No More Learning

Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,—
Will ye no come back again ?
We watched thee in the gloaming hour,
We watched thee in the morning gray;
Though thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
Sweet's the laverock's note and lang,
Lilting wildly up the glen;
But aye to me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?


## p. 10553 (#425) ##########################################

LADY NAIRNE
10553
GUDE-NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'
THE
HE best o' joys maun hae an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid farewell to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu';
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They're broken, faltering, and few:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
Oh, we hae wandered far and wide,
O'er Scotia's lands o' firth and fell,
And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather bell.
We've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
My harp, fareweel: thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heart-felt wae;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! where sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava,
May we meet neighbor, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?
LD you be young again?
So would not I-
WOULD
One tear to memory given,
Onward I'd hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?
If you might, would you now
Retrace your way?
Wander through thorny wilds,
Faint and astray?


## p. 10554 (#426) ##########################################

10554
LADY NAIRNE
Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward-away.
Where are they gone, of yore
My best delight?
Dear and more dear, though now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me:
Fly time, fly speedily,
Come life and light.


## p. 10555 (#427) ##########################################

10555
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
(1861-)
HE great aid which science combined with common-sense can
render in overcoming the difficulties and dangers of arctic
exploration is illustrated in the expedition of Dr. Fridtjof
Nansen. His book 'Farthest North' is the record of this expedition,
the success of which was the result of adequate preparations both in
the vessel and its equipment for a voyage towards the Pole.
Dr. Nansen was born in Christiania, Norway, on October 10th,
1861. In 1880 he entered the university of his native city, devoting
himself to the study of zoology. In 1882 he
made a voyage to the Jan Mayen and Spitz-
bergen seas, for the purpose of observing
animal life in high latitudes; and in the
same year he was appointed curator in the
Natural History Museum at Bergen, Norway.
He took his degree in 1888. In 1888-9 he
crossed Southern Greenland on snow-shoes.
Subsequently he was appointed curator of
the Museum of Comparative Anatomy in the
University of Christiania. As early as 1884
Dr. Nansen had conceived the idea that
there must be a current flowing at some
point between the Pole and Franz Josef
Land, from the Siberian Arctic Sea to the
east coast of Greenland. The starting-point of his conjecture was the
fact that certain articles belonging to the ill-fated Jeannette, which
had foundered in the drift ice north of the New Siberian Islands, had
been found afterwards upon the southwest coast of Greenland, bear-
ing evidence to a hitherto unsuspected current in the arctic seas.
an address before the Christiania Geographical Society in 1890, Dr.
Nansen set forth his theory; and proposed that he should place him-
self at the head of an expedition which should endeavor, by taking
advantage of this current, to reach Greenland by way of the Pole.
The success of the expedition would depend largely on the design of
the vessel. Former arctic explorers had employed ordinary ships,-
ill adapted, as events proved, to resist the enormous pressure of the
ice in the polar regions. Nansen proposed to have a ship built of
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
In



## p. 10556 (#428) ##########################################

10556
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
such a shape as to enable it to withstand the ice pressure. In its
construction two points were to be especially studied: (1) that the
shape of the hull be such as to offer as small a vulnerable target as
possible to the attacks of ice; (2) that it be built so solidly as to be
able to withstand the greatest possible pressure from without in any
direction whatsoever. More attention was to be paid to making the
ship a safe and warm stronghold while drifting in the ice, than to
endow it with speed or good sailing qualities. These designs were
carried out in building the Fram, the vessel in which Nansen made
his voyage. The sides of the Fram were so well rounded that at no
portion of its frame could the ice take firm hold upon it. Its adapta-
bility to the conditions of the Arctic Sea was well proven. After the
vessel had left the open sea, its strength and its peculiar shape en-
abled it to resist the ice pressure. It was lifted by the ice out of the
water, and borne upon the drifting floe in the direction of the Pole.
Nansen did not accomplish all that he set out to do, but he did
traverse the unknown polar sea northwestward from the New Siberian
Islands, and he did explore the region north of Franz Josef Land as
far as 86° 14', the highest latitude yet reached by man. His success
was largely due to the construction of the Fram. The first volume
of Farthest North' contains the account of the building of the
Fram, and of its voyage to the eighty-fourth parallel. The second
volume tells of the sledge journey still farther north, undertaken by
Dr. Nansen and one companion. Both accounts are rich in scientific
observations, and in details of the daily lives of the explorers. Dr.
Nansen's passion for science has absorbed neither his humanity nor
his capacity for poetry. His record of his travels is lightened by his
appreciation of the little pleasantries possible within four degrees of
the Pole, and by his sensitiveness to the ghostly beauty of a shrouded
world. He writes of his inner life of hope and ambition and frequent
depression, and of his outer life of adventure, with the ease and
charm of a man so completely under the sway of his subject that
literary graces are the natural accompaniment of his record.
AN EVENING'S AURORA
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
ECEMBER, 1893. - As we were sitting at supper about 6 o'clock,
pressure suddenly began. The ice creaked and roared so
along the ship's sides close by us that it was not possi-
ble to carry on any connected conversation; we had to scream,
and all agreed with Nordahl when he remarked that it would be
D


