under the placid face of heaven, reflecting the golden rays of the sun, as if they were one solid piece of polished silver. How peaceful and harmonious are the elements, fit emblems of yonder race; yet war and discord shall be the portion of man. Yonder appears some small dark speck in the distant verge of the ocean, like dark spots on the sun's disk; as I near them, they look like miniature worlds, in the midst of the trackless waters. On them are moving multitudes of human beings; perhaps they are governed by the influence of peace and love; if so, I must diffuse amongst them the elements of discord, strife, and war. Supremacy, civil and spiritual superiority: what enchanting names! How these visionary sons of God will slaughter each other for the phantoms! Here, on the summit of these cloud-capped hills, I take my seat, and observe the motions and pursuits of this proud but weak race. How is this? They live in peace, are free, and each independent of the other. They fish, hunt, and enjoy the spontaneous productions of the earth, in equality and independence. But unrestrained ambition and insatiable avarice shall break through all. What is now being accomplished? Ah! one more powerful than his brethren, possessing more shrewdness and cunning, is measuring and marking out the land on the bank of some river. He is proclaiming that it belongs to him and his followers, exclusively; that all the fish caught in that river, and all the fruits of the valley, though they cost no labour in their production, are not to be touched or tasted but by his permission. At this violation of their natural rights, the outcast people assemble. Indignation and wrath glow in their countanances; they arm with clubs; each engage priests to offer up sacrifices and prayers to the divinity for the victory. The work is done, completed. How they destroy each other! The virgin earth is stained with human blood! The priests of each party ascend the hills and offer up burnt offerings and prayers that their especial followers may triumph through the divine aid. What a divinity have they imagined! How the true Divinity must abhor equally the deluders and the delusion! Again I proclaim myself supreme over the dark and darkening destines of man."

Whilst I thus sat brooding over the incipient evil of my own creating, I cast a prophetic glance into the future; mighty thoughts elevated and expanded my soul; generation pushed generation into the infinite ocean of eternity: each advanced and receded with the rapidity of the waves of the boundless waters that surrounded me. "Science," I exclaimed, "and what shall be called Civilization, shall advance; man's mind shall be vast and comprehensive; the world shall be his laboratory; the universe, with the starry heavens, his magnificent temple of devotion. Yet this Science shall destroy Man himself; the element of war shall spring out of the earth; and what should lead to peace, I will convert into instruments and inventions for his ruin.-But what is that which I now behold? work of evil proceeds more rapidly than I could have hoped. How busy are these sons of folly and madness; clubs, spikes, and other instruments of destruction are called into existence: they form into companies, they distinguish themselves into clans and hordes,-they join battle, the earth is again saturated with blood! How eagerly each seeks the other's lifehow the contest rages-how the one party rushes on the other which recedes; the other again prevail,-like the winds and the waves in the storm, -force contends with force,-until one master-movement bears all down before it. Hark, the triumphant shout! they rush upon the vanquished,

The

tear open the still warm bodies of the slain, seek their hearts, drink the yet warm and vital blood, that they may add the bravery or ferocity of the dead to that of the living: and for what? That One, or a Few, may play the tyrant,-may fill with awe and hold in subjection the infatuated and the abject amongst mankind!"

When the tumult of battle had subsided, according to their rude notions and manners, they ornamented the heads of their chiefs with the feathers of birds, hoisted them upon their shoulders, carried them in triumph, and sung songs of victory. They afterwards kindled fires, roasted the limbs of the slain, devoured them, and then their priests sung a hymn of praise, and returned thanks to the Great Spirit for what He had done for them!— Thus savage or civilized they shall bow to my behest.

The floods of ages again passed away, and bore along thousands of generations into an eternal oblivion: they are as the fragile bark, sunk below the surface of the ocean, not even a vestige or shadow remains. The storm and the whirlwind became my native elements; they filled my soul with an ineffable melancholy, mingled with a malignant pleasure. These were, to me, the emblems of despotic power, of superstitious terror or, uncontrolled passions, of wars and human conflicts. Raised into the mid-heavens, by the spirit of the warring elements, I was borne in triumph to the vast continent of India. Over that great country my spirit passed with inconceivable fleetness. Everything here was on a scale of the utmost grandeur; nature appeared to excel herself; forests, rivers, vallies, dales, and mountains, were magnificence herself, dressed in perennial verdure and inexpressible beauty. The dark visages of the human race, appeared to me to forebode a dark and mysterious destiny. They are mine," I exclaimed, with a voice that passed through the heavens like distant thunder, and the mountains echoed back, "They are mine ?"

By what means or machinations shall I subdue, shall I subjugate this sable race? There they are, well clothed, well fed, intelligent, prosperous, and living in peace. How cheering a prospect to the wise and virtuous; but

"Evil be thou my good!"

