“It is remarkable,” he continued, “that this circumstance is one which some rash infidels have presumed to consider as inconsistent with the idea of a divine interference in the promulgation of Christianity; and yet on sober inquiry, it will be found materially to strengthen its evidence. For if no phrase had been used which was not in conformity to the purity of the Grecian tongue, we should lose one of the great marks of authenticity in the New Testament—its peculiar language. You will readily perceive that the Hebraisms and Syriasms by which it is distinguished, and which could have proceeded only from men of Hebrew origin, prove it to have been a production of the first century; for after the death of the first Jewish converts to Christianity, we find hardly any instance of Jews becoming preachers of the gospel: and as to the Christian fathers, they were mostly ignorant of Hebrew. This distinguishing mark is to be found in all the books of the New Testament, in different degrees; nor have these idioms the appearance of art or design, being exactly such as might be expected from persons who used a language spoken, indeed, where they lived, but not the dialect of their country.
“Obscurity, from this cause, more particularly applies to St. Paul’s Epistles, because they were designed principally for the Jews. St. Paul, indeed, was born at Tarsus, and his native language was therefore Greek; but having been a very zealous Jew, it was natural that his language should be tinctured by Hebraisms; and it is probable that had he studied to avoid the air of a Celician Jew, in speaking or writing, his language would not have been so well adapted to his purpose, and would have made far less impression on the multitude.”
11th.—I have made such a discovery! I long to tell you, Mamma, though I dare say you have already guessed it. I have discovered that Mr. Lumley is the very person whom my uncle met at the harvest home, and whose history I wrote to you. But I never heard my uncle speak of him by any other name than Fitzroy, which I now find is one of his Christian names.
This evening we happened to be speaking of accomplishments, and Miss Lumley said that she had none to boast of.—“I believe you know,” said she, “that since we left Strath Morton, a place I shall never forget, though I was then very young, we have been obliged to employ ourselves in what was useful only; and, until very lately, to assist mamma even in the menial work of the house. I do not feel ashamed to mention this,” she added; “for it is really gratifying to think and speak of all that my dear mamma was able to do; I only wish you could have witnessed the cheerfulness that accompanied all her exertions.”
She described their little cottage as it was at first, and their way of living; and then continued—“We were anxious to save mamma from some of the drudgery there must be, even in the smallest family; and, though often against her will, my sister and I shared, as much as children could, in her laborious occupations.
“She and my father gave us the best of all knowledge, that of religion—they taught us to feel well the weakness of our nature, and to look up with trust to that Power, who gives assistance to the humble. Their leisure was devoted to giving us solid instruction, to the cultivation of our minds, and even to directing our taste to literature.
“If sometimes we amused ourselves with a pencil, or tried to sing one of Mamma’s songs, she was delighted to encourage and assist us—and instead of lamenting that we could not do more, it raised her spirits to see even our childish attempts. Indeed, she has often said that the delight of seeing us gay, open-hearted, and good, was all she wanted; and when we danced merrily to our own singing, or made a scratchy drawing of a tree, she used to reward us with one of her sweet encouraging smiles, and would say, ‘Perseverance will do much; and as music and drawing are useful accomplishments, when kept in their right places, your attempts give me pleasure; but I value your cheerful dispositions, and grateful hearts still more.’
“And indeed Mamma was right, for never were there happier creatures than we have been, though enjoying but few of what are called comforts. Our gardens, our forest plays, and the pains we took in watching the habits of birds and insects, were our never-failing amusements; and we desired no more, if we were but sure that Papa and Mamma were pleased with us. To the constant visits of Mr. Benson, our good old clergyman, we are indeed indebted for much of what we know; he speaks to us so kindly, and he often reads with us, and removes our difficulties by his clear explanations. He has always approved of our acquaintance with the creeping and flying inhabitants of the forests, for he says, natural history is not only a most entertaining occupation, but well suited to a religious mind.”
12th.—My aunt, in the course of the last week, frequently turned the conversation on Mr. Lumley’s travels: and he told us many interesting things that he had seen both in Italy and Portugal. First about the vine. In one of the Minho vallies, not far from Oporto, the fields are small, and surrounded by high oaks, chesnuts, and poplars; the ground is artificially watered, and every tree supports a vine, which mounts to the top, and hangs its clusters to the highest branches. In other places, the vines are supported on rough trellises, so as to form shady arched walks in summer. But neither of those methods is supposed to produce as good fruit as when the vines are kept low; and as these are planted in straight rows, corn and other vegetables are sown between them. They are pruned down every year into the shape of a bush; and a short time before and after they come into blossom, all superfluous branches are removed, and some of the leaves are afterwards taken off to expose the fruit to the sun. The ground is hoed before the leaves come out in spring, and again before the flower comes. Rising grounds are usually preferred for vine culture, and when they are very steep, the earth is supported by dry walls, so as to convert the face of the hill into a succession of narrow terraces, which prevent the heavy rains from washing away the soil from the roots.
He then told us that when figs are gathered in that country, they are thrown into a heap, in a building prepared for the purpose, and that a syrup flows from them which is used for making brandy. They are then spread to dry in the sun, and after some days, are pressed into small baskets, made of the dwarf fan-palm, each basket containing 28 pounds weight.