account he is devoted above all that went before him. Nor am I willing to place John's relation to Christ on a parallel with that which his mother and brethren according to the flesh bore to him. The latter is as much below the former as carnal things are below spiritual. I do not commonly consult commentaries on a difficult passage until I have collected all the light I can from other sources, but I am happy to find after writing the above that my interpretation coincides with that given by the eminently pious and judicious Thomas Scott. Without the most cogent reasons, I could not by advancing an opinion contrary to his, weaken that salutary influence which his valuable commentary is exerting over thousands. тт usually appropriated to a spot employed for idolatrous worship; and when a mere elevation of land is intended the word ' is commonly used. Perhaps places called high places ornia, being places of resort, were occupied by distinguished and wealthy people, and were the abode of splendor and pleasure, and were the scenes of large assemblies, and these circumstances distinguished them more than their height. The "lords of the high places of Arnon" were men who occupied the principal places at Arnon, Num. xxi. 28. God made Israel" ride on the high places of the earth," that is, he gave him possession of the principal places, places of wealth and splendor and resort, Deut. xxxii. 13. See also Deut. xxxiii. 29, and Isaiah Iviii. 14. "God setteth me on my high places," 2 Sam. xxii. 12, Ps. xviii. 33: God gives me the safe enjoyment of rich and populous places. "God treadeth upon the high places of the earth," Amos iv. 13, Micah i. 3: God does all his pleasure where men are in the greatest number, and in the most wealth and power. In the beautiful lamentation over Saul and Jonathan, David says, "O Jonathan thou wast slain in thine high places." On this passage Dr. Scott says, " Jonathan is named as having fallen upon the high places where he had often successfully displayed his valor." No mention is made of n being scenes of war: בכה THE MEANING OF THE WORD THIS word occurs a number of times in the Bible, and a correct apprehension of its meaning will be of some use in understanding the Scriptures. Gibbs' Hebrew Lexicon from Gesenius does not in my view fully exhibit its signification. It is there said to mean height, high place. It did probably originally signify an elevation simply; but as men chose elevated situations for religious worship, and here erected temples and other buildings, and had public assemblies; the word came at last to signify a place thus occupied, whatever its local situation might be; and another word therefore was used when a common high hill was intended. Let the reader look into his Hebrew Bible, and he will find the word answering to hill to be usually If he looks to the נבעה or הר MISCELLANEOUS COMMUNICATIONS. To the Editor of the Christian Spectator. I EXTRACT for your pages occasional descriptions from the communications of an American friend residing in England, who has spent several years in that country and enjoyed many advantages for acquainting himself with its peculiar features and characteristics. The following notes were written during an excursion into Devonshire in company with two or three English friends during the early part of the year 1826. RUINS OF BERRY-POMEROY CASTLE. About two miles before we reached Totness, an old town situated on the river Dart, we turned aside from our route to see the ruins of Berry-Pomeroy Castle. We approach these perishing remains of art with different degrees of interest according to the associations with which they are connected in our minds. I knew nothing of the history of this castle, and therefore experienced no other emotions than those produced generally by the sight of ruins-a word often of tender and sometimes of terrific import. My feelings however were of a nature not easily to be forgotten. The path leading to the castle is through thick and deep woods, which entirely hide it from the view; and even after the visiter has approached the gate-way he is unconscious of the magnitude of the dilapidated structure before him, so thickly is it embowered by the branches and foliage of stately forest trees. It was not until I had passed the double gate-way and stood in the area, that I became sensible of its size and grandeur. Here a thrilling sensation spread through my frame, similar to that which I have sometimes felt on hearing a sudden burst of eloquence from some eminent speaker. These ruins are in several respects unlike any I have elsewhere witnessed. They stand on a rocky eminence with a rivulet on one side, and a range of hills rising to a considerable height on the other. A dense natural growth of forest trees has sprung up both without and within the walls, as well as on the fortress: these mingling, their tops with the lofty ivy-capped battlements and towers present noble and deeply interesting spectacle. Most of the ruins which have come under my inspection have been situated in the immediate neighborhood of houses, or surrounded by cultivated fields, but these stand, so to speak, in the midst of a wilderness, and seem to have come into existence, not from the hand of man, but by the command of the great Architect. Byron says there is a pleasure in the pathless woods. But how would that pleasure be increased were you, whilst travelling in a place where from few marks of culture you would scarcely expect to meet with any tenement of a human being, to come suddenly and unexpectedly upon the mouldering remains of