PASSAGE.

THE laws of Moses are, in part, very properly abolished, be­ing, indeed, only instituted for local occasions, and adapted to the temper of the times. But there are others which, with little or no alteration, are, and deserve to be, of eternal force. In the two verses [Page 2]directly preceding this passage, there is a very excellent distinction made in point of punishments and offences. ‘He that killeth a man shall surely be put to death: and he that killeth a beast, shall sure­ly make it good.’ Thus the hu­man person is rendered sacred, and the animal, which is private pro­perty, is made secure to the pro­prietor. Methinks the following verse may be considered as one of the great and original foundations of social preservation: ‘Breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth.’ It is at this very day the true recriminating prin­ciple, not, indeed, quite literally, [Page 3]but eventually: and who can call the rectitude of it in question? In reading these ancient records, how­ever, we find several crimes pe­nable, which are now, though highly attrocious, scarce within the letter of the law. The blas­phemer, and sabbath-breaker, for instance, was stoned; and now the price of an oath is, at worst, but a shilling: and the other matter, for the most part, is no object of attention. There are many mi­nute articles in the code of Moses still in being amongst us: thus, an hired horse, dying upon its journey, is, to this day, as it was formerly; being an hired thing, [Page 4]it came for his hire. The mat­ter and custom of gleaning was, cer­tainly, first derived from the fol­lowing command:

The term of an apprentiship seems to originate from the follow­ing institute: ‘If thou buy an [Page 5]Hebrew servant, six years he shall serve, and at the end of the seventh he shall go out free: and if a man fell his daughter for a maid-servant, she shall not go out, as the men servants do.’ There is, I think, no doubt, but this is the foundation of the rule of allotting the harder labour of the fields to the male, and the easier cares of the house to the female. These are, indeed, curious and small; but surely, no man will think them uninteresting remarks. Now I am upon the subject of the statutes of Moses, I cannot neglect mention of various humane and social institutions, [Page 6]some of which are very improperly abrogated.

It is much to be feared, the enemies of the present day will scarce forbear smiling at this in­junction, so far from obeying it.

[Page 7] In one sense, this is most rigid­ly observed in all the courts of Justice.

The modern maxim of striking a bargain, is, perhaps, something different from this.

[Page 8] It is really painful to comment, and draw parallels betwixt ancient and modern times, when we are compelled to censure the latter in so many cases:—let us, therefore, close the subject.

PASSAGE.

IN whatever light this matter is viewed, whether as an opera­tion of the Deity (which we have no right to dispute, since the same power which can command water from the rock, can as easily inspire [Page 10]the animal with argument) or whether we consider it in the light merely of a moral fable, it is won­derfully beautiful and pathetic. I shall endeavour to illustrate it both scripturally and historically.

‘Now Balaam was riding upon his ass, and his two servants were with him.’ In the very setting out of the journey, it was a thing displeasing to the Deity, and the first hints of his displeasure were very remarkably displayed. ‘And the ass saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand.’ Upon this, the poor creature, very [Page 11]naturally astonished at such a spec­table, turned aside out of the way, and went into the field; ‘And Balaam smote the ass to turn her into the way.’ In oppositi­on however to blows, the animal awhile went on, till the same an­gelic appearance, standing in a path of the vineyards, made her fly in terror towards the wall, a­gainst which she unfortunately crushed the foot of her master: and for this second offence he smote her again. But still the celestial visitant resolved, as it were, to obstruct, or at least to de­lay the journey, stood at last in so narrow a place, that there was no [Page 12]possibility of passing either to the right hand, or to the left; and when the ass found herself thus beset, and thus thwarted in all her endeavours—what could she do? She had respect to the commands of her lord, but she was unable to obey them; possibly too, she was more than affrighted—she might be awed by the figure be­fore her—she, therefore, fell down; and Balaam, considering this third trespass as a still greater aggrava­tion of obstinacy, smote the ass with his staff. Then it was that the Power, who knew the innocence of the poor thing, took pity upon her sufferings, and, to put at once [Page 13]an end to the hard usage, her mouth was opened, that she might plead her own cause with the man, and enter into a pathetic remon­strance with him upon the subject of his barbarity. ‘And she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times?’ But Balaam was now too violently angry to attend even to miracles, and, without regarding the cir­cumstance, as being preternatural, he replied to it merely as an ordi­nary question, by wishing, in the vehemence of his heart, a sword was in his hand, that he might kill the offender upon the spot. And [Page 14]now succeeds an answer which might melt the hardest heart, and soften the compassionate into tears. ‘Am not I thine ass upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine, unto this day? Was I ever wont to do so unto thee?’ Imagination here unavoidably ex­tends the commentary. How, Balaam, canst thou thus ill entreat thy servant? Have I at any time, save now, resisted thy designs, and have not thy slightest wishes been to me in the nature of injunctions? Thrice hast thou lifted up thine arm in anger against me, and thrice have I borne the anguish without complaining. Ah, un­gentle [Page 15]master—couldest thou not conceive that some peculiar occa­sion prevented my obedience? if haply nothing struck thine eye as an obstacle, surely, thou mightest have relied upon one, whose fide­lity, both by day and by night, thou hast so often experienced. Am I not the old slave of your pleasure, contented with whatever food it is convenient for you to allot me—nothing loath to per­form the labours to which I was born, and to earn the herb of the field before I ate it! To this ex­postulation, which one would think might have force enough to re­strain the iron hand of inhumani­ty [Page 16]itself, Balaam replied, by confes­sing that her arguments were true: ‘Was I ever wont to do so unto thee?’ Nay, answered Balaam.

Soon after this dialogue, the angel convinced Balaam of his fault, and he then bowed his face to the earth—struck, probably, with a sense of double impro­priety—Why hast thou smitten thine ass?—If a man was to be fairly asked this question in the courts of moral equity, those courts where Conscience sits as judge, how would he be able to answer it? There is no need to run this fine narrative into the perplexities [Page 17]of subtle and latent meaning, it is sufficiently admirable as an address to the human heart, And, in­deed, the scriptures are not more earnest and persuasive in the cause of compassion, than in the cause of salvation. There is scarce a chapter in which pity, that sweet emanation of Heaven, is not en­joined; and that the reader might not be fatigued with sameness of sentiment, or tired with likeness of language, the style of the subject is varied, almost a thousand times: sometimes the lovely quality of mercy is recommended to us, (as in the present instance) by a ten­der and attracting narrative—some­times [Page 18]by a beautiful allegory, or parable; and very often by a con­cise moral sentence, expressed in a way so irresistibly striking, that we are led to the practice of the virtue, not only by a veneration for its intrinsic charms, but by the additional graces which it re­ceives from composition.

Even the sorest curses in the scriptures are, for the most part, against cruelty, and to recommend kindness: and in the beginning of the 22d chapter of Deuteronomy, i. e. from verse the first to verse the seventh, there are sentiments of the most humane and affec­tionate [Page 19]tendency that ever were read, conceived, inspired, or prac­tised. Let every man who has a heart, peruse them—I will not add— attentively—because, to pe­ruse them negligently, where any degree of feeling is bestowed, is utterly impossible.

What must have been the sen­sations of Balaam when he under­stood from the lip of a Divinity, that unless the ass had turned in the very manner he did, the master would have been slain, and the servant preserved alive? How ex­treme should be the caution, and how palpable the error before pu­nishment [Page 20]is inflicted; for such is the infirmity of man, he may thrice smite his preserver for those very actions, which, ultimately, produce the most desirable and eminent blessings; and when once such a mistake happens, and the indig­nity is given, where is the man possessed of sufficient effrontery to meet the eye of his benefactor? Every stroke we have given re­turns invigorated upon ourselves, and we feel the blows shamefully burning upon our cheeks.

PASSAGE.

