It appears to me that A. C.'s silence on the points about which I specially asked for information, compels the inference that there is nothing in Swedenborg's writings to show whether he simply assumed the authorship and the historical accuracy of the Gospel narratives, or looked upon such authorship and accuracy as matters of no moment, and upon the spiritual signification as the only important matter. In either case it would appear that no information on the subject was given him in the spiritual world. The direct object of my inquiry is therefore so far answered by inference.

I understand A. C. to hold that the correctness of the text at least, if not the historical accuracy of the Gospel narratives, is to be proved solely from within, by their being capable of an interpretation which "presents consecutive ideas, and a clear, connected, and consistent meaning, unfolding what we conceive to be truths of Divine Wisdom."

A. C. says that the process he advocates requires a "proficiency in spiritual life,” but I am quite sure he would not for a moment wish to imply that none possess a proficiency of spiritual life but those who follow Swedenborg's system of interpretation.

The truth is, that the religious teachers to whom I referred (but among whom I certainly do not class Hume, J. S. Mill, or others of their negative mode of thought) do largely agree with A. C. in principle, though they differ from him in its application.

They would entirely agree with him that the true evidence "arises, not from any external authority, but from the internal perception that good is good and truth is truth," and that "this, as regards individual conviction, is alone the ultimate authority."

They hold that the proof, and the only proof, of any writing whatever being a Word of God, lies in the spiritual life and power with which it touches us, and to which our highest nature answers with a quick response. They can therefore doubt the literal and historical accuracy of the narrative of a miracle, without losing hold of the inner and spiritual reality of it. The feeding of the five thousand, for example, is to them a real spiritual fact occurring daily in the spiritual experiences of many, and remains unaffected by any verbal changes in the letter, and independent even of the question whether such an occurrence ever happened in the exact form which has come down to us, or whether the actual incident was clothed in that form by the poetical quality of Eastern minds.

One thing I wished to learn was, whether Swedenborg's view agreed in any degree with this, for it seemed to me that his somewhat rigid system of interpretation, and his claim that the spiritual sense "flows

from each and all the expressions, and from the very words themselves, nay, even from every iota," require a definite literal sense, which might well be affected by such external considerations as I referred to. And does not Swedenborg state that all doctrine is to be drawn from the literal sense?

I may add that the question between this school of thought and Swedenborg is not, as it has been in other instances, whether God has spoken to man, but rather whether the Word of God is not a grand and wide Inspiration, of which what is contained in the Bible is but a part, though the highest and most spiritual part, and whether any limits either of place or time can be set to this Inspiration.

THE NOTE.

C. J. L.

"doubt

SIR,-When C. J. L. observes that there are those who can the literal and historical accuracy of the narrative of a miracle without losing hold of the inner and spiritual reality of it," may I be allowed to ask him whether the Christian is at liberty to doubt the literal and historical accuracy of the narratives of the miracle of the Incarnation and Resurrection of our Lord; and if not, by what rule is he to distinguish between historical and unhistorical miracles?—Yours very truly, A. C.

IN MEMORIAM.

The Very Reverend ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, D.D.,
Dean of Westminster. Obiit July 18, 1881.

IN Sebert's stately fane, Old England's pride!
Gemmed with the illustrious dead from age to age-
The brave, the mighty, versatile, and sage,

In storied marble for all time allied:

There Stanley's memory shall undimmed abide,
Whose cultured strains could every ear engage
On learned theme or quaint historic page;
Whose piety the brand of creed defied.
Oh! noble pattern of the Christian Knight,
Bearing rare honours on thy saintly brow,
And Sharon's fadeless roses in thy hand;
Lay down thy plume-receive the crown of light;
Thy righteous course long to our sons shall show
How worth and meekness gain the Spotless Land.
ROBERT АВБОТТ.

JESMOND LODGE, MALTON.

THE SPRING-TIME OF LIFE.

THE spring-time of life is a season for joy,

Young hopes like the buds with rich promise are rife,
Youth's vigour helps onward the summer of life,
All nature uprises her powers to employ.