## p. 10557 (#429) ##########################################

FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10557
much pleasanter if the pressure would confine its operations to
the bow instead of coming bothering us here aft. Amidst the
noise we caught every now and again from the organ a note or
two of Kjerulf's melody, 'I Could not Sleep for the Nightin-
gale's Voice. ' The hurly-burly outside lasted for about twenty
minutes, and then all was still.
Later in the evening Hansen came down to give notice of
what really was a remarkable appearance of aurora borealis.
The deck was brightly illuminated by it, and reflections of its
light played all over the ice. The whole sky was ablaze with
it, but it was brightest in the south; high up in that direction
glowed waving masses of fire. Later still Hansen came again to
say that now it was quite extraordinary. No words can depict
the glory that met our eyes. The glowing fire masses had
divided into glistening, many-colored bands, which were writhing
and twisting across the sky both in the south and north. The
rays sparkled with the purest, most crystalline rainbow colors,
chiefly violet-red or carmine and the clearest green. Most fre-
quently the rays of the arch were red at the ends, and changed
higher up into sparkling green, which, quite at the top, turned
darker and went over into blue or violet before disappearing in
the blue of the sky; or the rays in one and the same arch might
change from clear red to clear green, coming and going as if
driven by a storm. It was an endless phantasmagoria of spark-
ling color, surpassing anything that one can dream. Sometimes.
the spectacle reached such a climax that one's breath was taken
away; one felt that now something extraordinary must hap-
pen, at the very least the sky must fall. But as one stands in
breathless expectation, down the whole thing trips, as if in a
few quick, light scale-runs, into bare nothingness. There is some-
thing most undramatic about such a dénouement, but it is all
done with such confident assurance that one cannot take it amiss;
one feels one's self in the presence of a master who has the
complete command of his instrument. With a single stroke of
the bow he descends lightly and elegantly from the height of
passion into quiet, every-day strains, only with a few more strokes
to work himself up into passion again. It seems as if he were
trying to mock, to tease us. When we are on the point of going
below, driven by 61 degrees of frost (-33. 9 C. ), such magnificent
tones again vibrate over the strings that we stay until noses and
ears are frozen. For a finale, there is a wild display of fireworks
-


## p. 10558 (#430) ##########################################

10558
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
in every tint of flame,- such a conflagration that one expects
every minute to have it down on the ice, because there is not
room for it in the sky. But I can hold out no longer. Thinly
dressed, without a proper cap and without gloves, I have no feel-
ing left in body or limbs, and I crawl away below.
THE POLAR NIGHT
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
M
ONDAY, December 25th (Christmas Day), 1893. -O Arctic
night, thou art like a woman, a marvelously lovely woman.
Thine are the noble, pure outlines of antique beauty, with
its marble coldness. On thy high, smooth brow, clear with the
clearness of ether, is no trace of compassion for the little suffer-
ings of despised humanity; on thy pale, beautiful cheek no blush.
of feeling. Among thy raven locks, waving out into space, the
hoar-frost has sprinkled its glittering crystals. The proud lines
of thy throat, thy shoulders' curves, are so noble, but, oh! unbend-
ingly cold; thy bosom's white chastity is feelingless as the snowy
ice. Chaste, beautiful, and proud, thou floatest through ether over
the frozen sea; thy glittering garment, woven of aurora-beams,
covering the vault of heaven. But sometimes I divine a twitch
of pain on thy lips, and endless sadness dreams in thy dark eye.
Oh, how tired I am of thy cold beauty! I long to return
to life. Let me get home again: as conqueror or as beggar,
what does that matter? but let me get home to begin life anew.
The years are passing here, and what do they bring? Nothing
but dust, dry dust, which the first wind blows away; new dust
comes in its place, and the next wind takes it too. Truth? Why
should we always make so much of truth? Life is more than
cold truth, and we live but once.
THE NEW YEAR, 1896: OUR DAILY LIFE
From Farthest North. ' Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
EDNESDAY, January 1st, 1896. -41. 5° C. (42. 7° below zero,
W Fahr. ). —So a new year has come, the year
of joy and
home-coming. In bright moonlight 1895 departed, and in
bright moonlight 1896 begins; but it is bitterly cold,- the coldest


