-'T'4 rlu      - x\0    F-!




B E T H L E H E M
ai_ —~~~~~~.-.Er








SACtLED
SCENES AND CIIARACTERS~
BY THE
REVo J' T.: HEADLEYO
NEW YORK:
JOHN S. TAYLOR 
143 NASSAU STREET,!851 








CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION..           5
C HAPTER I.
THE RED SEA PASSAGE    o      9
CHAPTER II.
ELI...o    27
CHAPTER IIIo
RUTH..41
CHAPTER IV.
THE HIAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 55
CHAPTER V.
SAMUEL AND SAUL        o   o  73
(3)




iv          CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VI.
THE NAMELESS PROPHET   X   o  87
CHAPTER VII.
JACOB.,,  o 101
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILMENT;
OR, JACOB AND JOSEPH.   o 115
CHAPTER IX.
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.o     139
CHAPTER X.
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 153
CHAPTER XI.
PAUL... 171
CHAPTER XII.
THE TOMB OF CHRIST.   o       191




SACRED
SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
INTRODUCTION.
IN my' Sacred Mountains," I endeavored to sketch some of those scenes
which transpired on the hill-tops of Palestine. There are others, however, equally
interesting, which have no such associations. Often as the reader contemplates
these  in  imagination, the  profoundest
depths of the heart are stirred, and it
seems wrong that we should never endeavor to portray them just as they must have
1'*         (5)




6           IfNTRO )DUCTION.
appeared to the actors in themo  We ought
to remember that in the majority (I do not
say all) of the cases in the Bible, where it
is said the Lord did thus and so, no direct
agency is intended-every thing transpired
in accordance with natural laws, precisely
as would now happen in similar circumstances.  We are accustomed to speak of
a pestilence, a shipwreck, or any great and
sudden catastrophe, as the work of the
Being who made us. The only difference
between such events and those narrated in
the Bible as the work of heaven, is, that
in the former the will and purpose of God
were revealed; whereas to us they are
hidden, and we are left- to conjecture.
They occur in the same way, but the causes
why, and the end to be obtained, are not
developed. Hence we make a great mist




INTRODUC'TION.           7
-take when we read of those wonderful
occurrences, and imagine them to be uns
like those which constantly make up the
vorld's history.












 —Ci.B
 —~;t"-E:
 —=t...r
_J5.
7~
/-F




TEE BED SEA PASSAGE.        9
CHAPTER I,
THE RED SEA PASSAGE.
THE last fearful night had come-the
night of alarm, dread visitation, and death.
The succession of terrible judgments sent
on the haughty monarch of Egypt, had
failed to subdue his imperious nature.
The rivers, streams, and rills of Egypt
had been turned into blood, bearing on
their crimson bosom masses of dead and
dying  fish.  Insects and vermin  had
swarmed in every chamber and closet,
dying where they had gathered, till an intolerable stench arose from the fetid heapso
Disease had seized on the cattle, sweeping




10  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
them away by tens of thousands-a grievous plague smitten the people, and the
voice of lamentation filled the air.  A
storm of thunder, hail, and fire, commingled, had burst on the land, the flames
breaking in angry billows along the streets,
and consuming every green thing in their
devastating  flow.  A  cloud  of locusts,
darkening the heavens in their endless
flight, followed, devouring every tender
blade that had shot forth since the passage
of the storm, till a vast desert spread away
where smiling fields had been. Darkness,
such as could be felt, for three days covered
the earth, and the decimated, diseased, and
starving population trembled in affright,
-thinking that the last hour of time was
about to strike.
Amid all this desolation and death, this




THE RED SEA PASSAGE.       1t
wreck of his empire, amid the prayers and
maledictions of his suffering and distracted
subjects, the iron-hearted monarch stood
firm to his purpose.  The captives that lay
bound to his throne should not go forth
free.  Sternly defying God, he bore up
under these accumulated woes with a resolution and will that astonish us. But now
he was to be struck nearer home, the iron
was to enter his own soul, and wring from
thence the bitter cry of anguish and entreaty.  iThe first-born in every house,
from the first-born of the beggar to the
heir-apparent to the throne, was to be
smitten. Death in his grimmest form was
to darken the door of every dwelling of
Egypt; and the night of this dread visitation had now come. In the solemn hour
of midnight, the angel of doom was to




2  SAiCRED SCENES ANXD CHARiACTESA6
tread the quiet hamlet and the thronged
city, and his icy hand be laid on one beating heart in every family, and its marble
pressure force a death-shriek that should
startle every sleeper there; and lo! twelve
o'clock was striking.  Three bright blood
spots on the two door-posts, and the lintel
of each door of the Israelites) showed that
within dwelt a Hebrew, and said to the
passing angel,'"Enter not here.". Humble
tenements they all were, on which these
crimson stains were placed; but they contained dwellers nobler and more sacred
than the royal palace. It was midnight;
and, as the last hour struck, a deep silence
rested on the vast city. The tumult of
the day and evening was over-the crowd
had forsaken the streets, across which dim
lights were swinging, and naught broke




ilsE 1at SEA PASSAGI        3]
the solitude save the measured tread of
the sentinel walking his nightly rounds, or
the rumbling of a chariot, as some late
reveler returned to his home.  Here and
there a light was seen in as solitary sicks
chamber, giving to the gloom  a sadder
aspect, and out from a narrow alley would
now and then burst the sounds of folly
and dissipation. All else was still, for the
mighty population slumbered as the sea
sometimes sleeps in  its  strength.  But
suddenly; just as the "'All's well" of the
drowsy sentinel echoed along the empty,
streets, piercing shrieks rent the silence;
and passing rapid as lightning from  house
to house, and blending in with each other,
rung out on the night air with strange and
thrilling distinctness.  And then came a
wail, following heavily after, and; rolling,




14  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS'b
up around the palace, surged back over tho
trembling city. Unseen by mortal eye2
the  angel of death was treading with
noiseless step the silent avenues and lanes,
putting out one light in each household,
and dismissing one spirit thence to its long
home.  In a moment the city was in an
uproar; lights danced to and fro; the
rapid tread of urgent messengers made the
streets echo; the rattling of wheels was
heard on every side; but still the wail of
desolated houses rose over all, like the
steady roar of the surge above the crash
of the wreck.
In the midst of this scene of excitement
and terror, the children of Israel took their
flight.  Nearly a million of them, their
muffled tread ]shaking the earth, streamed
through the darkness, and emerged into:




Tri{E RED SEA PASSAGE.     15
the open country. And when the morning
dawned in the east, there lay the city before them,.its towers and domes flashing
back the beams of the rising sun in redoubled splendor. But what a change had
passed over it since that sun last looked
upon its magnificence.  Sobs and cries
arose from every door, for the dead lay in
every dwelling.
In solid ranks the hundreds of thousands
of Israel took up their line of march, and
night found their tents spread on the edge
of the wilderness. [Far as the eye could
reach, they dotted the open country around,
and fringed, like a ridge of foam, the dark
forest beyond. And when night fell on
the scene, suddenly a solitary column of
fire shot into the heavens, lighting up with
strange brilliancy the forest and the en



16  sACRED SCENES AND CHARACTEuR6
campment.  There it stood, lofty as a
tower that beetles over the sea, and inherent
with light from base to summit. - The white
tents grew ruddy in the blaze, and the upturned countenances of the innumerable
host, that gazed awe-struck on its splendor,
shone as if they were standing under a
burning palace. All night long, it blazed
there in their midst and above them, illuming the desert, and shedding unearthly
glory on hill, valley, and forest.
And, when the morning came, it turned
into a column of snowy whiteness, revolving
within itself like a cloud, yet distinct and
firm  as marble. No voice shook its thick
foldings, yet it had a language more potent
than that of 1Mioses, and its silent command
of "Forward,"' caused every tent to be
struck9  and set the vast host in motionh




THE RED SEA PASSAGE,        17
Over the wide plain it moved in advance
of the army, and through the deep gorges
it rose far above the  mountains-the
strangest leader that a host ever followed.
When the sun struck it, its long shadow
fell across the massive columns in one unbroken beam, filling every heart with fear
and dread.  At night it stopped and stood
still, like a single marble shaft, till darkness came down, and then it became again
a shaft of fireo
Thus, day after day, they continued
their march, plunging deeper and deeper
in the wilderness, until at length word was
brought that the enraged Pharaoh, with his
entire army-chosen chariots and all-was
in full pursuit.  Consternation then filled
every heart, and each eye turned anxiously
to that mysterious pillar. But no change
2*




