face of the earth. It is scarcely necessary to relate how it was acquired. It is the old story of the strong overpowering the weak, the witty overreaching the dull. India was looked upon as a place par excellence to get money; for if it could not be obtained by honest means, it was not difficult to do so by dishonest means; the field was an open one, with equal facilities for skillful cheating, or downright robbery. No Englishman would choose the climate or associations for pleasure; it was only tolerable as a country where money might be accumulated with more rapidity than any other. It was a favorite resort for broken merchants, younger sons of impoverished families, unfortunate lovers, for men who had doubtful claims on the good-will of the government. Its great distance from England, and the manner in which it was ruled by the Company, made it a safe place for every system of oppression. Ordinarily, one might commit injustice in India, and sleep as soundly as those pirates who scuttled a ship after they had robbed, on the protective maxim that "dead men tell no tales."

Oppression and injustice had been reduced to a system; each fresh cargo of hungry wealth-seekers gave efficiency to the plans and experience of their predecessors, until the culminating point had been reached under the governorship of Warren Hastings. Those who cared to think on the matter were not ignorant that there was something wrong in the management of India, but they never surmised the enormity of the injustice. The large dividend on the stock had a wonderful effect in blinding the stockholders. There were some, however, who knew much of the matter; but it required more zeal for right, more intellect, more physical endurance, more of the spirit of sacrifice than they possessed, and they quieted their consciences on the plea of inability. Indeed, it was no child's play to attack a powerful corporation, in which the wealthiest and noblest families had the rule. More than one minister had addressed himself to the task under a dim sense of duty, but the magnitude of the labor overpowered him, and he laid it down in despair.

There was, however, one man in England who, following his suspicions, had fathomed the injustice, and his indignation against the perpetrators, his love for the unsullied glory of his country, and his reverential love for humanity, conspired to move the depths of his nature, and urge him to expose the villainy. Some of Mr. Burke's. enemies attempted to show that he had personal motive in the prosecution. The fact was, they could not comprehend, in their contracted notions of duty, why a man could undertake so great a work out of pure justice and benevolence: there was a munificence

in the charity that staggered their utmost conception of self-denial. Whoever will read Mr. Burke's speeches will no longer be at a loss for the reasons that moved him to the impeachment of Warren Hastings. In his powerful imagination the wrongs of India passed in their fearful reality; and as he recited them brave men grew pale and clasped their swords, noble women swooned, and Hastings himself dared not look up. When Burke closed the accusation in the memorable words, "Lastly, in the name of human nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of every rank, I impeach the common enemy and opposer of them all," he but spoke in the truth and sincerity of his throbbing heart.

The marked characteristic of Burke's later days was his intense hatred and fierce opposition to the French Revolution. His speeches and writings on this phenomenon of modern history, are brilliant and powerful as a body; but they do not show his mind nor his humanity in its best phase. His great gifts and noble principles were not without the alloy of our common nature. He was growing old, and had to some extent outlived his associations: he was not held in the same respect by the young men who were taking the lead in politics, as he had been by their fathers; the party of which he had been the brightest ornament and most gifted mind, had been stranded, and those who saved themselves from the wreck no longer held together; those who had been his sworn enemies were the most prominent leaders among the sympathizers with the revolution. These infirmities and dislikes had, in all probability, some effect on his judgment; but it would be difficult for any one, in the present day, to show that his judgment was far astray. We do indeed consider that France has profited by her revolutions, but the price for the advantages was an enormous one; and probably the most enthusiastic lover of liberty, could he have seen the end from the beginning, would not have signed the contract. The revolution was an anomaly in history; no volume of precedents threw any light on its procedure. It was not strange that men should strive for liberty, and in the joy of their triumph commit excesses which a calmer judgment would disavow; but in this the madness grew wilder when men looked for returning sanity, and the tiger-thirst for blood grew stronger with each enlarged hecatomb of victims.

The view Burke took of it was a hopeless one, but one which was not without some foundation in fact. When he saw religion decried as a vapid superstition, and atheism promulgated by a public decree, his blood ran cold at the fearful reach of impiety; when he saw an impudent harlot adored as the impersonation of reason,

in worship, the rival of the meek and holy Sufferer of Calvary, his indignation knew no bounds; to his sensitive mind it was a crime to be silent, or exercise moderation. There could not be any sympathy between himself and the leaders of this madness. They were atheists by profession, and licentious by practice; and their theory, in his mind, was worse than their practice. Had his moral sagacity enabled him to penetrate to the real cause of the evil, as we see it in our own day, and to have seen the madness as the natural rebound of human nature from the oppressive slavery of spiritual despotism, he would at least have waited more patiently to see the result. Had he seen even the glimmering of dawn struggling with the dense darkness, his course would have been different. He was a friend to freedom; but he could see no freedom where the noblest men and purest women were given daily as food to the guillotine. His views of the necessary conditions for the enjoyment of liberty were well defined.

"Men are qualified for civil liberty, in exact proportion to their disposition to put moral chains upon their appetites; in proportion as their love to justice is above their rapacity; in proportion as their soundness and sobriety of understanding is above their vanity and presumption; in proportion as they are more disposed to listen to the counsels of the wise and good, in preference to the flattery of knaves. Society cannot exist without a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere, and the less of it there is within, the more there must be without. It is ordained in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters."

