It were easy to extend ́observations of this kind, and to produce other causes of obscurity in the various figures which are employed in the page of inspiration. The truth is, that similar difficulties present themselves in all the classical productions of antiquity; and it would have been a strong argument against the genuineness of the Scriptures, had they been wanting in that style of speaking and thinking which were peculiar to the times in which they were written.

There is only one more remark on this subject to which the attention of the reader is particularly requested; and that is, the difficulty of conveying the true import of a figure in a translation. Let the reader take a French book, and, regardless of the idiom of the two languages, and of the different class of figures employed by them, let him translate literally, and how much will be lose of the beauty and, in many cases,of the sense of the original! Now in the translation of the Bible there is less liberty allowed to the imagination, and even judgment of the translator, than in any other book. His business is not to embellish, and not even to give his own explanation of passages, but to put his reader in possession of the plain Word of God. He must not sacrifice correctness to beau

When girls prefer old lovers,

When merchants scoff at gain, When Thurtell's skull discovers

ty; he must not aim at what he thinks the spirit of the passage, while he neglects the letter; because, in so doing, he may have missed its true meaning; he may have mistaken the nature of the allusion, and then he entails his own mistake upon posterity. But if he translates accurately, though the passage may be obscure to himself and to his readers, yet perhaps the information brought home by some traveller who has observed the custom of eastern nations, or the discovery of some book of antiquity, may throw light upon it, and enable us to perceive beauties which were before concealed, and which would have remained in darkness had the translator taken the liberty which translators of other books are permitted to take with impunity.

Making then due allowance for these several circumstances, which hinder us from perceiving many of the excellences of Scripture, we are still constrained to acknowledge that there is no book that can stand a comparison with the Bible-none, which labours under such great disadvantages to the developement of its peculiar beauties of composition, and which yet rises far above them all, exhibiting those specimens in every style of writing and of thinking, which are above all imitation and all praise.

What pass'd in Thurtell's brain; When farms contain no growlers, No pig-tail Wapping-wall, Then spread your lark-nets, fowlers, For sure the sky will fall. When Boston men love banter, When loan-contractors sleep, When Chancery-pleadings canter, And common-law ones creep: When topers swear that claret 's The vilest drink of all ; Then, housentaids, quit your garrets, For sure the sky will fall. When Southey leagues with Wooller, When dandies show no shape, When fiddlers' heads are fuller

Than that whereon they scrape:

When doers turn to talkers,
And Quakers love a ball;
Then hurry home, street-walkers,
For sure the sky will fall.

When lads from Cork or Newry
Won't broach a whisky flask,
When comedy at Drury
Again shall lift her mask :
When peerless Kitty utters

Her airs in tuneless squall,
Then, cats, desert your gutters,
For sure the sky will fall.

When worth dreads no detractor, Wit thrives at Amsterdam,

And manager and actor

Lie down like kid and lamb; When bard with bard embraces, And critics cease to maul, Then, travellers, mend your paces, For sure the sky will fall.

(said Dick Willis,) when they used to get their bread and cheese; bad luck to old for ever inventing water to grog! Howsomever, we are never satisfied, and shouldn't be content if they made us Lords of the Admirality. I recollects as if it was but yesterday, when Nelson led us at Trafalgar, eh, Hameish?—that was a glorious day for England! You remember Mr. Rivers, a smart, active Midshipman, that lost his leg? I understands he's a Captain now-a worthier fellow never wore a head; nay, there wasn't a man a-board (though his precious limb was dock'd) that could beat him in going aloft; and I've seen him lead down a dance with his wooden pin flourishing away as well as the nimblest there. Almost the first as was killed fell close to Nelson; I shall never forget the look he gave! and when he received his own wound, 'twas as if the shot had pierced every heart in the ship. But he's gone, messmate, he's gone! Well, here's success to him wherever he is; we shall never look upon his like again. And my brave Commander, Collingwood, he too has slipt his moorings, and got a moneyment in St. Paul's, though I carn't make any thing of it. Mayhap it may be all right, for I don't understand harkey-tecture and Greek; but yet I should have liked to have seen some-ut like himself." "Why, (says Jem Breeching,) "it's the fashion, and they wear 'em so now-Poor Joe Thompson-he lost his life-that Trafalgar business. We were messmates together in the frigate. He used to tell a comical story about his old mother. She was a press-biter or a methodiss, I don't know which howsomever, before he got press'd, he sailed in a merchant-man, and the dame had waited a long time in anxious expectation of hearing from him. At last the letter arrived at the village, and all hands ran to hear the news, but the old lady chose to peruse it first; and because she couldn't read herself, the clerk of the parish was sent for, and then she found that her son had been driven into the Bay of Fundi by a pampoosa right in their teeth. It blow'd great guns,' wrote Joe, and we carried away the bolt-sprit; a heavy sea

