it was a large one, lived in the darkness and shadow of all the light of this land. O ye friends of education! walk into the lanes and narrow streets of great cities. There lies ignorance fermenting in the shade, producing food for gaols, and criminal courts, and New South Wales. One is almost apt to imagine that in a single city, proof may be found that God hath not made of one blood all nations of men that dwell on the face of the earth; for those spacious streets seem as the screen and fence put up between two races of intelligent creatures. But in the family of the Joneses there was light. They lived in a narrow street, surrounded by dirt, and misery, and drunkenness, and brawls; but the candle of the Lord shone in their tabernacle. Jones the father, was an ignorant, a very ignorant man"His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way." But in the words of a more natural, though not so brilliant, a poet "Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING, Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing, That thus they all shall meet in future days. There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise In such society yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere." He prayed, but his words were few, feeble, and rude; for often on his knees had he to struggle with an asthmatic cough. Nevertheless, he prayed, and that with the heart, fervently; and, reader, you may firmly believe, that his prayer took its way to HIM who sitteth on the circle of the universe. One of the children of this family was called Peter Jones; an odd-looking little urchin in his youth. His mother loved him, for she thought him the wisest of her family; and with those aspirations which even the poorest and most wretched feel, she indulged the hope that Peter might one day be something of a great man, and raise the family of the Joneses from their lowly condition. And yet, had a stranger passed, and seen the squab little fellow sitting, with his feet in the kennel and damming up the puddle, he might have paused twice before he answered the question, whether Peter was likely one day to be a great man? A closer inspection of his dirty face would have led to the conclusion that it expressed much intelligence. His mother was no physiognomist, and had never heard of phrenology: but she was amused by the questions of her little philosopher, such as Who Mr. Government was? If the king owned the sea? and How many men made an army? Often, in summer days, would he go to a little speck of green that grew behind the houses which constituted his world; and there, lying on his back, would he muse on immensity. And what thoughts, O member of a Mechanics' Institute ! think you, passed through the mind of this untutored child? He would mark the fleecy clouds as they floated high above him; and, when he went home, predict a severe winter, from the huge masses of snow that he saw rolling onwards to the great storehouse of the land of frost. But the time came, and that too early, when Peter should go out to earn a portion of the family's sustenance. He had never been at a school; but his father had taught him to read the Bible; and he was familiar with many of the Old Testament stories. A year or two soon passed over; his diligence raised his earnings, and they became of importance to the family: and though surrounded with temptations of all sorts, with artless ingenuousness he brought all his money home, and felt a delightful pleasure as he poured it into his mother's lap. A young companion teased him to go with him to the theatre. The proposal was startling; but having learned at the fireside somewhat of love and obedience, he carried the question home for consideration. The father was alarmed-solemnly warned his son against compliance, and painted the theatre in dismal and black colours, as a place hateful and vile, a cage of wickedness and unclean birds. Herein he erred grievously, and many such errors does well-intentioned ignorance make. Peter refused to go, and replied to his companion's solicitations, with some of his father's description. But the young tempter was not to be so put off; he denounced the description, and gave another of a far different hue; and a struggle began in Peter's mind. He longed to go for once; he feared to disobey: but one day the father admitted that he had once been at the theatre himself when he was a young man, and the disclosure made a tremendous inroad on Peter's resolution. If he had been once, and was, notwithstanding, a good man, why might not Peter go once, and sustain no damage? He struggled, but every struggle made him weaker. The temptation came back again and again; and every time it came, it seemed to have redoubled force. At last a whisper was conveyed into the mind of Peter-Go! but conceal it. How? A LIE! Tell a lie, Peter; cover up your footsteps-you are ignorant of the theory that the fable of the Trojan horse is the type and parable of the first lie in the soul of man. He told the lie-but the lie required another to back it, and, if necessary, a third. He had to account for his absence, he had to conceal the expenditure of what appeared to him a large sum of money-a shilling! The double