his joy," to the Philippians," his brethren We laid great stress at the outset on the dearly beloved and longed for, his joy and his importance of his Roman citizenship. It was crown!" But we are not left to conjecture. this which prevented his life falling a sacriWe hear of a whole night's discourse at Alex-fice to the caprice or corruption of the procurandria Troas. We have the tone of his spiritators of Judea. It was this which rescued feelingly struck in the short hint that he sent him from the conspiracies of his fellowthe ship round Cape Lectum to Assos -"for countrymen. It was this again which secured thus had he arranged, intending himself to go his transmission to the metropolis. afoot."* He hastened, therefore, through the southern gate, past the hot springs, and through the oak woods - then in full foliage-which cover all that shore with greenness and shade, and across the wild water-courses on the western side of Ida. Such is the scenery which now surrounds the traveller on his way from Troas to Assos. The great difference then was, that there was a good Roman road, which made St. Paul's solitary journey both more safe and more rapid than it could have been now. We have seldom had occasion to think of the Apostle in the hours of his solitude. But such hours must have been sought and cherished by one whose whole strength was drawn from communion with God, and especially at a time when, as on this present journey, he was deeply conscious of his weakness, and filled with foreboding fears. There may have been other reasons why he lingered at Troas after his companions; but the desire for solitude was doubtless one reason among others. The discomfort of a crowded ship is unfavorable for devotion; and prayer and meditation are necessary for maintaining the religious life even of an Apostle. That Saviour to whose service he was devoted had often prayed in solitude on the mountain, and crossed the brook Kedron to strength and peace were surely sought and obtained by the Apostle from the Redeemer, as he pursued his lonely road that Sunday afternoon in spring, among the oak woods and the streams of Ida. (Conybeare and Howson, vol. ii. p. 214.) kneel under the olives of Gethsemane. And He had a strong presentiment that this would be his last apostolic journey. He had determinedly set his face towards Jerusalem. Like his Master, he had a baptism to be bap tized with, and was straitened till it was ac complished. He dared not trust himself at Ephesus, the scene of his former labors and dangers. He might be involved in the one or the other anew, and thus his object be foiled. But the ship tarried a short day or two at Miletus. He sent for the Ephesian elders he spoke to them his second great discourse the noblest extant effusion of love, as that at Athens of wisdom. Then pass rapidly before us the great crises of his course. His apprehension at Jerusalem his rescue from the conspiracy of the Jews-his detention at Cæsarea-all hastened on the fulfilment of the divine announcement, As thou hast borne witness at Jerusalem, so thou must bear witness at Rome." 66 Acts xx. 13. But we may turn aside to remark, in the two apologies delivered by him during this interval, new proofs of exquisite tact and skill. The narrative of his conversion is common to both. The first is made before the infuriated Jewish multitude in their native tongue. He probably foresaw that he should hardly be heard to its termination. But, at all events, it was an opportunity for them to hear from his own lips, unvitiated by the misrepresentations of his enemies, the account of the momentous change which befell him. Accordingly, he uses all possible caution in his narration. Every word is To the Jews he speaks as carefully chosen. a Jew. The Christian faith is " this way;" the Jews at Damascus are "the brethren." The hated Name is avoided throughout, used but once, and that in the speech of another. Ananias is a devout man, according to the law, having a good report of all the Jews who dwelt there;" not a word is breathed about his being "a disciple" (Acts ix. 10). In the second apology, all the circumstances are changed. He is speaking under the safeguard of his civil privileges, before the Roman procurator, the Jewish king, and an assemblage of the high officers of both. The detail, so useful in the other case, but likely to be wearisome here, is Ananias does not apaltogether dropped. pear. The "heavenly vision" is represented as embracing the whole command given in fact through Ananias, and all the weight is laid on the paramount duty of yielding obedience to it. Thus we have two distinct treatments of the same occurrence, both strictly within the limits of truth, both the ordinary methods of speaking among men, admitting of illustration and justification by adapted with exquisite skill to the different trying circumstances under which the orator was placed. We come now to that voyage to Italy, so full of incident and adventure, so rich in materials for the research of the geographer, the sailor, and let us add, the psychologist. The duties of the two former have been admirably fulfilled by an English gentleman, whose work concludes the list at the head of our article. After the labors of Mr. Smith, mind as to the direction of the Apostle's there can be no doubt left on any reasonable course, or the accurate trustworthiness of the history. The idea that St. Paul was shipwrecked not on Malta, but on Melita or about him; the angels of God hovered round; waking and sleeping, in thoughts and dreams, they whispered consolation; they pronounced his purpose so blessed, so knit into the divine counsel, that God would, in its pursuance, defend both himself and all that were with him in the ship (Vol ii., p. 363, f.) We have now brought the great Apostle to Rome. And here the shades of evening close over him, and the apostolic history withdraws its guidance. We only know that for two years he continued in custody, but in his own lodging, privately preaching the Gospel. We cannot doubt that some of his Epistles date from this imprisonment. Hence he