bell, it is a sufficient answer, that they are already preoccupied by what is called Eloquence. ever he be) of the Declamations attributed to Quintilian, the cases are shaped with so romantic a generality, and so lightly circumstantiated, as to allow him all the benefit of pure abstractions. Mr. Coleridge, as we have often heard, is in the habit of drawing the line with much philosophical beauty between rhetoric and eloquence. We can readily understand, therefore, why On this topic we were never so fortunate as to the fervid oratory of the Athenian Assemblies, hear him: but if we are here called upon for a dis- and the intense reality of its interest, should tinction, we shall satisfy our immediate purpose stifle the growth of Rhetoric: the smoke, tarby a very plain and brief one. By Eloquence, nish, and demoniac glare of Vesuvius, easily we understand the overflow of powerful feelings eclipse the pallid coruscations of the Aurora upon occasions fitted to excite them. But Borealis. And in fact, amongst the greater Rhetoric is the art of aggrandizing and bring- orators of Greece, there is not a solitary gleam ing out into strong relief, by means of various of rhetoric: Isocrates may have a little, being and striking thoughts, some aspect of truth (to say the truth) neither orator nor rhetorician which of itself is supported by no spontaneous in any eminent sense; Demosthenes has none. feelings, and therefore rests upon artificial aids. But when those great thunders had subsided, Greece, as may well be imagined, was the which reached "to Macedon, and Artaxerxes birth-place of Rhetoric; to which of the Fine throne," when the "fierce democracy" itself Arts was it not? and here, in one sense of the had perished, and Greece had fallen under the word Rhetoric, the art had its consummation: common circumstances of the Roman Empiro, for the theory, or ars docens, was taught with a how came it that Greek rhetoric did not blosfulness and an accuracy by the Grecian mas- som concurrently with Roman? Vegetate it ters, not afterwards approached. In particu- did: and a rank crop of weeds grew up under lar, it was so taught by Aristotle, whose sys- the name of Rhetoric, down to the times of the tem we are disposed to agree with Dr. Whate- Emperor Julian, and his friend Libanius (both ly, in pronouncing the best, as regards the pri- of whom, by the way, were as worthless writers mary purpose of a teacher; though otherwise, as have ever abused the Greek language). for elegance, and as a practical model in the But this part of Greek literature is a desert art he was expounding, neither Aristotle, nor with no oasis. The fact is, if it were required any less austere among the Greek rhetoricians, to assign the two bodies of writers who have has any pretensions to measure himself with exhibited the human understanding in the most Quintilian. In reality, for a triumph over abject poverty, and whose works by no possithe difficulties of the subject, and as a lesson bility emit a casual scintillation of wit, fancy, on the possibility of imparting grace to the just thinking, or good writing, we should cer treatment of scholastic topics, naturally as in-tainly fix upon Greek rhetoricians, and Italian tractable as that of Grammar or Prosody, there is no such chef d'œuvre to this hour in any literature, as the Institutions of Quintilian. Laying this one case out of the comparison, however, the Greek superiority was indispu table. Yet how is it to be explained, that with these advantages on the side of the Greek rhetoric as an ars docens, rhetoric as a practical art (the ars utens) never made any advances amongst the Greeks to the brilliancy which it attained in Rome? Up to a certain period, and throughout the palmy state of the Greek republics, we may account for it thus; Rhetoric, in its finest and most absolute burnish, may be called an eloquentia umbratica; that is, it aims at an elaborate form of beauty, which shrinks from the strife of business, and could neither arise nor make itself felt in a tumultuous assembly. Certain features, it is well known, and peculiar styles of countenance, which are impressive in a drawing-room, become ineffective on a public stage. The fine tooling, and delicate tracery, of the cabinet artist is lost upon a building of colossal proportions. Extemporaneousness, again, a favourable circumstance to impassioned eloquence, is death to Rhetoric. Two characteristics indeed there were, of a Greek popular assembly, which must have operated fatally on the rhetorician-its fervour, in the first place, and, secondly, the coarseness of a real interest, All great rhetoricians, in selecting their subject, have ehunned the determinate cases of real life and even in the single instance of a deviation from the rule-that of the author (who critics. Amongst the whole mass there is not a page, that any judicious friend to literaturo would wish to reprieve from destruction. And in both cases, we apprehend that the possibility of so much inanity is due in part to the quality of the two languages. The diffuseness and loose structure of Greek style unfit it for the closeness, condensation, and so ayX15popov of rhetoric; the melodious beauty of the mere sounds, which both in the Italian and in the Greek, are