lie was prepared for use; and, joining his companion at the appointed hour, Peter Jones, his heart throbbing, tried to hide himself amongst the crowd, grouped at the entrance of the shilling-gallery of the theatre. The doors were opened: Peter and his companion struggled out of the choked-up entrance, rushed up the stair, stumbled over benches, and, in an agony of joy, found themselves in possession of a front seat in the gallery. As his heart began to abate in violence of throbbing, the haze of joy that obscured his sight began to clear away, and he was able to look around. That curtain! it concealed from Peter a more mysterious Paradise than ever it hid from Charles Lamb; and he looked as if he would pierce it through. The pit and boxes were slowly filling, and that amused him; but just as the theatre was about full, there seemed to come a kind of lull-a pause in the bustle; and Peter, having made his eyes familiar with all sides of the house, and having minutely scrutinized the figures on the curtain, began to feel uneasy. He fancied that there was somebody in the theatre that knew him-there was some one, surely, that had his eye upon him. Poor soul! there was not one in all that crowded assembly that knew he was in existence. Again he fancied that there was a voice calling him by name; he listened, and he imagined that he distinctly heard the words, "Peter Jones! Peter Jones!" Could it be his father? that was impossible. Ah! he had told a lie to both father and mother. The tears started into Peter's eyes as he thought of that lie, and he heartily wished himself out of the theatre again. But he had not the courage to move, and it would have been difficult to get out, if he had attempted it. Again he thought of the lie ;-but stop, did not his father tell him a lie too? Did he not describe the theatre to be a very different place from what it is? Is this beautiful and enchanting place anything like that place of wickedness which his father said it was? And he had been in the theatre, and knew perfectly well what kind of a place it was. So Peter laid his lie against his father's lie, and felt his conscience becoming easier. And the bell rang, and the music struck up, and Peter's heart leaped. His blood began to bound from top to toe, his very fingers felt a strange, exhilarating, curious kind of sensation. Once more the bell rang, and, oh, marvellous, the curtain drew up, the play began. It was Richard the Third; and it was followed by a farce which made him laugh till he cried. Slowly and reluctantly did Peter drag himself away when all was over. For a week afterwards he was in a dream. Earth became a stage, the sky was a curtain; he heard nothing, he saw nothing, but the interior of a theatre. Thunders of applause were ever ringing in his ears-at his meals, or in the streets, he was ever ready to start into attitude, or to mouth the broken fragments of a speech. During a brief period he lived in "glory and in joy;" he had a little world of his own, into which he could retreat, and with which a stranger could not interfere. A change now came over the spirit of Peter Jones. He had a secret to hide from his family, and a secret is often the essence of an evil. He was no longer open-hearted and cheerful at the little fireside-artless boyhood was passing into a kind of dogged youth. He went back to the theatre again and again, and again and again he had to renew a lie; and when the lie became hollow, and his father began to hint that he saw through it, he grew sullen, and refused to tell where he had been at all. Then his mother took his part, to shield him from his father's anger; and often, after toiling all day, would she sit up till her son came home: for her quick ear could hear his footstep on the pavement, and she would run stealthily to let him in, without awakening her husband. Peter Jones saw this, and the pent-in sob of his mother, as she would whisperingly press him to tell her where he had been, had sometimes well-nigh wrung his secret from him. His sister, too, a sensible, prudent girl, often talked to him about the change that had passed over him, and he would turn away from her and cry. For he was attached to his sister; there was much affection in the family; and in all their ignorance and darkness, they had light enough to love one another by. Many a shilling that would have been welcome at home did Peter Jones devote to the upper gallery of the theatre. The concealment of his passion for theatricals seemed to increase its intensity; he would sit during the performances in a delirium of joy but when he rose to depart, a chill seemed to freeze his soul, and often, on returning home, and retiring to bed, he breathed out a pettish, passionate prayer, that God would take back his life as he slept, and not permit him to rise in the morning. In the morning he would revert to the performances of the previous evening; his work was a mere mechanical operation of the hands, for the being had escaped from all sensation of misery, and was rioting in the region of imagination. He often wished that he was an actor; and then he would fold his arms, and walk across the stage, or advance to the "foot-lights," and bow lowly, as the hurricane