HOW few are there at this day in the world, whom such a command would not terrify? It is plainly ascertaining the most awe­ful [Page 22]moment of mortality: yet the excellent person to whom it was spoken, appears to have received it without the least alarming emo­tion; and that, not because he was insensible, but because he had talked with his maker as with a friend, and because he was assur­ed. Being informed of his own death, indeed, he was anxious to fill up the vacancy which he should leave, properly, and therefore for the sake of posterity, petitioned for a successor. In these times, such intelligence, even though it were communicated in a dream, would disorder all the felicity of the day, and the very best of us, [Page 23]would dread the advances of the night, lest the horrid images should again appear: but if, as in this place, the tidings were conveyed by the voice of God himself, al­though the event was not to hap­pen for fifty years, the whole scheme of life (however delight­fully our imaginations had before coloured it, however bright our expectation, or splendid our cir­cumstances) would be instantly destroyed: The radiance of the morning enwrapt suddenly amidst the gloom of midnight, gives us but a faint simile to express the astonishment and the anguish, that would, upon such an occasion, seize [Page 24]the soul: Instead of attending to our secular affairs, we should be incapable either of business or pleasure; even interest would want its usual stimulus, the veriest Nig­gard would forget his unvisited hoard, and at last, when the blow was just descending, with a fear­ful voice, and trembling hand, he would appoint a successor; or what is full as probable, his ap­prehensions would predominate over all ideas of natural justice, or else the strange suggestions of at least a possibility, that destiny might delay to discharge its pro­mise, would induce him to die amidst the deceits of hope, and [Page 25]leave his unsecured property to the rapacity of law, and the con­test of various claimants. Moses, however, is represented as going on, immediately after this, in the great affairs which were allotted to him. Undisturbed by the common terrors of ordinary men, we still find him transmitting the laws of life and eternity, from God to man: He continued, as before, to settle with the same sagacity, the moral, civil and religious system: He was the amanuensis of Providence; and after he had done all the appointed service to society, he died at the age of one hundred and twenty years, in the fullest possession of [Page 26]every faculty; for ‘his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated.’ And yet, as there has not arisen another like unto Mo­ses, whom God knew face to face; and, as the life of man is, since considerably shortened (insomuch that all the scriptural similes of its brevity are in a moral sense unable to give us the precise idea) the concealment of the last hour, is a particular indulgence to us: Prescience would distress the most virtuous mind, and in every light we can possibly view this matter, ignorance is bliss, and foreknowledge, would, to all in­tents and purposes, be agony.

PASSAGE.

IN the short, but very pleasing narratives of Caleb and Oth­niel, bravery and piety are pow­fully recommended and rewarded. Caleb's story is related by himself in the 14th chapter of Joshua, [Page 28]from whence we easily see into his character. Enamoured of glory himself, he naturally loved it in others; and being called to battle in a righteous cause, he proposed, by way of encouragement to the youthful heroes of his day, the most precious prize in his posses­sion—even Achsah, his daughter. This proposal fired the bosom and, animated the exertions of the youth Othniel, who took it, and received the beautiful reward. With this fair present, it should seem, he led a life of honour and virtue, ever warmly devoted to his God, and his country: for, after the death of Joshua, when the children of [Page 29]Israel again relapsed into disobedi­ence, and ingratitude, and the Almighty sold them to the king of Mesopotamia, as a punishment, Othniel was the person who, upon their repentance, was ordained to deliver them from the chains of captivity: and such was the wis­dom of this hero's mind, that after he had rescued them from slavery by the valour of his arm, he kept the land in the composure of peace forty years. All that time the place had rest; nor do we hear of any farther flagrant instances of trespass, or violation, till after his death; upon which, that dis­obedient [Page 30]people once more began to revolt, and degenerate.

The union of magnamity and moral goodness well deserve the highest treasures of reward; and it were to be wished, that the cou­rage of Othniel was constantly en­riched by the principles of Othniel. War, in itself, is certainly only a more legal butchery than private murder, but when the sword is drawn in a cause like this, where integrity was blended with intre­pidity, every bosom is officious to share the honours, and every hand ready to bestow the laurel. The father-in-law of Othniel was, him­self [Page 31]not insensible, however, to the deserts of victory, and we find him asserting his claim before Joshua, like a soldier. How beautifully has be contrived to rehearse his own successes, without vain-glory, or ostentation! And he speaks of the services he has done, and is still able to do the state, without incurring from delicacy itself the character of a boaster. ‘Forty years old was I, (says he) when Moses, the servant of the Lord sent me from Kadesh-barnea to espy out the land; and I brought him word again, as it was in mine heart. And Moses sware on that day, saying, surely the [Page 32]land whereon thy feet have trod­den, shall be thine inheritance, and thy childrens' for ever; be­cause thou hast wholly followed the Lord thy God. And now, behold the Lord hath kept me alive, as he said, these forty and five years, even since the Lord spake this word unto Moses, while the children of Israel wandered in the wilder­ness; and now, lo, I am this day, fourscore and five years old: and yet, I am as strong this day as I was in the day that Moses sent me: as my strength was then, even so is my strength now for war, both to go out, [Page 33]and to come in. Now, there­fore, give me this mountain, &c. if so be the Lord be with me then I shall be able to drive them out.’

His plea was irresistible. The whole speech was sustained by a manly firmness, and a disdain of all that nauseous incense which is too frequently lavished by the ser­vile petitioner. In consequence of this oration, Joshua blessed him, and willingly gave that which was requested. His own con­quests thus paid, he was resolved to do justice to congenial merit: and, as an instance of his love of [Page 34]glory, and an example to others, he gave his child to him who should most deserve her. Othniel had no sooner obtained her, than the noble parent settled upon their issue a fresh inheritance of fields and springs. Here it is not easy to glance at a deficiency of modern times—a deficiency long deplored, and still remaining to be so. Where is the adequate meed for the present race of con­querors? Are the deliverers of our country for ever to be neg­lected—to starve after the toils of war, upon the stipend of divided pay, and to see the hand of power lifting up over their venerable [Page 35]heads, the beardless babies of the troop to the very top round of the ladder of preferment, while they are condemned to languish at the view, and, even in the season of the silver hair, stand uncovered in the presence of their puerile supe­riors?—O, Britain, where is thy gratitude! O, ye distributers of honour, whither is fled the spirit of recompense?

PASSAGE.

THERE never was any thing more happily conceived, or more sweetly told than the book of Ruth. It seems chiefly de­signed to exhibit to us a lively and [Page 38]high-coloured picture of the force of female friendship on the one hand, and the weakness of resolu­tion, when opposed by custom, on the other. The general circum­stances of the story being un­commonly fine, will speak best for themselves, and afford proper comments in the progress of re­citing them.