combined with much majesty, dwells upon the ear so delightfully, that in no other language is it so easy as in these two to write with little or no meaning, and to flow along through a whole wilderness of inanity, without particularly rousing the reader's dis gust. In the literature of Rome it is that we find the true El Dorado of rhetoric, as we might expect from the sinewy compactness of the language. Livy, and, above all preceding writers, Ovid, display the greatest powers of rhetoric in forms of composition, which were not particularly adapted to favour that talent. The contest of Ajax and Ulysses, for the arms of Achilles, in one of the latter Books of the Metamorphoses, is a chef d'œuvre of rhetoric, considering its metrical form; for metre, and especially the flowing heroio hexameter, is no advantage to the rhetorician." The two Plinys, * This, added to the style and quality of his poems, makes it the more remarkable that Virgil should have been deemed a rhetorician Yet so it was. Walsh notices, in the Life of Virgil, which he furnished for his friend Dry Lucan, (though again under the disadvantage of verse) Petronius Arbiter, and Quintilian, but above all, the Senecas, (for a Spanish cross appears to improve the quality of the rhetorician) have left a body of rhetorical composition such as no modern nation has rivalled. Even the most brilliant of these writers, however, were occasionally surpassed, in particular bravuras of rhetoric, by several of the Latin Fathers, particularly Tertullian, Arnobius, St. Austin, and a writer whose name we cannot at this moment recall. In fact, a little African blood operated as genially in this respect as Spanish, whilst an Asiatic cross was inevitably fatal. Partly from this cause, and partly because they wrote in an unfavourable language, the Greek Fathers are, one and all, mere Birmingham rhetoricians. Even Gregory Nazianzen is so, with submission to Messieurs of the Port Royal, and other bigoted critics, who have pronounced him at the very top of the tree among the fine writers of antiquity. Undoubtedly, he has a turgid style of mouthly grandiloquence (though often the merest bombast); but for keen and polished rhetoric he is singularly unfitted, by inflated habits of thinking, by loitering diffuseness, and a dreadful trick of calling names. The spirit of personal invective is peculiarly adverse to the coolness of rhetoric. As to Chrysostom and Basil, with less of pomp and swagger than Gregory, they have not at all more of rhetorical burnish and compression. Upon the whole, looking back through the dazzling files of the ancient rhetoricians, we are disposed to rank the Senecas and Tertullian as the leaders of the band: for St. Austin, in his Confessions, and wherever he becomes peculiarly interesting, is apt to be impassioned and fervent in a degree which makes him break out of the proper pace of rhetoric. He is matched to trot, and is continually breaking into a gallop. Indeed, his Confessions have in parts, particularly in those which relate to the death of his young friend, and his own frenzy of grief, all that real passion which is only imagined in the Confessions of Rousseau, under a preconception derived from his known character and unhappy life. By the time of the Emperor Justinian, or in the century between that time and the era of Mahomet, (A.D. 620,) which century we regard as the common crepusculum between ancient and modern history, all rhetoric, of every degree and quality, seems to have finally expired. In the literature of modern Europe, rhetoric has been cultivated with success. But this remark applies only with any force to a period which is now long past; and it is probable, upon various considerations, that such another period will never revolve. The rhetorician's art, in its glory and power, has silently faded away before the stern tendencies of the age; and if, by any peculiarity of taste, or strong determination of the intellect, a rhetorician, en grand costume, were again to appear amongst us, it is certain that he would have no better welcome than a stare of surprise as a postureden's Translation, that "his (Virgil's) rhetoric, was in such general esteem, that lectures were read upon it in the reign of Tiberius, and the subject of declamations taken out of him." maker or balancer, not more elevated in the general estimate, but far less amusing, than the opera-dancer or equestrian gymnast. No -the age of Rhetoric, like that of Chivalry, is gone, and passed amongst forgotten things; and the rhetorician can have no more chance for returning, than the rhapsodist of early Greece, or the Troubadour of romance. So multiplied are the modes of intellectual enjoy. ment in modern times, that the choice is absolutely distracted; and in a boundless theatre of pleasures, to be had at little or no cost of intellectual activity, it would be marvellous indeed, if any considerable audience could be found for an exhibition which presupposes & state of tense exertion on the part both of anditor and performer. To hang upon one's own thoughts as an object of conscious interest, to play with them, to watch and pursue them through a maze of inversions, evolutions, and Harlequin changes, implies a condition of society either like that in