the flame of Grecian liberty, which had burned with such fitful splendour, and which now, throughout the nation, was well nigh extinct, was sending forth a few flickering rays, before expiring in its socket. The period thus indicated will fall pretty nearly about a century and a half before Christ. Polybius was a citizen of Megalopolis, in Arcadia, like the celebrated Philopomen, of whom he was an ardent admirer, of which he was able to give a very gratifying proof in his later life. His father, whose name was Lycortas, appears to have been much respected by his fellowcitizens, having been appointed by them to more than one important embassy (See 'Lib. xxiii. c. 1; xxv. c. 7). In the very critical times in which he lived, and when his countrymen, with few exceptions, were becoming either violent partisans or violent enemies of Rome, his counsels were on the side of moderation, and displayed a prudence much to his credit. He wished his country generally to take independent action, yet without doing anything which could be offensive to the Romans. Unhappily, as is too often the case, the more vehement opinions prevailed, and eventually the nation was precipitated into a collision with the Romans, the disastrous issue of which is but too well known. It had rather promoted than the contrary this result, that, a few years previously, on the instigation of the so-called friends of Rome, some of the noblest Achæans had been sent into Italy, to be detained there as hostages for the nation. Polybius was one of these exiles, and the change which thus took place in his circumstances and prospects was the turning point in his whole career. It put him into a position to observe the workings of the Roman constitution, made him familiar with Roman usages and manners, gave him access to various public documents, and thus supplied him with both the means and motives for composing the history which he has left us. He had already, while in Greece, become known to the celebrated Paulus Emilius, and his subsequent intimacy with one of his sons, the younger Scipio, probably conduced as much as anything else to the success of his after life. Their friendship was brought about, in the first instance, by their common love for the chase, but it was afterwards much confirmed and deepened by the common interest which they took in the pursuits of literature. Polybius had

lent Scipio some books, and the explanations which these required led to various conversations between them. So much was this intercourse valued, that on one occasion when the father of Scipio was about to take Polybius with him on a journey, the youthful pupil earnestly begged that his tutor might be allowed to remain. Such an application could have but one reply, and henceforth the tutor and pupil became almost inseparable: the respect and regard of the latter in no degree diminishing when he became, as afterwards he did, one of the most distinguished men in the state (See Lib. xxxii. 15).

The residence of Polybius with his fellow-hostages in Italy extended over seventeen years. Through the influence of Scipio, after many fruitless previous endeavours, Polybius at length obtained the senate's permission for such as survived to return to their country. This permission was, however, owing quite as much to a feeling of contempt on the part of the senators 1. for the exiles as to a sense of justice, as was evident from the remark of Cato which decided it, "Are you not ashamed," he asked, "to be debating whether a few old men shall die in Greece or Italy?” Polybius, having gained thus much, would -have gone on to press for the restoration of honours, but here he was promptly met and stopped by the significant enquiry of the same Cato, "Are you not afraid a second time to venture into the Cyclop's den ?" On his return to Achaia, he most laudably employed the influence he had acquired in = mitigating the misfortunes of his country- i He had the courage to resist a proposal which was made to throw down the = statues of Philopomen, and even went so far as to beg back from the Roman general some statues of that hero and Aratus, which had been already removed. Although allowed by the Roman commissioners to select for himself whatever he wished from the confiscated property, he would not avail himself of the liberty, and dissuaded others from doing the same (See Lib. xl. c. 8,9). So much were his countrymen pleased with these proofs of his patriotism, that they erected a stone statue to himself. His public life did not cease with his restoration to his native land; but it is not necessary to pursue it further. That he was a man of observing and ingenious mind is evident not only from his historical narrative, but from a work which he composed on tactics,

men.

and from the improvements which he introduced into fire signals (See Lib. ix. c. 20; x. c. 45). He had travelled in different parts of Italy, aud in Egypt had at least visited the city of Alexandria (See Lib. xii. c. 2, 5; xxxiv. c. 14).