They have no priests, no altars, no fears, no gods. The seeds of creeds and discords must be sown; the heavens and the earth must be peopled with imaginary beings; the mountains must be temples,-the vallies and plains smoke with burnt-offerings. When man thus falls feebly to the earth, and looks tremblingly to the heavens, despotic power, invested in the Few, will bind down his soul with manacles indissoluble; his body will be the pitiable, the machine-like slave,-the weak, yet almost omnipotent instrument of others. Excited by religious zeal, and devotional patriotism, they will assemble in thousands and hundreds of thousands, in hostile array. Then will be my hour of victory; then like the tornado, they will deal deadly conflict, and cover the earth with devastations and desolation. Individually and in the mass they will fall before me the scourged and the scourge of their own race.

These thoughts elevated my spirit to heaven, even to the throne of the supreme Good; whilst my plans were conceived and matured in the dark, in the infernal regions. My soul was however troubled within me, at the calm and sweet repose of the magnificent scenery, which lay stretched out to an almost interminable distance before me. The sun had passed the meridian, the air had become oppressively hot; a white cloud spread itself

over the heavens like a curtain of snow; the lightning played in a thousand fantastic forms; now running along the horizon in silent grandeur, then darting down obliquely in varied colours, as if impatient of the conflict of elements. At length a dark cloud appeared in the West, diffusing itself over the face of the sky, as if fearing that Heaven would blush at what was to follow. Peal after peal of thunder echoed over the plains, and through the mountains; the rain descended in such torrents, that the earth appeared to be swallowed up in the waters, let loose from the fountains of the great deep; the earth trembled first slightly, then with terrific force, heaving like the troubled waves of the ocean. Men's hearts failed them; fear, that tormentor and plague of the human race, was predominant; the atmosphere appeared as one lurid flame; men ran as if they would escape, but the danger and ruin were everywhere. They looked up to the heavens, but the heavens were awful to behold; the earth failed to support them; and many thousands were ingulphed in destruction and death. Wives clung to their husbands, infants and children to their mothers, wild shrieks and deathly groans filled the air. Every passion of the human soul was called into the wildest action; some displayed the hero, rushing to the rescue of those most dear to them; others played the coward, sought to hide themselves, calling upon the mountains to fall upon and conceal them from the general ruin. The darkness of night, at one moment appeared to cover the earth as a solid mass, at another the lightning illuminated the whole scene. And whilst the carcases of the dead were spread over the plain, I stood in the midst of them, proud and wild with triumph, like a fell giant drunk with new wine,' my soul overflowing with pleasure and the highest extasies of malignity.

(To be continued in next number.)

CRITICAL EXEGESIS OF GOSPEL HISTORY,

ON THE BASIS OF STRAUSS'S 'LEBEN JESU.'

A SERIES OF EIGHT DISCOURSES; DELIVERED AT THE LITERARY INSTITUTION, JOHN STREET, TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD, AND AT THE HALL OF SCIENCE, CITY ROAD, ON SUNDAY EVENINGS, DURING THE WINTERS OF 1848-9, AND 1849-50.

BY THOMAS COOPER,

Author of The Purgatory of Suicides.'

VI. THE PASSION, CRUCIFIXION, &c.

THE Computation of the hours of the Crucifixion is reckoned a special difficulty, by many: by some it is believed to be perfectly explicable. According to the first three Gospels, darkness prevailed from the sixth to the ninth hour" (i.e. from twelve at noon to three in the afternoon)— when, or shortly after, according to Matthew and Mark, Jesus yielded up the ghost-having, according to Mark's explicit statement, hung on the cross "from the third hour" (i.e. nine in the morning). On the other hand, John says that it was about the "sixth hour" that Pilate first sat in judgment over Jesus. This would present an impassable difficulty-if we were not uncertain whether the Fourth Gospel does not proceed on a mode of reckoning time different to that of the other Gospels. This is not improbable.

The Prodigies at the death of Jesus have no place whatever in the Fourth

This,

Gospel. In Luke and Mark they appear-but in Matthew they abound. The Darkness cannot have been an eclipse of the sun, since it happened at Passover-time; consequently, about the time of the full moon. is stated to have extended over all the earth' (the literal Greek). to use the expression of Strauss, is "nothing more than the mythical offspring of universally prevalent ideas:" the deaths of Romulus, Cæsar, and a host of remarkable names, are connected with prodigies; and this, continues Strauss, is but a "Christian legend, which would make all nature put on the weeds of mourning to solemnize the tragic death of the Mes siah." The Rending of the Veil of the Temple-doubtless the inner veil before the Holy of Holies-is another prodigy attendant on Christ's death; but the figurative-and merely figurative-origin of such a story, is evident. The "Epistle to the Hebrews" may be read for the solution. If we had been told that an earthquake threw down the walls of a building, we might not have started; but that a veil or hanging should only be rent, is too evidently mythical for belief. But that any earthquake occurred at all is only an embellishment of Matthew, who speedily outdoes even this stroke, by saying that "the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many!" What, in the name of heaven and earth, were these reanimated saints doing, in their opened graves, during the time Christ was in the tomb-since they came out of them after his resurrection? It is almost impossible to avoid an outburst of mirth at so very simple a relation. A more childish legend was never told by a peasant's fire-side of a winter's evening in the Dark Ages.

