(9.) Least of all am I concerned to say anything more about the longer Scholion; seeing that S. Mark is not so much as mentioned in it. But I may as well point out that, _as it stands_, Eusebius cannot have been its Author: the proof being, that whereas the Scholion in question is a note on S. John xxi. 12, (as Matthaei is careful to inform us,)—its opening sentence is derived _from Chrysostom’s Commentary on that same verse_ in his 87th Homily on S. John.(586) (10.) And thus, one by one, every imposing statement of the Critics is observed hopelessly to collapse as soon as it is questioned, and to vanish into thin air. So much has been offered, only because of the deliberate pledge I gave in p. 51.—Never again, I undertake to say, will the “Scholion of Eusebius” which has cost my friend at Moscow, his Archimandrites, and me, so much trouble, be introduced into any discussion of the genuineness of the last Twelve Verses of the Gospel according to S. Mark. As the oversight of one (C. F. Matthaei) who was singularly accurate, and towards whom we must all feel as towards a Benefactor, let it be freely forgiven as well as loyally forgotten! L’ENVOY As one, escaped the bustling trafficking town, Worn out and weary, climbs his favourite hill And thinks it Heaven to see the calm green fields Mapped out in beautiful sunlight at his feet: Or walks enraptured where the fitful south Comes past the beans in blossom; and no sight Or scent or sound but fills his soul with glee:— So I,—rejoicing once again to stand Where Siloa’s brook flows softly, and the meads Are all enamell’d o’er with deathless flowers, And Angel voices fill the dewy air. Strife is so hateful to me! most of all A strife of words about the things of GOD. Better by far the peasant’s uncouth speech Meant for the heart’s confession of its hope. Sweeter by far in village-school the words But half remembered from the Book of Life, Or scarce articulate lispings of the Creed. And yet, three times that miracle of Spring The grand old tree that darkens Exeter wall Hath decked itself with blossoms as with stars, Since I, like one that striveth unto death, Find myself early and late and oft all day Engaged in eager conflict for GOD’S Truth; GOD’S Truth, to be maintained against Man’s lie. And lo, my brook which widened out long since Into a river, threatens now at length To burst its channel and become a sea.