18  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERitS
passed over its silent form; steady and
calm as ever, it moved majestically forward, heedless of the thunder and tumult
that were gathering in the rear.  Perchance at night it did not stop as before,
but moved on in the darkness, blazing
along the desert, lighting it up with more
than noontide splendor. On, on swept the
weary host, while every moment nearer
and louder roared the storm on its track.
Still hoping, yet fearing and trembling,
they followed that calmly-moving column,
until, at last, it stopped on the shore of
the sea.  As they pressed up, despair
seized every heart, for far away naught
but a wide waste of water met their gaze,
while the unchecked billows broke heavily
along its bosom; and behind, rushing on,
came the tens of thousands of their foes,




THE RED SEA PASSAGE.         19
panting for the slaughter.  That fearful
pillar of cloud and fire, then, was only
sent to delude them  to their ruin.  Oh,
what lamentations, and prayers, and murk
murings, went up from the despairing host!
They were on the desolate shore, against
which the restless sea beat with a monotonous roar, while from the solitude -arose
the deafening roll of countless chariot
wheels, rushing to the shock.  All that
night, the only obstacle between them  and
their enemies was that pillar of fire. Yet,
slight as it seemed, it was more impregnable than a wall of adamant.  Still it was a
wild and fearful night; the morning must
bring the onset and the slaughter; while,
as if to heighten the terrors of the scene,
a terrific wind arose, driving the sea into
billows, that fell in thunder on the shore,




20  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS
and sounding as if God also was about to
fight against them.
Thus passed this night of anguish and
dread to the Israelites; but, when the
morning dawned, lo! there opened the sea,
like a mountain gorge-the green and
precipitous sides standing in massive walls
on either hand. "Forward," spake the
cloud, and the stern command rolled iu
startling accents along the mighty column,
and it descended slowly into the fearful
depths.  Like an army of insects they
moved below, while the billows that broke
along the surface of the deep, crested over
the edge of the watery cliffs above them,
as if looking down on the strange spectacle, and the spray that fell on their heads
was the "baptism of the sea." The pursuers plunged into the same watery gorge,




THE RED SEA PASSAGE.       21
and as their rapid chariots drew near the
fugitive host, it seemed for a while fthat
the sea had been opened on purpose to
entrap them, and make them fall easier
victims to their foes. But at this critical
moment, that strange cloud rose up, and
moving.back over the long line, planted
itself in front of the Egyptian host. Its
solemn aspect and mysterious form troubled
the monarch and his followers, the wheels
rolled from the axletrees of the chariotsthe solid ranks became disordered and
broken, and terror and tumult took the
place of confidence and strength.
At length the fugitives, with their bleating flocks and lowing herds, ascended the
opposite shore, and when the last one
stepped upon the beach, that dripping cloud
also moved up after them-and then, like




SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
a clap of thunder, the sea smote together
and the wave rolled smoothly on as before.
Swift-circling eddies and whirlpools, and
huge bubbles of air bursting on the surface, alone told where the mighty host was
buried, and where and how they struggled
in the depths. At length the wreck began
to heave upward, and oh! what an overthrow it revealed.  Chariots and horses,
and spears and shields, and myriads of
corpses, darkened the sea as far as the eye
could reach.
But what a spectacle that shore presented! the beach, the rocks, the hills,
were all black with the living masses, as
they stood, trembling and awe-struck, and
looked back on the deep.  For a long
time not a souad broke the deathlike si




T'HE RED SEA PASSAGE.      223
ience that reigned throughout the vast
throng. Each heart was full of dread and
awe, as the heavy swells fell at their feet,
casting on the beach, with heavy dash,
broken chariots, whole ranks of men, now
pale in death, and horses and weapons of
War.  There, too, stood the cloud, and
looked on the scene, while on its white and
lofty form, the eyes of the multitude ever
and anon turned reverently from the piles
of the dead below. But at last, joy and
gratitude, and triumph at their great deliverance, gave way to the terror that had
oppressed them; and suddenly there arose
a shout louder than the thunder of the sea;
"I Sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed
gloriously: the horse and his rider hath
he thrown into the sea. The Lord is my




_4 ASACRED SCENES AND CHARACTEtSB 
strength and song, and he is become my
salvation.-WVho is like unto thee, 0 Lord,
among the gods? who is like thee, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing
wonders?"  From rank to rank-from ten
times ten thousand lips, rolled on the
mighty anthem, till the shore shook with
the glorious melody, and the heavens were
filled with the strain.  And Miriam, with
her prophetic face and eye of fire, separated herself from the multitude, followed
by a throng of dark-haired maidens, on
whose cheeks the glow of joy had usurped
the pallor of fear; and as they moved in
shining groups and graceful dances, their
silvery voices rang out over the clash of
timbrels and roar of the waves in triumphant bursts of music, and " Sing ye to the




THE RED SEA PASSAGE.         2
J Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously:
the horse and his rider hath he thrown into
the sea," arose and fell like melody along
the rivers of.Paradisem
Fearful had been the pursuit, and great
was the deliverance.








ELI               27
COIAPTER  IIL
ELI.
ELI was a high priest of Israel, possessing great goodness of heart, but wanting firmness of purpose and energy of
action.  Of tender feelings and vacillating
will, he appears to me like one who would
rather submit his neck to the executioner's
axe, than himself inflict the blow on one
every way deserving his fate. This weakness of character was exhibited in the
manner in which he educated his sons.
He allowed their bad passions to grow
unchecked, so that from wayward children
they became wicked men. His conscience




28  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
compelled him to reprove them, while he
failed in energy to enforce his rebuke.
This was the more culpable, since, as a
high priest, his sons would necessarily
themselves be priests, and hence it became
him to see that they did not minister with
impure hands. Instead of this, however,
he let their evil tendencies have such
scope, that, when they assumed the sacerdotal robes, they used their office for selfish
ends, and the gratification of their base
passions. When a man came to offer a
sacrifice, they appropriated a great part of
it to themselves, and insulted the women
assembled at the door of the temple.  So
gross and open was their conduct, that the
people turned with disgust from the sacrifice, feeling that no good could come from
such mercenary and brutal priests, Those




ELiL              29
enormities were told to Eli; but the doting
old man only said, "' Why do ye such
things? —nay, my sons, it is no good report that I hear." A very safe remark
of his, and no doubt fully appreciated by
his contemptuous sonso
At length a man of God came to Eli,
and placing before him his past conduct,
and recounting in concise, but plain lane
guage, the solemn obligations that lay
upon him, and the sin he had incurred in
not restraining his vicious children, pronounced the doom of utter extermination
on his family. Not long after, the same
malediction was uttered by the Lord to
Samuel, to which the old man bowed his
head, saying, "' It is the Lord; let him
do what seemeth him  good."  He had
done wrong, and he knew it, and now
3*I,




0  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
he would meekly suffer the penalty of his
deeds.
Time wore on, and at length war was
declared between the Israelites and Philistines, and a battle was fought, in which
the former were beaten, with the loss of
four thousand men.  Attributing  their
defeat to the absence of the ark of the
covenant, they sent for it, and Hophni
and Phinehas, the sons of Eli, of course
accompanied it. The two armies lay opposite each other, awaiting each the onset
of his antagonist, when the Israelites saw
the ark slowly approaching over the plain,
the mercy-seat of solid gold glittering in
the sunbeams. In a moment despondency
gave way to courage, despair to triumph,
and there went up a shout that rocked the
mountains.   " The Ark of God! tthe Arle




of GYod!" rolled in deep Hebrew acents
from  tens of thousands of lips over the
field of battle, sending terror and dismay
to the hearts of the enemy.  1" What shout
is that?" ran from lip to lip, and when it
was told that the ark of the Lord was in
the camp of Israel, they exclaimed, " We
are lost!  These are the mighty gods
which smote the Egyptians, and strewed
the way from Egypt hither with dead armies, and how shall we escape?"  Their
leaders, however, encouraged them, saying, "Be men, and fight bravely.  Will
you be the Hebrew's slave, as he has been
yours? Quit yourselves like men! "  Rousing their courage by such appeals they led
them to the onset.
What a terrific sight did the battle-fields
of old present!   Not in solid columns,




62  SACRED SCENES AND CiA0ARACTERSo
flanked by clouds of cavalry, and headed
by fierce batteries, did they advance slowly
to the work of death; but ten times ten
thousand men rushed suddenly and savagely
upon each other's bosoms, and the battle
became so many fierce hand to hand contests.  Hence it was longer protracted
and more murderous than now.
As these two immense hosts, like two
dark clouds, closed on each other, the
shout of each drowned for a moment the
braying of trumpets and clash of instruments of music. Straight on the ark of
God went the Philistine thousands, bearing
down every thing before them. Israel saw
it, and all over the tumultuous field arose
the cry, " To thie rescue!"  Begirt with
ten thousand foes, the sacred emblem stood
still on the plain, while that strong Hebrew




