from Catenas rather than from the original sources.

There are

many reasons then for submitting the work to a calm and thoughtful review; that we may decide justly on the comparative mischief or benefit of that school of interpretation which it is designed to revive in the bosom of our Church.

And first, we must give the treatise the praise which is really its due. It possesses several features that are worthy of careful imitation by every writer upon sacred subjects. There is, throughout, a tone of cautious reverence. If it never kindles into animation and fervour, it never degenerates into unseemly lightness and coarse familiarity. There is an absence of all offences against taste, of coarse descriptions or vehement bombast. The opinions of early writers are collected with considerable pains and research, and many thoughts of deep interest are thus presented to our view. To those who are already grounded in the knowledge of Christ, there are materials from which they may gather many profitable reflections, and trains of thought which, if wisely and cautiously pursued, will open into a wide field of beautiful and neglected truth. The Church needs ever to be reminded that in her Father's house there is bread enough and to spare; and that, besides the main elements of saving truth, there is in the word of God a mysterious fulness of divine wisdom, most profitable in all its parts for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, and for instruction in righteousness.

But these excellences of Mr. Williams's work, great as they are in themselves, are unhappily outweighed by other defects of a most serious kind, and which, if the same school of exposition obtains a wider prevalence, are likely to be attended with fatal consequences to the Church of Christ.

In the first place, we have to lament the repulsive and almost heartless tone in which the wondrous events of our Saviour's Passion are here described. When the sacred writers touch upon this holy theme, every word bespeaks the depth of their emotion, and sparkles with the beams of spiritual joy, or is bathed in their tears of contrition and sorrow. "What mean ye to weep and to break my heart? for I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die at Jerusalem, for the name of the Lord Jesus." "Yea, doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world is crucified to me, and I unto the world." "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift." "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and gave his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." These, and such as these, are the glowing expressions

of their gratitude and emotion, which arise whenever their thoughts turn to this glorious mystery of redemption. Their hearts were indeed filled with adoring reverence, but that reverence blended with the most devout gratitude, the most lively confidence, and the fervour of unfeigned love.

was

This spirit of affectionate reverence which marks the sacred writers in their approach to this great subject, ought doubtless to be the pattern of every Christian, and eminently of every Christian author. In the "Exposition" it is beautifully conspicuous. Deep feeling is the most prominent feature of the work; but this never tempts the author into a tone of undue familiarity or irreverence. We cannot express our own views more exactly than by the words of the following extract, with which the rest of Mr. Stevenson's work will be found to be in entire harmony

"Let all the seed of Israel, then, revere their God. As they must not overlook the Godhead of Christ, in his manhood; so let them not forget the condescension of the hearer of prayer, in their own victories by prayer. How grievous is it, that men should address their heavenly Father in terms of earthly friendship and familiarity; should mistake the vociferations of overwrought feeling, for the wrestlings of true faith; and substitute a long and loud supplication, for a child-like waiting upon God! Alas, that any disciples of Christ should act like the priests of Baal! Unhappy men! they leap and cry aloud after their manner! Their god is talking, or pursuing, or on a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked. But our God is the living God, the all-present King: emphatically denominated The Hearer of prayer,' in contrast to the deaf and dumb gods of the heathen nations. Why, then, should professing Christians act towards their Lord as if he were no better than these? Why should they shout, as though God were unable or unwilling to hear, fatiguing heaven with the prodigious clamour of their outrageous entreaty? Let it not be so with the seed of Israel. Well-meaning, but mistaken Christians, have fallen into this snare, in every age. A caution, therefore, on this point, is highly necessary at all times, and to all classes of persons. Of all these three classes of professing Christians, none require to be more on their guard than the last. To live in the fear of God, or to be self-denying and diligent in glorifying his name, are not the paths in which mere professors, or designing hypocrites, love to walk. Men seldom put on any appearance, but that which is most attractive. A specious profession, a mouth that maketh much love, and a frequent use of peculiar words and phrases, high-sounding names and titles, are the things they lay hold of in religion. They have enlisted to wear the uniform, but not to fight the battles, of the soldiers of the cross. They call themselves the seed of Israel, princes among common Christians, and favourites of heaven. But it is not he that commendeth himself that is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth, 2 Cor. x. 18. The Israelite indeed is a man without guile, John i. 47. He seeks not the approbation of men, but strives to commend himself in all things to God. He has fully, and experimentally, learned the various lessons of the school of Christ. He fears the Lord in his inmost heart. He glorifies the Lord in his outward conduct. He reverences the Lord with the most sacred sentiments of his soul. The first petition in his prayer invariably is, Hallowed be thy name.' When an answer is vouchsafed to his entreaties, his language is not, I have prevailed,' but simply and humbly, Thou hast heard me.' If, naturally, of an ardent spirit, he strives to keep it in check; and remembers that so long as he is in the body,

