book, as compared with the inexpressible spirit, not to be expressed in any book, no, not in a universe of books?"

Then, rising, and pointing seaward, "Look!" he said, “the moon is up already! Now indeed I must stay with you no longer. I have done my best to deal fairly with you, even to the point perhaps of being not quite fair to this little book, which I now hold in my hand, and am about to place in yours,

if

you desire it. But are you sure that you do still desire it? If you do indeed, I shall most gladly lend it, and you can return it to me, this time to-morrow, at the house of Justus. But be honest with me as I have tried to be with you. Do not take it as yet if you are not prepared to read it as a book that comes from the east through a western medium; a book that mingles, so as not always to be clearly distinguished, words of the Lord with words of the evangelist, facts and visions, histories and prophecies, metaphors that may be misunderstood, and poems that may be taken as literal prose. It will make you feel perhaps irritated, certainly unsatisfied. Perhaps you may end in saying, 'I want much more, I want to see the person to whom this book points, but whom no book can make me feel.' Then it will have done you good. But perhaps you will put it aside and say, 'I want no more "."

He paused, and looked anxiously at me. "In that case," continued he, "I shall have done you harm. But what say you? After this warning, do you-a Roman with Greek training, a reader of Homer and Thucydides-do you still desire to see this little volume that is neither a true poem nor a true history, a biography that hardly professes to draw the life of Jesus as He was, but only to make us feel that it must be felt, if at all, through 'a disciple whom Jesus loved'?" I assured him that I greatly desired to read it and thanked him with all my heart for the loan, and for the frankness of his warning. "Farewell," said he, placing the book in my hand, " my friend, my brother -brother in the search after truth, farewell!" "Your help," said I, as he turned away from me," has been more like that of a father." He stopped and looked round at me for a moment. "Would indeed," said he, "that it might prove so! Farewell!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

SCAURUS ON THE FOURTH GOSPEL

THE sun had set, and the moon was well above the sea, when, after parting from Clemens, I turned towards Nicopolis, with the new gospel in my hand. Unrolling it, I found twilight enough to read the first few lines while I walked slowly for some two or three hundred paces. Then I stood still to read better in the fading light. When it had quite faded, I sat down repeating what I had read.

"In the beginning was the Logos." Never shall I forget the unexpectedness of those words. I had supposed that the Christians altogether rejected the Logos except as meaning "utterance" or doctrine." "In the beginning" was, in some senses, familiar. I had read in Mark, "The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ." Luke, too, had spoken of "those who were from the beginning eyewitnesses and ministers of the Logos." But how different was Luke's "Logos" and Luke's beginning" from this!

I read on: "In the beginning was the Logos and the Logos was with God." What did "with mean? Was the Logos "at home with God"? Or "conversing with God"? Or "in union with God"? Or did "with" include all these meanings? And what was this Logos? The next words gave the answer: "The Logos was God."

These words alone, contrasted with Luke's preface, sufficed to indicate a difference between Luke and John, just such as Clemens had suggested. Luke began with a reference to many

inadequate "attempts" to draw up a relation about what he called “the facts"—meaning "facts" as distinct from fancies— consummated among us." Then, like a careful compiler, he distinguished his authorities, giving the first place to eyewitnesses," the second to accessories, or "ministers." These were eyewitnesses, he said, "from the beginning"; and he declared that he had followed and traced their evidence from the fountain head. John, like a prophet, went back to a "beginning" of which there could be no "eyewitnesses." He did not say, as Luke did, "it seemed good to me" to write. He said—as though he had himself been with Him who was from the beginning-" The Logos was God."

Glancing down the column before folding up the scroll, I could barely read in the fast expiring twilight the words, "And the Logos became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father." Clemens had prepared me for such words. As I understood them, the "glory" did not mean any splendour of material light or fire, such as is mentioned sometimes in the theophanies of Greek, Roman, and Hebrew writers, but the glory of God's constraining love. But I greatly desired to study the words in their context. Repeating them over and over again, as I rolled up the book, I hurried homeward. Star after star came out in the darkness; and with each new star a new suggestion of invisible "glory" shone on me more clearly. "This gospel," I said, "will grow on me like these visible glories. Night by night, and day by day, its words will become less strange and more wonderful."