The history to which we have made allusion was composed originally in forty books, comprising the time from the invasion of Pyrrhus till the capture of Carthage, and from the'flight of Cleomenes, the Spartan, till the dissensions which arose between the Romans and Achæans, and the battle which followed at the Isthmus (See Lib. iii. c. 32). But of these only the first five have come down to us entire. The special object of Polybius in this work was to explain the growth of the Roman supremacy and dominion. He undertakes to trace by what arts and virtues, whether military or political, the republic rose to such gigantic dimensions, and expresses his purpose and hope thus to make his work a storehouse of political wisdom. It is his constant iteration of this purpose, with the somewhat prosy reflections which, in fulfilment of it, he is everywhere inserting, which render his history, notwithstanding several prime merits, rather hard reading. The secret of historical instruction is to interweave the moral with the tale, or rather so to construct the tale that the moral shall rise out of it; but anything more set and formal than this, whatever pretensions it may make to combine philosophy with history, is likely to fail of the ends of both. Polybius plumes himself much on the interdependence of the events in his narrative, and on his care to refer events back to their causes; but he might safely have left this superiority in this and other respects over ordinary narrators, especially over those of detached passages of history, to the reader's discovery.

Although the Greek diction of Polybius is not so largely that of the New Testament as the Greek of Josephus or Plutarch, it is yet enriched with many New Testament words but rarely met with in other authors. We may form some idea of the kind of service to be derived from it to New Testament interpretation from the following specimens of reference to it in Meyer, in his commentary recently published on the two Corinthians.

(1.) In 1 Cor. i. 10, a passage in Polybius determines that the phrase "speak the same

thing" may simply mean, be united or harmonious, for, speaking (Lib. ii. c. 62) in reference to nations, he says:

"All speaking one and the same thing seem to reap the greatest prosperity."

(2.) Polybius is almost our only authority for the meaning of the word which in 1 Cor. xiii. 5, we render "vaunteth not itself." His history does not indeed contain this identical word, but he has two passages containing the shorter word, which is its root, and which is an adjective signifying "vainglorious," "boastful." (See Lib. xxxii. c. 6; Lib. xl. c. 6.)

(3.) We have good authority in Polybius for the use of "lightness" (See 2 Cor. i. 17) in the sense of fickleness or caprice. He says (Lib. vi. c. 56) :

"Every multitude is light."

(4.) The somewhat bold phrase, “having in a readiness" (2 Cor. x. 6), which is a too literal translation from the Greek, is vindicated, as to its classic purity, by the occurrence of almost precisely the like phrase in the second book of Polybius. (See Lib. ii. c. 34.)

(5.) Lastly, we gather from our author that in 2 Cor. xii. 15, first clause, the latter verb is rather feebly rendered "will be spent." Three passages in Polybius shew that either "out," or some other intensive particle, should have been added to the English verb. The idea is that of an "exhaustion of resources."

It now only remains to produce the extracts from our author which contain the word baptizo. These are five in number, and after our previous excerpts from other authors, none of them will present anything to call for critical comment.

1.

The first extract has reference to an attempt of Publius, the Roman general, to surprise the Carthaginian fleet when stationed at Drepana in Sicily, which attempt ended, however, in his own discomfiture. Speaking of the advantages which the Carthaginians possessed for a naval fight the historian says,

"If any were hard pressed by the enemy, they withdrew safely back, on account of their fastsailing, into the opcu sca, and then turning round and falling on those of their pursuers who were in advance they, gave them frequent blows, and bap. tized many of their vessels.-Lib. i. c. 51.

very threshold of the engagement which took place between Hannibal and the Roman general, Tiberius, on the banks of the river Trebia. The historian is describing the somewhat unfavourable circumstances under which the Romans commenced the engagement. He says,

"At first there was eagerness and zeal among the soldiers, but when the passage of the river Trebia came on, which had risen above its usual current on account of the rain which had fallen, the foot with difficulty crossed over, being baptized up to the chest."-Lib. iii. c. 72.

III.

The scene in our next extract is that of a party of horsemen in higher Asia, who had been sent to intercept a number of the enemy, who either had crossed, or were then crossing, a river. This purpose they failed to effect, from the swampy nature of the ground between; for, says Polybius,

"When they approached Xenotas and his company, owing to their ignorance of the places, no need of enemies to defeat them; themselves baptized by themselves, and sinking in the swamps, they became of no use whatever, and many of them even lost their lives."-Lib. v. c. 47.

IV.

We have in the next extract but another account by a different hand of the mischief done to the ships of the Romans, when at anchor before Syracuse, (viz., by the mechanical contrivances of Archimedes,) which we have already seen described by Plutarch. Polybius says,

"Owing to these contrivances some of the vessels fell slantwise, some were even upset, but the greater number, their prow being thrown down from a height, were baptized and became full of sea and confusion."-Lib. viii. c. 8.

GIRL.

CHAPTER III.

"Why don't you have a servant ?" said Joseph Green, as his mother sat down to the table, and pressed her hands to her throbbing temple.

