oxford, has always
made considerable provision for the children ministering in its
chapel. Their School, which dates from the foundation, sup-
lilies them a thoroughly good classical education^ under the
superintendence of a IJemy in Priests' orders, assisted by one of
the Chaplains. A stipend, gradually augmented, almost covers
the expenses of their maintenance in Ixjarding-honses licensed by
the President; while the salaries often out of the sixteen choristers
are increased by Exhibitions. Bible clerkships of 60/. a-y ear, ap-
prentice premiums of 20/., and other Exhibitions in the College,
varying in amount, are provided for the superannuated boys ;
many of whom are thus enabled to pass through the Uni¥crs.ity,
and to become useful to the Church even ia its highest offices ;
and thirteen pupils of the School are now matricuhited members
of the foundation. Within the current year, however, a much
more satisfactory arrangement hi\s been made, at a considerable
.sacrifice on the part of the College, A commodious liouse, con-
tiguous to the College, has been purchased, in which it is pro-
posed that the boys should be boarded aud lodged under the
immediate supervision of their master ; and the foundation of
some exhibitions has since been announced.

In most of the Cathedrals— in all of the new foundation —

386

CatJtedralf, and Cathedral ImtiliUtons*

the Grammar Schnol ia ever contemplated as a most iin-
poitunt, and indeed essential clement of the establishment;
iidJ a provision was made in their gtatutea for the mainte-
nance of fomidatiotiBchDlars, independent of, and in addition
to, the hoys of the Choir. Thus^ Canterbury is bound to
maintain * two teachers of the boys in grammar, one of whom

* ia to be the head-master^ the other i^econd master, and fifty

* boys to be instrncted in <]^rammar,' (Whiston, p. 3;) Worces-
ter was to maintain forty buys, (p. 7 ;) Durham eigliteen, (p. 4;)
Ely twenty-four, (p. 12;) Rochester twenty; and other Cathe-
drids a proportionate number, with a Head-Master and Usher in
every case, besides the Master of the Choristers. And some idea
may be formed of the character of the instiniction to be given at
the School, and of the qualifications rcqnired in the Master^ from
tlie fact, that his statutable stipend was in most cases nearly
equal to that of the Canona. If, then, these trusts had been
faithfully administered, and the educational department pro-
jterly developed, we might now have seen Hoinishing Diocesan
Schools in connexion with all our Cathedrals, difFusing their
blessings far and wide among the towns and villages subject to
the See, For how often are there found in our Pamchial
Schools boys of great promise, and capable apparently of any
amount of intellectual dcvelopmcnt^boys who, under [proper
training, might attain the highest eminence in natural or moral
science, and become ornaments of the Bar or the Bench : the
antecedents of some of the greatest men of the day have
proved—

* . . . . quid mens rite, quitl indoles
NutritA faustia sub pcuctraUbus
Posset/

And if the human intellect be indeed one of the noblest crea-
tions of God, it ought to be cultivated and developed to its full
maturity wherever it is found — in a cottage equally lu^ in a
palace— for the glory of God, and for the good of mankind.
But what opportunity does the Church now afford to the children
of the poor for the acquirement of that dactrina which is
necessary to promote and discipline the insiki tis, which God
has implanted in the human soul w^ithout respect of person or
station? The parish Priest may have discovered under the rude
exterior of a low-born peasant-boy qualities which, if properly
turned to account, might have produced — not a Hampden or a
Cromwell, as the poet suggests — but something much more
exalted— a philosopher or a saint :^

* But Knowkdp:e !o bis cyea licr ample pAge,
Tlicli with tlie spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill pcmiry repressed his nohle rftffe,
And tVoze the geninl carrent of the soui.'

Callicdrahy and Cathciral I ustitatmu.

387

An Uiilvcrtiity educfition was far beyond hia reach, t<o hi« talents
ran to waistc, and Iils intellect was &tintcd in ha growth:
whereai', if the Cathedral bodies hud matntaincd their scliook m
full efficiency, with tlicir full complement of foundation-boye,
having the gratuitous * sustcntation,' as well as the instruction
provided by tlie statutes, there would have been no difficulty in
procuring' for hira such an education as might have prepared
hiiu to fulfil the destiny which hia natural endowments marked
out for him.

In considering the capabilities of the Cathedral Cirammar
Schook for the purposes of Diocesan education, it ought not to
be forgotten that our three most ancient and renowned jjublic
Rchoolfi, Winchester, Eton and Westminster, owe their origin
and stability to their respective foundations, which are in all
essential points precisely what the Cathedral Grammar Schoob
were designed to be; only that the former now educate a higher
class of boys than w^c would wish to see in the latter.

Again, according to the original scheme, the Cathedrals were
to maintain at the Universities a certain number of students
who had received their education in the Granmiar School \ and
although it would appear that in some cases they were for a
time released from this charge in consideration of surrender to
the crown of certain manors, or in consequence of the insuf-
ficiency of their endowments (Whiston, pp, 7, 8), yet the obli-
gation was subsequently reimposcd (pp. 65 — 67).

But this requirement of their statutes is almost universally
disregarded, and where it is fulfilled in form it is rendered
nugatory in fact; for as no proportionate increase has been
made in the Exhibitions to meet the decrease in the value of
money, the sums paid are merely nominal ; wholly inadequate
to bear even the College eliarges. And, indeed, when we con-
sider the present state of discipline in the Universities^ and the
opposition that has been offered to the introduction of a class
of poor scliolare, it is plain that while few i:lcte$ of the Cathe-
dra! Grammar Schools could afford an University education,
they would derive but little moral benefit from it; and we have
no wish to cultivate the intellect merely. What we desiderate
then, is, Cathedral Colleges on an economical plan, in which
the training commenced in the Grammar School should be
carried on by competent masters* It would be the greatest
boon possible to the Church and nation generally.

The Dhinity Lecturer and Theological Students form part
of the Cathedral staff in the Ely statutes and others ; there ia
the shadow of a shade, called * Divinity Lecturer ' in the
* College of Minor Canons ' of S. Paul's ; the tradition
of a School of Theology still clings to the Chapter Library

388

CaihedrdU^ and Cailtedral IiistUutions,

at Salisbury ; and these facts ]ioint to another most im-
portant function which tho Cathedrals have long ceased to
fulfiL It is known that Diocesan Colleges have been estubliahed
within the last few yeara at Wella and Chicliester, But the
Principals of these CoHejres, though schohirs of great eminence,
and occupying perhaps the most important office in the Diocese
next to the Bishop, are in no way connected with the Cathedral
cstablisbnicnt, as they unquestionably ought to be. And the
students are wholly at their own charges, except that a few
Exhibitions have been founded by pnTate libei^ty. There is
not at Chichester, and wc believe not at Well^, any semblance
of a College — the Principal lecturing in his own hired house,
and the etudentH lodging and boarding in the town. We are
not aware that the respective Ciiaptcrs contribute to the main-
tenance of these Colleges anything but the use of the stalls in
the Choir, which the students are allowed to occupy !

Tlic Theological College ehoidd be a College indeed, form-
ing part of the Cathedral establishment, and m some measure
supported by the Dean and Chapter, so as to place its advan-
tages within the reacli of men of very moderate income. It
should be, too, the centre of a syatem of more general instruc-
tion; offering, in fact, the benefits of an Uiuverslty education at
a far cheaper rate, together with a more religious rule and a
more paternal discipline than the head« of the Universities think
desirable. Bishop Hatfield's Mall, at Durham, is an example
of the kind of Culleges that arc required, and uf the scale of
exi>ense that should be established in thcni. The necessity for
such Colicgcs is demonstrated by the formation of such insti-
tutions as Cjuccn's College, Birmingham ; while the * People's
College,' at Norwich, consisting already of between 200 and
300 students, furnislics, wc should imngine, a fair type of the
education that empirics will eubstitute for that which the
Cadiedrals might, but will not, provide. There are some excel-
lent remarks on this subject in Mr. Sidney Herberts Letter,
(pp, 25, 26,) for which wc regret we cannot find room.

But when wc turn from the consideration of what the Cathe-
dral institutiuus might be, to inquire what they are, we feel
infected with something of the sjjirit that breathes in every
page of Mr. Winston's pamphlet ; and if we could desire that
he had kept his feelings more under control, and endeavour
ourselves to do so while reviewing his pages, it is not because
we tliink that Indignation directed against such flagrant wrong
is other than virtuous, but because we fear lest its expression
should wear the senddancc of temper and personality, of pri-
vate pique or mere violence, and so defeat its own o!>ject.

Mr, Whiston has attempted to establish by a careail analysis

I
I

Cathedrak, and Cathedral I/iStitutionn*

389

of Henry Vllltli's Schcinc of the Foundationsi of the new
Cathedrals —

* 1st, That the Deans and Prebcndariea of the new CatViedrals liad ori-
finally their yearly stipends, or tlxeir '* ivages in hnre money/* fixed,
limiled, and determined, as strictly and cloaely as any other members of
their respective foundations.

' 2dly. That tl;e original revenues of these Cathedrals were exhaustedi
or intended sn to be, by the Ktatutable charges, stipends and apporlion-
ments for which the founders made them liable.

* Andf 3diy, That their statutes contain no provision, expressed or
implied!, that the Ueana and PrebeudKriea sliuuld exclusively take a siir-
plua, whieh, indeed, could hardly have arisen, hati! all the stjitiitable
Htit»endt] been from time to time au^cnted, io aa to meet the changes in
llie value of money.*

And then by a comparison of the ^tatutuhle stlpcudrf with thoae
now actual ly paid, and with the divisible fiurfdiis shared by the
Dcana and Chapters, he has arrived at conclusions so startling
that we are aliiioat afraid to repeat them. It appears that
60 far from any equitable augmentation of the tjalaries
having been made, in proportion to the statutable allowances,
in order to meet the changes of the times, the redistribution
has been made according to an arbitrary rule of the govern-
ing body, whereby the otficiak and inferior menibera of the
Cathedral corporation have been most unjust losers; for
that * the diguitariea receive in 1849 imrdiftateif/ more than they
' did in 1549, while other objects of the same bounty receive
' (in consequence of such inoi'dinatc augmentation) considerably
• less,' (p. 35;) * more' and 'lest?,' that is, in proportion to the
decrease in the value of money in the course of the three cen-
turies. It is only by an examination of his comparative table
that the e-\tcnt of this flagrant injustice can be at all adequately
nnderstooil ; but we may quote as samples the instances of Can-
terbury aud Koch ester. First for Canterbury : —

* The scheme for the cudowraent . . . and the , . - table . . . show
that the founder or donor of the Church's lands intended them so (o be
disposed of, that a Minor Canon should have one quarter of the prebendal
income. Instead of this relation being maintaiiiedr the Prebend.iries take
900/, or 1000/., and the Alinor Canons, 80^. each. So again, the Lay -clerks
vrcTG to receive 8/ a year each^ ^\hile Uic Prebendaries had 40/., or only
five times as much. Now a Lay-clerk receives 40^. and the Prebendary
000/., or mure than twenty-two times as much. iSo the Organist had 10/.
fonncrly, now lie has 115/, with certain extras,

* Again, the ten Choriatera had 3/. 6*. Hd, each, or 33/. Gj». Sd. altogether ;
they now receive 7G/. 8,t , or about 7i. 13*. efich on an average; whiic the five
voungest have only 6/. a year, or 10.t. a month, nnd they forfeit ihcir first
half-year'a salary to the organist; a hard thing: for poor boys* whose very
helplessness should have been a shield against all unkindriesa aud wrong.
The result is, that the prebendal stipend, which w as formerly only twelve
tmies the Chorister's aliowance^ is now about one hundred and sixteen limes
as much. So ihc Scboolmaater . . . formerly received one half of their

390

Cathedrahi and Cathedral Imtituttom,

Ktipentl, ie, 20/, ; at any rntc. the donor intended him to havelialf as much :
but the Prebendaries, forgcttinfr Whit^ift, and the donor's intentions, only
give bim nbout oiuMiinth of their own receipta. So the Second Master once
hnd one-tburth of the prebeodal income; now he gets 60^., or less than one-
fifteenth of it. But the poor Scholars, from w hose places such men as
Ilafvey and Lorda Thurlow and Tenterden have sprung, Jare the worst of
all. Their yearly allowance vras fixed nt \L by the same royal donor who
fixed the prehendal income at 10/. \ in other words, the Prebendaries were
to have only ten times as much as the poor boys, . . . the hoys only get
\l. %». AfL each; so that instead of ten times, the Prebendaries have taken
(in 1B31) more than 710 times as much/— Pp. 38, 3Q.

An explanation of tint* reduction in the nominal allowance of
the Gramomr-boyf?, is offered by a carrespondeut of the BrUiBh
MagazluG of last month, and it is right that the Dean and
Chapter ahould have the benefit of it, for the ease, even in ita
fairest aspecti is so bad that no one should desire to exaggerate
the statements or aggravate the scandal. The statutes given
bj Henry VIII. to Canterbury Cathedral when con finned by
Charles I. underwent some ahcration, and these arc now in
force at Canterbury, in which it? an * essential variation ' from
the earher statutes in regard tostipends^^ and the XL Ss. M. now
paid to the Gmm mar-boys ia ' in fact the smn named in the
later statutes." So that the Prebcndarief*, being entitled to
twenty-eight times the scholars' stipend, liave taken 710 timed
as much. We really cannot see that Mr, Whiston's ca^se is
mtich damaged, or the case of the Dean and Chapter much
improved, by tlie explanation of Presbyter.

Next of Rochester: —

' The Prcbcndarii'.^ at Iloehcstcr Lave had thcl*' stipend augmented IVom
20/, to more than GSO/, and may and do hold more than one valnabto
livinjr, vvitli the privilege of bestowing others upon relations, connexitms
and friends, Tlie siipend of a Minor Canon is raisetl from 10/. to 'M)L ]
but he cannot hold more than one livinji, viliieb, in tact, jinrtly pays for
Cftlhedrjil aervirea. rUe rrebemkrieH of Eochcster attend the Cathedral
(mcc a iliiy, and occasionally twice, duriiii^ their residence of I wo months,
and preach ten or twelve aermons ; '* the Minor Canoas,'* says ihe Bi>!hup
of London,' " do the greater part of l!ie doty in all Cathedrals." Apiin,
the stipends of the chorblcrs are raised at Rochester from 3/. 6*. M. to
9/., 10/., and H/. G*. 8(/. ; and those of the singing-men from (]/. 11. i. Kid.
to 60/,, for \vhich they do dnty twice a day during the \diole year, .....
Lastly, 1 will speak af the grammiir-hoys. One way or other, every
existing member ot'lhe foundation obtains an augmentation of his stipend.
But boya can be found to receive gratuitoii-s iristriiction in classics and
mathematics, and other branches of Icftruing, with 13.f. 4t/. a quarter lor
pocket money, and so nothing more is paid/— -Pp. 36, 17.

These, we repeat, are but samjdes of tlie principle, or mther
of the want of principle, that guides the re-distribution of the
Cathedral revcnties, and secures the Hon*s ]>ortion to the Pre-

• Brit. Mag. pp. *^80, 281. " BriL Mug. p. 2P2.

» Mirror of Parliament, July 24, lb2a

Cathedrals, and Cathedral Institutiont,

391

bendaries. Talk iiuleerl of the fipoliatioii of Cathedral property,
and the diversion of their revenues from the purposes of the
donors, and their applicntion to objects never contemplated by
the founders ; — talk * of taking from one what is his, and giving
it to another whose it is not,' (as it runs in the Memorial of
the Dean and Chapter of Roclic^ter;) why, in so doing, the
Comraissioners are but following at a humble distance the
example set them by the Chapters themselves; of whom Mr.
WJiiston most reasonably asks, ' Can they themselves wonder
if their own language should be turned against them ? * (p. 33.)
This indeed he has done with most damaging cftect ; and their
* solemn adjurations/ (p. 37,) their earnest professions of regard
for the * solemnity of oaths,' and for the intentions of the
founders as declared in their statutes, (p. 35,) read strangely in
connexion with the facts whicli iVIr* Whiston'd pages reveal ;
and we feel that such language might well excite the honest
indignation of the jdain-spokcn Bishi^p of London, and |irovoke
him to declare publicly in Parliament, * that very many of such
Cathedral statutes arc notoriously disregnnled/

But again, it has been pleaded in behalf of the Chapters, that
the statutable .salaries weic not intended to exhaust the re-
venues, as IVIr. Whiston maintains, but that ihe sx'stem of fines
and dividends has prevailed from the earliest times, and been
sanctioned by the highest authority ; and a passage is adduced
irom Strype, in which mention \a made of ' dividends of certain
fines then taken for leases, passed by the Dean and Prebendaries '
of Canterbury, and allowed by Arcbbit?bop Parker, when ap-
pealed to in bis visitorial capacity.'

We confess that, with our present knowledge of the subject,
we should require further evidence than that furnished by this
isolated passage, to convince us that the prcseut system can
boast such venerable authority. In the parallel ease of the Col-
lege revenues, we know tliat the system of dividends is compa-
ratively recent, and not more equitable than in the Cathedrals..
The most olivious method of reconciling the Archbishop's
decision in 1570 with his Injunctions of 1573, is to suppose that,
having inadvertently countenanced an abuse by tacitly con-
senting to the system of fines and dividends in 1570, he ha<l
ini'ormed himself more fully on the subject in 1573, when he
declared that system to be contrary, not only to the commodity
of the Church, but iilso to the mind and intention of the
Statutes. That the statutable stipend was the main source of
emolument is clear, from the careful and systematic calculations
of yearly expenditure furnished to King Henry Ylll. by his

1 Brit. Maj^. p. 28^

392

Caihedrah, and Cathedral Insiitutionf.

commissioners, and concluding with the recommendatjon to hi«
Majesty to assign to each particular Catliednil of the neiF
foundation, such a yearly revenue aa would cover the * aummo
totall of all the charges,* increased by the ' tenthes ' and * fyrfete
fruitcaJ {Wlimlon, pp. 10—13, and the Scheme throughout,
as edited by IMr. Cole, )

Indeed, it is admitted by the advocate himself, that, f^jT
some years, the amount of fines taken by the new refoundcd
Cathedral* waa probably small *, * and what we maintain is, that
as their revenues increased, the whole IxKly should have shared
the advantage, by an equitable distribution of the surplus, in the
proportion of tlie statutable stipendj* — particularly when those
Btipends bec4ime inadequate through the value of money per-
petually decreasing. For this is a case in which adherence to
the letter of a statute is so manifest a departure from the spirit,
that the more strictly the letter is oljscrvcd the greater is the
violation. If it would be unjust and unreasonable to limit the
Canon's stipend (at Ely, for example,) to 40/. per annum, on the
ground of the statute, it is ei^^ualty unjust and unreasonable to
limit the Head-Master*8 stipend to 16/. 13^, 4rf,j the Ciiorij^tci's' to
AL, and the Grammar-boys' to 3/. %s, 8rf. ; for these sums as little
represent the real value of the statutable allowance as in the
cai^e of the Canon's exhibition.

But although w^e think it cannot be denied that a dist-inct case
of malversation has been made out against the Cathedral au-
thorities, it were very unreasonable to hcild the present gene-
ration alone responsible. This abuse, like so many others, has
been the growth of ages, and baa been insensibly increasing until
it has reached its present portentous dimensions; and they who
are now peri)etuating them were probably for a long time igno-
rant of their existence. Nor ought it to be expected that tLoee
who have grown old in a system will be the first to see or the
foremost to acknowledge its corruptions, particularly where a
strong conservative feeling is further confirmed by considenxtions
of self-interest. The summary expulsion of Mr. Whiston from
the office which he had filled with so much credit to himself and
so much advantage to the School, was precisely such an act as
might have been expected from the Deun and Chapter of Ro-
chester, in the first ebullition of their indignation at bis iincom-
proraising exposure of the abuses of a system to which they arc
pledged, and which they, for the time, administer. It was
equally natural that they should wish their act undone; but it
is something to their credit, that they had the moral courage to
rescind their own act, and reinstate him in his office. These
are not the times when grave charges, such as those advanc€fd

4
4

Brit. MAg. i>. 2S9.

Cathedrahy and Cathedral Insttiulions,

393

by Mr. Whiston, are to be silenced by an act of arbitrary power,
least of all by an ecclesiastical body. These charges must be
fairly met, with the con\iction that the answers will be thoroughly
sifted, and every ingenioua subterfiige swept clean awuy. In-
vestigation may be called for in a tone that sonnda harsh and
uncourteous to polite ears^ but it cannot be smothered. Neither
let them suppose that such a reply as that addressed to their
visitor by the Chapter-ckrk will satisfy any but themselvea and
their own order.

When abusea have been detected and dragged to light, they
may be dealt with in one of three ways, by those who are impU-
cated in them. They may be reformed, or excused, or ignored.
The first course ia the one mo^t likely to give general satis-
faction ; the second ia that most commonly adopted, and where
the excuse ia valid it must be admitted as a justification ; but
the third, and worst line» is that followed by tbe Chapter of
Kochcster, which ia sure to satiafy no one. They assume the
tone of injured innocence; the imputation of * selfish and siirdid
purposes ' is particularly distressing to them — avarice and selfisli-
ness are most alien to their nature; the misdemeanours and
abuBca with which they nre cliarged liave no pul>6tantive exist-
ence, but are 'invidiously alleged ;' and it is 'with some surprift^c
as well as pain' that they ]iave found their School selected as a
ground of charge against them*

But, in truth, we can hardly believe that theJr defence was
satisfactory to themselves. They are forced to admit that some
questions concerning the more equitable distribution of the
Cathedral revenuee are * worthy of consideration ; * and they must
expect that the public generally will feel that they imperatively
demand coneideration, and ought to have been considered long
The public win not endure to be told that the question —

azo.

' whether they would do well, or not, to increase the Exhibitions
with reference to the altered value of money ' — ^ia one ' into
which it is not necessary to enter;' for, in fact, the very point
at issue Is, whether they arc not bound in equity to €lo so. It
is childish to suppose that because the comjdainiint ' advm^atcd
changes upon principles which they would not admit, or in a tone
which they considered unbecoming,' they were at liberty to
disregard his remonstrances. If a grievance, affecting the inte-
rest of the Granunar School and its foundation-boys did exist,
the Head-Master was the proper person to rcmonsti'ate and
endeavour to obtain redress ; and if the principle of the changes
advocated by him was wrftng* that was no i^ufficient reason fi>r
perpetuating the abuses ; if the Chapter objected to the remedy
pruposed, they were bijund to apply one of their own.

But, it seems, they have raised the salaries of the Masters of

Cathedrah, and Cathedral Imiitutiom.

theGrammar-SchDol/ln a ratio exceeding that of the supposed in-
crease [decrease] in the value of money,* — ^acknovvleclfring thereby
the principle for which !Mr. Whiaton contends. Why, then,
liave they not applied the same rule to the Graminar-Loys and
Kxhil>itioner8 in the University ? It may he true that * altogether
the Denn and Chapter at present devote to the support and
advantage of tlveir School above 400/. a-ycar;' but this sum does
not nearly represent the value of the various stipends and allow-
ances fixed by the statutes three centuries ago; and the augmen-
tation of the expense of the Grammar School bears no projvortion
at all to the augmentation of the Canons' income. The fact of
their having expended ujjon the fabric of the Cathedral sums

* amounting to more than 28,(X)0A within the last twenty-eight
yeara,' 18 no justification of the wrong done to the boys, nnlesa
it could be shown tluit all tlic nieujbers of the Cathedral boily
have been taxed in the same projiortion ; which cannot be pre-
tended while tjie Canons annually receive, as we have seen,
680/. 19/, in lieu of 20/. Besides which, this annual expenditure
on the Catlicdral does not more than equal the sum assigned
for that purpose in the calculations of the commissioners of
Henry VlII.™(Whistou, p. 12,)

One word more before we dismiss Mr. Essell's Letter. It
appears that Bome few years ago, * the number of their founda-
titm scholars gradually diminii^hcd, until at length there was no
school at all,' Tliis is admitted by the Chapter-clerk: but then
' it was not from their default, but from the superior popuLu-ity
of schools in the vicinity ;' as though it were no lUuit of theirs
that other schools were more popular. The tables were soon
turned wlien they appointed an efficient master, althougli the
statutable maintenance which might have ju^e vented the former
catastrophe was still withheld from the scholars.

All the world knows that law and equity are not convertible
termSj and something more is expected from religious men, and
spiritual dignitarie?, than the letter of the law ciin exact Mr.
Whiston is but the exponent of a general or almost universal
feeling of dissatisfaction, arising from the conviction that the
Cathedral bodies are not doing what they might and ought to
do tor the Church. Even their best friendsj their very chamiiions*
admit it, and speak despondingly of any prospect of amendment
from witliin. Thus Presbyter writcsj— ^ Not that I, fur one,

* would resign the liope' — (the case then is all but desperate)^

* that if only the iineient foundations be left to us uninjured,

* they may yet in their latter days, amidst the awakening zeal

* for objects such as their founders had at heart, be enabled,
' through God's mercy, to realize more fully than they have yet
'done, all that those founders contemplated,*

Catkedrah, and Cathedral InsiUuiiomt,

' It were a consuiiiiiiatioii devoutly to he wbhed/ — but wc
confess that past oxperioncc forbidn us to clicrieh any san<^uinc
bope op seehi^T it fulfilled. Indeed, wc question both the practi-
cability and desirablencaa of assigning direct educational func-
tions to the Frcljcndsirie?, as is proposed by Mr, Sidney Her*
bert. It were simply ndscbievou^ to compel them to undeitake
duties for which they aie in no way qualified, and with which
they feel no eynapathy. But if the ris imrtitF is still to reside
in them, they should be compelled by law to delegate to com-
peteut persons the active and useful works of iheir institutions.
Unquestionably, the preferable plan would be to ap^wint
to the Residentiary Stalls men who would devote them-
selves to the service of the Church in those works which the
Cathedrals ought to perform: and perhaps the only really
effectual plan of Cathedral reform would be, to convert them
into Colleges of unmarried Priests^aa Queen Elizabetii desired
to make them— with definite duties, and such limited salaries as
would prevent them fi*om being regarded as objects of ambition,
exce[>t for the work's sake. But the value of the palronaffe, it
is to be feared, would present a serious obstacle to this pro-
posal ; and the * Mammonish view * of Church preferment as
prizes in a lottery, so strenuously defended by Sidocy Smith in
his ' Cathedra! Letters,' will perpetuate the existing abuses, so
that the normal state of Cathedral bodies will continue as it is
described by that 8ame witty and profane writer, and wjis re-
markably illustrated in his own person. * We ought to have a
'steady confidence that the men of real merit will always bear a
* small ju'oport ion to the whole number, and that in [iroportion
*as the wliolc number is lessened, th^ number of men of merit
' provided for will be lessened also.' Thus far the anticipation
has been fully verified ; and amid all political and sociul changes
the Chapters retain their old features, almost entirely unaltered ;
and thcee men of Laish continue to dwell careless, quiet, and
secure, in a land which is large and very good— a place where
there ia no want of anything that ia in the earth.

The conduct of the Roclicgtcr Chnpter towards Mr. Whiston,
and that of the Chapter of Bristol towards their Visitor, are
among the latest specimens of the sjjirit in wliich any sug-
gestions for reform are met by these dignified Ecclesiastics.
To the former we have already referred; a few wortis will
suffice for the latter. Tlie agitation occasioned at Bristol by
the appointment of a Minor Canon incapable of intoning the
service, is fresh in the memory of ail ; ami most persons would
suppose that the visitorial dcei.^ion of the Bishop had settled the
question for ever. But the Bishop did not cancel the appoint-
ment of tlic incompetent official; he only requiretl that for the

NO. LXA^.^N. S. E E

306

Cathedrals^ and Cathedral ImtittUiom.

i'uttiie all Minor Canons should be properly qnalifictL Since
this decision was proniiilgatctl, another vacancy ha.^ occurred;
the office has been kept open for more than half a year, during
which period its dutict* have been assigned to the incompetent
functionarj^ I The Dean and Chapter, we now learn, threatened
witli another memorial to the Bishop, eiirne^tly entreating liim
again to interpose his visitorial authority, have made a virtue of
necessity, and shelved their unfortuoate favourite ; but they
mu8t not Huppoee that tlieir mean evasion of the Bishop's in-
junction, will be readilv forgotfen by a justly indignant public
But it is a himentiible fuctj that the warninj^ of 1840 seems to
have been wholly lost upon the Cathedrals, The increased activity
of tlje Parochial Clergy, which affords such manifest proof of
more vignrou'? and healthy vitnlity in the Church, and gives such
ho[jeful promit<c for the future, has not extended tn the dignified
ecclesiastics, imless their increased care for the retst oration and
decoration of their cathednds may be taken as an indication to
the contrary. Let them have all the credit they deserve for
this; it is a gond work, and highly commendahlo. But to show
so much regard for the material fabric, while thespirituid house
18 allowed to lie desolate, ia a just subject of rejiroach ; and that
it is which ha?* provoked the indignation of religious men* Let
them look to the living stones of their foundations; to their
Choral coui]mny, their Minor Canons, their Lay-clerks, their
Choristers ; to their educational body, the Masters, the Schohirg,
the Exhibitioners, tho Theological Students, Let them apjdy
their large resources to develope all parts of their system, with
the largeness of heart becoming works in which the glory of
God and the good of men arc so closely concerned and so inti-
mately blended. Let Hicni regard Cathedral prnperty as a
sacred trust, to be administered for Gotl and Ili^ Church, and
not to be squandered on themselves and their families. Let
them propose to themselves as a pattern that most exemplary
member of their order who has been chiefly instrumental in
bringing Westminster under tlie influence of the Church, and
in introducing a Chriytian leaven into that mass of heathenism,
— the infection of whose libendity has spread far and wide.
Let them imitate the active and enlightened zeal of a Canon of
Salisbury, alluded to by Mr. Ilerhert, whose abundant labours
are a blessing, not to the city only, but to the whole Diocese. Let
the overflowing charities of the Capitular hotly well forth abun-
dantly to t!ie remotest corners of the diocese, to regenerate the
wastes, and to reclaim a people alienated fmm tho Church, her
ordinances, and her prici^thood, by long neglect, and the esta-
bliijhed abuses of plurality and non-residence, with tlieir long
train of evils, for which the Cathedral Clergy are chiefly rc8i>on-

I
I

Cathedrakf and Cathedral Jmtitutmis,

397

mhlc. Thia let them do, and tlicy will deserve the title of ' re-
pairei'3 of the breach, restorers of pat!i8 to dxvell in,' — their names
will li\"e in the henrts of the good, and sifter generations shall
oall them blessed. But let them persist in their present course
of selfisimcas, and their carnal security will one early day be
diaturbedj by a shaking such as they little anticipate, and are
little prepared for. The frcqnent cheers that greet every ex-
aggerated instance of Cathedral abuse quoted by such orators as
Mr. Horsman (who has had the singularly bad tast^ to embody
those noisy ebullitions of feeling in hh own report of his speeches)
—those cheers afford an unmistakeable evidence of the prevailing
feeling in Parliament with reference to Cathedral institutions.
They would look in vain to many of the Church's best sons to
resist that feeling ; and the noblest monunvcnta of Christian
piety and munificence that the world ha^s ever seen would fall,
upon some accounta, unpitied, and their ruin would be regarded
as a signal instance of Divine retribution*

P. S. While these pages are passing through the prcssj it has
been publicly announced that * the Ecclesiastical Coniuiissioners

* arc about to make an inquiry into the present conditioii of all

* Cathedral Schools throughout the kingdom.' Mr. Whiston'a
pamphlet, then, has done some of its work; and our gratification at
this announcement woidd be unlimited, could we feel satisfied that
the Commissioners would prosecute tlii* necessary inquiry with
the intelligent and honest desire to restore those Schools to what
they were designed to be* Unhappily, past experience docs not
justify any such expectations. The earlier acts of the Commis-
sioners have, in some instances, presented an apparently insur-
mountable obstacle to the resuscitation of the Schools, by the
alienation of the funds required for their support. Thia is the
case at Westminster and S. Paul's." The Cliapterfi have lately
manifested a more lively interest in the boys of these Choirs.
They have provided them with efficient Masters, and have shown
an earnest desire to rescue them from tlie demoralizing effects of
the old system, under which they were hired out by the organists
to public or private concerts of secular or sacred nnisic, as the
case might be, paraded in hand-bills, flattered by applause, and
corrupted by such dissipation as is inseparable from scenes of
worldly ainuseraent. It is only by placing the boys under the
constant superintendence of the Master, that they can be reli-
giously trained: but the confiscation of their revenues prevents

* In our last number, pp. 255—267, we ^ve aaouilme of improvements that hATO
taken place in this School through tho self-devotion of one of the Minor Canons
3Ir. Coward, whose conduct is deserving of the highest commendalioiL

EE 2

.398

CathedraUf aitd CcUhedral Institutiom,

the Chapters from making any permanent provision for their
maintenance, however much they may desire it Something
however lias been done ; and we sincerely hope that any future
plan of Cathedral licfbrm will make it incumbent on Chapters
to main tain J as well as educate, their choristers, and will also
provide them the mean8 of doing it. Thus might we hope
that our Cathedral Choirs would again become so many nurseries
of the divine art of music, sending forth, as in former times, a
Buccessiun nf eminent coinjiosers. Already we arc happy to
hear that the children of the Chapel Royal are thoroughly
grounded in the grammar, and instructed in the science of
music, besides being otherwise well taught and cared for. Is it
because the Chapel Royal is excm]>t from the juri^adiction of
the Commissioners, that it is able to take the lead in ixu-
provement ?

One other hopeful aymptotn of the revival of Choral music,
juet announced, must be mentioned in conclusion. The Chapter
of Hereford have just advertised for five Clergymen to fill the
vacancies now existing in the College of Vicars Choral of that
Cathedral. Each candidate must be well versed in Ecclesias-
tical Music, able to intone the Liturgy,, and to sing the Services
and Anthems. He must attend service regularly, must not hold
any benefice or cure, nor engage in any occasional duties. And
the Chapter consider it would be highly desirable that the com-
mon table and collegiate mode of life should be revived, Thiji
is a move in the right direction, and leads us to hope that the
restoration of Hereford Cathedral may be accompanied by the
rcHtoratioii of the Clioral Service to its full dignity and in-
tegrity.

I
I
I

Ths Memorial of (he underwriUe^, rexpecffuU^ addrem'd io ihe Verv Bevcretid
th hean, and the Reverend ihe Chapters of ihe Cathedral and Odhmttl^
Ckureken of England and WaUs,

Showeth^

That your memorialists vietv mtli rc^mV the imperfect manner in which
the service is at present perfurmed in nur Cathedral Churches.

That the chnirs are iniidct[iifite to the thie and snh^mn peTforinanre of
Cathedral music; and that such improvements as the Chapters may be
pleased lo make in tlicir respective Choirs will be hailed by your memo-
rialiHlji Willi «^alitudc.

Thiit they wouUl respectfully offer the following auggcatiotia lo the coasi-
deratiou oi the Chupters :—

Calhedrak, and Cathedral Jmtitatiom.

3d9

1. That for the proper performance of Cathedral musk, four voices at
least are required to a part, viz. lour altos, four tenors, and four bitssea,
with an appropmte number of boys,

2. That it would he dusirable to havti a pmctising-room eatablished, in
which the Choir might meet once a week, to rehearse the muiiic for the
followinf^ Sunday, and thus the aacrednesa of the church he more religiously
regardecl»

W, That the Organist, as master of the boys, elumld more completely
direet their musical education — as, indeed, according to the spirit of tlic
several stiitutca, he is buund to do ; by which means they would be kept in
an effrcieut state, and be taught not only to sing at church, but aKsn to play
upon iDstnimentB, and be well grounded in the tbeory of music. It is,
however, sell-evident that chscharge ol the duties which would full upon us
were this memorial fully carried out, would involve the abandonment of
that large portion of our profesaional employment which is utterly uncon-
iricetcd with our proper duties as Cathedral Organists. These engagenieuts
are at present absolutely necessary for tlie decent HUpport of ourselves and
families. We would gladly devote a larger portion of our lirae to our Cathe-
dral duties, and can only hope that, if more is required of us than when we
were first appointed to our situations, we shall not be suffered to lose
thereby.

Your meraorialists trust that this statement of their views and wishes
^vill be received lo the same spirit in which it is submitted to your consi-
deration. They hope they shall not seem to be stepping out of their proper
sphere, if, in conclusion, they revert to the great benefit which would result
to the cause of religion throughout the laud, from the more decent and
solemn perfornumce of the daily service in every Cathedriil ; which could
not fail, among other eilects, to produce a deeper feeling of the beauty of
church music, and increased congregations on week-days.
And your AJemorialists, Src.

J» Amott, Organist of the Cathedral, Gloucester,

R. A. Atkins, Organist of the Cathedral, St. Asaph.

J. Barrett, Organist of the Cathedral, St. David's.

G. Bates, Organist of tlic Cathedral, Ripon.

J. Bennett, Ory;aniat of the Cathedral, Chichester.

Z» Buck, Organist of the Cathedral, Norwich.

A. T. Corfe, Organist of the Cathedral, Salisbury.

J, D. Corfe, Orgauiat of the Cathedral, Bristol, "

Vj. L Elvey, Mus. Doc, Organi.st of St. George s, Windsor.

F. Gunton, Organist of the Collegiate Church, Southivell.

J. J. Harris, Organist of the Collegiate Church, Manchester.

Thooma Haylett, Organist of Chester Cathedral, formerly of the Choirs,
Cambridge.

J, Hunt, Organist of the Cathedral, Hereford.

It. Janes, Orgauisit of the Cathedrnl, Ely.

J. Mitchell, Organist of Eton College.

W, Perkins, Organist of the Cathedral, Wells.

J. Pring, Mas. Doc, Organist of Bangor Cathedral, late Chorister of
St. Paula Cathedral.

J. B. Sale, Organist to Her Majesty of the Choirs of the Chapels Royal,
and Westminster Abbey.

G. Skelton, Organist of the Cathedral, Lincoln,

G. Smart, Knight, Organist and Composer to Her Majesty's Chapels Royal.
J. Speecbley, Organist of the Cathedral, Peterborough.
W. Sudlow, Organist of the Collegiate Church, Manchester.
J. Turlc, Organist of Westminster Abbey-

CathedralSi arid Cathedral IniiUiUmis.

RECOMMENDATION OF TBE MUSICAL PROFESBtOM.

We, tbe undersized, Members of the Musical Profession, would view
\iitli great satisfaction tlic aduption of any measure similar to that recom-
mended in the annexed memorial. We feel confident tlmt any step wbicb
the Denns and Chapters may be pleased to take for the restoration of our
noble Cathedral Service to its proper dignity and magnificence^ would raise
the niuMical taiite of the weoplt; at large, and" enable each Organist to devote
himself wholly and solely (as it is desirable be should be able to do) to tbe
duties of his Aurcb, to the general superintendence of the Choir, and to the
composition and arrangement of the Cathedral ransic.

Anderson, G. W., Director of Her Majenty's Private Band,

Barnett, Robert, Hoyal Academy of Music.

Bellamy, ThomaB Ludford.

Benneir, Wra. Stemdale» Professor of Music, Royal Academy,

Henaon, Cleorge, Armagh rnthedral.

Bishop, IL H., Mu3» Bac, Ox on.

Blackburn, J. ,^ Organist of Clapham Church, formerly Chorister of
Paul's Cathedral.

Calkin, Joaepb, Conductor of Her Majesty's State Band.

Cherry, Ilichurd, Organist of St. Mark's, Armagh.

Cramer, Fnmyoia,

CrameFf William.

Cooke, T, London.

EHiott, James, Organist of Curzon Chapel, Mayfair.

Hackctt, Chaa. D., Organiat of the Parish Church, Rothcrham.

Harris, George F.» Organist of St. Lnwrencc, Jewry, Guildhall, and St.
Mary Magdnlene, Milk-street, London.

IlaweH, Willjanif of St. Paul's Cathedral, and the Chapel Royal.

Horaley, William, Mua. Bac, Oxon,

Knvvett, Charles.

LocSer, J. D., Director and Leader of the Philharmonic Society.

Lucas^ Charles, Professor of Music. Royal Academy*

Morgan, J.| Organist of Christ Church, Cheltenham.

Moxley, A. J. S., Organist of Covent Garden Church, formerly Chorister
of St. Pftiirs Cathedral.

Olipbant, Thomas.

Potter, C, Principal of the Royal Academy of Music, London.

Severn, J. H., Organist of the German Lutheran Church, Trinity-lane,
City of Londoii-

.Smith, G, Townsend, Organist of St, Margaret's, Lynn, Norfolk.

Sturgesa, Edward, Organist of tbe Fonudling Hospital, late Chorister of
St, Paul's Cnthcdral.

Spencer, Cliarles* Child, London,

Taylor, Iklwartl, Grcsbam Professor of Music,

Walmisley, Thomas Attwood, B.A., Trinity College, and Professor of
Music in the University of Cambridge.