When the famine raged with much severity in her native land, Naomi, and her husband Elime­lech, and their two sons, went to sojourn in the country of Moab; but Elimelech died, and Naomi, the widow, was left with her chil­dren: [Page 39]soon after this, those chil­dren ‘took them wives of the wo­men of Moab; the name of the one was Orpah, and the other Ruth.’ It came to pass that the young men, their husbands, died also, both of them, and now the poor widow was bereaved of her sons and her husband. Unable, therefore, to bear any longer a place in which every scene pre­sented some image of lost endear­ment, or revived some distracting idea of conjugal or maternal ten­derness, she resolved to seek solace from her sorrow, by change of residence. So she arose with her daughters-in-law Orpah and Ruth, [Page 40]that she might return from the country of Moab. It presently occured to the poor woman, as she was journeying on her way, that if she was herself unhappy, it was no testimony of her affection to involve her sons' wives in equal calamities; and judging the re­ception she would be likely to meet in the land of Judah, enter­ing it desolate, unfriended, and unadorned, she paused a moment, and thus pathetically addressed the young widows: ‘Go, my chil­dren, each of you return to your mother's house; the Lord deal kindly with you as you have dealt with the dead, and with me. [Page 41]The Lord grant that ye may find rest, each of you, in the house of your dear deceased husband.’— Having uttered this short prayer for their happiness, she kissed them, and prepared to depart alone. How true to nature was their reply! They did not pour forth unmeaning compliments of condolance—They did not inter­change any idle civilities of sor­row, for their anguish was too sin­cere for ceremony—Neither did they enter into the parade of pro­mising future interviews—for they spoke not at all. The extreme of grief has, at the first surprize, lit­tle to do with language—at the [Page 42]most, it bursts into short exclama­tions, as if it would shew the im­possibility of proceeding: for our alleviation, therefore, in these cases, that power, who to every wound hath provided something where­with to heal it, gave the comfort of tears, so that the fullness of the sad heart is, in part, discharged by that kindly effusion which Provi­dence has intended as a fountain to relieve the excesses of nature; either in the surplus of misery, or trans­port. ‘They lift up their voice and wept’—A folio could not so well display their condition—After some time passed in this kind of significant silence, they said unto [Page 43]her: ‘Surely, we will return with thee unto thy people.’ Here again genuine grief discovers itself: one tender sentence, and one only, ex­presses their designs and wishes to attend her. In such cases, concise­ness is nature, and circumlocution, mere art and affectation ^*. Per­ceiving the design of the daughters, [Page 44]the widow-woman Naomi again began to dissuade them, and to [Page 45]press their speedy return. She painted the various disasters they [Page 46]would be liable to, in her com­pany—told them she had no more sons to give them for husbands— nor even a hut, however uncheary, and forlorn, to accommodate them with in her own country—and furthermore, that she had not wherewithal to repose her own head upon, if, after the fatigues of tra­vel, she should haply arrive safe. And, now she once more pressed the women in a farewel embrace, whilst she closed her arguments with ano­ther blessing, more melting even than the first. ‘Nay—my daugh­ters—weep not I intreat you. It grieveth me more for your sakes than my own, that the hand of the [Page 47]Lord hath gone out against me.’ This was the touchstone: she had now fairly discovered all the hor­rors of her situation, and shewed herself a woman without accom­modation—a traveller without hope of rest at the end of her journey, and a widow, without one to take her by the hand, and say unto her, Welcome unfortunate —welcome again to thine own coun­try. The picture was too darkly shaded for Orpah. The dread of poverty, and all its sable catalogue of terrors, struck her at once: she shed the tribute of a few more tears—sacrificed a few more sighs, and went her way. Not so the [Page 48]affectionate Ruth. How excel­lently marked, and that, by a sin­gle word, is the conduct of each. ‘Orpah kissed her mother-in-law; but Ruth clave unto her.’ The sentence, though thus compressed, is emphatically copious in point of meaning: but, indeed, the multum in parvo, should be one characteristic of the sacred writ­ings. ‘Orpah kissed her mother-in­law,’ i. e. she gave her a farewel embrace, wept a woman's sorrow, and left her mother to wander over the world. ‘But Ruth clave unto her.’ Struck to the heart at the prospect of seeing her friend and parent no more, and still calling [Page 49]to mind the thousand endearments which had formerly made precious her society, and even feeling some additional sympathy from being involved in a calamity, which arose from the mischances of one house, and one family, she endured not the idea of her departure: so far otherwise, indeed, that she ‘ clave unto her,’ i.e. clung round her neck—kissed her with an ardour, as if she designed to leave the seal of her very soul impressed on her lips for ever. In vain did the no­ble-minded Naomi exhibit to her the various miseries which were at hand, and against which, there was no comfortable provision— [Page 50]In vain did she point to the ex­ample, the politic and prudent ex­ample of Orpah, her sister—In scorn of such conduct, and to close at once all future dissuasions, she thus deelared, to the eternal ho­nour of her sex, the glowing reso­lutions of her soul. ‘Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’ The whole beauty and force of this passage is not seen at once: it is a very fine climax, and there is amazing elegance in the grada­tions. [Page 51]The full sense implied, seems to branch out in this man­ner. She begins with desiring Naomi to urge the subject of sepa­ration no longer, since she has completely made up her mind up­on it. This is the first and slightest part. In the next place, she un­folds her first design to follow her fortunes in whatever part of the habitable globe she thinks proper to pursue them: but not thinking this sufficiently expressive of her affection, she resolves to take up her abode in the same house with her—to lodge under the same roof, however poor, and to share the same bed, however inelegant.— [Page 52]After this, she resolves to know no other people, than such as are equally the common friends of both—to enter into no attach­ments, but those which are united by the same tender ties to her dear Naomi; and to form no connec­tions whatever, that can, in the least, derogate from the love she bore her. But she is not contented with having delivered these assur­ances, for she goes on, declaring that her very religion shall be the religion of her friend—that one faith, and one hope, shall animate their devotion, and that the God of one, shall be the God of the other. Even this does not satisfy [Page 53]her: for, she next determines not only to go with her the pilgrimage of life, but attend her beyond the gate of death—to die with her Naomi, should it be her Naomi's lot to fall first, and to be buried at last in the same grave: and this she confirmed by an immediate oath of the utmost importance and sanctity amongst the daughters of Judah: ‘The Lord God do so to me, aud more also, if ought but death’—she might have said— if death itself, part thee and me.

‘When Naomi saw that she was steadfastly minded to go, she left [Page 54]off persuading her; so they went until they came to Beth-lehem; and when they arrived, it came to pass, that all the city were mov­ed about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?’ Here are fresh morals and fresh elegancies opened upon us: the disconsolate Naomi had no sooner set her foot upon her own land, than all those little passions which lie lurking in the bosoms of the illiberal and the in­hospitable, were instantly awaken­ed. Curiosity surveyed the tatters which she had not the soul to re­pair.—Ill-nature was, we may be sure, officious enough to throw in her bitter sarcasm. Pride was [Page 55]ready with her insulting offer of pity—Avarice lamented his inca­pacity to answer the good wishes of his heart; and in short, every arrogant, every paltry propensity was in arms against our defence­less travellers. But as Naomi ori­ginally lived in some degree of comfort and credit in her own country, and was now reduced, she, of course, more particularly was the mark of their obloquy and conversation.

Upon entering the city, there­fore, the mob flocked about her, to indulge the vulgar and villainous joy, of adding a fresh load to the [Page 56]heart which was already groaning under its burthen; for it is, but too generally the horrid maxim, to assist where assistance is unne­cessary, and to deny such assistance where it may be the means of continuing life, or of promoting happiness. And they said one to another—measuring no doubt the poor wretch from top to toe; and noteing with cruel criticism, every unfortunate particular— ‘Is this Naomi?’ God of Heaven, as much as to say—is this the woman —the wife of Elimelech, who lived in such plenty—this poor ragged wretch—this shadow of herself— "Is this Naomi?" Mercy upon us [Page 57]—who would have thought it? Having exhausted all the unfeeling and hardened remarks, customary on such occasions, all their com­passion, and all their cruelty, ended exactly in the old way:—in leav­ing her the loss of some sighs and tears—poorer than they found her. She soon found, that to rely upon the kindness of old friends, was but a precarious mercy: for it is not bearing too hard I fear upon human nature to suppose, that her very next-door neighbour, the very companion of all her girlish sports, would give with an ill grace, if she gave at all, that pil­low, or that bread, of which, after [Page 58]so wearysome a journey she cer­tainly stood much in need. Ill­used by the world therefore, she began to lose the hope of such re­sources—the benevolence of dis­tant relations, in whose memory she might be able to revive the images of tenderness, was likewise a fond idea, that was born and buried almost in the same instant. Nothing of comfort seemed to re­main in reserve, till the excellent Ruth, the faithful partner of her sufferings, suggested an expedient. And she said unto her friend, I perceive, oh my dear Naomi, that our conveniencies must depend upon ourselves, and that we must [Page 59]owe our daily bread, to our daily labour: as it is now the beginning of the harvest, behold the oppor­tunity of exerting ourselves is at hand. Thou, indeed, art too much afflicted to toil: but for my part —much and tenderly as I sympa­thize with thee, I am in the prime of my youth, and able to gather something from the field: ‘Let me now therefore go and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I may find grace.’