## p. 10559 (#431) ##########################################

FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10559
days we have yet known here. I felt it, too, yesterday, when
all my finger-tips were frost-bitten. I thought I had done with
all that last spring.
Friday, January 3d. Morning. It is still clear. and cold out.
of doors. I can hear reports from the glacier. It lies up there
on the crest of the mountain like a mighty ice-giant peering
down at us through the clefts. It spreads its giant body all
over the land, and stretches out its limbs on all sides into the
sea. But whenever it turns cold-colder than it has hitherto
been-it writhes horribly, and crevice after crevice appears in
the huge body; there is a noise like the discharge of guns, and
the sky and the earth tremble so that I can feel the ground that
I am lying on quake. One is almost afraid that it will some day
come rolling over upon one.
Johansen is asleep, and making the hut resound. I am glad
his mother cannot see him now. She would certainly pity her
boy, so black and grimy and ragged as he is, with sooty streaks
all over his face. But wait, only wait! She shall have him
again, safe and sound and fresh and rosy.
Wednesday, January 8th. - Last night the wind blew the
sledge to which our thermometer was hanging, out over the slope.
Stormy weather outside-furious weather, almost taking away
your breath if you put your head out. We lie here trying to
sleep sleep the time away. But we cannot always do it. Oh,
those long sleepless nights when you turn from side to side, kick
your feet to put a little warmth into them, and wish for only.
one thing in the world-sleep! The thoughts are constantly
busy with everything at home; but the long, heavy body lies
here trying in vain to find an endurable position among the
rough stones. However, time crawls on, and now little Liv's
birthday has come. She is three years old to-day, and must be
a big girl now. Poor little thing! You don't miss your father
now, and next birthday I shall be with you, I hope. What good
friends we shall be! You shall ride a-cockhorse, and I will tell
you stories from the north about bears, foxes, walruses, and all
the strange animals up there in the ice. No, I can't bear to
think of it.
-
Saturday, February 1st. -Here I am down with the rheuma-
tism. Outside it is growing gradually lighter day by day; the
sky above the glaciers in the south grows redder, until at last
one day the sun will rise above the crest, and our last winter


## p. 10560 (#432) ##########################################

10560
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
night be past. Spring is coming! I have often thought spring
sad. Was it because it vanished so quickly, because it carried
promises that summer never fulfilled? But there is no sadness in
this spring: its promises will be kept; it would be too cruel if
they were not.
It was a strange existence, lying thus in a hut underground
the whole winter through, without a thing to turn one's hand to.
How we longed for a book! How delightful our life on board the
Fram appeared, when we had the whole library to fall back upon!
We would often tell each other how beautiful this sort of life
would have been, after all, if we had only had anything to read.
Johansen always spoke with a sigh of Heyse's novels: he had
specially liked those on board, and he had not been able to finish
the last one he was reading. The little readable matter which
was to be found in our navigation table and almanac, I had read
so many times already that I knew it almost by heart- all about
the Norwegian royal family, all about persons apparently drowned,
and all about self-help for fishermen. Yet it was always a com-
fort to see these books: the sight of the printed letters gave one
a feeling that there was, after all, a little bit of the civilized man
left. All that we really had to talk about had long ago been
thoroughly thrashed out, and indeed there were not many thoughts
of common interest that we had not exchanged. The chief pleas-
ure left to us was to picture to each other how we should make
up next winter at home for everything we had missed during
our sojourn here. We felt that we should have learned for good
and all to set store by all the good things of life,- such as food,
drink, clothes, shoes, house, home, good neighbors, and all the
rest of it. Frequently we occupied ourselves, too, in calculating
how far the Fram could have drifted, and whether there was any
possibility of her getting home to Norway before us. It seemed
a safe assumption that she might drift out into the sea between
Spitzbergen and Greenland next summer or autumn, and prob-
ability seemed to point to her being in Norway in August or
September. But there was just the possibility that she might
arrive earlier in the summer; or on the other hand, we might
not reach home until later in the autumn. This was the great
question to which we could give no certain answer; and we re-
flected with sorrow that she might perhaps get home first. What
would our friends then think about us? Scarcely any one would
have the least hope of seeing us again, not even our comrades
-