Let us glance, lastly, at a remarkable relation which is peculiar to John: the omission of the soldiers to break the legs of Jesus, as they had done to the thieves, and the piercing of Christ's side with a spear. This was done, we are told, because they saw that Jesus was already dead: and the circumstance is regarded as the chief voucher for the reality of his death, inasmuch as blood and water came from the wound. The wound is thus held to have consummated his death,-since the blood does not flow after death has actually taken place. The instrument, however, with which the wound was inflicted, and the manner of inflicting it, are, in the Greek, too loosely described to enable us to judge with any certainty as to the extent of the wound. John uses the word pleura, or side; and certainly if the spear entered the left side between the ribs, and penetrated into the heart, death must inevitably have ensued. But John does not speak definitely, on this point. Some have maintained that this must have been the fact, and that the water mixed with the blood came out of the pericardium (or vessel in which the heart is enclosed) which had been pierced by the spear, and in which, especially in such as die under severe anguish, a quantity of fluid is said to be accumulated. But scientific men also assert that if the pericardium had been pierced under such circumstances, the water would not have flowed outwards, but have been poured into the eavity of the chest. The real solution of this story is undoubtedly this: that the writer had seen the serum and placenta, or water and blood' in his phrase, separated after blood-letting-when the blood may be regarded as dead; and therefore gave this description: at least, this added to his, "these things were done that the scripture might be fulfilled"-sufficiently accounts for his making such a statement.

The accounts of the Burial, and the preparations for it, will, more appropriately, come under consideration in the next discourse; and we will, therefore, defer our consideration of them. I leave the difficulties which I have pointed out, for the meditation of our orthodox friends, more especially. Without attempting to cast any suspicion on the reality of the fact, that the Crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth occurred-let me entreat them to weigh the important question-whether the divergencies of these narratives ought not to lead them to disavow the strange doctrine of the plenary inspiration of the Scriptures.' In the narratives of this fact, above all the other narratives yet considered, surely there ought to have been unanimity among the Evangelists. That there is not, has been shewn by many instances; and if some of these be considered trifling, others must be regarded as of the highest moment ;—such as the difference of one entire day, in John's account of the Last Supper compared to the other accounts,--and leading, of course, to the difference of one entire day in their statements as to when the Crucifixion itself took place ;-such as the entire omission of the Agony and all its attendant circumstances, by John,-and the fact of his leaving no room for it. These are not-cannot be called-trifling differences.' The doctrines founded on the Agony and Crucifixion are not held to be trifling; but on the belief of them hangs man's salvation, according to the orthodox creed. Surely, the facts on which the doctrines are built ought to be so fully established, that no hesitating believer can be shaken by looking at them, and finding them uncertain. Concerning those doctrines, I shall crave leave to say more at a future time.

To us who are not fettered by orthodoxy, I may say, in conclusion, that the martyrdom of Jesus presents a sublime and cheering, though solemn spectacle. It proves what Man can attain to the so complete interpenetration of his nature with goodness, as to breathe out mercy for his foes even while they are murdering him. To us, Jesus is an object of love-though the orthodox call us his revilers. We would not lose this grandest of all portraits of excellence. Our daily strife-if we be what we ought to be-is to be like him. The death he suffered, only equals him with the greatest and best-for the world, which was not worthy of them, usually put them to the death. But his behaviour in these last hours was so grand a consummation of his life of dignity and goodness, that Rousseau might well use the words which have become world-wide in their report: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ died like a god!"

Boe

THE FATE OF MEN OF GENIUS.-Plautus turned a mill. Terence was a slave. thius died in a jail. Paulo Borghese had fifteen different trades, and starved with them all. Tasso was often distressed for five shillings. Servin, one of the most learned and accomplished men of his age, died drunk in a brothel. Bentivoglio was refused admittance into the very hospital he founded; and Edmund Alleyn, cotemporary with Shak speare, died in his own alms-house. Corneille was poor to a proverb. Racine left his family to be supported by his friends. Crichton lost his life in a midnight brawl. Butler was never master of fifty pounds. Otway is said to have died with hunger. Camoens died in an hospital, Vaughan left his body to the surgeons to pay his debts. Cervantes died for want. Churchill died a beggar. Lloyd died in the Fleet. Bickerstaff ran away for debt. Goldsmith, when he died, owed two thousand pounds more than he possessed. Hugh Kelly was in similar circumstances. Paul Hiffernon was supported by a friendly subscription. Purden Jones, author of the Earl of Essex, and Boyce the poet, died in great distress: the former in an hospital, the latter in a garret. Sterne left his family in penury; and Mrs. Manly, author of The New Atlantis, subsisted on charity; as did the widow of Smollet; and Foote died pennyless.-Cooke's Memoirs of Foote.