‘Now it was so, that Naomi had a kinsman of her husband's, a mighty man of wealth, of the family of Elimelech, and his [Page 60]name was Boaz:’ and it hap­pened as Ruth was gleaning af­ter the reapers, she was situate on a part of the field belong­ing to Boaz. This circum­stance occasioned a turn of fortune perfectly dramatic. For, Boaz, coming to take a view of his reapers, perceiving the stranger, said unto the servant who was set over the reapers, ‘Whose damsel is this?’ The servant's answer is penned with the most natural simplicity. ‘It is the Moabitish damsel, that came back with Naomi, out of the country of Moab: and she said, I pray you let me glean, and gather [Page 61]after the reapers among the sheaves: so she came and hath continued amongst us even from the morning until now, that she tarried a little in the house.’ Something there was either in this account, or in the appearance of the object, which won much upon the favour of the landlord: for it is surely a softer voice, even than the voice of hos­pitality, that speaks in the sequel. ‘Hearest thou not my daughter? go not I charge you to glean in any other field, neither go from hence, but abide here fast by my maidens.’ I have given par­ticular injunctions to ‘the young [Page 62]men that they shall not touch thee. And when thou art a­thirst, go to the vessels, and drink of that which the young men have drawn.’ Here, be­gan the first fruits of her fidelity; and the partiality of Boaz made a very rapid progress, for in his second address he was more bene­volent than in the first: He in­vited her to consider herself, as one of his own people, to ‘eat of the bread, to dip her welcome morsel in the vinegar’ at meal times, and to sit chearfully beside the reap­ers. Nay more, with his own hand—surely the heart extended it— ‘he reached her parched corn, [Page 63]and she did eat, and was suffi­ced and left.’ Now it was that Boaz began to discover more evidently, that, the spring of this generous current lay very near the heart: When she was risen up to glean after her repast, he com­manded the young men to shew her all possible marks of courtesy and distinction. His strict orders were, not to suffer her to gather the scanty pittance, ear by ear, af­ter the cautious rake had gone over the ground, but to let her glean unquestioned, even amongst the sheaves. Nay more, they were to let some handfulls fall on pur­pose for her, and leave them for [Page 64]her particular gleaning: And in­deed, such was the successful con­sequence of these indulgences, that after she had beat out what she had been permitted to glean in one single day, ‘it was about an ephah of barley.’ This, the kind creature carried with all the expe­dition of affection to her friend: and when Naomi saw it—when the soul of the sorrowful widow sang for joy; then Ruth related to her the whole history of her good fortune, and concluding that the name of the hospitable owner of the land was Boaz. This in­telligence revived her spirits like a cordial, and she exclaims with the [Page 65]most animated transport: ‘the man is near a-kin to us,’ my beloved Ruth— ‘one of our next kinsmen.’ Often, and with equal success, she went after this into the field, and continued there to earn a very comfortable living for herself and her friend, even to the close of the harvest. In the mean time, the passion of Boaz had made a very pathetic progress, and the re­sult of it was, that he became the honourable lover of our fair glean­er, and renewed his acquaintance with his relation Naomi, to whom he made, we are told, various pre­sents. Boaz and Ruth were soon united, and, as a convincing in­stance [Page 66]of the harmony in which the family lived together, we find, highly to the gratification of every elegant heart, that when Ruth presented to Boaz a child—her first-born—Naomi,—after all the perils of her past life,—re-enjoyed the sweets of privacy and peace: ‘for she took the babe, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it:’ And I must not forget to add, that this very child, whose name was Obed, was the grandfather of the famous David, to whose pen, the Psalms are at­tributed; which, both as pieces of scripture and of writing, are to­tally unrivalled in point of energy [Page 67]and sublimity, by any composition that hath yet been, or that pro­bably ever will be, produced in human language.

Undoubtedly our English Vir­gil, the author of the Seasons, took from this story the hint of his episode of Palemon and La­vinia: but, beautiful as that epi­sode may be, I by no means think he hath improved the present sub­ject. Indeed, it is not easy to improve any of the sacred narra­tives, nor was Mr. Thomson a poet of simplicity. He hath, however, followed the original pretty closely, especially in the [Page 68]principal incidents: yet Palemon is a poor copy of Boaz, and La­vinia is less captivating than Ruth.

But I shall quote Mr. Thom­son's poetical paraphrase—for it is little more—that the reader may compare it with the original.

PASSAGE.

IT is very remarkable, that all those personages of sacred me­mory, whose transactions are re­corded in the biographical parts of the Bible, have distinguished themselves for personal bravery in the most early periods of life. [Page 80]Thus, Moses, yet a child, smote the Egyptian in defence of his brother; and, in the case before us, the youth David, who was, even before this time, so enchanting a musician, as to vanquish an evil spirit by the melody of his harp, commences an illustrious and war­like character all at once, by sub­duing the man, of whom, whole armies were afraid, in single com­bat. This history, is, likewise, fruitful of very fine things, and favourable to the remark of a com­mentator. There is a skill ob­servable in the conduct of the sa­cred narratives rarely, if ever, seen in other writings: and it shall he [Page 81]the business of this illustration to shew, that the chain of real cir­cumstances relating to the duel betwixt David and Goliah, is, from the beginning to the end, from the first syllable to the last, a match for any composition what­ever—setting aside the matter of scripture—even in point of what the dramatists call fable. And I am thus particularly earnest to dis­play, in this work, the literary excellence of the Holy Bible, be­cause I have reason to apprehend it is too frequently laid by, under a notion of its being a dull, dry, and unentertaining system; whereas the fact is quite otherwise: it con­tains [Page 82]all that can be wished, by the truest intellectual taste; it enters more sagaciously, and more deep­ly, into human nature; it deve­lopes character, delineates man­ner, charms the imagination, and warms the heart more effectually than any other book extant: and if once a man would take it into his hand, without that strange prejudicing idea of its flatness, and be willing to be pleased, I am morally certain he would find all his favourite authors dwindle in the comparison, and conclude, that he was not only reading the most religious, but the most entertain­ing book in the world.

[Page 83] It is my present design, there­fore, to display the story now un­der consideration, as a perform­ance, written with the greatest art, and managed with the most mas­terly judgment. This will best be done, by selecting, from the whole matter, particular passages, and making a few comments thereupon.

The very exordium of the story presents us with an image, that prepares us for something extra­ordinary.

‘Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and [Page 84]pitched by the valley of Elah, and set the battle in array, a­gainst the Philistines. And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a mountain on the other, and there was a valley between them.’ Fancy herself could not have imagined any thing more picturesque; nor could any mar­tial skill have made a more aweful arrangement. The next circum­stance is as interesting as unex­pected: ‘And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliah of Gath.’ The description of this man is every way suited to [Page 85]alarm; and I will be bold to say, far transcends in equipment the heroes of Homer himself. I sub­mit it to all the poetical enthusi­asts. ‘His height was six cubits and a span: he had an helment of brass upon his head, and was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekles of brass.’ I must here interrupt the narrative, to observe, with what skill we are told of the strength of Goliah. It is not mentioned in the ordinary way, by a recital of his former atchievements, but it is implied by the prodigious burthen he was able to bear upon his back; for, besides [Page 86]that, ‘the head of his spear weigh­ed six hundred shekles of iron,’ the ‘weight of his coat was five thousand shekles of brass.’ But to go on.

‘And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders: and the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hun­dred shekles of iron; and one, bearing a shield, went before him.’ The terror and conster­nation with which this gigantic appearance must strike the specta­tors, is much easier conceived than it can be described. All must [Page 87]have been suspense, and silent agi­tation—the Israelites must look at the man of Gath, with dismay; and the Philistines must have view­ed their warrior as the tremendous tower of their strength. His ad­dress to the armies of the adverse party, could only serve to heighten their apprehensions, for he defied the whole force of Israel, and thirsted for war, as if it were an appetite in him: ‘Give me a man (said he), give me a man, that we may fight together.’ What a sanguinary sentence! it smacks of blood and of dispatch: it shews at once, an eagerness to destroy, and to seize a second victim. Even [Page 88]Saul was daunted at the challenge, and in all the tribes of embattled Is­rael (amongst which were the bro­thers of David) there could not be found a man to accept it. The unri­valled Philistine, in all the arro­gance of superiority and triumph, repeated the challenge, morning and evening, for forty days.— About this time, young David was dispatched by his father Jesse to carry provisions to his brethren in the camp; for this office he was called up from the pastoral em­ployment of tendence on the flocks. These, he left to the care of another keeper, and went, as he had been commanded; ‘And [Page 89]he came to the trench as the armies of the host were go­ing forth to the fight, and were shouting for the battle: for Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array, army against army.’

The stripling could not have ar­rived in a more critical time, nor at any more likely to awake in him the sparks of glory, especially as his brethren were all engaged in the cause. He had scarce finished the first salutations with his brethren, before another matter fell out won­derfully well calculated to kindle the flame of honour; for, while [Page 90]he was conversing with his breth­ren, there came up the Philistine of Gath again, and, with addi­tional insolence, announced his defiance. The Israelites were sore afraid, and ingloriously fled. David's brethren, then, related to him, the former menaces of Goliah, and the promises of reward which the king offered to any man who should kill him—that the house of the conqueror's father was to be free, and the victor himself, to have great riches, and the hand of the king's daughter. How finely is the nature of envy and warlike ambition touched in the conduct of David's brother, when the lad [Page 91]first shewed the dawnings of his spirit: and this is carried still higher, when Saul himself ex­presses, afterwards, the jealousy of his heart, at his being called only the Slayer of Thousands, while to David's arm the women ascribed victory over Tens of Thousands. But of this in its place. Some strokes of emulation there were in David's discourse, which soon reached the ear of the general, and which procured him an im­mediate interview. Courage is no respecter of persons: the young man is represented as speaking to Saul, with even more intrepidity than he spake to his brethren. In [Page 92]the first part of his conversation he addresses him upon the subject, with all the ardour of a glowing and inde­pendent spirit. He said: ‘Let no man's heart fail him, because of this Goliah; thy servant, will go, and fight with the Philistine.’ Modest, but glorious: thy servant will, at least, go and fight with this presumptuous boaster. It was na­tural for Saul to treat this offer at first, as a sally of juvenile spi­rit, laudable enough, but nothing effectual; and his reply to it must have been delivered smilingly. Thou, child! Thou art not able to go against this Philistine, to fight with him: for thou art but [Page 93]a youth, though a brave one; ‘and he a man of war from his youth’ —from his very infancy, trained to the knowledge and exercise of arms. The modesty, brevity, and conciseness with which our young hero asserts his pretensions to suc­cess from this engagement, is in­conceivably pretty, and attracting.