## p. 10561 (#433) ##########################################

FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10561
on board the Fram. It seemed to us, however, that this could
scarcely happen: we could not but reach home in July, and it
was hardly to be expected that the Fram could be free from the
ice so early in the summer.
THE JOURNEY SOUTHWARD
From 'Farthest North. ' Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
ON
N FRIDAY, June 12th, we started again at 4 A. M. with sails
on our sledges. There had been frost, so the snow was in
much better condition again. It had been very windy in
the night, too, so we hoped for a good day. On the preceding
day it had cleared up so that we could at last see distinctly the
lands around. We now discovered that we must steer in a more
westerly direction than we had done during the preceding days,
in order to reach the south point of the land to the west. The
lands to the east disappeared eastward, so we had said good-by
to them the day before. We now saw, too, that there was a
broad sound in the land to the west, and that it was one entire
land, as we had taken it to be. The land north of this sound
was now so far away that I could only just see it. In the mean
time the wind had dropped a good deal; the ice, too, became
more and more uneven,—it was evident that we had come to the
drift ice, and it was much harder work than we had expected.
We could see by the air that there must be open water to the
south; and as we went on we heard, to our joy, the sound of
breakers.
At 6 A. M. we stopped to rest a little; and on going up on
to a hummock to take a longitude observation, I saw the water
not far off. From a higher piece of glacier ice we could see it
better.
It extended towards the promontory to the southwest.
Even though the wind had become a little westerly now, we still
hoped to be able to sail along the edge of the ice, and deter-
mined to go to the water by the shortest way. We were quickly
at the edge of the ice, and once more saw the blue water spread
out before us. We soon had our kayaks lashed together and
the sail up, and put to sea. Nor were our hopes disappointed:
we sailed well all day long. At times the wind was so strong
that we cut through the water, and the waves washed unpleas-
antly over our kayaks; but we got on, and we had to put up with
XVIII-661


## p. 10562 (#434) ##########################################

10562
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
being a little wet. We soon passed the point we had been mak-
ing for; and here we saw that the land ran westward, that the
edge of the unbroken shore ice extended in the same direction,
and that we had water in front of us. In good spirits, we sailed
westward along the margin of the ice. So we were at last at
the south of the land in which we had been wandering for so
long, and where we had spent a long winter. It struck me more
than ever that in spite of everything, this south coast would
agree well with Leigh Smith's map of Franz Josef Land and the
country surrounding their winter quarters; but then I remem-
bered Payer's map and dismissed the thought.
In the evening we put in to the edge of the ice, so as to
stretch our legs a little; they were stiff with sitting in the kayak
all day, and we wanted to get a little view over the water to the
west by ascending a hummock. As we went ashore the question
arose as to how we should moor our precious vessel. "Take one
of the braces," said Johansen: he was standing on the ice.
"But
is it strong enough? " "Yes," he answered: "I have used it as
a halyard on my sledge sail all the time. " "Oh, well, it doesn't
require much to hold these light kayaks," said I, a little ashamed
of having been so timid; and I moored them with the halyard,
which was a strap cut from a raw walrus-hide. We had been on
the ice a little while, moving up and down close to the kayaks.
The wind had dropped considerably, and seemed to be more
westerly, making it doubtful whether we could make use of it
any longer; and we went up on to a hummock close by to ascer-
tain this better. As we stood there, Johansen suddenly cried, “I
say! the kayaks are adrift! " We ran down as hard as we could.
They were already a little way out, and were drifting quickly
off; the painter had given way. "Here, take my watch! " I said
to Johansen, giving it to him; and as quickly as possible I threw
off some clothing, so as to be able to swim more easily. I did
not dare to take everything off, as I might so easily get cramp.
I sprang into the water; but the wind was off the ice, and the
light kayaks, with their high rigging, gave it a good hold. They
were already well out, and were drifting rapidly. The water was
icy cold; it was hard work swimming with clothes on; and the
kayaks drifted farther and farther, often quicker than I could
swim. It seemed more than doubtful whether I could manage it.
But all our hope was drifting there; all we possessed was on
board- we had not even a knife with us: and whether I got