he requires to be most upon his guard, when most conscious of the love and approbation of his Lord. Peter had no sooner obtained a blessing, than he brought himself under a rebuke. Let us, with John, even though leaning on our Lord's bosom, always address him with REVERENTIAL LOVE. This is the highest, and most blessed, state of feeling to which we can attain. It is that of the redeemed above; it is that of Christ upon the cross-it is that to which he here invites us; it is that which we shall possess in the eternal world of glory-Love, bounded by no sentiment, but that of reverence,-REVERENCE, adorned and actuated by a love as boundless as it shall be everlasting."-(pp. 264-266.)

A grievous want of this spirit is the first great evil we have to deplore in the Treatise on the Passion. There is indeed, throughout, a dim and distant reverence, a sense of awe and mystery; but no glow of affection, no voice of confidence, no overflowing utterance of gratitude, or hope, or love. Amidst the frequent beauty of the separate thoughts, there is a dreary vagueness, a tone of separation and fear, which leaves an aching void in the heart; and the longer we read, the more weary and insupportable does this feeling become. It forces on our memory the poet's description of the fairy land, where the light itself, however lovely, is cheerless and cold

"Like the idle gleam that December's beam
Can cast o'er ice and snow."

Let the reader contrast, for instance, with the above extract, the following paragraph from Mr. Williams's Introduction:

"Our blessed Lord took apart his three favoured disciples, that they alone might witness his agony by a closer and more intimate approach: it might, therefore, seem a hazardous presumption for us to venture near and gaze upon his most sacred sorrows. But if we might be allowed to do so, he seems to teach us that it must be to watch and pray with him the while. If these indeed were the only ones privileged to behold him in his humiliations, we might indeed draw back with fear. But even the heathen Pilate was moved to awe at the sight of him in his crown of thorns. Even the Roman centurion, from standing at the foot of his cross, was led to confession: and the thief on the cross, from beholding him more nearly in his afflictions, had his soul healed. But it may be said, these approached his adorable person in ignorance of his divine majesty, and in unbelief; and from beholding him learned something of godly fear; or by their own sufferings were made partakers of his cross; and, so far as they knew of his inconceivable greatness, they reverenced and adored. Be it so we therefore may draw near to him, if it be but in fear; and every school of severe visitation affords the privilege to behold him and to be with him.”—(p. ix.)

"Let it be with becoming thoughts of self-abasement and humiliation that we draw near to the city of his sorrows. When he came nigh unto Jerusalem he wept over it, at the thoughts of those calamities it was to endure. Far greater cause have we to weep on approaching the same, when we look back on the sufferings he there endured. Let us lay aside the luxuries of life, and all that ministers to human pride, while we approach it; and partake in the feelings of those holy pilgrims whom the poet describes:

"Their naked feet trod on the dusty way,

Following the ensample of their zealous guide;

Their scarfs, their crests, their plumes, and feathers gay,
They quickly doft, and willing laid aside;

Their molten hearts their wonted pride allay,

Along their watery cheeks warm tears down slide;
And then such secret speech as this they used,
While to himself each one himself accused.