ELI.               33
shout rolled like thunder to the heavens,
and the countless masses went pouring
forward,  Around  the  holy  Shekinah
swords dripping with blood flashed and
waved, spears glanced, and banners rose
and fell. The mercy-seat tottered to and
fro in the doubtful fight-the cherubim
shook, while clouds of dust rolled over the
combatants, and all was rage, terror, and
confusion. Wicked, but brave Hophni and
Phinehas, true to their sacred trust, fell
pierced with a hundred wounds, and the
boldest of Israel's warriors sealed their
fidelity with their blood.  Vain valortrampled under foot, borne backward by
the on-rushing thousands, the defenders of
the ark broke and fled.  With a shout that
fell like a death-knell on their brave spirits,
their enemies seized the ark and bore it




34  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
triumphantly  away.  Faint terror and
utter despair seized every heart-the shriek
rang out over the din of combat —' Ths
ar/k is lost! the ark is lost!" and that mag
nificent host became a herd of fugitives,
sweeping hither and thither over the plain.
How well they fought, how freely they
bled, we know from the fact that there fell
of Israel that day thirty thousand footmeno
On this same terrible day of battle and
of defeat, far off in the beautiful plains of
Shiloh, sat an old man by the wayside,
listening eagerly to every passing footstep.
Bowed over his staff, with pallid cheek and
lip, the venerable high priest of Israel was
filled with gloomy forebodings. The ark
of God, the idol of his heart, the more
than his life, had gone to the dreadful
battle-fieldo  Ah! was the long-impending




curse now to be fulfilled, and the approaching night to be the one which should close
on him a withered trunk, with every green
branch lopped away? Each passer-by regarded the blind old man with pity, and
spoke cheering words, which fell on uno
heeding ears.  His heart was far away
with the host of Israel, and the ark of
God, and on his dreaming, excited spiritj
there came the noise of conflict and sounds
of alarm.  Thus he sat till evening; and
as the glorious sun of Palestine stooped
behind the western hills, flooding the valley
below with beauty, his melancholy face
took an expression of intenser anxiety.
The gentle breeze lifted his thin silver
locks from his temples, but still he sat like
a statue cut from  stone, and listened.
Hour' after hour had worn heavily away,




ab  SACRED SCENES AND CiARACAOTEiRS
but now, just as the last sunbeams fell in
a shower of gold on his venerable head)
the sound of hasty footsteps smote his ear.
Not the startled deer lifts his head in more
eager attitude than did that blind old man
when first roused from his reverie by that
rapid tread, which his heart foreboded too
well, brought heavy tidings.  It was one
of the fugitives from the battle-field, still
crimson with the slaughter-his clothes
rent, and dust on his head, and despair in
his eye. And lo! as he sped onward with
the sad news, a cry of distress and anguish
followed him.  Eli heard it, and asked its
meaning. The next moment the messenger
of evil stood before him, and cried, " I am
Just from the army, and all is lost.  Israel
is fled before the Philistines, and her
bravest lie dead on the field.  Thy two




'0ons, Hophni and Phinehas, are slain, and
the ark of God is taken." Under the defeat
of Israel, the patriarch bore firmly up:
even the death of his two only sons did
not shake his aged frame; but when it
was told him that the ark of God was
taken, he fell dead to the earth. All, all
else could be borne: the slaughter of his
people, his own and his sons' death, were
nothing in comparison to the honor of his
God. This last blow broke his heart as
with a sudden crash, and he died without
uttering his sorrow. Ah! who can tell the
tide of feeling that swept over him at the
fatal news? That his sins should be visited
on the people and his sons, was naturalthe prophetic curse had prepared him for
this; but that the honor of God, which
was dearer to him than life, should suffer




38  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERO.
for his misdeeds, was more than he could
bear.  The curse had struck deeper than
he had anticipated, and in that day of terrible suspense, and in that moment of unspeakable anguish, he received the punishment of a fond but erring father.
Of a noble heart, full of all gentleness
and love, pure and upright himself, yet he
did not fulfil the responsibilities of a parent.  His defects were rather mental than
mnoral, and his crime  consisted  in not
restraining others instead of not controlling himself.  All his thoughts, wishes,
and desires were pure, but he refused to
arrest the vices of his children.  Too easy
in his temper, and doting in his affections,
he would not see the evil he was bringing
on them, on the people, and on himself.
Thus does the fondness of parents, when.




:EI.              39
allowed to blind their eyes to the faults of
their offspring, or prevent them from punishing their misdeeds and checking their
passions, always end in the misery of both.
This is the lesson intended to be taught in
this chapter of history, and it must be
confessed that it is a fearful one, accompanied with fearful warnings.
How little we know of the designs of
Heaven, and how completely contradictory
do they often appear to passing events!
Around that ark of God-the symbol of
love and mercy-and for the silent tomb
of the Son of God, who came to preach
peace on earth, more blood has been shed
than for any warlike banner that ever
floated over a field of slaughter.  The
frightful wars of the Israelites, and the
millions slain in the Crusades, to deliver




40  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSK
the Holy Sepulchre, are strange facts in
history. Yet the ordering of the one, and
the permission of the other, are equally
parts of that great plan whose origin is
perfect wisdom, and whose result will be
the greatest good that could be accomplished.  The maudlin philanthropist of
the present day, like Eli of old, cannot
look upon severity or death, and would
much rather crime should go unpunished,
freedom fall, and justice be trampled under
foot, than that men should be slain. These
are they who would abrogate all law but
that of kindness.  To them, the Old Tesa
tament. is an antiquated book, and the
history of God's dealings with wicked men
rather a curious relic of the barbarous past,
than the stern and right action of their
Maker and Judge.




RUTI.              41
CHAPTER  IIl.
RUTH.
THERE seems no reason why the Book
of Ruth should have been written, except
to show the lineage of David. It is simply
a sweet pastoral, a truthful tale, embodying
the finest sentiments, and placing before
us, in attractive colors, a young, lovely,
and beautiful woman. It is a chapter in
domestic life, told with charming simplicity, and awakening in the reader feelings
of the purest and noblest kind. To one
who reads the Bible in course, it comes
like a sudden yet sweet surprise.  The
sterner feelings of his nature have been
4*




42  SACIED SCENES AND CRIARACT1ERu
roused by the turbulent scenes of the Book
of Judges. Fierce battles, private murders, and terrific slaughters, have followe(d
each other in rapid succession.  One of
the last scenes that he dwelt upon, was the
violent death of an unchaste woman, whose
dismembered body was sent in bleeding
fragments throughout the land, like the
fiery cross of Scotland, to call men to
arms, followed by the slaughter of a hundred thousand men, whose corpses strewed
the fields-the whole closed by the forcible
seizure of women for wives, like the rape
of the Sabines.
From such a succession of horrors, the
reader comes upon the simple and gentle
story of Ruth, like one who emerges from
an Alpine gorge, black with thunder-clouds,
and filled with the roar of mad torrents,




upon a little green pasturage, slumbering
in the embrace of the hills, along whose
quiet surface herds lazily recline or slowly
wander, while the tinkling of bells mingling with the murmur of the streamlet,
charms the soul into pleasure, seeming,
from the very contrast, doubly sweet.
No novelist has ever been able, with his
utmost efforts, to paint so lovely, so perfect a character as this simple story presents. From  first to last, Ruth Appears
before us endowed with every virtue and
charm that rendered a woman attractive.
Naomi's husband was a man of wealthb
and left Bethlehem to escape the famine
that was wasting the land.  In Moab, he
found plenty, and there, with his wife and
two sons, who married Ruth and Orpah,
lived awhile and died. In the course of




44  SACRED SCENES AND CIARACTEiRSo
ten years, the two sons died also, and then
Naomi, broken-hearted, desolate, and poor,
resolved to return and die in her native
land.  How touching her last interview
with her daughters-in-law, when she bade
them  farewell, and prayed that, as they
hlad been kind to her and her dead sons,
so might the Lord be kind to them.  Surprised that they refused to leave her, she
reasoned with them, saying that she was a
widow and childless, and to go with her
was to seek poverty and exile in a strange
land.  She could offer them no home, and
perhaps the Jewish young men would scorn
their foreign birth, and when she died none
would be left to care for them  or protect
them.  There they had parents, brothers,
and friends, who loved them  and would
protect them.  On the one hand were rank




RUTH.               4'5
in society and comfort, on the other disgrace and poverty. Orpah felt the force
of this language, and turned back; but
Ruth, still clinging to her, Naomi declared
that it was the act of folly and madness
to follow the fortunes of one for whom no
bright future was in store, no hope this
side the grave. She sought only to see
the place of her childhood once more, and
then lie down where the palm-trees of her
native land might cast their shadows over
her place of rest. " Go back," said she,
mwith thy sister-in-law."  She might as
well have spoken to the rock; —that gentle
being by her side, all shrinking timidity
and moclesty, whose tender feelings the
slightest breath could agitate, was immovable in her affections.  Her eye would sink
abashed before the bold look of imperti-,