## p. 10563 (#435) ##########################################

FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10563
cramp and sank here, or turned back without the kayaks, it
would come to pretty much the same thing; so I exerted myself
to the utmost.
When I got tired I turned over and swam on my back, and
then I could see Johansen walking restlessly up and down on the
ice. Poor lad! He could not stand still, and thought it dreadful
not to be able to do anything. He had not much hope that I
could do it, but it would not improve matters in the least if he
threw himself into the water too. He said afterwards that these
were the worst moments he had ever lived through. But when
I turned over again and saw that I was nearer the kayaks, my
courage rose, and I redoubled my exertions. I felt, however,
that my limbs were gradually stiffening and losing all feeling,
and I knew that in a short time I should not be able to move
them. But there was not far to go now; if I could only hold
out a little longer we should be saved-and I went on. The
strokes became more and more feeble, but the distance became
shorter and shorter, and I began to think I should reach the
kayaks. At last I was able to stretch out my hand to the snow-
shoe which lay across the sterns. I grasped it, pulled myself in
to the edge of the kayak—and we were saved!
I tried to pull myself up, but the whole of my body was so
stiff with cold that this was an impossibility. For a moment I
thought that after all, it was too late: I was to get so far, but
not be able to get in. After a little, however, I managed to
swing one leg up on to the edge of the sledge which lay on the
deck, and in this way managed to tumble up. There I sat, but
so stiff with cold that I had difficulty in paddling. Nor was it
easy to paddle in the double vessel, where I first had to take
one or two strokes on one side, and then step into the other
kayak to take a few strokes on the other side. If I had been
able to separate them, and row in one while I towed the other,
it would have been easy enough; but I could not undertake that
piece of work, for I should have been stiff before it was done:
the thing to be done was to keep warm by rowing as hard as I
could. The cold had robbed my whole body of feeling; but when
the gusts of wind came, they seemed to go right through me as
I stood there in my thin wet woolen shirt. I shivered, my teeth
chattered, and I was numb almost all over; but I could still use
the paddle, and I should get warm when I got back on to the
ice again.


## p. 10564 (#436) ##########################################

10564
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
Two auks were lying close to the bow, and the thought of
having auk for supper was too tempting: we were in want of
food now.
I got hold of my gun and shot them with one dis-
charge. Johansen said afterwards that he started at the report,
thinking some accident had happened, and could not understand
what I was about out there; but when he saw me paddle and
pick up two birds, he thought I had gone out of my mind. At
last I managed to reach the edge of the ice; but the current had
driven me a long way from our landing-place. Johansen came
along the edge of the ice, jumped into the kayak beside me, and
we soon got back to our place. I was undeniably a good deal
exhausted, and could barely manage to crawl on land. I could
scarcely stand; and while I shook and trembled all over, Johan-
sen had to pull off the wet things I had on, put on the few dry
ones I still had in reserve, and spread the sleeping-bag out upon
the ice. I packed myself well into it, and he covered me with
the sail and everything he could find to keep out the cold air.
There I lay shivering for a long time, but gradually the warmth
began to return to my body. For some time longer, how-
ever, my feet had no more feeling in them than icicles, for they
had been partly naked in the water. While Johansen put up
the tent and prepared supper, consisting of my two auks, I fell
asleep. He let me sleep quietly; and when I awoke, supper had
been ready for some time, and stood simmering over the fire.
Auk and hot soup soon effaced the last traces of my swim.
During the night my clothes were hung out to dry, and the
next day were all nearly dry again.


## p. 10565 (#437) ##########################################

10565
THE NEW TESTAMENT
ITS LITERARY GRANDEUR
BY FREDERICK W. FARRAR
HERE may possibly be some who think that the Bible has
nothing to do with literature, and that it is almost a profa-
nation to regard the New Testament on its literary side.
Certainly this would be a correct view if we pretended to judge
of our sacred books simply from their literary aspect. Wordsworth
professed boundless contempt for the man who could peer and botan-
ize upon his mother's grave; and we should be guilty of a similar
callousness if we were capable of approaching the most sacred utter-
ances in the world exclusively or mainly in the attitude of literary
critics. But the case is widely altered when our sole object is to
find, and to point out, fresh glories and perfectness even in the
human form into which the divinest of all lessons are set before
It is something to observe the glories of the wheels and wings
of the Divine chariot, though they only move as the Spirit moves
them. *
us.
And when we thus approach the subject "with meek heart and
due reverence," there will be real gain in calling attention to the
supremacy of the New Testament even in the points of comparison
which it offers to purely human writings. For after all, the Divine
Word is here also present among us in human form and vesture;
and the highest thoughts of man would never be so penetrating and
diffusive if they were not enshrined in the noblest types of expres-
sion. It was one of the wisest sayings of the Rabbis that "The Law
speaks to us in the tongue of the Sons of Men. " Something would
be lacking to any revelation which proved itself, even in outward
expression, inferior to other human writings. The object of language
is indeed primarily to express thought; and if this be done effectu-
ally, style is a secondary consideration. But words are necessary as
the vehicle of thought; and we should have lost much if, in spite
of the animating spirit, the wheels were cumbrous, and the wings
feeble and broken. Two books may express essentially the same con-
victions, and yet the one may be found dull and repellent, while the
other, by its passionate force or its intrinsic grace and finish, may win
Ezek. i. 20. This chapter was called by the Jews "the chariot » (chagi
gah); cf. xi. 2.


