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up and take for granted, without specially enumerating them, all good moral principles and habits; yet nothing is more remarkable in Paul than the frequent, nay, incessant lists, in the most particular detail, of moral habits to be pursued and avoided. Lists of this sort might in a less sincere and profound writer be formal and wearisome; but to no attentive reader of St.

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Paul will they be wearisome, for in making them he touched the solid ground which was the basis of his religion, the solid ground of his hearty desire for righteousness and of his thorough conception of it, and only on such a ground was so strong a superstructure possible. The more one studies these lists, the more does their significance come out. To illustrate this, let anyone go through for himself the enumeration, too long to be quoted here, in the four last verses of the first chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, of things which are not convenient;' or let him merely consider with attention this catalogue, towards the end of the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Galatians, of fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faith, mildness, self-control.' The man who wrote with this searching minuteLess knew accurately what he meant by sin and righteousness, and did not use these words at random. His diligent comprehensiveness in his plan of duties is only less admirable than his diligent sincerity. The sterner virtues and the gentler, his conscience will not let him rest till he has embraced them all. In his deep resolve to make out by actual trial what is that good and perfect and acceptable will of God,' he goes back upon himself again and again, he marks a

Christ's physical death and resurrection only in so far as that death and resurrection were specially representative of the spiritual renunciations and the spiritual transfigurations of which our Lord's whole life on earth was made up.

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But profoundly as we concur in this conception of St. Paul's ultimate thought, and of the meaning he attached to dying with Christ and rising again with Him, we are removed as far as possible from Mr. Arnold in our interpretation of the motive power by which, according to the apostle, the great revolution from a legal and virtually impossible righteousness of conscience, to the daily crucifixion of the flesh and daily resurrection to the love and joy and mildness and "sweet reasonableness" of Christ was to be accomplished. That motive-power, Mr. Arnold interprets him as meaning by as every one knows, St. Paul calls "faith." this, a power of steadfast attachment to the spirit visible in Christ's earthly life, a power of sympathy and emotion educed by the spectacle of that life. That St. Paul in various passages of his writings, identified Christ with the Word or Wisdom of God, and also with the expected Messiah of the Jewish dispensation, Mr. Arnold admits, but these views he regards as utterly nonessential in his thought. Had they been essential, St. Paul could not have had the same interest, he thinks, for modern feeling. tions are composed are such as science is "The very terms of which these proposiunable to handle. But that the Christ of the Bible follows the universal moral order and the will of God, without being let and hindered as we are by the motions of priNothing, too, can be truer than the em-vate passion and self-will, this is evident to phasis which Mr. Arnold lays on the spirit- whoever can read the Bible with open eyes. ualized sense in which St. Paul speaks of It is just what any criticism of the GospelChrist's death and resurrection, as referring history, which sees that history as it really not solely or chiefly to his physical death is, tells us; it is the scientific result of that and physical resurrection, but to that death history. And this is the result which preto sin, and resurrection to a divine right-eminently occupies Paul." And accordeousness, in which the apostle himself strove ingly, the motive-power to which St. Paul to participate daily, speaking of himself virtually looked for a reconciliation of man as dying daily with Christ, and daily rising with God is, according to Mr. Arnold, the with Christ to spiritual life. It is impossi- power of fast attachment" to an absent ble for us to render again Mr. Arnold's and unseen power of goodness which St. exposition, which on both these points is, in- Paul thought and spoke of- therein unfordeed, as admirable as possible; and nothing tunately limiting its real scope, as we uncan be more important for the understanding derstand Mr. Arnold -as a fast attachment of St. Paul than to remember that "dying to Christ. "It is evident that some diffito the anarchy of what St. Paul calls the flesh," by which he means all inordinate desire, and rising to that life above" where the heart is hidden with Christ in God," is a process which he conceived of as to be repeated every day in the long struggle for perfection, and as having reference to

duty at every point of our nature, and at points the most opposite, for fear he should by possibility be leaving behind him some weakness still indulged, some subtle promptings to evil not yet brought into captivity."

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culty arises," says Mr. Arnold, "out of Paul's adding to the general sense of the word faith-a holding fast to an unseen power of goodness a particular sense of his own, identification with Christ." And Mr. Arnold makes the three essential terms of the Pauline theology, not "calling, jus