She had been washing all the morning, and as Ada was stationed beside the sickbed (her father was much worse), her son had sometimes been told to perform little labours suited to his years and strength. He had got off by being as little useful as possible, and now, as he saw how tired and feverish she looked, it must be confessed he felt he was not the boy he should be. But Joseph was not penitent enough to * forget himself.

"I say, mother," continued he, "why don't you hire a girl to do the work? I don't like to pump water, and pick up chips, and all that."

Mrs. Green hesitated. "How can I tell the poor child that poverty is coming upon us like an armed man, and that-no, I cannot, and he would not comprehend it, but," said she, musing, "a slight explana

tion might be of use to him, and, perhaps, assist me in the lessons of industry and economy I wish to teach him." So she told him they had no one to earn money for them since father was sick, and, therefore, they must learn to help themselves, and not expend money in hiring servants. As she said this, she glanced timidly at the door of her husband's room, to see that it was closed. Ada did not hear her mother's remarks, being still with her father: when she spread the cloth for supper, Joseph said,

but

"I suppose we shall have to live on crusts the rest of our days, for mother says we are poor, and have no one to work for us."

"Still, we need not live on crusts, Josey," said she, laughing, "for we will eat the crust with the soft, and then we shall always have soft to our crust."

(A good idea, don't you think so, little reader ?)

After tea, Joseph went to see a waterwheel that one of the neighbour's boys had fixed in the brook. Mrs. Green went to her husband's room, and Adaline to her

chamber to lay some wonderful plans for the future. What they were can be gleaned from her conversation to her doll.

"Now, Miss Doll, you must be put away upon the shelf of the closet, and learn to entertain yourself, for Ada can play babyhouse no more. She is tall and strong, and her hands were made to work, doing whatever they can find to do, and not handling such as you. Here they go, the whole furniture, packed nicely away for some little girl that cannot do her part in this busy world.

Adaline Green is now housemaid, or anything else she can learn to be, so that she is useful to mother and the rest of the family."

Children can do a great deal if they choose. One half of the time that they spend in useless play would earn their bread, so that they need not be such weary burdens to toil-worn parents. Besides, much of the labour of this busy world, when performed by little hands, "is almost as good as play." Ada found on trial that she had not overrated her capabilities; after a few weeks' practice, she was astonished to see, on looking back, how much she had learned.

"Look here, Josey," said she, one day when she had been very successful in her experiments, "see my bars of ironed clothes; mother used to think it wonderful if I smoothed the towels. I fancy she'll think I've improved now."

But Joseph had not improved; he had made no effort to be useful, even though he knew the sad reason that had first nerved his sister to diligence. Not even did he try to lighten her tasks; once or twice had she asked him to assist her in keeping the irons heated, but he had either refused or affected not to hear. Of course, he didn't feel pleasant and agreeable; children never do when they have done wrong. Besides, jealousy had crept into the heart of the poor boy, just as his mother had told him.

"I dare say," said he, mentally," mother will think she has done wonders, and will kiss and praise her; nobody would praise me if I worked all day—I might as well not do anything," and Joseph felt a satisfaction in thinking he was ill-used.

Thus was the heart of that beautiful boy, which should have been the home of all gentle feelings and virtues, made the receptacle of dark wicked thoughts and passions. Why was it that two children so nearly connected and so intimate, were so unlike

each other? They were nurtured alike; their father, an exemplary moralist, had taught them what was proper to make them dignified and respectable in the opinion of the world. Their mother had given them higher and holier motives for right doing, daily praying that grace, mercy, and peace, might dwell with them for ever. What then made them to differ? Let me tell you. I have said that the children were each in the habit of praying; their mother taught them to pray. But while Joseph merely repeated the prayer which he had learned, Adaline prayed with her heart to God who heareth prayer. Think you that her sincere, humble, trusting petitions were rejected because they were simple and childlike? Ah, no!

"The weakest lamb within his fold

Shall be the Shepherd's care."

Adaline prayed for grace, and it was given her, every day, in proportion to her faith. She asked to be led aright, and the path of duty became plain and easy. It is true she had many hard lessons to learn of her own weakness, but these lessons once learned were a great help, they led her to trust more entirely in her Saviour, and prepared her for the trials that awaited her.

At length her quiet, cheerful demeanour, attracted the attention of her father.

"That is a very amiable child," said he one day to his wife, as she brought in a cup of gruel, and enquiring kindly after his health, returned to her labour.

"She is indeed," said she, "and the most industrious clever little girl I ever

saw."