## p. 10566 (#438) ##########################################

10566
THE NEW TESTAMENT
rapturous attention. Great orators-C. J. Fox, for instance - have
sometimes repeated with incomparable effect the very arguments
which they borrowed exclusively from previous speakers who-though
with them the materials were original-produced no effect whatever.
The force of this consideration was keenly felt by Father Faber,
when he became a Romanist, and had to give up our Authorized
Version for the Vulgate and the Douai Bible.
"Who will not say," he asks, "that the uncommon beauty and marvelous
English of the Protestant Bible is not one of the great strongholds of heresy
in this country? It lives on the ear like a music which can never be forgot-
ten-like the sound of church bells which the convert hardly knows how he
can forego. Its felicities often seem to be almost things rather than mere
words. It is part of the national mind and the anchor of national seriousness.
The power of all the griefs and trials of man is hidden beneath its words.
In the length and breadth of the land there is not a Protestant, with one
spark of seriousness about him, whose spiritual biography is not in his Saxon
Bible. »
Now, it is an additional proof that the spirit of man, which speaks
to us through the pages of the New Testament, is indeed also the
Spirit of the Lord, and that the breath and pure effluence of the
Almighty gave inspiration to its writers, if we can show that the same
consummate qualities are found in its modes of utterance as in its
essential messages.
It might be supposed that the literary glory of the New Testa-
ment is at once bedimmed by the fact that the dialect in which it is
written is not the perfect Greek of Thucydides and Plato, but a form
of Greek known as "Hellenistic"; that is, Greek spoken by foreign-
ers who acquired it as a secondary language. Hellenistic Greek is a
somewhat decadent form of the old classic language; and it was uni-
versal as a lingua franca, especially round the Mediterranean coasts.
It is not unmixed with Hebraisms; a certain disintegration is perceiv-
able in its grammatical forms; it has lost much of its old synthetic
terseness; it has not all the exquisite nicety and perfection of the
best Attic. Nevertheless one dialect may be less ideally perfect than
another, and yet may be available for purposes s of the loftiest elo-
quence.
The Latin, for instance, of Tertullian and St. Augustine is,
in many respects, inferior as a language to that of Cicero: yet the
treatises of Tertullian glow with a hidden fire of eloquent passion,
which has caused them to be compared to the dark lustre of ebony;
and the exquisite antitheses and images of St. Augustine linger in
the memory more powerfully than the most impassioned appeals of
Tully. Since they had to express new conceptions and ideas, the
Apostles gain rather than lose by their possession of a type of speech,
which, though showing signs of deterioration, had been rendered


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THE NEW TESTAMENT
10567
plastic for the reception of fresh impressions. The seething ferment
of the new wine could no longer be contained in old bottles, however
perfect their external finish.
In reading the New Testament we have, as in the Old, the wealth
and blessing of variety. We have not the monotonous work of one
mind, as in the Zend-Avesta, the Qu'ran, or the Analects of Confu-
cius. The New Testament writers differed widely from each other.
The Evangelists, even from the days of St. Irenæus, were compared
to "the fourfold-visaged four" of Ezekiel's cherubic chariot: they
were one, yet diverse; and though all moved alike under the impulse
of the Lord of Life, each has his separate semblance and characteris-
tics. St. Matthew, the Galilean publican, sets before us the fulfilled
Messianic Ideal of Olden Prophecy. St. Mark, an inhabitant of Jeru-
salem, the "son" and "interpreter » of St. Peter, is intense, rapid,
concise, and reveals the energetic touches which could only have
come from the Chief Apostle. St. Luke, probably of Gentile birth,
and varied experience, softens his whole picture with the sweetness
and tenderness-the love for the poor, the fondness for childhood,
the passion of humanity, combined with a certain ascetic austerity-
which have earned for his Gospel, even from the French skeptic, the
title of "the most beautiful book in the world. " St. John stamps
on every verse the inimitable individuality of one who was at once
the Son of Thunder and the Apostle of Love; and while he soars
heavenward as on the pinions of a great eagle, "reflecting the sun-
light from every varying plume," he yet recalls the dove who is
"covered with silver wings and her feathers like gold. " From each
Evangelist we derive details of inestimable preciousness; yet only
from the combination of the four can we obtain the perfect picture
which portrays the all-comprehensive and Divine Humanity of the
Son of Man and the Son of God.
When we pass to the remainder of the New Testament, it is no
small gain to us that it mainly consists of epistles. No form of lit-
erature was better calculated, in the Divine economy, to give full
sway to the personal element. - the confidentialness, the yearning
emotion, the spontaneity, the touches of simple, familiar, informal
reality, which enable us to feel that we are in closest contact with
the sacred writers. The unchecked individuality of utterance which
marks an epistle renders it impossible for us to regard the Apostolic
writers as abstractions; it enables us, as it were, to lay our hands
upon their breasts, and to feel the very beating of their hearts. We
are won by the sense that we are listening to the teaching of friends,
not to vague voices in the air. The intensity, for instance, the ex-
quisite sensitiveness, the biographical digressions, the pathetic experi-
ences, the dauntless courage, the yearning for sympathy, the flashes