"Flower of Goodness, Root of lasting Bliss,

Thou Well of Life, whose streams were purple blood
That flowed here, to cleanse the soul amiss

Of sinful man, behold this brinish flood,
That from my melting heart distilled is,
Receive in gree these tears, O Lord so good;

For never wretch with sin so overgone,

Had fitter time, or greater cause to moan."-(pp. x. xi.)

Who can fail to remark the difference, nay, the almost entire contrast of love in the two passages? The first reminds us of the bright fragrance of the early morning, where faith and love may be seen exulting under the cheering radiance of the Sun of righteousness, or are moistened with the tears of contrition, and bathed in the spirit of reverence, as with early dew: the other is like a moonlight cavern, possessed indeed of a melancholy grace, but dim, gloomy, desolate and cold.

Even the first words breathe that spirit of superstitious awe which forms, in this work, the unhappy substitute for the "spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." Who could possibly suppose, unless his judgment had first been clouded by a constant searching for mysteries, that the word of God implies it to be a hazardous presumption to gaze upon the sufferings of our Lord? Can one duty be found in the whole circle of Christian morals, that is enjoined upon us more frequently or with greater plainness? Let us carry this dreamy style of reasoning a little farther, and whither does it lead us? The three disciples were alone with our Lord in his agony, therefore it is almost too presumptuous for us to meditate on his divine sufferings. But the same disciples alone were present with him on the holy mount, therefore it is equal presumption for Christians in general to fix their thoughts and hopes upon the coming glory. The parables were expounded to the disciples when alone: therefore we may not, without presumption, think of understanding the discourses of our Lord. And thus, by reasons of this shadowy and mysterious kind, we might be persuaded, under a show of fancied reverence, to neglect the plainest duties, and turn aside from the plainest truths; till our esoteric refinements shall land us in the dense gloom of superstitious ignorance, or in the practical infidelity which rejects as useless the whole revelation of God.

But this leads to the next serious evil we have to notice in this work-the illustration, which it offers, in a practical form, of the author's celebrated doctrine of Reserve. His views have not, perhaps, been always met with the discrimination which is needful,

nor the precise nature of the error which they involve been clearly pointed out. We will therefore digress for a moment, and, by defining that truth of which those tracts are the mischievous parody, endeavour to place the subject in a more clear and convincing light than can ever be the result of undistinguishing censure.

There is then, doubtless, a reserve which the Scriptures do authorize, and of which numerous examples may be found in the sacred history. Its principle, in one large class of instances, is taught us in the maxim of our Lord: "Give not that which is holy unto dogs; neither cast your pearls before swine." And, in another large class of examples, its principle may be found in those parting words of our Saviour to his disciples, when he says to them, in all the tenderness of divine love-"I have many things to tell you, but ye cannot bear them now." A further illustration of it occurs in the teaching by parables, with the reason which our Lord assigns," because seeing they see not, neither do they understand." When the multitudes had long neglected his plainer instructions, he saw fit to clothe the lessons of divine wisdom with this parabolic veil. And the great Apostle, who had drunk so deeply into the spirit of his Lord and Master, pursued a similar course in his instructions to the Corinthians, as our Lord with his own disciples; and fed them with milk, and not with strong meat, because they were not able to bear it. From these and many other instances it is plain that there is a just and lawful reserve of divine truth, which the scriptures authorize, and which our Lord and his Apostles, by their own example, sanction and commend. If the Oxford writers had confined themselves to the assertion of this truth, and applied it, with wise discrimination, to the practical errors which doubtless exist in the present day; instead of troubling the peace and distracting the faith of the Church, they might have justly earned the thanks of every devout Christian.

What then are those errors which have perverted this salutary truth into deadly poison? They are chiefly two; one in the principle upon which this reserve is based, and the other in its special application. The true principle of that divine reserve which is set before us in Scripture is either a judicial visitation and curse incurred by a former neglect of God's messages, or a wise foresight that devises the most effectual method for imparting truth to the soul. We see the former illustrated in the case of the multitudes whom the Saviour taught only in parables. They were those who for eighteen months had more or less been listeners to the teaching of Christ, but had neglected and despised his lessons. For this reason our Lord fences the truth round, as with a hedge, by presenting it under parables, that those only might understand