find afterwards, in the Acts, that John and Peter are closely associated.

Indeed, it is held by Baur that the design is to lead the reader to the inference that John is the author. Now, if we suppose that this inference is the simple fact, we have in the modest suppression of his name by John the manifestation of a certain delicacy of feeling, which is consonant with the spirit of the work. It would be connected with its real author by those to whom he gave it, without any proclamation on his part of his relation to it; as in truth it was ascribed to John from the outset. On the contrary, supposing the Gospel not to be genuine, we are obliged to attribute to the author a refinement in fraud, an outlay of skill in deception, wholly inconsistent with the simplicity and pure tone of this Gospel, and not likely to exist in a literary forger. Judging from other known specimens of apocryphal literature, and from the intrinsic probabilities in the case, we should expect of such a fraudulent writer, that he would boldly and openly assume the name and apostolic authority of John, instead of leaving the authorship to be ascertained in the manner we have indicated, by a careful inspection and combination of passages. The indirect, modest way, then, in which the author discovers himself carries with it the unmistakable character of truth.

2. The truth of this claim of the fourth Gospel to have John for its author, is confirmed by the graphic character of the narrative, the many touches characteristic of an eyewitness, and by other indications of an immediate knowledge, on the part of the writer, of the things he relates.

In respect to these points, which mark the narrative as the product of an eyewitness and of one directly cognizant of the facts, none of the other Gospels can be compared with the fourth. We have not in mind here the general plan and outline of the history, which will be considered under another head, but rather the style in which the various incidents are presented. Of this pervading peculiarity of the fourth Gospel our readers will be reminded by a few

examples. As one instance, we may refer to John ii. 35 seq., where an account is given of the calling of the disciples: "again the next day after"- the day is thus definitely given—"John stood and two of his disciples; and looking upon Jesus as he walked," - here we have the position of both John and Jesus," he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!' And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus. Then Jesus turned and saw them following, and saith," etc. In reply to their question, “Where dwellest thou?' He saith unto them, 'Come and see.' They came and saw where he dwelt, and abode with him that day, for it was about the tenth hour." Supposing the writer to have been one of these two disciples, speaking of an event that would be indelibly stamped upon his memory, this minuteness of description would be natural. If we have not an eyewitness, we have a subtle and painstaking deceiver. For another example of vivid recollection we may refer to John xiii. 21 seq., in the description of the last supper. We are told that Jesus was troubled in spirit, "and said, Verily, verily I say unto you that one of you shall betray me.' Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake." There is first an interval of silence, and looks of inquiry and fear cast from one to another; but who would venture to ask the question which of their number was to be faithless? "Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of the disciples whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him" — he signified his wish by a motion of the hand- "that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying on Jesus' breast, saith unto him, 'Lord, who is it?'" Jesus replies that he will point out the individual by handing him the sop. This silent act, understood by John, was followed by the remark of Jesus to Judas: "That thou doest, do quickly. Now no man at the table knew for what intent he spake this unto him." Some of them, we are told, thought that Judas was directed to buy those things that they had need of against the feast, or to give something to the poor.'

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Who can avoid feeling that the writer is here presenting a scene that was pictured on his memory? How unnatural, as well as painful, is the supposition of a carefully contrived fiction! Another instance of particular recollection is found in John xviii. 15 seq., where, in connection with the account of the bringing of Christ before Caiaphas, we read: "And Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another disciple; that disciple was known unto the high priest, and went in with the Jews into the palace of the high priest. But Peter stood at the door without." Peter had no such means of admission. "Then went out that other disciple which was known unto the high priest, and spake unto her that kept the door, and brought in Peter." There the inquiry of this door-keeper drew from Peter his first denial of a connection with Christ; and we read further: "The servants and officers stood there, who had made a fire of coals; for it was cold: and they warmed themselves, and Peter stood with them and warmed himself." The circumstance of there being a fire is mentioned by Luke, but in the manner of stating it in John, as well as in the preceding circumstances that are peculiar to him, we find the clearest signs of a personal recollection. The record of the inward conflict and vacillation of Pilate as displayed in his conduct (ch. xix), is characterized by the same features, which show it to be a vivid recollection of circumstances witnessed by the writer. So there is much in the narrative of the crucifixion having the same peculiarity. Thus we read (vs. 26, 27): “ When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son.' 6 saith he to the disciple, 'Behold thy mother.' And from that hour that disciple took her to his own home." And again we read (vs. 34, 35): "One of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came thereout blood and water. And he that saw it bare record, and his record is true; and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye might believe." Is this too a fiction, which the author sought to VOL. XXI. No. 82.