On my arrival, I lit my lamp, and sat down at once, preparing to continue my reading, when my servant entered with a letter. Not recognising the superscription, I put it on one side. The boy waited about in the room, doing nothing that needed doing. I was on the point of dismissing him, when he said, "Sir, I think it is from Tusculum; but the superscription is not in my lord's handwriting." Looking again, I saw that it was in the handwriting of Marullus, Scaurus's secretary. Scaurus usually superscribed his letters to me with his own hand. In alarm about his health, I tore

the letter open, and throwing the cover hastily aside, glanced at the beginning. This reassured me. It was from Scaurus, and in his handwriting.

My apprehensions were soon banished. He had been ill, he said, but had now recovered after a somewhat severe attack. Then the old war-horse passed on to his favourite battle-field— criticism of Christian gospels. I was in the act of putting the letter down-for I had had enough, for the present, of criticizing the old gospels, and was longing to study the new one-when I caught sight of the words "fourth gospel," and discovered that he had recently procured the very book I was beginning to read, and that his letter contained a discussion of it. This was not quite welcome-not, at least, at the moment. I wished to read the gospel first, for myself, before looking at Scaurus's criticism, which (I felt sure) would be destructive. "Yet," thought I, "I have heard Clemens on the one side; ought I not to hear Scaurus on the other? If Scaurus goes wrong, ought I not to be able to find it out?” Scaurus was always fair and honest, and had helped me hitherto, even when I had not agreed with him. These considerations made me finally decide to read the letter and the gospel together, comparing each criticism with the passage or subject criticized, as I went on.

"Let me begin," wrote Scaurus, "with the point that will most interest you. I have accused Epictetus of borrowing from the Christians. I now assert that this writer-Flaccus tells me that the Christians say it was John the son of Zebedee; I am sure they are wrong, but for convenience I will call him John-this man John deliberately contradicts Epictetus, using our friend's language but in a different or opposite sense, or with opposite conclusions.

"For example, Epictetus mocks at Agamemnon for calling himself a shepherd of the people. He dislikes the Homeric language and says 'Shepherd you are in truth; for you weep, as the shepherds do, when a wolf snatches away one of their sheep' John makes Christ distinguish between the good shepherd and the hireling. It is only the hireling that flees and lets the wolf snatch away the sheep. In John, Christ says,

'I am the good shepherd,' and 'The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.'

Again, Epictetus declares that a good man never weeps. He blames Ulysses in particular for weeping at his separation from Penelope. John represents Christ as shedding tears in sympathy with a woman weeping for her dead brother.

"Epictetus constantly says that self-knowledge is everything herein (I must admit) going with other philosophers. John represents Christ as saying, 'This is eternal life, to know thee, the only true God and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.' It is impossible that Christ could have uttered the last part of this sentence exactly as it stands. But that does not weaken my argument, which is, that John (alone of the evangelists) insists on other-knowledge, not on self-knowledge, as being the essential thing. And this he does throughout his gospel."

Then Scaurus came to that cardinal doctrine of Epictetus which had caused Glaucus and me so many searchings of heart. "You know," he said, "that Epictetus teaches that no good man is ever troubled. It is not John's custom to contradict what he deems errors in a formal and direct way. But if he had resorted for once to direct methods, he could hardly have contradicted this Epictetian doctrine more effectively than he does in his indirect dramatic fashion. He represents Christ as thrice 'troubled.' First-on the same occasion on which he lets fall tears in sympathy with the woman above mentioned—he is said to have troubled himself.' Secondly, on an occasion when he is (as I take it) preparing for some act of self-sacrifice, he says, Now is my soul troubled.' On a third occasion, when announcing that he is to be betrayed by one of the Twelve, he is said to have been troubled in spirit.' I cannot doubt that this description of threefold 'trouble' is intended to attack the Stoic doctrine that the wise and good man is to shrink from trouble'." This convinced me, and it convinces me still.

Scaurus proceeded to say, "Some innocent readers of this gospel might say, 'Well at all events John agrees with Epictetus in his use of the term Logos.' And (no doubt) the first three lines of the gospel might suggest this. But