"I wish Joseph were like her," said the father; "she really makes those coarse. features and that brown complexion quite pleasing. That boy, it seems to me, is getting more peevish and sullen every day. I wish his disposition were like hers. But," added he, with a sigh, "it requires considerable philosophy to get along cheerfully with the trials of this life."

"Mere philosophy, my dear husband," said Mrs. Green, "has no power to sustain the mind under affliction; nothing but religion

'Can lay the rough paths of peevish nature even, And open in the breast a little heaven.'" "How, then, do you account for Adaline's patierce and gentleness ?" said Mr. Green; you don't imagine she is actuated by that mysterious influence you call religion?"

"Why not?" replied his wife with great solemnity; these things have ever been hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes. Oh, husband, could you have heard that child as I did last evening, praying in her chamber for her sick father, you would have believed in the power of divine grace."

Mr. Green looked up in surprise.

"Adaline pray; that little girl! why, wife, what kind of a prayer could she make?"

"One, I have no doubt," said she, "that was acceptable to God, since it was evidently dictated by his Spirit."

"And she prayed for me?" said the sick man, turning away his head and burying himself in the bed-clothes.

"Earnestly and fervently," said his wife; "the burden of her petition was that poor father might be brought to love the Saviour,

and from my inmost soul, dear husband, I responded' Amen.'"

Mrs. Green laid down her sewing and left the room. Up to this time she had never made any personal remark to her husband on the subject of religion; she had let her calm, consistent life, speak of the doctrine she professed. Her patience and gentleness, too, when he had been peevish and fault-finding, had spoken volumes to the now thoughtful man.

"Well," said he, after having revolved the subject in his mind for some time," I don't know but they are right. There should be something to which the soul can cling in its hour of trial. That child, praying for her father, a father she never heard pray in her life-how wonderful-I should like to hear what she would say about such things."

(To be continued.)

t ANECDOTE OF MR. PEARCE.-It will be remembered, that at the period of the first French Revolution, party spirit ran very high in England, and the High Church party so strongly opposed the Dissenters, on account of their love of freedom, as to encourage the mob to burn down several of their meeting-houses. One of these was a Baptist chapel, in Guilsborough, about ten miles from Northampton, which was set fire to, and burnt to the ground, December 25th, 1792. Both the congregation and the government offered large rewards for the apprehension of the offenders, but without effect. The loss of their meeting-house was a sore affliction to the members of this poor church, one of whom, on going to her door, and seeing the chapel on fire, fell down, and instantly died. A new chapel was, however, built, and the seraphic Pearce, the energetic Fuller, and the mild and cautious Sutcliffe, preached on the happy occasion of its dedication. The morning sermon, by Mr. Pearce, was from the text, Psalm 1xxvi. 10,-" Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee; the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain." the frugal repast at the close of the sermon, the persons assembled were privately expressing to each other their pleasure in listening to Mr. Pearce's discourse, when a gentleman rose at the table, and made a public request to him to preach again the next morning, at an early hour. With equal simplicity and zeal Pearce replied, "If you will find a congregation, I will find a sermon." The hour fixed on was five o'clock, in order to accommodate the country people. At the breakfast table, after this early and well attended service,

At

Mr. Fuller said, "Brother Pearce, I was gratified with your discourse this morning, and hope it will do much good; but I know you will excuse my freedom if I say, that I thought you did not seem to close when you had really finished. I wondered that, contrary to what is usual with you, you seemed, as it were, to begin again at the end-how was it?" Pearce replied, "It was so; but I had my reason.' "Well, then," said Fuller, in a jocular manner, which he could Occasionally assume, "come, let us have it." Mr. Pearce paused, and a little hesitated; but on being once more entreated, said, "Well, my brother, you shall have the secret, if it must be so. Just at the moment I was about to resume my seat, thinking I had finished, the door opened, and I saw a poor man enter, of the working class; and from the sweat on his brow, and the symptoms of his fatigue, 1 conjectured that he had walked some miles to this early service, but that he had been unable to reach the place till the close. A momentary thought glanced through my mind,-here may be a man who never heard the gospel, or, it may be, he is one who regards it as a feast of fat things; in either case, the effort on his part demands one on mine. with the hope of doing him good, I resolved at once to forget all else, and, in despite of criticism, and the apprehension of being thought tedious, to give him a quarter of an hour." The impression produced by this simple explanation, which unveiled so much love to souls, in connection with the self-sacrificing spirit of the true minister of Christ, may be better imagined than described.

So,