Westrop, Henry, London.

REt'OMMENDATtON BY TtlE t'LERGY.

We, the undersigned, Clergynnen of the Church of England, would view
with heartfelt satisfaction the adoption of any measure similar to that
recommended in the annexed memorial. We feel c<mfident that any steps
which the Deans and Chapters may be plensed to take for the restoration
of our noble Catliedral Service to its proper dignity and magnificence, would
gain for them the affections of the people at large, would advance in no

Cathedrals, and Cathedral Institutions. 401

small degree the cause of religion throughout the land, and would promote
the glory of Almighty God, by fully carrying out the intentions of the
founders of our Cathedrals ; whose main object, it is evident, was to secure
the due and solenm performance of Divine service in every Cathedral daily
for ever.

[To this Document are appended the names of 1 15 beneficed Clergymen.]

Dr. Wesley's independent witness to the value of the above
suggestions, is contained in the following extract from the Flan
which he proposes for remedying the evus which he deplores : —

* The number of lay Choir-men in daily attendance should never be less
than twelve^ this being the le<ut number by which the choral service can be
properly performed.

' To ensure the constant attendance of twelve it would be necessary to
retain at least three adtUlional voices (one of each kind) to meet the fre-
quent deficiencies arisin| from illness or other unavoidable causes. Tlie
stipend of the former might be £85 per annum ; of the latter £52.

* These lay singers should be reauired to give the degree of attention to
reheartah and every other musical duty exacted of all such persons at ordi-
nary performances of music, and, like others, they should be subject to an
early removal in cases of wilful inattention.

* Should it not be deemed desirable for them to occupy themselves in
trade, or other pursuits, (and that it is not desirable cannot be a question,
their Cathedral duty, if properly followed, being the work of a life,) Ihe
salaries should be higher, and not less than from £100 to £150 per
annum.

* The election to the office of lay Choir-men should rest with the ors^an-
ists or musical conductors of three Cathedrals ; namely, the one in which
the vacancy occurs, and the two nearest to it ; the Dean and Chapter of
the former exercising their judgment as to the religious fitness of the
candidate.'

The following Table, exhibiting the actual condition of many
of the Choirs, will show how much is required to raise them to
the lowest standard of efficiency : —

402

CathedraUi and Cathedral InstltutioiiB*

Cathedrab, and CcOhedrat InsHhitioju.

403

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B^ p c 36 •*_-, '^j: _djj. ^ ^. 1^;^ m^ <

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III

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K 5 B * % A \

404

Art. VL— 1, Aljteri, Raccdta di Mtmca Sacra, Vols. L — V.

Opera di Pakstrt tia* Konm: 184L

2. Alfieri^ Considerazioni sul Ristabilmento del Canto e dtUa
Mtmca Ecclesi^stica. Ilonm; 1843.

3. Diseorm per l^ Inan^urazione del Buito di Gith Pieriuigi da
Falmtrina. Milano; 1845.

4. Collection des Pieces de Mu^qits Melitjiiettse, qui s^exeeiUent tmt$
leg An$ d Rome, durant la Semaine Smnte^ dans la ChapelU dn
Souverain P&ntife. Par M, Alexandre CnoriON.

There are few in the present day, especluUy among those
gifted with musical knowledge or taste, who have not heard the
name of PaleBtrina j few, j>orhai>s, who are not in some degree
familiar with his workg. But while we doubt whether even the
muBical world are fully aware of the vast debt they owe him
for the wondrous refoniiation which » }?ingle-handed, he effected
in tbcir science, we arc not without liope that to the general
reader, also, the details of his chequered life may not be un-
acceptable ; that, as an instructive biograpliy, it may at least
repay the trouble of a short notice.

The age of Palcstrina waa that wherein the human mind
achieved its first decided step in the march of modern civiliza-
tion, that which witnessed the outburst of the great reform
movement throughout Europe* And we must premise that,
among the abuses then so universally prevalent, the st^ite
of music was by no means the least. Not to mention the
strange effect which must have been produced by the composi-
tions of masters, who enveloped themselves in a maze of theo-
retical difficulties, while they avowedly and on principle sconied
to consult the car — an effect which one of the cardinals of the
day honestly compared to the noise of a sack of young swine
— the themes themselves of the sacred compositions were not
unfrequently of the most objectionable character. What else
can we say of a mass composed upon the subjeet, and beaiing
the title of, V Homme arm^^ or, as we should phrase it in our own
vernacular, 'The British Grenadier?' The most loyal admirer
of ' the glorious land we live in,' would hardly choose this for
the subject of an anthem, Or, again, what else can be said of
the fact, that not loyal only, but loose and dissolute songs were
employed for the same purpose ; and that, too, with such
audacity, as not to discard even the words, which, wdiether
gross or amorous, were snug in tlie very chapel of the Pope,
along with those of prayer and adoration ?

Biography of Faiestrina,

405

Such was the etate of things, when, in the summer or autumn
of the year 1524, the infant Giovanni Pierluigi, the subject of
our memoir, firdt saw light in the ancient town of PnEucfite or
Palefitrina.

His i>arcnt3 were of humhle conclition, deriving their chief
support from the sale of the produce of their little garden in
the Koman market. We have no record left of his early years ;
but all that we know of his after life leads us to the concluaion,
that he was trained from the first in habits oi" simple ini[»re-
t ending piety. If it were not too fanciful, wc should be
inclined to argue, from tiie name he received at his baptism —
the name Pier (or Peter) inserted between the other two of
Giovanni and Luigi^tliat his parents were persons of religious
feelings and habits. It would seem to indicMe, that in the home
of his childliood was reverently cherished the ancient tradition,
that on the hill of Pra3ne8te S. Peter first preached in Ittdy
the tidings of the Gospel. And this supposition is rendered
more probable, by then* early dedication of their son to the
Church, in the capacity of a chorister. 'No doubt he had given,
while yet a child, undeniable tokens of the genius which
afterwards displayed itself; yet wc are loth to suppose, with
some editors of his works^ that the motives which influenced
such a decision were merely mercenary ; that the parents of
the young Pierluigi were prevailed upon to place him within
tiie walls of the sanctuary, by a side glance at the princely
fortunes that were being realized by many of the musical j*ro-
fessors of Italy, If such were the case, never did man imbibe
less of the spirit of his parents. We shall have occasion to see
huu hereafter, clinging to the Church with all the love of a
devoted servant and son, at a time when such an attachment
might have seemed but to impede his rising fortunes; we shall
Bee him, even when in the zenith of his fame, and at the head of
the most renowned musical school in Italy, devoting still his
chief energies and the chief portion of his time to the service of
the Church, while he appeared but occasionally to direct in
person the studies of his disciples. AVhy should we not, in the
absence of all proof to the contrary, and with much indirect
evidence to confirm our view, suppose him to be one of those
young Samuels, such as we wish our choir-boys ever to be,
dedicated to the Church from the first in a spirit of devotion
and reverence, and perfecting for himself wdiat was thus begun
for hifu by others ?

Another circumstance which may have tended to fonn the
character of the young Palestrina was this ; that his studies as
a youth were pursued under the direction of one who played a
conspicuous part in the religious movement of the day. Sent

to Romtj at the age of sixteen, he was placed under the tuitioD
{nn Baini, his hiagraphcr, lias fully proved from document^,) of
Claude Goudimel, a Burgundiau, wliom we afterwards fiod
associated with Clement Marot and Bcza, in the arraiigemeat
and setting of the [>salmo(ly of the Reformers, and who £iml]jr
suffered for his faitli at Lyous, in the massacre of S- Bartho-
lomew. Of a master like this, with so strong a religious bias
and character, so f*incere and real in his convictions, we cannot
help supposing that, in addition to the musical skill whicli he
imparted to his scholar!*, (and he had many who afterwards be-
came famous,) he would impart also, to all who were capable of
receiving the impression, a thoughtful and religious tone of
mind; that the young Pierluigi wotdd at least lose nothing of
hifl early piety in the echool of Claude GoudinieL The traces
of hie hand may yet be recognised in the works of his scholar.
Tl^ere are yet to be seen among the writings of Palestrinu, not
themes merely with sinVilar treatn»cnt, btit whole passages trans-
ferred note for note from the pages of GoudimcL

We du nt*tj then, mean to claim for our composer originality
in the strict sense of the term. We do not mean to assert that
he was the ftmmhr, luit rather the pcr/ector of a school. Like
our own Shaksperc, he found his materials for tlie most part
ready to hand ; but made them his own by his way of treating
them. In their passage through his mind they became invested
with the beauty and richness of his genius and fancy. Taking
fur his foundation the old Church scales, which S. Ambrose
was the first to weed out of the impnicticahle intricacies of the
Greek theory of music, and which S, Gregory afterwards
reduced to a definite system ; and, together with them, studying
tfic old Church tunes, which for centuries had been consecrated
to tlie uses of devotion, he developed out of tliese materials, by
the aid of great geniusj great science, and a truly devotional
s|iirit, a style of Church nmsic calculated alike, from its grave
dignity, to grace the public worship of the sanctuary, and
from its noble vigour to express the feelings of each hearty and
genuine worsliippen

To those who may be curious to see the proecss by which
Palestrina gnidually formed himself, the way in wliich he was
wont to plunge a fine old hymn into the furnace of his mind,
and setting it, as it were, red-hot on the anvil, beat out on all
sides glorious sparks of harmony, we would recommend the
etudy of such a composition as the * Beat us Laureutius,' to be
found among the twenty motetts of this author, recently pub-
lished in Turis. Tlie ancient plain chant, or choral song in
eommcmorn.tion of the martyr S. Laurence, is there not otdy
taken as a theme for the melodv. Imt preserved entire amidst

Biographif of Palestrina.

407

the surrounding harmony ; the tenors singing it straight
through, while the other voices comment upon and iUustrate it,
by un appropriate and expressive counterpoint. It is to this
style of comi>ositiou that we must refer the origin of the word
MoTETT, practically synonymous with our Engli^li word An-
TOEM. The term was meant to describe that 'movement/ that
sefiimy in motion of the plain song of which we have l>een speak-
ing. It denotes the work of one who, starting with a theme a^^
simple, yet bold and Bolemn, as may be,— continues tliat theme,
— -and gradually unfolds it^ arranging and combining its several
details according to certain estabhshed laws of harmony, and
with a strict regard to unity, eo at* in no part of the composition
to lose sight of the original idea. From such a source, and by
Buch a process, it was that Palestrina imbued his mind with the
elevated and severe grandeur which has been remarked as clia-
racterising his style, together with the beaufiful and substantial
melody which even modern critics admit that he has united to
his harmony. A noble thought, grandly developed, and sim])ly
yet lieautifully clothed ; — such may etand for a general descrip-
tion of the works of this composer.

It could hnrdly he that one whose mind contained the gerjos
of such music as this should fail at an early age to attract notice.
Accordingly we find him, in his twenty-seventh year, est^'iblisbed
as choir-master, and soon after as chapel-master, of the Julian
Chapel in the Basilica of the Vatican. Up to this time he had
no doubt remained under the tuition of Goudimel ; for of his
first book of masses, published three years afterwards (in 1554),
we are told, that they bore marks ratlier of the pupil than of
the master. One remarkable feature in them confirms the
account before given of the model on which Palestrina formed
his style; namely, that the plain chant is continuously sung by
one or other of the parts, accompanied by the rest with an
incessantly varied counterpoint. As yet the author had not
di\ ergcd from the beaten track of his predecessors, in paying
the slightest attention to the sense or connexion of the words.
There is, however, a circumstance connected with the publica-
tion of this book, both interesting in itself, and important lis
givin|^ evidence of the spirit in which it was undertaken, and
showing that time only was wanting to enable its author
entirely to tlirow off the trammels with which a bad system had
shackled him. In a little frontispiece placed at the foot of this
his first production, and of which Ilawkrus has preserved a fiu;-
aimile, we find the young composer represented in his ecclesias-
tical garb, otfering upon liis knees the book which he had jnst
written to Pope Julius III., his patron; and we conclude from
this early token, that the aim and employment of Palcstrina's

408

Biography of Pakstrina.

life 19 Already settled, that lie regards his calling ns a sacred one,
ami has devoted himself once for all to the service of the Church;
and we feel that, if the devotional music of his day and country
18 to be rcfonned, to him, of all others, we may look for its
reformation.

The work, notwithstanding ite imperfections, met with great
success, so evidently did it surpass all others of the age ; and
the Pope, l»y way of recompense, removed the author from his
post at the BasilicJi to the choir of his own chapel. This wc
may date as the happiest period of Palestrina's life. For one so
full of high aspirations to be placed, at the opening of manhood,
in a position so eminent ; welcomed, encouraged, and promoted
by the patron whose approbation he was most anxious to secure;
at a time, too, when that patron had leisure as well as inclina-
tion to watch over and foster the dawnings of his genius — for
Pope Julius, it must be remembered, had now withdrawn from
politics, and, in the retirement of his villa, devoted himself to
less turbulent and more congenial pursuits,— *for a young and
hitherto unknown composer to be placed on a sudden in circum-
stances so jiroMiising, must naturally have shed a gleam of joy
over the present, and of hoi>e over the future. "VVliite, to add a
further element to this pleasant period of his existence, we find
that he changed the single for the married state ; and a book of
madrigals produced during the same year, may be considered as
the expression and utterance, in Ids own sweet language, of his
earthly felicity.

Hardly had he held his post at the Pontifical Chapel for six
months when bis patron died. Pope Marccllus, who succeeded
him, and whose worth, wisdom, and avowed intention of
' restoring to Divine worship its genuine solemnity,' might
have rekindled all his hopes, died also on the twenty-second day
of his pontificate, and was succeeded, in May 1555, by the
austere and stem Paul IV., the same Carrafa, who, as cardinal,
had re-estabUshed the Inquisition* Wc read of him, that he
' aeemcil to know no other duty, no other occupation, than the
* restoration of the old fait!* to its former dominion/ Hts
avowed object on commencing bis pontificate was the noble
one of making the reform of the Universal Church and the
Roman coiu-t his chief care ; and it used to be his boast, towards
the conclusion of his pontificate, that he had not suffered a day
to pass without issuing some order towards the restoration of^
the Church to her original purity* Unfortunately for Pales-
trina, there was brought to light, in the course of these reform?,
an ancient enactment which prohibited any <mc not in holy]
orders from singing in the Pope's choir. The consequence wasJ
that our artist, together with two other married nien^ wei

Biography of Palestrina,

409

deprived of their appointments. Palcstrinn, who till then had
thought his position in life secure, found this Budden blow
almyrit heavier than he could bear. The faith that could snp-
port hira beneath such a shock must huve been of no ordinary
character. What a temptation was it for Inni to abandon the
ecclesiaBtical, and take up with the secular side of his calling J
The way had been opened for him already. With such a repu-
tation as he possessed, he might have estabhshed a school at
Home, which would hardly have lacked pupils. But nothing
could alter the bent of his mind, or shake his attachment to the
Church, to wdiose service he had once for all devoted himself.
Retiring to a sorry cottage on the Monte Celio, he c-almly
awaited the return of better driys.

AVhen bin health, wliich hatl at first snflTered severely from
this sharp and uidooked-for vii^itation, was sufficiently restored,
bis friendsj to w^hose assistance he Iiad meanwhile been indebted
for his support, procured for him the place of chapel-master at
S. John Lateran, which then happened to be vacant. This was
still in the year 1555. lie held the post for six years, and
during that time produced a great number of works; among
others, the celebrated Tmp?'operia, or Rejrosiches, which to this
day ennoble the eolcmmtiea of Gooil Friday in the Siatino
Chapel at Home.

To understand this composition, it wall be necessary to take
a momentftry glance at the ceremonial obseri'ed in the Pope's
chapel during the three last days of Holy Week. The oftieea
of these three days, eo arranged that the first, or Tliursday
office, shall begin at four on the Wednesday afternoon, arc called
Tenebrw, One by one, as each of the appointed psalms is
concluded, the lights, placed upon a triangular stand, are
extinguished. On Good Friday, amidst tlie darkne>^s so pro-
duced, is made visible the image of the Saviour. The Clergy
approach to do reverence on their knees; and while they are
thus engaged, the Impropfria of which we are speaking are
chanted by the choir. They consist of mild cxiwstulations and
rebuke?, such as were addressed of old by the Redeemer to His
people through the Prophets; supposed to be addressed now by
Himself personally to His Churcli : — * O my people, how iiave
I wearied thee, or in what have I offended thee,' &c. Mingle*!
with these reproaches, there rises at intervals from the assembled
people tiie hymn of the Trisagion (thrice holy), being an
asricription of praise and adoration, oiFered in response to the
reproaches of the Saviour l>y Ilis conscience -stricken and
penitent people.

Of course the full eftect of this Bimplc but sublime composi-
tion can be realised only on the occasion for which it was

4iO

Bioarapliff of Pale$irina,

written, and amidst the fwccs^orice by wliicb it is then sur-
rounded. But to hear it so aiin^, we are told by one in every
respect qualified to pass an opinion, * slow yet bold, full yet soft, '

* with tlic melting modulation wliicli that choir alone can give, H

* produces a feeling of eweet devotional iuelancholy, a niildencd ^

* emotion, whicli not even the more artiiicial and far-famed

* lUinerere can excite/ The Improperia w^ere first produced in ^
the year 1560, when ^iicli was the impresj^irm Tiiade by thcoi (
Hiat, in the folhnving year, Pins* IV., who then filled the pafial
ebair, requested the composer to alhnv a copy to be taken for
his chapel, where it has since been performed every year as a
regular stated part of the Cjood Friday offices.

Thotic of our readers who would desire further examples
of the sjiirit and manner iu wdnch tliis great composer strove to
give musical expression to t!ie services of the Christian year,
may find them in the Advent anthem, * Canitc Tuba,' which is
given in tbc collection of Motetts above noticed, and is con-
mdered liy some of his editors to be tbc iincjit composition of
the kind he ever wrote ; or in the equally celebrated * Fratres
Ego,' which have been published Bcparately by Novello. This
latter composition, narrating the institution of the Lord',-!
Supper, forms another fenture in the nuisical services of the
Sistinc Chapel during *he Holy Week, being sung on Maundav
Tburaday, Like everything else in that cliapel, it is perform ctl
without instrumental accompaniment* The choir, or rather
choirs, (for it is written in ciglit parts,) draw near to the atepa
of tlic altar, and ranging thcmj^elves on opposite sides, give a
most simple ami melodious rendering of the sacred narrative,
such as aids us most powerfully in the reabzation of the aftect-
ing event winch it describes.

In these and the like instances did Palestrina labour i>vith
undoubted success in the reformation of Church mu^Ic, But he
has yet to appear before ue in a more eminent position even
than this. We have hitherto spoken of him as tne reformer;
now, in the year 1565, during the eventful sittings of the
Council of Trent, w^e have to speak of liim as tbc very saviour,
(if we may be permitted the expression,) of Church music to his
brethren. It will be borne in mind here what has previously
been said of the general state of music in Rome and elsewhere
at the era of wliich wc are speaking. The influence of Pides
triim himself, considering the proverbial jealousy of the pro
fession, we can hardly expect to have extended beyond the
immediate sphere of the churches where he heki his appoint-
ments: in the rest, the abuses and profanations to wdiich we^H
then alluded, continued to prevail. * It is no wonder, then/ ta^|
quote the words of the historian Ranke, ' that the Council of

I
I

Biopraphff of Palesirina,

411

" Trent toi>k offence at the introduction of such music into the

' cliurclies. In the cuurse of the proceedings, Pius IV. insti-

* tuted a commission, for the express purpose of inquiring
'' whether music should be tolerated in the churches or not,

* The question was verj- doubtful. The Church required that

* the words sung should be intelligible/ — a reasonable request
fiuxely ; the ordinary plan being to render the hol)^ text quite
incomprehensible thruugli the contra pontic maze of canon and
fugue by which it was enveloped ; — 'and that there should be au

* accordance between them (the words) and the music. This

* the musicians asserted wa^ unattainable by the kws of their

* art,' The essence of harmonic muj^ic, they said, consisted in
imitations and fugues, the withdrawal of which would be tanta-
mount to its annihilation. ' Cardinal Borromeo was one of the

* commiasioneruH, and \m austerity might easily have led to the
' adoption of a harsh resolution.* Fortunately, however, the
cardinal, who, with all this austerity, as the historian terms
it, was one of the beat and wisest men of his Churcli and day,
was at that time arch-priest of S'** Maria Maggiore, where
Palestrina had held the office of chajiel-maater since March
1561. The compositions which he had heard in this church, no
doubt convinced Borromeo that he might safely trust the cause
of Church music to his hands. Through his influence, there-
fore, the composer was commissioned, on the 10th of Januaiy
1565, to w^nte a mass such as the council required ; and he was
at the same time warned that on his individual efforts the whole
cause rested; * the life or death,' as the historian expresses it,

* of the grand music of the mass,^ which if he failed was to be
thenceforth for ever bjtnished from the house of God. We can
easily picture to ourselves, and we must certainly sympathise
with the feelings of one so eminent, and yet so modest as Pales-
trina, wdien he thus found the very existence of the science
which he loved with such intense ardour, made to depend on
his own individual effarts. An affecting record remains to
prove alike his anxiety, and the source wdience he sought help j
a record which indicates the abiding presence of that religious
spirit which we have observed on so many previous occasions,
and which, in fact, never failed, in whatever difficulties, to sus-
tain and animate this thoroughly Christian man. On the first
page of his MS. the historian has recorded that there were
found written the words, ' Lord, enlighten mine eyes/

The result of his laboui's appeared in the cour^^e of a few
months, viz. — three masses, of which one in particular, the
tliird, was bailed with universal admiration and delight ; the
Pope himself comparing it with the heavenly melodies, such as
the Apostle John might have heard in his ecstasy. This ia the

NO, LXVI. N,S. F F

413

MUgrapk^ of PaUstri

na*

corapoeltlcm wliicli goes by the name of Pope Marcellus's Ma^^ ;
not, however, tia tlie common etury goes, because writton at his
behest, and receiving hia approbation. Pope Marcellus, as we
have seen, had died ten years previously. Still under that
title Piilestrina did actually dedicate the work to Philip 11. of
Spain ; no doubt from a feeling of gratitude to the memory of
one wbo would hate heen his great hciiefaL'tor had he survived;
no doubt in the full consciousuesa that the Mass itself waa
precisely such an one aa Pope Marcellus would have delighted
to hear.

We cannot better illustrate the universal admiration which
this effort of genius continues to this day to command, than by
placing in juxtrtpo.Hition the remarksof two eminent living writers,
of very opposite views in most otlicr respect?, — the Protestant
liistorianj Kanke, and the lioman Catholic Bishop of Melipo-
tanuis, * The Mas« known by tlie name of Pope Marcellus's,' (says
Itanke,^ • surpassed all expectation. It 18 full of simple melody,

* yet will bear comparii?on, in jioint of richness and variety, with

* any that preceded it; its choruses separate and meet again ; the

* meaning of the text is incomparably expressed; the Kyrie is all

* prostration, the /Irmnx ie very lowliness, the t'redo niajcsty. . . .

* liy this one great example the question was set at rest for ever,

* and a course opened in which have been produced the most
' beautiful works, and the most touching too, even to those who
' do not profess the Romish faith.' And then he continues with
a truly Gertnan enthusiasm : *Who can listen to them, and not

* feel his spirit stir within him? It ia as though nature became

* endowed with tone and voice; as though the elements spoke,

* and the sounds of universal life minghnl in spontaneous har-

* mony to hallow and adore ; now uiululating like the sea, now
' soaring heavenward in exulting bursts of jubilee. The Boul is

* borne aloft to the regions of religious ecstasy, on the wings of

* universal sympathy,'

Dr. Wiseman's remarks on the Mass in question are nn
follows J — * It is in six voices, having two basscBand two tenors.

* As Palestrina intended to avoid all airs, and to give to each

* part an ever-varying movement; and as it was consequently

* necessary that each, from time to time, should repose ; lie took

* this expedient, and secured a firm substructure for bis bar-

* mony, by the stability of liis middle and lower parts, as the

* treble and contralto could well sustain the shriller harmonies,
' The effect of this arrangement ia wonderfuL In most modern
' choruses one or two parts, at most, have a movement, while the

* others are cither kept on so^temtto notes, or else, if more than

* four, in unisons. But in tliis Ma^s, as in all his music, there

* ifl no riempitttra, or filling up ; every part, as Dr. Burney

Bioffraphy of PuleHriua*

413

* terms it, is a real part, as important aa the otlier ; all full of

* vigour, life, and movement The consequence \^y that when
^ performed it has a power beyond most compositions in twelve

* or sixteen voices,'

Such w^a5 the Ma^s, so famous in the history of music, recom-
mended by the Council, for whose decision it was written, as a
model for all future composerej and still performed in the Pope 'a
chapel on the Saturday in the Holy Week.

Palestrina was now at the zenitii of his fame, in the full
vigour and maturity of his intellect; and the ten yeara' period
during wdiich he remained at S* Mary's, (from 1561 to 1571,)
was fruitful in great works. But we grieve to find that, not-
witliptanding all he had done for the Church, he was left to
Bfrucrgle with poverty, nay, absolute want. This, in a man of
his high principle, and strict laborious life^ could not poasibly
have been owing to any extmvagance or irregularity on his own
part. No; the true explanation is aflorded us by the account
of the stipend he received aa composer to the Ajioatolical chapel,
an appointment bestowed upon him on the production of the Masi*
jiiBt meutioncd, and which he was ivermittcd to retain together
with his? post at 8. Mary's, The beggarly sum attaclicd to this
high sounding office amounted to about twelve shiUinfjs a month;
and this for the 'Prince of Music,' as he was now called; the
man whom all confessed to have rescued from utter ruin, to
have revived and jjcrfected, the decaying and degraded music of
the Church* He was a man who from principle would not
devote himself to the pursuit of secular nuisic, althougli most
people would think he hud a motive sufficiently strong in the
necessity of provi<liug Ibr bis now numerous family \ but he
confined himself strictly to hia own peculiar vocation, and this
was his reward. So dazzled and bewildered apjiarently were
his countrymen with the splendour of his genius, that they
forgot to provide ii.»r him the necessaries of life, Palestrina
was admired, lauded, and left to starve; and this has been the
case with many% w^e have reason to fear, whose talents have
been devoted to the same cause : at the present moment we know
that in our own cathedrals there is no adequate income offered to
organists or choir-raaeters ; no income sufficient to induce a
Church musician, even of the least self-interested views, to de-
vote his days and nights to his ow^n peculiar line of art. lie
must needs allow secular pursuits and engagements to encroach,
more or less, upon his ecclesiastical duty \ the Church comes to
be regarded but as one engagement among many ; and thus a
secular tone is imparted to his opinious, bis views, his com-
positions, his performance. Few there arc whose devotion, like
that of Palestrina, will enable them to suffer cheerfully, as ho

F V 2

414

Biograpfip of Palestrina.

did, in tlie cause of their art. Shall we coiigratuhitc ourselves
uii tlic discovery that we do not, as a nation, stand alone iu our
neglect and contempt of those who deserv^e better at our haniU ;
or shall the discovery cause us, as is more befitting, to blu?h
deeply, both on their account and our own ?

JN'or was the poverty of Palestrina, albeit great and dis-
tressing—distressing more esiiccially on thia account, that it
prevented him, aa he more than once pathetically laments, from
puhlinhing his eonn>Oi*ition8^the only way in which the faith of
thin great and good man had to be tried. His circumstances
were no doubt bettered when, in 1571, he succeeded his deceased
friend Giovanni Aniuiuceia (also a pupil of Goudimel), at the
church of S. Peter in the Vatican. At this time he also
became music -master of the Oratory of S. Philip Neri, and
undertook the superintendence of the scliool of music which had
been founded at Rome by his friend Nanino. But while ap-
plying himself with undiminished ardour to the duties of his
calling, he was visited with severe domestic c^ilamities. Three
sous, who had given early promise of excellence, were taken
from him by dealii ; and hia only surviving child, far from emu-
lating the example of his father, did but give him cause to lament
his continued undutifulness and rebellion. In addition to all these
sources of sorrow, he had to sustain, in 1580, the loss of his
wife, — the darkest cloud, perhaps, of all that overshadowed the
concluding years of his long and anxious life. The composition
which he wrote on this occasion to the words of tlae 42d
Psalm, is nevertheless the expression of a calm and tranquil
spirit, such as we may conceive to have lain far beyond the
reach of outward troubles. This is the Motett, * Sicut cer\nis,'
given by Hawkins, in his * Historj' of Music/ So full are its
subdued strains of faith and heavculy resignation, as to prove at
once to us that the mature nge of the composer has not belied
the promise of his youth, but that he is in every respect the
same; the same in principles, and the same in practice, as w^heii
lie offered the first-fruits of his genius and devotion to the chief
Bisliop of his Church, or implored the Divine aid upon his efforts
to save the services of that Church from impending destruction.

Our composer retained his post at the Vaticim until his
death in 1594. Of the last fourteen years of his life there are
foiw records remaining* Indeed, they would atFord but scanty
materials for the clu'onicler, varied, as is most iirobable, only
by the alternation of public duties and private studies. We
read of his attending, in the year 1586, with a body of singers,
to assist in celebrating the erection of the Obelisk, set up in the
Vatican by Sixtus V. ; while of his private circumstances we
have a more totiching memoriab in the dedication of a book of

Biography of PaUMtina*

41.:

Ijatnentiitions inscribed to the same Pontiff (and of which it has
been said that the very preface i^ itself a lamentutiun), wherein he
records, with his own hand, the want of means whi(ih so fatally
interfered witli his? long-clieriBhcd design of committing all his
various worke to the press.

Neither the want of resources, however, nor the indifference
of those who oii^ht to have been his luo^t firm and zealous
patrons, could make him waver in the course he had niurkcd out
for himself, or damp hie accustomed ardour for eumposJtion.
Poor a3 he was, he ^cems to liave resigned to his friend Nanino
the active direction, together with the emoluments, of the
school in which they were jointly eoncerned, rarher tlian divert
to any secular occufmtioii the time which he wished to devote
exclunively to the cln>jr. If lie interfered, it was but ocf*a8ionally,
for the purpose of inspection, or to settle disputes.

To this period belong his Sacred or ' Spiritual Madrinjals,' a
style of composition new hitherto to Palestrina, beint^cievotioual
music for the chamber rather than tlie church,— a sign, we may
suppose, of the gradual progress and increasijig cultivation of
vocal music. In point of pathetic tenderness and sweetness of
expression they have never been surpassed.

But we are now being hurried rapidly to the close of the
couiposer's life. The dedication before alluded to hud been, in
some degree, effectual. Persona of distinction, both among
clergy and laity, had at la^^t come forward with the means of
presenting to tlie world those ma.<terpiece9 which, on this
account only, had been delayed. Their author was about to
devote liimself, with his accustomed ardour, to their prtKluction,
when he was seized with sudden sickness, which soon gave
symptoms of being fatal. In the mouth of Januarvj 1594,
being sensible tliat he could not recover, he received the sacra-
ment from the hands of his confessor and tViend, f*?. Philip Keri.
The last words he ever spake bad reterence to the Church
which he loved, and for which he had laboured with such un-
remitting diligence and zcaL Calling to his bedside his only
surviving son, he pointed out the means which had been sup-
plied, and by whose bounty, of printing bis hitheilo unpublished
works J and laid upon him a solemn charge to see it done as
eoon as possible, * for the glory of the Most High'— such were
his words — * and for the worship of His holy temples.'

It ia painful to think that these solemn wurd^ were utterly
diaregnrded by his unworthy son, who squandered the money
entrusted to the purjKtse, and sold besides whatever MSS.he could
to the publishers ot Venice. This final degradation, however,
Palest rina himself did not live to witness. The fever termi-
nated fat^dly on the 2d of February, and the funeral train of

416

Biography of Pale*trina.

the coiiiiwser was ewelied by the attendance of the mart
eiulnent musiciana of Rome, whether writers, singers, or instru-
mentiilij^ts, together with immense crowds fVoni the :^urroundiiig
city and neighlKHirhood, who ngsembled with one accord to do
honour to hie nieniory. A ' Libera ine, Domine/ of his own
compoBition, was sung by three choirs over his gi*ave; and on
hia tomb waa placed the inscription —

JOANNES-^PETRUS— ALOY8TITS,
MUSICS PRINCEPd.

We have little further to add. Indeed we fear lest, as it
18, we may have trespassed too far on the j>attence of our
readers'. But our object lias been twofold: lir«5t, the infor-
mation of the ordinary reader, who^e curiosity may have been
raised by the frequent and conspiciiousi mention of a name he
can hardly have failed to notice; and, Becondly, a desire to
induce the mu9ic4il atudent to turn his attention to a school
t»f writing whiel^ for skilful construction, Bolenin expret^ive-
nees, and graceful sweetness, is equal to any purely vocal
school that has aince existed. Should we have, in any degree,
succeeded in either of these two objects, wt. shall be content.
Thus much, however, in regard to the latter. We must re-
quire, MS a preliminary cijudition, tliat our author be not judged
by the modern system, by the modern rules and conventiouabisnis
of muf^ic; that the student be not induced to throw up liis
score at once on finding, what he assuredly will find, and what
may at imi jar upon his nerves ; such things, we mean, as pure
chord successions, without any, or with but little, preparation, and
rarely tempered by chromatic tonea j a sparing use of such
combhiations as to u:» of the modern school are most familiar ;
together with a frequent U80 of other things (such a.s rapid
nrogre^^sions to distiint keys, &c.), which to us are inadmissible.
We must stipulate that Falcstrina's mnsic be judged by a given
standard ; that it be borne in mind, that he bad both the dis-
advantage of writing three hundred years ago, and also the
advantage of writing, not in two modes only, as ib the case
with the moderns, but in twelve.

Wc subjoin ft Hat of Palestrina'.H complete works (from Baini), togetli
with the nameti of one or two modern publicationH above referred to, j
being both ready of acccBs^ and containing some cboice specimens of the
master : —

Twelve books of Masses, for four, five, and six voices.
*tbers.

as 1

Tw.

MS.

Oae ditto, for eight voices.

Biography of Palestrina, 417

Two volumes of Motetts, for four voices.

Five volumes of Motetts, for five voices.

One volume of OfiTertories (68 pieces).

Two volumes of Litanies.

One volume of Litanies, in MS.

Three volumes of Motetts, in MS.

One volume of Hymns for all holidays of the year.

One volume of Magnificats, for five and six voices.

One volume of Magnificats, for eight voices.

One volume of Lamentations.

Two or three volumes of Lamentations, published by Alfieri.

Two volumes of Madrigals, for four voices.

Two volumes of Sacred Madrigals, for five voices.

Selections from the above will be found in the ' Cinq Messes' and * VingI
Motets', Paris, Lauuer; ' Anthems and Services for Church Choirs,' Boms ;
the first number of the Motett Society's publications, Chappel, Bond-
street ; a selection recently published by Novello ; and also several de-
tached pieces.

il8

Art. YIL — The Ho! i/ Citti, IHstoricaf, TopoffraiMcal^ and Anti-
quarian Notices of Jtrutafem. Bif George Williams, B.D,
FeUotP of Kin^^s College j Cambridge, With an ArchiUctural
History of the Church of the Hultf Sepithkre. Bv Robert
Willis, M.A. Loudon: J. AV. Parker, West Sirand. 1849.

Man 18 hy nature* Aristotle tells ua, a fiolitical or social
being. He might have added that he is hj nature^ and <Hfi
titietively, a tmvelling being uIpo. His capaeity Tor travel ia
true a note of hig superiority over the other animals as his
capacity lor society. Tht* beasts oi" the fiehl IierJ together ; but
they do not iorm a polity : they move from place to place, but
they do not travel. By travel we mean somethinfi^ mare than
locomotion. Jlere civilization, as having more wantw than bar-
barism, does of course cause an increased amount of jfmrneyingj
to and fro J but journeying to supply the wants which civili-
zation haa created does not attain to the dignity of travel. It
is an action scarcely raised above that of cattle which accjuire
new tastes by domestication, and seek to supply them ; or at
best it is but an enlargement of the sphere of TrokiTeia. The
Bame instinct, or the same natural necessity, which makes
society a condition of man's development, also sends* him
further afield in quest of much w^hich tlie iian*ow range of
neighbourhood cannot supply. But the true end of travel is
not convenience, nor gain, nor amusement, uor health ; not any
of these : but knowledge, enlargement, experience — -in a word,
education. Travel is that which made Siracides * witty/ and
Ulysses astute, and Pythagoras sage. It is motion and discur-
eivencss not so much of body as of mind. It is mind taking
knowledge of mind and manners, of places and things, not in
the abstract, but in the concrete, the individual, and the in-
stance. Travel is knowledge got without books ; history read
in monuments and localities ; ethics, science, and art, studied in
phenomena- To travel is to map out the world by one*a own
motions; to fill in the sketches of imagination with realities;
and to correct fancy by the contemplation of fact. Aa minii
tering to these important purposes it was that travel us
to be considered^ we know" not why it should not be considei
still^ — indispensable to a liberal and complete education.

By far the largest and most important branch of that con-
templative inquiry which is the proper business of travel, is

Jervmlerth

419

thfit which respects the great and universal interests of man.
All that concerns his liistory as a race; the great lines of his
destiny hitbertOj and the probable future direction of them;
his triumphs or his failures in the various fields of struggle
allotted to his caniplex nature ; the^e things, even more thnn
natural and ecientiiic phenomena* challenge the best and most
thoughtful attention of the traveller. They may conveniently
be brought under three heads ; the operations and the triumplis,
namely, of the three elements which I Inly Scrijjture hai*
assigned to man's nature — ^body, sonl (or mind), and fl]iirit.
Tfie doings of man as physical, Intelleetuiil, and spiritual, are
the whole of \m doings. And the workings of these three
elements, though manifested of course on every soil, yet find
their highest expre**Hion and possess their jiroper symbol in the
history and present condition of those three wonrlerfid cities,
Eome, Athens, and *Jerusjdeni. Ranie, named of ]>hyyical
strength (pw/jLfj), the scene anil symbol of rule and mastery in
their highest perfection, whether of man over man, or over the
subject creatures: Athens, the peculiar liaunt of that human
wisdom, after the Greek personification of which {^A0rfV7}) she
18 so a[»tly called : Jerusalem, to whom it was given to express
in her name, and in due time to firing forth, that * Peace '
which WAS the one only ' provision ' ^ for all the need of man^s
ppirit: — these are the types respectively of the Power, the
Knowleflge, the Holiness, which are placed within the range of
man's achievement. Rome sets forth the triumphs attainable by
effort I her history is the history of victoriouB aggression, or
successful resistance and consolidation. Strength in contention,
or strength as the result of it, is written alike on the mouu-
raents of her conquests, on the colossal hugeness of her public
works, and in the decrees of her jurisprudence. Athens speaks
of another kind of rule; the effortless rule of mind; of the
homage commanded by the exhibition of faultless and uni-
versally acknowledged models of the beautifid and the true.
Hers is the unapproachable dignity, or the inimitable grace, of
statuary; the temple, completetly satisfying both the eye and the
niind V)y it« perfect proportions and calm repose ; the poe try, phi-
losophy, and oratory never to be surpassed. Athens, and not
Rome, haa ever been the real mistress of the world. There re-
mained but one triumph etill for man to achieve. In Rome he had
manifested himself as asserting, if not extending, the dominion
originally assigned him over the outward world ; in Athens he
had won back for himself those perfect models and laws to which
sense and thought should ever after hold themselves amenable ;

420 Ammdem.

and thiie Imd so far forth repaired tbe ruiiicj of his mental faculties
cnttiilcd by the Fall. But even genius had its limits; there
wfts a regiuii into which unassisted human thought could not
penetrate. The sapientum tetnpla seretia rose high in air, but
they could not pierce the blue yaiilt above it. Yet mau felt
that, if he might trust certain iudofinable ai^pirations he wia
conHciou^ of, hia destiny pointed even thither ; and the gi^eftt
question. Quid sumw, aut quidftam ticturi gignimurf was still
for him unanswered*

And in that mysterious rock^ which amidst a thousfuid
desolating clmngcr^ men have still called Jerusalem, was he to
find hia antswcr. Out of it waa to come forth a new principle,
which ahould endue him with a worthier might than he had
yet exercijsed ; the mighty not of conques^t, or of self-complacent
wisdom, but of holiness, meekness and love ; the mastery, not
over matter, nor over mind* but over the spiritual wickedness
of the heart ; the rule whose secret was subjection — ^eubjection
to Him, * cai sertire i^egnare est* And the outward aspect of
the Holy City symbolized its great destiny. It was for tbe
moBt part, like its future antity[>e, a city * not made with hands,'
for tlic living rock on which it rested was all that its later had
in common with its earlier ^elf* Its monuments were few, but
they were written with the finger of God, or raised by man in
his worthiest aspirations uftcr Him. They were in part memen-
toes of events and realities reaching in their eflectti out of this
world far into the invisible ; the rest spoke of faith, endurance
and eternity. Tliey were found in places made glorious liy the
Feet of God manifest in the Flesh; in tfie olive trees which wit-
nessed His agony, and the awful Couch on which He rested Ironi ■
His labours: or, again, in the BasLlicas and Churches which ■
enshrined those precious memories; or in those hugest monoliths
ever raised by the hand of man, which from the profound abyss j
of the surrounding valleys upbore the walls of a \rorthier \
aspirant than Rome to the proud title of * the Eternal City.*

It was a quaint belief of antiquity, that Jerusalem was the
very centre of tbe whole habitable earth ; and in medieval maps
it is very carelully so represented. This notion was founded
on a literal interpretation of Psalm Ixxiv, 12: ^ For God is my
King of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth.' And^
however fanciful, it certainly was a religious view wliich repre-
sented the particular spot chosen by the Almighty fur manifes-
tation of Himself upon earth as nosscBsing this kind of pre-
eminence a1)ove all other sites or places, that they were referred
to it, and measured from it. The same material though pious
imagination whicli led the Israelite to hold the dust of Sion
more precious than the gold of Ophir, taught him also to luck

Jerusalem,

421

u|>on tlie other nations as arranged in a gc^^uatcd scale of
ielicity at various distances from the Wiaslhl centre of ' the
round,' i.e. orbicular, * world.' Their happiness was in the direct
ratio of their nearness to Jerusalem. But independently of the
religiosity of the notion, it so happens — call it curious or provi-
dential— that geographically or ethnologically speaking, it ia not
so very far frum a literal truth. This selfsame claim of beuig
the 717? ofi<f>a\ofi was set up, as is well known, for Delphi- But
Delphi cannot for a moment compete with the Holy City in
this respect. Look at a map of the world, as far as it was
known to the ancients ; a mapj therefore, including * every
nation under heaven,' according to the latitude which that
expression would bear in the time of the Apostles- If you
would draw the line which should come nearest to marking off
at a stroke the boundaries of the three great portions of the
then known world, Asia, Africa and Europe, that line will be
(he parallel of longitude which passes through Jerusalem. It
will coincide very nearly with the line of the Syrian cmist
northwards, entering the southern coast of Asia Minor at Tar-
sus, and its northern at Sinope, and passing just through the
middle of the Cimmerian Bosphorus ; while to the southward
it will touch the sources of * the river of Egypt ' (only one
degree from Rhiooeorura), and cut the Egyptian coast of the
Red Sea at about the middle of its length. This line, there-
fore, will have the whole continent of Asia to the right or east-
ward of it, with the exception of the small peninsula of Asia
Minor, and a minute fragment of Arabia Petroea ; while to its
left, or westward of it, will be the whole continent of Europe,
save a part of tlie terra incof/nifa of Sarmatia; and also tlie
whole continent of Africa, except the equally small and obscure
territory west of ^^thiopia. This line forms, in fact, a longitu-
dinal axis to the Old World as it is exhibited in a map, the vast
continent of Asia on the one side of it balancing very equally
the two continents of Europe and Africa on the other. From
Jerusalem to the Golden Chersonesus, the furthest bound of
Asia eastward, are seven degrees of longitude; from Jerusalem
to the Fortunate Isles westward, five degrees ; but the apparent
diHerence in the extent of tiie two portions is fully made up
by the higlier latitude to which Europe reaches northward,
taking it to extend to Thule and Scandinavia; and the actual
expanse in the two cases h as nearly as possible the same.
Again, Jerusalem was about cquidistntit from the northern and
southern extremities of the anciently discovered world; for
the southern limit was the equinoctial line; the northern, the
latitude of Thule. Now the latitude of Thule, sujjjiosiug it to
be Shetland, is 60'; of Jerusalem, 32", /.t^ about half-way.

