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BRIEF NOTICES OF BOOKS.

Reminiscences of a Highland Parish. By NORMAN MACLEOD, D. D., one of Her Majesty's Chaplains. London: Alexander Strahan. DR. MACLEOD is a writer who rarely fails to command sympathy and awaken interest. There is a hearty geniality, a broad and kindly mode of looking at men and things, a sympathy with goodness in whatever form it may reveal itself, a freedom from conventionalisms, and a genuine outspoken earnestness about him, the charm of which it is impossible to resist. These reminiscences of the scenes and incidents of his own early life are marked by all his best qualities. They are instinct with life, often clothed in true poetic beauty, rich in quiet touches of humour, and a true and tender pathos which have their charm for all except those snarling critics whom the very greatness and popularity of the man provoke to a display of the worst qualities of their nature. A genuine patriot, a man of strong affection and sympathy, a sincere believer though remarkably free from the trammelling influence of theological creeds and system, Dr. Macleod is thoroughly at home in describing the old Highland life, its quiet manses, its humble cottages, its primitive ideas and occupations, its characters so unlike those of our crowded cities, yet so strong and original in their very simplicity. He is not insensible to the defects of these hardy mountaineers, their fierce passions, their superstitious tendencies, their strong prejudices. But while he does not conceal these, he does justice to those higher elements which give their character so much of true nobility. His book is one which we can heartily commend for its freshness, its truthfulness to nature, its vivid word-paintings, its kindly and religious spirit. It is the picture of a style of life which, of course, is unfamiliar to most of its readers, and which has almost passed away, except in the most remote districts. But those who have visited these Highland scenes will find an additional pleasure given to their recollection of them by the perusal of Dr. Macleod's characteristic and delightful reminiscences.

The Imprecatory Psalms. Six Lectures, with other Discourses, delivered at Bacup, Lancashire. By the Rev. R. A. BERTRAM, Editor of "Parable, or Divine Poesy." London: Elliot Stock.

MR. BERTRAM gives sufficient proof in these Lectures of being an earnest, thoughtful preacher, who is not content to deal out to his people mere commonplaces, but adapts himself to the necessities of the times, and, while preaching the doctrines of the Gospel, also seeks to meet the objections to them which scepticism is ever so ready to suggest, and which sometimes trouble the hearts and break the peace of the most devout Christians. The topic to the elucidation of which

he has devoted most of the discourses in this volume is one specially requiring treatment, because its difficulties lie on the surface, and are therefore just the class of which assailants of the Gospel can most readily employ for the purpose of shaking the faith of simple-minded men. Mr. Bertram has dealt with the various questions involved in a forcible, trenchant, and practical manner. His discourses were designed for a miscellaneous audience, and are therefore naturally popular in thought and style, but there is nothing feeble or superficial in their discussion of the subject. We do not accept all Mr. Bertram's views; we cannot say that he has thrown much new light on a subject which is full of mysteries and perplexities; but he has given us a suggestive and useful volume. The separate discourses in the latter part of the book are of a superior order. We have no doubt they were appreciated by the congregation to whom they were first addressed, and will be valued by many readers.

The Romish Doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, traced from its Source. By Dr. EDWARD PREUSS. Translated by George Gladstone. Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark.

THIS is a thoroughly learned treatise on a subject which is daily becoming of greater importance. The boasted intellectual progress of the nineteenth century, so far from having shaken the faith of men in one of the most remarkable superstitions by which Christendom has been possessed, seems rather to have fanned the zeal with which its devotees cling to it, and to have induced them to set it forth with more prominence and offensiveness than ever. To enter upon any attempt seriously to confute it, would be useless; for there is not only no Scripture to support it, but it is in direct contradiction to the whole tenor of Scripture teaching. The best way of exposing it is simply to narrate the story of its development, and this Dr. Preuss has done in a work marked by great research, and written in such a style as to excite interest in a subject which certainly at first sight is not inviting. The book has been translated with great care, and ought to command attention even beyond the limited circle of readers who are interested in purely theological questions. It is a strange chapter in the history of human superstition and folly, which may be studied with great advantage at the present crisis.

THE

CHRISTIAN SPECTATOR.

OCTOBER, 1867.

THE DYING SAVIOUR REFUSING ANY
ALLEVIATION OF HIS WOE.

BY THE LATE REV. E. S. HULL, B. A.

1

They gave Him to drink wine mingled with myrrh, but He received it not.-Mark xv. 23.