46  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
ience, but with her bosom pressed on one
she loved, she could look on death in its
grimmest forms unappalled.  Fragile as
the bending willow, she seemed, but in her
true love, firm as the rooted oak.  The
hand of violence might crush, but never
loosen her gentle clasp.  With those white
arms around her mother's neck, and her
breast heaving convulsively, she sobbed
forth, "'Entreat me not to leave thee, for
where thou goest I will go, and where thou
lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be
my people, and thy God my God: where
thou diest I will die, and there will I be
buried;-naught but death shall part us."
Beautiful and brave heart! home, and
friends, and wealth, nay, the gods she had
been taught to worship, were all forgotten
in the w~armth of her affectiono  Tearfal




yet frm, "'Entreat me not to leave thee,"
she said:' I care not for the future; I can
bear the worst; and when thou art taken
from  me, I will linger around thy grave
till I die, and then the stranger shall lay
me by thy side!"  What could Naomi do
but fold the beautiful being to her bosom
and be silent, except as tears gave utterance to her emotions.  Such a heart outweighs the treasures of the world, and such
absorbing love, truth, and virtue, make all
the accomplishments of life appear worthless in comparison.
The two unprotected women took their
journey on foot towards Bethlehem.  It
was in the laetter part of summer, and as
they wandered along the roads and through
the fields of Palestine, Ruth, by a thousand
winning ways, endeavored to cheer her




aS  SACRED SCENES AND CIAiRACTE-ISo
mother  Nlaomi was leaving behind her
the graves of those she loved, and, penniless and desolate, returning to the place
-which she had left with a husband and two
manly sons, and loaded with wealth, and
hence a cloud hung upon her spirit. Yet
In spite of her grief, she was often comr
pelled to smile through her tears, and
struggled to be cheerful, so as not to sadden the heart of the unselfish, innocent
being by her side. And at fervid noon,
when they sat down beneath the shadowy
palm to take their frugal meal, ]Ruth has,
tened to the neighboring rill for a cooling
draught of water for her mother, and
plucked the sweetest flowers tp comfort her,
Thus, day after day, they traveled on,
until at length, one evening, just as the
glorious sun of Asia was stooping to the




RUTy'               49
Wesiern horizon, the towers of 3ethlehem
arose in sight.  Suddenly, a thousand ten:der associations, all that she had possessed.
mand all that she had lost, the past and the
present, rushed over her broken spirit, and
she knelt and prayed, and wept.' Call
me not," said she to the friends of her
early days, who accosted her as she passed
through the gates, "Call me not Naomi,
or the pleasant, but Mara, bitter, for the
Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me."
Here again Ruth's character shone forth
in its loveliness. -She was not one of those
all sentiment and no principle; in whom
devotion is mere romance, and self-sacrifice expends itself in poetic expressions.
Though accustomed to wealth, and all the
attention and respect of a lady of rank,
she stooped to the service of a menial in
5




o0  SACREID SCENES ANi  CHAR.AC T.AiR7.
order to support her nother~ With com.mon hirelings she entered the fields as e
gleaner, and without a murmur trained her
delicate hands to the rough usage of a,
day-laborer. At night, her hard earnings
were poured with a smile into the lap of
her mother; and living wholly in her worlcd
of love, was unmindful of every thing else.
Boaz saw her amid the gleaners, and struckl
with her modest bearing and beauty, inquired who she was.  On being told, he
accosted her kindly, saying that he had:
heardcl of her virtues, her devotion to her
Dmother, and her self-sacrifices, and invited
her that day to dine at the common tableo
With her long dark locks falling in ringlets
over her neck and shoulders, and her cheek
crimson with her recent exertions and the
excitemert at finding herself opposite the:




RYtIU.              bi
rich landlord, in whose fields she had been
gleaning, and who helped her at table as
his guest, sat the impersonation of beauty
and loveliness. That Boaz was fascinated
by her charms, as well as by her character,
was evident~  He had watched her deportmnent, and saw how she shunned the companionship of the young men who sought
her acquuaintance, and of whose attentions
her fellow gleaners would have been proud.
[Nothing was too humble, if it ministered
to her mother's comfort; but beyond that,
she condescended to nothing that was inconsistent with her birth. Whether abashed
by his looks and embarrassed by his attentions, or from her native delicacy of.character, she arose from the table before the
rest had finished, and retired   After she
had. left Boaz told the young men to let




52  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS'3
her take from the sheaves without rebuke,
and then, as if suddenly recollecting how
different she was from the other gleaners,
and that every sheaf was as safe where
she trod as it would have been in his own
granary, he bade them  drop handfuls by
the way, which she, wondering at their
carelessness, gathered up. At sunset, she
beat it out and carried it to her mother.
Naomi, surprised at the quantity, questiohed her closely as to where she had
gleaned, and when Ruth told her the history of the day, the fond mother divined
the whole.  Her noble and lovely Ruth
had touched the heart of one of her wealthy
kinsmen, and she waited the issue.
The long conversations they held together, and the struggles of the beautiful
Moabitess, before she could bring herself




to obey her mother and lie down at the
feet of Boaz, thus claiming his protection
and love, are not recorded. Custom made
it proper and right, but we venture to say
that Ruth never passed a more uncomfortable night than that.  Her modesty and.
delicacy must have kept her young heart
in a state of agitation that almost mocked
her self-control.  The silent appeal, however, was felt by her rich relative, and he
made her his wife. The devotion to her
helpless mother —her self-humiliation in
performing the office of a menial-the long
summer of wasting toil-the many heartaches caused by the rough shocks she was
compelled, from her very position, to receive, at length met with their reward.
Toiling through the sultry day, and beating out her hard earning at night, the only
Ant




54 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS'o
enjoyment she had known was the consciousness that by her exertions Naomi
lived. It had been difficult, when weary
and depressed, to give a cheerful tone to
her voice, so as not to sadden her anxious
mother-in-law; but still the latter saw that
the task she had voluntarily assumed was
too great, and therefore, at length, claimed
from Boaz the obligations of a kinsman.
Love, however, was stronger than those
claims, and he took Ruth to his bosom
with the strong affection of a generous and
noble man. She thus arose at once to the
rank for which she was fitted; and in time
the beautiful gleaner of the fields of Bethlehem, became the great-grandmother of
the King of Israel.




THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 5&
CHAPTER IV.
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL.
ONE evening a royal form was seen
walking on the terrace of his palace, and
looking off upon the magnificent city at his
feet. As his eye swept round the circuit
of the walls, fifty miles in circumference,
and three hundred and fifty feet high, and
saw their hundred lofty gates of brass flashing in the sun-beams, and the hanging
gardens suspended nearly four hundred
feet in the heavens, loaded with shrubs and
waving trees, and sparkling with fountains
that leaped from beneath gayly decorated
arches, and below on the wilderness of




63  SACRED SCENES AND C(IARACTER{So
palaces and dwellings at his feet, his lips
mnrmured, " Is not this great Babylon that
I have built by the might of my power and
for the honor of my majesty?" And well
he might indulge in vain boasting, and believe that naught but an earthquake that
should sink the land, could shake the city
of his pride. Those massive walls, broad
enough for eight or ten carriages to drivce
abreast upon them, rose higher than the
loftiest spire of our land, till the clouds
seemed to rest on their summiit, while around
a deep ditch was sunk filled by the Euphrates.  Twenty-five gates of brass upon
each of the four sides, with strong towers
between, bade defiance to mangonel or battering-ram, while the boldest might shrink
from  scaling those slippery heights.  Fifty
streets, each a hundred and fifty feet broad




THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 5iT
and fifteen miles long, went from gate to
gate, lined with palaces, and temples, and
towers, and crowned with arches, till the
eye ached with the magnificence and grandeur that met it at every turn.
But deep down amid these costly piles,
was a far different scene. By the streams
and fountains over which the willows wept,
sat a band of Hebrew captives, their harps
hanging silent upon the drooping branches,
and their heads bowed in grief. To the
gay promenaders who paused  as they
passed, and asked them to sing one of
their native melodies, they replied with
tears.  In that strange land they could not
sing, for their hearts were too full of Zion
and her sad fate. They were the prisoners
left from the spoils of Jerusalem; but their
tears and prayers as they sat there, scorned




58  SACRED SCENES AND CHAlACTERS,
and desolate, were shaking  g that proud city
to its overthrow. Little did the haughty
monarch think, as he looked on his stronghold, that the cries of those neglected
captives were bringing down the lightning
of heaven on its towers and battlements,
and that to redress their wrongs fell at
that moment the voice from heaven which
startled him  like a thunder-peal, "THY
KINGDOM IS DEPARTED FROM TIIEE."'
Years have passed by, and Nebuchadnezzar is in his tomb, resting in more than
regal splendor, amid the despots who have
gone before him; and another occupies
his throne as haughty and wicked as he.
Belshazzar too has heard, but not heeded,
the first mutterings of the coming stormn.
The Persian thousands have swarmed for
a long time around the city to overthrow