wash'd overboard the binnacle and the companion; the Captain lost his quadrant, and couldn't keep an observation for fifteen days at last we arrived safe at Halifax.' 'Read it again, neighbour.' Again the letter was read. 'Once more, neighbour.' This too was complied with: when the old girl, thinking she'd got it all by heart, sallied forth, big with importance. Well, Dame, what news?' cried a dozen voices.

Oh! my poor son'-' I hopes no mischief,dame' Thank God! he's safe! But he has been driven into the Bay of Firmament by a bamboozle right in the teeth. It blow'd great guns' La! bless us; what a wonder they wasn't all beat to atomys-well, I wouldn't be a sailor'-Ah! but that warn't the worst-they carried away the pulpit-a heavy sea washed overboard the pinnacle of the tabernacle-the captain lost his conjuration, and couldn't get any salvation for fifteen days-at last they arrived safe at Hallelujah.' Poor Joe was desperately fond of soaking his biscuit, and always got groggy whenever he could. Once I remember we were refitting in Portsmouth barbour, and lay over on the Gosport side, just above the old Gladiator, and so many hands had liberty every day. It was Sunday afternoon, and the first lieutenant, with the other officers, were walking the quarter-deck, Joe bowled aft, and dowsing his hat, ask'd leave to go on shore. No, Thompson,' said the lieutenant, it is not in my power.' 'Only for half an hour, Sir.' 'I cannot grant it.' 'I have been five years, Sir, without ever touching land, Sir, and if you don't let me go, I shall die.' 'You know, Thompson, if you go on shore you'll get drunk, kick up a row, and I shall be condemned-besides, the Captain's orders are positively against it.' Away went Joe forward to look over the gang-way. Back again he came, For ten minutes, Sir; indeed I won't get moon-eyed.' 'Not for one minute.' Only let me put my toes ashore.' Well, Thompson, (says the lieutenant,) if you like to go and tramp in the mud there (pointing towards Haslar Hospital) for the next two hours, you're welcome; but not a step fur

6

ous.'

ther.' 'Thank ye, Sir;' and down below he went. We all pitied him, 'cause he was a hearty fellow, and we knew the officer was only in joke. Up came Joe again, full dress'd. I'm ready, Sir.'Ready! ready for what?' 'To take a walk, Sir.' Why, Thompson, you could hardly think me seri'I hope you won't go from your word, Sir.' A burst of laughter and surprise came from all hands; but Joe persevered, and was actually landed on the mud in his white dress, where he continued to travel to and fro, in the presence of some hundreds of spectators, till his two hours were expired, when he hailed to be taken aboard, and was as perfectly satisfied as he would have been with a week's liberty. He was a dry subject, though always wetting.' The Gladiator, (said Jack Rattlin,) why that was the time Sir I-C-had his flag flying aboard of her. Him as used to make us march like sodgers, two and two, in the Dockyard; and one day our midshipman had only three hands ashore, and we

were going up to the rigging loft, when the flag lieutenant ordered him to make us fall in agreeable to the regulations. Well, there he was for about an hour facing us to all points of the compass. At last the Admiral cotch'd sight of us: Halloo! halloo, Officer! what are you doing here?' 'I'm endeavouring to make the men fall in two and two, Sir; but as there are only three of them, I can't do it for the life o' me, though I have been squaring them all manner of ways.' I think I can see him now-his scraper athwart ships, white small-clothes, and military boots, (a famous hand at his legs;) then his eyes as keen as a northerly gale. There wasn't a Middie on the station but will remember him all the days of his life; and as for the Warrant Officers, to hear him call out,

Halloo! Master Carpenter there, with the scupper leather boots!' But he was a smart Officer, and knew his duty, and while he lives may he never forget it."

WHEN Anastasius first made its

appearance, everybody thought Lord Byron was taking to write prose; for there was no living author but Lord Byron supposed capable of having written such a book. When Byron denied the work, (and, in fact, his lordship could not have written it,) people looked about again, and wondered who the author could be. But, when the production was claimed by Mr. Thomas Hope, who had heretofore, written only about chairs and tables, and not written very well about chairs and tables neither, then the puzzlement of ratiocinators became profounder than ever.

