any men again vainly thresh the old arguments of
conventional theology, in trying to solve the "godless look of earth," and
take refuge anew in the manifestations of power and law in nature; not
without the ancient lesson, let us trust, of an awe which silences and
purifies, and leaves them in the light as of a mystery of meaning on the
sphynx's face, breaking into the dawning of a day which "uttereth speech."
Scientific agnosticism, in so far as it is an humble confession of human
ignorance, has its worship scored in this noble poem, ringing the changes
on the strain, at once plaint and praise:

Canst thou by searching find out God?
Canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?
It is as high as heaven; what canst thou do?
Deeper than hell; what canst thou know?

Curiously enough, as showing the power of conventionalism, the author
winds up with a prose epilogue of the genuine story-book fashion, in which
all things are set right by Job's restoration to his lost wealth, in
multiplied possessions. Pathetic persuasion of the poor human heart that
all things must come right in the end!

What the Epistle to the Romans, that affrighting _vade mecum_ of
theological disputants, becomes when read thus reasonably as a whole, with
critical discernment of its real aim, I will not try to tell you; but will
content myself with sending you where you may see it beautifully told,
with Paul's own upspringing inspiration of righteousness in Matthew
Arnold's "St. Paul and Protestantism."

III.

_Each great book should, as a whole, be read in its proper place in Hebrew
and Christian history._

The historical method is the true clue to the interpretation of a book. To
know it aright we must know the age in which it was produced. This is the
method by which such surprising light has been shed on many great works.
Who that has read Taine's graphic portraiture of the Elizabethan age can
fail ever thereafter to see Shakespeare stand forth vividly? What can we
make of Dante without some knowledge of Italy in the thirteenth century?
What new life is given to Milton's Samson after we have seen the blind old
poet of the fallen Protectorate in his dreary home! How can we rightly
estimate Rousseau's writings unless we know somewhat of the artificial and
luxurious age to which they came as a call back to nature? Taken out of
their true surroundings these writings lose their force and meaning.

In the same way we n