‘Thy servant kept his fa­ther's sheep, and there came a lion and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock:’

‘And I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered the lamb out of his mouth, and [Page 94]when he arose again, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and flew him.’

‘Thy servant slew both, the lion and the bear: and this un­circumcised Philistine shall be one of them, seeing he hath de­fied the armies of the living God.’

‘The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me also out of the hand of this Philistine ^*.’

[Page 95] Saul was so charmed with his bravery and herioc sentiments, [Page 96]that he began already to hope something from his efforts, inso­much, that he said: ‘Go, my lad, and the Lord go with thee.’ But the preparatory ceremony, [Page 97]which succeeded this commission, is most beautiful, indeed! De­lighted with his generous ambi­tion, Saul, with his own hand and acoutrements, equipped David for the battle; he put an helmet of brass upon his head, and defended his body with a coat of mail; then, girding his sword upon his armour, he assayed to go—but— touched by some secret inspiration —he again divested himself of the armour, and putting only five smooth stones out of the brook, he took his staff, his scrip, and his sling, and thus, like a shepherd, drew near to the Philistine. There [Page 98]is great imagery in the following verses.

‘And the Philistine came on, and the man that bare the shield went before him; and when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he disdained him.’ Disdained is, perhaps, the only word in this language that could have been used properly on this occasion. There was so palpable a difference between the combatants, and the superiority and strength evidently lay so much on the side of Goliah, that he disdained to fight with him, very naturally thinking him no object of his spear: for David had [Page 99]every personal advantage, being a lad of a ruddy and fair counte­nance.

It never entered into the imagi­nation of the Philistine that the battle was not always to the strong, nor the race to the swift. The ideas of a more powerful Provi­dence were swallowed up in the vanity of his own vigour; and yet that vanity was somewhat piqued, when he beheld our daring youth meet him only with a stick, and a string. ‘Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves?’ This soon exasperated him, and he cursed David by his own gods. [Page 100]Whoever examines the scriptures, will find the nicest preservation of character, each delicately descrimi­nated, and so admirably con­trasted, that nothing which marks one, is given heterogenously, to another. This has also been con­sidered among the first excellencies of composition: its beauty is ma­nifested in Shakespear much, but in the Bible more. An instance of this is before us. We never once lose sight of the savage auda­city of Goliah, from his first me­nace to his death—he speaks but little, but every word seems to fall from the lip of a giant. When David persists in his resolution to [Page 101]fight, he said, ‘Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field.’ The dependence of Da­vid was upon his God, and in such confidence he returned the threat of Goliah with additional fury. ‘This day will the Lord deliver thee into my hand, and I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee, that all the earth may know there is a God in Is­rael: and all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with the sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you into our hands.’ They engaged, and the prophesy [Page 102]of the young warrior was fulfilled. The power of the Divine assistance which can make all human strength more feeble than the sinews of the new-born babe, is nobly il­lustrated in the death of Goliah, which, notwithstanding all appear­ances, was effected by a stone ejected by a very boy, from a sling. But the account itself is well worth reciting.

‘And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nigh to meet David, that David hasted, and ran to­ward the army to meet the Phi­listine. And David put his [Page 103]hand in his bag, and took thence a stone and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his fore­head; and he fell upon his face unto the earth.’

‘Then he ran and stood upon the Philistine, and took the sword of Goliah, and drew it out of the sheath, and slew him and cut off his head therewith: and when the Philistines saw their champion was dead, they fled.’

By such means was the victory completed, and thus fell that ter­ror [Page 104]to the Israelitish bands, Go­liah of Gath.

Having gone through the most important parts of this interesting duel, we have leisure for a few supplemental reflections, in the way of literary criticism. This Goliah of Gath reminds one of Homer's Ajax; and, indeed, the process of the engagement between the giant and David, is, in many particulars, like the ceremony of the single combat of Telamon and Hector. The above description of Goliah's person, and warlike preparations, are more military and formidable than the hero of [Page 105]Homer. Let the foregoing cha­racter of the Giant of Gath be com­pared with what follows:

Scarce any part of this description, [Page 106]nor of its original, will bear bring­ing near that of the ‘giant war­rior’ of the scripture. His mov­ing with majestic pace to combat, is less terrific than Goliah's trium­phant march in the full view of the astonished Philistines. There seems also less propriety in Hec­tor's pause of fear, than in the in­apprehensive and intrepid conduct of David, who, though not prac­tised like Hector,

was, nevertheless, uniformly brave and heroic to the very heart, [Page 107]without ever finding that heroism suspended, even at the presence of Goliah. "All Troy" might, in­deed, be supposed to tremble at the mighty son of Telamon, in the same manner as Saul and the tribes of embattled Israel, trem­bled before the arrogant Philistine: but for Hector's heart to fail him, though but for a moment, was, surely, such a falling off from the idea we wish to entertain of that celebrated hero, that one is almost angry with Homer for doing our favourite so palpable an injury in the tenderest and brightest part of his character. It may be urged, indeed, that David had confidence in [Page 108]his God, and that his bravery ema­nated from inspiration. An ar­gument, very similar, may be brought in favour of the Trojan hero, who, as we are to believe, certainly trusted as much in the virtue of his cause, and the good­ness of his god, as the other; nor did the poet ever suffer him to go to the battle till those deities were first supplicated. Witness the address offered up, on the very occasion of the contest with Ajax.

[Page 109] The shield of Ajax is, however, more particularly described than the shield of Goliah.

But the circumstantial account of the giant's spear, the weight of its head, his greaves of brass, and his target; his coat of mail, and his massey helmet, are all such evi­dences of his astonishing STRENGTH, and, apparently, invincible vigour, that, without any parade or super­fluity of words, they give us the ex­act [Page 110]image of the savage, who called out, in an exclamation, worthy of him, ‘Give me a man, give me a man, that we may fight together.’

But if, indeed, we expect in any performance to find a character delineated with parallel force—if we wish to read any description like Goliah of Gath, we must search for it in the writings of one, whose inspiration was chiefly drawn from the sources of sacred compo­sition. Milton drank at the foun­tain-head, and his poetry flowed

[Page 111] The sublimity with which he has drawn Satan, when

is such a piece of poetry, and ex­hibits such an assemblage of grand images, as nothing but a genius al­together illimitable could possibly furnish. Long quotations, however, not coming within the design or compass of this work, I shall only present such lines as shew the Prince of Darkness not very unlike —in point of warlike preparation, and personal appearance—to the giant, who was subdued by the youth David; and with these verses we will close the Essay.

PASSAGE.

THIS passage is pregnant with pleasing illustrations, being taken from a story inferior to few, if any, in sacred composition: for it not only abounds with most agreeable incidents, but furnishes [Page 114]a striking and conspicuous moral: the virtue of Gratitude is very emphatically illustrated on the one hand, and the duty of Hospitali­ty, on the other. Nor has it escaped, indeed, the remark of several writers; but the scriptures, as I have before had occasion to observe, are treasuries affording inexhausted novelty to their ad­mirers.