All that could be made out at all in common between Mr. Hope and Anastasius, was, that Mr. Hope had had opportunities of getting at the local information which that book contained. He had visited those parts of the world in which the scene was chiefly laid; and had resided in some of them (as at Constantinople) for a considerable period.

AN OLD SAILOR.

But Anastasius, though full of circumstance which necessarily had been connected by travel, was (that circumstance, all of it, apart) a work of immense genius, and natural power. The thing told was good; but the manner of telling it was still better. The book was absolutely crammed with bold incidents, and brilliant descriptionswith historical details, given in a style which Hume and Gibbon could scarcely have surpassed; and with analysis of human character and impulse, such as even Mandeville might have been proud to acknowledge. Material, as regards every description of work, is perhaps the first point towards success, it is not easy for any man to write ill, who has an overflow of fresh matter to write about.

But Anastasius was anything rather than a bare combination of material. The author did not merely appear to have imbued himself completely, with a scarce and interesting species of information, and to have the power of

pouring that information forth again, in any shape he pleased; but he also seemed to have the power, (and withal, almost equally the facility,) of originating new matter, of most curious and valuable quality. He paraded a superfluity of attainment at one moment, and showed a faculty to act without any of it the next; displayed an extraordinary acquired talent for drawing MAN, as he is in one particular country; but a still more extraordinary intuitive talent for drawing man, as he is in every class, and in every country.

His capacity for producing effect was so extended, that he could afford to trifle with it. Anastasius was not merely one of the most vigorous, but absolutely the most vigorous, of the "dark-eyed and slender-waisted heroes," that had appeared. We liked him better than any of his cater cousins, because the family characteristics were more fully developed in him. The Giaours had their hundred vices, and their single virtue; but Anastasius came without any virtue at all. The Corsairs were vindictive, and rapacious, and sanguinary, as regarded their fellow-men; but Anastasius had no mercy even upon

woman.

The history of Euphrosyne is not only the most powerful feature in Mr. Hope's book; but, perhaps, one of the most powerful stories that ever was written in a novel.

There is a vraisemblance about the villainy of that transaction, which it sickens the soul to think of. Crabbe could not have dug deeper for horrible realities; nor could the author of the Fable of the Bees, have put them into more simple, yet eloquent and energetic, language. For throughout the whole description of Euphrosyne's situation, after she becomes the mistress of Anastasius-his harsh treatment of her in the first instance, by degrees increasing to brutality-his deliberately torturing her, to compel her to leave him, even when he knows she has not a place of refuge upon earth-her patient submission, after a time, only aggravating his fury, and his telling her, in terms, "to go!" that "he desires to see her no more!" Through 14 ATHENEUM VOL. 1. 2d series.

out all this description, and the admirable scene that follows-his leaving her when she faints, believing her illness to be affected-the nervous forebodings that come over him, afterwards, at the banquet, until, at length, he is compelled to quit the partyhurries home-and finds her gone! Throughout the whole of this narrative, there is not an epithet bordering upon inflation. The writer never stops to make a display of his feelings; but keeps up the passion as he goes on, merely by keeping up the action of the scene. The simplicity all through, and the natural elegance of the style, catches attention almost as much as the commanding interest of the subject. The tale is one of the most painful that ever was related; and it is told in the plainest, and most unaffected possible manner.

And it is the great art of Mr. Hope, in this story of Euphrosyne, as in the conduct of a hundred other criminalities into which he precipitates his hero

throwing him actually into scrapes sometimes, as though for the pleasure of taking him out of them again-it is the author's great art, that, with all his vices, Anastasius never thoroughly loses the sympathy of the reader. There is a rag of good feeling-a wretched rag it is, and it commonly shows itself in the most useless shape too (in the shape of repentance)-but there is a remnant of feeling about the rogue, (though no jot of moral principle,) and a pride of heart, which, with romance readers, covers a multitude of sins; and upon this trifle of honesty, (the very limited amount of which is a curiosity,) joined to a vast fund of attractive and popular qualities-wit, animal spirits, gay figure, and personal courage--he contrives, through three volumes, to keep just within the public estimation.

And apart too from, and even beyond, the interest of the leading characters in Anastasius, there is so much pains laid out upon all the tributary personages of the tale; the work is got up with the labour of a large picture, in which the most distant figure is meant to be a portrait. Suleiman Bey