of applause blew around him. At other times he would change his fancy, and wish he were a minister; and so he would mount the pulpit, and give out the text, and pour out his sermon, while an absorbed and delighted audience hung upon his lips. Again, he was an officer, and on horseback he gave out his orders, drew his sword, and rushed on with his men to the charge. But this fancy did not please him so well as the others; and it was only when he had acted or preached his imagination into fatigue, that he mounted the military hobby-horse. His ailing father sickened, and visibly grew on to die. All the father's asperity and austerity melted away, and the spirit of love, meeting with no neutralizing influences, rose to the surface, and acted on all the dying man's words and actions. He called Peter to him, and spake as he had never spoken before. He conjured him, by the fear and the dread of Almighty God, that he would drop his mysterious habits, which he doubted not were habits of wickedness, and to walk in the path of duty when he was dead and gone. The poor man died; and his neighbours seemed to regard him as one of the unknown and forgotten units, as one, who, if he had been crushed out of existence, would scarcely have left dust or ashes enough to indicate where a fire of life had once burned. He was, indeed, an atom-but it was an atom of a manifold and mysterious being. He died unknown and unnoticed on earth, but not in heaven. For each man is a moral world moving in space, having a centre to which all that pertains to him gravitates, and an atmosphere of thought and feeling in which he is enveloped. And each has his own orbit wherein to move; and all intelligent creatures move round the great Centre and Source of intelligence, running their appointed circuits, and fulfilling a certain reason and law of creation. Therefore, though this poor man died, and nobody saw it, the recording angel took note of the event. Poor as he was, he left in some beating hearts an immortal memory; and at the great audit, God will think of him, and recollect that there lived a man. Now, Peter Jones often delighted to stand in the church-yard, and watch the whole process of committing "dust to dust." Yet when his father died, it touched him as if this had been the first death in the universe of God. He looked upon the stiff and haggard features, and asked himself, What is Death? It was an awful mystery; and as he tried to penetrate it, a great horror and darkness fell upon him. Then once more he turned to the worn and wasted face; and he thought he saw the word "IMMORTALITY written there. And he opened his Bible and read, and as he read, the tears gushed down his cheeks-" God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more DEATH, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." He The situation of the family would have been at this time most desperate but for one of those ministers of mercy, who, thanks be to God and the Bible, walk this earth, and are not afraid to enter the huts where poor men lie. Such a one found out the Joneses, in his visits of mercy in a dreary and repulsive district. cheered the dying man; out of a not overloaded purse he aided the widow and the fatherless; and, glancing beyond the insignificant aspect and awkward appearance of Peter, he thought he saw something in him worthy of notice. He got him a situation where he could earn more money for the family; and Peter became grave and serious, and applied himself to the duties of his situation with all the thoughtfulness and anxiety of a man. Amongst the last words which Peter heard his father utter was, "Seek the Lord while he may be found." Now a strange kind of literal interpretation of these words found its way into Peter's mind. He began to wonder where God was to be found he thought that he could not perceive Him in any object of nature. It was of no use to tell him that God was everywhere present— that conveyed nothing to his mind. He never doubted that God existed; but he wanted something to rest upon, as evidence of His existence. He looked upwards, and saw not God, but the sky; he looked on the earth, and saw streets, and houses, and men moving to and fro, and green fields, and the bloom and beauty of flowers; but he saw not God. In the language of Job, his heart said, "Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him. On the left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot behold him; he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him." The more he revolved it, the more he felt himself getting farther from the object of his wishes. Often would he look up, and implore God to reveal himself to him; often did he read the passage which we have quoted at the commencement of this paper; and "Oh," he cried, "could I but be placed in a clift of the rock, and hear God proclaiming His own great name!" Then he thought that it was because he was such a poor insignificant creature, that God disdained to take notice of him; and under this withering thought his spirits sank-the mind preyed on the body, and he fell into ill health. His friend and patron saw that something was wrong; and his kind and affectionate manner drew out from Peter what had