The lessons of truth as they flow through the vale
Add verdure and beauty to each op'ning scene,
The hills sloping skyward arrayed in their green
Of youthful emotions tell sweetly their tale.
Th' harmonious tones that are felt and are sung
Among all the branchings of thought as they shoot,
The praise-songs that lark-like the sun to salute
Soar upward, whence all of life's gladness has sprung.
The length'ning daylight for knowledge and use,
The opening wonders of nature around,

The teemings of life that are ev'rywhere found,
The ideas that blossom with beauty profuse.

These gifts of life's spring-time should make glad the heart;
Though brief be its stay, 'tis a harbinger given

Of summer that never knows ending in heaven.
Then let us prepare; from all evil depart,

Rememb'ring that purity, insuring the bliss
Of life in that world, must be gained while in this.

Feb. 1874.

SELF-EXAMINATION.

LET me not, Judas-like, betray
My Lord with a false kiss!

As I have learned the heavenly way
So let me walk, nor ever stray,
Lest I the true path miss!

Know I the truth, and doth its light
Ne'er make me shrink from sin?
Do selfish promptings cast their blight,
And dim the warrior's piercing sight?
Then something's wrong within!
How shall I scan that mystic power?
How 'scape th' ensnaring spell?
How slay the wild beasts which devour?
How watch as well as pray each hour?
Spirit of wisdom, tell!

T. C.

Lost am I, helpless, impotent
To loose my captive chain,
To turn aside my will's sad bent,
Or make thought, will, and act consent
To combat deeds insane?

Yet am I ever doomed to be

An unenfranchised slave?

'No! if one tempting thought I flee,
'Twill snap the links of misery,
And prove an arm to save!

M. A. C.

THE BUILDERS.

WITH steady though but slow increase,
Through days of toil and nights of rest,
Or nights with anxious care opprest,
There grows the solid edifice.

Foundations strong and sure it hath,
Not on the nervous sand that slides,
But on the bony rock that bides
The sapping rain, the tempest's wrath,

Till finished as befits its kind,

In structure low, or high, or grand, According as the builder planned, To match the features of his mind.

The house, the home, the firmament,

Where Love's bright sun in splendour glows,

And wearied labour finds repose

Wrapped in the moonbeams of content.

The home where dwell in unity

The love-encircled family group—

The ducal parents with their troop

Of happy-hearted infantry.

Like faculties within the soul

The will that owns the mother's heart,

The manly intellectual part,

The thoughts that act the children's rôle.

1 Authoress of "Emanuel Swedenborg and other Poems."

But on a plane more high and wide,
That sweeps Eternity's vast field,
Each mortal for himself must build
A house wherein he may abide.

A house of which the stones and wood
Are solid facts that edify,

And stately truths aspiring high,
Roofed in with love, the highest good.
Some build to noble heights supreme,
And from their lofty minarets,

On which their sun no season sets, The golden peaks resplendent gleam. Some build, alas! of sand and mud Mere hovels of the meanest caste, That fall before the passion-blast, And sink beneath the evil flood. Some build pretentious palaces

Of tawdry tinselled dross and dust; These shortly fall, as fall they mustThe certain fate of fallacies.

Then wise beyond dispute is he

Who builds right earnestly and well
A worthy house wherein to dwell
Through ages of Eternity.

For now the Master-Builder's love
Is building on a glorious plan

A house for that collective Man

For whom were made the heavens above.
Of that Grand Man, that Body great,
Each one will be a member who
Sincerely loves the good and true,
And comes into the heavenly state.
A house of many mansions there,
A city set upon a hill—

That lofty state of mind and will—
The Master will for such prepare.

Beneath them stormy bolts may fall,
Malarial virus shaft its stings

With feathers from the zephyr's wings,

But these are high above them all.

A city built and kept for them—
None others reach that blest abode,
The city of the living God,

The heavenly New Jerusalem.

D. YOUNG, Jun