wrote to the Colossians, to the Ephesians (for we still believe, notwithstanding the arguments of Conybeare and Howson, and so many able critics, that it was veritably addressed to them), to Philemon, and the affecting letter to the Philippians; the latter in the apparent prospect of death. The evidence supplied by each of these has been well collected and applied by many able writers, and seems unobjectionable and convincing. Meleda, high up in the gulf of Venice, was preposterous enough at any time, when compared with the requirements of the narrative; but has now, by an abundance of circumstantial evidence of the plainest and most satisfactory kind, been fairly scouted out of the field. We cannot follow Mr. Smith through the various interesting steps of the identification of the scene of the shipwreck with St. Paul's Bay at Malta, but recommend our readers to study them in the book itself, believing that they will find them, as we have done, irrefragable. Mr. Smith has also done excellent service by bringing his naval experience and reading to bear on the various nautical incidents recorded. He has shown that the course adopted under each trying circumstance was precisely that which good seamanship dictated; that the very shiftings and characteristics of the wind were such as are well known to and expected by sailors in the Levant at that time of the year. He has elicited some curious results respecting the character of St. Luke's naval knowledge; showing that he was not a sailor, but a landsman well accustomed to the sea. From this time the shade becomes deeper This point he illustrates by the journals of and more impenetrable. We have yet remainothers similarly situated, and by comparison ing (to say nothing of the much-questioned with the Evangelist's own account of the Epistle to the Hebrews) three letters, two to storm in the Lake of Gennesaret. The book Timotheus and one to Titus, commonly known is full of solid proof and valuable sugges- as the Pastoral Epistles. These, in style and tion; and we may safely say, that a more diction, are so completely distinct from the valuable original contribution to biblical others, that while they bear indubitable knowledge has not been made by any country-marks of the mind and hand of Paul, we must man of ours during the present century. refuse to insert them anywhere in the existBut psychologically this voyage is hardly ing series, but regard them as subsequent, less interesting. The influence acquired by a and in a later manner. If this were once prisoner in chains over the motley assem- established, the important question of a blage congregated in the huge Alexandrian second imprisonment would be also decided; corn-ship, would of itself testify to his being for journeys are spoken of, and events alluded no ordinary character. But when we com- to, which make it impossible that two of bine this with our previous knowledge of the them should have been written in captivity. man and his mission, we hardly could have We cannot pretend here to follow out this testimony more satisfactory to the consis- matter; we will only cursorily notice two tency of a truthful narrative than this, that points connected with the question:one so described antecedently should have so done and spoken and influenced those about him. The following beautiful description is from Schrader, whose unworthy rationalism here completely disappears, and gives place to an enthusiasm far more genial to him:: 1. The statement in 2 Tim. iv. 20, "Trophimus have I left at Miletus sick," has never received any satisfactory explanation on the hypothesis of one imprisonment. Those who wish to see to what shifts the advocates of that theory are reduced by those words may refer to Schaff's Kirchengeschichte, p. 273 b, or Davidson's useful introduction to the N. T. vol. iii. p. 53. Amidst the many dangers which Paul, wellaccustomed to perils by sea, had clearly foreseen, he was the adviser, he was the comforter 2. There is between the remarkable doxology of all; like a genius from a higher world, he at the end of the Epistle to the Romans, and stood among the men of this earth, carried on the Pastoral Epistles, a curious affinity in ward by the persuasion that he should proclaim the Gospel in this world's metropolis, and before style and diction. Might it not well have its rulers; that he should gain for it a new and been that the apostle, reviewing his Epistle noble victory; that in chains and weakness, not in later days at Rome, subjoined this fervid, in freedom and strength, he was to work its ascription of praise (for the Epistle was work. So lofty was his purpose, so visibly was manifestly complete without it) and 90 his God pleased to glorify Himself in him through may it not be synchronous with the Pastoral his captivity, that at midnight it was bright day Epistles? -- CCCCLXV. LIVING AGE. VOL. I. 10 Of the death of St. Paul, we know next to nothing. All that tradition tells us, is no more than might be inferred from his own notices, and therefore probable; but, on this very account, of little independent weight. Gathering the evidence for ourselves, we may safely assume that he died by martyrdom, and possibly at Rome. However this may have been, we know that he regarded his COURSE as FINISHED. The end for which he was raised up had been answered. A man had been found, who, by birth, by training, by privilege, by character, united in himself the many requirements for an Apostle of the nations. By this man's living word, the principal churches in the world were founded. By his written testimony, the principal disputes of Christendom were anticipated. To this armory went Augustine; to this, Luther. From this, future champions of God's truth and man's right may yet equip themselves. "How blessed the swineherd's low estate, "Methinks this cold and northern night So spake my friend, one autumn day, Then said I; for I could not brook We regard it as a sign for good, that just now attention should be directed to the biog-"I, too, am weak, and faith is small, raphy and character of St. Paul. No study could