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10568
THE NEW TESTAMENT
of emotion which we constantly find in Paul the man, induce us all
the more readily to consider the logic and listen to the arguments
of Paul the thinker, the controversialist, the converted Rabbi, the
former Pharisee, the Preacher of the Gospel. We are charmed at
once by the manly naturalness of St. Peter and the uncompromising
moral forthrightness of St. James. The "brief quivering sentences »
of St. John become more individualistic as they are addressed to
friends and converts; and in the letters of the other writers we feel
that we are not studying dull compendiums of theology, but "the
outpourings of the heart, and the burning messages of prophecy,"
even when they are uttered by fishermen and publicans-by peasants
originally unlettered and untrained in scholastic lore-as with the
"stammering lips of infancy. " And so at last we come to the Apoca-
lypse of St. John; which, though probably one of the earliest of the
Christian writings in date, now shuts up the whole sixty-six books of
Revelation, and the acts of their "stately drama" (as Milton calls it),
"with the sevenfold chorus of Hallelujahs and harping symphonies. "
And the Apocalypse illustrates in a remarkable manner the fact to
which I have already called attention,- that the loftiest ranges of
human eloquence are not incompatible with the use of inferior dia-
lects; for the language of the Apocalypse exhibits the very worst
Greek in the whole New Testament, the most uncouth, the most
deeply dyed with Hebraisms, and in some instances even the most
glaringly ungrammatical,- and yet many of its paragraphs are of
matchless power and beauty. I once heard the late Lord Tenny-
son dwell on the tremendous impression which we derive from the
words-"And again they said Hallelujah: and her smoke riseth up
for ever and ever. " It may be doubted whether any passage in our
greatest writers can equal the magic and haunting charm of the last
chapter of Revelation, with its lovely opening words:-
"And he shewed me a pure river of Water of Life, clear as crystal, pro-
ceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the
street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the Tree of Life, which
bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; and the
leaves of the Tree were for the healing of the nations. »
It is to this element of variety that the New Testament — con-
sidered for the present only in its outward form-owes something of
its universal efficacy. It has everything for some minds, and some-
thing for every mind. The human individuality of the writers was
not extinguished, but only elevated, inspired, intensified, by the inspi-
ration which dilated their ordinary faculties. We have to do with
the writings of men as widely diverse as passionate enthusiasts and


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THE NEW TESTAMENT
10569
calm reasoners; unlearned fishermen and Alexandrian theologians;
philosophers who deduced truth from argument, and mystics who saw
by intuition; prophets who were enlightened by direct inspiration,
and practical men who learnt by long experience the truths of God.
Touched by one or other of these many fingers, so variously skillful,
our hearts cannot but respond. If St. Paul be too difficult for us,
we have the practical plainness of St. Peter and the uncompromising
ethics of St. James. If St. John soar into an empyrean too spiritual
for our incapacity, we can rejoice in the simple sweetness of St.
Luke.
But what gives fresh force and charm to this marked variety is,
that these diverse minds are nevertheless dominated by an over-
powering unity. They revolve like planets around the attracting
force of one central Sun. Though they are many, they are yet, in
a higher sense, one in Christ; and they all might use the words
which the poet puts into the mouth of St. Paul:
-
"Yea, through life, death, through sorrow and through sinning,
Christ shall suffice me, for he hath sufficed;
Christ is the end, for Christ was the beginning,
Christ the beginning, for the end is Christ. »
-
When we consider what Christ the Lord of Glory was in his
"kenosis,»*—in the "exinanition" of his Eternal Power, when he humil-
iated himself to become man,- - does it add no additional force to the
argument that this Son of Man was in very truth the Son of God,
if we consider the all-penetrative, all-diffusive, all-comprehensive per-
fectness of his words? He said himself, "The words which I speak
unto you, they are spirit and they are life. " Even the officers sent
to arrest him in the Temple were so overawed by his majestic and
thrilling utterance as to return with nothing accomplished, and to
bear to the sacerdotal conspirators of the Sanhedrin the unwilling
testimony, "Never man spake like this man. " I am not now dwelling
on the Divine originality of his revelations, but on the matchless
beauty which lies in their unparalleled compression and simplicity.
There is no phenomenon so striking in all the literature of all the
world. I will not take, by way of specimen, those last discourses to
his loved ones on the night he was betrayed, "so rarely mixed," as
Jeremy Taylor says, "of sorrows and joys, and studded with myster-
ies as with emeralds"; but I will take two brief and familiar speci-
mens of his every-day discourse. One is from the Sermon on the
Mount. "Consider the lilies of the field how they grow: they toil
not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that even Solomon
in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God
* Phil. ii. 5-7: ἀλλ᾽ ἑαυτόν ἐκένωσεν.