1-iE IANsR-aITING ON TlE IWALL 
At, and thu-ndered on its massive walls and
brazen gates in vain   EqLally vain were
the attempts to scale their heights from
lofty'towers of palm-trees; and so the
baffled foe lsat down to starve the impregnable city into subjection, and -for two
years had hedged it in with a wall of menr
At this last attempt, also, the self-confident
monarch  lanugs, for his  granaries  are
stored with provisions for twenty years,
The prophets may prophesy and the captives pray; he mocks at them  all, and
girdled in by his impregnable walls and
fortresses, and surrounded by his myriad
troops, he says: 6"4I qZill exclt ny throne
amid the stars of GOd."
It is a night of festivity, and the bacchanal's song and shqout ring through the
crowdecl stre'ets of PBabylon.  Aronnd her




60  SACRED SCENES AND CiHARACTER6,
ancient towers, the reelinmg multitude cry
hosannas to their gods. Wine flows like
water, and lust and revelry walk the streets
uncheckedb In a magnificent palace, apart
from  the tumultuous crowd, the king is
feasting a thousand of his lords.  It is a
gorgeous room, column within column, arch
above arch, long corridors, magnificent
statues, costly hangings, leaping fountains,
and an endless profusion of ornaments
combine to form a scene -of such dazzling
splendor, that the unaccustomed spectator
is bewildered and lost in its imidst.  It is
illuminated by lights from golden candlesticks, beneath which is spread a table
loaded with golden vessels.
Princes and nobles, wives and mistresses,
arrayed in splendid apparel-women whose
beauty out-dazzles the splendor that sur



WME HAND-WRITING ON TiEE WALL, O31
rounds them,-men of high renown-the
gay, the voluptuous, and the proud are
there, making the arches ring with their.songs of revelry and shouts of mirth.
Ever and anon come bursts of mlusic, now
swelling triumphantly out through the
amplitude, and now dying away in soft
and lulling cadences, while the perfume
from burning censers is wafted in clouds
over the intoxicated revellers.
At length the king, excited with wine,
exclaimed, " Bring forth the vessels of gold
that were taken from the Hebrews' tem-.
ple;" and the servants brought them in.
Gorgeous vessels they were, and as they
stood upon the table covered with sacred
emblems, and made holy by their dedication to the God of Heaven, they seemed
to rebuke those who were about to profane




62  SAJRE' D S CENES AND C iIARAC TR' 
them. But they only laughed, and filling
them up with wine, drank confusion to the
God of Israel, and 4 praised their gods of
gold and silver and brass and stone."  In
the midst of their sacrilege, just as their
mirth and madness had reached the highest
point, there 6" came forlth fingers of a man's
hancd and wrote upon the plaster of the
zwall."  The sudden flash of that illuminated hand out-dazzled the brilliancy of
the lighted room, and as the slowly-moving
fingers silently traced the letters of fire
before their eyes, terror and dismay fell
on the revellers. -The startled monarch
turned paler than the marble beside him,
the untasted goblet fell from his hand, and
his knees smote together.  Those loudest
in their mirth  suddenly grew  silent as
dea,th; the seductive look becam.e solemn




THE IIAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 63
and anxious,-the music stopped in the
midst of its most joyous burst; and stillness, broken only by the half-suppressed
shriek of the fainting, or the tremulous
sigh of utter fear, reigned through the
vast apartment. When the dread line was
finished, the finger still pointed voicelessly
to it, saying in language more impressive
than the loudest thunder, b"READ  THY
DOOM!9"  Oh! what a sudden change had
passed over that hall of riotous mirth:
every mouth was sealed, every eye fixed,
and the upturned faces of the throng wore
a ghastly hue in the light of that blazing
hand and those letters of flame.
At length the king broke the silence,
and cried aloud for his astrologers and wise
men to read the mysterious -writing for
Limno,  They gazed and turned away be



64  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
wildered and terrified. Then Daniel, one
of the Hebrew captives who had been
brought a mere boy from Jerusalem, but
had grown into favor with the monarch's
father, interpreted his dreams and foretold
his doom-was brought in. Turning to
those fiery letters, written in his native
language, he slowly read, " MENE MENE
TEKEL UPHARSIN."  Then looking steadfastly on the trembling, pallid king, he unfolded his crimes before him, and pointing
above to the God he had scorned, whose
mandates he had trampled under foot, he
read aloud the doom written there in letters
of fire on the walls of his own palace: " God
hath numbered thy kingdom and finished
it," for "' thou art weighed in the balances
and found wanting: thy kingdom is divided,
and given to the Medes and Persians,"




D-lE IIAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 65
He turned away, and scarcely had the
echo of his footsteps died along the silent
corridors, when a distant murmur, like the
far off sound of bursting billows arose over
the city. It was not the tramp and shout
of the drunken multitude. Sterner sounds
than the hurrahs of revellers, and steadier
footsteps than those of reeling men commingled there-the battle cry of charging
thousands, and the measured tread of an
army moving to battle.  The Euphrates
had been turned from its channel; and
underneath the ponderous gates that closed
over its waters, the Persian host had enl
tered, and were now pouring in countless
numbers through the streets. In a moment
the vast city was in an uproar, and from
limit to limit rung the cry of "to armns, to
arms!" and trumpets pealed, and banners
6'




66  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
waved, and swords clashed, while shouts
and shrieks swelled the tumult that gathering force at every step, now rolled like
thunder up to the very gates of the palace.
The streets ran blood; and borne back
before the steadily advancing foe, the
weary and mangled fragments of the royal
army made a last stand, at the palace
gates of their master. He too turned at
bay, and throwing himself amid his guard,
made one brave effort for his throne. Overborne and trampled under foot, he soon
fell amid his followers, and the excited
conquerors streamed through the royal
apartments.  They entered the hall of the
revellers; and the sacrilegious fell where
a moment before they had shouted for
their gods. The wine goblets still stood
on the table, and the perfume still filled




THIE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 60
the room, but the hand-writing had disappeared, for its denouncing woe had been
fulfilled.  The illuminated and gorgeous
apartment-the throng of princely feasters
-the hand and characters of fire —the
battle and the slaughter had succeeded
each other with frightful rapidity, and now
the silence of death succeeded all.
Over the sickening scenes of that terrible night we draw the veil of oblivion. A
vast and thronged city taken by storm and
given up to rapine and lust, is one of the
few spectacles that make us abhor our race.
But Babylon had fallen, and her glory
gone for ever. In a few years a magnificent ruin was all that remained of her
former splendor.  Wild beasts and reptiles
swarmed through her ancient palaces-the
owl hooted in the presence chamber of




68  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo
kings, and the vampire flapped his wmgs
in the apartments once occupied by the
beautiful and the proud. Her strong towers
and battlements slowly crumbled back to
thlieir original dust, and silence and desolation reigned, where once the hum of a
mighty population had sounded. The dust
of the desert has long since covered the
very ruins, and the Arab now carelessly
spurs his steed over the foundations of the
former glory of the world.
Turn back your eye for a moment a
hundred years before this great overthrow.
On the hills of Palestine stands a man
whose prophetic eye pierces the future, and
whose tongue of fire proclaims in language
that thrills the blood, the coming doom of
Babylon, the mistress of the world. (Isaiah
xiii. and xlvii.) He sees his people carried




T.E HIAND-WRITING ON THE WALL.  69
away captive by her-Jerusalem  laid in
heaps-the Holy Temple plundered of her
treasures, and the God of his fathers held
in derision. As he contemplates all this,
and then looks beyond and sees the day of
vengeance, his soul takes fire, and he pours
forth in the loftiest strains of poetry that
sublime, ode which has no equal on earth.
A chorus of Jews first come forward and
sing their astonishment at the overthrow
of their oppressor. Hfow hath the oppressor
ceased! the golden city ceased!  " When
the whole earth breaks forth into singing,"
and the fir-trees and cedars of Lebanon
join the anthem, shouting "since thou art
laid low, no feller is come uip against 6uso"
The scene then changes to the regions
of the dead, and by the boldest figureever
introduced into poetry, the long line of the




tO  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTE RS.
departed monarchs of Babylon are made
each to start from his sepulchre, where
they have reposed in ghastly rows for ages,
and as they move towards the month of the
gloomy cavern to welcome the last of their
race, they chant to the fallen king. "Hell
from beneath is moved to meet thee at thy
coming-it.stirreth up the dead for thee,
all the chief ones of the earth; it hath
raised up from' their thrones all the kings
of the nations." " Art thou," they exclaim
in derision,' become weak as we? Art
thou become like unto us?  Thy pomp is
brought down to the grave-the worm is
spread under thee and the worms cover
thee." This funereal and scornful welcome
being over, the people of God again break
in with the triumphant apostrophe, "C How
art thou fallen from ITeaven, oh Lucifer,




HiUl  iANJt-VWiTIUNG QN THE WaLL.  71
romin  of the morning!  how  art thou  cut
down to the ground that clid'st weaken the
nations!9
A hundred years before the downfal of
this vast empire, while Babylon ruled the
world, was this sublime and prophetic ode
sung by Isaiah.  The skeptic may deride
the  prophecy, but he  cannot escape the
effect of the sublime language in which it
was uttered. The opening of Byron's
great ode to Napoleon is a weak imitation,
or rather poor paraphrase of it,
6 Tis done-but yesterday a king
And armed with kings to striveAnd now thou art a nameless thing!
So abject-yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strewed our earth with hostile bones>
And can he thus survive 1
Sbince he miscalled the Morning Star,
Nor man, nor fiend hath fiallen so far."








