"Seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life."-Gen. xliv. 30.

"And Abimelech took an axe in his hand and cut down a bough from the trees, and took and laid it on his shoulder; and said unto the people, what ye have seen me do, make haste and do as I have done.

"And all the people likewise cut down every man his bough, and followed Abimelech."-Judges ix. 48.

"And he said, he that dippeth his hand with me in the dish, the same shall betray me."-Matth. xxvi. 23.

"This Judas said, not that he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief and had the bag.”—John, xii. 6.

"I smote him-I caught him by his beard, and smote him and slew him." 1 Sam. xvii. 35.

"Opened Job his mouth and cursed his day-let it not be joined unto the days of the year-let it not come into the number of the months."-Job.

"And the graves were opened, and many bodies of saints which slept, arose and came out of their graves after his resurrection, and went into the Holy City, and appeared unto many." Matth. xxvi. 51.

"What is man, that thou art mindful of him? Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels. Thou crownedst him with glory and honour, and didst set him over the works of thy hands."-Psa. viii. 4. Heb. ii. 6.

"Nicanor lay dead in his harness."-Macca. xviii. 22.

"In the most high and palmy state of Rome, a little e'er the mightier Julius fell, the graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets."

Hamlet, Act I. sc. 1.

"What a piece of work is a man?how noble in reason-how infinite in faculties-in form and moving, how express and admirable. In action, how like angel-in apprehension, how like a God. The beauty of the world-the paragon of animals."-Ham. A. II. s. 2. "We'll die with harness on our backs."-Macb. Act V. sc. 5.

From among a number of impressive subjects transferred by Shakspeare from the Bible into his immortal plays, and therefore the more deservedly immortal-that of the arrest of the Saviour in the Garden of Gethsemane will conclude the present paper. Though this scene, as might be expected, deprived of the associations which crowd upon the mind when contemplating the agonies -"the hour and power of darkness," the glory and triumph of " the Man of Sorrows" appears, shorn of its splendours and degraded, when made to bear upon the essayed capture of "The Moor of Venice."

The Saviour had declared that the hour was come when he was to be betrayed into the hands of men.

That he went there "to be found of them."

He goes to the garden, some of his disciples being provided with swords. An armed band, with weapons and torches, approach.

Instead of flying, the Saviour goes forth to meet them.

One of the disciples having smitten a follower of the band, the Saviour says

"Put up again thy sword into its place, for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels. But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled that this must be."

John, xviii. 3. Matth. xx. 51, &c.

Are we not then warranted in asserting, that the later and most wonderful of the plays of Shakspeare afford at least "imputation and strong circumstance leading directly to the door of proof"—of his having been a profound admirer and student of Holy writ; and, as a consequence therefrom, that to the extended list of books in the English tongue, to which our attention has been directed by his distinguished biographers, as the sources from whence his almost superhuman mind sought to satisfy its longings after knowledgethe Bible is yet to be added, and vindicated as the foundation and "chief corner stone" of the wisdom of Shakspeare?

* The design to be found-the details of the scene-torches and an armed band-the words of inhibition to combat-the reason, in the assumption of power to have more than met the emergency-if the actor had so designed, the intimation of a higher object to be accomplished, &c., altogether present so many points of contact and analogy, as to lead the mind to but one conclusion.

EXTRACTS

FROM A POEM "ON THE MEDITATION OF NATURE”

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

INTRODUCTION.

Or Nature's pure philosophy I sing:-
And my entire devotion and the flame
Of quenchless love upon her altar fling;
For she has ever been to me the same
Unchanging parent, generous and kind;
And all its better nourishment my mind
Draws from her bosom, and my heart would be
Cold as an iceberg of the northern sea,
If, when I gaze on her undying forms,
I did not speak the gratitude which warms
The flowing water of its deepest fountains.
Her quiet vales and her majestic mountains,
Her angry seas, that struggle with the wrath
Of the fierce tempest, rushing from the sky
To rend the earth in his destructive path,

Or flash revenge from his dark shrouded eye,-
Her still lakes, sleeping in the starlight beams,
Her warring cataracts, her peaceful streams,
The boundless prairie where the eagle soars,

The solemn grandeur of her ancient woods,
The haggard rocks that guard her bending shores,
Her green retreats and leafy solitudes,

All fill my soul with reverential awe;
For every where I read the changeless law
That tells its immortality!