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tification, sanctification; " but "dying with ence emanating from God and transforming Christ, resurrection from the dead, growing man. "The endless words which Puritaninto Christ." But the peculiarity of our ism has wasted," he says, upon sanctifiauthor's view is that the true agent, in all cation, a magical filling with goodness and these spiritual processes, is thought of by holiness, flow from a mere mistake in transhim as the soul itself-its motive being its lating; ¿yiaσuós means consecration, a setown sympathy with spiritual life as exem-ting apart to holy service." Does it? Mr. plified in Christ, its own fast attachment to Arnold's distinction is of course between the the absent and unseen goodness as illustra-idea that a stream of influence flows from ted in that life. As we understand Mr. God, altering the inner life, and the idea of Arnold's interpretation, the whole concep- a mere dedication or setting apart to goodtion of St. Paul is psychological and subjec-ness, without reference to any positive tive, and not what we should call theologi- stream_of_external spiritual life. Well, cal at all. Mr. Arnold gives no importance when St. Paul speaks of Christ, "who of at all to the rapture of St. Paul's thankful- God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness for the work of God and Christ on the ness, and sanctification, and redemption" soul, the power which made the weak (1 Cor. i. 30), is it possible to range with things of the world to confound the mighty," wisdom, and righteousness, and redempand the things which are not to bring to tion," which are either positive spiritual naught the things that are." He lays no qualities, or positive transforming instress on the exultation with which St. Paul fluences, a notion so negative as a mere even refuses to believe his life his own. "I"setting apart to holy service"? Is am crucified with Christ, nevertheless, I it possible to interpret the words of St. live, yet not 1, but Christ liveth in me." He John, "Sanctify them through Thy truth, appears to us to interpret even the exulting - Thy word is truth," and "For their sakes joy of such passages as the conclusion of I sanctify myself," as of a mere setting the eighth chapter of the Epistle to the Ro- apart to holy service, and not rather of a mans as referring to a love proceeding from positive imbuing and penetration with the us, instead of a love finding us and carry- divine life? To our minds, Mr. Arnold ing us away with it,-"I am persuaded wholly and fatally misinterprets St. Paul that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor when he subordinates the direct personal principalities, nor powers, nor things pres- agency of Christ, working in man the utent, nor things to come, nor height, nor most marvels of spiritual change, to a mere depth, nor any other creature, shall be able human attachment for "an absent and unto separate us from the love of God which is seen power of goodness." St. Paul's "faith" in Christ Jesus our Lord." If we understand is, we believe, a mere receptiveness, a wilMr. Arnold aright, he would say that lingness to receive this wonderful stream of "science" knows nothing and can know divine agency, a readiness to let it work nothing of St. Paul's spiritual recognition in us without active hindrance of ours,- is, of the personal agency of Christ as re- in short, far less "attachment " to Christ on vealed in him, that this is a question our side, than trust in the love of Christ for of ontology into which it is impossible us. Whether "science" can admit the to follow him, that all we can recognize validity of such a view or not, we are satisas scientific in St. Paul was his own love fied that if it cannot, it should deny all perof the righteousness of Christ, and his manent meaning to St. Paul's life and writyearning for a moral identification with the ings, with the remark, "So much the worse spirit of Christ's life. Even to St. Paul's for Paul; "- to which we should be disword "sanctification " Mr. Arnold denies, posed to reply that it would not be the first -imperiously, and to us unaccountably,-time that science has prided itself on its any implication of a divine stream of influ- nescience.

AN account received from M. L. Carabelo of the reported fall of a large meteorite near Mour- | zouk, in the district of Fezzan, in lat. 26° N., and long. 12° E. of Paris. It fell on the evening of the 25th December last, in the form of a great globe of fire, measuring nearly a metre in diameter; on touching the earth it threw off

strong sparks with a noise like the report of a pistol, and exhaled a peculiar odour. It fell near a group of Arabs, who were so much frightened by it that they "immediately discharged their guns at this incomprehensible monster."

From Good Words.
LITTLE THINGS.

ALL the wonder in the skies
Careless glances cannot pass,
But how blind are many eyes

To the wonder in the grass!
Ev'ry tiny blade I see
Is a miracle to me,

And the fairy blossoms show
More than I can ever know.

O the joy that flowers give!
O the perfume on the air!
O the life that mosses live,

Making earth so very fair!
Lovely lights and colours gay,
Tints and shadows what are they?
Grace that dies beneath a touch,
O how little, and how much!

Kiss them with delighted lips;

Love them while your heart is true;
Let no meaner joy eclipse

That which they can bring to you!
Sweet the pleasure they impart,
Taken to a happy heart,
And if future sorrows sting,
Sweet the comfort they may bring!

Good Words for the Young. NOTHING.

THERE is nothing to see!

It is only a silver birch;

But it comes like a beautiful joy to me,
Like the joy you feel so calm and free,
When all is still as still can be,

After a psalm in the church.

It is so fair and light!

It grows on a rock by a well!

The rock is so strong and the birch is so slight, That they fill my heart with a strange delight, And I think they make a wonderful sight, Though why I can never tell!

The rock I grasp and reach,

And the birch-tree I cannot touch;
But its rustling leaves have a tender speech,
For I feel a particular love for each.
And I know that their whispered words can teach,
And comfort me very much.