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10570
THE NEW TESTAMENT
so clothed the grass of the field which to-day is, and to-morrow is
cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little
faith? "
Is there a passage like this in all the previous literature of the
whole human race? Observe the unwonted sympathy with the loveli-
ness of the outer world which it conveys. That sympathy was but
very little and very vaguely felt, even by the refined intellects of
exquisite Athens. There is but one brief description of scenery in
all the 'Dialogues' of Plato. It is at the beginning of the 'Phædrus';
and it sounded so odd to the youth to whom Socrates addressed it
as to provoke an expression of amused surprise. * It was Christ who
first taught us to find in the beauty even of little and unnoticed
things a sacrament of goodness, and to read in the flowers a letter
of the very autograph of the love towards us of our Father in
Heaven. Yet in what few and simple words, in what concrete and
homely images, is this instruction - which was to be so prolific here-
after for the happiness of the world-set forth! and how full of
far-reaching and perpetual comfort is the loving tenderness of God's
Fatherhood here demonstrated for our unending consolation!
"O purblind race of miserable men!
How many among us, at this very hour,
Do forge a lifelong trouble for ourselves
By taking true for false, and false for true,
Here in the dubious twilight of the world
Groping - how many, till at last we reach
That other where we know as we are known! »
But the consolation which Christ here imparted was to support us
in this world also, by showing that the invisible things of God are-
to quote St. Paul's striking paradox-clearly seen in the things that do
appear, apart from the hopes of what death may have in store.
As one other specimen of this supremacy of Christ's words, even
regarded in their outward aspect, take the parable of the Prodigal
Son. It forms part of the most beautiful chapter of "the most beau-
tiful book in the world. " It may well be called the flower and pearl
of parables, and the Evangelium in Evangelio. It occupies less than a
page; it may be read aloud in four minutes: yet can we adduce from
all the literature of all the world any passage so brief- or indeed
any passage at all-which has exercised one fraction of the eter-
nal influence of this? Dante and John Bunyan have touched thou-
sands of human souls; but this parable has been precious to millions
of every age and every tongue, who never so much as heard of the
* Baron Humboldt in his Cosmos shows at length that the "romantic"
love of the beauties of nature is quite a modern phenomenon in the world's
literature.


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10571
'Divina Commedia' or the 'Pilgrim's Progress. ' The works of fiction
in the world can be counted by tens of thousands: which of them all
has ever produced the minim of an impression so intense and so
world-wide as this brief parable? On this subject it is worth while
to adduce the opinions of three of the most popular and eminent
writers of fiction in our own generation.
Charles Reade was an earnest and constant student of Scripture.
Accustomed to study and exhibit character in his novels, he gave it
as his deliberate judgment that no ordinary, no uninspired human
skill or genius could rival the marvelous brevity, the "swift fresco
strokes" with which again and again Scripture, as it were undesign-
edly and unconsciously, with only a word or two, makes the char-
acters of men stand out vividly before us, and live in our memory
so that we might almost seem to have seen and known them.
Not
even in Shakespeare do we find so marvelous a power. And yet in
other writers this graphic skill-this endeavor рò oµµáτwv nociv—is a
main object, whereas in Scripture it is entirely secondary, and so to
speak, accidental.
Similarly Robert Louis Stevenson, speaking of the matchless
verve and insight displayed in the delineation of characters in the
Bible, a point respecting which a novelist can give an instructed
judgment,
says:
"Written in the East, these characters live for ever in the West; written
in one province, they pervade the world; penned in rude times, they are
prized more and more as civilization advances; a product of antiquity, they
come home to the business and bosoms of men, women, and children in
modern days. Then is it any exaggeration to say that the characters of
Scripture are a marvel of the mind? ? »
-
Once more, Mr. Hall Caine says, in McClure's Magazine:
"I think that I know my Bible as few literary men know it.