INVOCATION.

Let us go forth and hold communion sweet
With the invisible spirit that surrounds
Earth's silent altars-let us go forth to greet

The woven strain of most enchanting sounds
That stir the clear waves of the golden air;
Let us go forth and mutely worship there!
From life's unvarying round, oh let us steal
Some fleeting moments we may call our own,
When, unrestrained, the heart can deeply feel
The quiet happiness to be alone.

Alone with Nature in some voiceless glen,
Or by some forest brook, or on the height
Of some uprising hill-away from men,
The city's busy tumult and the sight
Of all the sons of pleasure and of pain,
Where the free soul must feel its human chain.
Then, if within our hearts reflected lie
The perfect glories of the earth and sky,
If every feeling they inspire be fraught
With the pure essence of exalted thought,

Well may we deem, that round each bosom's throne
Float the white robes of Innocence alone!

SCEPTICISM.

The man, who cannot see the light divine
Which circles round creation's altar-shrine,
Can, through his tuneless spirit, never feel
The magic sweetness of her spirit steal:-
And though upon the sapphire arch above
Glowed the bright beacons of eternal love,
Vain, vain would be our ardent search to find
One star-beam mirrored on the sceptic's mind!

THE SUN.

Behold the sun in his imperial height,
Beneath his eye uncounted planets lay-
Wide o'er creation pours his lavish light,
From the beginning he has ruled the day.
How kingly is his sceptre ! see him wave
Its lustre o'er the firmament-and where
Fly the wild tempest-clouds? deep in a grave
Of rosy vapour falls th' expiring air,
And o'er the east the rainbow's arch is thrown,
While sinks the Day-god, gorgeous and alone!
There's glory in his setting-but the time,
When, like a monarch, from his throne sublime
He gazes o'er the world in mightiest power

Is in the silence of his rising hour.

On all alike his equal radiance streams;

The humblest flower receives his earliest beams,
The smallest fountain revels in his ray,
Beneath his glance old ocean's billows play;
His smiles upon the lowliest valley rest,
And proudly glisten on the mountain's crest,
He looks as sweetly on the cottage home
As on the splendor of a regal dome ;
And each faint star, that gems the distant sky,
Drinks the full lustre of his glorious eye!

THE STARS.

Oh, when to rest the wearied day retires,
How, on God's temple, burn the unwasting fires!
Pure, soft and still, each in its own blue sphere,
As when at first the mighty Maker framed
The bending arch, and bade its gleams appear
Where the great sun had through the ether flamed.
For ever beautiful! for ever bright!

What is your hidden mystery? do ye stream
From the clear fountains of celestial light,
And each to earth display a broken gleam
Of Heaven's immortal glory? are ye strown
Along the borders of that fadeless shore,
Which lies beyond those depths unseen, unknown,
To light the course of angel-plumes, that soar
High through your rainbow-coloured atmosphere?
Or are ye brilliant melodies-embodied forms
Of thrilling sound made so divinely clear-
Bright tones from lips that inspiration warms?
Or, as such perfect loveliness ye fling,
With hope and joy the spirit to inspire,

Are ye not glimpses of those chords that string,
In glittering order, Heaven's melodious lyre?

On the free waters let your vision dwell;
See how they flash beneath the golden ray!
Hark, how they murmur—as their surging swell
Breaks at your feet and slowly rolls away!
Like nodding plumes and helms and glistening spears,
The serried waves come rushing o'er the main;
Then, like a host, subdued by sudden fears,

They scatter brokenly to charge again!

Where the horizon meets the glimmering sea,

What fragile mists are floating!-Look, once more

A sail! a sail! and yet it cannot be—

'Tis but a sea-bird that doth lightly soar;

And where yon billows, like strown diamonds, gleam,

I soon shall hear his shrill, rejoicing scream!

And can such radiant beauty ever wear

The shadow of the tempest? Will its proud And vengeful rider, in deep midnight tear

The folded blackness of the thunder-cloud,--
Unchain his lightnings and arouse these waves,
Which now are whispering to the peaceful deep
Or calmly resting in their hidden caves,

To leap like lions startled from their sleep?
The whirlwinds wrestle and the billows rage,
And yet God holds them in his hollow palm;
He frowneth war-in conflict they engage:-
*-
He smileth peace-and lo! there is a calm.