‘Oh, to be above,’ Blair exclaimed, ’where there are no misunderstandings!’ It was this same controversy that made John Livingstone say in a letter to Blair that his wife and he had had more bitterness over that dispute than ever they had tasted since they knew what bitterness meant.  Well might Rutherford say, on another such occasion, ’It is hard when saints rejoice in the sufferings of saints, and when the redeemed hurt, and go nigh to hate the redeemed.’  Watch and pray, my brethren, lest in controversy—­ephemeral and immaterial controversy—­you also go near to hate and hurt one another, as Rutherford did.

And then, what strength, combined with what tenderness, there is in Rutherford!  In all my acquaintance with literature I do not know any author who has two books under his name so unlike one another, two books that are such a contrast to one another, as Lex Rex and the Letters.  A more firmly built argument than Lex Rex, an argument so clamped together with the iron bands of scholastic and legal lore, is not to be met with in any English book; a more lawyer-looking production is not in all the Advocates’ Library than just Lex Rex.  There is as much emotion in the multiplication table as there is in Lex Rex; and then, on the other hand, the Letters have no other fault but this, that they are overcharged with emotion.  The Letters would be absolutely perfect if they were only a little more restrained and chastened in this one respect.  The pundit and the poet are the opposites and the extremes of one another; and the pundit and the poet meet, as nowhere else that I know of, in the author of Lex Rex and the Letters.

Then, again, what extremes of beauty and sweetness there are in Rutherford’s style, too often intermingled with what carelessness and disorder.  What flashes of noblest thought, clothed in the most apt and well-fitting words, on the same page with the most slatternly and down-at-the-heel English.  Both Dr. Andrew Bonar and Dr. Andrew Thomson have given us selections from Rutherford’s Letters that would quite justify us in claiming Rutherford as one of the best writers of English in his day; but then we know out of what thickets of careless composition these flowers have been collected.  Both Gillespie and Rutherford ran a tilt at Hooker; but alas for the equipment and the manners of our champions when compared with the shining panoply and the knightly grace of the author of the incomparable Polity.

And then, morally, as great extremes met in Rutherford as intellectually.  Newman has a fine sermon under a fine title, ’Saintliness not forfeited by the Penitent.’  ‘No degree of sin,’ he says, ’precludes the acquisition of any degree of holiness, however high.  No sinner so great, but he may, through God’s grace, become a saint ever so great.’  And then he goes on to illustrate that, and balance that, and almost to retract