ial restraining grace, in the composition
of the Canonical books, that though the writers individually did (the
greater number at least) most probably believe in the objective reality
of witchcraft, yet no such direct assertions as these of Luther's, which
would with the vast majority of Christians have raised it into an
article of faith, are to be found in either Testament. That the 'Ob' and
'Oboth' of Moses are no authorities for this absurd superstition, has
been unanswerably shewn by Webster. [5]

Chap. XXXVII. p. 398.

To conclude, (said Luther), I never yet knew a troubled and perplexed
man, that was right in his own wits.

A sound observation of great practical utility. Edward Irving should be
aware of this in dealing with conscience-troubled (but in fact
fancy-vexed) women.

Ib.

It was not a thorn in the flesh touching the unchaste love he bore
towards Tecla, as the Papists dream.

I should like to know how high this strange legend can be traced. The
other tradition that St. Paul was subject to epileptic fits, has a less
legendary character. The phrase 'thorn in the flesh' is scarcely
reconcilable with Luther's hypothesis, otherwise than as doubts of the
objectivity of his vision, and of his after revelations may have been
consequences of the disease, whatever that might be.

Ib. p. 399.

Our Lord God doth like a printer, who setteth the letters backwards;
we see and feel well his setting, but we shall see the print yonder in
the life to come.

A beautiful simile. Add that even in this world the lives, especially
the autobiographies, of eminent servants of Christ, are like the
looking-glass or mirror, which, reversing the types, renders them
legible to us.

Ib. p. 403.

'Indignus sum, sed dignus fui--creari a Deo', &c. Although I am
unworthy, yet nevertheless 'I have been' worthy, 'in that I am'
created of God, &c.

The translation does not give the true sense of the Latin. It should be
'was' and 'to be'. The 'dignus fui' has here the sense of 'dignum me
habuit Deus'. See Herbert's little poem in the Temple:

Sweetest Saviour, if my soul
Were but worth the having,
Quickly should I then control
Any thought of waving;
But when all my care and pains
Cannot give the name of gains
To thy wretch so full of stains,
What delight or hope remains?

Ib. p. 404.

The chiefest physic for that disease (but very hard and difficult it
is to be