422

Jerusalem,

We know not h\ what light the matter may appear to othen?,
but for ourselves wc cimnat look upon the very pecuHar ethno-
grttphical poeitioti thui? naaigned to Jerusalem as uo'im port ant.
Surely we may {race a provitlentirtl urdairiiDg in it No posi-
tion could have been more wonderfully adapted to the great
purprjseg which that rajeterious city was destined to cany out,
or more favourable to the cxerdse of tlrnt undying inHiiencc
which was tt> be hers over the history of mankind. View her,
in the firt<t place, as standing upon, and marking out the con-
fines of thofie two mighty divitiions of J'^a^t :ind AVe-^t into which
the world lias fur so many agciS, both geographically and his-
toricallvj been cast. With the trifling exce{itiont5 above noticed,
that which ia east relatively to Jerusalem Is East, and that
which is west of Jern^ialeni is West, all the world over ; or^ at
least, in the conception and con^mon parlance of the civilized
world. Jerusalem has been for thousands of years, and pro-
bably will eoruinue to be till the end of time, the great water-
shed of all the earth, the zero of the world's longitude. It is
* a place where two seas meet ;' the confluence of the two mighty
oceans of space, on which the children of men go to and fro.
Behind it, diverj?ified by many a heavittg mountain-ridge, but
little intersected, comparatively, by inland waters, is stretched
out * Asia'a sea-like plain.^ liefore it lie the comparatively
sea-girt or ?ca-pcnetrated regions, to which Scripture has accord-
ingly given tlie poetic title of* the islands of the ^ea;* the con-
tinents, namely, of Europe and Africa. And these, of East and
Weat, are the two largest divisions under which mankind have
ever been ranged. They have never been able to penetrate f;ir
into each other's territory, or each others habits of thought and
action, Alexander failed effectually to fuse them at Alexan-
dria. Christianity, while leavening both of them, left them
still distinct from each other. Diocletian recognised them in
his partition of the empire between two Emperors and two
Ca»sari5, Constantinc did nothing towards a real assimilation
of them by fixing the seat of the reunited empire at Byzantium.
It was not long ere there arose again, as if by a sort of necessity,
two Emperors, of the East and of the West. In later times;,
the tide of Oriental conf|ueBt, whenever it has rolled over any
portion of the West, has been uniformly driven back- The
feebly maintained settlements of the Turk in Europe have been
but outposts in advance of his real position ; he has overrun,
but has never made them his own. And, in point of chanvcter,
the line of demarcation has ever remained no less strongly
drawn. Oriental stability, and disindination to change; occi-
dental movement, activity, and enterprise: oriental subtlety, and
tendency to mysticism ; occidental acuteness, intellectual energy.

Jentsahm.

4 23

aotl Inquiry : oriental heresy, and occidental scliiam, the fruits
of these qualities respectively :^these characteristics have ever
been impressed with some distinctness on the nations, the
Churchesj and the writings of theee two great cla&ses of the
human family* And in alj the great questions and interests
which have brouglit these two to look each other in the face,
Jerusalem has been still the central point, whether of union or
division. In the great hereditary feud in which Egypt was
matched with Assyria, whether in the persons of Pharaoh and
Nehuchadnezzar, or of the Seleucida^ and the Antioelii, Jerusa-
lem was the menaced of both parties, and, except when true to
herself, the ally alternately of one and of the other. The only
* Mother and Mistress* that ever was acknowledged both by the
Eastern and Western Churches, was the Church of Jerusalem ;
and the subsequent strife which divided them had its origin in
the estrangement generated by those deep -seated diversities of
temper and mental habit which we have already noticed ; diver-
sities which might happily have been laid to rest in the bosom of
a common mother, coidd any such have been found. But by
that time her primacy, who alone could have made her voice
heard above tlie jarring elements of C4>ntroversy, was lowered
and lost for ever. Since then the children of the East and of
the West have met within and around her in the conflict, not
merely of dogma against dogma, hut of faith against faith. The
holy ground of Jerusalem became the meeting point, as the PToly
Sepulchre was the watchword and the prize, of the Crusades.

Another point of interest connected with the geographical
position of Jerusalem, is, of course, the feasibility given by it
to the work of evangelizing the world from this centre. It was
equidistant from Scythia on tlje north, and from iEthiopia on
the south; from the toto dirhos oj%e Britamios to the N.W.,
and the no less remote Indians to the S. E, An equal chance
was thus given, humanly speaking, to all lands, of being irradiated
with Gospel light: and tlie traditionary labours of 8. Andrew
and the jEthiupian eunuch, of S. Paul and S, Thomas, in the
four widely separated regions we have named, attest that these
equalized facilities were not ordained in vain. Again, Jeru-
salem occupied a comnianding position on the great inlanil
Sea, rcmarkahle not only as being by far the largest expanse
of land-locked water on the globe, but also for the surpassing
greatness of its liistorical recollections. The ilediterranean, the
Marelntermim of the ancients, possesses, if we may be allowed to
include the Euxineasu bay of it, an extent of coast nearly equal-
ling half the circumference of the globe; and the names of
Jerusalem and Antioch, of Rome and Carthage, of Athens and
Constantinople, need only to be mentioned in proof, that around

424

Jermalem^

it gathers all that ia groat in history from the decline of the
ancient Orientii! to the rise of the great Western monarchiea.
And to the facilities for communication afforded by this sea,
must a large ehaj*e be assigned in the working out of the varied
destinies of these great cities, and their Bubject territories.
Jerusalem, in working out her pre-eminently lofty destiny, wae
no exception to thi^ rule. Placed at the south-eastern angle of
the well-defined, though eoniewhat irregular triangle, formed by
the Asiatic, the European, and the African shores, she did full
justice to her singularly felicitous position J Those shores, so
teeming already with phyi^iical and inteliectusd life in their
highest developments, received from her in rapid succession the
yet higher princi^de of spiritual vitality which she had been
commieeioned to dispense to all nations. Those three great lines
of coa^t formed the bases of .**o many vast and Sourisking
branches of the Church, the Eastern, the WeBtern, and the
African; their famous cities became the seats of yet more famous
patriarchates* And still her destiny, both in this direction and
in the opposite one, is only in the course of aecompliehmcnt.
' The great sea westward,' the original boundary of her heri-
tage, htVi come to have a wider t^igiiification, and to include vast
continents, known to God, but unknown to man at the time
that that decree went forth. And ' the great river, the river
Euphrates,* has proved to be but a figure f(jr all that lies
beyond it ; already it begins to be seen that the conquests of
Christianity in this direction have no limit but that of the globe
itself The enlargement thus given to the origiuid draugnt of
the Holy City's dominion^ was remarkably provided for by the
language of prophecy : * His dominion shall be also /row the one
i$a to the othei\ and/rom thsjhod unto the world's end.^

The ancient belief of which we have been speaking, is thus
quaintly stated and commentetl upon by Sir John Mande*
ville : —

' Forasrouck as the land beyond the sea, that is to sn}% the Holy Land,
whkh men cull the land ol promise or of behest, passing all other lands,
is the most worthy land, most excellent, and lady and sovereign^ of all
otlier lands, and is binsaed and hallowed with the precious body and blood
of our Lord Jesua Christ; in the which land it plcftaed him to take flesh
and blood of tbt* Virgin Maryt to environ that holy land w itb his blessed
feet; and there he would of liia blessedness bbaduw him m tlie said blessed
and glorioua Virgin Mary, and become man, and work many miracles, and
preacb and teach the faith and the law of Chrjslian men nnto his children ;
and there it pleaded him to sulTer many reprovtn^s and scorns for us : uid

\ The ter?o oii1og:iiy.u] on the position of Constantinople^ which is quotod by
Uiihhon, with a elight alteration, applies with at least equal force to JeruBalem :
' Est in Asia ; Imbel in conHpectu Etiropam AMcomque ; cjuai etai contigure non
aunt^ nmris tamen oaviia^aude cominoditaleqne voluil jungunlur,'

JermoUem.

425

be Ihat was king af henven, of air, of eartb, of sea, and of all thing;a that
are contained iti them, would only be called king of that land, when he said,
*' Rex sum Jiideorum/' that iy to say, f am king of the Jews; and tbat
laud he chose before all other lands, as the best and most uorthy land, and
the most virtuoua laad of all the world ; for it ia the he.irt and the middle
of all thi; world ; by witness of the philosopher, who saith thus, *' Virtus
rerum in medio conaiatit :" that ia to say, The virtue of things is in the
middle ; and in that land he would lead hia life, and sufler passion and
death from the Jews for ub, to redeem and deliver us from the pains of hell
and from death without end, which was ordained for us for the sin of our
first father Adam, and for our own sins also; for, as for himself, he had
deserved no evil : for he thought never evil, nor did evil ; and he that was
king of glory and of joy might best in that place suffer death, beeauae he
chose in that land, rather than in anv other, to sutfer his passion and his
death : for be that will publish aoytbjnj»: to make it openly Known, he uitl
cause it to be cried and proclaimed in the middle place of a town ; so thai
the thing that ia proclaimed and pronounced, may equally reach to all parts,
Kight so; he that was Creator of all the world would sutler for us at Jeru-
salem, that is the middle of the world, to the end and intent that his passion
and his death, which waa published there, miiiht be known equally to all
parts of the world/ — Eariy JVaveh m Paiexiine, pp, 127, 128.

The site of Jerusalem is no less remarkable and significfint,
considered as to its natural features — its geogno&tic character,
we believe it would proj>erly be called in the language of mo-
dern science — than for ita geofi^rfiphinil position. We will
endeavour to give aa clear an ulea of it as we can. That great
mountain chain known to the ancients under the various names
of Imana* Caucasus, and Taurus, which extends due cast and
west from China to Asia Minor j this chain, at the point
where it enters Asia Minor, throwa off to the southward a
subordinate ridge of hilLs which forms tJie barrier between the
Western Sea and the plains of Syria and Assyria. After
imnsuing a tortuous course for some time, and breaking into
the parallel ridges of Libanus and Antillbanus, it runs with
many breaks and divergences through Palestine and the Arabian
peninsula to the Indian Ocean* One of the moat remarkable
of these breaks is the great plain of Esdraelon, the battle-field
of the East. From tliis point, — as we leai'n from one of the most
acute and able writers on scientific matters connected with the
Bible, Dr. Kitto, — the ridge or mountainous tract extends, with-
out interruption, to the aoutli end of the Dead Sea, or further.
This whole tract risca gradually towards the south, forming the
hill-country of Eplu-aim and Judah, until, in the vicinity of
Hebron, it attains an altitude of 3,250 feet above tlie level of
the Mediterranean, At a point exactly opposite to the extreme
north id' the Dead Sea, i.e. due west from it, where the entire
ridge hajs an elevation of about 2,710 feet, and close to the
saddle of the ridge, a very remarkable feature in this rocky
process, so to call it, occurs. The appearance ia as if a single

426

Jeriifalenu

but vast wave m this sea uf rock, rising and swelling gradualJy

from noiih to south., had been suddenly checked in its advance
— * in fluctuation fixed' — nndj after a con??iderable aubsideace
below tbe general level, left standing perfectly isolated from
the fiurroundinrr' mass both as to it& front and sides* Add, that
about the mitldle of this wave there is ji slight depression, chan-
ncllinjTj it from north-west to south-east, and you have before
you the natural limestone rock wliich forms the site of Jeru-
salem. The traveller from the westward, on commencing his
descent from the top of the ridge, enters upon an open tract
sloping for awhrle gently towards the east. At about two milea
diHtance, upon a broad promontory clasped in by the meeting
valleys of Hinnoni and Jehos*hapliat, stands the Holy City.
Nearly all around are higher hills; on the east, the Mount of
Olives bounding hiu view ; on the south, the IIUI of Evil
Counsel ; on the west, the gentle slope already described. The
Hurfaoe of the elevated wave or promontory itself declines some-
what steeply to the east, terminating on the abrupt brink of the
valley of Jehoshaphat. The Avhole of the encompassing valleys
are of considerable depth. Such is the site of Jerusalem, We
have been thus particular in describing it, because its peculiar
character has been a liirge and important element in the purposes
to which the city was divinely consecrated Every student of
Holy Scripture and of history will undcrstiuid what we mean.
The fact that Jerusalem was ji hill, that it was a pluce of great
natural strength, that it was skirted by deep aud gloomy valleys,
that it was embosomed, notwithstanding its own elevation, in
hills of yet greater height— all these circumstances are made
expressive of various spiritual truths, and furuish the awreditcd
language of sacred and mystical teaching. As a hill, Jeru-
salem becomes, in Huly Scripture, the expression for the regal
dominion of God and His Christ, and for the Church's uni-
versal ascendancy, ' I have set ray King upon my holy liill

* of Zion.' * Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised in

* the mountain of Hia holiness."* * The hill of God is aa the

* hill of Bashan: an high hill. Why leap yo, ye high hills?

* Tliis is the hill which God desireth to dwell in.' * The mountain

* of the Lord's house shall be established in the top of the mouu-

* tains, and shall be exalted above the bills/ The pre-eminence
thus claimed for Mount Zion in some, and predicted in other
passages, is, it is true, one of spiritual precedence, not of natural
altitude ; for of course it will not really bear comparison with
any of the grenter mountains of the world. But had it not
possessed considerable actual elevation and boldness of position,
there would have been no basis for the hyperbolic language of
inapiratiom And, indeed, after all, 2,700 feet is no contemptible

JerUMtlem.

427

elevation. Few mountains in England or Wales exceed it; and
it may be safely affirmed that no city in the world, of er^ual
importance with Jenisalem, even in a civil point of view can
hoast of so lofty a position. Again, we need hardly observe, that
the act of going np to this Hill is the figure for Cliriat's local, and
our own spiritual and mystical ascension. (Psalm xv. 1 ; xxiv. 3 ;
xlvii. 5 ; Isviii. 18.) Agaioj as a natural fort, improved by art,
the Holy City sets forth God as the strength, refuge, and defence
of Wis people. And His sheltering and encompassing love again
is likened to ' the hills which stand about' her. It will be seen
that all these conditions and relations could only be fulfilled by
a place answering exactly to the description of Jerusalem : a
place thus lofty, bold, strong, isolated, yet completely sheltered.
The very valleys which sweep around her have their part in the
nomenclature of the great spiritual system. The valley of
Jehoshaphat is mystically the scene of the Last Judgment (Joel
ill. 2, l4); the valley of Hinnom, of the torments of bell-fire.
There is an awful distinctness given to the pour tray al of these
solemn realities in the Old Testament, from the circumstance
of their being thus associated with the natural features of a well-
ascertained site now actually existing on the face of the globe,
and rendered familiar to ua by the events of sacred blsstory. It
is impossible to read the paasage already alluded to, from the
prophet Joel, without being deeply impressed Avitli a sense of
the intensity of power with which it paints the dread scene of
the latter days; but it is perhaps hardly enough coneidered how
much of its impressive ness it owes to localization. ' Assemble

* yourselveSj and come, all ye heathen, and gather ^^ourselves
' together round about : thither cause thy mighty ones to come
' down, O Lord. Let the heathen be wakened, and come up
' to the valley of Jehoshaphat : for there will I sit to judge all

* the heathen round about. Put ye in the sickle, for the har-

* vest is ripe: come, get you down; for the press is full, the

* fats overflow ; for tlieir wickedness is great. Multitudes,

* multitudes in the valley of decision ; for the day of the Lord
' is near in the valley of decision- The sun and the moon shall

* be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining. The
' Lord also shall roar out of Zion, and utter his voice from
' Jerusalem ; and the heavens and the earth shall shake : but
' the Lord will be the hope of his people, and the strength of

* the children of Israel.' (Joel iii. 11 — 16.) Nor should it be
unnoticed, that the peculiar form and character which * Jeru-
salem that now is' derives from the slinpe and bearings of her
natural rock, are described by S. John as being impressed

likewise on ' the Holy City, New Jerusalem.'

NO. LXVI. — N. S. GO

The chief

428

Jermaknu

characteristic of tliat rock ia a certiin well-defined squareness ;
it is further remark able for the exactitude with wliich it
faces, for the raugt part, the cardinal points; and the immense
depth of the TuHey^ beneath it gave occasion tor the piiijig up
of foundations by hundreds of feet perpendicular. Accordingly,
the New Jenisaleni is * a city that lieth four-square;' its sides
lire to the four cardinal points; its wallti arc of 144 cubits;
the wall of the city hikj twehc foundations. (Rev. xxi.)

To approach Jcrusaleni. tlicn, in the genuine spirit of travel,
13 to study the highest department of knowledge accessible to
nisin— the kingdom of God on earth — under its most expressive
symbol, and in its most objective and sensible memorials. It \m
trite to observe that there is danger in such approach ; danger
both to the individual habit and temper of faith, and to the
cause of truth and sound belief in the Church and the world
at large. The traveller and sojourner amongi?t holj places,
unless lie be of a singularly hajipy spiritual frame, aud unless
ehicldcd by a divine grucc nowhere more needed than there,
painfully realizes how hoHow and false is the world's maxima
that ' seeing is believing.* Unless faith has already done her
work in the heart, and fixed its choice unalterably, seeing is but
too surely Llisbelieving ; and such it has proved to hundreda^
Tempers such as that of the author of ^ Eothcn,' or of ' The Mo-
nasteriea of the Levant,' cannot safely look upon things and placea
connected with the mysteries of the faith. Except to strong
and well-nurtured mind?, a certain degree of removal h necessary
to a rightful view of such objects: to draw nearer is to overpass
the focal distance of the spiritual vision ; it is to discover that
the roseate bloom which so enchanted us as it tinged the moun-
tain-top at sunnae, ia laid on, with however exquieitely delicate
a pencilling, upon earth's common and rugged material ; or to
start back with a painful sense of revulsion ironi the perception
that the lustrously rounded smoothness of the Parian marble
reveals itself to the nucroscopic eye as no less rough, scratched,
and porous than pumice-stone itself. Those who have not already
understood that these things are so; that the earthy clement does
indeed co-exist with the divine in the [trocesses and instruments
of salvation, yet without prejudice to the divinity of them; that
the Incarnate God really took to Himself, though He ennobled
by taking it, the dust of the creature; — experience, as the result
of' such access to conaecmted localities, according to their tem-
per, either a large access of the anti-sacramental spirit, and so
an increased disposition to take refuge in the purely subjective,
and finally, if they follow on to results, in the rationalistic view
or an impulse in the merely infidel direction. And if, as

Jenisal^m,

429

the case with the two writers wc have mentioneil, tlicre is
either a cynical spirit, or a spirit of levity aiiperadded to other
diBqnalificatioes, then the result h lamentable indeed. One of the
recent explorers of the Jordan and the Dead Sea, whom we do
not care to name, has actually had the profanity to draw a
parallel, in a jestinpf tone, hetween hia own and his companion'!^
treatment on the Via Dolorosa by the Turkish soldiersj and
that wltich our Blessed Lord experienced in hia awful passage
along it. A third sort of danger there is, besides those of
ultra-protestanti^ni and infidelity, lest^ commonly incurred, per-
haps, but not less dangeroua. An earnest, but ill-grounded
and ill-balanced piety will be in danger of mistaking goodncsa
for truth, and so of undermining the foundations of hi» own
faitli by a too ready accef)tauce of the honest but ignorant
errors of superstition. Nor is it the individual alone who suffers
by this venturing without due preparation of the heart into
contact with sacred things. The traveller is eyes to the tarrier
at home ; he is the purveyor to the Clmrcli from which lie goes
forth, as to what is matter of sober belief with respect to
sacred localities. And unless he have enough of wisdom and
grace to hold the balance evenly, he runs the risk of de]U'iving
the Church, on the one hand^ of the green spots on which her
imaginative eye may allowably rest and feed; or of adding un-
authorized articles to her creed in minor things on the other.

The first word, then, which wc sliall say with reference to
Mr, Williams as a traveller and observer, and we believe
it is a testimony which he will receive more gladly than any
other, is, that it is seldom onr happiness to meet with a
writer whom we feel that we can with such entire confidence
trust to lead us into sjicrcd [daces. To spend a considerable
time at Jerusalem in the investigation of its revered, yet
strangely and jiain fully disfigured autitjuities, and yet not to
have been disgusted, eo to speak, out of our reverential feelings
i\)Y the true, by the condemnation Avith whicli wc must visit
what is false, and the candour which wc owe to our examination
of every tilings uor yet, again, beguiled out of our candour and
love of truth by the overwhelming power of the reverential
associations of the placc,^ — this cannot be very easy, and is
certainly not very common. We trust the number of such tra-
vellers may be nudtipiied. Thus minded, liowcver, it will be
easily imagined from our preliminary remarks, that we deem
Mr. Williams eminently happy in the sultjcct which he has
chosen ^ — ^or we might with some propriety say, has been
allotted to him — for illustration, in the very important work of
which wc propose to give some account in the present article*

G a 2

430

I§9md€m*

Turning aside from the thousand and one temptations to dis*
cureivenesB, and to mere gosBipping and attractive joiirnaliziu^]
and book-writing, which beset the fascinating path of the tra-
Teller in the East, he haa had the wisdom to concentrate his
regards, as far at least as appears from the present work, on
one grand object — that of clearing np, disentangling, and setting
forth in their rightful characters, the intensely interesting ques-
tions of history, topography, and antiquarian ism, whicli gather
round Jerusalem. But we may leave him to explain, in the
words of his original Preface, the nature of his work i—

* To attempt a full and connected narrative of the various events which
have befallen the mosi aiicieut city of the world from its foundation to the
present day, would require voluineg, airid w as not contemplated in the pre-
sent work ; the design of which is, simply to gather together into one view
aucb notices of Jerusalem as are not eaaily within the reach of the English
reader, I have already far exceeded the limits which I originally proposed
to myself. In the prosecution of my main object it was nccesBary to avoid
extraneous discussions, however strong the temptation to enter on them,
and to pass very lightly over much ground on which I would fain have
lingered. Where I have entered into details in the historical part, I had
generally some delmitc purpose in view, though it may not always. be
apparent to the reader, and did not seem necessary or desirable to declare
it. The topography ondiintiquities were kept always in view in composing
the historical chapters ; and 1 was careful to note all the passages which
would throw light on what 1 hope may |>rove the most valuable and suc-
cessful part of my undertaking. This will explain the minute detail of the
progress of the siege under Titus, and again, by the Crusaders. The earlier
part of the Christian period has been fully dwelt on, with a view to remove
the common^ but most erroneous Bupposition, that the ancient records of
the Church of jElia have hopeleKsly perished, and that Eusehius is its
earliest historian, instead of a mere transcriber of conteraporaneoua testi-
mony.*— Preface to First Edition, 1845, p. v.

He modeetly entitles his work * Notices ' on these sub-
jects; but like many other treatises which have come forth
with unpretending titles^ it will he found that the * Notices'
are by no means of that fragmentary and desultory character
which the name might seem to imply; wide aa their scope is
within the prescribed limits, there is in theni a unity of purpose
which consolidates them into a well compacted whole. Nor
does the work, such as we now have it, partake of the crudeness
which 18 apt to characterise books written off from a traveller's
first impressions, uncorrected by subsequent thought and com-
parison. The fruits of Mr, Williams's investigations in and
about the Holy City were first presented to the public in a
single volume. In the tito massive and handsome volumes now
in our hands, they come to us matured by the study of several
years* reflection ; tested by having been subjected to question
and attack Ixom various quarters, chiefly from foreign or Ame-*

Jerusalem,

431

rlc^m writers, and enriched with a large amount of entirely new
matter. The writer's Mtetractationes' (wc mean the word in
S. Augustine's sense) have evidently been conducted in the moat
candid and earnest spirit, with the single desire of trutlifuhiess,
and of subserving the interests of religion according to the
justest conception of them. Of Mr, Williams's assailants or
BCrutinizers we shall speak presently. We shall also have occa-
Bion to recur to some of the more important additions or ampli-
ficationa. At present we will only remark upon one or two of
them. The work, both in its original and its newer form, is illus-
trated throughout with the delightful drawings of Mr, Witts.
Of these it is not too much to say, that, in the opinion of com*.

Eetent judges, they will bear comparison, both in point of^
eauty and fidelity, even with the very admimble ones which
have appeared of late yeai*s; such as, e.^* Mr, Roberts's well-
known sketches. Our favourite one^ perhaps, is the view of
Jerusalem from the north, which shows the city nestling amid
its eucompasaing and guardian hills ; and the bird's-eye view,
supposed to be taken at sunrise, from the south. One thing*
more was needed in the way of illustration ; viz., a trustworthy
Plan of the Holy City. This want is now supplied; and in a
form perfect beyond all expectation, so aa to leave nothing on
this head to be desired. By permission of the Master General
of the Ordnance, a copy of the Ordnance Map of Jerusalem
and the environs, executed in the spring of 1841, with only
Buch additions as were necessary for elucitlating his subject,
accompanies Mr, Williams's new edition. The publication of
the first accurate plan of the Holy City may, as he observes, be
justly regarded as an era in the literature of the subject ; and
the following particulars as to the occasion of its construction
will be read with interest :— *

'The principal advantage derived to the world from the operations of tbe
British fleet on the coast of Syria in 1840, and from the cotifLisinns coase.
quent thereupon, was the opporttiaity afforded to the Royal Engineers ot\
making an accurate Survey of the country. A detachment of that very
efficient corps, under the command of Lieut.-Colonel Alderson, officered by^
Majors Wilbrahana and Robe, Lieutenants Aldricli Symondsj Skyring, and
others, passed several months in the country after the homhardinent of
AcrCj actively engaged in this work of inestimable injportance to aacrcd
literature. Their Geometrical Survey extended north as far as the banks
of the Orontes and the range of the I'fturua ; to the sontb it comprehended
the sources of the Jordan and the shores of the Dead Sea ; and the asto-
nished natives still recount and will long remember their exploits — how
they erected their nhhan (signal) on the snuimits of the lofliest hiJls, and were
occupied lor whole days in measwrements and observations wholly unin-
telligible to their unsophisticated simplicity. Although the results of these
labours have yet been given to the world only in fragments, yet have they
already served to decide many important questions, and to stimnlate the

432

J^rUialem,

lire for thevrliolc Survey, the value of wbicb it is impossible to calculate.
— V<»1, i. p. 9 {Appendix).

'The Survey of the exterior was comnaenced on the 25 tb of Fcbruaryj
18J1, at 1 P.M., by Lieutenant Aldriclip with a Sj-inck theodolite and 100-
ft. chain ; Lieuteimnt Symoods* with Scbmalcalder's compass, commencing
at the same time to survey the town and inside of the city-walL The
officers were aasiated by six inou of ihi; royal corps, also engineers, and the
survey occupied them six ivecks. The g:round about thetowu waa sketched
in by liieutenant Symunda, during the illness nf Lieutenant Aldrich ; and
the Caatle was surveyed by Colonel Alderaon bimaelf.

* The lute succcaaen of the British arms on the coast of Syria, aud the
military array of the detachment, not only secured them from all molesta-
tion iu their underUikijig, but engaged for them the active co-operation of
the natives ; so that the City and environs were tliorougidy surveyed*
except thatf in the exercise of a wise and considerate forbearance, they did
not force an entrance into the Haram, leat they should offend the religious
prejudices of the Mosleme,

*■ I must here allude to an accidental advantage in the Ordnance Survey,
quite independent of its intrinsic merits, viss,, that it vsas no party Plan,
autl was designed for the suoport of no theory* It waa simply a military
survey, iind the remarks witli which it was accompanied viere alto»^cther of
ametitific chnraclcr, regarding; merely its military capabilities of defence
or exposure to attack. The eurronndinjj valleya arc viewed merely aa
** adding to its means of defence,'* the Cliureh of the Ascension on the
Mount of Olives as *' a atronp;^ advanced work ;'" and the main importance
of the City itself conRists in itH " aflhrdinf^ considerable accommodation for
Iroopa^ and a dep6t for troops and provisions, " as well as *• a base for
operations from the southern frontier." ' — Vol i. pp, U, 12 {Ibid).

Tlic only contributor to the orifrlnal volume was Mr. Row-
laiuKs in the shape of an intercytinor nicnroir of the southern
boinidaiy of the Holy Land. Now, however, a new coadjutor,
ami an invaluable one, has appeared in the person of Professor
AVillis, whose chapter on the areliitcctural history oF the Holy
City fully sustains hia deserved reputation in this line. The
principal addition!^ made by Mr. Williams himself consist in an
enlurgenicnt of the his?torical department, and in careful and
detailed examination of objeetiotis, whether in the form of notes
and appendices, or of a re-writing of the text. The largest and
most important of tlicse additions h the historical and descriptive
Memoir appended to the first volimie, illustrative td* the Oixl-
nancc Survey, and drawn up especially as a companion to it.

Of the learning and research which have been bestowed upon
the production of this work, it ia difficult to speak in adequate
terms. And what is better and rarer still than either, is the
easy command which the author possesses over the multifarious
sources and autliors which have to be consulted at almost every
turn* lie appears to have a happy facility of laying his hand
upon the very observation which is to his ]nn*posc in every c^i^e ;
BO that the reader feels that he \b really enlightened, not encum-
bered, aa is too often the case, by the abundant, yet accurate

Jerusalem*

433

and carefully liusbanded references contained in the note?* In
the notes will ali^o be found full discussions of very ninuy inter-
esting critical questions : we may specify tliose upon * the
cau:ieway,' {vol. lufin*) and on the interpretation of Ps. xlviii, 2,
(ib. p. 475.) And if we may anticipate the judgment to which
we hope to lead the reader to form, by the specimens we shall
adduce of Mr. Williama'a investigations and results, we venture
to question whether, taking into consideration the vast import-
ance of the subject, and the thorougli and successful treat-
ment it ba^ received at our author's hands, a book of equal
importance often makes its appearance. Of Mr. Layards
* Nineveh- and iti! reputation we have not a word to Bay in
disparagement or abatement ; but it may not be uninteresting to
institute a parallel between it and the work before us. They offer
some decided points of resemblance. Tlie general aim of both
is the same — ^rccovery, exhumation, and identification. Mr.
Williams and Professor Wilbs, no less than jifcssrs. Layai'd and
Ross, are excavators, though with somewhat different agents
and tools. Tliey are employed in clearings not winged bulls and
cuneiform inscriptions, but traditions and time-honoured beliefs,
from the rubbish of ages; tlvey dig, not in Bira Nimi'oud, but
amid tlie accumulated piles of fact or fable which have gathered
around the hallowed sites of Jerusalem. Though, indeed, Mr*
Layard too has tiiken his part in the work of confirming Scrip-
ture by ancient tratlition and modern discovery; he found, as
we have been informed by his companion, Mr. Ross, a distinct
tradition among the Arabs of the * Assbur,' who * went forth
out of that land (Babel or Shinar) and builded Nineveh ;' they
say be was Nimrod's lieutenant ; a view which curiously fit8 into
the well-known difficulties of the passage in Gen. x. 10, IL
Mr. AYilliams, again, has his army of workmen under him ; but
they are the innumerable writers on Jerusalem, from Joscphua
and Philo downwards : he has even his Arabs, just as Mr.
Layard has, to assist him in laying bare the traditions of a people
as ancient as themselves ; but they are not the tlyiug Bedo weens
of the desert, but grave Ai'abic writers, the Jelal-el-Dinra and
and Mejr-ed-Dinrs of the middle ages. And each has appended
to his immediate design a subordinate one=-tbat of re- writing,
by thr* aid of topographical and arcbieological research, the his-
tory of an * exceeding great city.' And, to drop our comparison
with Mr. Layard, we can promise the general roarler, that if he
will not he frightened away by the outward ap[>earancc of two
Bomewliat more solid and learned-looking volumes than are coni-
mouly laid on drawing-room tables, be will find not a little that
may even be called attractive matter in the welbfilled pages of

434

Jerusalem*

* The Holy City/ If he lias a taste for diacovery and researcli,
here 19 abundance of it. If he loves a little mystery, there will
be explorations of mysterious waters running * through caverns
measureless to man,' no one knows whence or whither. If he
delights in jllu.strations of Scripture, we know of no class of
books which aids realization more than this. If he prefers his-
tory, here ia a volume full of it, in a shape which must interest
from the novel .sources of illustration Avhich are brought to bear
out of the antiquarian department of the book. Or, it finally, he
is in search of innocent amusement, we can promise him a little
even of that. Mr. AYillianis has generously preserved from
oblivion, probably for the solace of this class of readers, some
translations, propounded by one Herr Kraft, of certain inscrip-
tions at Jerusalem, Their tenour is abundantly simple and
affecting. * This is the grave of ten different meu^ [as they
migbt else have been supposed to be a decad of avatars of the
same individaalj * from Germany'! * An interesting record,'
observes Mr. li\ iiliams, * which, as he tells us, afforded him and
his companion' [as being themselves also German arid mortal,
perhaps, also, believers in metempsychosis] ' food fur pensive
reflection/ But, like other great writers, Ilerr Kraft repeats
himself. A second inscription runs, according to him, ^ Grave of
ten different men, superiors of the montistery of ^*^7?fj# (I), and of
George,' ' Ten men again,' as Mr. Williams has remarked,

* apparently the normal number of these tombs.' As for S.
Benas, he has had the misfortune to be omitted in the received
calendars hitherto ; and, unhappily, the one thing which would
effectually establish his claim to appear there, viz. his monas-
tery at Jerusalem, is not forthcoming either. We ought to
mention that, according to Ilerr Kraft, there were * different
men ' from Rome also ; but the fact, though probable, is hardly
thought to be borne out by the monuments. Then, again, there is
a * Air. Fergusson/ (ill-omened name,) who will yield him a fund
of harmless entertainment. His endeavours to reconstrncfc the
undoubtedly much-perplexed topography of Jerusalem, can only
be couiparcd to the infantine Jeti entitled ' Frank Feignweirs
attempts to amuse hi« friends;* the point of which consists in
fitting a Saracen's head and Bhonldcre on a Jewish Rabbi's body,
and underwriting it, ' Christian warrior in complete armour/ So
docs Mr, Fergusson out of the mosque of Omar and the foun-
dations of Sotomon^B Temple, construct what he confidently
affirms to be no other than the Emperor Constantine'e Church
of the Holy Sepulchre !

But it is time that we should give a somewhat more definite
Laccount of ihe plan and object of Mr* Williams's work. In

Jenisaiem.

order to do this effectually, it will be necessary briefly to state
the condition in which he found the literature of the subject;
for by this he was mainly influenced in the form and direction
which he gave to his inveBtigations,

There is no ground for complaining that the paramount claims
i^'liich the Holy City and Land possess on the attention of the
travelling portion of mankind, have in any age been disallowed
or neglected. The pilgrimagea of the earlier, and the crueadea
of the middle ages, are only intenser and more religions forms
of that interest and curiosity which has led more recent tra-
•vellera to explore the scenes consecrated by the great acta of
inan*8 Redemption. As early as the beginning of the fourth
century, we have the pilgrim of Bordeaux compiling a narra-
tive of his journey to the Holy Land for the benefit of his
countrymen :— the first-fruits of European travel in the glorious
East. To the same period belong the renowned and eventful
visits of Constantine and his mother Helena, and their magni-
ficent enshrinements of the sacred lowdities. In the latter
part of the same century^ S. Jerome and S. Eusebius, in
company with other pilgrims, make the usual round; and the
latter, from his monastery at BetlilehctUi gives us an account of
the pious journeyinga undertaken ibr the same purpose by
S* Paula, and her dauglUer S. Eustochium. From this time
pilgrimages are of course ahiUKhntly Irequent, though the
degree ot" access allowed to the venerated spots varied with the
dominion under which Jerusalem successively feU. Records,
however, of these pilgrimages are comparatively rare, and even
these have been, until very lately, inaccessible to the generality
of readers. Mn Bohn, in one of his admirable volumes, has
filled up this gap in our popular literature ; and Bishop Arculf
and S. Willibald, Bernard the Wise and Ssewulf the Saxon,
Sigurd the Crusader and Habbi Benjamin of Tudela, together
with the marveHoving Mandeviile, (whose credit^ by-the-bye,
like Herodotus's, is on the increase,) may now be revelled in for
a sura which would hardly have sufficed formerly to procure a
single volume of the works of any of them. The mediieval
period was likewise tolerably prolific of directly geographical
and topographical treatises on Palestine and Jerusalem, such as
El-Edrisi's in Arabic (e, 1150); Brocardus's or Burchard's
(c. 1283); Abulfeda's (1300—1330); Adrichomius', and «Villal-
pandus;' and Mcjr-ed-Dins, (1495,) containing a verj' full
description of Jerusalem in Arabic. Late in the sixteenth
century, Zuallart, a Fleming, and Cotovicus, or Kootwyk,
whose name will sufficiently reveal his country, may be consi-
dered to have opened a new era in the literattire of Palestine,

436 Jerusalem,

and to liave given to the world the firat worthy fruits of tht
keener spirit of" research which awoke in the days of PriDting
and llefarmatiou. The name of Sandys, in the beginning of
the seventeenth century, is eo closely entwined with some oi'our
most favourite ecclesiaMical asaociations, that his ' Travailes*
will always be read with peculiar interest. He was brother of
Hooker's pupil, Edwin. After mentioning Quaresuiius, an
Jtaltan, resident at this period for some time in the Latin con»
vent at Jerusalem, and author of a voluminous and multifarious
* Elucidatio ' of it and the Holy Land, we may pass at once to
Mauudrell, who may be considered aa the coryphauis of the
modern school of travellers. Among theee, Keland, Shaw, and
Pococke, Caraten Niebuhr, Seetzen, Burckhardt, and Irby
and iVIangleg may be specified aa the niOBt valuable. Subse-
quently to the work of the last- mentioned «o^/7e //ofr of captains,
notliing for a long time appeared wliieh could claim to be a
cliissical work on the subject. The sketchcra and the touristy
the Labordes, the Lindsays, and the 8tephense8, abounded ; but
as regards any thing more solid, from 1817 to 1837 is almost
a blank. Now the writers whom we have mentioned, with
their fellow-labourers in the same field, have examined with
more or less of interest and acumen, the great questions of
topography and identification belonging to the Ilaly City, and
arrived at various conclusions respecting them. Here then was
a subject which seemed especially to invite that full and
thorough investigation which characterises the scientific spirit
of the day. New aspects have been given to most of the ques-
tions which attracted the attention and exercised the ingenuity
of our forefathers. Old sciences and studies have been carried
further ; new ones have been discovered. Kegions of pheno-
mena, hitherto not suspected to exist, or deemed hopelessly
inaccessible, have been penetrated and reduced to laws* -Might
not some, at least, of these rceuUs be brought to bear cvea^
iqion questions of Sacred Topography ? There w*as reasoi
indeed, to question whether previous investigators had ex-
hausted even all the appliances at their command in their owtti
day. How much, then, might be effected, were both tbesd'
and the newer accessions to the store, to be used to the utmost 1
Geology, almost a new science since those days ; architectural
criticism^ only very lately reduced to any tiling deserving the
name ; improved and simplified methods of engineering and sur-
veying,— would all be likely to yield some fruits in furtheranoe
of such an enterprise. And from the year 1837 to the present
time, several important contributions to such a dcsiguliave been
made. Among these, by far the fullest and most regular

Jerusalem* 4^

treatise on tlie eiibject, nud that which IcJ the way, was T)iv
Etlwiird KohiusonV, Professor ot* BibHcal LitcriiUire in the
Union Theological Stinnniiry, New York. His work, entitled,
* Biblical llesearches in Palestine?, &c.,' proved him to he poii-
Be8*ed of many valuable qualifications of a traveller. The
chief of these is, perhaps, iniwearicd patience in timings mca-
euring, and jotting down all the data that could possibly be col-
lected on ht8 journey. Those who have travelled most will best
know liow to appreciate such a power. He had also read very
diligently both before and after his travels, and has accumulated
a great nias^ of well digcrted and arranged information, ibr
which all aubscquent travellers over the same route umst ever
be indebted to hiro. Wc have heard persons who have fol-
lowed ill his wake testify, that vou may ahvaya trust his niea-
suremcntB and calculations. If he says it is twenty mi-
nutes irom sur-h a i>oiut until you come in eight of such
and such a Wady, in twenty minutes you will assuredly come
to it.