-3h.JJFL AND HAJ.UL,
Oll1APTlE   V. 
SAMUEL AND SAUL.
i.HE INTERVIEW BETWEEN T}IE LIVING AND
THE DEAD.
ONE evening, just as the sun was setting over the hills of Palestine, a host
was seen encamped in a beautiful valley,
through which wandered a clear stream,
and over whose green surface, woods and
fields, and flocks and herds, were scattered
en endless variety and profusion.  The
white tents dotted the landscape far and
wide, standing against the green backg
ground distinct as a fleet of snowy sails
against a, storm-cloud on the sea; while
IW




74  SACRED SCENES AND CHAItACTERbi
long rows of chariots glittered bets.t:
and gay standards floated above, ancd
groups of officers and ranks of soldiers
moved about, giving animation and life to
the scene.  At intervals came triumphant
bursts of music; and the thrilling strains
of the trumpet arose and fell over the
plain, till the echoes were lost in the woods
beyond.  And the evening sun was shining
on all this, tipping the tents of thousands
of lance-points with silver, and flashing
back from  burnished armor till the eye
became dazzled with the splendor.
On a gentle eminence that overlooked
this glittering plain, was spread the tent
of the king.  Of ample dimensions, and
decorated with gorgeous hangings and
costly ornaments, it looked like a fairy
palace there upon the swelling hill-top.




SAMUEL AND SAUL.         75
UJnderneath its spreading canopy sat the
monarch himself, looking thoughtfully upon
the prospect below him. It was a scene
to stir a warrior's heart, for every one
of those countless tents that stood bathed
in the sunlight, contained soldiers true
and tried; and all the vast host at his
feet was but a single instrument in his
hand. At the blast of his trumpet, that
plain would tremble under the tread of
armed  men, twice ten thousand lances
shake in the departing sunbeams, and, at
his command, rank upon rank would rush
all steadily upon a stand of leveled spears.
They had often crowded after him to battle, had stood a wall of iron about him
in the hour of peril; he had heard their
shout of defiance ring over the clash of
arms and tumults of the fray-ay, and




d   SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERiSR
their shout of victory, too, louder than ally
as they drove the broken and shattered
forces of the enemy before them. Well,
then, might the sight of that tented host
send the flush of pride to the monarch's
brow, and fill his heart with exultant feelings.
But, alas, no color came to that marble
face; pale and anxious the chieftain sat
and  gazed, his brow  knit in  gloomy
thought, and care resting like a cloud
upon his countenance. No food had passed his lips all day, yet something more
than fasting had wrought that haggard
look and bowed that regal head.  The
white tents sprinkling the field, the chariots beside them, the shining ranks of
warriors, the triumphant strains of music,
the glorious landscape smiling in the se-t




,AMUEL AND SAUL.          77
t;ng sun, the hum  of the mighty host,
were all unheeded.  He saw them  not,
lie heard them  not; his troubled soul was
busy amid other scenes, struggling with
far other thoughts.  The past and the
future  shut out the  present.  Another
army arose before him —a host of sins, in
ghostly array, in whose dread aspect no
relenting could be seen.  And, worse than
all, the oracles of God were dumb; to his
earnest questioning no response had been
given; the Urim  and Thumnmim  ceased to
be irradiated at his call, and silence and
darkness rected on the ark of God.  And
now, as he thought of his crimes, and the
silence of God, and of the battle on the
llmorrow,'o Coming events cast their shadows before,"'
7*




78 SACRED SCENES AND Ci1ARACTERtSo
and he saw his army routed and slain,
and himself and his throne trampled under
foot.  No wonder the waving  banners
below him  brought no glow to his wan
and wasted features.
As the last light of day disappeared,
and the fires began to be kindled in the
broad encampment, he entered his tent,
and, putting on a disguise, stole forth,
and, as a last resort, turned his steps towards the house of a sorceress, and asked
that Samuel might be raised from  the
dead.
TIlE INTERVIEW.
Scarcely had his request been made
when a stately form  arose before him
clad in a dark mantle, his long gray locks
and beard falling upon his breast and




SA:l-MUEL AND SAUL.
shoulders.  It was Samuel - the  same
Samuel who had anointed him king over
Israel, and for so long a time been the
pillar of his throne; the dread and fearless prophet who so often had withstood
him to his face, and hurled the malediction
of Heaven upon him; whose last curse,
backed  with  the  startling  declaration,
"The Strength of Israel will not lie nor
repent," still rang  in  his ears.  The
frightened monarch stood dumb and powerless before the dread spirit he had
evoked from  the land of shadows, when
th.e deep sepulchral tones of the prophet
broke the silence, "Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?"   I am
sore distressed," murmured the king, "for
the Philistines make war upon me, and
God is departed from me, and answereth




80  SACRED SCENES AND CIHARACTERSo
me no  more, neither by prophets, nor
dreams: therefore I have called thee, that
thou mayest tell me what I shall do."
"Wherefore," answered the spirit, "'dost
thou ask me, seeing the Lord has departed
from thee and is become thine enemy?"
He would  only repeat over again  the
curse of former days; and his words fell
like a funeral knell on the ears of the
monarch, "The Lord hath rent the kingdom out of thy hand, and given it to thy
neighbor David."   Not only  has  the
throne gone, but the dynasty closes with
thee, and thy family is disinherited for
ever for thy sins. Nor is this all: the
battle to-morrow  shall go against thee,
for "the Lord will deliver Israel with thee
into the hands of the Philistines; and" —
the prophet's voice here made the heart of




SAMUEUL ND SANUL 8U
the listener stand still in his bosom"and, to-morrow shalt thou and thy sons
be with mne."  The thunderbolt had fallen,
and the utter silence that followed was
broken only by the shock of the king's
body as he fell lifeless and headlong upon
the earth.  No shriek, no groan, told
when and how deep the blow struck; that
heavy fall was more startling than language.
The fearful apparition sunk away, and
Saul was left alone with the night.
The next morning found the king in
his tent, nerved for the worst; and to
those who saw him, as his servants buckledc
on his armor, he appeared the same as
ever, save that a deeper pallor was on his
cheek than thought can ever give —the
pallor of despairs Nevertheless, the trump




82  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo
pets were ordered to sound, and soon the
plain shook with the preparation of arms.
Chieftains, each with his retainers behind
him, marched forth, prancing steeds and
chariots of war followed, banners and
lances and hemlets fluttered and flashed
in the morning sunlight, and all was hope
and confidence in the army. As the troops
defiled before the royal tent, shouts of
"Long live the king" rent the air. Ah,
with what a sudden  death-chill those
shouts fell upon his heart; that host was
going forth to be slaughtered, and that
bright sun in its course was to witness the
loss of his army, his throne, his sons, and
his life. Perhaps he cheered his desponding spirit with the vain hope that God
might yet be appeased, or that Samuel
had spoken falsely; at all events, he was




SAMUEL AND SAUL.          88
determined to battle nobly for his crownl
As his guard closed sternly around him,
the determination written on his brow betokened a bloody day, and a fierce struggle, even with fate itself.
The hostile armies met, and rank after
rank, troop after troop, rushed to the onset.  The Hebrew  sword drank blood;
and the shout of Israel went up as thrilling and strong as ever it rose from M[ount
Zion itself.  And never before did their
monarch lead them so steadily and fiercely
on; or give his royal person so freely to
the foe. But courage, and heroism, and
desperate daring were alike unavailing;
the sentence was writ on high, and Israel
was scattered before her foes.  Vainly
did their leaders rally them again and
again to the charge.  Vainly did the three




84  SACED SACRED SCENES A-ND CiJARACTEi-:So
Drinces, the sons of Saul! call on their fol
lowers to emulate their example, as they
threw themselves on the foe~ Vainly did
the king himself lead on his troops, while
the blood from his wounded side trickled
over his armor.  God was against thema
all; and, discomfited and scattered, they
fled on every side.  The three sons of the
king fell one after another, bravely battling for their father's throne and Israel's
honor, till at last Jonlathan, the bravest
and noblest of them all, fell lifeless on the
hill-side,  The wounded  monarch, hard
hit by the archers, at last turned and fled
for his life; but, finding no way of escape,
he stopped, and commanded his armorbearer to stab him to the heart, 4"Lest',"
said the dying man, " these uncircumcised
come and thrust me through, and abuse




SAMIJUEL AND SAbL.        85
me."  His armor-bearer refusing to commit the horrid deed, he placed the hilt of
his own sword upon the ground, and fell
upon itL  His faithful armor-bearer folb
lowed his example, and he and the king
and his three sons lay corpses together on
the mountain of Gilboa.
The prophecy was fulfilled-the curse
had fallen-and morning once more broke
on the land of Israel.