a once proud and magnificent castle, the residence of some feudal lord of the middle ages; yet such was the case with me. When entering the woods expected to pass quite through it before I should find the ruins. This castle was built in 1070 by a descendant of Ralph-de-la-Pomeroy who came over to England with William the Conqueror, and received many lordships in this county as the reward of his services. In the reign of Edward VI. it was purchased by Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, in whose family it still continues. Twenty thousand pounds were expended in additions and repairs by the Seymours, but their designs seem never to have been completed and the whole was suffered to go to decay. In shape it appears to have been quadrangular, but only a small part of the original structure exists. The modern part is more nearly perfect, and is now covered with the most luxuriant ivy any where to be found. With me it is a matter of no small curiosity to observe the manner in which the ivy spreads along the walls and clings to the fragments, forming in some places canopies over the deserted halls and chambers, and in others hanging in festoons, as if in imitation of drapery. Nor are the vacant windows forgotten by the ruin loving ivy: they have their share of ornament, and I doubt whether they were even so pleasing when the castle was in its full glory, as they now are in their neglected and forlorn condition. You will not think it affectation in me to remark in passing, that when I am a spectator of a scene like this I am borne away by the mournful, yet entrancing reflections which crowd upon me; and particularly do I like to linger about these remnants of other days until the shadows of the evening spread over them, and the moon with her pallid hue supplies the place of the sun. In the latter case my imagination easily restores all the parts to their original state, and peoples each hall and chamber, and court with knights and ladies, squires and menials. [As our American Congress has just made an appropriation for the construction of a break-water at the mouth of the Delaware, your readers may be interested in the following description of a similar work in England.] THE BREAK-WATER AT PLYMOUTH. Mr. M- having some business to transact in town, Miss E and myself went down to the BreakWater. The sea being smooth at the time, we were able to sail along by the side of this prodigious work of art, contemplating it through its whole extent, and to ascend to the top by means of the steps which conduct to it. The object of the BreakWater is to make a safe harbor of Plymouth Sound for ships of any size, where they may run in and lie at anchor secure from winds and storms. It is constructed about three miles down the channel and extends half the distance across the latter; or otherwise, it is nearly one mile in length. It measures at the base two hundred and ten feet, and thirty feet at the summit. The depth varies, but it is in general thirty feet below, and ten above high water mark, so that the whole depth is forty feet. The slope outside or rather next to the sea, is more gradual than on the other. It was commenced by dropping blocks of stone, weighing generally from one ton to two, into the water in the line which it was intended to form, leaving them to find their proper place, and so continuing the process till the mass should appear above the surface. The first stone was dropped in 1812, and although many hands are employed upon it, it will not probably be completed before the year 1830. Two millions of tons of stone have already been used. The work however, was retarded in its progress by a tremendous storm in the fall of 1824, which broke up a great part of the top. It is almost incredible to to witness the ravages which the raging elements occasioned at that time. Immense masses of stone of four or five tons weight were torn up from one side, and thrown upon the other. Indeed the whole work seems to have been shaken to its very foundations, and the part which still remains unrepaired is a perfect chaos. A large number of men were employed in replacing these stones and covering the surface with hewn blocks weighing from two to three tons. It interested me much to observe the manner in which these blocks were transported from place to place. They are brought from the quarries in vessels, which are moored at the side of the break-water. From the latter a platform extends out in a line with the vessel, on which platform a rail-road is constructed. The blocks, having staples and rings attached to them, are hoisted upon the platform by means of large cranes. They are then conveyed on wheels over the rail-roads to any part of the work. Of all the stupendous labors which have been undertaken in modern days, this is one of the greatest. At least I have not seen or read of any which I think superior to it. The mind can scarcely conceive any thing within the limits of human power, more daring or arduous. What a mass of physical strength, aided by mechanical contrivances, must be applied, and what sums of money expended, in blasting, hewing, and transporting so many hundreds of thousands of rocks! The sight only of the work I know, can convey an idea of its magnitude and importance. I know not but the thought of throwing our own Alleghany into the Atlantic, would have as soon occurred to me, as the undertaking which is here described. Yet Englishmen have commenced and nearly finished it, and the BreakWater now rears its sullen head above the sea and seems to bid defiance to every element. Ships of