The rock is strong and wild,
And the well is wide and deep;

So I nodded my little head and smiled,
For I felt they could both protect a child;

And the birch-tree murmured soft and mild,
And so I fell fast asleep.

Why should this written be?

And what have I got to tell?

The wise, wise people will laugh at me,
And say there is nothing at all to see,
Only a rock, and only a tree,
And only a little well!

SONNET.

A MARK IN TIME.

I SEE a fair young couple in a wood,
And as they go, one bends to take a flower,
That so may be embalmed their happy hour,
And in another day, a kindred mood,
Haply together, or in solitude,

Recovered what the teeth of Time devour,
The joy, the bloom, and the illusive power,
Wherewith by their young blood they are endued
To move all enviable, framed in May,
And of an aspect sisterly with Truth:

Yet seek they with Time's laughing things to wed:

Who will be prompted on some pallid day
To lift the hueless flower and show that dead,
Even such, and by this token, is their youth.
Fortnightly Review.
GEORGE MEREDITH.

GOOD OLD SAXON.

I LOVE the racy English of old times,
Before its Latin softness o'er it crept,
When mighty scalds were valiant in their
rhymes,

Nor tamely o'er the tinkling harp-strings
swept,

As though the spirit of their fathers slept, Or spoke in vowelled whispers among limes.

Our native rough-hewn words are less inept Than daintier speech flung off in silver chimes. Our tongue should have a likeness to the land,— A smack of crag and torrent, tarn and glen, In nouns and verbs that shepherds understand, Meet for the use of hardy fighting men, Brief and sonorous, till we seem to stand And hear brave Geoffrey Chaucer rhyme again. St. Pauls.

Public Opinion.

TWO PICTURES.

BY MARION DOUGLASS.

AN old farm-house with meadows wide,
And sweet with clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out
The door with woodbine wreathed about,
And wishes his one thought all day:
"Oh! if I could but fly away

From this dun spot the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,

How happy I should be!"

Amid the city's constant din,
A man, who round the world has been,
Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng,
Is thinking, thinking all day long;
"Oh! could I only tread once more
The field-path to the farm-house door,
The old, green meadow could I see,
How happy, happy, happy,

How happy I should be!"

No. 1360.-June 25, 1870.

CONTENTS.

1. THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH NATION. III. . Macmillan's Magazine,

771

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JUST PUBLISHED AT THIS OFFICE :

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Any Volume Bound, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers.

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She knelt on this, his mother on that side

Stood, for at last his foolish quest he won; His mother, who that quest had long denied,

Gazing with clasped hands on her only son, Thought, "After, a sweet life and free from care Is theirs." But who to praise a day shall dare, Or call it happy, ere that day be done?

His arms shone rosy red, by that young light Which faintly through the latticed oriel fell Illumined round him many a storied fight

Worked in old tapestry was there, to tell His father's fame in azure, green, and gold, Worked by small fingers, idle long and cold · As cold as those he clasped to say "Fare

well."

Thrice in the midst the sad sound broken As though some inner warning urged bear."

Yet firm he thrust the oaken door aside,

died, "For

And firm he passed adown the winding stair, And firm he crossed the moat of widened eyes The mark, men bowed, and maids dropped cour

tesies

And so at last into the larger air.

But then, "Alone," he cried, "at last alone!"
And let his face change with his thought; the
while
Fronting the rising sun he rode, all blown

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green.

And for that day he promised to return,
She waited till all stars began to burn,

And round the battlements the wind blew keen.

Night, which makes glad the shepherd's heart was gone,

And yet he came not; and dim morning rose, And yet she watched on that high tower alone

For him, who, turning his brave breast to foes, Had turned his back on love, from stars to sun, And still from sun to stars; till one by one

Her hopes fell like dead leaves at autumn's close.

For she from prime to even-song had fed

Imagined all, and to herself oft said,
Her hungry heart with hopes of the fireside;

Hearing the distant murmur of the tide, The first faint flush of morning seemed to be "He comes!" and ere the lark had left the lea,

The dear gleam of his arms so long denied.

But on the path he trod tall grass shall grow, And flame shall freeze, and snow and ice shall burn,

And midday heaven with myriad stars shall glow

As in midnight, before he may return;
Before in this low world she hear again
The voice which always solaced all her pain,

His voice, who lies half hid by weeds and fern.

Struck by the lightning's ruddy shaft he lies, While she waits for him; but his brows are cold.

The moaning thunder in the distance dies,

And birds again their woodland council hold; Churls leave their shelter under neighbouring trees,

Comes summer murmuring once more of bees, Dank flowers their beauties to the sun unfold.

Only the strongest oak, the tallest tree Throws out its wide arms to the winds no more;

And under it, as motionless, lies he

Who the red cross and snowy silk scarf bore. From time to time his furbished arms, which gleam

Touched by the sunlight or the moon's white beam,

Startle the hare which burrowed there before. JAMES MEW.

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