TIE NAMELESS PROPHET.       87
CHAPTER  VI.,
THE NAMELESS PROPHET.
THE hills and groves of Palestine, ever
so beautiful to the traveller over its burning plains, were in olden times often
selected as the building spots for altars
and temples.  The shadowy recesses gave
solemnity to the imposing ceremonies of
the priest, while the cool breezes that wandered through them, bathed in refreshing
coolness the silent worshipers that gathered
there.
In one of these delicious groves, on a
beautiful day, a royal form was seen standing  before a magnificent altar, around




88  SACRED SCENES AND CI-ARACTERS.
which stood images and vessels of gold in
costly profusion.'Clad in splendid apparel,
he remained a moment contemplating the
smoke of the incense, as it curled slowly
npward, while the dense throng around
darkened every avenue that led away in
the distance. That royal personage was
the head of the rebel house that had
usurped the throne of David, and drawn
every tribe but Judah after his banner.
To complete his scheme of wickedness, he
had made gods of gold, and plunged the
people into the vices of idolatry.  He
knew that if they reverenced the God of
Israel, their hearts would soon yearn again
towards the house of David.
With his honors fresh upon him, and
feelings of pride and triumph swelling his
heart, he gazed long'and earnestly at the




THE NAMELESS PROPHET.       89
smoking altar, when suddenly a shadow
darkened the ground before him. With
a quick and angry glance, he looked up to
see who had dared thus presumptuously to
intrude on his devotions. A grave, stern
man, wrapped in a mantle, stood beside
him, with his eye fixed stedfastly upon
the altar. Paying no heed to the haughty
monarch by his side-not even deigning
him a glance-showing no reverence to
the gods before him, he calmly, sternly
surveyed the gorgeous fabric with its
unholy sacrifice. Before the king could
recover from his astonishment at this
strange and sudden apparition, a voice
broke the silence.  Apparently unconscious of the presence of the king and his
menials, wholly absorbed with the altar
before him, he addressed it as if it were a
C:*




90  SACRED SCENES AND CH1ARACTERSo
living thing, "60 altar, altar! thus saith
the Lord, a child from the house of David,
Josiah by name, shall yet sacrifice upon
thee, and his offerings shall be these high
priests that now burn incense, and men's
bones shall be burnt upon thee.  The
Lord hath said it, thou shalt be rent, and
the ashes poured out."  The altar alone
received his malediction, but the denouncing curse was meant for the king who worshipped there. It was a bold and fearful
act, for he stood alone amid a throng of
menials, who needed but the slightest sign
nal to hew him in pieces. The monarch's
astonishment gave way to uncontrolable
rage at being thus defied and cursed by
an unknown and powerless man; and he
sprang forward to seize him. In an instant the outstretched hand fell withered




lrlE NAMiELJESS PROPHET.    91
by his side, and the altar parted in tihe
middle, and the ashes were poured upon
the ground. As suddenly as astonishment
had given way to rage, did fear usurp the
place of both; and the king, who a mo.
ment before was bent on taking his
enemy's life, now tremulously begged for
mercy. He besought him to restore the
withered arm  that hung lifeless by his
side. Prayers and tears effected what
threats could never have done; and the
heart that seemed made of iron-so cold,
and relentless, and fearless did it beat
amid his foes-was instantly filled with
the tenderest sympathy, and he restored
to the humbled monarch his arm. In the
fulness of his delight and gratitude, the
king invited him to his palace and to his
table, offering to load him  with gifts.




92  SACRED SCENES AND CJARACTERSd
But the nameless prophet refused, saying
that he would not for half his palace; for
the Lord had charged him saying, 1"Eat
no bread, nor drink water, nor turn again
by the way thou carmest."  So he departed.
The singular appearance  of this unknown  man —his boldness —the fearful
doom he had pronounced, and the miracles he had wrought, filled the beholders
with amazement, and the news was spread
on every side. Among others, the sons
of an old prophet of the Lord brought the
tidings to their father's ears. Instantly
saddling his ass, he pursued after himdetermined to know more of one who had
uttered so fearful a malediction, and shown
such high authority for it. lIe found him
sitting by the way-side, under a spreading




THE NAMELESS PROPHET.      93
oak, doubtless musing on the mission he
had just fulfilled, and the Being who had
made him the messenger.
The old prophet began immediately to
urge him to go back and eat with him.
But the nameless prophet replied, as he
did to the king, that it was the explicit
direction of the Lord that he should not
eat bread nor drink water in that place.
Finding all his entreaties of no avail
against the command of the Almighty,
he changed his plan, and told him that
he too was a prophet of the Lord, and
added, "An angel spake unto me by the
word of the Lord, saying, Bring him back
with thee into thine house, that he may
eat bread and drink water."  "~But he
lied  unto  him."  This staggered  the
stranger; and though he thought it sino




94  SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo
gular that the Lord should send two such
contradictory messages, still one of his
prophets, a venerable and revered man,
would not state an untruth. What questions he put, and what falsehoods the old
prophet uttered to sustain the first, we
are not told. The whole question hinged
on the single fact, whether God had
altered his commands.  Still it doubtless
was with many misgivings that he at
length admitted that it was really so, and
consented to return.
As he reined his unwilling beast back,
methinks his heart felt a sudden chill, and
a gloomy foreboding darkened his spirit.
Perlhaps it was false; and he was provoking the curse of that God whom he
would rather perish than disobey.
The two prophets, however, were at




THE NIAMELESS PROPIIETo      9
length on their way back, and a venerable
pair they were as they rode side by side)
and conversed of those high themes which
related to'God and the fate of Israel. As
the old prophet spoke of the revelations
that from time to time had been muade to
him —of his solemn interviews with the
Almighty, the heart of the stranger must
have felt relieved of its doubts; and the
fearful misgivings, which would ever and
-anon shake his soul, departed. This was
a man of God, and had been sent to him
to hasten his return.
At length they reached the old prophet's home, and entered his humble
dwelling.  Their beasts were unsaddled,
and the anxious and officious host ordered
dinner to be spread, to which he sat down
with his guest. In the'midst of pleasant




t   SACREJD SCENES AN-D c-HAItACOTEiM6
cheer, and still pleasanter conversations
the hours wore rapidly on. The old prophet exerted all his powers to give zest to
the entertainment, and for once disobedience seemed about to be crowned with
blessings.:gut suddenly — at the very moment
when they felt nmost secure-a strange
light illumined the old prophet's face, and
flashed in fearful splendor from his eyeo
The Spirit of the Almighty-the true inspiration-had entered him, and, rising
up before his astonished guest, who sat
watching with the intensest anxiety this
sudden change, he cried aloud: " Thus
saith the Lord, forasmuch as thou has disk
obeyed the mouth of the Lord, and hast
not kept the commandment he gave thee,
but camest back, and hast eaten bread ancd




TIHE NAMELESS PROPIHET. 
drunk water in the place where he did say
to thee, eat rno bread and drink no waterl
thy carcass shall not come unto the sepul-.
chre of thy fathers."  Had a thunderbolt
$suddenly fallen at the feet of the prophet,
he could not have been more astounded.
On his own confession, his host had lied to
him, and now, at his own table, pronounced
the curse upon that disobedience of which
he himself had been the author.
With a fallen countenance and a heavy
heart, the doomed man saddled his ass and
rode away.  With his head bowed on his
bosom, and his long beard sweeping his
garments, he passed slowly along, heedless
*of all the objects around him.  Weary
and heavy was the way; for he knew the
light of his dwelling would never more
cheer his eye, nor the voices of those he




98  SiACED SCENES AND CHAltACTERS.
loved fill his heart with delight.  By the
roadl-side his rejected  body  should  be
thrown, to  be devoured, perchance, by
the dogs; and, worse than all, the stigma
of a wicked p.rophet would be fixed on his
name for ever.  Oh! who can tell the
flood of anguish that then swept through
his bosom, or the broken prayer to the
God of his fathers whliich then arose fironm
his crushed and broken spirit.
ahile he was thus passing sadly along,
a lion sprang upon mhi, and slew hilm.
But, held by an invisible hand from touch.ing his prey, he, togethe~r with his ass,
stood and watched over the corpse.  Travelers turned in wonder from the strange
spectacle, and brought the news to the
city.  The old prophet knew at once that
it was the victim  he had seduced to his




THE NAMELESS PROPHET.       99
ruin; and, illed with remorse and pity,
he hastened to him, and taking up the
corpse, brought it over to his own house.
MV ourning over it with tears, that came
too late, he cried, "'Alas, my brother ["
And well he might, for t'hat pale face in
its death-stillness, uttered a reproach more
touching than language, and all the ghastly
wounds,' with their dumb mouths," pleaded  like  angels  against the  murderer.
"Take him," said the stricken prophet,
"and lay him in my grave, and whlen I
am dead, then bury me in the same sepulchre; lay my bones beside his bones. Let
the same sepulchre inclose us, and let the
monument that tells of the disgrace of the
one perpetuate the falsehood and crime
of the other."  It was all that he could do
by way of atonement, and one tomb held




100 SACRED SCENES AND CIJARACTEiStL
the victim  and the seducer, No name
crowned the resting-place of the stranger;.
he was known only as the' fMan of God,,"
and for ages his sepulchre was the sepulchre of I THmE NAMELESS PROPHI-ET."
A  fearful lesson  this, to  those'who
would forsake the command of God fo-r
the declarations of man.