the monastic ages, forced to introvert its energies from mere defect of books; (whence arose the scholastic metaphysics, admirable for its subtlety, but famishing the mind, whilst it sharpened its edge in one exclusive direction ;) or, if it implies no absolute starvation of intellect, as in the case of the Roman rhetoric, which arose upon a considerable (though not very various) literature, it proclaims at least a quiescent state of the public mind, unoccupied with daily novelties, and at leisure from the agitations of eternal change. Growing out of the same condition of society, there is another cause at work which will for ever prevent the resurrection of rhetoric, viz. -the necessities of public business, its vast extent, complexity, fulness of details, and consequent vulgarity, as compared with that of the ancients. The very same cause, by the way, furnishes an answer to the question moved by Hume, in one of his Essays, with regard to the declension of eloquence in our deliberative assemblies. Eloquence, senatorial and forensic, at least, has languished under the same changes of society which have proved fatal to rhetoric. The political economy of the ancient republics, and their commerce, were simple and unelaborate-the system of their public services, both martial and civil, was arranged on the most naked and manageable principles; for we must not confound the perplexity in our modern explanations of these things, with a perplexity in the things themselves. The foundation of these differences was in the differences of domestic life. Per. sonal wants being few, both from climate and from habit, and in the great majority of the ci tizens, limited almost to the pure necessities of nature; hence arose, for the mass of the population, the possibility of surrendering themselves, much more than with us, either to the one paramount business of the state-war, or to a state of Indian idleness. Rome, in par ticular, during the ages of her growing luxury, must be regarded as a nation supported by other nations, by largesses, in effect, that is to say, by the plunder of conquest. Living, therefore, upon foreign alms, or upon corn purchased by the product of tribute or of spoils, a nation could readily dispense with that expansive de velopment of her internal resources, upon which modern Europe has been forced by the more equal distribution of power amongst the civilized world. of eloquence, and that of the highest order, in the sanctities of our religion-a field unknown to antiquity-for the Pagan religions did not produce much poetry, and of oratory none at all. The changes which have followed in the functions of our popular assemblies, correspond On the other hand, that cause, which, opeto the great revolution here described. Sup- rating upon eloquence, has but extinguished pose yourself an ancient Athenian, at some it under a single direction, to rhetoric has been customary display of Athenian oratory, what unconditionally fatal. Eloquence is not bawill be the topics? Peace or war, vengeance nished from the public business of this counfor public wrongs, or mercy to prostrate sub- try as useless, but as difficult, and as not sponmission, national honour and national gratitude, taneously arising from topics such as geneglory and shame, and every aspect of open ap- rally furnish the staple of debate. But rhetoric, peal to the primal sensibilities of man. On the if attempted on a formal scale, would be sumother hand, enter an English Parliament, hav-marily exploded as pure foppery, and trifling ing the most of a popular character in its con- with time. Falstaff, on the field of battle, prestitution and practice, that is any where to be senting his bottle of sack for a pistol, or Polofound in the Europe of this day; and the sub- nius with his quibbles, could not appear a more ject of debate will probably be a road-bill, a bill unseasonable plaisanteur than a rhetorician for enabling a coal-gas company to assume alighting from the clouds upon a public ascertain privileges against a competitor in oil-sembly in Great Britain, met for the despatch gas; a bill for disfranchising a corrupt borough, of business. or perhaps some technical point of form in the Exchequer bills' bill. So much is the face of public business vulgarized by details. The same spirit of differences extends to forensic eloquence. Grecian and Roman pleadings are occupied with questions of elementary justice, large and diffusive, apprehensible even to the uninstructed, and connecting themselves at every step with powerful and tempestuous feelings. In British trials, on the contrary, the field is foreclosed against any interest of so elevating a nature, because the rights and wrongs of the case are almost inevitably absorbed to an unlearned eye by the technicalities of the law, or by the intricacy of the facts. But this is not always the case-doubtless not; subjects for eloquence, and, therefore, eloquence, will sometimes arise in our senate, and our courts of justice. And in one respect our British displays are more advantageously circumstanced than the ancient, being more conspicuously brought forward into effect by their contrast to the ordinary course of busi ness. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet."* But still the objection of Hume remains unimpeached as to the fact, that eloquence is a rarer growth of modern than of ancient civil polity, even in those countries which have the advantage of free institutions. The letter of this objection is sustained, but substantially it is disarmed, so far as its purpose was to argue any declension on the part of Christian nations, by this explanation of ours, which traces the impoverished condition of civil eloquence to the complexity of public business. But eloquence in one form or other is immortal, and will never perish so long as there are human hearts moving under the agitations of hope and fear, love and passionate hatred. And, in particular to us of the modern world, as an endless source of indemnification for what we have lost in the simplicity of our social systems, we have received a new dowry Shakspeare, Sonnet 52. Under these malign aspects of the modern structure of society, a structure to which the whole world will be moulded as it becomes civilized, there can be no room for any revival of rhetoric in public speaking; and from the same and other causes, acting upon the standard of public taste, quite as little room in written composition. In spite, however, of the tendencies to this consummation, which have been long maturing, it is a fact, that next after Rome, England is the country in which rhetoric prospered most-at a time when science was unborn as a popular interest, and the commercial activities of after times were yet sleeping in their rudiments. This was in the period from the latter end of the sixteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century; and, though the English rhetoric was less true to its own ideal than the Roman, and often modulated into a higher key of impassioned eloquence, yet, unquestionably, in some of its qualities, it remains a monument of the very finest rhetorical powers. Omitting Sir Philip Sidney, and omitting his friend, Lord Brooke, (in whose prose there are some bursts of pathetic eloquence, as there is of rhetoric in his verse, though too often harsh and affectedly obscure,) the first very eminent rhetorician in the English literature is Donne. Dr. Johnson inconsiderately classes him in company with Cowley, &c., under the title of Metaphysical Poets; but Rhetorical would have been a more accurate designation. In saying that, however, we must remind our readers, that we revert to the original use of the word rhetoric, as laying the principal stress upon the management of the thoughts, and only a secondary one upon the ornaments of style. Few writers have shown a more extraordinary compass of powers than Donne; for he combined what no other man has ever done the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose the very substance of his poem on the Metempsychosis, thoughts and descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or Eschylus, whilst a diamond dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose. No criticism was ever more unhappy than that of Dr. Johnson's, which denounces all this artificial display as so much perversion of taste. There cannot be a falser thought than this; for, upon that principle, a whole class of compositions might be vicious, by conforming to its own ideal. The artifice and machinery of rhetoric furnishes in its degree as legitimate a basis for intellectual pleasure as any other; that the pleasure is of an inferior order, can no more attaint the idea or model of the composition, than it can impeach the excellence of an epigram that it is not a tragedy. Every species of composition is to be tried by its own laws; and if Dr. Johnson had urged explicitly, (what was evidently moving in his thoughts,) that a metrical structure, by holding forth the promise of poetry, defrauds the mind of its just expectations,he would have said what is notoriously false. Metre is open to any form of composition, provided it will aid the expression of the thoughts; and the only sound objection to it is, that it has not done so. Weak criticism, indeed, is that which condemns a copy of verses under the ideal of poetry, when the mere substitution of another name and classification suffices to evade the sentence, and to reinstate the composition in its rights as rhetoric. It may be very true that the age of Donne gave too much encouragement to his particular vein of composition; that, however, argues no depravity of taste, but a taste erring only in being too limited and exclusive. The next writers of distinction, who came forward as rhetoricians, were Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy, and Milton in many of his prose works. They labour under opposite defects: Burton is too quaint, fantastic, and disjointed. Milton too slow, solemn, and continuous. In the one we see the flutter of a parachute; in the other the stately and voluminous gyrations of an ascending balloon. Agile movement, and a certain degree of fancifulness, are indispensable to rhetoric. But Burton is not so much fanciful as capricious: his motion is not the motion of freedom, but of lawlessness: he does not dance, but caper. Milton, on the other hand, polonaises with a grand Castilian air, in paces too sequacious and processional; even in his passages of merriment, and when stung