The persons particularly con­cerned in this sacred drama, are, Elijah the prophet, and a poor widow-woman, who lived, by very hard and constant labour; so hard indeed, that she was obliged to [Page 115]pick her faggot to light her fire, before she could bake the bread, which that labour had gleaned. At the time of her first meeting with Elijah, she was more than usually straightened; for her whole stock consisted of a handful of meal, and a little oil; and she was then stooping, in search of a few sticks, to dress this scanty modi­cum, to preserve from death, her­self and her son. Yet this was the critical period—even while she was thus affectionately employed— this was the moment marked out by Providence, to try the strength of her sympathy: it was alas! no time to bestow, while her bounty [Page 116]was thus circumscribed: nor was it a fit season to shew the natural courtesy of her temper, when she was exerting her last efforts in re­lief of her child, and wanted, in the sorest degree, the ordinary ac­commodations of life herself. Un­der this pressure of her circum­stances, it is worth while to see how she conducted herself. When Elijah the prophet (who figures so splendidly in sacred history) foretold, that a divine punishment should alight upon Ahab (a man, who is represented as wicked and ill-disposed above all that were before him) then, to escape that resentment, which his prophecy [Page 117]had kindled against him in the breast of Ahab, he hid himself by the brook Cherith, where the ravens were commanded to cater for his support, while the brook supplied him with drink. The resource of the stream however soon failing, he again sought shel­ter elsewhere, and removed to Zarephath, where he no sooner arrived, than he beheld this widow­woman engaged, as before describ­ed, in gathering sticks; and he im­mediately called to her, and re­quested her to fetch him a little water in a vessel. This was not unreasonable; but did not he ren­der it somewhat so, when he again [Page 118]called her back as she was hasten­ing to oblige him, to desire she would bring a morsel of bread likewise in her hand? A morsel of bread, and a little water, was, to be sure, asking the favour in as de­cent language as could be; but in this poor woman's particular situation, it must have had a very important sound: there is a most beautiful display of her charitable heart, in her answer.— ‘As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but a handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and behold, I am gathering two sticks that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we [Page 119]may eat it and die:’ as if she had said, you see my stock, stranger— it is my very last meal—I am picking two sticks that I may lay my poor meal across, and then— (as all further resources fail)—my child and I will die in the arms of one another. Then it was, that Eli­jah bid her not fear, for that ‘the barrel of meal should not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail unto the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the face of the earth;’ and this he assured her, was the senti­ment of God himself. Now, had this woman been inclined to save her meal and oil to herself—had she been swayed, or indeed ought [Page 120]influenced by that powerful self­love which has so general an as­cendency in the human breast; or had she even yielded to the force of those prudent maxims which teach, that, charity begins at home, and that self-preservation is nature's first law, how easily might she have evaded this request? nay, what a swarm of right, sound apo­logies presented themselves for a fair denial! To the reasons al­ready urged she might (had she been a woman of the world) have added many others: such as the expecting condition in which she left her half-famished child—her own extreme hunger, and the piety [Page 121]of preserving herself and her lit­tle one, as long as she could pos­sibly find the smallest means of subsistance. That to die, while yet a meal remained, would be a kind of suicide; and to give a morsel from any part of her own family, when a morsel was all that was left for the support of two, would be a prodigality for which she ought to suffer the poverty that must inevitably result from it. As to its being, as he said, the com­mand of the Almighty, she might reasonably offer a doubt as to the truth of that particular. Is there not—she might reply—is there not, something of inconsistency, [Page 122]good stranger, in this part of your story? That we should assist one another, is, I know a social and a religious duty; but this must be where plenty, or at least compe­tence, presents us with the de­lightful power.—It is not indeed surprizing that I, (being the first person you have seen) should be the first addressed on this occasion, be­cause I know hunger catches at the slightest and nearest possibili­ties: but excuse me, if I think the matter of the promised mira­cles not a little problematical. Would God have directed your application to a poor defenceless widow-woman, who has a father­less [Page 123]child to toil for, and is now labouring in the last exigency.— Would he have said—let her di­vide her all with you? Would He, who knows human nature so intimately, and who never expects us to injure ourselves on any score whatever.—Would He have me listen to that which sounds so like the trick of a needy traveller, and shall I credulously give my staff from my hand in expectation of another dropping down from Hea­ven?—No—friend—I understand something of this world; and though I admire to do good, I must not expose myself to ridicule—for if I was to comply with your re­quest, [Page 124]tell me honestly wouldst thou not laugh at my weakness? Farwell then, and be assured, I lament my inability as much as thou lamentest thy necessity.

Having thus shewn what a very cautious woman might have said: let us now see what was really the sentiment of the occasion. There is no other answer recorded than that she did according to the desire of Elijah. She did not even stay to expatiate upon her own generosity —nor tell him, that if his pro­phecy should be unfulfilled, she must only starve so much the sooner for her good nature; but, [Page 125]she relied so implicity on his sin­cerity, and obeyed so willingly the inspired impulse of benevo­lence, that she hasted to make a little cake for Elijah first, and then attended to the wants of her little one and herself. But this courtesy and confidence was pre­ternaturally rewarded: for she and he, and her house, eat many days; ‘and the barrel of meal wasted not, nor did the cruse of oil fail.’

Elijah now became a lodger in the widow's house, and was consi­dered as a part of her family, till a suspicious circumstance fell out, [Page 126]which gave her at first but too much reason to alter her opinion of him. Soon after this friend­ship was formed between them, the son of the hostess fell sick, and his sickness was of so sore a nature, that it presently terminat­ed in his death. The unhappy mother attributed it to some secret exertion of cruel power in Elijah; for as he could divine one miracle in her favour, so she apprehended he might be able to effect ano­ther to her prejudice: However, certain it is, she entertained ideas exceedingly to his discredit, and indeed, esteemed the thing so very ungrateful a return for her fair [Page 127]conduct and demeanour, that we find her reproaching him with all the severity of an ill-intreated friend, and all the distraction of an injured parent. ‘What have I do with thee—thou man of God! art thou come unto me, to call my sin to my remembrance, and to slay my son?’ This appears to have been spoken with the utmost bitterness of irony, as if she had said:—Thou man, who pretend­edst to have been directed hi­ther by the express orders of God: —Thou messenger from the Lord of Heaven—what have I done unto thee, that thou shouldest thus requite me?—Dost thou do this [Page 128]to warn me how I share again my last meal with a stranger? True it is, that thou hast in one instance been found faithful: true, that thou hast prolonged the lives which seemed to be drawing sooner to a period. But what of that— Hast thou taken this opportunity to render the mourning of the wi­dow thus additionally sore, by first conveying to her, the joyful tid­ings of plenty, only to make the after-stroke the more intolerable, by slaying her dear and only dar­ling; even him, whom the fa­mine hath spared? Inhuman! shame upon thee! for this—shall the widow's curse pursue thee for [Page 129]ever: for this—but I cannot speak. Behold, the innocent victim of your barbarity—behold—my child is breathless before you.—Alas! my son—my son! how hast thou been sacrificed to the insidiousness of a stranger! It was highly in character to reprove him in this manner; and it is equally natural, that the good man should feel the reproof with all imaginable seve­rity. Many circumstances con­curred to make him truly wretch­ed, even under such an imputation: for he doubtless considered her in the tenderest degree, as his best benefactor—as one who had ma­nifested the sensibility and duty of [Page 130]her heart, in the very crisis, both of his fate and her own; and last­ly, as a widow, whose life was wrapt up in the life of her son. Nor could he indeed fairly blame her suspicions. Since the time, the place, and the suddeness of the lad's death, gave in some sort, a colour of probability to them. Her misery too, had its source so near the soul, that he could not attempt either to check or to chide it; ad­vice would have been rejected, and pity impertinent: he troubled her with neither; but taking the baby corpse out of the mother's bosom, where (though it was dead) she was still caressing and still crad­ling [Page 131]it, he carried it up to his own apartment, and laid him gently upon his own bed.