But he was * not the man of the siUmimiJ* Great with the
measuring-tape, the watch, and the compass, he was not to 1)0
trusted wit!i the more important interests of sacred truth. First
of all, when he comes to put his facts together, imd give you some-
thing like a view or a result, he is singularly unhappy. Hence,
fur all his measurements, he hfis added but little of real value
to our topographical knowledge, at least of Jerusalem. His
walls, his hills, his valleys, his Temple arcji, his Tyropa;an, his
Acra, all arc utterly and demonstrably wrongly placed, and
have been very easily upset by subsequent investigation. But
this might be his misfortune. There was a graver disqualifica-
tion, amouuting to a fault, to wlilch this barrenness as to results
was in a great measure owing. He never could give anything
of the nature of a tradition an impartial hcai-ing, pai'ticulfirly if
it professes to identify the site of any sacred event. * What-
ever is, is wrong,* is his motto about everything of that sort.
Acconling to him, the Christinn?, early and late, like so many
Yezidis, took such an especial pleasure in lying, and being lied to,
thiit they had a preference for a ialsely-assigned site over a
true. Wc liave, therefore, in him no candid inquirer after
truth, but a man fully possessed with the idea that his liusiness
was to disprove everything that came hcibre him. He makes it
a rule to start in t!ie very opposite direction to that in which
tradition sets, as if such a course wotild iufallibly waft him into
the sure haven of truth. He would elicit truth, as Hint and
steel do sparks, by a pretty smart concussion with all esta-
blished belief. How much sound philosophy there is in such a

438

Jerusalem,

way of going to work, wc leave to philosopliei-s to sayt
even tho impolicy of it must by this time be pretty manifest
even to himeelf. * Ah I si mens non l^va fuisset,' how many a
just conclusion might he have arrived at, which he has now left to
hia successors to elicit out of his carefully collected premis€&
He is ever on the eve of a discovery, without ever really maki
one. Moreover, Dr. liohinson's hatred of tradition is as ml
less ae it is systematia *Incredulu8 odit/ Sir John MandeviJki"
relates, in a farnous passage, of the crocodiles which he saw ifl
Egypt, that * they slen men, and eten hem, wepynge. But ani
such compunctious visitings are strangers to the bosom of
Kobinson. The * pleasant tilings ' which, whether of good riglit
or not, have enshrined for two thousand years the a^ections of
Christian men, are blotted out of existence without the tribute
of a word of sympathy. Can a person thus minded be trusted
to say what shall or shall not henceforth be the faith of Christ-
endom as to the reputed locahtics of Palestine and Jerusalem?
And yet with 'multitudes of readers, both in Europe and
America,* ever since the publication of liis book, Dr, Robin-
Bon*s worI is law. Witli the single exception — rather an
important one — * of most of the travellers who have visited Jeni-
Bfklem since/ his conclusions have been accepted as irrefragable-
It haa been taken for granted that he has overset every atom of
tradition which existed in favour of any one of the more famous
localities. Such is the writer, such the condition of the litera-
ture of the subject, against which Mr. Williams has avowedly
directed his researches and his book. Wc owe Hhc Holy Ci
to Dr. Robinson, just as we owe the * Laws of Ecclesiastic
Pohty ' to Thomas Cartwright, or Bentley to Boyle,

'A work of much resenreb has now been for some years before
world, one unavowed but iU-disj^uiaed object ol" whicb ia to bring
on the curly local traditions of Palestine, so as ultimately to involve
venerable t'athera of the Cliiirch in the charge of disbonesty or unacco
able ignorance. The affectation of candour and impartiality with wbich
Inquiry into the value of ecclesiastical traditiou» is there conducted,
given an additionjd weight to the observations bi tbe minds of those wl
nave neither the means nor the opportunity of testing their accuracy for
themselves; so that much higher value haa* been set upon the ai^rumentB
than they deserved. 1 do not hesitate to declare, that one object of the
present volume is to expose the fallacy of many conclusions, argued out
very oiYcn on insufficient preraises, or in contravention of historical or topo-
graphical nhenomena, hy tlie author of the " Biblical Researches in Pales-
tine/' in the hope that the consideration of frtcts, which he has either
overlooked or neglected, may prove, what »ome might imagine requires no
demonstration, that the evidence of a partial witness of the uineteeth cei
tury is insufficient against the voice of catholic antiquity.' — Thv Hol^ CH
Pref. to 1st Ed. pp. vi. vii.

Jermahm,

439

Let it be considered what is at issue in the controversy. It
is no question of mere vulgar relics. It is no contest between
rival Holy Coats, or heads of John the Baptist. Dr. Eobinson's
Yiew, the view that half Europe and all America are pre-
pared to fiide with him in, is, that as complete a deluge of
oblivion aa that wdiich blotted Eden from the face of the earth
has swept over what have hitherto been fondly deemed the
sacred features of Jerusalem* The tide of years * has swept His
footsteps from the favoured clime.' The barren rock* and the val-
leys which enclose it, are all the Kebla that remain to the fiiithfuL
To some this may seem a matter of indifference. TVe cannot
think it so. Conceivably, of course, it might have been so
ordained, that the knowledge of these sites was to be irretriev-
ably lost; juat as the knowledge of many similar things
has, doubtless for wise purposes, been withheld. But if it tcaa
not so ordmiied — and surely all must allow that this is conceiv-
able likewise — then is the knowledge of such sites a part of
the heritage of Christendom, and to be used by her aright.
She may have wrought folly in her tutelage of them ; but a
duty towards them she must have, and she certainly may use
them to edification. It can scarcely be a matter of indifference
to the mourn era who stand around a newly-opened grave,
■whether they may or may not believe that the *new tomb' of
Him, with Whom they fear not to see their loved ones going
down into the sides of the pit, still hallows and blesses the
common earth ; still lies u}iturned to the common sky : the
surest and the brightest earnest, next to the Word of God
itself, of a blessed Resurrection, Yet this is the tradition,
against which especially Dr, Robinson has bent himself with all
his force. The fact ia significant. It is natural that he should
do 80. For why ? The truth is — and it is another reason for
attaching importance to this discussion^ — that what lies at the
bottom of all this dislike of traditions in Dr. Robinson, and
in all who eagerly welcome liis conclusions, is an anxiety
to escape all searching and arresiing demands upon faith. It is no
more than a consistent carrying out of anti-sacramental views.
We do not know to what denomination Dr. Robinson belongs,
but we know that he is not a Churchman* And the character-
istic of all belief, except Church belief, is, that it evades all
circumstance in matters of faith. It will believe anything, or
profess to believe it, provided you do not tie it down to time,
place, and mattcjr. It will believe that there may be a grace
attached to Baptism, but not that it is given at the time. It
will believe in some kind of church-membership ; but it will
not believe that in the Holy Communion, thejtj thei'c, throunh
those material elements, Clurist is united to His members and they

440

Jerusalem^

to Ilim. And just so, such peraons believe in our Lord's Re-
surrection; but sIjow them or tell them of the very spot as now
existing upon earth, and they start back. It 18 too awful. It
cannot be. They never hjoked at any thing so. They have
believed in an abstraet kind of way : Ijut to believe in connex-
ion with what they see, or with present time, is a thing which
their reli^Tioua traiuinjr haa given them no sort of experience in.
It is, in short, a positive relief to such persons not to have to
believe in a downright material fact, such as this, that the
Sepulchre of our blessed Lord ' is with ua to this day/ Then,
again, the Resurrection of our blessed Loi*d does not hold, in any
system but that of the Church, the transcendently important
position which her Creed has ever assigned to it. As a proof of
His Divinity, as a natural conclusion (so it is represented) of
His mission, as an earnest of the general resurrection, this truth
m accepted by most : but as an imparted, quickening, justifying
Tiling, as the life of Sacraments, and so of sacramentally nou-
rished men ; sectarians in this view, of course, do not regard it:
and the loBS of the Holy Sepulchre or any other substantial
witness to the verity of it, is comparatively a matter of in-
difference to thcui, in proportion as the truth itself is lesa
entwined with the aftections and hopes of their religious being.
The fact of Dr. llobinsun's having adopted this line, of ques-
tioning, a-^ a general rule, all traditionally received sacred sites,
and in particular that of the Holy Sepulchre, imparted to Mr.
Williams's undertaking, from the very firet, the nature of a
crui^adc. He does not ehrink from avowing it sucli. Thus he
tell U3 : — J

' My only desire is to act aa a humble •' fnan-at-arma" in the attenipk
** t« tear Irom thu^ uiibelievera tlie precious Tomb of the Captain of our
Salvation;*' nnd in common with all engHged in the " Holy War," 1 must
feel very grateful to a pcncroaa adversary for placing me under suck
a glorioufl banner; thereby, I trugt unwittingly, arraying himself with the
disciulea of the Koran and the Crescent, the avowed enemies not of the
Sepulchre alt»ne, but of the Holy Church Catholic.

• Should it be thought that the constant reference tn one nuthor has
inveated the controversy with a private and personal character, I can tnily
Bay that tlie resnlt was felt to he as inevitable as it is undesirable. The
" Biblical KcBearchea" have obtained, and on many ftceounts have deserved*
so much celebrity in England and in Germany, and so much attention hafl
been devoted by the writer to this particular auhject, that he stands forth
necessarily in the first ranks as Chieftain of the wwbelicving array, and as
such must bear the brunt of the battle. And may I be permitted to express
a hope, that while fighting under our respective coioura, we shall all re-
memner, that the only cfiuse worth contenthng for is Iruilt^ aud that we
may imitate not only tbo »eal but the courtesy of Christian and SaraceniCi
warfkre?'— ?7iir //o/y Ciiif, Pref. to 1st Ed. pp. Tiii. ix. I

For 8omo departures from the spirit thus invoked, of which

Jerusalem*

441

our autbor bad to accuse himself, be has expressed his regret in
a tone of untlinehing severity towards himself in the preface to
his second edition. We cannot but join with him in stUl re-
gretting the necessity there was for so much of rejoinder, however
freed from recrimination, as appears in the notes to these
TTohimes. But we do iiot see how it could have been avoided.
It may be very annoying to have to descend from the serene
heights of an interesting passage of history, or an tclaircmement,
apparently clear aa the sun at noonday, of a topographical dif-
ficulty, to skirmish with Dr. Robinson or Herr Kraft in the
lower regions of email type and tree inquiry ; but they might
otherwise not unreasonably have said that their objections were
passed over because they were unanswerable. And we may
call to mind for our consolation, if indeed it be one, how many
Yaliiable and standard treatises have of necessity taken this
form. Few great works, comparatively^ have been written in
cold bloods One writer, however, there is among Mr, Wil-
liams's antagonists, concerning whom we arc decidedly of
opinion that he is * not worth his powder and shot' We allude
to Mr. Fcrgusson. We think that in a future edition he might
with great advantage be dismissed iu a much more summary
manner

We have remarked above on the interest which the whole
ultra-Protestant school has in the establishment of Dr. Robinson's
positions concerning the sacred localities; that of the Holy
Sepidchro in particular. But it would be a mistake to suppose
that these are the only class of religionists with whose prepos-
Bessiona such a result would concur, German rationalism,
in most of its giant forms, would welcome such a conclusion
with open arms.

' Hoc Ithacus velit; hoc niAgiio mercentur Atritlae.*

For all such as would treat our Lord's Resurrection as a myth*
the well-ascertained existence of the Tomb fronj which He rose
is very inconvenient. And even those wlio are ready to ad-
mit the fact of that Resurrection, but represent it only as a
* mode,' or particular exhibition, of a much greater general fact
or process which is going on in mankind at large, nuist admit
that those, who from the beginning thus piously and carefully
noted and guarded the scene of the event, attributed no such
secondary character to it r^that the early ChriKtian's hope, at
least, was not in some subjective * Idea * which that event
only shadowed forth, but in the very event itself, and its in-
volved consequents.

Now then wc know what the cause ie^ and who the parties
interested in it. Ultra-Protestantism, and Hationalisra, with the
whole tone of mind aldn tliereto, on the one hand, abetting

442

Jettisalem,

concluBiona of yesterday ; admomtm loci^ and the Churcli's re-
verential love and beliei, with all that ia akin to sacramentality
and simple objective faith, on the other, taking pai't with the
traditions and the outpoured affections of two thousand years.
The champions want tor nothing of panoply or zeal j they have
put themselves in full career for the shock. ^\Tio will not say,
God guard the right !

We are unwilling to leave our readers in suspense as to the
ieaueof the contest^ so far forth as already existing indicationa
enable us to predicate it. They will have anticipated that in
our own view there is no question about the matter. If demon-
stration goes for anything, it appears to us that the veteran
Entellua of this contest is no match for the more youthful
Dares* All the main conclusions of Dr. Robinson have been
completely demolished by his opponent : and of the central point
of contention, the reputed site of the Holy Sepulchre, we ■
avow our belief that it is impmsiMe that am/ candid and inteUi- V
gent person should &ter apain call in ^/nesthn the authenticitif of it»
And surely w^e are not wrong in saying, that by the establish- ^
mcnt of this point alone, Mr. Williams and Professor Willis ■
have earned the grateful acknowlcdgnients of* all Christendom^
We are not alone in the judgment we have expressed of the
result. Dr, Robinsonj it is true, was utterly unconvinced by
the first edition of * The Holy City ; ' * every position advanced
in the Biblical Roscarchea is resolutely maintained' in an
elaborate and unhappily angry critique of his in the New
York * Bibliotheca Sacra, ' an American religious journal.
Whether the rejoinder will have shaken his confidence re-
mains to be seen. But meanwhile, from several distinct
and most unsuspicious quarters, very full testimony haa
been borne to the success of Mn Williams's labours* Dr.
Schultz, PruBfiian Consul at Jemsalcni, had indeed simultane-
ously been moving almost pan passu with Iiim ; the result of his
investigations has been in the main points identical with his ; ■
and he fully adopts his views. So does Herr Kraft, contriving ™
at the same time to get the credit of them himself. Dr. Tisch-
endorflP, a distinguished Biblical scholar, had returned from m
Jerusalem a perfect convert to Dr. Robinson's views. But now, |
Tischendorff himself dat manus. * The conclusions oiTived
' at within the last few months by two gentlemen competent

* beyond all others to the undertaking, have thrown a new light

* upon his reminiscences ..... He thinks it w^ill be in future

* difficult to question the authenticity of the Holy Sepulchre

* upon reasonable grounds.' Nor is the effect produced at home, m
BO far as it has transpired, less satisfactory. Professor WiDis, ^
who originally waa of a contrary opinion, has now, what with

Jerusalem.

443

Mr, Williama^a mvestJgations and his own, argued himself out
of it; he tells us : 'In sayhig thi8, I by no means intend to

* throw doubts upon the truth of that tradition whieli has fixed
*the site of the Holy Sepulchre within the church in ques-

* tion ; for I am myself fully convinced of the gcnuineuesa

* of that site.' We happen to know, too, that another emi-
nent Cambridge Professor, not unknown to the geological
world, and equally guiltless with the former of any violent
liking for traditions, has expressed himself a convert from Dr.
Kobinson's to Mr. Williama's view. From an equally unauspicioua
quarter, and therefore na gratifying aa it is splendid, is the last
testimonial we sliall mention — the adjudgement by the King of
Pru?iaia of the golden medal * fiir Wissenschaft' to the author of
' The Holy City,* in token of his Majesty's * high esteem and ap-
jireciation of hia important services to the Rcpulilic of Letters.'

And now to survey the contents of Mr. Williams's book in
the order of topics which he has adopted^viz. History first ;
Archajology afterwards. Under the ibrmer head we shall be
sparing of our extracts, partly because the latter makes more
legitimate demands upon our space, as containing the polemical
matter ; but chiefly because extracts can no more give a just
idea of a history, than (according to the old Greek story)
a sample brick does of a house. But we owe it to the first
regular and formal History of Jerusalem ever attempteLl, at
Iciist on this plan, to endeavour to give completeness to it by
throwing some light on those more remote and primeval periods
of her story which it hardly fell within our author's province to
illustrate*

It is an interesting question, from what period the History of
Jerusalem is to be dated. There is a religious observation of
Josephus, on tlic caution addressed to Moses Ho put off hia
shoes from hia feet, because the place w^hereon he stood was holy
ground.' He takes it to signify no less tlian that that place had
been a divinely selected and guarded Ti^evo^ from the begin-
ning ; and owed its hohness, not to the particular manifestation
of Himself which Gorl then voucbsafed in the buriung bush, but
to His original designation of it as a spot which He was pleased
to take for His own. The subsequent honour put upon the same
Mount Horcb, by the giving of the law upon It, tends to con-
firm such a belief And we can hardly forbear to extend the like
belief in all its fulness to Jerusalem. That Divine delight
which, as the Scriptures inform us, God took in his Holy Hill,
must surely be deemed to have had its beginning from that time
when Eden ceased to be His especial dwelling-place on earth.
From tbe hour of tlie Fall, Jerusalem was, in the counsels of
God, the Place of His Feet, which Jie designed to make glorious,

NO. LXVI. U U

444

Jermalam^

And even the civil history of that wonderful city maj, on no
iofiecttre grounds, be carried niucli higher than it usually i§.
We think that it may with a very higli degree of probability he
shown to have existed as a regal mid sacerdotal city in the foyrtl
generation after t!io Flood.

Mr. Williams thua commences his historical sketch of the
Holy City :—

• The early liiatory of tbpt city which was desttncd to occupy so conspi-
ctioii9 a plncc in the Rnoals of the world, is so involved in obscui '^
to the remote ATitii|vvity towhii-U it bclongSjlhat not only is uoil
known of its origin, but writfra arc not agreed as to where it la t.iz.^ ..n.i
tioned in Holy Scripture. The testimony of Josepbus, representing as is
(probable the tradition of the Jewish church, has not been enough to satixfy
cither ancient* or moderns that the Salem of Melchizedek is identical with
the Jerusalem of which David was the second launder; but as this opinion
rewts on very high authority, and has nothing iu it inconsistent with ihft
sacred narrative, we may be allowed to athipt a theory which will give ad-
ditioual intere«t to the Holy City, by identifying the scene of the oflfertiigor
the king of Salem with thai of the sacrumeii'lal institution of the Prijsce of
Peace which was therein typified.

' The Jciviab bistorian without any hesitation ascribes its foundation to
Melcbiaedek, who, he says, *' was there the (irst priest of God^ and fir»t
built « temple there;" and if this mysterious personage were identified
with bhem, the son of Koah, as Hncient tradition with sin^ulAr eoO'
sistency has delivered, then may the Holy City boast au antir|iiity greater
Iban ajiy city in the worlds and a founder every way worthy of its fiiuire
celebinty.' — the Hoftf Citif, vol. i. pp. 1, 2.

In the identification of Jerusalem with the Salem of Melchi-
zedek, we most heartily concur. But we are by no tneaod
satisfied to leave it an open question. We consider that there
is in Scripture a very large amount of circumstantial evidence
in proof of it. This evidence seems to us to have never been
fairly weighed and mnnnied up. Authority alone has been
rested upon ; and authority is tlecitleiUy in favour of the view ;
but the full concurreuee of Scripture with the ancient belief
has been overlooked. Firat of all, it is said, in Gen. xiv.,
that * the king of Sodom went out to meet Abram after the

* elatightcr of Chedorlaomcr at the valley of Shaveh,

' trkich is the Kitty's dale. And Melchizedek, king of Salem,' it
is added, * brouf^ht forth bread and wine.' Kovv there is no con-
ceivable pretext for denying the identity of ' the King's dale'
here spoken of, witli the valley mentioned under the satne
remarkable name in 2 Sam. xviii. 18, as the site of the pillar of
Absalom, Btit in that passage there is no doubt that the valley of
Jehoshaphat is meant. ' The objection wliich has sunietimes been
made, that it 18 unlikely Abram should have returned by way of
Jerusalem, because it was not in the direct line from Damascus to
Sodom, is irrelevant. There is no ground for supposing that

Jentmlem,

445

Abram was rctiiming' to Sodom at aU ; bis dwelling-place at this
time Wits Mamre, and Jerusalem would be directly id hia way
thither. The going out of the king of Sodom, to a point so far
from his own city, might easily be accounted for on the ground
of a desire to do lionour to the victor; but it was besides, in
fact, the nearest point to liim in Abram's route. But again, the
expression that Melchizedek * brought Jhrtk bread and wine' is a
perfectly natural one, if it be taken to mean that he came forth
nut of the city into the valley where Abram was liolding the
interview with the king of 8odom \ whereas every attempt that
has been made to give a meaning to it on any other euppoeltion
is far-fetched in the extreme* An ingeniout! writer, Oaillanl,
who has sifted every word of the context, -^unfortunately in
pursuit of an ipiis fattim as an interpretation of the whole, — ob-
ficrvesjthat one principal signification of the Hebrew word here
rendered ' brought forth,' is that of fetching anything out of a
hous^c or other inclosure to another person, Instances are Josli.
vl. 23, Judges vi. 18. The latter ks exactly to our purpose:
Gideon desires leave to * bring forth' his present out of the house
to the angel. For an example of the far-fetched interpretations
we have alluded to, we need not travel beyond the writer just
<|Uoted, who contends that Melchizedek ' produced' the bread
and wine by an exercise of miraculous power, just as Mosea
'brought forth' water out of the rock.

The other well-known passage of the Old Testament in which
Melchizedek is mentioned, furnishes still more cogent proof that
the Salem of which he was king was no other than Jerusalem,
It would be too much, perhaps, to say that the 110th Psalm,
and S- Paul's applic^ition of it, are unintelligible and incoherent
on any other supposition ; but certainly the adnustj^ion of this
one goes far to remove from both passages a certain abruptness,
^v'bich imjiairs the clearuess both of the type set forth in the one,
and of the inspired exposition of it contained in the other.
Deny the Salem of Melchizedek to be Jerusalem, an<l the Eter-
nal Oath (Psalm ex. 4), investing the Divine Person who h
the subject of the whole Psalm with a Priesthood such as Mel-
chizedek had borne, stands totally unconnected with the context.
Admit it, and not only does the abruptness disappear, but tlie
entire Psalm receives a great accession of light. We then per-
ceive that the grand striiin of prophecy which runs through it
is based upon the character and actions of the historical Melchi-
zedek, as they are briefly but pregnantly pourtrayedin Gen. xiv.
The Almighty is represented as setting a certain Conquering
I'erson on a victorious throne above his enciniee, causing free-will
offerings to be made to him in the day of victory, and enabling
him to smite kings, to judge ameng the heathen, to wound the

H u 2

446 Jerusalem,

licatls over many countries. Zion is designated as the seat oF
this victorious Kuler's kingdom : * The Lord shiill send the rod
of tby strength out uf Zion.' NoWj taking Melchizedek to
be king of Saletn* and as such the rightfwl kin^ of the whole
land of Canaan, (a view wliich we shall show reasons for here-
after,) it is clear that when he went forth to Abraham on his
return from the slaughter of the king?, he fulfilled all the coii-
ditiona here enumerated. By the hand of Abraham, as in some
sort Hh vice-gerent, God had made htm victorious over his
enemies, and estahlinhed hi:^ tiu'one. Melchizedek, moreover,
had received ' Jrec-wiU offerings * from Abraham in the name
of the people, in that day of victory, in the form of tithe,<.
These were a token and acknowlcilgment both of his regal
and priestly character. I]y them It was confessed that not
Abraham but Melchizedek had, in virtue of his kingly power
and sacerdotal blessing, and as God'a anointed, smitten through
kings, hvmh over divers coimtrics, judged among the heathen,
and filled the phiccs with the dead bodies; (the ' slaughter ' of the
kings ia apparently intended here, as elsewhere, for a very
strong expression). The divers countries over which the kings
slain by Abraham reigned, are specified in Gen. xiv. I. Tlie

* judging among the heathen* may refer to the idolatrous
nations of Sodom, &c., in the midf^t of whom this great victory
was wrought. The * drinking of the brook in the way ' (ver, 7)
may posedjly allude to tlie refreshment which Abraham re-
ceived in the valley through which the brook of Cedron flowed-

When we liave arrived at this view of the Psalm, the verse
concerning the priesthood, far from being an abrupt insertion,
reads smoothly into the context, and gives the completing
touch to the prophecy. It then appears as a special promise
and assurance, that not in respect of kingship only sboulil that
victorious Person be another Melcliixcdek, ruling over a better
Salem, but that He should also be like Inm, ' aitcr his order,' a
Priest for ever. The identity of the Salem of JMelchizedek
with Zion or Jerusalem may in like manner be shown to \ye
involved in the teaching of S. Paul concerning Melchizedek.
There is a passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews of which no
commentator lias yet been able to give an altogether satisfactory
account, viz. ' Christ glorified not Himself to be made an High

* Priest; but He that said unto Him, Thou art my Son, this day

* have I begotten Thee : as He saith also in another place, Thou

* art a Priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.' How
the first of these two quotations can be taken to assert the
High Priesthood of Christ equally with the second is the diffi-
culty. There is but one solution ; viz. that the one Psalm is
based no less than the other on the personal history of Melchi-

Jerusalem*

zcdck, and tliat the Apostle assumes this unity of aubjcct in
them. But it' this be the case, then have we the warrant of
an inspired writer under the new dispensation for plachif^ Mel-
chisedec's Salem on Mount Zion ; for t!ie 2d Psalm is, if nos-
eiblcj still more explicit than the HOth in enthroning the King
of whom it speaks on that holy eminence. Now it may easily
be shown that this way of understandinnr Psalm ii. docs solve
the difficulty we have mentioned. Suppose it to have been on
all hands agreed in the days of S. Paul, that the enthronement
of a victorious king spoken of in Psalm ii, had reference aa cer-
tainly as that of Psalm ex. to the instance of Melehizedek ; the
Apostle might then most naturally allege the Divine declarations
in the two Psalms as tantamount in effect, though somewhat dif-
ferently worded, and taking up different sides of the victorious
Person's function and character, Melehizedek triumphed no
less as Priest than as King, as we have seen ; the two ideas
meet inseparably in him. The Psalm, therefore, which sets
Melehizedek, and, by consequence. Him whom Melehizedek
typified, as * a King upon Zion,' ( ver. (>,) by the words, * Thou
art my Son, this day have I begotten thee/ may very w^ell be
understood to invest him, by the tennur of the same words,
with the Priesthood known to be insejiarablc from that royalty*
And on a comparison of this Psalm with the 110th, and with
the archetypal history in Genesis, on which we arc contending
that the imageiy of both PsahuB is founded, there is a sufficient
degree of resemblance as to particulars to render it very credible
that the type of Christ which the 2d Psalm has in vicw^ is no
other than Melehizedek. The heathen, — the kings of the earth,^

the

the victorious Person dominion

over

them, — the

solemn decree of investiture, — the seat of his government, Zion,
—the instrument of it, a rod of iron (* of strength,' Ps. ex.),— his
wrath, — the necessity for propitiating hira— -are particulars which
appear in both Psalms. If sonship is expressly predicated in
the 2d Psalm, it is shadowed forth in language of infinite
depth and beauty in the 1 10th : * In the beauties of Iioliness

* from the w^omb of the morning; thou hast the dew^ of thy

* youth.' And there is in the 2d Psahn an additional point of
resemblance to the Melchizedekian history, viz. the ^ breaking
of bonds and easting away of cords,' which was the very charac-
teristic of Abraham's victorious expedition ; its original object
having been the deliverance of Lot and the other captives.
Neither is there anything improbable in the supposifiou that
Melehizedek, anointed King of Righteousness and Peace, Lord
of the Holy City and the Sacred Land; anointed Priest of the
Most High *_Tod; and in both characters victorious over kings
of kings, should be one of the heroes, so to speak, of inspira-

448

Jei'usalem,

linn, and his history a favourite text with the mspired
I*6jilinist.

The identification of the Salem of Gen, xiv. with Jerusalem
is one step in our investigation. But we have still to inquire
how fur hack Tve sliall be justified in carrying the history of the
Holy City, in vii-tue of its connexion — ^supposing this to be
proved — with that mysterious personage ? The inquiry resolves
itself into another, and that a very famous one, viz. Who was
Mclchizcdek? If lie was, according to the opinion commonly
ascribed to Joaephus, and now very generally received, merely
one of the petty kings of Cauoan, who founded Salem > then the
discussion as to the antiquity of Jerusalem ia set at rest. But
there ia abundant reajson Jbr questioning this view. Mr* "W^il-
liame, as we have seen, refers to the assertion of Lightfoot,
that ' all now acknowledge ^lelchizedek for Sem;' and upcm the
strength of it eays, that * ancient tradition has with singular
consistency delivered tliii*.' But we think he has mistaken
his author^ who could only have meant to a«?sert that the point
was universally conceded (not that we think even this !)orne
out by facts) in hb day. He could not but be aware that a vast
variety of opinions had existed from very early times, even to a
proverb, as to the question —

' Who Salem'a prieat, and what his father'a name ?'

The learned Gaiilard thus comineuces his elaborate treatise,
written to ju'ovc that Melchizcdck was no other than the Second
Person of the Trinity^ anticipating his Incarnation: *Eccui non

* diet us Melchieedecus, vel stcpius quara dictus llylas? Dictus

* priscis Hebrteortun magistris in euis Targuraim ; dictus recen-

* tioribus Rabbinieis commentjuriis ; dictus Ecclesise Latinje ct

* Gni'Cie poet ori bus, si cut et hodiernis commentatoribus et

* homiliastis.' Now wc may be sure that the fire of contro-
versy would have gone out tor Iiu.*k of fuel had there not been
a considerable difference of opinion among these docti^rs. And
accordingly, he proceeds to enumerate some ten or more
opinions (some of them subdivided into minor varieties) which
have obtained more or less currency in the learned world.
According to these, Melcliizedek is ciihcr (as aforesaid) Shenv;
or he is a descendant of Ja|»het; or he is even (a bold minority
have ventured to think) Ham ; or he was of ignoble birUi,
which was therefore studiously concealed in Scripture; or lie
waa one of the petty regnli of the hind ; or he was a created
angel; or he was the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity ; or
he was the Second ; or, finally, he was, according to the bias-
phcmous heresy of the Melchizcdekians, recorded by Epipha-
nius, a celestial being greater than Christ, and al'ter whose image

I
I

Jerusalem*

449

Christ was formed. Our author might have added aeothtir
tradition, mentioned by Calmet, we kriow not on what autho-
rity, that Melchizedek was a son of Shein ; and a very ancient
onej perhaps the most ancient of all, which was preserved, a?*
Hettinger relates, among the Arabians, that he was a son of
Pcleg.

Now, of these traditions or conjectures, wc may, in the first
place, safely set aside all such an irmke Melchizedek a divine or
celestial being. The tcnour of S. PauFa teaching absolutely
requires that we should consider him as a real human being,
however singularly and peculiarly invested with typical charac-
ters, We liave then to choose between lite opinion, on tlie
one hand, which supposes him to have been merely one of the
[)etty kings of the country, or, at best, the king of all Canaan,
who happened to be then regnant; and some one of the iden-
tifications of him, above enumerated, on the other. We cannot
but think that the fact of so many of these identifications having
been traditionally preserved, proves that there w^as some basis
of fact iipon which they were formed, some original truth of
which they were distorted reflections. No reason can easily be
assigned why there should be eucb an abundance aijd univer-
sality of tradition pervading widely-separated branches of the
great Hebrew stock as to who Melchizedek was, unless he was
really ' some great one,' We view him through the medium of
8. Paid'e sublime language ; but the reader of the Hebrew
Scriptures knows of him only as a king and priest, once men-
tioned, and once again referred to,— under circumstances, in-
deed, to excite some curiosity as to his origin, but hardly such
as to suggest the expedient of identifying him with some one of
the august Fathers of the postdiluvian race of men, or of their
immediate descendants. Now there are ctrcumstauces, as it
appears to us, which go far towards ascertaining and fixing
ibr U3 what that primeval fact was from which these varioug and
remarkable traditions took their rise. We may, perhaps, bo
allowed to assume a pretty general consent among the best
Biblical scholars aa to the interpretation to be put upon the
words in Gk^m. x. 25: * Unto Eber were born two sons; the
name of one was Poleg; in his days trm the earth Jitidid;^ viz.
that they declare the confusion of tongues (or, however, the
great distribution of the races of men over the face of the earth
consequent on that event) to have taken place in the days of
Pcleg, the eldest t?ou of Eber. The great geographical work of
Bochart, the * Phaleg,' of course proceeds upon this view, and
derives its name from it. Neither will it be disputed that this
Eber (or Heber) was the father and founder of the name and
race of the Hebrews : all uther derivations of the name * Hebrew.*

4j0

/«rcM(9le«».

tfmn tliat which makeg it to be the Gentile furm (ITeberite)
from Hcbcr, are jiurely nugatory. Moreover, it is the proudest
distinction of the patrinrch Sliem, to be called ' the father of all
the eliilJren of Eljcr.' (Geti. x. 21.) Now* what wiis it that
constituted Eber, more than any other of the patriai'cha from
Shem to Terah, father of the chosen family which wa^ called
out of Ur of the Chaldees, in the person of Abraham ? Peculiar
sanctity might conceivably account for it; but we read of
iiothinf^ of the kind concerninnr Eber. Wc cannot but conclude,
therefore, that even aa in the case of Abraham, so also in that
of Eber, there was some special * calling out' of him from
among the mas^ of progenitors, which served to mark him out
as the * father' of a special stock, which should bear his name.
And then how remarkably docfi the coincidence, in point of
time, of the dispersion and distribution of mankind into races,
with the period of Eber's maturity, come in to sug^^est what the
nature of hia evocation from among his kinsfolk was ! Let it
only be granted that mankind were distributed into races in the
days of Eber's son Peleg, probably at his birth, and it follows
of necessity that Eber, the founder of a race, was at that time
sent forth, like other fonndera of races, to enter upon and take
possession of the land designed for his posterity.

This, then, we conceive to he the original fact upon which
the %^ariou3 traditions as to ^lelchizedck were based* It had
been handed down that a mighty descendant of Noah had at
sonic time come over the Euphrates to the Holy Land, and
various guesses were made as to his identity ; the name of
Shem in particular obtaining, not unnaturally, the most i^eneral
acceptance. Our own view as to the identity of Melchi-
zedcK will be explained presently : meanwhile, we observe, that
a host of questions are met, and allusions explained, by this
very simple and necessary supposition about Eber. Eber's
rmme (^ trajector/ 'the passer over' the Euphrates) is at once
seen to have been given to the bearer of it in token of his being
destined to make that great and important transit. Take, agaln»
the words of Moses: * When the Most High divided to the
' nations tbelr inheritancey when He separated the sons of ^dam,

* He set the bounds of the people, acconUnfj to the number of ths

* e/Nldren of Israel,* This iocm conclamatus becomes literally
true on the hypothesis before us: and it sets the distribution of
men into races by the Divine Will in a new and interesting
hgbt, when we are taught, as this passage thus understood
docs teach us, that the first care in that distribution, the centr
and pivot of the whole movement, was the due location of th

iple, the vessel of the ^rcat Messianic Mystery, i

i
4

I lose n

the scat destined for them.

JerusaUnu

451

AgaiHi it has heen remarked by Boclinrt, tliat wc find traces
of almost all the Iminediatc descendants of 8hem, down to Tei'ah,
the father of Abraham, in tlieir ancient neiglibourhood, viz.
ahont Meeopotaniiaj in the shape of cities named after Arpliaxad,
Salali, Pclegj lieu, Serug, Nahor, Haran. In the cate of
Eber ahjne, (Terah, we know, left his native country,) there is
no indication of his founding a city, or leaving any memorial of
his name in the ancient seat of hi« race ; a circumst^mce fidly
accounted for by the cxccptiona! fact^ that he went forth, pro*
bably early in life, to a distant land. Then, further, we find
the Holy Land called the * laud of the Ilebrewe,' at a time
when it is inconceivable that it could have acquired that name
firora the mere fact of Abraham's humble shepherd family having
sojourned for a while in it; Josepli eayinf^ to the Ejxyptianj«,
* I was Btolen away out of the land of the Hebrews/ The name
is not adequately accounted for by supposing merely a Divine
grant and unfulfilled designation of the tci-ritory to have been
made at the dispersion ; for the tradition of such a f^rant would
eoon have been lost. Nothing short of an actual residence in it
of Eber himsclt^ and his race, could have availed to attach to it
the title * laud of the Heberites,' or Hebrews. And here avc
touch upon a question which has been much discussed both in
ancient and modern timefi, viz. whether the Amorites, and
other Canaimitish tribe^j were intruders in the so-called Ijand
of Canaan, or whether it was originally det^ip^ned for their habi-
tation, but was forfeited by them for their iniquities. On
grounds totally independent of the hypothesis we are now
defending, wc would give our suffrage in the strongest manner
for the former alternative. Indeed, ancient opinion is decidedly in
favour of the supposition, that not Canaan merely, but all Syria,
properly belonged to the descendants of Slicm, In this view,
espoused by Epiphanius and Eusebius, and since by Dr. Hales,
and countenanced in the Armenian tradition preserved by Ahul-
faragi, we do not in toto concur. The 10th chapter of Genesis,
it is true, iilaccs the divi:?ion of the earth among mankind under
the three great heads* Shem, Ham, and Japheth ; but it l>y no
jneans asserts that the distribution was made prophetically ;
on the contrary, it was according to 'tongues, families, and
nations,* (ver. 5;) w^hich must therefore have already existed
when the division was made. The distinction is important:
for, whereas a prophetical distribution would, in all probability,
divide the earth in the gross into large portions; a distribution
among existing families w^ould be likely to be much more com-
plex in its character; wliile duly observant of the three great
heads of ilivision, so as to preclude fusion of races, it would b<^
not unlikely to admit, in peculiar cases, close contact. And

452

Jerusalem,

one of these peculiar cases we conceive that of Palestine to
have been. It wad an insiikted heritjige given to a particular
branch of the holy family of Shcnij in the mid^t of settlements
assigned to the ungtMlly descendants of Ham* The position of
these border settlements of the Hamiles h set down with great
precision, as if with an ej^pecial purpose, in Gen. x. 19.' ' And

* Canaan begat Sidon bis firstborn, and Heth, and the Jebnsite,

* and the Amorite, and the Girgasite, and the Hivitej and the

* Arkite, and the Siinte, and the Arvadite, and the Zemarite,
' and the Hamathite : and a/teneard were the families of the
' CanaamlfS spread abroad. And the border of the Canaanites

* was from Sidon, as thon earnest to Gerar, unto (iaza; as thou

* goeet, unto Sodom, and Gomorrah, and Adinuh, and Zeboim,
' even unto Laeha.' This geographical description is certainly
remarkable as touching only upon places external to what was
subsequently called (in consequence of its having been seized
upon and occupied by the chief Canaanitish tribej?,) 'the Land
of Canaan,' It also seems distinctly to allude to the subsequent
aggressions of the Canaanites. Bochart has noticed,' that of the
eleven nations above enumerated as having descended from Ca-
naan j five only were dispossessed by tlie Israelites ; and is at a
loss to account for it, since all the tribes were probablj' equal in
guilt. But the reason^ doubtless, is, that these tribes alone had
seized on the hind originally desigiied for the chosen peojde.
The views we have here expressed are so far sup[iorted by the
authority of Joseph us, that he says, that the sons of \li\m had
their proper settlements on the coast of the Mediterranean, but
extended them by aggressions to the Indian Ocean.* Mr. Os-
burn, in a work which we shall have occasion to make use of
again in the course of this article, observes, that the hieroglyphic
lists of conquered nations which occur in the temples of Egypt,
singularly verify the Scripture account of the dispersion of
Ham's descendantB, — assuming, that is, our present hypothesis,
viz. that Scripture locates Canaan and his sons, as of right, in
Western Asia, * Canaan,' he remarks, * the first born_^ who lost
' his birthright through his grandfather's curse, seems neverthe-

* less to have been allowed tlie claims of seniority when the sons

* of Ham went forth together to the westward from the plains of

* Shinar, and gave his name to the first dli?trict at wlucb the
*emig]-ants would arrive;' thus we find *thc Zuzims in Ham;'
and his sons, 6*. (f. Sidon and Arvad, gave their names to cities;
and the district north of Palestine seems to have been Canaan
proper, (Judg. iv. 2.) Now the hieroglyphics distinctly place

* Ph&leg, iv. 38.