into a quicker motion by personal disdain for an unworthy antagonist, his thoughts and his imagery still appear to move to the music of the organ. In some measure it is a consequence of these peculiarities, and so far it is the more a duty to allow for them, that the rhetoric of Milton, though wanting in animation, is unusually superb in its colouring; its very monotony is derived from the sublime unity of the presiding impulse; and hence, it sometimes ascends into eloquence of the highest kind, and sometimes even into the raptures of lyric poetry. The main thing, indeed, wanting to Milton, was to have fallen upon happier subjects: for, with the exception of the "Areopagitica," there is not one of his prose works upon a theme of universal interest, or perhaps fitted to be the ground work of a rhetorical display. But, as it has happened to Milton sometimes to give us poetry for rhetoric, in one instance he has unfortunately given us rhetoric for poe try: this occurs in the Paradise Lost, where the debates of the fallen angels are carried on by a degrading process of gladiatorial rhetoric. Nay, even the councils of God, though not debated to and fro, are, however, expounded rhetorically. This is astonishing; for no one was better aware than Milton* of the distinction between the discursive and intuitive acts of the mind as apprehended by the old metaphysicians, and the incompatibility of the former with any but a limitary intellect. This indeed was familiar to all the writers of his day: but, as old Gifford has shown, by a most idle note upon a passage in Massinger, that it is a distinction which has now perished (except indeed in Germany),—we shall recall it to the reader's attention. An intuition is any knowledge whatsoever, sensuous or intellectual, which is apprehended immediately: a notion on the other hand, or product of the discursive faculty, is any knowledge whatsoever which is apprehended mediately. All reasoning is carried on discursively; that is, discurrendo,-by running about to the right and the left, laying the separate notices toge ther, and thence mediately deriving some third apprehension. Now this process, however glorious a characteristic of the human mind as distinguishing it from the brute, is degrading to any supra-human intelligence, divine or angelic, by arguing limitation. God must not proceed by steps, and the fragmentary knowledge of accretion; in which case, at starting he has all the intermediate notices as so many bars between himself and the conclusion; and even at the penultimate or antepenultimate act, he is still short of the truth. God must see, he must intuit, so to speak; and all truth must reach him simultaneously, first and last, without succession of time, or partition of acts: just as light, before that theory had been refuted by the Satellites of Jupiter, was held not to be propagated in time, but to be here and there at one and the same indivisible instant. Paley, from mere rudeness of metaphysical skill, has talked of the judgment and the judiciousness of God: but this is profaneness, and a language unworthily applied even to an angelic being. To judge, that is to subsume one proposition under another, to be judicious, that is, to collate the means with the end, are acts impossi. ble in the divine nature, and not to be ascribed, even under the license of a figure, to any being which transcends the limitations of humanity Many other instances there are, in which Milton is taxed with having too grossly sensualized his supernatural agents: some of which, however, the necessities of the action may excuse; and at the worst they are readily submitted to as having an intelligible purpose-that of bringing so mysterious a thing as a spiritual nature or agency within the limits of the representable. But the intellectual degradation fixed on his spiritual beings by the rhetorical debates, is purely gratuitous, neither resulting from the course of the action, nor at all promoting it. Making allowances, however, for the original error in the conception, it must be granted that the execution is in the best style: the mere logic of the debate, indeed, is not bet * See the fifth book of the Par. Lost, and passages in his prose writings. ter managed than it would have been by the House of Commons. But the colours of style are grave and suitable to afflicted angels. In the Paradise Regained, this is still more conspicuously true: the oratory there, on the part of Satan in the Wilderness, is no longer of a rhetorical cast, but in the grandest style of impassioned eloquence that can be imagined as the fit expression for the movements of an angelic despair and in particular the speech, on being first challenged by our Saviour, beginning " "Tis true, I am that spirit unfortunate," is not excelled in sublimity by any passage in the poem. Milton, however, was not destined to gather the spolia opima of English rhetoric: two contemporaries of his own, and whose literary course pretty nearly coincided with his own in point of time, surmounted all competition, and in that amphitheatre became the Protagonista. These were Jeremy Taylor and Sir Thomas Brown; who, if not absolutely the foremost in the accomplishments of art, were, undoubtedly, the richest, the most