The translation is for the most part exact and literal, yet made to read fluently, where this was possible—perhaps more fluently than the Greek text. The following passage from Isaiah ix. 1-5, is a good specimen of the translation, and, being well known as the Lesson for Christmas Day, will enable the reader to appreciate the singular discrepancies often existing between the Septuagint and the original text as it stands in our Bible. The passage begins in the English version with the words, "Nevertheless the dimness shall not be such as was in her vexation." In the translation of the Septuagint it stands thus—
"Drink this first. Act quickly, O land of Zabulon, land of Niphthalim, and the rest inhabiting the seacoast and the land beyond Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles.
"O people walking in darkness, behold a great light: ye that dwell in the region and shadow of death, a light shall shine upon you. The multitude of the people which thou hast brought down in thy joy, they shall even rejoice before thee as they that rejoice in harvest, and as they that divide the spoil. Because the yoke that was laid upon them has been taken away, and the rod that was on their neck; for he has broken the rod of the exacters as in the day of Midian. For they shall compensate for every garment that has been acquired by deceit, and all raiment with restitution; and they shall be willing, even if they were burnt with fire.
"For a child is born to us, and a son is given to us, whose government is upon his shoulder; and his name is called the Messenger of great counsel; for I will bring peace upon the princes, and health to him."
II.—ESSAYS, NOVELS, POETRY, &c.
(Under the Direction of Matthew Browne.)
There is something very winning about Mr. Peter Bayne, who, by-the-by, has just received a Doctor's degree from his University, and read whatever you will of his, you quit the page with respect and liking for the author. You will, indeed, go far to find books or articles which more plainly bear the stamp of manliness, kindliness, intelligence, and wide reading. These are some of the most necessary qualities of a critic, whether of life or literature, and most of them are of especial value in historical criticism. That has lately taken up with principles and methods not very favourable to the just appreciation of such a book as Mr. Bayne's last, "The Chief Actors in the Puritan Revolution;" and it struck some of us that the best points in that work were missed by too many of its reviewers. A venture of a very different kind is Lessons from my Masters: Carlyle, Tennyson, and Ruskin (James Clarke & Co.). This large volume has grown out of articles which were originally published in the Literary World, but these have now been much elaborated by Dr. Bayne, and have received considerable additions. The essay on Carlyle is beyond dispute the most valuable of the three studies, but they all belong to a class of writing which is sure of a welcome. We feel quite certain, however, that Dr. Bayne imposed upon himself a little, or more than a little, when he undertook his task. He tells the reader plainly he found, as he went on with it, that he could not maintain the attitude of mere pupil, as he had fancied he might. Of coarse not; and he need not have apologized even indirectly for the freedom of his criticisms, which might well have been much bolder. The real attraction of the work he undertook was, that it would give him scope for widely-ranging comment; and it is the inevitable, by no means inartistic or unhealthy discursiveness of the treatment which makes it difficult to do justice to it. But we will venture upon a point or two nearly at random.
In discussing "Model Prisons," or rather the assumptions of that Latter-day Pamphlet, Mr. Bayne takes a view of our duty to criminals with which we agree, and he quotes the fact that the majority of those who belong to the criminal class are found to have abnormal brains and often diseased bodies. He also treats just in the way we might expect the dictum that stupidity means badness. The last meaning of that, we almost fear, Mr. Bayne has not quite caught; as John Bunyan meant it, and as Carlyle means it, it is surely true. Again, it seems doubtful if Mr. Bayne, in taking up Kant's complaint that, while there is so much kindness in the world, there is so little justice, has put the complaint in the right place. It is awfull true, and not to be hidden from any honest and acute observer, that the love of justice and truth is very weak in most human beings; while the instinct of kindness is comparatively strong. Again, Dr. Bayne nearly surprises us by adopting the commonplace that great talents bring with them an increase of moral responsibility. Well, we all know the insuperable difficulties of the subject, how they all run up at last into one final problem of which the most plausible-looking solutions turn out to be only paradoxes. But, after all, can it be maintained that there is really any final difference in the degree of moral responsibility to be assigned to a man with a constitution like Byron's or Edgar Poe's, and that which is to be assigned to one of those criminals with abnormal brains? Shelley's grandfather was crazed; the father, Sir Timothy, was half-crazed; what Shelley was we know. And can we consistently say that his faults (we do not speak of any particular act) were one shade less the natural result of the constitution of his brain than are those of any of Mr. Carlyle's "dog-faced" criminals? Is there any sense in suggesting that the splendid powers of such a man ought to be expected to act as breakwaters against the force of his special temptations? Of course we know how the enlightened British juryman would answer such a question, and equally of course there are rocks ahead answer it as you may; but we must pause a little longer on it than Dr. Bayne does (page 89) over the question "What is justice?"
Passing over other things, we now come to smoother water—the Essay on Tennyson. Here there is, of course, much to say "on both sides." Many of us would have liked a little less poet-worship, and a little more scrutiny. "The Princess" is dismissed with a line or two of apology—but it is far more, for Dr. Bayne's purpose, than "a serio-comic poem,"—it contains, indirectly, a great deal of self-disclosure. There is something very wrong about M. Taine's way of looking at Mr. Tennyson's domestic sweetness, but he has a glimpse of a truth about the poet and his work. Whatever the worshippers of Mr. Tennyson may say, his poetry contains more feeling after human passion if haply he may find it, than of passion itself; and he is conventional. He has never been right out and away into the wilderness. His poetry wants largeness, boldness, and breadth of atmosphere. We find no fault—being profoundly grateful for what this exquisite singer has given us; and knowing better than to expect contradictory qualities from the same harp; and certainly M. Taine has made a great blunder in setting up Alfred de Musset on the other side of his antithesis—but it is a fact that Mr. Tennyson has shown in his writings a tendency (or sub-tendency, if the phrase may pass) to please Mrs. Grundy, as well as the higher Pallas—a tendency which does a little to excuse those who insult the poor old soul without occasion; and who, indeed, are sometimes thought to be grimacing at the Divine Wisdom, when they are only teasing the old lady.