« Anlifj. i. vi. Ol 8.' Xtf/uoi/ rfoilts ril^v ttiro 2i//i(oi yi]» ..... KdrarxtiV Zcu vpos
VnKdc<ro.v ai^T^j itirfmfno Ha.raXQ,^vj9i, koI to. p-ixjp*- to5 cJicfavow ^f(9i waddle iooi.

i
i

Jerusalem.

453

tlic Canaanitc amoDg the nations nortli-east of Egypt. Dr.
liiglitfootj again, in a remarkable passage, * very nearly comes
up to our ethnogi*aphical creed as to the Hebrew uame and ter-
ritory, though the necessity there was for Ileber's having pap^sed
over into the Holy Laud at the dispersion liad not occurred to
him; whence he is led to acquiesce in the Raljbiiiical tradition
which places Shcm there in the person ot* JMelchizedek,

The reader will have anticipated in some degreci if not
altogether, the drift of our speculations as to the original
colonization of the Holy Land. .Vs the ethnographical views
adopted by Lightfoot iidl in with the liabbinical tradition that
Mclchizedek was no other than Sheni, so it will be seen that
ours tend to a Blnjilar result, only i^ubstitutiug for the name
of Shem that of Ebcr. And such, supposing the chronology
of tlie received Hebrew text to be adopted, i&, in fact, tlie
conclusion to which our premises inevllaldy lead. According
to that chronology, Eber, no less than Shem, was still liviog
in the days of Abraham, and survived by many years the
victory over Chedorlaonier. This then being the case, the very
eminent pei"son, greater than Abraliani, wboujipears in Geneeis
under the name of Melchizedek, could not well be any other
than Ebcr himself; no other, during his lifetime, could contest
with him that signal superiority and that ' power to bless,'
which the narrative invests him with. And it is to be noticed,
that so remarkable a shortening of the period of human life had
taken place iu the generation next after Elicr, that all the
lineal descendants between liim and Abraham were now dead.
This has the ajipenrance of a providential arrangement, to
ensure the delivering over in person of the divinely secured
territory from the first to the second great Founder of the
Hebrew nation. For such an investiture may well seem to be
involved, in accordance with Lightfoot's view, in the blessing,
and gifts of bread and wine, liestowed by Melchizedek on
Abraham. It may, however, be contended, that if Mclchize-
dek was indeed identical with Eber, it is strange that there
fihould be no intimation of it in Scripture; and we admit that
there is considerable force in tlie olgection. Happily we are
not called upon to combat it, since wc are disposed to side with
the best modern authoritiea in preferring the chronology of (he
LXX. to that of the received Hebrew text. This chronology,
it is well known, increases by several hundred years the in-
terval between the flood and the time of Abraham \ and accord-
ing to it, Eber had been dead ages before Abraham's birth. The
only change which tlie adoption of this chronology Introduces

454

Jcrnsahm,

into our hjj>othcsi3 is, tliiit wc klentify Melcliizodck with a ^
clcgcendunt of Eber instead of with Eber himself. Wc conceive
Ebcr, on passing over to the Holy Land, to lia%'e taken Salem,
nnder Divine direction, as the seat of his dominion ; and that
IMckhizedek was the last in a line of kings who reigned there
after hinu The Priesthood we iinan^ine to have been delegated
ali^o, and to have expired with IVIelrhizedek. The sanctity of
character which it Imparted would sufficiently account for

* Mclchizcdek,' or Kin^ of Righteousness, having by tliis time
become the dynastic title of the kings of Salem ; and t!ie Amor-
ite dynasty, which reigned by the time Joi*hua entered upon
the land, would not unnaturally usurp, with the throne, the
title also, under the slightly different form of Adonizedek. * This

* latter nsune, moreover,' m Mr. Williams observes, * compared

* with that of Mclchizcdek, would intimate that the city had

* acquired,' or retained rather, *a religious character among the

* Canaanitcs.' With respect to the support whicli our view
derives from tradition, wc may allege that singular one of the
Arabians already mentioned, which makes Mclchizcdek to be M
a snti of Pelcg. It may have been even so, that Peleg, Eber^'a |
eldest son, accompanied liim to the Holy Land, leaving his son
lieu behind him in the old country ; so that Mclchizcdek was

a son, i. e. descendant, of Pelcg. But however this be^ we
can Inirdly fail to see that the drift of the Arabian tradition
it<, that the colonization of PalcHtinc by the stock of Ebcr dates
from the original dispersion and distribution of mankind, Jose- H
phns, ngain, may be adduced as supporting the view that AIcl- (
chizcdfrk was the rightful lord of Palestine ; for he calls him
Xarar/aiwF Sumcrraj?, an expression which seems at least as
capable of the meaning, * ruler of all the Canaanitcs,' as of that
ivhich is commouty assigned to it, viz. *a petty prince of ^
Canaan/ fl

We have thus endeavoured to fulfil our promise of tracing back
the existence of Jerusalem ns a royal and priestly city to the
fourth generation after the flood, thus enlarging by a thousand
years the duration of its histor}'. If the position be thought
startling, we only ask that the presumptions we have adduced
for it may be fairly weighed. One objection which may be ^
made to it is, that it eets aside, to a certain extent, the exclusive ■
interest which wc arc in the habit of assigning to the Abrahamic
branch of the Shemitic race, in the earlier proccst^ea of the
sciicrac of man's redemption. But why should we bo so jealous of^H
admitting any other person or line to a participation in those^H
honours? It may be a convenient formula to say that the
wluilc business, so to sjicak, of that mighty work, was com-
mitted to the family of Abraham. But Holy Scripture hafl

Jerusalem*

455

nowhere declared such a limitation, but rather protested against
it. If S. Paul has occasion to rebuke the Jcwa for forgetting
Abraham in Woses^ and to remind them, that * the testaineiit
'confirmed by God to Christ,' as Abraham's heir, 'the law,
* which was 430 years after, could not set aside;' he finds it
no less necessary to rebuke the Christian Hebrews as ' dull of
hearing,' because in the exclusive contemplations of Abra-
hamic and Aaronic foreshadow ings of Chnst> they had been
blind to the transcendent and more worthy typification of Him
conveyed by the mystic Sonsliip, and Ro^'alty^ and Priesthood,
of Mclchizedek. These, at any rate, are respects in which Mel-
chJzedek shares with Abraham's race the honours of Messianic
connexion ; and it is no great matter that we should add
others of a less ppiritual and lofty kind. According to our
view, the part assigned to Abraham and his race wa^ the pre-
servation of an unbroken succession, and the development of
a separated people, and a significant ritual, as media fur the
Cfinservation of * the hope of all end?* of the earth;' while to
El>er and his successors down to Mclchizedek, it was given to
take possession of the sacred locality, and to stamp the rock of
Sion in particular with an ineffaceable impress of holiness.

From the time of Abraham until that of Joshua, a period of
nearly five centurie;?, we have no mention of Jerusalem in Holy
Scripture; and even then it is only spoken of in connexion with
its king, or in topographical descriptions of the allotment of the
Holy Land to the several tribes. Yet here, too, it will be
found that some scattered rays break in upon us from an unex-
pected qutirter, euffieient at least to add a few interesting fea-
tures to the otherwise tiopelessly obscured scenery.

Wc shall a%^ail ourselves for this purpose of Mr. Osburn's
hieroglyphic interpretations, contained in his work before
alluded to, * Ancient Egypt, her Testimony to the Truth of the
]5ible.' He refers certain paintings and hieroglyphics, not, as has
been commonly done, to very remote wars, and conquests over
vast portions {)f the globe, — an impression which the enormous
size of the pictures has tended to convey,— but to compara-
tively petty wars, and victories over nations immediately
bordering on Egypt. The process by which he arrives at these
results appears to be perfectly sober and legitimate ; he simply
applica the admitted laws of Ineroglyphical interpretation to
elucidate the inscriptions attached to each group or picture.
He finds very plainly set down there the names of a variety of"
nations bordering upon Egypt, corresponding, with a marvellous
exactitude, with Scripture names. And as the period to which
he refers the wars eonmiemorated, extends from the time of
Abraham to that of Joseph, these paintings thus come in most

456

felkshoiMly to illustrate the very darkest period of Scripture
hklory. It 18 with an fill but incredulous thrill of wonder that
Wt read tht; new page thus iitklcd to the history of nations long
since coiisi*rned to liopeless and impenetrable obscurity. Olteu
perhaps, have we marvelled who and what might be those
' ancient peoj>le,' whom Chedorlaomer smote, * the Hephaims in
Adhterotfi Karnaim, and the Zuzinw in Ham, and the Emims
in Shavch Kiriathaim ; ' and whether anything more would ever
be known of the Inhabitants of * the land that was accoiukted
*a land of giants: giants dwelt therein in old time; and the

* Ammonites called them Zamzimunims; a people many, and

* great, and tall, as the Anakinis.' And now they are before us;
the history of their wars, of aggression or defence ; their per-
sonal appearance; their armour and manner of fighting; the
natural productions of their several regions ; nay, the verj
texture of their garment^?. Their familiar haunts are the solemn
ehores of the Dead Sea ; their ships bear armies and luerchandi^
to and fro on itv^ mysterions waters* This latter circumstance
h of peculiar interest* We are not aware that it has ever before
been so much as dreamt of, that the Dead Sea was navigated in
ancient timea ; and the assertion that it was so will probably be
met with incredulity ; but if any faith at all is to be attached to
Mr. Osbiirn'a reading of the hieri>glyphic8, the fact would
seem to be unquestionable. The Dead Sea 18 called in the
inscriptions * the lower waters/ Various nations are identified
and characterised; the Sidonians, Arvaditet*, Hittites, Aniorite^
Jebuaites, Philistines, Ke|Jiainis, Zuzimt*, &c. The last-named
nation is all but proved to he the same with the ftimous Hyksos*
or shepherd-kings, of Manctho, the ScS? of Josephus, who in the
sixteenth dynasty of the kings of Egypt, — tliat is, in the
interval between tlie times of Abraham and Joseph, — conquere<l
Egypt, and placed, for more than 130 years, a race of kings
upon its throne. And now we are fliin to ask of this wondruus
oracle, which after a silence of 6,000 years has at length spoken,
whether it can tell us aught of the city of Jerusalem ?

Now in the first place, ad that transpires from these raonumenta
descriptive of the character or history of either the Amorites or
the Jebusites, is entirely to the purpose ; since we know from
Scripture that Jerusalem was in the occupation of one or both
of those nations from the time of tJoshua to that of David. The
Amoritea, then, are depicted on the monuments as a pastijral
people, yet warlike : their possessions are herds of cattle ; their
weapons chiefly the bow; their manner of fighting, with two-
horsed chariots ;^particukrs which are, for the most part, cor-
roborated by Scripture, (Pi?, xxii. 12 ; Gen. xlviii. 22 ; Josh.
xi» 3, 4.) They had fortresses, in one of which they are rcprc-

JerumUm,

457

sented as besieged by Sethos, OF the Jebusites we luive still
fuller particulars, both descriptive and hlstoricah They are
represented at* more decidedly warlike than the Amorites; their
weiipona are the bow, the club or battle-axe, the spear, the
gword, and *a tihort curved staff of heavy wood, evidently used
* for throwing like the Australian boomaraufij, and probably peeu-
' liar to this nation,' The richness of their garmentB, of the stiti*
and costly Babylonish texture, and the musical instruments
borne by them as captives, bespeak a high degree of civilization,
and the habits of men gathered into cities. They have more
than one city or stronghold near the Dead 8ea, and are engaged
in a isuccession of wars with the kings of Egypt in the neigh-
bourhood of its shores. On one occaiiion they attempt to escape
across it with their treasures, but are intercepted by Sethos II.
They make treaties with Scsostris ; and there are various other
indications of tlieir power and importance. The earliest of the
notices which we thus possess of these two nations belong to the
reign of Osortasen I., in the time of Abmbam or thereabouts:
the later, to the reigns of Sethoa and Sesostris, which com-
menced in 1610 B.C. and 1577 B,a respectively. After the
reign of Sesostris^ the monuments yield no further notices of
either nation. What glimpses then do we obtain^ if any^ of the
existence of sucli a city as Jerusalem during the recorded
period? Under that name, of course, we must not expect to
find it ; since even in the days of Joshua and the Judges it is eo
called only by anticipation. {Hdjf City, vol, i, p, 3, note.) But
there is a city which stands forth with a very marked and peculiar
prominence in these wars of the kings of Egypt with the Jebu-
sites, Amorites, and neighbouring nations* We meet with it
first as a fortress of the Amorites. Sethos IL is engaged in
besieging it. It is situated on a hill, and strengthened with
two tiers of ramparts. The inscription seta forth that it is in
the land of Amor, or the Amorite; and that the conqueror *had
* made bare his right arm to overcome the chiefs of many walled
' cities/ This implies that the fort in question^ the name of which
is inscribed upon it, was the chief stronghold of the nation.
That name, when ti-anslated from the hieroglyphics into Coptic,
and thence into Hebrew, is Ghadmh, The next notice of Cha-
dash belongs to the reign of Sesostris, and connects it with
the Jebusite nation. The Ammonites had laid siege to the city,
and a joint embassy of the Jebusites and Hittites, who were
then tributary to Sesostris, entreat him to come to their aifl.
The Egyptians having accoixlingly sailed over the Dead Sea, met
with another embassy, from the Zuzims, which gave furtticr jiar-
ticulars of the siege. The enemy had seized on the ibrtified camps
erected by the Egyptians to secure their hold over the country,

458

and Itad spread terror to the tety trails of Chad<iMk, A great!
is fuiiglit on :i uiountain to the Aouth of the ei(y cf CkadasL
insic'riplkm further describes Chada^h as being in tlie h
Hcth. What, then, do wc ^ther frum these combined noriS!
riaioly thi:», thiit Chadaali was a city of the first imporUMiJ
both in a military and civil point of view ; the centre of ii^H
to tlirec or four of the most powerful of the Canaaniliah natioaP|
a word, their metropolis. We find it moreover placed, byO«
inseriptiim, in the territory of the Amorites, by another in tlist
of the Ilittites, while it is obviously inhabited, at the same tifflfi*
by the Jebiisiti's. Now, oriiitting for the present the ooDsi^
deration of the Ilittites, this ia the exact character and conditlOffl
in which Jerusalem apjieara in Scripture at the time of Joahiu^l
invasion, ltd metropolitan character ia eviaeed by the lej
which Adoni-zcdok, its kinf;, takes in the confederacy of iK
five kinf^a ; its Btreufrth ns a fortress, by the fact that it vrns nd
then even attempted by Joshua, nor ever taken for 400 veM<
after. And while, as tlie royal city of Adoni-zedek, it is reckond
among the Amorite possessions, it is no less distinctly calld
Jebu:^ (Jo-sh, XV, 8 in subsequent psissages,) down to the davs oi
David ; the truth bcinj]^, apparently^ that the Amorite powd
having been extin;^nidied m the person of Adoni-zedek, tiM
Jebusite thenceforth obtained the ascendency in the citr whid
the two nations inhabited in conmion. Nor ia there any diffi-
culty in accountinnr, from Scrljiture, for the share assigned bj
the monument** to the Hittites in the possession of tlje citv ; for
as Mr. Osburn has observed, the tribes of the Araorites and Hit*
tites appear, from Scripture, to have bonlered upon each other,
Tlie city was probably, therefore, situatetl at a point whert
tlie possessions of the three tribes met. Can we then hesitatiS
to identify the ChaOashof the hieroglyphics with the Ko^trri^ol
Herodotus, the Ei-h^mh of the Arabs» the Kmlntha of th«
Syrians, the * Holy ' city? The only shadow of an objection thai
appears to lie against it is, that, strictly speaking, the nan»
should be notChadash, but Kadasb. But when it is considered
tliat the name is a translation out of Canaanitish into hiero-
glyphics, thence into Coptic, and thence again into Hebrew,
and that the difference between H and p is, after all, but small^
it is not too much to suppose that Kadjish is what is reaUj^
intended to be rejH'esented. That Jerusalem should be known
to the Canaanites by such a name as this, denoting it * the
Hoi}',' will not seem unreasonable, if we bear in mind what
has boen noticed above with reference to the title Adoni-zedek;
anrl the fact forms an intercstintr link connecting the Arabinn
and Syrian name for the city witli its earlier nomeuclature, anti
confirming tlie identity of Ilcrodotns's Cadytis with Jerusalem.

Jermaletn*

459

Mr, Osburn has only very doubtingly propounded (p, 66, note)
the view we have undertaken to defend. He inclines to Identify
Chadash with the Hadashah, or Addaaa, enumerated among
the sonthemraost cities towards the border of Edom, given to'
Judah (Josh. xv. 21) from among the Amorltea' possessions.
But it seems incredible that we should never hear again, in the
history of Joshua's conquest, of so important a city as Chadash
evidently waa: besides, Hodashah seems to lie too far south.
We presume Mr. Osburn will not be otherwise than pleased to
find the more interesting view supported by any arguments
which had not occurred to him. And we have reserved one
which we think Aristotle himself would allow to be of the nature
of a T€fCfujpiov or * clinching argument.' It is a geographical
one. The paintings represent Cliadash as surronnded by a rwer
or brook on three sides ; and this river or brook runs into the Dead
Sea, toitard the northern part of it. Surely, nothing could more
accurately describe the very remarkable conformation of Jeni-
B^em ; its environment on the east, south, and west by the
waters of the valleys of Jehoshaphat and Hinnom, and their
united course, after their junction, through the Wady En-Ndr
into the north-east part of the Dead Sea. And there arc some
difficulties or pecnliarities in the Scripture narrative respecting
Jerusalem, which the monuments, thus interpreted, will be found
to explain or illustrate. We have already alluded to its being
in one place spoken of as an Amorite city, in another as the
chief seat of the Jebusitea. The LXX. were so pressed with
this difficulty, that they adopted the rendering * Jebusite' for
• Amorite' in the passage which makes Adoni-zcdek an Amor-
ite king. (Josh. x. 5.) The hieroglyphics cleai* up the difficulty,
and render the change of reading unnecessary. Again, there
is a well-known ambiguity as to whether Jerusalem was situated
in the tribe of Judah or Benjamin ; and the view commonly
acquiesced in is, that being in the borders of the two tribes, it
was considered common to hoth. Perhaps the right of possession,
or the apportionment, Avaa never fully settled ; though the
Eabbies draw you the exact hne through the very court of the
Temple. But how, it may be asked, came such an element of
confusion to be introduced into the original distribution of the
Holy Land among the tribes ? The answer seems to be, that
territory was, for convenience* sake, assigned, in some measure,
according to existing divisions : thus the Amorite and liittite
possessions, as a whole, fell to Judah ; the Jebusite to Ben-
jamin ; and then all the uncertiiinty resulting from that joint
occupancy of the city by the three nations, which ia teetifietl to
by the monuments, was necessarily introduced into the rival
claims of the two tribes.

NO. LXVL— N.S. I I

4C0

Jerusalem.

Wq pass on to the time of the most complete temporal fulfil-
ment of tlie Abraham ic promises, the reign of Salomon. Mr,
Willianis suggests an apparently just distinction between tlie
country given to Israel for possession, and that granted for
dominion* On the vexed questions of the Millo of Solomon^
he ha^ the following remark: —

• There WAS prdbably a pjihUc hmld'mg called Millo, givinpf its name to, or
deriving; its name from, the p(tri of the citt/ iihere it stood; which was
crossec^ by the motunif (amXij^fia) erected bv Solomon fnr the purpose men-
tioned in tbe text. lieth-Mdbi, where Juajih was slain, 2 Kings xii, 20,
would be this house of assembly ; tvbieb ivns *' at the ffoinff down of Sitia, **
. . . Now it is wartliy of remark, that tbe mirth uull of Sion, which pro-
bably crossed Solomon's cattsewaij over the Ttfrppfjran, was, nccording to
Josephus, joined, as it approached the tctnple, tn the council-chamhcr
(jSovXjf ) .Jewish War, V, iv. 2, called othcnvlae ^ovktvr^^nov. VI. vi. 3, a
large piihlic luiUdhifj, where the arduveH, itc. were kept, ndjoiiiitig which wns
the Xystua, a. idace of pubtic n'*or/,' — Ibid* vol. i. p. 24, note*

It will probably surprise some readers to find the story of
Judith assigned to so early a period as the reign of Manasseh :
but the internal evidence of the bonk pcems to hear out this
view, which Mr. Williams has incorpurated into his narration.
The period from the Captivity to tbe death of Ilerod the llreat
is treated with a cleai^oesg and a compactness which will render
this chapter highly acceptable to the Biblical student, perplexed
with the more diffuse etatements of Pridcaux, Shuckford, and
others. Especial pains have also been bestowed on the secular
history of the period embraced by the Kcw TestameiiL Frora
the former period we extract the passage which relates the ^
origin of the Samaritan Tcmpdc on Mount Gerizim; — ^H

' The irregularities, which had been reformed with so ranch labour, re-
quired eoiiKtiiiit vigilance and active Ciire lo prevent iheiii from agiun
getting head. Even during the tciiipornry absence of Neheriaiib, who had
gone to Susa after an AbscJiec of twelve yenrs, to seek a reuewnl of hLj
commission, they bad tnkeii root in the very courts of God's house ; the
sacred precincts were polluted, the lithcH iind other sacred offerings witli*]
hcldj the sabbalhs desecrated, ftiid m.Mrringca again contracted Avith aliens.
These abuses be corrected with a strong hand; but on his removal by-
death, tho priests and people lapsed into their old evil pnunices. Then the
peace, which had been secured by the wise mcasurea of their civil andi
ecclesiastical rulers, met with a sad interruption from tbe violence
Jonathim, the grandson id' Eliasliib, who aicw his own brother Jesus Jii tb<
very Temple, while tbe tntier was atteinptinj» to supplant bim in liisi of!ic<
under the protection of the iVryian general Unstores, who, in revenge for
this murder, polluted the Temple and oppressed the Jews for seven years,

* Ibit ManasHcb, another brotlicr of the high ptiest Jonathan, ocoisiuncdj
greater mid more lasting mischief, bv his willid contempt of the Divia4
*>rcTumijec-s. Oiiring the life-time of Xchemiab he had taken lo vvife tin
thuigbter oj Sntibfithit, (d' Sivnmrin, for which olfcnce he was degraded frot
liie prieatliood. On die removal of Neheaiiah and Jonatlian be preauiiu
again to exeiclsc hia sncred office, under his nephew Jadim; which

Jerusalem,

461

olFended the prejudicea of liia countrymen, ivbo bad been effectually drawn
away from tbis probibited practice, by tbe eftrnest nibncmiticms of tbc pro-
phet Malacliif that he was required to divorce his Tiile, or to abstain from
tbe performance of bis sacerdotal fiiiictious. Unwilling to resign tbe
emoluments of hia office, but without any Hciise of its real value, be at first
proposed to embrace the former part of tbe alternative ; but bis fallier-iii-
fa»¥ proposed a measure by which be might retain both the priesthood and
his ivife.

* The Samaritans hairing been instructed by the Hebrew priests in the
law of the God of Israel^ had g^raftcd His worabip on to tbeir old id^Uatry.
lint tbeir polity was very im])crfect without a hig;h priest of the family of
Aaron ; and it ^vas probably a sense of ibis delect that bjid led tbeni to
proffer their servicer in rebuilding tbe temple at Jerusalem. Disowned by
the Jews, and all ailinity with tbeni beins; siriclly prohibited^ ibe desire of
revenge would furniah an additional motive to perpetuate the schism, which
they had in vain attempted to heal. To thia end it \vas necessary, as with
tbe heretics in early Christian times, to secure by all means the lawful suc-
cession of the priesthood. A favourable opportunity lor ctTceting: this whs
now presented. Sanballat undtTtook to raise his renegade s«n-iu4aw to
the highest dignity of tbe Samaritan secession, and to build bim a temple
on mount Gcriaim, which should rival or eclipse that at JeriiBftlem.

• Tbe simple design of church discipline is to correct or to dissever the

corrupt members ot the orthodox body. Tbe elTect baa frequently been to

diminish for a time the fnrccit of the fnitbful; hut purity will always ho

considered far more important than mere numerical strenofth in a spiritual

community. There were several among the priests and Lcvites who bad

imitated the practice of Manassehj in taking to themselves foreig^n wives :

it was nothing strange that tht^y should follow him in his schism. Thus

the temple on mount Gcrizim, erected by express permission of the civil

power, was consecrated under the auspices of this recreant band, with such

ceremonials as they had been accustomed to observe in their ministrations

at the Holy City, and the fire on its altars was doomed to burn long after

the ashes on tbe altar at Jerusalem had been scattered abroad for ever.

During the continuance of tbe Jewish polity "' thia mountain" became a

refuge to the disafrected members of the Jewish church, and a constant

subject of dispute and jealousy at home and abroad; and when their old

rivftls had been removed, the Samaritans turned their hatred against tbe

Christians, until their violence ealledi for the intervention of the emperor

yeno, who transferred to tbe Christians tbe Samaritan temple, in reprisals

for the ruin and desecration of five churchea in the city of Nablousc, In

the rei^ of Anastasius it was recovered for a abort time by the Saatnritans,

who were finally ejected by the emperor Justinian, when the rnounlain was

more strongly Ibrtified, many of the Samaritans converted to the faith of

Chrisff fi^d. the five clnircbes which they had destroyed rebuilt by th«y

munificence of tbe emperor/ — Ibid. vol. i, pp. 05 — G8.

The wanderings nnd the fortunes of tlic sacred utenslU of
the Temple, Ci^rned to Rome hy Tituji, are curious and interest-
ing; ^ut it is disappointing to find that we must not believe
them to bo Solomon's: —

* The articles earned in tbe procession, as specified by Josephiis^ who
wasi present at the triumph, were a massive Table of gold^ the golden
Candlestick i\ith its seven lamps, and the Law. But besides these wc
liave mention of the veils, and golden vessels; and the sacred trumpets
are still distinctly to be traced on the ruined arch. The subsequent history
of this sacred furniture is interesting. The golden vessels and instruments

II 2

462

Jerumlem,

were deposited in llie temple of Concord erected by Vespnsian ; the law
and tbc purple veils of the holy place were laid up in tlie imperinl palace.
In the reign of Hadrian the golden plate, engraven with the incommuni-
cftble Name, ^^hkh ftdorned the forehead of the high priest, was seen lit
Rome by Itabhi Ek'a^ar, the son of Joses, a contemporary of R. Akiba,

* In the twelfth year of the reigti of CoTumnduH (ad. 191), both the
temple of Concord aud the imperial pjulnce were burnt to the grouudj when
many of their curioua and eoslly treasures fella prey to the tlaraes. It
would, however, apj^ear that the sacred turniture of the temple at Jeru-
salem u*ia a^ftiii rescued from destruction ; for although there is* an un-
interrupted silence comreniing; it for s«mti ages, yet since in the fifth century
we find frequent and unheait fifing notices of it, we may well suppose that
it remained, during the interval, aecurely laid up in the treasury at Rome,
There it was accordingly found by Alaric, king of the Goths, in tlie sackiug;
of the city, a.d. 4 lo,

' Again, when Genscric, king of the Vandalfl, forty-five years later, plun-
dered the city, among the other spoils iihich he carried away in h\a
victorious gallies to Africa, were the holy vessels of the Jewish worship,
which were now translirred to Carthage, and there rem^iined nearly eighty
years, when the victory of Relisarins again restored them to the power of
the Romans.*— /6irf. vol. I pp. VJO, 191.

* Such as were recovered Jrom Carthage were carried with the Vandal
king GcUmer to Constantinople, to he again exhibited in a triumphal pro-
cesniou in the new capita! of llic Roman Empire, as they had been four
centuries and a half before at U<»me itself And here again we ha\e the
testimony of an eyc-fl itncss of the triumph, the very secretary, in fact, of
the conqueror. He mentions that a certain Jevv» having remarked these
sacred ves.seU among the spoils, expressed it ivs his opmion to one of the
emperor's fimilinr.'i, that they could not be brought into the palace at
Byzantium, without imminent risk, nor be sofeiy deposited anywhere but
At the place where Solomon had originally dedicated them. He reurcsented
that it was on account of these tliat Genseric had been permitted to take
the royal palace at Rome, and on account of these again tliat the Vandals
had been conquered by the Homans. The Emperor Justinian, awed by
these representations, immediately despatched them in all baste to the
Christian Churchca in Jerusalem; where we shall again find tbcin in the
course of this history.

* It ia an nufortiinntc circumstnnce for the Solomonic origin of these in*
t cresting relics, which had thus ]>:\ssed to Europe and Africa, that the
author of the Book of Maccabees distinctly mentions the complete spolia-
ti(m of the sacred trensnry at Jcrn-ialem,' by Antiochns Epiphanes, who
carried the spoils to Antioch, among which are specilied the golden cnndle-
atick, the table of shew-bread, tbc golden altar of incense, the fiagons and
vials, the golden censers and precious vessels, and the veils of fine linen
and scarlet. Nor can it be doubted that such sacred vessels as had re-
turned from Babylon, and such as had been dedicated by Ptolemy Phila-
delpbuSj fell into his hand ; for indeed it in expressly said, that *' ho
emptied the temple of its Kccret treasures, and left nothing nt all remain-
ing.*' Nor is there the slightest evidence that this sacred furniture vraa.
aubsequently restored. Judas Maccabeus, on the puritication of the temple
after its desecration, provided it with new vesscU, and attars and veils, and
these must have been they which were carried to Rome by Titus, and
wluKse various fortunes have now been followed.* — Ibid. pp. 191^ — 193.

I
I

Mr. Williams hti» not been able, any more tbnn previous
trnvellers, to satisfy Uiragelf of the site of Pclla, He has beei

Jerusalem,

40.1

hiore fortunate witK respect to Bethcr, tlie city in which the
son aud grandson of Barchodieb carried on, for nearly three
years, the resktance begun by their father to the Koman power;
the 81 te of it had hitherto ' been despaired of :*—

* It is & great sadsfaction to have it in ray power to determine beyond
rII (toubt Ibe site of this important position» which has sa long and bo
strangely baifled tbe search oi the curious*. I say strangrely, because its
situation in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, where Eiiscbiu3 has taugbt
us to look for it, tbe fact of its reliiiiiing its ancient name, entire!;} unaltered
— tpMch hat emn fotintl its watf lata t/i<' liUer maps^ and, lastly, the local
traditions existing among ihe imtive MabometauiJ — certainly not tAugbt,
because not known, by monks or travellers — contribute to form a chain of
evidence for its identity Btronger far tbau any I met with in I'aleatiue,
excepting such as 1 was prepared to expect. The importance of the subject
will, I trust, excuse tbe di^tresaion and minute detail.

* Having beard of tbe existence of a villas:e in the vicinity of Jenisalem,
whose name appeared of sufficient interest to Justify a visit, I took with
me a Mabomelan guide, a peaaant of 'A in Karim, and on Friday the 28th
of April, 1843, went in quest of Beitir. Leaving the Convent of tbe Crosa
and 'A in Malakh on tbe right, and Beit Safftfa and es-Sherafiit on the left,
I followed tbe deep Wady Hannieh, until, after passing tlie fountains of
Yalo and Wellejo, 1 found a valley miming into it from the leftT wbich
conieB dovin from the neighbourhood of Bt-it Jala. This last Wady derives
its name from the villas^ of which I waa in quest, standing at the point of

juncture of tbe two vaUeya. The first feature that attracicd my attention
as I approached the spot^was a lofty bill projecting into the vaUey, wliich
surrounds it on three sides, attacbed io the modern village by n rocky
isthmus. On Ibis bill my guide pt/mlcd out Khirbet ei-Ythud (the ** Ruinn
of the Jews"), tif which be had volunteered mention on the road. Follow-
ing a track down which a copious Htream of water waa tiowing, I came to
a foiintain which rises above the village, Imving a passage cut through the
solid rock to the Hource. In this passage I found the Sheikh of tbe village,
and immediately ei^gaged his aervicea. On inquiring if there viere ruins in
tbe neighbourhood, the Sbeikh and several villagers who had congregated,
with one voice repeated tbe welcome words ^' Kbirbet el-Vebfid," pointing
to the hill over against us. Under the guidance of the Sheikh I ascended
to it, passing on ibe way some large caverns in its rocky sides, in some of
wbich he said there was architecture ; but they were blocki^d up, and I
could not explore them. On rcaciiing the summit of tbe hdl, my guide
conducted me, without the slightest hesitatiuu, to tbe ruins of ♦' a tower**
on tbe north, near which he pointed out the remains of an '• old wall,"
which be told me had surrounded the bill, '["here was also a *• second
tower " cm the south side, the rnins of which are very distinct, though the
masonry is not atrikiiig, but solid j and beneath this be directed ray atten-
tion to " a ftisscj' which bad been contrived by art for the fortification of
this remarkable ponitiam Surrounded by the almost precipitous valley on
three sides, tbe hill was by nature impregnable, except on tlic south,
where, as was said, it was attached to the modern village and the mouotiiin
region above it, by a rocky isthmus. This isthmus had been cut through^
and a detp trench formed, to guard tbe approaches in that quarter ; and a
stronger position for ancient warfare can scarcely be imagined, Having
explored tbe spot for some time, and made my notes, I was well satisfied
with the result of my visit, and was about to commence the descent, when
tbe Sheikh pointed to tbe hills behind the modern village, rising to about
the same height as that on which we stood, and remarked, *'Tbey shot at

464

Jerusalem,

them from t!mt hill/' " Who ahot at whom ?" I inquired. *« Oh ! I don't
know/' he replied ; " it was a long wbile ago. How should I know?" '—
Ihh/, vol. i. pp. 200—212.

' I do not npprcbcivd that any objections can avail to set Ji^ide the
evidence vkhitth has now been ndduccd for the identity of this site with iht
Bcther of Jewish history; and I have aa little doubt that the high re^oo
to the south of thia, which I iifterwarda traveraed on the way to El KbtUr,
is dci^cribcMl by SoUimon in the Canticles us the ** Mountaina orUeiher,"
nK the vuilcy which bounds it on the east i» still called by that name,*—
/Aj<^. pp. 212, 213,

The persecution at ^Elin, in the time of Diocletian, introdu(

a curious anecdote : —

* During the heat of the persecution, five Eg'vptiAns who had
p.mied some of their hrelhreii to the mines in Cilina, while on their
tu their own country, were apprehentletl at the p^ales of Caesarea, and cm
niitted to prison; the chief of these, in his exaniinaliou before the juds
was questioned as to bia name. He had nijsumed, instead of his
Ufime, the appellation of one of the old prophets, to represent, as
liisit>rian wriiCH, *• that he hclongrc*! to the true and genuine Israel of G(
those who are Jews inwftrdly," lie was next fjucstioned as to his country.
** Jcrnsftlcm ia my country/" una the reply, meaning that Jentsalem of
which St* I'nul speaks, *' but Jerusalem which is ahovc, is free, which ia
tlie mother of us all ;" and " ye arc come to mount Sion, and unto the city
fjf the hvin;!; God, the heavenly Jerusalem/' The juilg^e, havinsr never
heard of sneh a city, was very imjuisitive aa to its situation, and tortures
■were applied to elicit the truth. Tlie courageous martyr persisted in
declaration, nnd added monovcr that ** it was their country only who w<
Cad's worshippera ; none but tliey should enter it, and it was sititAt
cttelward towarda the sun-risinar, *' No tornicnta could shake hia rc8oluti<
imd he was delivered over to the executioner,

* The narrative is iuMtrnctivc as demonstrating, first, how entirely tl
very memorial of the ancient name of TElia had perished, when it was
strange to the Roman procurator of Palestine, that he thought it muflt
a city which the Christians Mere erecting in defpince of the Governmenij
and secondly, as proving how fully the Chriatran's mind was imbued v^il
the persuasion that the earthly type had been superseded by the heavenl
reality/— /i^rW. vol. i. pp. 233,*23i.

Gladly would wc fallow Mr. WilliRrns, did our limits admij
of it, through the interesting: period of Church Councils and
Imperial endowments of the Holy City; or trace with him lis
cheep lered fur tunes under Persian, Siiraccnic, and Frank dotui*
nlon. Tlie appeanince, however, on the satne pajie, of two
nanie^j great in the half-fable, half-history of the West and of
the East, is too tempting to be passed over. Two worlda of
romance seem to touch one another in the persons of Charle-
magne and Ilanin cr-Raschid : —

^ The strong and impartial admitiistratiou of the Khalif uho now held
sway in the East, alforded some relief to the faithful. Indeed, the reia^i of
llarun cr-llashid (ad. 780— SCO) is a bright spot in the dark annals of
Icrusalcm's hiatory under the Abhassidc Khahls, and presents to us t|
two moat powcrftd monarehs of the West and of the East, a Christiuu

Jtrusakm*

4G5

n Musselmfln, kiiowii to each other only by report, united in bomk of
.amity by the luiitoal veoeratioii whicli their respective chatActers inspired.

* The biographer of Charlcmji«^nc represents that the friendship of Harim
the Juat was 8o liighly valued by the monarch of the West^ that he pre-
ferred it to the alliance of all the kings and princes in the whole world,
and judged him alone worthy to he treated with distinction. The first
advances were made by the western prioce, whose principal desig^n waa to
afford some alleviation to the miseries of the Christian subjects of the
infidel rulers* His merciful ])urp*>sc was not frustrate<i, thotig:h it was
some years before be learnt the good succeas of hia undertaking,' — IbiJ.
vol. i. pp. 331, 332.