hitherto been hidden in the youth's heart. Then, lending him a little popular treatise on astronomy, he desired him carefully to read it; and when he had done so, to come back to him, and he would show him the glory of God. Peter read the book-nay, he devoured it. His mind was at first staggered his intellect seemed to recoil from the first shock of those amazing facts. But he returned to it; and as he read, "there fell from his eyes as it had been scales." The world was round, and floated round the sun; the stars were suns, and worlds floated round them; and perhaps the whole universe moved round the throne of God! Peter could not prove an iota of any of these statements; the word "mathematics" was Greek to him. Yet he felt the truth of the great facts of astronomy; and having felt them, their grandeur and sublimity entered and enlarged his soul. He went out one night while he was reading; and the heavens sparkled with stars. As he gazed, he seemed to himself to be looking out of the little closet of his own existence into eternity of space, and eternity of time; and as he mused, the fire burned; then spake he with his tongue-" Lo, these are parts of His ways; but how little a portion is heard of Him! The thunder of His power who can comprehend!" "AND HE BEheld the GOD OF ISRAEL; UNDER HIS FEET WAS, AS IT WERE, THE PAVED WORK OF A SAPPHIRE STONE, AND AS THE BODY OF HEAVEN IN HIS CLEARNESS." HAMILTON OF BOTHWELLHAUGH. THE murder of Darnley, and the criminal marriage of Mary of Scotland with Bothwell, led to that combination of Scottish nobles, by which she was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle. One of her devoted partisans was Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, one of the great family confederacy, or clan of the Hamiltons, who then formed an important body under the headship of the ancestor of the present Duke of Hamilton and Chatelherault. Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was a rude, fierce, and daring soldier, partaking of much of the savage temper and manners of the time. During the imprisonment of Queen Mary in Lochleven Castle, he retired to his house of Woodhouselee, on the southern side of the Pentland Hills, not far from Roslin Castle. Here he spent the brief period of inactivity with a wife whom he had recently married, and whose gentle and engaging manners and disposition softened the roughness of his nature. A son and heir was born to Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh; and on the very night of this joyous and important event to him, a messenger on horseback eagerly inquired for the happy father. "What is the matter?" demanded Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh. "Great news, great news!" exclaimed the messenger, "Mary has escaped from Lochleven Castle, and is now at Hamilton with her friends." No further persuasion was needed to urge Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh. He went up, kissed his young wife and new-born son, and, agitated by joy and regret, he armed himself and rode off to join the forces of Queen Mary. James Stuart, the Earl of Moray, natural brother of Queen Mary, had been appointed regent of Scotland during the minority of the infant King James. He was an able, active man; and whatever were his faults, while he held the supreme authority, Scotland, then in a most unsettled, turbulent, and barbarous condition, was kept in order, and a security of life and property, which had not been previously enjoyed, was felt over the kingdom. On Mary's escape from Lochleven, the Regent was at Glasgow ; and promptly taking his measures, there was fought the battle of Langside, so called from a place of that name about three miles from Glasgow. The Regent was victorious; Mary fled to Eng. land, and put herself in the power of Elizabeth, and was thenceforward a prisoner to the end of her unhappy life-a life that might have ended differently, had she been half as good a woman as she was a beautiful queen. Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was amongst the prisoners taken at Langside; and though, at the battle, the Regent exerted himself with a clemency unusual to victors, in a time of civil war in a semi-barbarous country, he nevertheless determined to make an example of some of his opponents. Amongst the prisoners condemned to be executed was Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh. As he ascended the scaffold, at the Cross of Edinburgh, his demeanour showed no shrinking, no fear, no concern for himself-his step was firm, and his countenance stern but apparently calm. But a tempest was in his soul. His thoughts were with his wife, and his infant child, whom he had seen but for a moment; and though he was ready to yield up his own life, if he had been solitary in this world, he was now ready almost to exchange every enjoyment that man can conceive, for a few brief years of existence with her and that infant that had taught him something of the real use and value of life. Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh made ready for death—but just at the moment when the execution was about to take place, a cry was heard, and a messenger was seen pressing forward through the crowd. A pardon! a pardon! the Regent had pardoned the guilty-Hamilton and his companions were set free, their punishment of death being commuted to forfeiture of lands and goods. Hamilton felt the blood rushing through his body as he set foot, a free man, on the ground. His wife! his child! He should yet clasp wife and child to his bosom, even though Woodhouselee was no longer to be his own. Soon he was out of Edinburgh, and pressing towards the Pentland Hills. When he got sight of heart leaped for joy that all was yet well. It was winter, and the Woodhouselee, he saw smoke issuing from its chimneys, and his snow lay on the ground-but to him the scene was as if the summer's sun was shining over it. A sudden cry from the edge of a wood startled him-it was the voice of one of his faithful servants. The poor man thought it was the ghost of his master; but on being assured, by the voice and manner of Hamilton, that it was he himself, his fear seemed to be changed into horror. "My puir leddy, my puir leddy!" were the first words he could utter. Hamilton, impatient, and unable to extract anything more from him, wheeled round, and ran towards the house, but he was stopped by the man calling out, "Maister, maister, stop! dinna gang up to the house-she's no there! she's no there!" The facts were soon told. The Regent, yielding to the importunities of his adherents, had granted Woodhouselee to Sir James Bellenden, and he, eager to secure his prey, had arrived on the previous night, with a body of armed retainers, to take possession. The ruthless Sir James turned out the wife of Hamilton, of Bothwellhaugh, with her infant, on a severely inclement night; growling out, with a kind of savage laugh, that when the wolf was killed the she-wolf and her cub need not look for gentle dealing. Hamilton was conducted into the wood by the servant, and there he found the senseless bodies of his wife and child stretched on the snow. She had wandered up and down during the night; the infant had perished in her arms, but the mother was still alive. Hamilton raised her, endeavoured to rouse her from her stuporshe opened her eyes, and looked upon her husband in a wild and vacant manner-reason had been unbalanced during the agony of that dreadful night! She was carried to a place of shelter, and shortly afterwards died. Revenge and hatred concentrated themselves into a bloodyminded resolution in the soul of Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh. He would not stop to inquire what share the Regent might have had in the conduct of Sir James Bellenden. The Regent's disposition led him to a love of justice, and a detestation of oppression: but Hamilton thought nothing of that; it was enough that Moray had granted his lands to a ruffian. Sir James Bellenden he considered but as an agent-a mere subordinate agent-of the Regent's oppression. He vowed, therefore, a horrible vow-he doomed the Regent to death with his own hand. For this purpose he watched his steps-he followed him from place to place. Having learned that Moray was about to pass through the little town of Linlithgow, on his way to Edinburgh, Hamilton made arrangements for carrying his deadly purpose into effect. There was a house in its principal and only street, which belonged to his uncle, the archbishop of St. Andrew's. Of this he obtained possession; and having provided himself with a war-horse of great strength and fleetness, which he placed ready saddled behind the house, he strongly barricaded the front door, and waited the approach of the Regent with a calm impatience. The cavalcade of the Regent entered the street of Linlithgow, accompanied by a crowd of people. Mounted on horseback, he advanced slowly, returning the salutations which he received from the windows. Some stoppage took place in the procession; and suddenly a flash, accompanied by smoke, was seen to proceed from a window, and the Regent was seen to fall over his horse. It was the fatal effect of a shot fired by Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh. The noise was so great, that very few had heard the report of the shot, though most saw the flash and smoke. Some of the Regent's attendants assisted him-the wound was mortal, and he died during the ensuing night. Others of the attendants turned, and tried to batter in the door of the house from whence the shot from the window to see what effect he had produced, retreated to had proceeded. Meantime, Hamilton, having first taken a glance the rear of the house, mounted his fleet war-horse, and was flying across the fields, His flight was discovered, and several well-mounted men gal- on the Mount? or been moved, even unto tears, over those divine loped off in pursuit. For a time he left them far behind; but discourses that immediately preceded his death? The inspiration gradually they gained upon him, and his horse began to show of sublimity, the touching tenderness of pathos, example speaking symptoms of distress. Closer and closer they approached, and by right and wrong, the nobility of goodness, the baseness and the the sound of their voices, and the clatter of their horses' hoofs, meanness of vice-all that stirs the soul of man, or fills his inrung upon his ear. Nearer