And now being at liberty to ad­dress the God who had so often, and so miraculously befriended and indulged, and honoured him, he broke out into the most earnest supplication. ‘Oh Lord my God, my God, hast thou brought evil upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slay­ing her son? I pray thee, that the child's soul may come into him again.’ The prayer was heard. In the mean time, in what a situation must he have left the [Page 132]afflicted parent! it was however, one of those sorrows which are compensated by a reverse of joy: the transition was almost instanta­neous; for when the babe began to revive, he brought it down out of the chamber into the house, and delivered it into the desiring arms of its weeping mother. Were words ever calculated to ex­press such a stroke of transport? it must have been a bliss which trod hard upon the very heels of agony. Parents may, perhaps, paint it to themselves: they may see (through the mirror of a sympa­thetic fancy) the poor widow re­ceiving her child from the healing [Page 133]hand of the prophet—a child fresh blooming in the beauties of a se­cond birth.—They may imagine they behold the joyful woman as it were in a frenzy of felicity, kneeling, first to the invisible re­storer, then to Elijah, and last bathing the cheek of the child with tears of tenderness, unuttera­ble. The prophet, indeed, said lit­tle; for language was unnecessary; the thing spoke for itself, the lovely eye was again gently opened on the light, the dimple resumed its residence, and all its little sen­sibilities were fully restored. "See" cried Elijah,—"thy son liveth." He submitted the truth of the as­sertion [Page 134](without any tedious ex­planation of the means by which the recovery had been effected) to the pleasing evidence of her own senses. He had now fully rewarded her former kindness, and evinced his gratitude for the division of her last meal, by raising the treasure of her soul, even from the dead. I shall say no more on this charming story, but just observe, that every gentle heart will have its own commen­tary, and pursue the hints I have given, till they have long in­dulged themselves in the elegant reflection which so masterly and interesting a scene excites.

PASSAGE.

THERE is, perhaps, as much moral sense, and literary beau­ty, comprised in this passage, as ever was conveyed to the human understanding, by the hand of tra­dition. What a paradisaical pic­ture does it give us of the reign [Page 136]of Solomon! Majesty and mild­ness, power and pleasure, seem to have been the grand supporters of his throne: and we read the history of his times, with a mixture of joy and admiration.

The very first instance of his wis­dom, gave to mankind the most delightful earnest of what might be expected from him. I speak of his judgment betwixt the two harlots. How finely did he dis­tinguish the simplicity of natural sorrow, from the whineing com­plaint of adventitious woe: he saw the real parent, in her fears, her wishes, and her tears; and he de­tected [Page 137]the imposture, by every ac­tion. The beginning of the reign exhibits this illustrious heir of the noble David in all the glory of sublunary greatness; ‘For he had dominion over all the region, on this side the river, from Tiphshah, even to Azzah, over all the kings on this side the river:’ and in the midst of so extensive an authority, he main­tained peace on all sides around him: ‘Every man dwelt safely under his vine, and under his fig-tree,’ from one end of his realms to the other, ‘from Dan even to Beer-sheba.’

[Page 138] What a prospect was here for the people! What a joyful pro­mise for the public heart! But with what energy—I had almost said—enchantment—is the dispo­sition of this prince characterized in the subsequent verse?

‘And God gave Solomon wis­dom and understanding, ex­ceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the sea-shore.’

He had, it seems, not only the greatest wealth, but the nicest judg­ment, and the noblest inclination, to distribute that wealth, to make [Page 139]it conducive to general felicity. He equalled his father in his poe­tical capacity, and even surpassed him as a moralist: his songs are marked by an enthusiasm, a ten­derness, and a pathos, in which all the treasures of the warmest, gayest, and sublimest imagination, appear to have been exhausted. Image and metaphor were equally at his command; and a genius, so etherial, is sometimes discovered in these sallies of his pen, that his conception takes a flight too lofty for the eye to reach him. But, how­ever amazing the powers of his fancy, they were, at least, equalled by the graver abilities of his judg­ment. [Page 140]He, by no means, figured less as a moral writer: for, his Proverbs are a collection of con­cise maxims, which stand, altoge­ther unrivalled; and are the foun­dation of all those short, multitu­dinous remarks, which have been issued from the press, since his time: but those of Solomon will, indeed, be ever separated from all others. Such knowledge of life, such va­rious beauty in the expression— such astonishing terseness in the style—such poignancy in the sa­tire—such purity in the phrase, and such solidity in the sense, en­titled their author to the immorta­lity [Page 141]which he claims, and which he possesses.

There seems to have been a epocha in his genius: his compo­sitions present us with a climax. From the Poet, he rises to the Mo­ralist, and from the Moralist he soars to the Divine. The book of Ecclesiastes, is one of the finest systems, or bodies of divinity. Every sentence is sound and ortho­dox. His observations are accu­rate and devotional; and the whole book well becomes the preacher and the pulpit. In a word, Solo­mon was the greatest and most ge­neral literary character that ever [Page 142]wrote. As a prince, he was amia­ble, beloved, and popular; and it is impossible to give a more pleas­ing assurance of it, than the paci­fic and tranquil idea suggested by the text: ‘Every man dwelt in safety under his own vine and fig-tree, even all the days of Solomon.’ It is somewhat painful to view him in a religious light. Ah, Solomon, thou wisest of the wise—how couldst thou, at any time, forget the power who had dealt by thee in so liberal a manner? eminent alike, in intel­lect, and in magnificence, how couldst thou so stain thy annals, as to turn aside from the author of [Page 143]all thy greatness? How couldst thou so disgrace—so prostitute the splendour of that temple which thou hadst reared and dedicated to the true God, to the dreams and weaknesses of idolatry? What, alas, could the visionary goddess of the Zidonians do for thee? What could Molech, or Ashtoreth, that deserved thy devotion, or sacri­fices? Could they inspire thee with intelligence above all others, and store thy mind with all the or­naments of taste and science, and elegance and joy?

One apology, however, not a little mitigating, presents itself. [Page 144]He did not yield to this infatua­tion till he was in the decline of life—possibly, when his faculties were somewhat impaired—and when the ill advice of those who were about him, especially his eoncubines, teazed him into er­ror. The power of a bad woman, who has any hold upon the heart, is unlimited, and will generally render pliable to its purposes, not only the finest head, but the finest heart: and it must be also remem­bered, that the strength of the ten­der passions is always in proportion to the strength of the genius; so that Soloman might be led, as it were, captive, in the bonds of [Page 145]love, and sacrifice to Chemosh, not because he venerated that ima­ginary deity, but to avoid the per­secution of the female party, which was formed against his religious in­tegrity. At all events, let us not be too rigid, to degrade so great a character. It is well known, that the wisest men, are the most fre­quently seduced into the weakest trespasses. With all his sagacity, Solomon was a human creature. Great sensibility is liable to great mistake: where we cannot defend his conduct, let us avoid it, and where we are struck with the splen­dour of his capacity, let it inspire us with a modest imitation.

PASSAGE.

THE elegant Mr. Burke ^*, with his usual ingenuity, observes, that magnificence is a source of the sublime: after commenting upon which, he proceeds to illustrate his precepts by suitable examples, [Page 148]amongst which is that of the above passage, and those others succeed­ing it, which belong to the de­scription. It was with great pro­priety he fixed upon this noble pa­negyric, on the high priest Si­mon the son of Onias, as a speci­men of scriptural sublimity, in the richness of imagery, and allusion. But I cannot agree with him in thinking that sublimity arises from a profusion of those images in which the mind is so dazzled as to make it impossible to attend to that exact coherence and agree­ment of the allusions, which we should require on every other oc­casion. With due deference to [Page 149]Mr. Burke, I will venture to say, that, most of the allusions are exact, and coherent. The proof is be­fore us. Read the whole descrip­tion.

‘How was he honoured in the midst of the people, in his com­ing out of the sanctuary! He was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon at the full: as the sun shining upon the temple of the Most High, and as the rain­bow giveth light in the bright clouds: and as the flower of roses in the spring of the year: as lilies by the rivers of waters, [Page 150]and as the frankincense-tree in summer; as fire and incense in the censer; and as a vessel of gold set with precious stones; as a fair olive-tree budding forth fruit; and as a cypress which groweth up to the clouds.— When he put on the robe of honour, and was cloathed with the perfection of glory, when he went up to the holy altar, he made the garment of holiness honourable. He himself stood by the hearth of the altar com­passed with his brethren round about, as a young cedar in Li­banus, and as palm-trees com­passed they him about. So [Page 151]were all the sons of Aaron in their glory, and the oblations of the Lord in their hands, &c.’