A Becontl, but widt^ly difterCTit instance of Eastern and
Western contact, is furnished by the fitmons case of Cyril
Lucar. A native of Candia, but of European education^ he
had conceiTed a strong liking for the Lutheran and Calvinistic
comiiumloiis ; and when he had afterwards risen to be Patriarch
of Constantinople, lie took upon him to set forth, as the belief
of his Chttrch, Ins own private opinions, involving some of the
graveat errors of the reformed bodies. This cour.Ke, imltappily,
had the effect of drawing forth from the Eastern Churcli counter
decrees, in inucli more precise hvnguagc than she had hittierto
adopted ;— to the adoption, indeed, in some instances, of the
peculiar terms of Koman theology ; though these are ex-
plained iJi a restricted or modified sense in other portions
of her formularies. Cyril liimself was ingeniously relieved
from the anathema of Jiis own Church, by tlic cxjjcdient
of ruling that he waa not the author of the heretical con-
fession ascribed to him. From this period (1672J dates the
anathematisation of Luther and Calvin, * with all who follow
their pernicious novelties;* a clause which, we need not
say, hajipily touches not the English branch of the Church
Catholic. We will conclude this division of the subject with a
word on the more recent and the prospective fortunes of Jeru-
salem. Napoleon found Acre cjuite as near to it as he cared
to come: —

* Flis characteristic reply to a proposal to \isit Jerusalem on his march
up the coast, declares at once its insignificuncc in a military view, and big
interest in its sncred associations ; ** Jerusalem does not enter into my line
oC operation/*

* The city has since shared the fortunes of Syria, widiout having in any
way guided them, or being matcrifdly affected by them. It passed into
possession of Moljammcd-Ali iu 1832, and wns restored to the Ottoman
power after the memorable bombardment of Acre, in Nov. 1810; h.ivinc;
iu the interim sutfered the dishonour of n capture from the undisciplined
Fellahin — the **boId peasantry" of Palestine^ who held possession of it
for some daya» It has latterly enjoyed the distincrion of a resident Fasha^
instead of beinjf subject, as before, to the pashalic of Damascus ; but since
the united wisdom of Europe has tboi»f»^ht fit to destroy despotism and
restore anarchy in the coiujtry, it \r.\n experienced, an may he supposed, a
queslioimble secuFity ; the liautiuillily of which la liable at uny inomeiit to

466

Jermahttu

be disturbed by the lawless sheikhs of the country, whose violence Ibrahim
Pashii was alone able to repress by the terrors of the sword. Within the
bwt three years, Mustafa Abu Ghoosh, erne of the most powerful chiefs in
the country, having^ waylaid and murdered two p^overnment olficers, had
the insolence to threaten an attack on the Holy City, if ihe impotent Pasha
attempted to resent the injury or to restrain the farther outbrenks of hia
lawless violence. So low has she now fallen who defied for montba the
arms of Imperial Rome!' — Ibid. vol. i, pp. 451, 4j.^>,

' England baa already shown what she can and what she will do in the
East. She spread the wings of her protection^ to adopt the Frenchman*
comparison of the vulture — ^over the persecuted Jews at Damascus, because
Ihey were friendless and oppressed ; and if she did light upon Mount
LeliAnou for a while, it tTfts that she mig-bt defend the lives and liberties of
the Maronitefli endangered by the fury of the Druses, or the bigotry of the
Turks ; and this she did for the name of Christ which they bore, Ibotigb
she knew them to be the stanchest Romaniiita in the \vorld. She procured
for the Syrian Jacobites an order for the restoration of six churches and
monasteries between Damascus and Aleppo* which the Latins, aided by
their French allies, had unjustly seized; and that not from enmity against
Home or France, still less from sympathy with Monophysite heresy, but
as an act of justice, which had been grosaly outraged. Thia is the gauge
of England's policy in the East. She will protect the weak against their
oppressors, without respect of persons. She will procure the administm
tion of even-handed justice to all ahkc, aa far as her iuHuence extenda.
Nay, she has done much more.

• Acting through the moral weight of her ambassador to tbe Porte,
whose uncompromising firmness and irreproachahie uprightness command
the respect, while they provoke the hatred, of the most corrupt court in
ihe world, slic has broken down the mighty barrier of Mohammedan pre-
judices, and cast an Eegia over all the Christians of the East, beneath which
they may henceforth enjoy full liberty of conscience, free from the terrors
of penal statutes; and she will use all her endeavours that those mcrcifiil
enactments be respected ia their fullest meaning. This is ivhat England
has done; this is what, by God's help, she will continue to dof and woe
to those who attempt to check her while she holds on in this course
Rather let the other nations of Europe mutate her enlightened policy; and
if the baLnncc of power can only be maintaioed by upholding the integrity
of the Ottoman Empire, at least let them provide that its protracted exist-
ence occasion no detriment to the Christian name, nor hinder the progress
of that Faith to whicli they owe all the superiority, moral, rtiligioua, and
pohtical, which they now enjoy over that power which was once the terror
of the world.' — Uid, vol. i, pp'. 460, 4G1,

The most interesting topographical questions connected with
Jerusalem nre thoae which coiicerti tlic site of the Holy Sepulchre,
of the Crucifixionj'of ihe Ascension, and of the Pools of Bethesda
and Siloam ; and, in connexion w^ith the Old Testament, the
exaci site of the Temple, the Causeway of Solomon, and the
Pools named after him and llezekiah. In subordination to
these arise several minor, but by no nican» iminiportant subjects
of inquiry ; such m tlie course of the ancient walla ; the situ-
ation of partieiihir hills, urates, and towers; the course of the
Tyropceau Valley, wliich divides the city midway; tive archi-
techiral phases through which the site and entourage of the

Jentsalenh

467

Holy Sepiilclire have readied that which thcj now present :
and again, in retbrcncc to the Temple, &a the site of the for-
tre*?8 Antouia; the account to be given of the Mosk^el-Aksa,
lying southward of the Temple; and the orip^in and connexion
of all the waters in and about Jerusalem,

For the benefit of the uninitiated in the difliciilties which
beset these inquiries, it should be observedj that from the middle
ages downwards, the topof^raphj of Jerusalem hv^ been in a
moi«t grievous and inextricable state of confusion. Mr. Williams
gives us a lively account of some of the earlier attempta to pre-
aent a faithful portraiture of it : —

* The earliest cndraivoura to picture the sacred pkces of the Holy City,
and to aid the dtis^criptions nf trnvcUers, which, houevcr graphic, must
alwaj's fiiil to coqvcv an adequate idea of the rcaliiiest were aa rude as the
Bcience of eugmeerhii^ and the art ot eng ravin pr. The ivordiy aiithors, who
seem never to havo eontenjplated the poMsihihty of illusUnting their
subject by plans, had rccuurae to bird'a-eye views, according to ihe con-
ventional modes of drawing employed before the lawa of perspective were
developed, and which certainly contrived to embrace all that was most
imporlaiu, but did not serve to convey a very accurate itlca of the places
pourtraveil, inasmuch as the ttjpographieal and architectural dctaik were
ttirtiireti, to render the couiJ-efwit as complete and imposiag as possible.
Breydcnbach challenges to himself the first place fur this kind of illustra-
tion ; his general view of the city from the Mount of Olives, and the more
detiiiled drawings of particular buildings, arc works of great merit, much
more free from the errors and defects just noticed than many BHbsequent
productions.

* The most unfortunate of all the illustrations of this chftracler, were the
attempts to restore the ancient City, of whose signal failures the works of
Adrichomius, Villilpandus, Lighifoot, and others, contain the lasting
memoriala. Neither did Quaresniins improve upon these rough gnesaes,
as his intimate acquaintance with the City might have enabled him to dn ;
and anch was the authority acquired by these absurd viewi^, that so lately
as 1841, a beautiful reprint of the plan of Adrichomios, with its full com-
plement of fanci fid hills and valleys and impossible hridgey, was re-edited
at Uruaseln, by a learned dignitary of the Belgian Clmrch, and actually

ound a trumpeter in a French writer who had visited Jerusalem,' — Ibid,
vol. 1. Mem. pp. 3, 4.

A map of the world after Herodotus or Scylsix, ia nothing
to a plan of Jerusalem according to Villalpandua or Li^^htfoot.
The ingenuity with which the father of hiatory makes the Nile
flow parallel to the Danubej is exceeded by the stranjjenesa of
the sites which have been assigned to IMount Zion. Lightfoot

E laces it in the north-cast corner of the city ; thus making the
iower City higher than the Upper^ which stood on Zion. Dr.
Clarke transplants it across the southern valley of Hinnoiu.
Lightfoot again malcca the Tyropocan valley run due east and
west, instead of nearly due north and south ; the Ephraim Gate,
according to his placing of it, would lead atiy where but to

468

Jerumtem*

Ephraiiu; and Solomon's 'ascent' runs do wnlilll. The follow-
ing descriptioit will help to clear the reader's mind oF these
confusions :—

' Tbe Eaatcrit wall of tlie City, facing Mount Olivet, is the most direct of
the four sides. Its lenf^lU is 2790 feet, of which more thau half (1525 feel)
oil the aoutli is occupied by the Hnram, or area of the Great Mosk. Thia
wall ovcrhang^s the steep brow of the Vidlcy of Jclioshnphat, which con-
tinues its upward course to the north, some distance beyond the north-
cast angle of the city, expanding p^radunlly us it riaej*; then turning sharply
to the west it runai up to the ttmibs of the Kings. Below the south-east
angle of the wuU, this valley iiicUiies slightly to the west, narrowing into
a deep goryje between the ridge of OpheT and the Mount of Oflfeiice, wHicb
is that continuation of Mount Ohvet in ^^hose rocky side is excavated the
vilittjre of Silonni. South of this, the contracted valley aj^ain opens into a
small plain, formed by the concurrence of two other vaileys, which we
must next trace up to their oonimencenient. The more marked and better
known of these iB the Valley Ben-Hinnom, ^vhich following^ a serpentine
course from this quarter, encircles tbe city on the south and west, where
it expands into n plain around tbe Birket Mamilla. The third valley
between the tvvo just described, (it must at present be anonymous) [The
Tyropoaan] runs iu a northerly direction through the city, and opens into
a smaH plain without the Uamnscus Gate. In the mouth of ihiii valley
the Pool of Siloam is situated.

♦ Tlie southern part of the ridf^e between the Valley of Jehoshaphnt and
the intermediate valley, is universally allowed to be tbe Temple Mount,
and the southern part of the broader ridge, bctw een the latter valley and
that of Minuomj is generally conceded to be the Hill of iiion.

* To proceed noiv with the walls. From the iiortb-enst angle of the City,
nearly lo the Damascus G^te (22QO feet) the course of the northern wall is
almost due west ; then verging some points to the south, over a high rocky
ridgCf it reaches the brow of the Valley Beu-llinnom,^ at the north-west
angle of the City, ISJUO feet from the Damascus Gate. Hence, taking a
so»ab-caaterly tlircclion from the Valley Ben-llinnom, 878 feet to "the
Jalfii Gate J then due south t(> the soulb-west aiip^le, (1-100 feet) it bisects
Mount Siun from west to east, and continues in nn irregular line, with the
Kamc general bearing to the south-east angle; the mcrifurc of this side is
:)720 feet : ranking tbe whole circuit of the modern walls 1 2,978 feet, or
'VS'K} yardu, nearly two milen aud-n-balf. 'ITie ualls mny be said brutuUy
to face the four ciirdiiinl points ; and the situation of the lour gates towards
the same quarters ivill much simplify the description of the City.' — Jbid^
vol. ii. pp. 8 — 10.

The diffictdty raised by Dr. Robinson about the reputed sito
of the Holy St*pulchrc niuy be thus stated. We ha\e had
occasion to obt*erve that the City lies, and anciently did lie,
on the \vlH>ie, fuur-.Hquarc. That statcnient ahould be corrected
aa retripecta the nnt^ient city, by saying that it was a square with
a small square cut out at one corner (viz, the north-west); of
the i?hai»c, in fact, of the figure which Euclid calls *a gnomon.'
ISuch, at least, is the supposition upon which the received site
of the Holy Sepulchre proceed:*. That i^itc occurs in the litlFo
excluded :5quare alluded to, uud ihues answers the reqiiireiuent

Jcntmlem*

469

of tlie ScFiptui'c, by being ' witliout the gate.' But Dr, Robin5?oii
iiiuliitiims tbiit tbe little square was anciently included witbiii t!ie
walls. If 30^ talit argumentam et couMquenltai the rc|mtc(l site
is then tcithtn tbe lincicnt walls, and tbcrcfore cannot be that of
the Holy Sepuk'brc. The form, then, which tbe question be-
tween Dr. Robin ;?on and his anf agonist a-sunieis is this: At what
point does tbe northern wall of Jcriianlcni, ai? it runs westward,
bend to tlie south nnd drop into the northern boundary of
ilount Zion?— for Mount Zton, it is agreed by both parties,
occupies tbe south-west quarter of the great tiquarc. Now
Josephua has spceificd certain spots in connexion with the
junction of tbe walls; such as the Hippie Tower and the Gate
Gennath. Tliese, therefore, arc the keys of the position, and
arc hotly contested accordingly. Then afj^ain, Dr, Robinson is
necessitated to «how that Aera, which certainly filled up all the
region of the city north-west of the Temple, covered so much
ground, and extended go far westward, as his view makes it.
The TyropiTan Vallc}^ again, which certainly, in some sense,
separatx^d Zion from Aera, must needs, if Dr. Robinson be
right, have curved sharply round to tlie west, and run north of
Zion. In endeavouring to prove his points. Dr. Robinson gets
into difficulties at every turn. By a variety of arguments
founded on the language of Josephus, on incidents in the siege,
and on local facts, Mr. Williams satisfactorily refutes him. The
Gate of Gennath, where Josepbus says the wall from the north
dropped into that of Mount Zion, is proved to have been loo
far east for Dr. Robinson: (he Acra of Josepbus corresponds
very ill with tbe ridge he (Dr. R.) would identify wltti it;
neither is there, nor was there ever, a valley between Zion and
that rtdgc at all 'J'he upshot is, that no cause is shown for con-
sidering that tbe reputed site of the Holy Sepulchre was within
the ancient walls of Jerusalem. As far, therefore, as this par-
ticulur objection goes, it maintains its authenticity. The true
position of tbe Tyropoean Valley is thus clearly put: —

• TImt Iho chnracter of this broad vallcv, so conspicuous a feature in tbe
topogrnpliy of tlie present City as to frirce itself upon the notice of nil
travellers, aiisiiverjrt lo the description of tbe Tvrnpfjeon of Jnscpbua, will
Already have appeared, not more from my ofl n notices than from the cita-
titjn3 viliich have been made from no friendly uriters, and from the impar-
tial testimony of the Anibic historian, who names llie street that traverses
the whole Icnjjth of this valley, tlic " Street of ibe Mill- Valley." It extends
from the Dnmascns Gate on the north, to the Pool of Siloam on Ihe soutli
of the city; it divides the modem city in two parts, aa tbe Tyropceon did
the ancient, having oa the west the bipjli hill of Kion, and the dedivity of a
still higher ridge ; and on the east a lower hill which I call Acra^ joined at
the south lo ibc Temple* Mount

• It must neviT be fur^otten that Jenisalem wns originnlly two distinct
cities united to;jcthcr by Uavid. The intermediate space, or the Valley uf

Jermcdem,

471

the Em|>eror, Charles V. ; and the Sultuii, Sulyiiiaii II. ; join
hands in llie work of encasing and adorning it. * It is not longe

* eithen the Sepulcre was alle open, that Men itiyghtc kiase it
*and touche it. But for Filgrynics, that conien ihidrc, peyned

* hem to breke the Ston in peces or in poudre, therfore the

* Soudan hathe do make a Walle about the Sepulcre, that no

* man may towclie it,' ia Mandeville*s aecount of the abuse, and of
an earlier attempt to remedy it. Finally, in 1808, a most tcrriMc
fire destroyed a great part of the existing Cliurch of the Holy
Sepulchre, and raged with especial fury round the Sepulchre
itself. But it turned to a testimony to what souic had doubted,
yiz, *tlie existence of the native rock within the marble cai*ing.'

* The heat itas so excessive thai the marble columns which Burrounded
the circular buildiiFZ, in the centre of which stood the sucred g:rotta, were
completely pulverised. The lamps and chiindcliers, with the other vessels
of the Church, — bmsHj and silver, and g;ok!,— were melted hke wax; the
molten lead from the immense dome vihich covers the Holy Sepulchre
poured down in torrents ; the C'hnpel erected by the Crusaders oa the top
of the monolith was entirely cousumed ; lialf the nruftmeutal banginga in
the Hirte-chnipel of the Augel were scorched; but the Cave itself, though
deluflred with \\ sljovver of lead, and buried in a mountain of fire, received iiut
the slightest injury internally ; the silk hnngiuEj^ and the painting of the
Resurrection rcmftining, in the midnt of the volcanic eruption, unscathed by
the flame, the smell id fire not having pasacd upon tliem.

'Thiis were disappointed the expectations of Dr. Clflrke, ^\ho sonic years
nTtcr his visit, heard of this nccident with peculiar satistaction, expecting
that the imposture would be ihercby unmasked/ — Ibid, vol ii. pp. 88, 89.

We have already inentioned the very able paper in which
Professor Willis has elucidated 1 lie arehiteetiiral history of the
Church of the Holy Sepidclire. He lias reconstructed, with a
clearness and facility peculiarly liis own, the s^ticcestiive nppcar-
anceg, five in nuniberj of tlic Chtirch ; and seems perfectly to
have exhausted nil that cnn be^iaid on the subject. Jti particu-
lar, the Holy Scpulclirc is cleared from aome of the nioi<t plau-
sible objections which had been raised a^aiiijit it. It had been
thought infinitely improbable that the Emperor Constantine
should, as deposed by S. Cyril in his Lcct tires, have pared
away the surface of the rock all round alxuit tlie Holy Sepul-
chre, leaviuf^ it iij)stnnLling in the manner of a gnttto, an isolated
fdkulti. But Mr. Willis, fir:?t of all, shaws that the tomb of
Absalom, in the Valley of Kedron, Avaa in its main features just
such an example,

♦ It iifTords to us, dose to the walla of Jerusalem, an example of the very
Bislcm vhich appears to have been pursued by the architccta of Constun-
tine in the decoralion of the Jtoly Scpulrhrc; with this diflcrence, that in
ihii latter case, the cave hfid existed \uv centuries before they bosrari their
external operations; wlitrcas in iho former ease, the chamber and the ex-
ternal form were prohably parts of one design. Moreover, Con^tantinn
clothed the r.H'k w ith an nriificiAl casing of rich niArblc, and in our r*^"

472

Jerusalem.

example, the oniamentB are worked out of the solid limeaioiie. But ihey
encli exMbitan example of the tk'tacliiu^ of n complete monolitllik represen-
tation ijfa structure, by the levelliiijr avvay of (lie origi"^^ ^<^^^ ^"^ ^'1 sides.
The unmerciful ridiciife and contempt which liiis been cast upon those whu
have ventured to suppose such a process possible, in the case of the Holy
Sepulchre, is at once disposed of, by tlma showing that examples of thia
process exist in the immediate neighbourhood of Jeruaalcm ; for the tomb
of Zachariah is exactly formed iu the same mftiiuer. And whatever may
be the age of these works, they certainly are prior to the time of Constan-
tine. But away from Jerusalem there arc many exurapleg, especially in
Aaift Minor, Robinson also found " Hcverai isolated monuments, the coun-
terparts of the mouolithic tombK in the Valley of Jehosaphat " at Fetrtt.'—
Ibid. vol. ii, pp. 159, I GO.

Then, iigain, after largely lllustratliip; the nature anil varying
arranf^ementa of Jewish rock-tt^mbs* lie proves, with the aid of
LeautifuUy clear sections and elevations, that the Holy Sepul-
chre was originally excavated out of the face of a cliflF, liko
other totnba ; and that the rock luis achmlly been pared away
on every side to the full depth, tind tnore, of the altitude of the
rocky cave ; as appears by the fltct, that at the western end of
the present Church, the rock is upon a level with the triforiuau

The alleged site of our Lord'ti Crucifixion is included, as is
well known, in the Church of tlie Holy Sepulchre. This^ at
first wight, might seem to bespeak the selection of the spot an
arbitrary one, made merely Avith a view to embracing the two
localities under one roof. But it is doubl ful, perhap?, whether
both the sites itere includetlin the original * Martyrium/ as
Constan tine's f^roup of buildings round about the Sepulchre
was called. Ihe hmgiiagc of S, C}'ril, in whose catechetical
Lecttiresj delivered in that Church, frequent mention is made of
* Golgotha/ seems sometimes to give that name to the region in
which the Church was situated; and, if it once speaks of Gol-
gotha as 'a rock, rising on high/ it may well be understood to
place it outside the Churclu This is the more likely, because in
Modestus's reatcn-atjona of the Holy sites after the Persian de-
vastation, it is certain that distinct churches were erected over
the Sepulchre and the rock of Golgotha, which would hardly
have been done had the faithful hitlierto been accustomed to have
the two sites before their eyes in the one Church of the Kesur-
rection. Mr. Williams, however, takes it for granted, and
Professor Willis thinks it probable, that they were so included.
However this be, S. Cyril's words prove *the tradition relating
*to the Crucifixion to be probably as old as that of the Holy
' Sepulchre,' What degree of credit we are to attach to the
foot-hole shown a.M that in winch the Cross of our Lord was
actually inserted, is another question : for ourselves, we are
disposed to think that the tradition disfigures nnd tends to
discredit the more simple, and probably genuine one, as to

Jerusalem.

473

Golj^otliu itself. The holes for the other two crosses are shown
with equal confidence nt a most improbably small illsfance to the
light and left, and help further to discrotlit the tnulitiuD as to
the first aperture. The ajjpropruition of these uperturea seems
to belong to the period between Constnntinc and ^lodestus.
And it appears to us probable that another curious tmdition waa
based upon this one, and therefore ia subsequent to it. Wc
have already spoken of the old Rabliinical belief, that Jerusalem
was the centre of the world. A later and Christian develop-
ment of this tradition {first mentioned by Dernardus, a.d. 870J,
fixes the exact central spot j it is called t!ie Cuinpas, {Le* com-
pass, circle,) and occurs in tlie clioir of the [)resent Church of
the Holy Sepulchre. We are not aware that :uiy attempt has
been made to account for its exact pt^sition. In the present
Church it stands unsymmetrically. Saiwulf, however, describing
the Church wliich the Crusaders found over the Holy Sepulchre,
say a ;^

* y^/l the head of the Ch iircli of the Sepiilclire, in ifie oufer waf!, not far from
Culvarv, is the place callutl Campasy utierc thu Liird indicated *ulh Lis own
Imiid tlic ccnlre uf the world, as the PsalniiHt v\itni:ssfa, " For God is my
Kiu^ nf old, working salvation in the midst ut' the carth.-'—Earl^ Travt'ljt,
&c, i*Li sufK

From this description it seems that the enstem apse of this
church terminated exactly at the particular 8pot which had tlio
rcimtation of beiag the centre of the world. And Professor
Willis's conjectural restoration of the yet earlier round Church
of ^lodestusj which Arculfus found there* and which Hakeni
destroyctl, also makes the * Compaa ' coincide with the eastern
apse of the circle. Whence then this quaint traditi(m, so scrti-
pulously regarded in some of the earlier, though comparatively
neglected in tlie later architectural adornments of the sacred
loc4ility ? Now, it is remnrknhle tliat the spot called * Compas/
only marked now l>y a circular glab, h exacthf equidhtmit between
the centre of the ilohf xSepuiekre and the hole tchere the Cross is said
to hare been erected* We conceive, then, that the earlier archi-
tects, not being equal to bo great an undertaking as that of in-
cluding the two sites under one roof, a feat which the Crusaders
were the first to accomplish, hit upon this expedient. Pro-
phecy having deckred, in their view, that the jilace where the
work of man's Kedemption should be wrought out wouUl be the
middle of the earlh, and the sites of the Crucifixion and llesur-
rcction, the two great co-ordinates in that process, being at
some distance apart from each other, tlie exact geocentric ]Hjint
mnst be midway between them ; and if that point were included
witliiu their structure, they might in some sense be said to have
com|*rehended within it the divinely-ordainc:! site of both the
great mysteries. They acconlingly measured along the axis of

474

Jerusalem,

their proposed church, i.e. from west to east, to such an equidis-
tant pointj and limited the bujlding to that lengtlu Such a
process, doubtless, appears strange to ua; but it is in entire
accordance with the fancy which elicited the idea of such a geo-
centric point at all out of the text alleged. The later architects,
having united both the actual sites under one roof, would have
less occasion to pay regard to the i^pot which had obtained this
conventional distinction. Mn Willis haa noticed a somewhat
fiimiliu* cqiiidif^tancc to that which hag juat been described. He
finds the diBtance from the middle of the altar of the Sepulchre
to the foot-hole of the Cross to be 143 feet; and from that foot-
hole to the centre of the apse in the Chapel of the Invention,
143 feet also. As to the relative position of the Sepulchre and
tlie place of the Cross, we think Mr. Williams hag well and
simply elucidated it by the observation, that * it is not necessary

* to suppoi^e the Crucifixion to have taken place *'in the gar-

* den," It waa probably a public thoroughfare without the city

* wall ; and the traveller in Syria and Palestine will see nothing

* forced in the conception, that the garden fence might have

* passed between the two eite^^.'

The alleged site of the Ascension of our Lord has been suc-
cessfully vindicated by our author from Dr. Robiuison's decision
against it as * unquestionably false ;' and lie oifers the most sa-
tlflfactory solution we have njet with of the apparent discrepan-
cies in the Groajiels as to the distance of Bethany from Jerusalem.

The pools of Bethesda and Siloani, and the whole of the
waters in and about the temple, are topics J'ull of interest, and
Mr, Williams has much curious matter respecting tliem; but we
nmst content ourselves, though unwillingly, with referring the
reader to his pages.

The last aubject which we can make any comtnent upon is the
important one of the site of the temple. It is admitted on all
hands, in general terms, that the successive temples at Jerusalem
occupied the rectangular oblong platform on which now stauda
the edifice eommunly called the Moak of Omar, more correctly

* the Dome of the Kuck ;' a name derived from the Sakbrah, or
fiucred rock within it, honoured by the Moslems. The oblong
platform in question is elevated some feet above the level
of the outer court. The first point of interest which Mr. ^Vil-
linms has, with the highest probabiUty, established is, that tins

fdatform, as to its breadtli, from east to west, perhaps in it^
eiigtli also, is the actual site of the inner Temples of Ilerod
and of Solomon ; and thnt the rock venerated by the Moslems
is identical with the * pierced ruek ' of the Jews, and so marka
the site of the brazen altar before the porch of the Temple. Thia
result is established |jy a comparison of the measurements sup-

Jerusalem.

475

plied by the Mlshna and Josepbus, with existing dimenalonft.
Much greater difficulty ia presented by the outer area or court
of the luosk, the breadth of whieli exceeds its length by some
570 feet, or more than half; whereas, according to the consen-
tient testimony of the Middoth (a tract on * Diraensions,' in the
Miishna) and Josephus, the area of the Temple waa a square.
But even this is not the whole difficulty. The latter authority
al«o assigns a much shorter length to each side of the square
area than modern measurements can by any possibility reduce
even the shortest of the existing sides to. And never did mathe-
maticians labour harder to square the circle than Dr. Robinson
and ifr. Williams to square the area of the Temple* The latter
gives utterance to some despairing sentences of lamentation
over the insuperable difficulty. We are happy to have it in our
power to propound what appears to us to be an all but com-
plete solution of the perplexity. And first as to the length
assigned by Jo;*ephus to each side of the square. We are
convincedj then, from a caretul re-examination of the passages
which have been relied upon in Josephus. that their meaning
is other than has been supposed. First of all, the passage (Ant.
XV. xi. 3), which states so distinctly that each side of the
square temple area was a stadium, (608 feet,) is most certainly
not intended to describe Herod's, but Solomon n Temple; as a
careful examination of the whole text will show. Secondly,
we entirely side with Dr. Robinson in believing, that when
Josephus says that Agrippa i*aised the outer temple wall ei^
Terpafcotriov^ 7n};3^€t«r, (Ant, viii. iii. 9, and xx. ix. 7j) he means
400 cubits in altitude, and not in length; though we once thought
otherwise. It is doubtless ' a hyperbolical expression of the his*
* torian, easily to be paralleled from other parts of his account of
'the Temple.' The depth from the bottom of the valley is of
course included. Had he meant 400 cubits in length, would he
not have said a stadium — as he does in the passage just referred
to — it being within two cubits of that measure? Thus then are
disposed of three of the passages alleged. There only remaina
that in which it is said that the E-oyal Portico on the south
was a stadium in length. (Ant. xv. xi. 5.) But in strictness
this is only said of the aisks of the portico : the central ambu-
latory may have been longer, as we know it was of double the
height of the aisles, and half as broad again. But admitting
the three alleys to have been of equal length, and thei'cfore that
the length of the entire portico was only a stadium, the entire
Bouthern boundary of the Teniple may still have been much mure
than a stadium. Joseplms indeed says that the portico extended
from valley to valley, so that it could go no further; but this we
can prove to be a figure of speech ; for at the eastern end of it

NO. LXVI, — N.9. K K

476

Jeviisakm,

wag a gate — the gate of the causeway — of such magnitude that
a tower was built upon it in the Bhge. The Golden Gateway,
wc know, was some 60 feet in length. We suppose j then, that
thia and other additions at either end of the portico filled up
the interval between it and the valleys. But there is yet an
argument by which it is seen to be impossible that Josephus
should mean to limit the area of Jlerod'e Temple to a stadium
square. He tells ua that that area w^as double the aren- of Solo-
mon's*: if so, the side of the latter area, suppofting it also a
square, w;is a little less than 430 feet long. But the platform
on which the inner Temple of Solomon stood was 550 feet by
450 feet, as Mr, Williams gives it, from Mr. Catherwoocrs mea-
Buremcnts; which is a clear reduciio ad abmrdnm. Having now
then disposed of Josephus, we have only the Middoth t^ deal
witii. This assigns 500 cubits for the side of the square, or 875
feet (at 1 foot 9 inches to the cubit) ; which is within two feet
of the officer's estimate of the south wall of the area; and near
enough to any of the other estimates, particularly if we sup-
pose the Middoth to speak in roimd numbers. And it is observ-
able, as confirming the view that Josephus meant Solomon'a
Temple, that the square of 500 cubits /.^ approximately, double
of the sf^uare of a stadium ; the square of 567 cubits would be
80 within a fraction. All that remains to be adjusted is, at
which end of the existing oblong mosk-area are we to cut off a
piece, BO as to leave a square area for the Temple ? and Mr.
Williams has assigned most satisfactory reasons in favour of
cutting it off from the southern end. The vaulted sub-struo
tions of tlic Mosk-cl-Aksa clearly belong to a later period*
' Here tlien we take our leave of these very interesting investi-
gations, not without a hope that the work which we have thus
imperfectly passed under review may only be the first of raany
similar, and no less successful Inquiries, pursued in an equally
patientj candid, and religious spirit.

I
I

477

NOTICES.

Of Potitry we have to acknowledge two or three small collections.
* Meditjitiona in Verse ob tbe Collects^ &^c.' (Hivingtons,) Tliese thoughts
are pious and well principled ; but we do not quile think that they fall
very natarally into verse, 'Metrical numbers,* to our minds, do not
exactly suit the notion of a collect ; and we should perhaps be at issue
with the amiable writer of these lines aa to what constituted * metrical
nitnibera.' It is high time, we think, to protest against the something more
than poetical hcenee which modern poets take in inventing what they wish
UH to accept as metres: tlie present writer presents us with a stMuzH.
of five lines, of which the third and fiflh rhyme — that is, are hoped to
rhyme*; 'form' and 'shorn,' 'power' and 'discover,' being accepted as
rhymea by a high range of critical charity — lines mie^ two, and four being
left entirely without mates. In anotber stanza of six octosyUabic lines,
w liile tlie last four tbrin two conplets, the first two do not rhyme with any-
thing. We are obliged, with every sentiment of respect for the author's
good intenlionB, io aay that he has not made a contribution to EngUah
poetical literature*

Of a more ambitioug cast is the ' Pietas Metrica,' by the brothers Thco-
philust and Theophjlact. (Masters.) The loftiness of the title is consi*-
tently followed by tbe breadth of aim wliich the dedication proposes • to
the Churcli.' We are not aware that we exactly understand what the
writers mean by their wish to ' clothe with ideality, which is the province
of the mind, the .sentiment of religion which rests in the soul/ Because
we may not recognise the implied distinction that the sentiment of reli-
gion is not of the mind, L e. is not intellectual. This stilted language is
again occasionally met with in a phrase bo recondite as ' green terrene,'
(p. S4,) for * green earth,* and in one so hazardous as ^epiphany of light,*
(p. 109;) and in the strange misapplication of Greek in ' Psalmograph,'
{p. 51,J foe ' Psalmist,' which, according to the analogy of telegraph and mano-
graphf means a thing, not a person. Our young writers want a Savage
Landor among them who, among other castigattons of style, w ould teach
these brolher bards that in English * fire ' is not a dissyllable, (p. 51.)
Apart from these blemishes, which, unless we had felt an interest in the
book, we should not have been at the trouble of specifying, we rank this
volume above the average of religious collections in verse. There is a
range of thought, and a refinement and delicacy of diction, sometimes over
nice, which shows an estimate of poetry as an art ; and there is a good
deal of sweetness and melody in the versification, as well as variety and
an occasional terseness and pointedncas in the selection of typical subjects,
which seems to aim at the fulness of Herbert, as well as the more polished
numbers of our own age. Even to feci after such a combination shows
the poetical faculty. The rock a-head to these writers is affectation.

K K 2

Mr, John Edmund Headcbas been for some time an aspirant to a braach
of ibo poetic Inure!. In the chief poem of bis new collection, from wlucfa
it takes a general title, * Revelations of Life,' (J. VV. Parker,) we discern a
diligent student in Worda worth's school. To say that not unfaithfully it
reproduces the handtiug of the Excursion^ is to give it a considerable
amount of praiHe ; but we are bound, at the same time, to uri^e not onljr
that n didactic poem, embracing the high argument for and against fatalism,
never can be popular; but yet more, that whether rightly or not, we mncb
doubt whether any long poem in blank verse, upon a merely ethical sub-
ject, however lol\v, adequately fulfila the idea of poetry, except upon a very
restricted view. To iiiistruct is not solely Ibe end of poetry ; other facuItiK,
when fipplied to a poetical theme, demand to be met. We hardly think
Mr. Ecade fortunntc in his sense of melody; such a line as —

* Priceleaa spiritual revealment:iare,' p. 38,

is to our ears perfect torture ; and it takes more than two or three pagei
of even good rhythm — and Mr. Reade'a rlnea not exceed the average — to
erase such a horrid dissonance, flis imagery, however, is rich; but it
cornea in too frequently in n patchy way upon a web of dull prosaic con-
vcrsation-u ork. Air, Readc is thoughtful, unci phiinly diligent in his writings ;
he teachea, but scarcely attracts.

'The Strayed Reveller, and other I'uema,* by M.' (Fcllowes.) • A,' is a
writer of decided and mfirkcd poetical gifts; he hits much more of the
affiuUfs tliiin the writers we have already nuuitioncd. But he pursues two
phantoms ; the one a cold, classical ideal, the other is* Tennysonism. Now
we hold it to be utterly im|jOHsibl€ to rL'produce tht* Greek choric m lodies
in modem dialects ; we do not yet thoroughly understand a Greek chorus;
we know not how much of its peculiar effect was dependent upon intona-
tion, musical nccompnnimcnt, and the lyric, or rather orcbestric, effect of
the dances. Certain it is tliat a mere transcript of the skeleton of a chorus
— of its long and short fragmentary broken dislocated lines — gives the efTect
of a chorus only typographically. It is only to the eye that the * Strayed
Reveller ' looks Hellenic ; neither in melody, far there is none in —

' Who speak* ? Ah! who comes forth,
To thy side, Goddess, from witliin ?

How shall I name him f
This spare, dark-featurVl,

Quick-eyed stranger?'

i— nor iti feeling, for however picturesque, thia is* not the picturesque
of the Greek stage ; nor in diction, for even in such a brill inn t and sug|
tive paasaoe as that which we are about to quote, does * A.' adequately
represent ibo Greek mind. Indeed he tries to combine incongruities:
Milton wisely, in the • Samson Agonistes,' simply copied; the result is
a severe study, a great mouumciit of art; cokl. and if with a certain kind
of beauty, it is repulsive. • A.' on the otljcr hrind, tries to tling the rich
subjeciivc, suggestive cast of feeling, which is essentially modern, into
urtluiic moulds; this is one fault. And with what success he reproduces

Notices,

479

tte merely sensuous form of Greek arL^ let such a passage as thb tull^
Uljssea addresses Circe, p. 15 : —

' Ever new ma^c !
Hftst thou then lur*d hither
Wouderful Gotidcsa, by thy art,
The young, latiguid-ey'd Ampeiua,
laccliua' darling^^ —
Or some youth helov'd of Pan,

Of Pan and the Nymphs?
That he sits^ bcndiug downward
His nhite, dehcate neck
To the ivy-ivrealli'd marge
Of thy cup : — the hright glancing vine-leaven

That crowu his hair,
Falling forwards, mingUng
Witli the dark ivy-plants;
His faun-skin, half untied,
Smear'd with red wiue-slains ? Who is he,
That ho sits, ovcrweigh'd
By fumes of wine and sleep,
So kte, in thy portico ?
What youth p God Jess, — what guest
Of Gods or mortals J '
There is great richness of diction here ; its fault is not that it is presented
in a classical form ; hut,heing suffused with classic.il imageryj that it seeks
to convey the classic imprcflsion hy this harbarous arrangement of rhyme-
less lines. The melody of rhyme is the sole exponent to us, however ineffi-
cient, of the Greek melody nf metre and choric embellishment and accom-
paniment. The ' Forsaken Merman 'is quite an echo of Tennyaon; it even
exceeds him in that it really does attract sympathy — a relation not only
unnatural, hut contrary to human nature. There is a whole claas of fictions,
classical and romantic, of which the interest consists in human passions and
aftections bcinj^ csiabltshed between a mortal and immortal — ' Venua and
Anehises' — *- Ulysses and Circe '— ' The Loves of the Angels * — * Undine '^
and sncli tales as that told hy Hey wood (Hierarchie, &c. p. 502,) which is
the counterpart of the ' Forsaken Merman/ WhOe these stories present
obvious facilities for the illustration of passion and sentiment, it is plain
that great care must he taken to prevent their palpable improbability
degenerating into the grotesque, or even hurlrgquf, ' A.' while successfully
avoiding this danger, has produced a poem of singular richness and musical
power; and we think this writer exhibits great poetical promise. At the
same time, he must avoid mere imitation ; we have a dread of a Tenny-
sonian school; what our opinion of that popular writer ia has been
fully shown ; but mere Tennysonism diluted, or above proof, we deprecate
It must be remembered that we have spoken of ' A/ only as an artist: of his
principles we have not space to speak^ — except that they are not our own,

Mr. Nind has published an enlarged, and we think improved, edition of
his religious poema — * The Oratory,' &c. (Rivingtons). We have already
spoken with interest both of its design and execution.

Koiicef,

* The Pargon'j* Home,' a Poem. fRivingtons.) In style a not Altogether
linsucccssful imitation of the more familiar mauiicr of Conper, with a tinge
of Cnibbe. It seems to have been executed as a kind of prolusion, or agree-
ftble metrical exercise, by ' an English Vicar ' on whose bands we conceive
time to have bung^ somewhat heavily. Tbe Parson sketched is from life ;
and there are touches iti it which prove it to be life-like. It pictures a
large-I imbed, scholarly Nortb-country * Rector ' — a Magistrate, and Chair-
man of Quarter Sessions— altable, homely, hospitable; a bachelor, with a good
bottle of port and a pretty niece— apparently without a priestly idea, but an
extremely active citizen and neighbour. Whether it was quite worlh w bile
to enshrine this eharacter— -however true and real, and vivncinus a character
—in poetry may be fairly questioned. The character itself is of a past, or
rapidly-passing class ; it may have more degenerate and less truthliil suc-
cessors, but it is hardly sufTicieutly dignified to be ideal, nor quite enough
typical to represent at least an existing phase of the clerical race. Sub-
joined are a few fugitive, and very worthless pieces by the • Rector ' himself:
they are of that mediocre cast which respectable clergymen of the last
century, with a reputation for politeness and literature to keep up, used
to write. They are generally addressed to ladies: and read like the perti-
Jlage of a respectable French Abb^. For credit's sake two or three have a
religious aspect: but they do not range beyond versifying a collect, or
diluting a passage of Scripture into common-place verse.

We think Dr. Cotton, Provost of Worcester, considerably in advance
personally of his principles. In his * Lectures on the Jloly Sacrament of
the Lord's Supper,* (Vincent,) he nhvays seems to be jnst on the very verge
of saying what is quite irue and sound; and then the inviaible trammels of
an ism, hamper him, and be is silent. Always full of warmth, and in &
certain way reverent, we believe it to be a kind of misapplied and mistaken
reverence which prevents hia being auilicicntly reverent Had Dn Cotton
more diligently studied the mind of the Church of all ages— for in his Large
volume there does not seem to be a trace of the least acquaintance with
the Liturgies or Christian antiquity, except a single, second-hand, citation
of two words from TcrtulUan — we believe that his right-mindedness^ and
palpable earnestness, would have kept him right. But his theological
literature is extremely cramped and inadequate to the subject. While we
cnnnot at ntl commend this volume, we must express sympathy with the
amiable manner of the writer.

The very useful little manual, the * Kings of England/ (Mozley,) li«a
creditably reached a second edition. Wo know of no history which, in
such a compass, gives character in a way so vivid and life-like.

The 'Life and Literary Remains of Barbara Ko0and,' by Thomas
Ramsay, (Cleaver,) contain an affectionate record of the innocent and
useful life of one w!io, througli many years of trial, devoted herself
especially to the laudable task of writing children's books, intended to
combine moral instruction with useful information. Mrs. Hotiand's
writmgs might be profitably studied in these days, when there is such a

Notices,

481

mania for ' good books,* heralded in wood-cots by crockets niid finmln,
flDd bowed out by angels niid altar-tombs, Without aspiring after any
particiiiar, or very detinite, views, they strove, rather to gpive some simple
tale illustrative of some domestic virtae, or else to embody in sufficient
garb of romance amuaing descriptions of foreign laws and habitd.