prove so effectual an antidote to the assumptions of hierarchical pretension; none will afford a more grateful relief from the tinsel of that frippery Christianity which is now so ostentatiously imported among us. He is above all others the Apostle of individual religion; of those things which are true, and honest, and just, and pure, and lovely, and of good report. His course was a life-long and single-hearted striving after one glorious pur-" pose with no side-aims nor reservation. The more such a character is known and appreciated, the better Protestants shall we be, and the better Christians. J. G. WHITTIER has just issued a new volume of Poems, called "The Chapel of the Hermits and other Poems." From the prelude we take the following lines : "I do believe, and yet in grief, "I ponder o'er the sacred Word, "Who saw the tears of love He wept And blindness happeneth unto all. "What thought Chorazin's scribes ? What faith 66 O, Friend! we need nor rock nor sand, To find the Orient's marvels here; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves From Hogg's Instructor. been said of his self-consciousness, we must SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER LYTTON, recognize the same crowning merit. In in BART. ferior artists, again, this power of individual creation becomes weaker; in Schiller, in Byron, and even in Shelley, subjective elements forever mingle with, and render imperfect, the creations of art. In all cases, the truer the artist, the more difficult is it, in his productions, to discern the reflection of the man. "NOWHERE is painting, by pen or pencil, so inadequate as in delineating spiritual nature. The pyramid can be measured in geometric feet, and the draughtsman represents it with all its environment, on canvas, accurately to the eye; nay, Mont Blanc is embossed in It is too true, on the other hand, that the colored stucco, and we have his very type and utterance of the artist may by no means conminiature fac-simile in our museums. But sist with the actions of the man; and even for great men, let him who would know such where traces of self-portraiture are manifest, pray that he may see them daily face to face; we cannot be assured that they will not for, in the dim distance, and by the eye of deceive us. The end of man, as we have imagination, our vision, do what we may, will known for one or two millenniums, is an be too imperfect." These are the words of action, not a thought; and in this truth is inhim who is facile princeps among the bio- volved the following-that the test of mangraphic essayists of the day; they are used hood is action, and not thought, or at least by him as he commences to convey to his ostensible thought. Were the history of speaking canvas the lines and features of Coleridge utterly unknown, at what strange Schiller's intellectual countenance. Of Schil- conclusions respecting his personal character ler, he knew very much more than could be would we probably arrive! To mention but gathered from his artistic productions; he one of his poems and one trait of character, had perused his letters, he knew each event let us imagine ourselves forming our idea of of his history, he could tell how he had com- his energy from the "Religious Musings.' ported himself in each remarkable occurrence | What clearness, we would say, what fiery of his life. And yet he says, and says most earnestness, what strength as of a world-voltruly, that more than all this was necessary; cano heaving mountains at the stars! Nor and his words apply to men who cannot be would the study of the "Friend" materially distinctively called great. But how are the dif- affect our decision; and we would probably ficulties of the task of the mental portrait- arrive at the ultimate conclusion, that the painter increased, if the private history of man Coleridge had been certainly of a lofty, the man whom he portrays is almost entirely contemplative mind, but that his high ideal unknown to him; if he has to draw every tint, soul had rolled majestically along on the not from the living face of nature and life, wheels of action. And yet, who can for a but as seen through the multiform and chang- moment forget that the writer of "Religious ing media of published works? To produce a Musings" furnishes in his own person the likeness of the man, of which he can say most melancholy instance upon record of the with unfaltering confidence that it is true, is separation between action and thought? well-nigh impossible. It is so mainly for The subject of our present notice here comes two reasons; because, in the first place, the to help us out of our difficulty, or rather to artist should not confound himself with his assist us in convincing the reader that it is a creations, and because, secondly, the senti- great difficulty of which we speak. ments of the lip and pen may be very different were necessary, says Sir Edward, "that from those which find embodiment in the practice squared with precept. action and the life. monitors would be few. Our opinions, young Englishmen, are the angel part of us; our actions the earthly." Yet it is only the angel part that we generally find in the works of an author, and, if he is a perfect artist, we shall get not even this, but merely the objective creations of art, over which, save in imparting to them life, the artist has strictly no power. In writing of our hero, we should always like to consult his valet. You can discover from the works of an artist what are his powers, but precisely in proportion to his perfection as an artist will he conceal what are his feelings, what he himself is. Shakspeare, as all critics have remarked, bodies forth every creation with the definite individuality of life; you cannot say Shakspeare speaks more in the mystic contemplation of Hamlet than in the gross actualism of the gravedigger, in the kingly tones of Othello than in the intense, lynx-eyed baseness of Iago, in the ethereal music of Ariel than in the tuneless groanings of Caliban; in each instance, there is the self-originated utterance of distinct existence. In the case of