Burke's last days were not such as his friends could have wished. Age brought with it many physical infirmities; the pangs were keener, because he had not spared himself in his days of strength. But none of his wondrous powers of mind suffered decay; nor did his humanity grow torpid; it seemed to glow with more than the old vigor of his manhood's prime. He had been honest, and he was poor. The son, upon whom many bright hopes were built, died on the eve of his entrance into Parliament, to occupy the seat made honorable by his illustrious father. It was a fearful shock, but he bore it with dignity. Some of the best men in the nation, such men as Windham and Wilberforce, came to consult with him as the oracle of the age.

"He hoped," he said, "to obtain the Divine mercy through the intercession of a blessed Redeemer, which he had long sought with unfeigned humiliation, and to which he looked with a trembling hope."

Great as were all of Edmund Burke's intellectual endowments, and stores of knowledge, and wit, and imagination, their luster

grows dim when compared with his philanthropic virtues, and it is but justice that these should receive their proper acknowledgment. A man in his station must of necessity bestow much labor on matters of no permanent value, and laws that but mark the transition state to correct action; therefore, the proper estimation to be put upon them, is to be sought in the spirit and aim of their endeavors. Burke, so estimated, presents a noble example of the statesman; he deserves to be classed with Clarkson and Wilberforce, although he was immeasurably in advance of them in intellect, and broader in the sphere of labors. The memory of such men deserves to be cherished, for we live in an age that needs such examples-the example of genius consecrated to the service of humanity in the political arena.

ART. VII.-THE LOGOS OF PHILO JUDÆUS AND THAT OF ST. JOHN.

BY PROFESSOR JOHN A. REUBELT. — AFTER THE GERMAN OF DR. DORNER AND OTHERS.

Ir sometimes happens that men of opposite views treat on some particular subject for the purpose of making, not the same, but a diametrically opposite use of it. This is eminently the case with the λóyos of Philo and that of St. John. Men whose religious views are entirely opposed to each other, agree that the λóyoç of Philo is, if not in every particular, yet in the main features, that of St. John, but for the most opposite ends; the one party, taking it for granted that the Bible is true, have seen in this remarkable coincidence of many expressions used by Philo and the writers of the New Testament, and especially St. John, an additional proof of the truth of the Bible. This party is ably represented by Dr. Adam Clarke, the commentator, who is of opinion that Philo must either have seen the writings of St. John, or if not, he claims for him, at all events, a kind of secondary inspiration. "These testimonies are truly astonishing; and if we allow, as some contend, that Philo was not acquainted either with the disciples of our Lord or the writings of the New Testament, we shall be obliged to grant that there must have been some measure of Divine inspiration in that man's mind who could, in such a variety of cases, write so many words and sentences so exactly corresponding to those of the evangelists and apostles."*

• Notes at the close of the first chapter of John.

The other party, the so-called school of Tübingen, headed by Dr. Baur and others, takes it for granted that Philo's λóyos and that of John are identical; but, according to them, John was a Gnostic, who copied Philo. According to this "school," Christianity has little, if anything, to do with the historical person of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus himself, and, of course, all his apostles and disciples, were, at best, Ebionites. Paul of Tarsus differed from them only with respect to the validity of the law; and Christianity proper took its origin toward the middle of the second century, out of the logology of Philo and the Hellenists, which had been adopted and developed by the Gnostics. It is in the interest of this school to deny that Christianity has any organic life of its own. Professor Gfröner (das Jahrhunders des Heils, Stuttgart, 1838, part II, page 431) says: "To every doctrine, yea, to almost every sentence of the New Testament, a parallel passage can be found in the Talmud, the Sohar, the Midrashim." Neither the logology nor the incarnation is allowed by this school to be peculiar to Christianity; but both of them were borrowed for it from older religious or philosophic systems. For this reason it may be an interesting, even a necessary task, to examine this subject more closely; and it is probable that even good Dr. Clarke, had he been acquainted with the use that has been made of views that were advanced by him, would have investigated the matter more thoroughly before passing a final judgment. It is true that in the "list of particular terms and doctrines found in Philo, with parallel passages from the New Testament," (and this list might have been considerably increased,) some terms seem to be identical, and, therefore, very apt to mislead. Some of these terms are: vios Оɛov, son of God; δεύτερος Θεός, second divinity; λόγος πρωτόγονος, firstbegotten of God; εἰκιὸν τοῦ Θεοῦ, image of God; ὑπεράνω πάντων τῶν ἀγγέλων, superior to all angels; ὑπεράνω παντός, superior to all; ὁ θεῶς λόγος ταῦτα—τὸν κόσμον δε εσκομησεν, the Divine word has made all things-the world; TEρ Kaç TоV Θεου, the vicar of God; φῶς κόσμου, light of the world; ἥλιος νοητός, ideal sun; μόνῳ ἔξεστε τὸν Θεὸν καθορᾷν, he alone can see God, etc. Now it is unquestionably true, that if these terms, or only some of them, had been taken by Philo in the same sense in which St. John used them, the view taken by Clarke and others would be established beyond the possibility of even a rational doubt; but this is not the case.

It may become apparent, from a thorough examination of Philo's views, that his God, even, is neither the Christian nor the Jewish God, bearing a stronger resemblance to the "Ov of Plato than to the