and in the right course there. Homoiousion, Homoousion, vain logical jangle, then or before or at any time, may jangle itself out, and go whither and how it likes:  this is the thing it all struggles to mean, if it would mean anything.  If it do not succeed in meaning this, it means nothing.  Not that Abstractions, logical Propositions, be correctly worded or incorrectly; but that living concrete Sons of Adam do lay this to heart:  that is the important point.  Islam devoured all these vain jangling Sects; and I think had right to do so.  It was a Reality, direct from the great Heart of Nature once more.  Arab idolatries, Syrian formulas, whatsoever was not equally real, had to go up in flame,—­mere dead fuel, in various senses, for this which was fire.

It was during these wild warfarings and strugglings, especially after the Flight to Mecca, that Mohammed dictated at intervals his Sacred Book, which they name Koran, or Reading, “Thing to be read.”  This is the Work he and his disciples made so much of, asking all the world, Is not that a miracle?  The Mohammedans regard their Koran with a reverence which few Christians pay even to their Bible.  It is admitted everywhere as the standard of all law and all practice; the thing to be gone-upon in speculation and life:  the message sent direct out of Heaven, which this earth has to conform to, and walk by; the thing to be read.  Their Judges decide by it; all Moslem are bound to study it, seek in it for the light of their life.  They have mosques where it is all read daily; thirty relays of priests take it up in succession, get through the whole each day.  There, for twelve-hundred years, has the voice of this Book, at all moments, kept sounding through the ears and the hearts of so many men.  We hear of Mohammedan Doctors that had read it seventy-thousand times!

Very curious:  if one sought for “discrepancies of national taste,” here surely were the most eminent instance of that!  We also can read the Koran; our Translation of it, by Sale, is known to be a very fair one.  I must say, it is as toilsome reading as I ever undertook.  A wearisome confused jumble, crude, incondite; endless iterations, long-windedness, entanglement; most crude, incondite;—­insupportable stupidity, in short!  Nothing but a sense of duty could carry any European through the Koran.  We read in it, as we might in the State-Paper Office, unreadable masses of lumber, that perhaps we may get some glimpses of a remarkable man.  It is true we have it under disadvantages:  the Arabs see more method in it than we.  Mohammed’s followers found the Koran lying all in fractions, as it had been written-down at first promulgation; much of it, they say, on shoulder-blades of mutton flung pell-mell into a chest; and they published it, without any discoverable order as to time or otherwise;—­merely trying, as would seem, and this not very strictly, to put the longest chapters first.  The real beginning