still they came-their prey was withintellect, may be found in rich profusion in the Bible. their grasp. Hamilton, finding his horse no longer able to keep in advance, directed its head towards a deep, boggy, and impassable piece of ground, through which a sluggish stream flowed. As he approached its edge he pulled out his dagger, and suddenly plunged it into the animal's neck. It leaped clear across the bog, and dropped down dead. Now he was safe-the worn-out horses of his pursuers could not leap the bog, nor was it possible to attempt it on foot. Hamilton contrived to conceal himself; and some time afterwards he escaped from Scotland to France. The Earl of Moray was killed by Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, on the 22d of January, 1570. Amongst the bulk of the Scottish people, he was long remembered as "the good Regent," partly as a result of his attachment to the Reformed faith, and partly from the good order which he maintained during his vigorous administration. Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was in Paris in 1572, during the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew. His reputation as the murderer of Moray made it to be supposed that he would be a fit person to whom to propose the murder of old Admiral Coligny, the head of the Huguenots. But Hamilton indignantly spurned the proposal." Coligny," he said, "was no enemy of his; and he was not a professional assassin." The reader may recollect that Coligny was wounded by a French assassin, about thirty hours before the general massacre commenced. THE ENGLISH BIBLE. COLERIDGE has remarked, that an intense study of the Bible will preserve any writer from being vulgar in point of style. This is profoundly true. Let any man, who has had the unspeakable advantage of being familiar with the Bible in his youth, and who still preserves something of early ingenuousness, look back to the influence which that familiarity has exercised over his mind. He may perceive its influence in the bent of his character; he may trace it breaking out in words and actions, modifying them, qualifying them, elevating them; and that in spite of surrounding and counteracting circumstances. If he is a writer, it will infuse into his style a kind of latent heat-a moral tone-an uprising purity of sentiment, of thought, of feeling, which, unless he has become deplorably deadened by worldly circumstances, or still more deplorably polluted by the prevalence of a worldly sensuality, will infallibly quicken his pen, and give a vitality to his productions. The very outward form and garb of his writings will be of a bold and manly cast he will be "preserved from being vulgar in point of style." This is owing to that inward purity which resides in the Bible, and that outward characteristic of old English-rough, manly, clear old English-into which our standard translation has been made, and which has become so identified with the Bible itself, that it would appear almost a profanation to alter it. Let us, for a moment, separate the Bible from its inseparable character of a REVELATION, and look upon it as a book-a great book-and our translation of it as a classic of the English language. What has it done for us? Merely as a standard work in our literature, it has done infinitely more for us than Chaucer, or Milton, or Shakspeare, or all the great names in our literature combined. We are far from presuming to undervalue what our immortal authors have written. The life-giving power of genius was bestowed upon them by the blessed God for great and noble objects; how they employed their power is another question. But, unquestionably, they were not gifted by accident with "the vision and the faculty divine," and then thrown upon the world to employ their faculty as they listed. No! they were given to mould the English language, and to work upon the English character; and yet all they have done in this way shrinks into little, when compared with the Bible. The Book of Job is a most marvellous "Paradise Lost," as well as a "Paradise Regained;" and it is probably the oldest book in the world. The Book of Psalms, or the prophecies of Isaiah, might kindle a poetic feeling in the dullest mind. The Book of Proverbs is the choicest, pithiest, most comprehensive "Lacon," that was ever written. Who has not yearned with Joseph over his brethren, and been taught by that delightful story the lesson of brotherly love, and forgiveness of injuries? Who has not felt the mild grandeur of Christ's Sermon There was no translation of the entire Bible in Saxon times, though portions of the Scriptures in Saxon versions still exist in manuscript. Bede and other monks employed themselves in translating the Gospels, the Psalms, &c. ; there is a manuscript in the British Museum, which contains the Psalms in Latin, with an interlinear Saxon version. This work was continued for centuries; and it is thought that by the thirteenth century a complete copy of the Bible might have been made, from copies of portions of it translated by different persons. Two individuals are said to have thus, during the reign of Edward III., put the entire Bible together, from copies of portions which they found translated; and