* Church Extension: a Letter to Joseph Napier, Esq. MP. on tlic

* subject of Church Extension, from an English County Member.'
(OUivier.) * Suggestions as to carrying out Lord Ashley's proposal for the
'Subdivision of Parishes, By a Member of the Temple.' (Hatchards.)
The County Member's church mans hip is display ed by assuming; that it
ia undesirable, on the ground cj expediency-, to abolish Collegiate Chapters
and conjRscale their revenues; and since ' the present system of eccle-

* siastical polity aceras, ou the vhole, to work remarkably well in this
' country,' be thinks it better that we should retain ' Bishops, Deans, &c.'
in the Church of England, than 'adopt more of the Presbyterian form of
Church government,' (pp. 3, 4.) tie reminds Mr, Napier of the proposal
of ' our friend CoUjuboun/ that there should be a gradual side of the
Chancellor*a patronage, which be estimates would produce 1,200,000/, and
build 240 new churches, at 5,000/, each, a plan which an awkward canon
seems to anticipate, when it declares the * buying or selling of ecclesiastical
benefices, &c. to be execrable in the sight of God/ Tbe sum, however,
which would be raised by this means, does not appear to the * County
Memljcr ' sutBciently large. He suggests tbe formation of mi incorporated
society, whose constitution should resemble that of Christ's Hospital:

* viz. that every member and governor, previous to joining the Society,

* should preseut them with a donation of 500/. ; and after being elected,

* should have a presentation to one of the churches helougiiig to tbe

* Society in his turn, that is, when one of the livings belonging to the

* Society falls vacant, tbe governor, whose turn it ia to present, siiouUL

* recommend a Clergyman to the whole Court of GovernorSf and if ihetf

* comider him a proper person to hare (he livhtg, under eef iain regulatmus^ made

* hij iheimchrs, they should present liim to it/ (p. 5;) which wunld at any rate
not he a bad investment, if every member of the Society could obtain the
patronage of & living for 500/. A body of governors who buy livings are not
very likely to be strict Churchmen, and by them the Clergyman is to be
presented, if they think him a proper person, and then only under certain
regulations made by themselves. Is not this the echo of Mr. Simeoirs
notorious project? The author of the " Letter,* &c. hopes to get five hun-
dred governors Ibr Ms Society, at 500/, each, which would produce 250,000/,
and build fifty new churches; these, added to five hundred Chancellor's
livings, (which the Crown is to give ihexA gratuitQushj !) will make a very
pretty patronage to start upon. In time the number of governors ivill be
increased, more money TAill come in, more churches will be built, and more
patronage will belong to the Society, which » by this means/ says the
County Member, * will grow in number and influence 4o be one of vast
importance,' (p. 5,) This Rchemc is also to be adopted in Ireland, except
that the patronage of the five hundred livings is to be taken from the Arch-
bishops and Bishops instead of the Chancellor! Such is the proposal, the
adoption of which its author ' believes would be more calculated than

4S2

Noliccs.

anything^ else to dissemhtale Protesfantlsm I ' which h perhaps possible. —
We are sorry we cannot speak with more praise of the * Sugf:cstious *
coiitnined in the pamphlet by • a Member of the Temple/ who propose*
that the courts of justice in Westminster, the poUcc courts in Somlnvark
and Newingtonj merchants' storehouses, &c., shouhl be opened for public
worship, and thinks that unordained * graduates of the Uyiversity, pemanii
of respect and education/ might be licensed • by the Bishop ttnd fht LegU'
/aj«<rf Mo read the Church services, and cert Ain sermons or homiliea. We
really had persuaded ourselves that this style of scheming was extinct with
the amiable yet mischievous puerilities of Lord Henley and his friends of
1832. While we are on the subject, we desire that the proceeding? of the
Commisifiou for dividing Parishes be most carefully watched \ a commission
of which the composition in some of its ingredients is what ought to
command neither the confidence nor respect of the Church. — Speaking of
Coinraissions, we cannot forget the last : that for examining Charities.
Considering that these are for the most part Church foundations, the appoint-
ment of that very prominent Dissenter, Lord Diicie, must have been in-
tended as an insult to the Church.

Mr, James Anderson has printed ' Addresses on Miscellaneous Subjects/'
fRivingtons,) They consist of five lectures, of which four were delivered
before the Brighton Athenteum, a kind of literary iustitutjon. They are
smoothly written, and are compiled with some elegance and care. Of Mr,
Anderson's historical Btyle we have already animadverted on the dif-
fuscness and languidness ; we hardly know what particular mode of address
best suits the lecture-room, for our practical experience is not great. But
speaking theoretifzally, we should have thought a more direct and pointed
style would have told more. Mr, Anderson ia an essayist; in the sketch
of Dr. Johnson, however, we do not find much to make us rank his literary
criticism very high. Mr. Anderson repeats the accredited formula of sixty
years ago ; thus, the ' Lives of the Poets ' are his ' greatest and best work.'
As scientific criticism they are, in th<* jti lament of the present day, beneath
contempt; and Mr. Anderson is unDrLunate enough to select Johnsoo*8
judgment on what, with strange perversity, he calls * the metaphysical
poets,' (p, 130,) in the ' Life of Cowley,' as the gem of Johnson. We should
hardly expect a scholar, which Mr, Anderson is, repeating the stereotyped
nonsense about the * unities of time and place, rules which, from the
days of Aristotle downward, had been held well nigh sacred,' (pp. 100, 101.)
Surely Twining has lived and written in vain ; but Aristotle is not out of
print, and even undergraduates know that Aristotle never said one single
syllable abont the unity of place, and only suggests, does not prescribe, the
unity of time. Johnson's self-imposed penance in Lichfield Market*
place — ihe incident which opens up the man's whole religious being — is
unaccountably missed by Mr. Anderson. However, if Mr. Anderson's
collection docs not add much to our critical and historical stores, it at least
presents our actual acquisitions in an accessible and engaging shape.

A crabbed series of ' Letters to an Undergraduate on Pantheism/
(Vincent, Oxford,) have appeared. They are announced to be by ' a Trini-
tarian.' Whatever sense tUat word may bear, it must be with the same

I
I

Notices,

48.1

sort of indefinite laxity tbat the term Protestant is commooly used. It sim-
ply means here a deiiiftl uf (ao-called) Unitarian ism i a denial which may
co-exist not only with no distinct theological apprehension, but, as in
the present case, with very <lecided heresy — 'w'lila Sabellianism j which the
folloM ing statement is. • All (Christians) account of the same one great
Deitig as sustaining the difTerent characters of Father, lledeemer, and
Sanctifier . , . these same persons, or personistationa, have a real foundation
in the nature of God.' — P. 96.

Nfr. J, G. Nichols has translated and pubhsbed Erasmus" Dialon^ue on
the * Pilgrrinift^es to S. Mary of WalBingham and S. Thomas of Canter-
bury.' (Nichols.) Some uaeful, but not very uncommon, ijiforraation is
contained m the notes.

An interesting and curious medical mono^aph of * The Cloaing Years of
Dean Swift's Life ' (Hodges and Smiih) haa been sent to us. Its author is
an Irish surgeon, Mr. W, N. Wilde. It tracea Swift's insanity to physical
disease; and the actiial history of the various stages of Ids disorganiiation
is cleverly reproduced from all the scattered fragments and notices of it
which are dispersed in the contemporaneous literature of the patient's own
days and friends. The process is scientifically curious. We cannot think
that Mr. Wilde baa added much to what is known of Stella; but the old
materials of (his perplexing history are carefully enumerated.

Our pages from time to time record the auiccessive publications of the
sceptical school. This quarter we have to mention ' Popular Christianity :
its Transition Stale, and Probable Development,' by Frederick J. Foxton,
formerly of Pembroke College, and Perpetual Curate of Docklow, Hereford-
shire, (Chapman.) Tiie word 'formerly,' though ambiguous, is meant to
overlie both the titles; Mr. Fuxton ceased to be Perpetual Curate, Src. in
1848, though we have not heard that I)r, Hampden has proceeded against
him for this pviblication. Mr. Foxton takes the ordinary subjects, Miracles^
Prophecy, Inspiration of Scripture, Doctrine, &c. — ^and he is a complete
Infidel ; there is neither disguise nor mistake about the matter. His book
is not ungracefully written ; but we mention it fur a particular reason.
Were we to say that Mr. Foxton only consislently follows out the prin-
ciples of Drs, Whateley and Hampden, this statement would be set down
for tlie ordinary conventional gnome of a prejudiced nriLor, making a state-
ment for a party purpose. But here are the facts, at any rate ; we do not
make tbem< litre is an infidel book written by a priest in Dr. Hampden's
diocese ; it is not once or twice that this person, Mr. Foxlon, fortifies
himself by Dr. f lampden's writings, or shows that hia own inferences are
the legitimate result of Dr. Hampden's premises. But in two or three
chapters of this book, • Popular Christianity,' Mr. Foxton cites Dr. Hampden
about thirty times : we counted twenty-six specific citations — proofs of Mr,
F.*8 infidel position, cited from Dr. Hampden, chapter and verse. We
apprehend the law of this case to be tolerably plain. Mr. Foxton — not
being deprived — i$ still under the ecclcsiasticnl law. Articles may be
exhibited against him in the Diocesan Court of Hereford; this is un-
questionable. And vthether Dr. Hampden shall decide that there is no
ground for prosecuting the suit, or vhetlier Mr, Foxton shali think proper

484

Notices*

u» defend himself before Dr. H., vrc iLink that either wnj Dr.
x ill have cause to regret that he U no longer Canon of Christ Charck
No cases Bor duly caii be plainer tlian to give sotne attentioii to this

matter.

Auerbach's * Knrrativc of Events in Vienna during September and No-
Tember 1848,* (Bogne,) is a hastj composition, of which the situation necet-
sitated some picturesqueness ; but the sketch is very haxy and indefiitite.

Every Catalogrue is, ipto faeio, a gain to literature ; even an knperfcet,
or badly arranged List of Books, such as a bookseller's montkly sheet, hu
its distinct liiscs. There is no common private catalogue utterly TaluetesB.
Mr. Darling, the London bookseller, has long been known as the projector
of whfit we trust is a successful undertaking, tlie Clerical Library and
Readiog-Rooms : he now proposes to enlarge the catalogue of his present
collection to a full Catalogue-liaison n^e of Ancient and Modem Divinity
Books. The plan is both ambitious aud elaborate : but if snocess^y
executed the boon will be immense, not only to divinity students, but to aU
literarj^ men. \Vc call tbirt iittcnlion to the scheme, because it is one ikr
more extensive and important thiui a li as ty glance might at first conjectnrr,
and we recommend it as one of general utility, and not merely confined to
those who use^ or propose to use, Mr. Darling's own private institutjon.
Such a catalogue as he projects would be, if scientificilly formed, of Euro-
pean value ; but of great difficulty and of expenee, which requires aid.

Mr» Henry Hughes, a London clergyman, has put forth a pamphlet —
a /pMiYfefanwc/ff, we suppose uoukl be the foreign designation of a pamphlet
of live pages — 'A few I'Iftin Tliouglits on the Chrhiinmtt/ of ExcJuding a
Jew from Parliament." (Hatcliftrd.) Mr* Hughes affects the tcrse^ and he
is only pert: he has worked the condenser so strongly, that he has gained,
what nntuTe very properly nbhorM, a perfect vacmini. Thus pointediy Mr.
Hughes pelts the peers : — 'Whatever befall, their Lordships must perceive
religious principles arc immutable. What is Christianity to-day is Chris-
tianity to-morrow, A hundred times may the Ciiy return Baron Rothschild,
and a hundred times rauBt they exclude him. Wrath may wax hot in the
disfranchised party . . . Everything may be upset in the turmoil. There
is no hope for it, fiat juitfit'w^ ruat ccrlttin. But suppose that they art
mistaken.' Or, suppose that Mr. Hughes is mistaken.

An able contribution to the mass of argument and learning on the Mar-
riage Question is Mr. Darling's ' Examination of the Scriptural Grounds, &c.*
(Rivingtons.) Mr. Darling's testimony, as a lawyer, to the force of the Scrip-
tural argument is important. We must recommend our friends to work
this question well during the vacation; our opponents are on the alert.
As we have not had an occasion to put the fact on record before this, we
think it only due to Dr. Hook to say that he has united himself to the
London quaternion of Messrs. Champncys, Villicrs, Dale, and Gurney.
Dr. Hook has paid no little attention to the matter, that he really do^ not
know what Mr. Worlley's bill is. The Vicar of Leeds a.ssures iia that it
only enacts that 'marriage contraclcd by a man wilh his deceased wife's
sisiter, before //mf lU'^htrar^ shall be legal.* The editor of these clericHiil
tribunes of the people is obhged in a note to correct this most palpable

Notices,

485

mi'irepreseiitatLoii ; and tells us, vhich is tnic, that ^its object is to allow
clergymen tt> celebrate the nmrriairc in question if tliey tbiiik right,' ue, lo
violate the canon. Dr. Houk proceeda i^— ' People in general do not consider
such marriages improper. They cannot be proved to be improper in Scrip-
ture. The question ia therefore one of expediency.' We say noLhiiig of
the logical coherency of this pseudo-syllogism ; but we will present it to Dr.
Hook expressed in another matter ; — * People in general do not consider
Meeting Houses improper. They cannot be proved to be improper iu
Script urc. The question iherefore of going' to hear Dr. Hook, or Fox the
Socinian, ia ooe of expediency.* These joint letters are being very largely
circulated by post. We are gUid to hear that Mr. Hope's — certainly one of
the most sensible and practical of the series — is likely to be published in a
cheap form, as an antidote to tlie mischievous circulation of Mr. VVortley's
friends.

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton has pubEshed a poem in twelve hooka, *King Arthur.*
(Colbiirn.) IneTslenial form this work is quite according lo received rule and
precedent. The accredited division into the zodiacal arrangement of twelve —
a received and national theme — episode and action following the established
critical forms — similes at regular intervals — machinery in the prcscTibed
place— and the leaser actions and persons in due subordination ; here are all
the epic elements and guise. And yet surely the world has settled that the
day of the epic lias disappeared. Art^ of whatever kind, knows no second
childhood. The Homeric epic was the real and faithful, and therefore world-
famous, result of the Homeric age. The Niebclungen-lied represents a true
spirit. The cold task-work of the /Eneid was as false iu feeling, as untrue and
debased in mere form, only because the Augustan was not the Heroic age. A
nineteenth-century epic is to Homer but the canal to the catJiract. The great
Italian poets— the model to Milton in everything but subject — made their
poems romances rather than epicSf in order to avoid the unreality of Virgil
But in these days neither Homer nor Arioato can be reproduced. The poetical
spirit of our times is essentially different ; it cannot be cramped back into
worn-out moulds. We do all justice to Sir E. B. Lytton when we sny that
he is a conscientious Mriter of poetry ; he really treats it as an art ; it is
plain that he feels the dignity ofhia calling, and bestows not only his soul,
but patience and research, upon his work. Still his large poem, wiili many
passages of vigour^ and many more of rich swelling melody, and with some
phrases which show a creative energy, lacks interest. It is cold and arti-
ficial ; even though^^ with ivbat seems to ns an artistic blunder, it introducea
after the Italian model, (j-i/ww-ludicrons passages- These are often devoted
to living persons and themes ; and are certainly the least happy portions
of the poem. One, which betrays theological ignorance, is also a simple
impertinence. Besides this (concealedj anaclironiaro, ' King Arthur* presents
a more serious one in embodying the manners of mediieval chivalry and its
costume; though the author has of course the precedent of the Fabliaux,
which he follows. A great amount of really curious and honest learning
is shown in the poem. Its metre is the heroic quatrain of four alternate
rhymes, succeeded by the couplet. It ia monotonous, but dignified ,* and
applies, as might be anticipated, better to descriptive than to passionato
passages.

4B6

Kattcet,

Mr. Masters has published * An Outline of the Constitution and Ulsiot
of tbc Churdi ' in ti catechetical form. The writer is Mr. S. W. ^fangij
We cannot recommend it; it is a mere echo^ in very unschoUrlj and Loai
curate lan^age» of the ordinary common-places of twenty years ago. W
will g:ive specimens of a class of observations which we had hoped thati^
had long outgrown :— • What fact will serve to prove this [viz, that n
false doctrines or practices peculiar to the Church of Rome have been left i
the Prayer-Book] ? The Book of Common Prayer was submitted to th
opinion of Peter Martyr and Martin Uiiccr, two of the chief foreign Ri
formers, who approved of it/ The inference being in fact jost the oth«
wayi as the two individuals in {jiicslioii did not approve of it. It uill be t
many a new historicid fact that ' the Crusaders drove the Mahometans oti
of Spain ; ' and what can be thought of the historical accuracy of one wh<
can talk about the Patriarch of Constantinople, before the year 900, begin
niog to set himself against the Pope of KomCt and ctaiining authorit;
over GTCccCi part of central Europe, ^(/«iu, &c.? (p* 22); and one wh
writes on the Constitution and History of the Church ought to knowjha
a doctrine of ' the Seven Sacraments ' and * Purgatory,' &c. is by no
peculiar to * members of the Church of Rome.'

taSi

' A Sunset Reverie' (Masters) is * an allegory/ in which two indivtt
— no» an individual and an impersonation — the concrete called ' Mirth/ th
abstract called * Earnest/ dialogize. We are glad to say that they folio we
the grammatical rule, *Suhstantivu8 cum adjcctivo concordat/ though ihci
remains a little dilficuUy about epithets which talk, and feelings which * hun
dragon-flics/ and wear ' amaranthine crowns/ and ride in chariots, •
ing from valleys towards golden gates/

* The Last Sleep'of the Christian Child, ' (Masters,) consists of some ver
pretty and even affecting verses.

* The Doctrine of the CrosSi illustrated in a Memorial of a Humble Fo
lower of Christ,* (Mozlcy,) is a reprint of a book which we have more ihii
once commended, and which it is really a privilege both to welcome and |
commend again on this its third appearance. Its value and success, as
testimony to the practical efficiency of the Church's system, both
ourselves and iu America, have been incalculable. Truth and fideitt
utamped on every line,

' Moral Songs,' by the author of ' Hymns for Little Children,' (Masters,
we are much pleased with. There is considerable power of versification
and anmcKweet and tender thoughts, *vhilc the difficult point is hit of
familiar and plain, yet not wi thout dignity.

* A Few Words to Parish Schoolmasters/ (Cleaver,) is a useful tho
The Address is neatlr written, aud will be found useful.

beitt

* Miss Peck's Adventures* (Masters) is the second part of the * Conceits
Pig/ We forget whether we chronicled, in these dignified pages, its inugfa
able, ami superior, predecessor, but the txvo little stories together are rcall
ftmong the very best, and most useful, in the herd of children's books. The
beiray, in a very humble walk, the true artist; one who has some fai

nne lanq

Notices,

487

and aoreiething to say. Tbe last gift is rare ; especially among writera for,
or talkers to, the young'.

or UevotioDal Books we liavc seen Bawdler's ' Few Words' introductory
to Ills • Prayers for a Christian Household,' (Pickering): uaeful and pious
reflections,—' The Order for Prime,' (Masters,) chiefly arranged from an-
cient sources, therefore not to be criticised,-^* A Manual of Devotion,
compiled from the Book of Common Prayer/ (Vincent,) which stands in
the same relation to us, except that being designed for private use, we
must repeat an objection, which we have often had occasion to urge, that
public Collects belong^ing to sacramcntaries, arc rwi indiscriminately to be
tnrne^ into individual petitions,—' A Help for Parents and Sponsors,'
(IJatty) : full and right principled.

Of Tracts we have received— One by Mr. Chandler, on * Uuchastity before
Marriage,' (Masters) : a most forcible and much-needed warning on this
delicate subject, which ia the ain of villages; the perplexity of the village
clergyman. It is a serious experiment to meet the ditlicmhy in thia parti-
cular way — L e, by a tract; but it is an experimciil to ivhich we wish all
auccesSj as well as honour to the Christian atraighi forwardness of the writer.
— 'The London Parochial Tracts, " (Masters,) which we only sec in a broken
way, — Parker's * Tracts for the Christian Season?;,' which we believe appear,
but do not reach us, regularly ; — and * Consolation, or Thoughts on Inter-
cessory Prayer/ (Masters) : n deep subject, on which the writer feeb very
properly ; but it puzzles us — (no, we have lived too long to be surprised by
any eccentricity in some religious quarters) —why, on such a solemn subject,
this little tract of twenty-six very small pages should attempt to combine
the tale historical, and the apologue poetical; for the tract begins with a
vapid story or scene between Mrs. Harlowe and Annie, which alYerwards
breaks ott* into tbe dream-aUegoric, with its accredited tbrmulary of clouds
and crowds.

We should rather like to commit to the notice of Her Majesty s Com-
mittee of Council on Education, a collection called • Developments of
Protestantism/ (Richardson,) a series of letters and articles reprinted from
the 'Dublin Kcview' and 'Tablet,' and now authenticated by the writer'a
initials, T. W, M, This gentleman, gazetted as * Thomas William Marshall,
Esq. Her Majesty*** Inspector of Schools/ with a salary of some 800/. a-year,
was u Clergyman of our own Communitm : what he is — and of what spirit —
let this publication testify.

The Foreign Aid Society have reprinted a ' Letter in Vindication of
Cranmer from the attack of Macaulay, by J, H, Merle d'Aubigiie/ (Nisbet.)
So after all it comes to this, that we must go to Geneva to vindicate Cran-
mer. Let those who will, accept the omen : especially accompanied by
Mr» d'Aubign^'s assurance * ihni in the present state of England, it is

* essential that the theological sciences make new progress . . . dcve-

* lopments in certain branches of theology ; and to that end . . . our theo-

* loijical literature, especially that of Germanyji might be for you a foreign

* aU,'(l\ 30.)

Mr. Joseph Hunter, a gentleman connected with the llcconl OlUce, is
publighing a series of ' Historical Tracts.* (J. R. Smith,) Ko. 2 has reached

Notices.

ua : No. U we bave not seen. It is employed with the obacnre ffentUUia of

* the Pilgrim Fathers.' Their first 'Church,' as Mr. Huntcr^ — whose title,
which he seems of late to have dropped, to the ' Rev*' is only a dissenting
one— eonsiatently enouj^h styles it, was gathered at Scroohy, a manor of the
Archhishop of York. The chief points of interest to us were, to learn, 1 . That
Archhishop Sandys, a very ^eat aiitliority in a certain religious school, wa«
the firiit Archbishop of York to raise a ^eat family, subsequently ennobled,
by robbing the Church. He granted twenty-one leases to his sons only, (Pp.
10, 11.) 2. That Mr, Hunter has ^ery nearly est«blii<hcd that the ' May-
Flower/ the sacred Delian bark of New England heresy, which conveyed
the Pil^m Fathers to New Plymouth, was also a alaver, and on one
occasion, being a ship of 350 touH, embarked a cargo of 450 negroes for
Barbados.— Pp, G7, 08.

Mr. French, of Bolton-le-Moors, has printed — we are not sure that it is
for more thnn private circulation — wliat nt any rati? deserves considerable
credit as the first attempt at investigating the principles which refnilatedi
the contrast of colour in ancient ciniftmentation. What such a subject
wants ia of course a very large induction, and it ia with the view of further-
ing this that we extract what Mr, French thinks he has established a9
principles of old art. * L To separate the prominent colours, red, blue,

* green, purple, ruby violet, 8:c. from each other by spaces or lines of yeihw,

* vAi/fi or l^facL 2. To paint with brilliant colours on pounds of ^f/iow,

* (frequently gold,) while, or fAack; or, if the ^ound was of any other colour,

* to use yelhw, ir^rY^, or MmI; only for the ornamentation. 3. To combine

* two or more shades of red, blue, green, purple, &c. without the intorreution
' of yellow^ lehiif^ •tfKacl\ L To place yWi^(?fr, tchift^ kw M/tck together, or upon
' each other, without reference to the law which regulates other colours,'
(Pp, 8, J).) These canons might be reduced into one : and should a more ex-
tended investigation prove its tnitb, Mr, French will have done service by
expressing concisely what has perhaps been observed empirically. The
title of this little pamphlet is * Hints on the Arrangement of Colours.'

'Remarks on Noble's Appeal on behalf of the Doctrines of Swedenborg;
(Rtchnrdson,) is a creditable attempt to recommend the faith of the Church
of Rome to Swedenborgians. It is somewhat rare that one finds the
English Roman Catholics turn their thoughts to the specific forms of
dissent and heresy.

Bishop Doane's aivirays practical contributions to our smaller literature
are, this quarter: 1,'The Men to make a State; a 4th of July Oration/
As we cannot be expected to sympathise witli the occasion, it may be attri-
buted to such a feeling if we say that we think this address an exAggerateii
specimen of the respected writer s peculiarities in style. 2. A * Brief Narra-
tive.* This document we receive with unfeigned delight. It is the complete
and entire vindication of the good and i'ull-hearted Bishop from certain
Hiandcrs with respect to money matters. If Bishop Doane has been impro-
vident, it has been in the cause of the Church and Education : if he has got
into debt, such recklessness is only what we might h,avc anticipated from
one so impetuous in good works: if it is unpleasnnt to find a Bishop's
name connected with money-bills, we must remember that across the

[

Notices.

489

Atlantic, vhlne of all sorts ia mucb more commonly reprwented by paper
than among ourselves, and in diflerent classes of transnclioua,

' The Compositor's Guide to llie Use of Greek Accents without Learning
the Langtinge/ by Thoraaa Hatton, Printer. (Gilbert.) Thiff is really a
Terj curious, and, in it» way, inatroctive pamphlet. Practically it will be
found a great saving of money to the useful class to whom it is addressed.
But more than this. We know Mr. Hatton well: and this pamphlet is
plainly the result of a disagreeable course of Greek correction which some
of our own private labanra entailed for 8e?eral months upon Mr. Hatton.
The result is this * Guide to Compositors.* Up to this moment Mr. Hatton
himself knows about Shakspere's Tnodicum of Greek ; he has only studied,
with very great intelligence and skill, the look, the external form of the
language. The result is RuIch for Accentuating', which woidd put many a
scholar to the blush— a blush not quite equ!^l to our own wben^ with
great temper and modesty, we find Mr. llatton alluding to certain * copy
rapidly written , . . . with a host of strange asseTiiblagcs — some words all
consonants, some all vowels.*

Mr- Maskell has printed *Ten Sermons/ (Pickering.) The volume is
not a<'cordiiig to the ordinary type. These discourses are as far removed from
the cliaracter-drawing and minute analysis of motive whicli make some of
our more recent and striking ^ermoos like a Christian Thcophrastus, aa
Ihey are from the vague moral statements of a departed age, Mr. Mas-
kell's strung grasp of dogmatic truth, and bis conviction of its primary
importance are conspicuous, as in his more strictly theological writings, so
^of course with considerable modifications — in these sermons. Nor are
wo without apprehension that in many congregations, of which the clergy
themselves possess a clear hold of the Catholic doctrine, the laity have no
raiional or detined conception of the Articles of the Christian Faith at alL
Many have been afraid of preacbiug the plain, literal, stern Christian
iielief. Mr. Maskell feels strongly its actual value as a means to holiness.
These sermons are suffused and saturated with Patristic allusion; this
characteristic, together with a decided style, gives llicm a certain antiquated
aspect Yet occasionally strong indications of deep, though forcibly and,
AS it seems, purposely repressed, feeling appear, aa in the sermon on the
Passion. Altogether, the volume deserves attention ; as for other and
deeper reasons, so because it is one of decided originality and force.

• Grotins de Veritate * has been reprinted with copious Notes and lllua-
tr&tions, by Mr. J. E. Middletoo, of S. Bee's. (Rivingtons.) We should
have hardly thought such an apparatus, however useful, quite suited to
Grotius. However, its appearance ia an indication of the need of asystemof
theology. For however little Grotius pretends to such a character, yet,
in a particular branch, he is systematic, We remember how Bishop Bull
and others condemn students of their day for * thimibing WoUcbius/ ard
the digests of Divinity then in vogue. It is a miserable fact that this
evil,— and its evil consisted in the Text-Books being bad, and often Dutch,
—has been superseded by a worse; and that not one clergyman in a
hundred studies theology as a science. When shall we h*ve anything
analogous to Ferrone?

190

KoUca,

* Spiritual RcflecticinB of S. Alpbonsus Liguori,* (Bums,) is of a cJa$s
we do not enamtne ns mere critics : first, because it is a book of verj
devotion: and next, becau»»e, in certJiin particulars, we should be o1
to assume an attitude unfitted for a devotional work. I ts pubtication, i
first of a new • Devotional Series/ is in every way sii^tBcnnt : the Ligtl
theology is A decided development, and, consistently, it ia edited and
lisbed by ' converts/ The relations and influence of these ' convert
wards the old Anji^lo-Roman body are daily becoming more perplexo
cnrious. To dejicribc their position in one word, we should say that
are * un-Kngli»b/ The marked abandonment, on the part of the
prominent • converts/ of the old English ante-Refomiation modes of thi
and feeling, as represented by Dr. Rock ; and the little sympathy l
they— more particularly the Oratorians — hold witli the architectura]
seslhctic revivals of Mr. Pugtn; their still more complete estran^ment
the Cbaloner and Glover scliool as represented by Mr. Tierney> am

* old-fa»hianed county families* of an hereditary Romanism; all
phases may be best undcrslood by a perusal, by those who have ti|
inclination for it, of the various Roman Catholic publications of the ol^
new school. The dispute about Mr. Faber's Hagialogical Series, anc
Doyle's Letters in the * Tablet,' Src, are among the most instructivfl
significant details. One word we must be permitted. We can quite m
stand the di^culty of those priests of the Church of England who
seceded, iii llieir present pusltion — i. e, not re-ordained : we are as
anxious to call them, as they are desirous to be called, * R^grend*
the phrases 'T. W. Marshal!, Esq./ and 'J. M. Capes, Esq,/ ^c, so
oflTenstvcly paraded, took to us little short of ostentation ; and this is a

* J. M, Capes/ in an advertisement, without * Esq/ would betray h
feeling, of more sorts than one, ^^

From Mr. J. F. Rvissell has appeared a pretty little book, * Tbe^|
Knight,' (Cleaver) : very useful to boys, and on an engaging subject.
chiefly compiled, and with neatness and precision, from Mill,
Digby.

A netv volume orthc ' Juvenile Library' is by Mr. B. G. Johns — ' Hh
or Spain/ (Masters.) This tnngted and little known litstory aeema
rately represented to its more prominent way-marks.

Soot^

•Hh

lOrii

* The Pastor of Wcllbourn/ (J. H. Parker,) is a prolonged diulogue^i
of dialogues, between a rector and an excellent shepherd. The princ
arc admirable ; and the Allusions good. But the dramatic form is so i^
and meagre — the very ghost of a talent hat it looks like one of thee]
embers of its class.

i to^sfij

♦ Sacred Lyrics,' (J. R. Smith J arc neither specifically sf
being on tlie Regeneration of Italy, and others controversial, abottfc
Church of Rome, — nor apeciticnlly lyric, more than half of the vei
either blank, or the common rhyming couplet.

A series of Poems under the titb * Ecclesiastical Sketches from
and PrcscntofS. Augustine's, Cantcibury/ by Mr. John Puckle,

Notices,

491

'(HivingtODs) are ambitiously printed; an elaborate border, of na im
varying pattern Imwcver, swrroundini^ endi pneje. That this rttllection
provokcii camjxiriaoii with one of Word^wLHLh'a bchl-ktiowa and moKt
highly priz(!d series b not its fnidt : tbat in any way it bears the contrast,
were higli praise. Mr. Puckle writea with tHate and feeling: a level and
Esmjtained and gcneraUy dignified style embellishes a course of tboiight,
sometimes vigorous aiid always correct, We do not think historical truth
quite maiiiiained by cRlbng gentle Reginald Pole * Kome*s proud mimstepj'
(p» 40 ;) and the climax, when Mr. I'uckle speaks of ' the ponliiical privi-
leges . . , not only maintained in defiance of the Archbishop of CaDterbury,
but atgQ now in defiance of Henry II.' (p. 19J, will provoke a Bmile in some
quarters.

The first volume of a proposed scries of Arcbieologicai Manuals, to be pub-
lished under the sanction of ihe A rcb geological Institute, has just been sent
to ua. It is on ' Sepulcbrnl Slabs and Crosses ' — here the division is by no
means logical or^ correet^by Mr. E. L. Cutta. (J. 11. Parker.) A very
large amount of research and inquiry has been expended in the production
of the volume; its facts, in the way of illustration, are full and most in-
teresting j and we have no duubt will much help the great cause of de-
paganis ng our monuments and graveyards. That the Introduction is so
entirely ttclmical and arcliaeologicjU, on a subject which must, in a right
mind, call lorth much Christian feeling, we attribute to that caution which
Societies fed to be the charter of tlicir existence. At any rate Mr. Cntts
is not carried away by nny religious enthusiasm which his subject prompts.
We think that he might have gone to Arriughi for the lore of the Cata-
combs, instead of so slender an authority as Maitland ; and Wilkins's
Conciha might have been spared its filtration through a thirty-tbird
rate authority. Neither in any sense — except the nonsense suited to
Exeter Hall — can it be said that * bdls were baptized,* (p. 43.) With
8uch minor abatciuciits, and with the expression of something more
than a doubt whether Fig. 2 of Plate Ixxiii. is correctly dated, we thank
Mr. Cutts for his publication. — One possible misuse of this book, and the
like, we deprecate by anticipation : we trust that ladies will not pick out
from it what tbey think the prettiest-looking symbols and examples to be
used according to taste. For they may chance to put a priest's chalice
upon a merchant's slab ; or an architect's compasses on the memorial of
one of their own sex ; or — as we have seen in Che case of a recently erected
granite memorial in Devonshire— a bishop's stafi^ in high relief, upon a
priest's coped tomb.

The subject is not one which would havo attracted our attention, had
not some of the documents been sent to us; but Mr. Thomas Jackson's
jlnmphlet, under the title, * The Wosleyan Conference and its Duties,' Arc.
H (Mason,) requires a word with respect to the present schism in the Metho-
dist body, Mr. Jackson, as President of the Conference, comes forward as
the authentic vindicator of its * recent acts of Discipline/ Now • discipline'

»ia A strong word, and its use involves high claims — claims which arc
icarcely sufficiently enlbrced by the argument, 4uitc sensible and equivalent
to the purpose, ftumded upon the consideration arising from the question,

NO. LXVI. — N.8.

L L

492

Notices*

* What company oT naval ot military officers, or society of literary or scien-

* tific itien, tvonid remain silent, when it had been ascertaiued that one orl^d

* more of tliem Imd published « libel upon the rest? ' (p. 42,) — and with one^|
founded upon the analogy of a * benefit society j* (p. I.'j,) — or as it is more
tersely expresBed, (p. 46,) 'To complain of being shackled by the ruiea of a
voluntary association ia Ibe perfection of folly.' Quite so; and were this

all, and were Mr. Jackson simply content to allow his Society^ the Metbo-
dist body, the very intelligible atntits which these extracts from his pampblet
point at — the Benefit Club or the Voluntary Association— -there xTould not
be a word to say further. The ' Viudicatkm ' is complete ; any voluntary
associationf the United Senice Club, the Mechanics" Iiistitatc, the Com-
manity of Odd Fellow8,haa a perfect and unquestionable right to get rid of
its obnoxious membera ; for any reason, or even Ibr no reason. It is
simply the ' greMest happiness principle,' It is pleasanter to the one
hundred and ninety-nine to be without the two-hundredth. But then when
Mr- Jackson begins to talk of ' discipline/ (title-pagCj) and ' eccicsiaslical
censure/ (p. 5,) an entirely separate class of considerations enters into the^^
field, Societies, being extra-judicial institutionSj may very reasonably act itv^|
an extra-jwdicial way ; and if the question be asked — as it has bccn='Would
not John Wesley himself have examined the then suspected preachers, aiul
have dismissed them, just as the Conference of 1840 has done ? Wc answer,
that it is quite beyond beUef that be would have done otherwise. But then
John Wesley did not call his Societies a Church — he did not talk of 1
preachers as any order of the Christian muiistry — they were simply to * hcl
me/ (Jackson^ Appendix, p, GC,) 'to serve me ns sons/ (Ibid.) to * labo
when and where I should direct.* (Ibid.) Wesley claimed, and that openly,
the 'power of admitting into, and excluding from, the Societies under his
care.' (Ibid.) So that what John Wesley would have done with his
preachers or helpers \ifho • engaged themselves to submit, to serve him as
sons in the Gospel,' (p. 67,) is no very direct precedent for the procceding:s
of the Wesleyan Conference now. In Wesley's time, I7GC, one of the
questions to ' his preachers ' was, VDo you constantly attend the Church
and Sacrament?' (p, 10) j in 1840 all these preachers themselves ad-
minister sacraments and aflfect to do the whole work of the Christian
ministry. * My Societies* have become 'the Wesleyan Church;' — my
* helpers' and ^preachers' are now, in their own estimate, bishops a
prieata (in America), and priests in England, Mr, Jackson must tberefo
take his choice : Wcslcyanism cannot at once be a voluntary society, a
a true branch of the Christian Church, perfect in its economy, perfc
in it« ministry, perfect in its discipline. If its defender is content always
to argue upon the very rational principles of bis present pamphlet, thus : —
Messrs. Everett, Dunn, and GrifHths were not, what Johnson used to call,
ctubabk men, therefore wc have dismissed them from our chib — we qui
accept this account of the matter: it is quite suflicient: he cornea do
from his transcendentalism. But if Mr. Jackson puts the matter as one
ecclesiastical right, it must be judged by canonical precedent : it is a mat
of law. The Church would not have tried these three suspected • ministe:
in the way which the Conference adopted. Certainly there is a mode
ccclesiasiical compurgation of those vehemently suspected. And it is no'

Noticeg*

493

Ibe Wcsleyan way. llie process adopted at Manchester wns neither legal,
nor formal, nor according; to precedeiit; thoiigli it answered the piirpose.
It WRf3 a rough popular vray of getting rid of an iutolcrnblc evil, which we
freely grmiit the presence of tbeae three suspected perisousin the ^^ esleynn
body to have been. It was a very Manchester edition of a ainoiiical trial.
If the three men were to be tried and deposed as Christian ministcrg, wo
must say that tiiey did not have fair play ; if only as turbulent preachers,
and a public nuisance to Weslcvanism, — and the Wesleyan unanimity
ehou'S at least this much, — then, however coarse or captious the mode of
proceeding, so long as it an.sweted the purpose of those most interested
in the matter, we bystanders have no reason whatever to find fault with it.
We cannot, therefore, sjTnputbize with those who call the recent acts of the
Conference tyrannical, or un- English, and so on. We only say, that as
ecclesiastical discipline, they are informal. There arc and must be, in the
very nature of voluntary societies, many things which, construed very
strictly, are un-English and tyrannical. It is tyrannical to blackball a
man at a club because you think him a bore ; and it is un-English — that is,
it is contrary to the prudish severity of a court of law^ — to ask your friend
T*hethera certain report about him is true. And yet without this, society
could not exist for a month ? What therefore is true of society gcnerically,
is true of a society, Wesleyan or Vegetarian specifically. We quite re-
serve our judgment about the alleged facts j but the principle of expulsion
IB quite independent of them»

Of * Charges,* we liave received — Archdeacon Manning's, (^^^^Tay,) and
the Bishop of Calcutta's (natcbard); and of Sermons — a volume 'On the
Lord's Prayer,' by Mr. Packer, of Bethnal Green (Masters); a single
Sermon, sound and forcible, by Mr. Campbell, of Liverpool, preached at
the Bishop of Chester's Visitation, (Dcighton & LaugbtonJ ; an able
Sermon by Mr. Barnes, of East Looe, before the District Church Societies,
(Masters;) ' Christianity in Christ,' (Rowbottom,) by Mr. Wilkinson, of
Derby, better than we had anticipated; the 'Mission of the iievcnty/ a
Visitation Sermon, by Mr. Gee, (Bartlctt,) above the average; and two very
solemn Sermons on the Visitation of the Cholera — one by Mr. Mountain,
of Hemcl Hemsted, ' Fasting,' (Masters,) and one anonymous^ delivered at
Clapham, and ciixulated as a Tract, *The Warniuga of these Times/
(Simpkin.)