THERE are few things perhaps more striking to a thoughtful reader of the New Testament than the simplicity and unity with which the Evangelists narrate the last moments of the Son of God. In approaching a subject so awful, so full of sublime sadness and unutterable meaning, they exhibit no attempt to create an interest; they make no endeavour to describe that scene with eloquence, or to colour it with poetry, but tell the tale as simply and calmly as they have told of Christ's previous career. While a modern writer fills volumes in speaking of an event that will be forgotten as years roll on, those inspired men tell in the fewest words a story that will attract the world till the end of time; that engrosses the attention of angels, and whose meaning shall never be exhausted during the immeasurable immortality of man. It may be that their hearts were too full of reverence and sadness to dwell too long over that history; for all deep emotion utters itself in the simplest language. But whatever may be the reason of their brevity, it is most obvious that every incident they narrate is full of the profoundest meaning. The whole of that scene around the cross which they describe, the calm hypocritical priesthood, the furious people, the careless Roman soldiery, and the great crowd, gazing with different emotions on the expiring One, when looked at thoughtfully, gives us a deep insight into man, and teaches us truths regarding humanity that every one should

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learn. Every occurrence in Christ's life is a sign of what He was, and throws new light on the work He designed to do; but in His dying hour, in the moments when the Immortal was conflicting with mortality, and when the expiring Son saw through the deep agony down the ages to the glorious result of His sufferings; every incident, every word is of unspeakable worth to the man who would understand the mission of Christ; for every gleam of His human sympathy then gives us power, because it helps us to comprehend His emotions now, and every word He uttered then has an infinite value, because it enables us to enter into the deep meanings of atonement and sin. In a word, if we are in earnest to understand God, and to do His work, we shall find that by reflecting reverently on each incident of this scene, we shall gain new light, new hope, and new power. We shall endeavour to illustrate this from the words before us. We want to ask what truth concerning Christ they explain? What hope they may inspire regarding the work of our lives? We all know the history. The Saviour, weakened by the agony of the garden, and the weary walk from the Judgment Hall to Calvary, is about to be nailed to the cross. The soldiers perceiving His weakness, offer Him, according to the usual custom, the cup that should stupify the senses and deaden the pains of death. He receives it not; and why? Let us put aside all questions of mere curiosity; that scene is too solemn for such. Let us reject utterly all ingenious endeavours to find a figurative meaning here, for this is too awful a subject for any such solemn trifling of human cleverness. Let us rest assured, however, that this fact has a deep meaning. The Evangelists record nothing that is not of profound value. It was not by accident that Christ rejected any alleviation of His last sufferings, but for a high and sublime purpose. Standing then before the scene these words picture, I would ask devoutly, reverently, earnestly, what does it mean? What light does it shed upon Christ? What help does it render us in life? I think it illustrates

1. The source of the moral majesty of the Son of Man. In this brief occurrence I read at once the greatness and the origin of that majestic character which raises Jesus so immeasurably above all other of the sons of men. He refuses to receive a balm for His agony; in that He exhibited a moral strength utterly unparalleled, and in that very refusal we learn from whence His strength came. We shall perceive this if we begin by reflecting on the depths of His anguish in that hour, that we may thus estimate in some degree the greatness, and learn the source of the strength in which He renounced any alleviation of His sufferings.

If you look attentively on the greatest men, you will perceive that they consist of two classes, who are very differently affected by suffering. On the one hand we call those men great who are possessed of an iron-like firmness, that arises mainly from the absence of tender emotion. In their resolves they are undisturbed by feelings of pity, and unmoved by deep human sympathies. Only one impulse animates them, and that is the determination to do what they have willed to perform. On the other hand, there are men of equal strength and determination, but at the same time possessing profound pity, and tenderness, and love. Their resolves create a great inward conflict that is unknown to those who have no strong human sympathies, and they are impelled only by a deep reverence for Right, Truth, and God. Now, it is profoundly true that suffering is felt by them far more deeply than by others. Even the same degree of bodily suffering is something more to the man of great tenderness than to him whose nature is hard and stern. Inflict the same physical pain on the man who has strong pity and he will feel more anguish than the man who has no pity, for the very suffering of the body has a mysteriour connection with the soul. No one can hesitate to affirm, that in His human nature Christ belonged to this better class of men. His strong determination as a man, rose not from the absence of emotions of pity and tenderness, but overruled them all. His great pity throbbed in sympathy with the woes of the whole brotherhood of men. He was the Son of Man, and combined in His nature the deep tenderness of the woman's heart with the stronger feelings that belong to the man's soul. Therefore, may we not infer that, while He was subject to all the laws of human nature, He felt something more in bodily suffering than any other man can know? Because in Him there was a pity and tenderness infinitely deeper than any other of the sons of men; the very agony of the body must have been to Him keener and more awful than we can conceive. Rise now one step higher than this. In that hour He had come from Gethsemane. He had borne the cross; and if the activity of His soul wears away the strength of the body, if great thought exhausts its vigour, and mental conflict wastes its strength and renders it more liable to suffering, can we ever tell how intense must have been the physical anguish of the Son of God while standing there before His cross? But we stay not to dwell on this. There was in Him another source of suffering so unutterably deeper as to throw all bodily anguish into the shade, an agony of soul. Before the conception of what that was, all human thought grows feeble, and we can only stand on the brink of a sorrow infinite in its

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