it appears doubtful whether Wickliffe undertook the laborious task of translating the entire Bible himself, or made up his version by collecting and collating copies of these translated portions. From Wickliffe's time began the great struggle between authority, resisting the introduction of the Bible into English, and the awakening intellect of the people demanding it. Authority triumphed for a time; and though printing was introduced about the year 1474, no English Bible or Testament was printed till 1526, and then at a foreign press. This was by Tyndal, who, before the last mentioned year, had completed an English version of the New Testament. His editions were bought up and burned in England; but this poor folly only supplied him with means to go on with printing other editions, with such corrections and improvements as were suggested to him. No perfect copy of Tyndal's New Testament is known, and the imperfect copies which exist are treasured as choice book curiosities. Tyndal was personally acquainted with Luther, and Coverdale was a friend of Tyndal's. With Coverdale commences the history of the authorised complete English Bible. The recent celebration of the third centenary of the publication of Coverdale's Bible (on October 4, 1835), doubtless, makes his name familiar to all our readers. This Bible, finished in 1535, is supposed to have been printed at Zurich. It was dedicated to King Henry VIII. Cromwell ordered a copy of it to be placed in the choir of every parish church in England. It was translated out of Latin and Dutch, and is printed in a black letter in double columns, with woodcuts by Hans Sebald Beham. This first Protestant translation of the whole Bible is considered to be the joint production of Coverdale and Tyndal, and it is said that only two perfect copies exist: one in the British Museum, and the other in the library of Lord Jersey. It has a woodcut title, and is dedicated to Henry VIII. It is divided into five "bokes," which have separate titles formed of the woodcuts, which decorate the book. These, with the engraved initial letters, are executed with taste. This Bible has also the Apocrypha. It has parallel passages, and the contents prefixed to each chapter. At the end of the Testament is the following solitary erratum :-"A faute escaped in pryntynge the New Testament. Upon the fourth leafe, the first syde in the sixt chapter of S. Mathew, Seke ye first the kyngdome of heaven, read, Seke ye first the kyngdome of God,' &c." The following is an extract from the preface : MYLES COVERDALE'S PROLOGUE UNTO THE CHRISTEN "Consyderynge how excellent knowlege and lernynge an interpreter of Scripture ought to have in the tongues, and ponderyng also myn owne insufficiency therin, and how weake I am to perfourme ye office of a translatoure, I was the more lothe to medle with this worke. Notwithstondynge whan I consydered how greate pytie it was that we shulde wante it so longe, and called to my remembraunce ye aduersite of them whych were not onely of rype knowlege, but wolde also with all theyr hertes haue perfourmed yt they beganne, yf they had not had impediment: considerynge (I say) that by reason of theyr aduersyte it could not so soone haue bene broughte to an ende, as oure most prosperous nacyon wolde fayne haue had it: these and other reasonable causes consydered, I was the more bolde to take it in hande. And to helpe me herin I haue had sondrye translacyons not onely in latyn, but also of the Douche interpreters; whom (because of theyr synguler gyftes and speciall diligence in the Bible) I haue ben the more glad to folowe for the most parte accordynge as I was requyred. But to saye the trueth before God, it was nether my laboure nor desyre to haue this worke put in my hande; neuertheles it greued me yt other nacyōs shulde be more plenteously prouyded for with ye Scripture in theyr mother tongue then we: therfore whan I was instantly requyred though I coulde not do so well as I wolde I thought it yet my dewtye to do my best, and that with a good wyll." MATTHEWS' BIBLE, 1537, printed at Hamburg, or Paris, varies little from Coverdale's. The name Matthews was assumed. The editor was John Rogers, who was the first person burned for heresy in the reign of Queen Mary. It is in larger and bolder type than Coverdale's; contains a calendar, an almanack for eighteen years; at the bottom of which it says "The year hath xii monethes, lii weekes and one daye, and it hath in all three hundred and lxv days and vi hours." It has a variety of prefatory matter, viz. "An Exhortation to the Study of the Scriptures;" the contents, dedication to Henry VIII., address to the reader, and a table of the principal matters in the Bible, alphabetically. The following is an extract from the commencement of Matthews' Preface: "As the bees dylygently do gather together swete flowers to make by naturall craft the swete honny: so haue I done the pryncypall sentences conteyned in the Byble. The whych are ordened after maner of a table for the consolacyon of those whych are not yet exercysed and instructed in the Holy Scripture. In the which are many harde places, as well of the Olde as of the Newe Testament, expounded, gathered together, concorded