dazzling, and, with reference to their matter, the most captivating of all rhetoricians. In them first, and, perhaps, (if we except occasional passages in the German John Paul Richter) in them only, are the two opposite forces of eloquent passion and rhetorical fancy brought into an exquisite equilibrium, approaching, receding-attracting, repelling-blending, separating-chasing and chased, as in a fugue, and again lost in a delightful interfusion, so as to create a middle species of composition, more various and stimulating to the understanding than pure eloquence, more gratifying to the affections than naked rhetoric. Under this one circumstance of coincidence, in other respects their minds were of the most opposite temperament: Sir Thomas Brown deep, tranquil, and majestic as Milton, silently premeditating, and "disclosing his golden couplets," as under some genial instinct of incubation: Jeremy Taylor, restless, fervid, aspiring, scattering abroad a prodigality of life, not unfolding but creating, with the energy, and the "myriad-mindedness," of Shakspeare. Where, but in Sir T. B., shall one hope to find music so Miltonic, an intonation of such solemn chords as are struck in the following opening bar of a passage in the Urnburial-" Now, since these bones have rested quietly in the grave, under the drums and tramplings of three conquests," &c.-What a melodious ascent as of a prelude to some impassioned requiem breathing from the pomps of earth, and from the sanctities of the grave! What a fluctus decumanus of rhetoric! Time expounded, not by generations or centuries, but by the vast periods of conquests and dynasties; by cycles of Pharaohs and Ptolemies, Antiochi, and Arsacides! And these vast successions of time distinguished and figured by the uproars which revolve at their inaugurationsby the drums and tramplings rolling overhead upon the chambers of forgotten dead-the trepidations of time and mortality vexing, at secular intervals, the everlasting Sabbaths of the grave!-Show us, oh pedant, such another strain from the oratory of Greece or Rome! | For it is not an 'Ου μα τις ἐν Μαραθώνι τεθνηκου Tas, or any such bravura, that will make a fit antiphony to this sublime rapture. We will not, however, attempt a descant upon the merits of Sir T. Brown, after the admirable one by Mr. Coleridge: and as to Jeremy Taylor, we would as readily undertake to put a belt about the ocean as to characterize him adequately within the space at our command. It will please the reader better that he should characterize himself, however imperfectly, by a few specimens selected from some of his rarest works; a method which will, at the same time, have the collateral advantage of illustrating an important truth in reference to this florid or Corinthian order of rhetoric, which we shall have occasion to notice a little further on : "It was observed by a Spanish confessor,that in persons not very religious, the confessions which they made upon their death-beds, were the coldest, the most imperfect, and with less contrition than all which he had observed them to make in many years before. For, so the canes of Egypt, when they newly arise from their bed of mud, and slime of Nilus, start up into an equal and continual length, and uninterrupted but with few knots, and are strong and beauteous, with great distances and intervals; but, when they are grown to their full length, they lessen into the point of a pyramid, and multiply their knots and joints, interrupting the fineness and smoothness of its body. So are the steps and declensions of him that does not grow in grace. At first, when he springs up from his impurity by the waters of baptism and repentance, he grows straight and strong, and suffers but few interruptions of piety; and his constant courses of religion are but rarely intermitted, till they ascend up to a full age, or towards the ends of their life: then they are weak, and their devotions often intermitted, and their breaks are frequent, and they seek excuses, and labour for dispensations, and love God and religion less and less, till their old age, instead of a crown of their virtue and perseverance, ends in levity and unprofitable courses, light and useless as the tufted feathers upon the cane, every wind can play with it and abuse it, but no man can make it useful." "If we consider the price that the Son of God paid for the redemption of a soul, we shall better estimate of it, than from the weak discourses of our imperfect and unlearned philosophy. Not the spoil of rich provinces-not the estimate of kingdoms-not the price of Cleopatra's draught, not any thing that was corruptible or perishing; for that, which could not one minute retard the term of its own natural dissolution, could not be a price for the redemption of one perishing soul. When God made a soul, it was only faciamus hominem ad imagi nem nostram; he spake the word, and it was done. But, when man had lost his soul, which the spirit of God had breathed into him, it was not so soon recovered. It is like the resurreo tion, which hath troubled the faith of many, who are more apt to believe that God made a man from nothing, than that he can return a man from dust and corruption. But for this resurrection of the soul, for the re-implacing of |