asking this question, we refer to the Bible as if it were a single book, instead of being, as its very name signifies, a collection of books, each with its own peculiarities, and differing as widely as an impassioned lyric from a mere genealogy, as the detached aphorisms of the Book of Proverbs from the intricate arguments of the Epistles by Paul. But the term is convenient, and, after all, there is little danger of misunderstanding. Every one recognizes the main characteristics of Bible diction in general, though he may never have been at the pains to define to himself just what those characteristics are. To my mind they may be summed up in a very brief phrase. Whatever their number or variety, I think they may all be comprehended under a single term, noble naturalness.

But the phrase, noble naturalness, may be vague enough to stand in need of further definition. By 'natural' in its application to men and women, and the books which concern men and women, I mean 'conformable to human nature,' and by 'unnatural,' 'contrary to human nature, either in whole or in part.' Human nature may, for this purpose, be regarded as made up of sensibility, intellect, imagination, and will. A book whose arguments are an insult to intelligence is unnatural; but so is also, in some sense, a book which does not address the intellect at all. The latter sort of book may be called unnatural through defect. With this qualification, no book can be said to be thoroughly natural which does not address the whole man. The predominance of any one element of human nature to the virtual exclusion of the rest is sufficient, in a man or a book, to constitute a kind of unnaturalness. It is in this sense, therefore, that the Bible possesses eminent naturalness, as I shall attempt to show more at length in the sequel; and if to this naturalness be added an accent of dignity or elevation, the product will be what I have called noble naturalness.

Matthew Arnold has devoted a large part of his admirable essay On Translating Homer to the proof and elucidation of four statements concerning the style of Homer. In one place, by way of summary, he says: "Homer is rapid in his movement, Homer is plain in his words and style, Homer is simple in his ideas, Homer

is noble in his manner."

An expansion of his thought is found in

another passage, as follows: "The translator of Homer should above all be penetrated by a sense of four qualities of his author; that he is eminently rapid; that he is eminently plain and direct, both in the evolution of his thought and in the expression of it, that is, both in his syntax and in his words; that he is eminently plain and direct in the substance of his thought, that is, in his matter and ideas; and finally that he is eminently noble."

Let us assume that the fact is as Matthew Arnold alleges, and that, viewed in relation to most authors, Homer's narrative is uniformly rapid, plain, simple, and noble. How does the Homeric narrative compare in these respects with those of the Bible? Evidently it is with respect to narrative that Homer and the Bible should be compared, if they are compared at all, for it is this department of literature that Homer represents. For the answer to this question I may refer to Chateaubriand's parallel on p. lxiii. I do this with the more confidence, as I am assured by my colleague, Professor Seymour, whose authority on the subject of Homer is not likely to be impugned on this side of the Atlantic, that Chateaubriand has in no respect misrepresented the Homeric style, and that an objection on this score cannot be made to lie against his paraphrase of the verses from Ruth. But, leaving Chateaubriand's parallel out of consideration, and appealing to the consciousness of what the old Morality calls Everyman, did any one ever think a New Testament parable too long, too involved, or too mean? Did any one ever think so of any Gospel narrative whatever, of the Offering of Isaac by Abraham, or the Story of Joseph?

Here, then, we might rest the claim for the noble naturalness of the Biblical style. What can be more natural than that which, without demanding conscious effort, calls up a grateful echo in the heart of every man, and offends no one by the excess of any quality in itself good?

But to pursue the subject somewhat further into detail. I have referred above to a division of human nature into sensibility, intellect, imagination, and will. To each of these corresponds a species of writing which is addressed to it, and constitutes its

aliment. Thus mathematics, and philosophy viewed in one aspect, appeal chiefly to the intellect; certain kinds of poetry affect almost exclusively the sensibilities, or the imagination, or both conjointly. Again, exhortations to resolve and action are primarily directed at the will, though they may call in the aid of the allied faculties. French critics, particularly those of the classical school, are wont to assert that in French literature the intellect, or reason, is supreme, other faculties being kept in strict subordination to this one. In Carlyle, on the other hand, we might say that the pure intellect is somewhat in abeyance; in much of Shelley's verse that both the intellect and the will are comparatively disregarded. With the Bible it is otherwise. Speaking broadly, it is

[ at once by a rational element, a sensuous element, an

imaginative element, and an animating or motive element. It is the union of these in due proportions which constitutes full and perfect naturalness, and such union we have in many parts of the Bible.