the largest class may enter at either end and when once within its protection may reasonably be supposed to be safe from tempests. peculiar piety has thought fit to treat me. I did not "infer," as Antipas intimates, that he had proposed academical honors for excellence in religious virtue," and instead of insinuating" it, I distinctly said in words quoted by him, "I cannot attribute it to Antipas." Still, I showed the folly of such a plan, not indeed to convince him of it, but to prevent any hasty or sanguine reader from being carried away by the show of reasoning in his former communication. He argued the unfavorable bearing of colleges on the piety of our students, from the fact that college honors are given not to religious excellence but to mental acquirements. It was fair to shew that there was no better way of distributing them, and that therefore he had no right to draw any conclusions to their disadvantage. He was entirely silent as to any better plan,—and for a good reason he had none better to point out. I suggested the general resemblance existing or designed to exist between a college and the world at large. I allowed however that there is still too much of recluseness and distance from the common forms of life in our seminaries, insomuch that after a course of general educa. tion, a young man has to educate himself" in some sense for actual business. The tendency of his sug gestions, was I supposed, to make our institutions still more unlike real life, and therefore I deprecated a change. This train of thought he calls inconsistent, but he has not shown wherein the inconsistency lies, though he has disjointed some of my phrases, and by putting them together in different connections from those I had given them, apparently made me contradict myself. I could easily serve either of his papers in the same way, but I should not think it fair. I did not say or infer, as he insinuates, that those who have left their" first love" are better fitted forthe work of converting the world than those of an opposite character. He has subscribed to what I did say, but still he has suspected" that I "intend to misrepresent him." Such a temper unqualifies a man for the candid discussion of any disputed topic. If he would only lay aside his groundless suspicions, and unite in kindly deliberations and efforts for the object we both profess to have in view, something might be, would be done. But if every one who does not see with his eyes is to be charged with wickedness, and wilful misre presentation, as well as inconsistency and want of logic, he will find few to co-operate with him in any plans of reform. It surely does not follow, because those who have lost their first love are in an unfit state for the service of Christ, that those who have improved it into a steady, calm, and fixed principle, are not much better prepared for it than youthful converts, with all their ardor; and this I still maintain. If I had" appealed to Brainard," I should have pointed out in him, the importance of better regulated feel ings and tongue than he displayed in the conduct for which he was expelled from college. But the facts are so different from what any one would suspect from Antipas' hints, that I beg the reader just to turn to p. 52 of Dwight's edition of Brainard's life. There he will find that the "first love" of Brainard was disfigured by a union with certain defects which he looked back upon with regret through life. There he will find the facts, in direct opposition to the statement of Antipas" that Brainard grew up in spite of a college-yea that it was the opposition of a college which made him what he was." I consider Brainard and Antipas (in his last communication,) as justifying all I said of the comparative value of physical ardor and chastened steady principle. I excuse such tempers when united with the "first love" of a young Christian, but I think they tend to unfit one (comparatively) for the service of the church. EVANGELIST. DYSPEPTIC HOURS; A LETTER. My Dear Cousin.-You wished, as I took leave of you, "that you could accompany me, to escape from your little native parish and mingle like me," you said, "with the gay folks of fashion." The wish was natural enough in a girl of sixteen. But I know your cast of mind too well, to believe that experience would make you long willing to exchange your little native parish-your green hills and valleys and the simple pleasures of the country, for all the enjoyments of the fashionable world. However, as a fashionable complaint has placed me among these "gay folks of fashion," for a time, I must show you how much cause you have to envy me, by describing to you their gaieties; and for this purpose I will give you the history of a day-if, without wearying myself and you, I can weave so many trifles together as will fill up the description. The first thing we do, then, when we rise in the morning, is to resort to the Congress Spring, to gulp down water and look at strange faces. There is the same kind of interest in looking at people's faces, which there is in reading their characters-except indeed that there is that about the living person, which often reveals more than the written biography. You have the elements of character embodied before you, and exhibited in countenance, dress and mien with a force which description cannot reach. You have seen a young person whom no panegyric has power to make you love more than you involuntarily do the first time you look on him, and you have seen another at whom your disgust cannot be increased by any power of the satirist. |