It was the intention of the son of Sirach, in these sentences, to set forth his object with all the ad­vantages of language. Poetry and oratory were equally solicited to animate and to adorn the portrait of the priest: in consequence of which, he is attended from the sanctuary to the altar, by all the images and instruments of the Sub­lime and Beautiful. Behold him thus surrounded—examine the whole scene as it passes before your eye, and you will pronounce it [Page 152]uniformly admirable. He is de­scribed as coming out of the sanc­tuary amidst the acclamations of the people. The word honoured, is a most dignified addition to the greatness of his character—Let us, for a moment, leave out this sin­gle word, and see how the idea diminishes: ‘He was in the midst of the people in his coming out of the sanctuary.’ How poor! Restore to the sentence its full compliment, and the design of the writer, as well as the excellence of the object, is complete. ‘He was honoured in the very midst of the people.’ The next allu­sion carries him higher still. ‘He [Page 153]was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud.’ No sooner was he out of the sanctuary, than his noble and majestic figure was distinguishable from the rest of the multitude, ‘as the morning star in the midst of a cloud.’ The allusion to the cloud, hath also the advantage of a double propriety, being, in a metaphorical sense, aptly designed to represent the thickness, and dusky appearance of the admiring multitude. Some of the succeeding allusions were admitted to give the high priest the qualities of amiableness, as well as grandeur. ‘He was as the flower of roses in the spring of [Page 154]the year: as lilies by the rivers of waters; and as the frankin­cense-tree in summer.’ All these are expressive rather of love­liness than magnificence, and are connected, rather, with the Beau­tiful, than with the Sublime. Yet, mark how they are heightened, and what superior attractions they possess, by certain delicate strokes, not to be seen in the ordinary sketches of common poets. These would have thought it sufficient to have compared him to roses, lilies, and the frankincense-tree. Not so the son of Sirach. He painted the son of Onias with more exqui­site colouring—he drew him with [Page 155]a more masterly pencil. The roses to which he was compared, were the roses of the spring, a season of the year when those flowers are more particularly sweet and cap­tivating—the lilies, which, in a fugurative sense, resembled him, were those which derived more ele­gance from their situation by the rivers of waters, and, whatever perfumes belong to the frankin­cense-tree, our poet presented it to us, in the pride of summer, when its beauties would naturally be in blossom. Besides this, there ap­pears a coherence in these allu­sions, which may escape us at first. They seem to aim at the display [Page 156]of the moral character of the high priest. "A good name," says the scripture, "smelleth sweet." How proper, therefore, is Simon com­pared to the fragrance of roses, and other odoriferous shrubs. Li­lies have ever been emblematic of innocence, and purity. The agree­ment of the allusion is, therefore, exact here also. Thus might I proceed to observe the moral as well as descriptive propriety of comparing him with the rest. But it is wholly unnecessary. The abrupt and animated transition from one image to another, in this description, are so many noble in­stances of the Sublime and Beau­tiful. [Page 157]What a divine glow, and what incomparable dignity is of­fered to us in the following passage, where the figures are changed, and the allusions altered in a moment. When he put on the robe of ho­nour, and was cloathed with the perfection of glory; when he went up to the holy altar, he made the garment of holiness honourable.— Had Longinus been now to revise his golden treatise, he would as­suredly have inserted this passage amongst his examples of the ge­nuine Sublime; because it boasts of every property, which, agree­able to his own definition, belongs thereto.

[Page 158] "That" says he, ‘is grand and lofty, which the more we con­sider, the greater ideas we con­ceive of it: whose force we cannot possibly withstand; which immediately finks deep, and makes such impressions on the mind, as cannot easily be worn out or effaced.’ Never were these precepts better illustrated than by the description of Simon the son of Onias. The more we consider him, the greater is our conception of his grandeur, his virtue, and the veneration which attends it. From the time that he issues from the sanctuary amidst the honours of the people, to his [Page 159]standing by the ‘altar compassed by his brethren,’ he rises upon us with a force and a superiority, which ‘cannot possibly be with­stood,’ and which makes upon the mind an indelible impression. In vain shall we look amongst other poets and orators for a rival description so excellent throughout.

Mr. Burke ^* indeed, hath [Page 160]brought one from an author ^* the most likely to furnish it: but, al­though some of the allusion may be equal, others are very much inferior, and taken upon the whole, cannot bear the brightness of the comparison.

I have already observed, that the descriptions of Ossian breathe sometimes, a sublimity truly scrip­tural; and I have already, in a former essay, given an instance.

But as was before noted, when parallel passages are produced by way of comparison from the scrip­tures, [Page 161]the pictures of the author of Fingal are only in shadow, and must ever stand in the back ground of criticism. The following allu­sions would be very capital, if the imagination of the reader had not been previously charmed by those which have been the subject of our present Essay.

‘Far before the rest, the son of Ossian comes; bright in the smiles of youth, fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair waves on his back: his dark brow is half hid beneath his helmet: the sword hangs loose on the hero's side: and his spear [Page 162]glitters as he moves: I fled from his terrible eye.’ This is interesting, warm, and warlike; but I again refer every reader of taste to the text. The sacred penmen surpass all writers, gene­rally speaking, in point of figure, sentiment, allusion, narration, and every other property of perfect composition. Distributed up and down the Old and New Testa­ment, there a thousand passages more than I have now leisure to contemplate, which utterly anni­hilate any thing that can be brought from the stores of ancient or modern learning.—I conclude these little sketches, which are [Page 163]only intended as an introduction to more, with the selection of a few passages from different parts of those most admirable volumes.

‘O Lord my God thou art very great, thou art cloathed with honour and majesty: who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretchest out the Heavens like a curtain: who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters: who maketh the clouds his chariot: who walketh upon the wings of the wind. Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a gar­ment: the waters stood above [Page 164]the mountains—at thy rebuke they fled; at the voice of thy thunder they hasted away.’— What inexpressible sublimity in every one of these thoughts, and with how much accuracy the dic­tion is adapted to display them! What ideas can exceed those of the Deity's covering himself in a mantle of light, mounting his cloudy chariot, and walking on the wings of the wind?

The ascending series, is in this passage, very judiciously preserv­ed; the whole sentiment is a glo­rious gradation from great, to greater, and from that to the last [Page 165]positive degree of the climax. I beg the reader to mark the rise of the expressions as he repeats them. There is also a parti­cular beauty here, in the sudden transition from one person to ano­ther— ‘ Who walketh upon the wings of the wind;’ and then instantly altering the address to— ‘ Thou coveredst it with a deep as with a garment.’

But a second example courts our admiration, and that of so high and exalted a nature, that a reader of true taste, and a real sense of religion, will hardly bear to engage his time in looking at [Page 166]minor or modern authors; while some, probably, who have been prejudiced against the Bible, will be surprized to find such admira­ble, and unequalled writing in a book, which they have been taught to consider as a dull, uninteresting code of maxims, proverbs, and ordinary sentiments.

‘Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into Heaven, thou art there: If I make my bed in Hell, be­hold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of [Page 167]the sea: even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.’ In short, this, and various other portions of the sa­cred books, as infinitely exceed Homer, as Homer surpasses Black­more. There is a verse or two used in the burial of the dead (than which there never was a sublimer, more serious, or more suitable ceremony). Ossian hath [Page 168]also touched the same subject, but the sacred writer hath ten times the simplicity, and is abundantly more correct in the metaphors; besides that, the allusions are truer to nature and familiar life.

‘A thousand years in thy fight, O Lord, are but as yesterday: seeing that is past as a watch in the night. As soon as thou scatterest them, they are even as a sleep, and fade away suddenly, like the grass. In the morn­ing it is green and groweth up; but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.’

[Page 169] Were we to run the parallel be­tween this passage and that quoted from Ossian, the inferiority of the latter would, perhaps, not be very agreeable to the admirers of that picturesque bard. To speak im­partially, it is scarcely giving any profane writers, however popular, fair play, in comparing them with those Sublime, Beautiful, and Pa­thetic compositions, which are the objects of the present volumes: on the other hand, those compositions themselves, have so seldom fair play shewn to them, while many flimsy, frivolous, or bombastic per­formances, run away with the huzza of the multitude, that hav­ing [Page 170]had the lash of justice in hand, it was but right to use it a little; especially as it formed an impor­tant part of my subject, to vindi­cate the Scriptures from negli­gence, and to hold them up as the patterns of purity, perspicuity, and all the sources of the true Sub­lime.

These sources branch out, ac­cording to Longinus, into the fol­lowing divisions:

It hath been my endeavour in this work, to try certain passages in the SACRED WRITINGS, by the test of Longinus's principles. I shall account myself singularly for­tunate if such endeavours have, in [Page 173]any degree, done a service to com­positions, which are so able to sup­port the trial; but whose beau­ties and sublimities, though thickly scattered through almost every page, are so shamefully neglected, or misunderstood, merely, it is feared, because they are of a devo­tional, as well as of a poetical na­ture.