Goethe the same holds true, though, certainly, less completely. In Milton, despite what has "If it our Moved by these and like considerations, we do not feel ourselves entitled to pronounce an authoritative decision, which would embrace his whole character, respecting the distinguished man whose portrait we on this occasion present to our readers. We do not know enough of Sir Edward to speak of him as a man; we address ourselves to consider him. as a writer. And surely here the task which | Deterioration in quality must accompany presents itself to our view is of a difficult excessive increase in quantity; public taste nature. To specify the works of Sir Edward may thus come to be fatally tainted; and so would fill a paragraph; to give the most cursory view of each to our readers, would fill half a number; to consider each fully in its artistic perfection, its relation to the author's mind, and its bearing upon the age, would fill a large and tensely written volume. It is evident that selection must be made, and that minute delineations cannot be attempted; but even on such conditions we feel that the work of compression will be difficult. Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, in his aspect of literary man, comes before us in four different characters at the very least; as novelist, as poet, as historian, and as public teacher. To these we might add the characters of translator, political writer and dramatist; but we prefer embracing these under one or other of the titles above specified. We shall conduct our brief survey in the order we have adopted above; and first, of Sir Edward as novelist. the result apprehended by Sir Edward seems too likely to ensue. But we would cling to a better hope. We think a task devolves upon criticism, and a very important one; we believe that an enlightened, uncompromising, and impartial criticism might do much. Surely, if criticism were well awake, certain gross deviations from anything like artistie correctness would not be suffered to continue; and most gross are the absurdities and artistic blunders committed in this very department of novel-writing. We believe the novel to be a form of composition admitting the exercise of the highest genius, adapted to convey most powerfully the noblest instruction, and peculiarly suited to embrace statements or solutions of the great problems of humanity. We cannot, we regret to say, enter at any length upon the subject here. Suffice it to say, that the novel, at least as strictly as any The vast prevalence of the fictitious style of other form of composition, must be true. The composition in the present day cannot fail to garb is simply nothing; it may be of gold, or strike the most casual observer. It is a it may be of iron, but the truth it contains is sign, and an important sign, of the times. the matter of importance. In what sense, Much were to be said upon the subject, did then, must a novel be true, since its plot is space permit, but we are compelled to con- known to be a mere form of delivery? It dense our remarks into the smallest possible must be true to nature. To say it may be compass. Sir Edward himself has cast his ideal and above nature, is to fall into an error eye upon the phenomenon, and favored us in critical analysis; the ideal is as much with deliverance thereon. "Literature," he natural as the actual; it belongs to the says in a note to his " Athens"-"literature domain of spiritual nature, which is surely as commences with poetical fiction, and usually real as physical nature. But the formula terminates with prose fiction. It was so in "true to nature" may seem vague, and must the ancient world- it will be so with Eng- be more accurately defined. The province land and France. The harvest of novels is, of the novel, in its widest expression, is life; I fear, a sign of the approaching exhaustion of life in every aspect, under every condition of the soul." This is certainly an opinion which circumstance; life as bounded by the laws by no means flatters that department of of the actual world we live in, or life under literature which the speaker has so brilliantly the conditions of a perfect humanity and a adorned; but we fear it contains much of perfect social system. As its province is life. truth. When men, like overgrown children, so the actors in the novel are drawn from life cry out for amusement, and when authors, in all its aspects; hence the ultimate work responding to the cry, all rush forward with of the novelist is to portray character. Here, their wares, careless in great part of artistic again, we must guard against error from a merit, and adopting as their motto the words, misconception of the ideal. Character may "who peppers the highest is surest to please,' ," be true to nature, though it has no actual the prospects of literature may be considered present existence on the earth; but it must dark. Why gird on the armor of the legion- ever be true to the conditions of humanity. ary, when the light arms are as effective; The nature with which the ideal concerns why earnestly gaze on the face of nature for and connects itself, is a nobler nature than the revelation of the beautiful, or dig sedu- the actual; if we consider well, we will find lously in the mines of thought for the true, that the actual is, in a true and important if tinsel passes well enough with the "gen- sense, less natural than the ideal; for the eral reader" for the one, and pointless com- ideal is always some bodying forth of that monplace, or cloudy sentimentality, or mere first and noble nature from which humanity bluster, for the other? And is not this too has fallen, and to which, beyond the portals of much the case among us at present? Towards time, it shall yet attain. To portray the novel-writing there is a tremendous attraction ideal is the highest possible effort of the at present for every entrant into the ranks novelist; as indeed it is of the epic poet and of literature; if the gold of heaven gleams dramatist. elsewhere, here, at least, is the gold of earth. [ But this is a province which has hardly been |