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Then

commend to credence by a solemn asseveration, or is it a simple, faithful reminiscence?

What a lifelike description, and how true to the concep tions elsewhere gained of the respective characters, is the account of the running of Peter and John to the empty sepulchre. They "ran both together;" but the other disciple, outrunning Peter and arriving first at the sepulchre, pauses, and, stooping down to look in, sees "the linen clothes lying;" yet struck, perhaps, with a feeling of awe, enters not. "Then cometh Simon Peter following him;" but not sharing in the hesitation of his companion, with characteristic impetuosity, at once goes in, "and seeth the linen clothes lie, and the napkin that was about his head not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself. Then," encouraged by the example of his more forward associate, "went in also that other disciple, which came first to the sepulchre, and he saw and believed" (xx. 3-9). The same freshness and naturalness which belong to the record of outward events are found in the portrayal of mental experiences. We mention, as an example, the notice of the refusal of Thomas to believe without seeing, and of the reaction of his mind on being shown the print of the nails (John xx. 24-30); and the refusal of Peter to have his feet washed by the Master, followed by the request: "Not my feet only, but also my hands and my head" (John xiii. 9). The ninth chapter, which describes the healing of a man who had been blind from his birth, and the eleventh chapter containing the narrative of the raising of Lazarus, in their naturalness, vividness, and fulness of detail, cannot fail to impress the candid reader with the conviction that the writer was personally cognizant of the circumstances he relates. In how simple, unartificial a strain does the nar rative, in each case, proceed! And in how lifelike a way are the circumstances linked together! Observe, in the first narrative, the exclamation of the neighbors on seeing the man's sight restored: "Is not this he that sat and begged?" the different voices: "some said, 'this is he;' others said,

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'it is like him;' but he said, "I am he;'" the evident perplexity of the Pharisees; the parents' way of prudently evading a direct answer to their interrogatories by referring them to the man himself: "he is of age, ask him;" the naif energy with which he confronted the Pharisees' queries. In reading this passage of the fourth Gospel, it is difficult to resist the impression that the writer is stating, in a perfectly artless manner, circumstances that fell within his own immediate knowledge. Not less strongly is this impression made of the writer's immediate knowledge, as well as fidelity, in reading the eleventh chapter. Notice, for example, this passage in the conversation of Jesus with his disciples before he started for Bethany: "after that he saith unto them, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go that I may awake him out of sleep.' Then said his disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well.' Howbeit Jesus spake of his death; but they thought that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead.'" This conversation was surely remembered. What motive would lead one to invent such a conversation? Observe, also, the graphic minuteness of the following statements (vs. 28 seq.): Martha, who had gone out to meet Jesus, when she had spoken with him, "went her way and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, 'the Master is come and calleth for thee.' As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly and came unto him. Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in that place where Martha met him. The Jews then which were with her in the house, when they saw Mary that she rose up hastily and went out, followed her, saying, 'she goeth unto the grave to weep there.'" We must suppose here either an accurate knowledge on the part of the writer, or an elaborate and gratuitous skill in contriving falsehood. Who can follow this narrative through, and note the expressions of deep-felt human feeling,including the reference, in a single word, to the tears of Jesus, and not be struck with the obvious truthfulness of the writer? Or are there no marks by which sincerity and truth can be distinguished from fraud?