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the ignorance of the Greeks as to the true meaning both of the traditions of the fathers, and the ceremonials of the Egyptians.

The history of the Grecian Mythology seems to consist of two principal eras.—1. That in which the nomenclature is obviously referable to the Hebrew language. 2 A period in which the terms are all derived from the Greek. This affords a clear line of demarcation, in both the Egyptian and Grecian Mythology, for the early parts both of the Grecian and Egyptian Mythology are capable of being explained by the Hebrew language, while the particulars of a later date are wholly referable to the Greek. To suppose that such a tissue of nonsense and absurdity as that of the Greek Mythology was aboriginally, the production and invention of the Greek poets and philosophers, is a very poor compliment to their understandings; and there is no other way of exonerating them from the disgrace attached to it, than by admitting that it is such as it is through the ignorance or misunderstanding of those by whom it was transmitted to them.

I shall endeavour to support these arguments by illustrative examples, after first delivering a few observations on the following subjects, viz: fable, fiction, and figurative language.

First, with respect to fable. I conceive that fuble, properly so called, is nearly synonymous with parable, and that both terms imply the assumption of characters and circumstances, for the purpose of making them the medium of instruction; the persons to whom the fable or parable is addressed, being fully aware that the said characters and circumstances are not real but assumed, and that for the laudable purpose of conveying important truths in the most pleasing and impressive manner; at the same time, preserving throughout the whole, a certain propriety and consistency of character, while fiction gives full scope to the imagination and invention, without thus restraining it within the limits of propriety,

consistency, and probability. If these definitions have any claim to truth and accuracy, then the legendary tales, and absurd stories, that constitute so large a portion of the Grecian Mythology, have more claim to the title of fiction than of fable. I would, however, add, that appearances do not always justify the charge of fiction.

With regard to figurative language, I would observe, "that it has been usual to attribute figurative language to a warmth of imagination, and a fondness for strong expressions and glowing description, peculiar to mankind in early ages, and in the infancy of literature." I apprehend that figurative language might, with more propriety and truth, be ascribed to that poverty of language, which in primeval times compelled the speaker to describe persons, things, and circumstances, of which he had little or no knowledge, by such well-known and familiar objects as bore the nearest resemblance to the subject to be spoken of, either in figure, quality, or condition.

In the language of scripture, penned before the city of Athens had existence, or the different states of Greece had emerged from their primeval rudeness and barbarity, we find that almost all the epithets are figurative. Thus, for instance, the supreme Being, on account of the cheering and animating influence of his sacred presence, is called a sun; on account of his protecting power, he is denominated a shield-a fortressa strong tower; for his immutable stability, he is named a rock-a pillar; and for his tender care of his people, he is spoken of under the endearing epithets of father and shepherd.

The metaphor of a rock was applied to the Almighty as early as the days of Moses, for in that beautiful commemorative poem, which I have already noticed, we find these expressions, "their rock is not as our rock, our enemies themselves being judges." But we have still earlier instances of the metaphor, in the prophetic benedictions of the dying patriarch Jacob, in

which he designates some of his sons in the following manner: "Judah is a lion's whelp. Isaachar is a strong ass, couching down between two burdens. Naphtali is a hind let loose. Joseph is a fruitful bough, even a fruitful bough by the side of a well whose branches run over the wall." To all these terms the idea of similitude was so closely attached, as to render any explanatory terms unnecessary.

Even in the present day we occasionally find this mode of speech very convenient, and we have recourse to it for utility and not for embellishment. Thus to designate the largest sized paper that is made, we combine the name of the largest known animal with the word paper, and we say elephant-paper; nor have we any fear of being misunderstood in using this heterogeneous compound. This appears to me to be the true origin of metaphors, and consequently of allegories, which are a series of metaphors, and to be the true reason that the language of scripture is apparently so figurative.

There is in this stile of composition a conciseness and beautiful simplicity, which rendered it peculiarly suitable for detached histories to be committed to memory; it is therefore no wonder that it was adopted by the unlettered historians of primeval ages.

There is perhaps no example of the allegory so perfect in its figure, so sublimely beautiful, and so elegantly simple, as that contained in the 80th Psalm. The celebrated allegory of Plato, in which he compares the human body to a fortified city, is tedious, laboured, and inflated, and in some instances truly disgusting. But though we have reason to believe, that the first fathers of mankind did occasionally deliver some of their histories or memorials in the form of allegories, yet we shall find that some of these ancient histories had the appearance of being figurative or allegorical, when they were really literal; we shall also discover that in some of the Greek mythologies, there is the appearance of fiction without the reality.

In illustration of this, I will endeavour to analyze the ancient Grecian story or fable, as it is called, of the Giants. At first sight, this has all the appearance of a wild and romantic fiction, but on a closer and more attentive examination, it will be found to be one of those primeval histories, that the first emigrants carried with them into the different countries to which they removed themselves and their families, deriving a fictious and romantic character from the ignorance of the original language of some of the epithets that remained untranslated. We may suppose the primitive history or memorial to have been couched in nearly the following

terms.

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Then enemies arose. Then came Briareus and Othus. Ephialtes loaded the sun with mountains. Enceladus rushed forth with fury. Mimas darkened the heavens; and Rhacus tore up the thick trees of the forest. The presence of Porphyrion was terrible.”

What could be more natural for persons unacquainted with the meaning of the untranslated epithets contained in this memorial, than to suppose some dreadful and potent beings waging war with the heavens? Accordingly we find the ancient Greek mythologists thus treating the subject, and asserting that powerful giants, one of whom had a hundred hands, warred against the ruler of the heavens; that one of them threw the fourth of a mountain at the sun; and that another was so strong that he tore up the thickest trees by the roots. Here is a slight exaggeration, but no premeditated fiction; the errors are those of ignorance; for while the narrative itself had undergone the progressive changes of languages that time had introduced, these epithets remained in their primitive form, as is precisely the case with the scriptures at this day. Whatever may be the language into which they are translated, the proper names are still Hebrew. If we translate the proper names of this ancient memorial, we shall come at its true meaning, and be able to refer it to its true origin, thus:

« Then came the enemies—then came loss of serenity, and diversity of seasons--the gathering clouds covered the sun with mountains-torrents rushed forth with fury-rain darkened the heavens-the wind tore up the thick trees of the forest-the bursting of the earth was terrible."

Here is no mystic veil wrought in fancy's airy loom, for the purpose of enveloping truth in fiction; the whole is a plain narrative in language that, with the exception of one expression, is purely literal, and even this expression is to be accounted for, on the principle I have laid down with respect to figurative language, viz: that of expressing things that are new to us, by some familiar object that bears the nearest resemblance to the thing to be described. What could be more strikingly descriptive of those huge masses of clouds, which frequently pass in succession over the sun, and at intervals hide him from our sight, than the epithet of rocks? In seeking for some familiar object by which to designate these novel appearances, rocks and mountains would naturally present themselves. The whole of this ap parent fiction is by this analysis shown to be a literal history of one of the most important and awful events that ever occurred since the creation of the world.

It is evident that this history or memorial was intended to commemorate the awful and novel appearances that presented themselves at the time, and immediately after the deluge. These untranslated terms, being Hebrew, shew the patriarchial origin of this historical fragment, and the circumstances related refer it to Noah or Shem for its author; for none but those who had witnessed this tremendous catastrophe, and the mournful contrast that the new order of nature exhibited, compared with the former state of things, could have been the authors of it; and in those Hebrew words that have been preserved for ages, we have the very words in which Noah and his sons instructed their children, in the wonderful changes that took place at the time of the general deluge. This therefore which has always been.

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