Mr. Denison, w hose persevering activity in the cause of Church Educa-
tion is beyond our praise, but requires our acknowledgment, has published
an important pamphlet, 'The Present State of tlie Management Clause
Question/ (Rivingtons,) That matters cannot, and must not be left in
their present state, we should think that the Government will soon be
compelled to feel; though not till after avery severe, perhaps protracted,
struggle. Every appointment in the Church displays a fixed determina-
lion on the part of Ministers to beat down Church principles ; and we may
not conceal what seems inevitable, that in a very short time, unless a
remedy is gained, we shall have to contest truth and right, not uniy with
our temporal but with our spiritual nilers. The Bishop of Manchester's
conduct in the Additional Cumtes* Society piuves that no law of the

494

Notices*

Church will restrain au active innovator. And the unaccoimtable^^H
politically un accountable, refusal of the Government to sanctiou a
general Fast-day — a rclusaii at leaat acquiesced ill by the Primate —
looks only like a deliberate design to thnart the Church's spiritual
energies. Here^ however, a higher inllueuce haa prevailed; and we
think the present not an unsuitable season for urging the Churches
grievances and wrongs — gust as any other institution xvould complain— in
language more lirm and decisive than haa yet been employed. With respect
to the Education Question, Mr. Deniaon's pamphlet only echoes our own
feelings as to the impossibility of accepting the ultimatum of the Privy
Council. We have received from Mr. Dcnison a private * Outline' of a
piau, which he throws out only to be canvassed by Churchmen. We have
not sought biB permission to print it ; but those interested in the matter may
doubtless procure it shortly through the various Church Unions. For our-
Bolvea, we think it premature tu bring out at present the comtructiee part
of any plan. First; and above all, and before any specific plan ia suggested,
\vc must display still more popularly than has been dime the illegal pro-
ceedings of the Committee of CounciU An able paper on the present state
of the tjucatioQ has been prepared by the Committee of the London Church
Union. And to this end it is proposed to call a public meeting on the
subject early in November. The question is a popular one, and must bo
treated in a popular way, Wc have hitherto been botli too timid and loo
strait-laced, Wc firmly believe that the Church's hold on the people is
vastly on the increase. Recent awfuJ dispensations have bad their share in
Ibis : but there is a disposition to hear the Church. None can over-estimate
the importance of the intereats at stake ; but the struggle b one not to be^i
carried through by thinking about it, ^H

Circumstances over which the Editor bad no control, have compelled the
postponement of an article on the case 'Gorhara v. IJishop of Exeter.'
WTiile we congratulate ourselves and readers upon the recejit decision in
the Court of Arches — the Court vihose authority has been ho pointedly
magnified by our opponents- — we can afford some delay in laying our
thoughts before the readers of the Christian Remembrancer. Whatever is
the case with Messrs, Goode and Gorham — and the pathetic appeals of
their organ, on the theme *No Secession/ show that they feel it to be a
desperate one— we at least can afford to possess our souls in patience. Not
only while we wait have we the sustaining conviction that the Head of the
Church will not suffi^r the Church's doctrme io be gainBaycd ; but upon still
lower grounds Sir H. i. Fust's decision is one which lawyers will not b<^H
likely to tamper with. Already, in spite of <iuerulous complaints on iho|^|
constitution of the Appeal Courts and Bignificant bints— incredible as they ^^
may be — about tampering with it, pro hdc u»Vf, common consent pronounces
the chances of the appeal to be desperate. Mr. Gorham, while wc are at
press, urges a pitiful appeal for funds. W^e should like to know w ho haa
the greatest reason to complain : the Bishop of Exeter, not among the
lichest prelates on the Bencb, harassed with three co-ordinate suits in the
Arches and the Queen's Bench, the latter backed by the ivhole influence and
staff of Government, (ihc Government purposely selecting and compelling
the most expensive processes against the Bishop)— or Mr. Gorham, sup.
ported from Court to Court by the Bamplbrd-Speke Fund? ^^^^J

INDEX TO VOL. XVIII,

(NEW SERIES.)

ARTICLES AND SUBJECTS.

Alllet [Jmmal (m Franct, &c.], Ul— IRl.
Aspect of the Cbtirch tn Frariw, 151, isa.
Dr. Wordtwortl), U3. The Author'i pur-
poM, 154: defection. \hh. Vftlueof theivork,
156. Educftdon In Prance, Estmcta. J57—
186. Seir devotion «f Ihe French CkTgy, 167.
DefeeU ofthi* tpitem, ]G«. Kxtrjict§, IfiS—
\t\, Po]iticAl retati<jn*or the French Churrh,
172— I ro. French Mi»»iaH!i. 176. How the
French Clergy meet inHdelity, 17?, J7N.
Proap«^ta of ttie Church of Rome. 1 70— Ifll .

Archf lecture [HitiorieM uf ArehUecttiTf h^
Mmtr$. Pmie and Prffman], IH2— 22A. Re-
▼Ivil ofChrJitian Architecture, 182; it* con-
nexion wkh dnrlrinAl and practienJ rvTiVB],
ISS. ]«4, Its lltcmtunv IflS. The Ardueo-
loj^cftl and Erc^miolofrical nchooht, IM— IftR.
Mr. Poole'* ot^ect, 114). Summu? of hit
work, 190—193. Mr. Freemui't object, 103.
Divenltlet of style, 104-'11lfl. His sum-
mary of CJreek Arebilecture, 199, Critirlam
of Mr. Frvelimo, 200—222. Pr<»«p«^t» of
C1iri»ti*n Arehltecture. 223—225.

CnthedrBJ* and Cathedral Inntttutlon* ]Pulili-
eatioMt 6,v Mettrt. Sidtttjf Herbrrt^ WhUton,
Wfiltff, Arc], 373 — 103. Stjitc of the capitu-
lar bodlefi, 373. 371, Row tite plenjt for their
preMrratl/nn have fajlal, S75, i76 N««d of
refomi, 377, 378. Cnthedral »erT{ce«i SVJ.
Choirt. 38<>— 5W. SchofiU, 3&4— 5&8. Mr
WhUton'ft caie, 38J>— 31/2. Who La reapon-
aiblei, SSI'S. Caae continued, H9i — 397. Me-
morial on choiri. 399 — tOl. Tabular ifiuw,
403, 403.

Greeoe, the Church In [CnrtoH't Visit to tke
LfTani], 1 14—150, Oar neglect of the Greek
Cli u rch , 1 14. Mr. Curzon'i obj ect, 1 1 5 . Ac^
counl of Ilia work, 1 IS— 120. Testteif^ny of
tFie Greek Church, 121, It* con»tUution and
present stnte. 122—120. Ka^ret, 126—128.
Hiiitple obedience a( the Greeka, 129; th«ir
orthodoxy and prtMrtlce, their dladplina
and temper, 130^144. Little value of Mr.
Curzon'* book on these polnta, 1+4, Kxtraett,
11^ IJil. The Monaatlc System, 147, 14».
What our dutiea are. 149, 150,

Horace [Milmani Ediiion], 2fl7-2S7 The
older editions, 2l'r7. Milman'a quattficallonii,
26«. The Um, 2«9, 270. Tbe ll<irntiim era, 271
—274. Appt^aranciMnf Hor«ec, 275. J{i« |ir«.
cliaracii't, influence, and pUilii*ophy, 276
- 2Hii|. Pij|jiilarHv of the Hctratian ttniper,
287.

Hymnology. Frugl ah [HjfmnBooks and Col-
IfHiuns Isi WatU, ft'ealtf, Daitdridge^
A'c.J, ."102—313. Intlucnce of the Keforma-
lion on HyinnolojRr. 303, Tl^e Elixabetban
writer*. 304. Shiriey, 305. The New V»»r»lon.
Its eta. 306. Watt» « HyTiinn: their rharacv
Ut a)'d sueceaa, and faultJi, 307 — 31 1. Trana-
lation. 312. Doddridge* 313. The Wcakya,
;il4— 316. Whit«ffleld, 317. Cennick. 818.
Topladv, 313. The Mlnej Hpiint, ibid.
Other collection!!, 320. Revival in ttie Ktig*
liuli Church — lt» iiiflupncc on Hyuitiolojfy,
»2I, The Bn'viary HjTnns, 322. Vanoua
irauA^atloni frum the Roman tiioka, 323 —
3.14. Hymna for Children. 3;tS. Wat I «. Taylor.
Wllllanis, Xeale. 335—340. Evangelical Me-
lodiei. 310—343.

Geology and Revelntion [Publicatian* Ay Sir
ChattpM Lyelt, &C.1, 226— 24B. Present state
of geological urience, 226. Ita contact with
revelation. 227—229. Meaaure of thia con-
tact, 330, IS 1 . ronuexlon with Inspiration.
S3f, 333. EHflbreut provinces of science and
theoloey, 134-237. Unfalrne*^ of Lydl,
2S8, %t9. The ChriatJan method of uhDoko-
^m phjr. 240— 2 i«.

■ NO. LXVI — K.8*

Jeni«alem {n'>ittamj't Htilj, Ciiff], 418— 4ni.
li^atiniate of tiavcl, 418, 419, Jeruaaiena, ila
manifold importance. 420, 421. Ita alte, 4Z8
—427. Spirit in whirh It must be atudiecl. 428,
Mr. WiliiamiB usual trnv.er, 429. Catltiriate
of hi* work. 4.10 — 433. Ita pUn and o^Jecu.
431—436. Dr. RobinBon, 437, iM. Staje of
thefOhtriVvriy hcfwei^n Wilii.jnksand Itohin-
■iin, 439-442. Hi«torv of JerUMleni, 4t3—
4<Ja. • Ita lopogtavby, 406—476.

M M

496

INDEX.

Meinhold [Sidonia, a Tale, &c.]. S44— 372.
How far literary deception Is alluwable, 344.
A question of degree, S45, 346. Meinhold's
'Amber Witch/ 346, 347- Sidonia, 348
Its faults, 349. Meinhold's estinuite of ra-
tionaliim, 350. Witchcrafi, 351. Analysis
and criticiHtn of Sidonia, 352—370. Its
resemblance to Vanity Fair, 371, 372.

Palestrina, Biography of {Publtcationa bg
A> fieri, &c.], 404—417 Age of Palestrina,
404. State of Cliurch Music. 405. Biography
of Palestrina and esti i ate of his works, 406
—415. CaUlogue of his works, 416, 417.

Rupert, Prinee, and the Caralien [Eliot War-
burUm'i Memoir* of, Ite.l, 86—113. General
chancterlstics of Charles's reign, 86, 87.
WarbUTton's style and historical powers, 88,
89. Hia aim, 90. Life of Prince Rupert,
91, ftc. EztracU ttam the work, 92—1 13.

Stecichorui, remaini of; and other lost writings
of antiquity [BdiUoiu by Oile» and Kleiue],
1—28. Imperfect character of fragments, 1.
Lost Claaaiei, 2. Stesichorua, 3. His bio-
graphy, 4—8. Hia fh^ments, 9. Tranala-
tions of these fragmento, 10—24. Influence
of fhigments on language, 8ce. 24 — ^28.

Rationalism [Worki by Meura. Morell and
Francit Netoman], 65—85. The character
of Morell's Rationalism, 65. its true view,
66. Character of Morell's work, 67. Matter
and Substance, 68. Criterion of intuition,
68, 69. Its application to Inspiration and
the Jaws of Truth, 70, 71 To the doctrine
of Mediation, 72 ; as applied by Dr. Hamp-
den, 73. The natural and supernatural views
of Inspiration, 74 ; contrasted with Church
doctrine, 75, 76. Objections to Morell's
theory, 71. Mr. F. Newman's work, 78.
Its ' Evangelical' language, 79, 80. On
preaching, 81. His viewb the complement
of Puritan theology, 82, 83. Their probable
results, 84, b5.

Taylor's Poems {Notet from Life, Eve of tkt
Conquett, fire], 29—64. Reserve of authon,
29. Modes of composition, 30, 31. Notes
A-om Life, 32. Extracts and criticisms, S3,
34. Style and expression, 35. Language,
36— S9> Poetry, iU definition, 39 ; an art,
40, 41. Illustrations from Taylor, 42—46.
Ornaments of poetry, 47, 48. Mr. Taylor's
obscurity, 49, 50. His use of technical lan-
guage, 51. His contempt of passion, 52-^54.
Hit estimate of love and marriage, 55 — 59.
Taylor's Essays, 60—62. His poem on Italy,
63, 64.

Tempter, the [Scenet where IMe Tempter kat
triumphed], 288-301. Taking tiUea, 288-
290. Exaggerated subjecta, 291. Connexion
of this work with actual scenes, 291. The
work a decided failure, 292. Exuacts from,
and criticisms upon it, 293-^301.

INUKX.

497

SHORTER NOTICES OF BOORS AND PAMPHLETS.

Jpt*.— Children's Bookii, Rellglooii Taltn, &r.
— Adelaide'^ Gill — Sheijiieriis of Bethlebem

— Nicholson on Hajitistii — Mariliaii on
Hapti4in — Harrington against Macaulay

— BalihijTton againet Macaulsy — Galty
nti BnptliiTn— HibUi on Baptism— Cbarpc* by
Archdeaconii Halt? and Sinclair— Rtmarks on
the Recjard, &c. — Vaut^lianV Letter to Mr.
MUca-Co»serat'« Letter to Bi»i;ot» of Exeter
— Caltreir* Hell^non in Germany — Lyon
affiUiut Diiko of ArfoU— Boss pn LliocewftHi
CoUeffe*— Cavenctish"* Letter to An-hbifhop
of Canterbury — Bttrt«r's Warning, S:c.—
Heiinley on Publir Worsliip — Hewftt on
Exi'lcr Cathedral — Winston on Palnt<>d
GlaBB^Edciealion of CltoiiAler* «t 8. Paul'B—
Sherkwk'i Prnctieal Christlati— J, T&ylor'i
Life of Christ— Parker'* Ut>^ Precum— Self-
murder — Hook on the Miracle* — Bowtell on
Bra-isefl — Balmez on Protestantijim — Wll-
liELmji'^s Holy City— Nistsch'* System of Doc-
trine—WordHWorth** Edition of Apocalypse —
Walcot'i WcHtmlnsler — Sejmours MominKB
with Jesuit*^ Panhenoifeneftifl — Knoi on
Daniel — Pruf. Butler's Sermons — Prlcliard's
Rermons and Life of Hincmar— Serraona by
Chanter, i;arper, Jackson. Hcurtley— Devout
Chortatcf— Doyle 'b tEdlpuu— Plea for Siiter-
hoodi— AbrldOTifnt of Theophiluji Anglica-
nun— Whe well 'ii Edition of Buller'» Sermon*
— Rodrli^ui'E on Perfection — Quadrupani'^
ChHation Consokd — Herbert'* PwniJi. &c. —
White'* ^flu^^^l!nld Window — Anivnl< of Colo-
nial Church— Judith— Bib*r'» Life ofS. Paul
— Willmt»lf» Sunimcr-Tinie in Country —
Hea-ulde Book— Rambles In 8u*«cx— Trcvll
Kan on Fnemauonry— Morgan's Notes, fee.
— Cyrlo|)s Christlaiunt— Vo^an's Lt-cttires—
fiuidtf to Daily Praywr— ^l&kfley'H Letter to
CliTutlan Remiembraiiicer — SirT, Philliji<K on
W«]e» — CorjiUs iKnatiaiuint— Bock's Cliurrh
of miT Palher* — Sfmuma hv Mt(i*r». Man-
nitip. frsirbeit, Hnrris, LoAvr, Bp. Dofinc. Bp.
of Exeter, Mr. MartiUt tic.

October.— Meditatiani In Verse on the Col-
lecti — Fieiaa Metrica— Reade'p Bcvelation*
of LEfe— The Strayed Reveller— Nind's Ora^
tory— The Paraon* Home— Cotton on the
Lord's Supper — Kings of Kngland — Remain*
of Mr*. Hnflond— Pamphlet* on Church Ex-
tension and SuMlvialnn of Parishea — Ander-
ton's Miscellaneous Addresses-^l^tterk on
Panthtfi>m— NIf Hols' TrftuNlitlon of Ernsmua'
Pil£Timafl[eB — Wilde on Swift"* Illness — Fox-
tt>n« Popular ChristianUy— Auerbafb's Vi-
enna — Darling's Catatofnie — Hughes on
Admission of Jews to P»rliameni — Darlinff
on Mnrrk4;e Question— Dr. Hook on ditto—
Bulwer Lytton's King Arthur — Man^in on
the Church — Sunset Reverie— Last Sleep of
a Child. irc—Doctrino of the Cross, &e.-~
Moral Songs — Address to Srhoolmastcrs —
MUa Peck's Adventure*— Bowdler's Family
Prayers, fcc- Tract*, by Mr, Cliandler; the
London Tract* f Parker"* Tracts; on Inter-
cesaory Prayer— Developments of Proteat-
antisn} — D'Atlbtj;ll6 on Cnmnier- Hunter's
MisiortCH] Tracts — ^French on Colour — On
Swedenborg — Bp. Diane's PaniphlelA —
Hatton on Greek Accents -Maskeira Ten
Sermons- iltddleton*8 Grotius — ReHections
by Liffuori— Russell's Anelent Kniwlit— H3»-
tory of Spain — Pastor of We lUKJurn — Sac-red
Lyric* — Puckle** S, A ugrus tine's — Cutts on
SepiiJdirtil Slali* and CrQe&es^Jaekflon on
the Wesleyaii Confereiiire, *c.— Charges by
Arrhde.irtm Manning and Bisttop of CaU'Utta
— Serm«jri!i by Messrs. Packer, Campbell,
Hurnt'K. Wilkinson, Gee, Mountain, ate—
DeniHi'n on Churrh Edueatiun iluestiun —
Gorham v. BIsbop of Exeter.

IC ULA.. I'lilATKll, U*l\At' tiXUJbLi illl^.

T ^

No, LXVL]

[Vol. XVUL

THE

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<!litta):tcrl|> lE^e^tc^*

OCTOBER.

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UNDER THE PATRONAGE OP ROYALTY, AND THE AUTHOHITT
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for Disorders of the Puhnonarf/ Or^aji4 — in Difflciilty of Breathing — in
Rtiduudancr of Phlegm — in Incipient Consumption (of which Cough b the moat
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KEATIWGS COUGH LOZENGES arc free from every deleterious ingredient;
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Hold Retail by all Cbemitits.

MEDICAL TESTIMONY OF MEKIT.

FBOX MR. JtUHIJJT, LATK A PRAGTITIOMKB IK CHELTHKHAM.

Huntley^ Gloucestershire^ M November ^ 1848.

Dkar Kkatiwo,— It affords me much pletwure to learn that the Bale of your
Cough Lozenges ia bo extenaive. Being acquainted with thoir oumpoaition, 1 am
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suffered for many year*! from Asthma.

If you consider the tcHtimony of a retired Practitioner (after thirty-stx years of
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To Mr. Kbatik<j, St. Paula Churchyard. 8. H. MU RLET.

DOUDNEVS

auEEM vicTam A. auEEir ai»£KiAii»k,

H.R,H. Prinoe Albert, H.R.H, The Duchess of Kent, ^

\ KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, fl

And the ROTAI. FAMILIES of ENGZ.AND and FRANCE.
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oX Lheii cuiitoiDetft testify^

The New Patterns for Spring and Summer wear are now read)^ for

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The Queens Victoria and Adelaldei and the Boyal and Nohle Duchesses

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nitfUtl.'* (Fide Morning Poii, Septtm&tt 2(it]k.J Thtf tmpmxm &U oLh«rii for School Cldnki for thi wmi jmd daughter!.

For Gentlemen. — The Royal Registered Cloak, ss made fov

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LIVERIES. Three Guineas the Plain Suit of Best Quality. Read^ M

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the Ladies of the Court. A Superfine Cloth Habit for 4 Guineas

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Country Gentlemen wishinff to be Respectably Dressed at low Prices shou

»emd for a Book, of detail, tclf-meatuxemenC ond au the B7«t«fa of huaitteic, or If 3 of 4 Gentl«Dflii unite, a TrftTtlki
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Ladi— • ,

17, OLDBOWO ST., 25,B^B.l.lSGrt01S ASIC ADE
lffi,XOAf BAfi.il STlL^£T--'E.&\.%\]ni%\i&^Vl^Aia

CONTENTS

No. LXVL

FAOE

Art. I.— The Works of Quintus Horatius Flaccus : illustrated
chiefly from the Remains of ancient Art With
a Life. By the Rev. H. H. Millman 267

II. — Scenes where the Tempter has triumphed. By the

Author of The Gaol Chaplain 288

III.— 1. Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs. By Isaac
Watts, D.D.

2. A Collection of Hymns, for the Use of the People
called Methodists. By the Rev. John Wesley,
A.M.

3. Hymns, founded on various Texts of the Holy
Scriptures. By Philip Doddridge, D.D.

4. A Collection of Hymns for Social Worship ; more
particularly designed for the Use of the Taber-
nacle and Chapel Congregations. By George
Whitefield, M.A. ' 302

5. The Olney Hymns.

6. Hymns on various Passages of Scripture. By
Thomas Kelly.

7. Hymns, By Augustus Toplady, M.A.

8. Hymns. By Reginald Heber, D.D. Lord Bishop
of Calcutta.

9. The Cottage Hymn-book. Published by the Re-
ligious Tract Society,

10. The Christian Psalmist : Hymns selected and
original By James Montgomery.

11. A Selection of Psalms and Hymns. By the Rev.
C. Simeon, M.A.

&c, &c. &c.

NO. LXVl. — ^N.8.

Books Published by John Henry Parker,

XXII.

MARRIAGE WITH A DECEASED WIFE'S SISTER PRO-
HIBITED BY HOLY SCRIPTURE, as understood by the Church for
1500 years. By the Rev. E. B. Pusey, D.D. To which is added, A Speech
bearing on the English Law of Marriage, delivered in the Court of Queen's
Bench. By E. Baoeley, Esq. M.A. 8vo. 6«.

XXIII.

THE PSALTER, with the Gregorian Tones adapted to the several
Psalms; as also the Canticles in the Prayer-book, and the Creed of St.
Athanasius. Second Edition, 18mo. 2«.

XXIV.

SERMONS ON THE MINISTRY AND MINISTERIAL
RESPONSIBILITIES ; to which is appended, a View of the Parochial
System. By the Rev. E. Monro, M.A. Nearly ready,

XXV.

A HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND, from the

Earliest Times to the Revolution of 1688. By the late Rev. J. B.

Carwithen. a New Edition, revised and corrected. 2 vols, small 8vo.

Nearly ready,

XXVI.
THE SINGERS OF THE SANCTUARY; a Tale. By the

Author of '* Angels* Work." In the Press.

XXVll.
PAROCHIAL SERMONS PREACHED IN A VILLAGE
CHURCH. By Charles A. Heurtley, B.D. Rector of Fenny Compton,
Warwickshire, Honorary Canon of Worcester Cathedral, and late Fellow of
Corpus Christi College, Oxford. 12mo. 5«. 6rf.

XXVIII.

NINE LECTURES ON THE MOST HOLY SACRAMENT
OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. Delivered at the Theological Lecture in the
Cathedral of Chichester, in the Year mdcccxlviii. By the Rev. Thos. L.
VoGAN, M.A. 8vo. 8*.

XXIX.

JUSTIFICATION : Eight Sermons preached before the University
of Oxford, at Bampton's Lecture, 1845. By the Rev. C. A. Heurtley.
Second Edition. 8vo. 9*.

XXX*

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays
and Holydays throughout the Year. Thirty-fourth Edition. 32mo. 3*. 6d. ;
morocco^ bs. ; or in morocco by Hayday, 7».

Also, 18mo. clothf 6*. ; morocco, 8#. Gd. ; or bound by Hayday, 12*.

And foolscap 8vo. 7s. Gd. ; morocco, 10*. 6d. ; or bound by Hayday, 15*.

XXXI.

THE CATHEDRAL; or, the Catholic and Apostolic Church in
England. Thoughts in Verse on Ecclesiastical Subjects, selected and ar-
ranged so as to correspond with the different parts of a Gothic Cathedral,
with Engravings.

Stjpth Edition. 32nio. 4*. 6d. cloth ; morocco, 6*. ; bound by Hayday, 9*.
Also in fcp. 8vo. 7*. 6d. cloth; morocco, 10*. 6d. ; bound by Hayday, 15«.

XXXII.

THE BAPTISTERY ; or, the Way of Eternal Life. By the Author
of "The Cathedral." Third Edition. 8vo. cloth, 15*. ; morocco, U. 1*.
Also, 32mo. cloth, 3*. 6d. ; morocco, 5*. ; or bound by Hayday, 7s, 6d.

Oxford ; and ^11 Strand^ London,

xxxui.
A LATIN GRAMMAR for the use of Schools. By Prof. Madvig.

With AdilitionR by the Author. Translated by the Rev. G. F. Woods. M.A.
of Unireraity College. 8vo. unifarm with Jelf'a " Greek Grammar/' 14*.

XX XIV.

OXFORD POCKET EDITIONS OF
AND LATIN CLASSICS.
Ph.gdrus. 1«. 4d.

NEW SERIES OF THE
THE GREEK

M9CwnvB. In ih€ Frew.

EURIPIDEB. 3t9.Sd,

HeaoDOTiTs, 2 vols, 6*.

HoMKRi Iltas. 3#. ^d.

HoMF.Ri Odyssea, 5ec. In the Preu,

HORATIUS- 2*.

Livius. hi the Pretts,

Sallustius, 2#.
sophoclks. 3#.
Tacitus. In the Preu,
Thucydjdks. 2 vols* 5».

ViRGILICS. 3*.

Xfnophon— Memorabilia.

If. id.

Charles P, Chre-
6«.

School Edithnjt of the fallowing are aho now rmdjf,

ViBoiLiuB, 2f. 6d. Phj&orub, U. 4rf. Horatius, 2#, Sallustius, I*. 4rf,

AmsTOPRANES. In the Prem.

ThU aeriea of Greek and Ijitin CtuaicA comblneA^ to a greater extent than h.u hitherto been

^ittemplQd in thu country, accuracy of typography and purity of text witli olK»»[int!«« and poi'to-

liility. With this object one of th«> nio«t recent and approved texts of v&ch aiilhor ha^ been

impUoitly ItalWwed, and the works are printed In % legible tyn- und utrotigly bound in cloth, Of

MMneof the authors, «uoh as Horace, Pbtfdrtui, Juvenal, and Aristophanes, oxpurgated'editiona

are (.ubliidied tar the um of ^chooU.

XXXV,

THUCYDIDES, with Notes, chipflj Historical and Geographical, by
the late Thos. Arkolo» D.D. A Neu> Edition, with Maps. 3 vols, 8vo. U. 10«*

XXXVl.

THUCYDIDES* ex recensione L Bekker et T. Arnold, 8vo.
New Etliihttt nearly ready.

XXXV u.

AN ESSAY ON LOGICAL METHOD. By
TIEN, M.A. Fellow and Tutor of Oriel College. 8?o.
XXXV I M.

BISHOP WILSON ON THE LORD'S SUPPER. Being a

Short and Plain Instruction for the better Understanding of the Lord's Supper,
with the necessary Preparation required : for the Benefit of Young CorpmunicantB,
and of such as have not well eoui^idered that Holy Ordinance. To which is
affixed. The Office of the Holy Communion ; with Pr<ii>er Helps and Directions
for joining m every Part thereof, with understanding and benetit. Also, Short
Moniing and Evenini? Prayers for Families and Persona ua Private, A New
Edition, reprinted entire. Cloth, I*. ; roan, Is. 6d.

xxxtx,
PROGRESSIVE EXERCISES ON THE CHURCH CATE-
CHISM. By the Rev, Henry Hopwood, M.A., Rector of Bothd, Northum-
berland, late Diocesan Inspector of Schools for the National Society. Part I.
Previous Exercises. Part IL The Church Catechism, with Short Questions

Iand Answers. Part III. Analytical ExerGi&ee. 32mo. 2d. each.
SERMONS BY THE LATE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT.
Edited by bis Sons, the Rev. J. Marriott, of Bradlield, Berlis, and the Rev. C.
Marriott, Oriel College, Oxford. Second Edition. 8vo. Is, Od.
XLI.
THE LIFE AND TtMES OF HINCMAR, Archbishop of
Rheims. By the late Rev. J. C. PnicHAau. Fcp. 8vo. 8«. 6rf.
XLIl.
THOMAS A KEMPIS DE IMITATIONE CHRISTL Lib. IV.
12tno. handsomely printed with red linex, ^'c, 4». Gd.

A BOOK OF ORNAMENTAL GLAZING QUARRIES, col-
lected and ttrrjmged from Ancient Exmnpks. By Avcuaxus Wolla»ton
F&ANK8, B.A. With 112 Coloured Exampk*. 8vo, IG*.

" DosiRned an a rupplement*! rolum* to Mr. Winnton's Bonk on P«.lfiit«d Gt««, i» an admi-
rable collection, The subjects are accurately traced, and the nicetj of the tint and leading
proJierred. The exarapleji are cloMed, and an Lngenlotu Introduction displays the taste and
reacarch of the author,"— CArw/Mit Bemen^ramcer.

XMV.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF PAINTED

GLASS, with Remarks on Modern Glass Painting. By Cuaulks Winston,
Esq. dvo. 2«. 6d.

XLV.

AN INQUIRY INTO THE DIFFERENCE OF STYLE OB-
SERVABLE IN ANCIENT PAINTED GLASS, with Hints on Glass Paint-
ingt illustrated by numerous Coloured Plat«s from Ancient Examples. By an
Amateur. 2 toIs^ 8vo. 1/. 10«.

XLVI.

AN ATTEMPT TO DISCRIMINATE THE DIFFERENT
STYLES OF ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND. By the late Thomas
RiCKMAN, F.S.A. With SO Engravings on Steel by Le Keux, &c., and 465
an Wood, of the best examples^ from Original Drawings by F. Mackenzie,
O. Jewitt, and P. H. De la Motte. Fifth Edition. 8vo. 2 Is.

XLVU.

ECCLESIASTICAL TOPOGRAPHY OF ENGLAND. Pari L

Bedfordshire, Part II, Berkshire. Part IIL Buckinghamshire, %vo, 2*.Sd.
each.

XLVJll,

WORKING DRAWINGS OF STRIXTON CHURCH, NORTH-
AMPTONSHIRE.—Views, Elevations, Sections, and Details of. By Edwailo
Bahh, Esq. Architect. Twelve Plates. Folio. lOt. W,

A small Church in the Early Englbh Style. Calculated for 200 persons '. to cost

about 800/.

XLIX.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF GOTHIC

ARCHITECTURE, with numerous IlltiBtratioM. Nearly ready,

THE PRIM.^VAL ANTIQUITIES OF DENMARK. By

J. J. A. WoRSAAE, Member of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Copen-
hagen. Translated and applied to the Illustration of similar Remains iu England,
by WiiLiAM J, TuoMs, F.S.A. , Secretary of the jElfric Society. With nu-
merous tUostr&tions. Nearly ready.

Lf.

MEMOIRS OF GOTHIC CHURCHES. Read before the Oxford
Society for Promoting the Study of Gothic Architecture. Httseley, Dorchester.
8vo. with numerous Engravings. I2t,

Oxford; and 377 Strand, London,

XXXI I J.

A LATIN GRAMMAR for the use of Schools. By Prof. Madvig,
With Additions by the Author, Translated by the Rev. G. F* Woods, M,A,
of University College. 8vo. aaiform with Jelf s "Greek Grammar," lit,

XXXIV.

NEW SERIES OF THE OXFORD POCKET EDITIONS OF
THE GREEK AND LATIN CLASSICS*

Ms c HYL VS. In the Preas.

EUIITPIDKS. 3«. Gil.

Hr.RODOTCs, 2 vols, 6f,

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HoMRRi ODvasEA, &c. Ift the Prut.

HORATICS. 2*.

Ln'ius. In the Preas.

Salldstids. 2m.

SOPHOCLKS. 3t,

Tacitus. Ih the Prett.
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Xen o p u 0 n — Memorabilia .

1*. Id.

School Editwnt of thefotlomng are aim now ready.

ViRoiLius, 2f. 6d. Ph^orus, U. 4d. Hojuvtitis, 2*. Sallustius, 1*. 4d.

Aristophanes. In the Preat.

T\Am Mfies of Greek and Latin Clajsslcs combines, to a greater extent than haa hltberto bean

Attempted in thta country, nccuracy of typofiri'Hptiy and parity of text with cheapn«w and [Mrta^

lulity. With thi» object one of the mo»t recent »nd appnrved test* of each Author ha4 been

|jnp?'icil1.v followed, and the works are printed In a legible ty| e ftijd utrongly bound tn eloth. Of

some of "the authors, such as llorftce, Phajdrus, Juvenal, and Aristophanes, oxpurfated'editinni

are (ublijihed for the use of Schools.

XXXV.

THUCYDIDES, with Notes, chietiy Historical and Geographical, by
the late Tuos, Arnold, D.D. A New Edition, with Maps, 3 vols. Bto. 1/. iOa,

XXXVI.

THF'CYDIDES» ex recensione I. Bekker et T. Arnold. 8vo.
New Edition t nearly ready*

XXXVII.

AN ESSAY ON LOGICAL METHOD. By Chahles P. Chrk-

TIEN, M.A, Fellow and Tutor of Oriel College. Bvo. 6#.

xxxvin.
BISHOP WILSON ON THE LORD*S SUPPER. Being a

Short and Plain In§tniction for the better Understanding of the Lord'ss Supper,
with the tiece«flary Pre|iaratiou retiuired : for the Benefit of Young Commianicants»
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affixed. The OflSoe of the Holy Communion ; with Projver Helps and Directions
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XXXIX.

PROGRESSIVE EXERCISES ON THE CHURCH CATE-
CHISM. By the Rev. Henry Hopwood, M.A,, Rector of Bothal^ Northum-
berland, late Diocesan Inspector of Schools for the National Society. Part I.
Previous Exercises. Part II. The Church Catechism, with Sbort Questions
and Anewers. Part III. Analytical Exerciaes. 32mo. 2d. each.

XL.

SERMONS BY THE LATE REV, JOHN MARRIOTT.

Edited by hU SonB, the Rev. J. Marriott, of Bradfield, Berks, and the Rev. C.
Marriott, Oriel CoLIc^, Oxford. Second Edition. Bvo. 7t. Gd.

XLI.

IHE LIFE AND TIMES OF HINCMAR, Archbishop of
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XLIl,

THOMAS A KEMPIS DE IMITATIONE CHRISTL Lib, IV.

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Books Published by John Henry Parker,

LXIV.

TWELVE SERMONS PREACHED AT HER MAJESTY'S

CHAPEL, WHITEHALL. By William E. Jklf, B,D. Censor and Tutor of
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LXV.
AN ESSAY ON THE PRIESTHOOD; intended chiefly as an
Answer to the Theory of the Churrli, as advanced by Dr, Arnold. By the Rev.
Henry Harris, B.O* Demy of Magdnlpu College, Oxford. 8vo. 2a.

LXVI,
Also bp the anme,

THE INSPIRATION OF HOLY SCRIPTURE CONSIDERED

IN REFERENCE TO OBJECTIONS. A Sermon preached before the
University of Oxford. Bvo. Iir. 6d.

LXVII.

THE CHRLSTIAN MINISTRY FULFILLED. A Sennon

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LXVllI.
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THE HOURS; bein<r Devotions for the Third, Sixth, and Ninih
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Lonam t — Prtwted l»j a. B4ni\»^, C»ift» *^\iiJi«MM« ^.

PUBLISHED BY

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POETRY PAST AND PRESENT,

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or bound in Morocco^ Is. Qd,

" We have hnsix cbarmed bj every pa«© of thU collectton that we have read> lU
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roend thU roltitne to jroonc petwia,"—EngiitM Meview.

*' TbU telectioD bai been made with adralraJble Uat« snd Jadgment, and com-
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" Ad elegant little Tolnine inoct carefully selected firoro tho hest authors, wtth
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work admirably adapted for a present.'*— Guardian.

" The Editor hu had a geoetal object well In view throughout the teketion j an
aim which has Icnparted a mpanlng and unity to his work, wilhout at the same time
jinpaiTioK ita freedom : and the collection li w*U adspled to be a serviceable gtilde
In forming a poetical taitc in younger miuds, as well oa a tueful key to anyreoden
of EnglUh poetry, to tell them where and under what names they will And poetry
to tltelr taste. There are some striking pieces of orlgioa] poetry Interspersed."—
CkrUtimn liemembraneer.

Just PuhlWied^

Second Edition^ with the addition of a Table of the Contemporary
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KINGS OF ENGLAND;

A HISTORY FOR YOUNG CHILDREN.

Foolscap 8i*o, Cloth, Ss.

" This is a very diflScuIt task ; and has never been so well executed as In the
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** A succinct and pleasingly told history of the prominent events in Church and
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'* The Author has produced a very good general History of England— written
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Christian Remembrancer, Jan. 1849.

" A very well written volume, sound and moderate In its principles of Church
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CONVERSATIONS

THE CHURCH SERVICE.

BY THE AUTHOR
OF " EASY LESSONS FOR SUNDAY SCHOOLS."

Second Edit loji, 18/no, Cloth, Is. Sd.

*' A little book which will be found suitable for a parochial lending library. It
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SHORT SERMONS,
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BY TTIB KEV. 8. llICltAJtDS, A.M., BKCTO& OF 8TC»WLAJIOTOrT,
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Bmitj RfO, Cloth, y#.
** Tbe Sermons eomprU^d In ihU volumci, «ppe«r to twre be«a ciotirerad Id (ixo
couTM of pastoral tnlnlftrntiuDs Ip • rural corigre^iUlun, Hbd ibose vbo 4r«
prlvll0fed to hear inch dlicourMi, maf coDitiOer tbecntelvci more than oominonlr
fkvoured. For Fkmllf Reading, we sbouJid think tbcsc Sermoiu eveo belter
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TEE CniilSTIAN HOUSEHOLDER;

OR GUIDE TO FAMILY PRAYER.

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stories for Children, salted for Sunday School
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selection of wortls, arranged on a new and systematic
plan, with copious and accurate definitions, 12mo, 4th
edition, revised, coloured sheep, Is. 6d.

JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY, in miniature, with the
addition of 2500 words not before inserted ; to which
are added, an abridgment of Murray's English Gram-
mar, lists of irritial letters, and of contractions and
phrases in common use ; a concise account of heathen
mythology, and Walker's Key to the pronunciation of
classical and Scripture proper names, royal 18mo, roan,
lettered, 2s. b'd.

JONES'S edition of SHERIDAN'S PRONOUNCING
AND EXPLANATORY DICTIONARY, revised
and improved by W. fiirkin, square ISmo, sheep^
3s. 6d.

ENFIELD'S SPEAKER, improved edition, beautiful
new designed frontispiece, roan lettered, 3s. 6d.

PLATTS' NEW JUVENILE READER, for the use
of Schools and Private Teachers ; being a Sequel to
the Spelling-Book, 12mo, 6th edition, sheep, 2s.

ETON LATIN GRAMMAR, 12mo, sheep, 2s.

ETON LATIN ACCIDENCE, 12mo, sheep. Is.

LITTLE CHILD'S READER; original Stories,
adapted to the understanding of young Children, by
Maria Young, 18mo« doth, 9d.

SUNDAY SCHOOL PRIMER, by the Rev. R. Simp-
son, 18mo, 3d.

SECOND-CLASS BOOK, for Sunday Schools, by the
Rev. R. Simpson, ISmo, 3d.

MR. BURNS'S CHILDREN'S BOOKS.

Messrs. J. & C. Mozley have just
purchased froia Mr. Burns all the
smaller portion of his popular series
of Children's Books, and they will
shortly be able to offer them for sale —
separately or in packets.

CON TENTS OF No. LXVf

AuT- L Mi]iimn'» Horace.

II. Sconce whcTt^ the Tempter haa iriampUftd.

III. Eugli^h Il^'fiiaoliigy : tt^ liisftory nm\ IVospeck&

IV. Mffinbold's Si<lonm,
V. CiLiUedruls and Cotbctdral Instttutioua.

VL Biogra|>by of Palwtrina.

VIL Jorusalwm. — Williams' Holy Ciiy.

NoTic£a o» New Books knt* PAMPStvTa:^

MydiUlIotu in V«i*e i>u llie Collect*— Picta« Motrica - Hea<le'a Eevolaiioi

Tl,.. ^.1

•PrI T'.i, II.

\\,u\\. Oratory— Tl'

n and 8a! ■

Co.

Au
Tr

LonrJoTj TrHdja; 1*arT<or'K TmclM » on Ini«n^p«worv Pmver

offN, '■^■' ' ■ ^-^ " ■'■ ■,• '"•

Fr.

tioi

ell I

DeuiMOQ on Cliureli Kdueaiion Qucalion— Oorham t*. raab

^Y// Booh for Review, Letters, Communicatit
to be addrvifsed to

Megsnt, John and Charles Mozlev,

Publishera of the ChriatiaH Jtemembrancer^

No. 6, Patermmfet

No, LXVIl. WnX BE PITBLTOHKD ON THB FlBST OF JaKTMUTi Ift5t>W

» '-•^V i...l*.T^«

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