and compared one wyth another; to thintent that the prudent reader, (by the sprete of God) maye beare alwaye pure and cleare understandynge," &c. &c. The GREAT BIBLE, or CRANMER'S, was the first edition printed by express authority, and publicly set up in churches, 1539. It was printed under the direction of Coverdale, and patronage of Archbishop Cranmer, who wrote the preface. It contains some improvements of Matthews' translation. There were 2500 copies printed; and Dr. Combe notices as a remarkable fact, that two copies of this Bible are rarely found alike. The engraved title-pages are said to have been designed by Hans Holbein. It has cuts. The following is the commencement of Cranmer's preface: "For two sondrye sortes of people, it seemeth moche necessary yt somethynge be sayde in the entrye of thys booke, by the waye of preface of prologe, wherby herafter it maye be both ye better accepted of them which hitherto coulde not well beare it; and also the better vsed of them, which hertofore have mysused it. For truely, some there are that be too slowe, and nede the spurre, some other seme to quycke, and nede more of the brydell. Some loose theyr game by shorte shotynge, some by ouer shotynge," &c. &c. TAVERNER'S Bible is a small plain folio, without woodcuts, first printed in the same year, 1539. The text is not materially altered, being formed on Matthews' Bible. There were eleven editions of the Bible in Edward VI.'s reign, but they were all of the former Bibles. The GENEVA BIBLE, 1560, was undertaken by the English The translators were, refugees at the time of the Reformation. Bishop Coverdale, Anthony Gilley, William Whittingham, Thomas Sampson, and Thomas Cole; to whom some add John Knox, John Bodleigh, and John Pullein. This version was for many years the most popular in England, and was the favourite Bible of the English puritans, and Scotch presbyterians. It went through about fifty editions in thirty years. This is what is called the Breeches Bible, from the rendering of Gen. vii. 3. The Geneva Testament, printed in 1557, was the first which was divided into verses. The edition of 1578, in the British Museum, is a pretty book, and exhibits great variety of type. The preface, arguments, &c., are in a very neat roman, in which italic is also used. Being in black letter, the distinction of the italic in modern editions, is in this marked by roman character. It has a beautifully engraved title border, contains maps of the Holy Land, &c. ; a variety of tables, printed in red and black, which, with the general execution of the work, and variety of material, would do credit to printers of more modern times. In this edition there are two versions of the Psalms; the Geneva in roman, and Cranmer's in black, opposite. It also contains the Book of Common Prayer. PARKER'S, or the BISHOPS' BIBLE, edited by Archbishop Parker, and printed in 1568. It contains three copper-plate portraits, of Queen Elizabeth, Lord Leicester, and Secretary Cecil. cut, representing "Leda and the Swan," hence it is sometimes At the commencement of the Epistle to the Hebrews is a woodcalled the "Leda Bible." There is in this edition a double translation of the Psalms; one from what is called the Great Bible, the other an entirely new one, KING JAMES'S BIBLE. under the patronage of James I. Fifty-four learned persons (47 The present translation was begun of whom undertook the task) were selected. They were divided into six classes, to each of which a certain portion was allotted. Each of the class was to produce a translation of the whole allotted to the class, which were revised at a general meeting of the class; and then went through the other classes to obtain the sanc tion of the whole; two of the classes sat at Westminster, two at Oxford, and two at Cambridge. They were employed for three years (1607 to 1610). It was first printed in 1611. It is a handsome book with a well-executed copper-plate title, and contains many tables and maps. The genealogy of our Saviour, consisting of 34 pages, is a wonderful piece of workmanship. The Bible is printed in black letter, but with the arguments &c, in roman, and has marginal references. The following are specimens of the style and orthography of six of the translations of which we have been speaking: : 1535. 1. COVERDALE'S. But who geveth credence unto oure preachynge; Or to who is the arme of the LORDE knowne? He shall growe before the LORDE like as a brauch, and as a rote in a drie grounde. He shal haue nether bewty ner fauoure. The Lord is my shepherde, I can want nothynge. He fedeth me in a grene pasture, ad ledeth me to a fresh water. 1560. 4. GENEVA VERSION, Who wil beleeue our report? and to whome is the arme of the Lord reueiled? but he shall growe vp before him as a branche, and as a rote out of a drye grounde: he hath neither form nor beautie. The Lord is my shephearde, I shall not want. He maketh me to rest in greene pasture, and leadeth me by the still waters. SCOTCH BIBLE. 19th March, 1542. An act was passed by | vulgar tongue, notwithstanding the protest of the Bishop of Glasthe Regent Arran, making it lawful to read the Scriptures in the gow, the Chancellor of Scotland; and through Sir Ralph Sadler, |