discourse in use among the Jews-poetry and prose, eloquence, ethics, legislation, history, biography, ⚫ prophecy. It may be added, that the narrative portions especially are of inimitable simplicity; they breathe a pathos, and at times exercise a power over the affections, which no compositions extant besides them have equalled, except some passages of rare occurrence in the subsequent books of the. Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament. The historian presents men, manners, and incidents to the eye, the mind, and the sympathies of the reader precisely in the way that they impressed his own. This is the uniform style of the inspired penman in his highest mood:-"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."-Gen. i. 1-3.

In scenes of common life and the intercourse between man and man, nothing can be more delicately true to nature than the light touches of a hand that could sketch such a scene as the following, the picture composed of words having this advantage over any picture drawn with lines and colours; that, whereas the latter can exhibit but one moment, and only imply discourse, the former can express motion, speech, and progress-the beginning, middle, and end of the action represented. How graceful, and yet how emphatic, are the orientol pleonasms in Jacob's reply to Pharaoh's simple question.

"And Joseph brought in Jacob his father, and set him before Pharaoh; and Jacob blessed Pharaoh. "And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, 'How old art thou?'

"And Jacob said unto Pharaoh, 'The days of the years of my pilgrimage are one hundred and thirty years; few and evil have the days of the years of

my life been, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers, in the days of their pilgrimage.'

“And Jacob blessed Pharaoh, and went out from before Pharaoh."*

Of the remaining books of Scripture (all of which are more or less conformed to these primitive models) it will not be expedient to enter into further particulars than to offer an example of the perfection to which the most perfect of all the forms of literary composition was carried by him who, both as prophet and minstrel, is distinguished by the title of the sweet singer of Israel. Considered merely as an emanation of genius, conceived in the happiest frame of mind, and executed with force and elegance corresponding, the 104th Psalm may not only be quoted in competition with any other similar product of fine taste, but may, indeed, be placed as the standard by which descriptive poetry itself ought to be measured and estimated as it approaches or falls short of the excellence of such a model. This divine song is a meditation on the mighty power and wonderful providence of God. It begins with an apostrophe to Him, as "clothed with honour and majesty, who covereth Himself with light as a garment, who stretcheth out the heavens like the curtain of a tent, who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, who maketh the clouds his chariot, who walketh upon the wings of the wind.'

Then follow exhibitions of Almighty power in creation, when "He laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever;" and in destruction, when, at the deluge, "the waters stood above the mountains," but having accomplished their ministry of wrath, "at (His) rebuke they fled; at the voice of (His) thunder they hasted away."

This scene of devastation is succeeded by one of amenity and fruitfulness, exquisitely delineated:

Gen. xlvii. 7-10.

"He sendeth the springs into the valleys which run among the hills. They give drink to every beast of the field; the wild asses quench their thirst. By them shall the fowls of heaven have their habitation, which sing among the branches." The earth is represented as pouring forth from her lap the abundance of food for man and beast. The habits of various animals are accurately noted. The revolutions of the heavenly bodies, bringing day and night, and the change of seasons are next reviewed and celebrated in strains rivalling their own, when "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." Afterward the great and wide sea, in its depths, is disclosed, and exhibited as a world of enjoyment as infinitely extended as the endless diversities of its strange population of living things innumerable, "both great and small."

One passage, and but one more, must not be passed over, the picturesque reality of which will be perceived by all who have a heart to feel horror, or an eye to rejoice in beauty:-"Thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth.-The young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from God.-The sun ariseth; they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens.-Man goeth forth unto his work and his labour until the evening.-O Lord! how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all."

The remaining unquoted passages of this Psalm are worthy of the foregoing, especially the verses which describe animal life, death, and resuscitation, by the breathing, withdrawing, or regenerating influence of that Divine Spirit which at first "moved upon the waters." Who, after reading the whole of this sublime strain, can forbear to exclaim, with the royal Psalmist, at the close: "Bless Thou the Lord, O my soul!" and then invoke all living to do the same "Praise ye the Lord."

No. II.

Literature of the Hindoos.

ALTHOUGH the modern Hindoos are generally distinguished by deplorable mental as well as bodily imbecility, they are the descendants of ancestors not less conspicuous both for intellectual and physical power. Learning is said to have flourished in India before it was cultivated in Egypt, and some have assumed that it was from beyond the Indus that the Nile itself was first visited with the orient beams of knowledge. The modern Hindoos, however, in their unutterable degradation, are only careful to preserve the monuments of their forefathers' glory and intelligence in the stupendous ruins, or, rather, in the imperishable skeletons of their temples, and in their sacred and scientific books. But the latter being wholly in the hands of the Brahmins, few of whom understand much of their contents, are impregnably sealed from the researches of the multitude.

The astronomical tables of the ancient Indians are yet the admiration of Europeans, considering the disadvantages under which they were framed; and if there remained no other discernible traces of learning, these would mark a high degree of civilization among the people that could calculate them. Dwelling, like their contemporaries the Chaldeans and Babylonians, in immense plains, where, over an unbroken circle of horizon below, a perfect hemisphere of sky was expanded above, they watched the motions of the stars, while they guarded their flocks by night, and learned to read with certainty, in the phases of the heavens, the signs of times and seasons useful to the husbandman and the mariner.

But, unsatisfied with these, they vainly endeavoured to find out what the heavens could not teach-the destinies of individuals and the revolutions of empires.

The sacred books of the Hindoos, which are yet preserved (so far as their authenticity can be deemed probable, and their institutes have been explored), display a corresponding elegance of style, simplicity of thought, and purity of doctrine, in all these respects differing essentially from the monstrous fables, the bloody precepts, and shocking abominations with which their more modern writings abound. The affinity between the architecture and hieroglyphics of India and Egypt indicates the common origin of both, and almost necessarily implies the senior claims of the former; for science, like empire, has uniformly travelled westward in its great cycle, whatever occasional retrogradation may have been caused by disturbing forces. Egypt, with all its wonders, can boast nothing so magnificent as the Caves of Elora, consisting of a series of temples, sixteen in number, a mile and a half in length, and each from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet in breadth, with heights proportioned, all sculptured out of the live rock by labour incalculable, and with skill only equalled by the grandeur of the edifices on which they have been expended. Edifices, however, they are not, in the proper sense of the word. The men of those days found in the heart of their country a mountain of granite equal to the site of a modern city. They excavated the solid mass, not building up, but bringing out, like the statue from the marble, the multitudinous design; shaping sanctuaries, with their roofs and walls, and decorating them with gigantic images and shrines, by removing the fragments as they were hewn away, till the whole was presented standing upon innumerable pillars, left in the places where they had been identified with the original block; the range of temples, from the flint pavement