The Scriptures everywhere postulate intellect-or the absence of it; but only in a small minority of instances is it dealt with in what may be called the way of argument, or reasoning. There is no attempt to convert men from their errors by ratiocinative or philosophical processes. A right state of mind is denoted by such words as understanding, or wisdom. This is conceived as the direct gift of God, and connotes much besides clearness of intellectual vision. To the perfection of wisdom a right state of the will and affections is assumed as necessary, and thus we are led back to a consideration of human nature in its totality.

The presence of imagination in the Bible will need no proof. Who that has read the Psalms, or the Prophets, or the Apocalypse, can doubt it for a moment? And who will have any more hesitation in recognizing that the guidance of the will is perhaps the primary purpose which underlies history and precept, proverb, hymn, and vision of seer?

The sensuous element is perceptible in the metaphoric language and in the rhythm. However lofty or sublime be the sentiment, the diction is concrete, never abstract. Every chapter — with

comparatively few exceptions-is a gallery of word-pictures; and it is this picturesqueness which makes the Bible always attractive and usually intelligible. To the great bulk of readers the abstract is identical with the dry, and but few persons could be won to a perusal, much less imitation, of the Bible, were it couched in the phraseology of an Aristotle. The picturesqueness of Scriptural language addresses the mind's eye; its simple, regular, natural harmony addresses the ear. Its harmony is simple, because it depends mainly on parallelism, or, as it has been called, antiphony; with this may be contrasted the intricate symphonic effects of a Pindaric ode, or of its most felicitous imitations in English, and, in prose, the now accelerated, now delayed and regressive footing of a prolonged Ciceronian period. It is regular, because the ear, when ever so little accustomed to it, knows just what to expect. The verses fall into a march-tune; their movement is disciplinary, first of the emotions, and through them of life and conduct. It is natural, because the emphatic syllable of the word—and this alike in Hebrew and English - coincides with the natural stress of the rhythm, and both with the pulse of the thought itself. In other words, that syllable which is fullest of meaning gets at the same time the rhythmical stroke within the word and within the verse. If this principle be compared with the quantitative laws of Latin and Greek - which apply to the harmonies of prose no less than to those of poetry the difference will be apparent. Moreover, the balance of clauses is natural in another sense, in that their length coincides approximately with that of a single expiration of the breath. And this, as it is closely related with the pulse of the blood, with the beat of the heart, elucidates and justifies the remark of Dean Stanley, in his History of the Jewish Church (2. 165) "The rapid stroke as of alternate wings,' 'the heaving and sinking as of the troubled heart,' which have been beautifully described as the essence of the parallel structure of Hebrew verses, are exactly suited for the endless play of human feeling, and for the understanding of every age and nation."

The difference between the simplicity and directness of the Bible and the more complex and involved structure of Greek prose

4

may be shown by comparing the close of a Thucydidean speech, being about one-sixth of Brasidas' harangue to his soldiers before their engagement with the Illyrians (Thuc. 4. 126), with the whole of Gideon's address to his men before their encounter with the Midianites (Judges 7. 17, 18).

If you repel their tumultuous onset, and, when opportunity offers, withdraw again in good order, keeping your ranks, you will sooner arrive at a place of safety, and will also learn the lesson that mobs like these, if an adversary withstand their first attack, do but threaten at a distance and make flourish of valor, although if he yields to them they are quick enough to show their courage in following at his heels when there is no danger.

Look on me, and do likewise; and behold, when I come to the outside of the camp, it shall be that, as I do, so shall ye do.

When I blow with a trumpet, I and all that are with me, then blow ye the trumpets also on every side of all the camp, and say, The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon.

For purposes of comparison I add another speech, the prophecy of Jahaziel from 2 Chron. 20. 15-17, merely modernizing the punctuation in order that the resemblance of its sentence structure to that of a favorite species of nineteenth century English may be more apparent.

Hearken ye, all Judah, and ye inhabitants of Jerusalem, and thou king Jehoshaphat. Thus saith the LORD unto you: Be not afraid nor dismayed by reason of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but God's. To-morrow go ye down against them. Behold, they come up by the cliff of Ziz, and ye shall find them at the end of the brook, before the wilderness of Jeruel. Ye shall not need to fight in this battle. Set yourselves, stand ye still, and see the salvation of the LORD with you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Fear not, nor be dismayed. To-morrow go out against them, for the LORD will be with you.

Sensibility, we have seen, has a large place assigned it in the Bible. Every emotion is comprised in the mighty gamut. Is it friendship? Behold the love of David for Jonathan. Is it righteous anger? Consider the imprecations of the Psalmist. Is it exultation? Read over the Song of Deborah. Is it reverence, joy, hope, faith, grief, pity? Each one finds a tongue, and speaks the expressive language of the heart. How should the qualities of