' tt "
Ii ~i  I,  1t~ ~   ~'//'~i'
a~




JACOB.             101
HAPTER  V:IL
JACOB.
THE whole history of Jacob is complicated as the plot of a play. Scheme involves scheme - one adventure succeeds
another, and hair-breadth escapes, cunning
management, and unexpected success, keep
the reader in a state of constant excitement. The issue is all that could be wished;
yet the means often used to bring it about
are, to say the least, questionable, and
quite irreconcilable with the principles of
truth and virtue. Jacob and:Esau were
two brothers-the latter of whom, being
the elder born, was entitled to all the pri9*




102 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo.
vileges of birthright.  Full of fire and
daring, he loved the excitement of the
chase, and was never more at home than
when scaling the steep mountain side, in
hot pursuit of game. His bold spirit, keen
eye, and resolute will, pleased his father,
who often ate of the venison he brought
home from his hunting expeditions. Jacob,
on the other hand, was a "4plain man,
dwelling in tents;" that is, he loved to be
amid his flocks, and passed his days in the
quiet occupation of a grazier.  It was
natural the father should love the former,
and the mother the latter. Jacob's gentleness and home feelings pleased Rtebecca
more than the rough and stormy nature of
Esau.
On one of his hunting expeditions, Esan
had been tempted to a longer and sharper




JACOB.             103
pursuit than usual, and when he at length
on his return drew near his brother's tent,
he was weary and faint from his over-exertion and want of food.  Seeing Jacob
cooking a savory dish, he asked for some
to eat.  The latter, instead of generously
offering him what he needed, took advantage of his distressed condition, and proposed that he should sell his birthright for
a mess of pottage.  Exhausted and starving, Esau consented, and the wily Jacob
supplied his necessities.
Jacob's character presents strange and
striking contrasts. Gentle and affectionate,
he nevertheless in his youth seems to have
been selfish and calculating.  A generous
impulse would have prompted him to succor his fainting brother without thoughts
of reward. To bargain with a starving




104 SACRiED SCENES AND CITARIACTE1So
man, indicates a shrewd and calculating
mind, but not an honorable spirit. On the
other hand, Esau's willingness to part with
blessings, temporal and spiritual, for the
sake of the mere present and immediate
gratification of his hunger, proves him to
have been a man unworthy of his bir;th-'ight.
This, however, was only the first act in
the drama. When Isaac had become blind
in his old age, and felt that he mfist soon
die, he called Esaun, and bade him go and
kill him a deer, and cook it, and afterwards
he would give him his last blessing. Rebecea overheard him, and immediately,
with her son, concocted a plan so full of
fraud and falsehood, that we turn away,
almost appalled to find it successful. Jacob
was aided to kill a kid, which she disguised




JACOB.             105
so skilfully, that the old man believed it to
be venison, and then covering her son with
the skin, to resemble the hairy form of
Esau, bade him go in and cheat his father.
This he did; and when Isaac, staggered by
the voice, which had none of the abrupt
and rough tones of his elder brother, asked
him directly if he were Esau, he not only
declared that he was, but piously attributed
to God his success in having obtained the
venison so soon. With this direct falsehood burning on his conscience, he coldly
heard the blessing of his blind and misguided father. One would think the blessing would have turned into a curse, or at
least in the eye of Heaven, which judges
not by outward appearances, that the intention would have been taken for the deed,
and, as the blessing was designed for Esau,




106 SACRED SCENES AND CHIARACTERSo.
so he should have received the benefits of it.
Not so,however. This seems strange to us,
at first sight, and we wonder how a just God
could sanction such fraud by allowing it to
be successful~. But we must remember that
Esau had lost all claim to the birthright, for
he had sold it for "a mess of pottage." H-Ie
had parted with his right so recklessly, that
it was evident that the priceless treasures
bound up in it were unsafe in his hands.
At any time, he might barter them for a
morsel of food or a quaff of wine. Not
only this, but his character was every way
unfit for the responsibilities and obligations
his birthright conferred upon him. On the
other hand, the very means, so desperate
and extraordinary, which Jacob took to
receive the blessing, showed that he would
prize it above all other good.  In the esti



JACOB'.             107
mation of its value, therefore, he stood
before his elder brother.  In general character he certainly was far superior~
But, granting both to be equally unworthy of it, one by the contempt in which
he held it, and the other by his fraud and
falsehood: who had the best claim?  The
fixed law of succession must prevail, for all
the hopes of a Saviour rested upon it; and
granting the acts of both to have been
wrong, on the side of which of the two did
the balance fall? By the strict code of
justice, evidently on that of Jacob.  But
when we put into the scale the general
character of Jacob, all doubt is removedl.
Our difficulties arise from  the fact, that
Jacob seenms unworthy of what he received,
forgetting that man's salvation depended
on him or Esau receiving this very blessing.




SI08 SACItED SCENES AND CIIARACTrIHAS..As one must have it, Jacob was the man;
and his absolute unworthiness is not to be
taken into the account; for if unworthiness
forfeited the blessings of HIeaven, where
should we all be.? It is the selling them
-or a mess of pottage-throwing of them
away at the impulse of passion, that causes
the shipwreck of our hopes.  To err in our
anziety-to sin in our eargerness to obtain
themn may be pardoned; but contempt of
them, neverj
The whole matter may be thus re-stated'
The birthright was precisely what-an ens
tailed estate now is, which must fall on one
or the other of the sons, or be thrown away,
and the benevolent plans of God thwarted,
Since, therefore, one must reap the advantages of it, to which of the two should they
be given? On the ground of strict legality,




to Jacob, most certainly, for he had pure
chased it —-it was his by contract.  On the
score of mzerit) he had at least an equal
claim —-on that of character, the bests
WYho, then, would decide differently, if in
his power? Who would give it to lEsau, and
oh, who would throw it away?  The whole
difficulty lies in the fact that fraud was
successful  We forget that in such a case
the success by no means proves the deception to have been sanctioned.  Jacob had
won, but for the means used he was afterwards to pay dearly. At the time, however, he did not probably look on the crime
as so great. He had purchased the birthright just as he would have clone a tract of
land, and therefore considered it his.  Yet
he knew the strong hand of Esau would
certainly rob him of it, and he must keep
-I10




110i SACRED) SCENE AND) CiiAilA(jTi~iRBM
his own by management, or lose it.  HiSI
fraud was practised to retain what was
legally his own, not to wrong another,
Thus he doubtless considered it, and although it does not show a particularly nice
conscience, it glosses over the transactiond
From  the agitating scenes around his
father's sick-bed, and from the dark and
wrathful brow  of Esau, who sought his
life, Jacob fled to his uncle Laban, living in
HIaran.  A lonely wanderer, he lay down
at night under the open sky and slept, and
lo! the heavens opened above him, and
radiant steps unfolded till they reached the
earth, down which angelic beings came in
shining groups, while a voice of mercy
cheered him with glorious promises.
At HIaran, however, he was paid off
somewhat for the deception he had prao




JACOb.              II
tised on his father.  Falling in love with
his beautiful cousin, Rachel, he engaged to
work seven years for her.  Unwearied and
faithful, he entered resolutely upon the
fulfilment of his contract; and as the long
probation wore slowly away, his heart
swelled with joyful anticipations.  The
beautiful being before him, on whom every
thought and feeling was centered, for whom
he had toiled so long and anxiously, was
soon to be his for ever. At length the last
day of toil came, and as the sun sunk behind the western hills, and night stole over
the earth-the night which was to place
Rachel in his embrace joy and rapture
awoke in his heart.  The seven years
seemed now but a dclay, and worthless compared to the treasure within his reach.
Alas! llnet morning, instead of clasping




112 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
Rachel in his arms, he found that Leah
had been imposed upon him by his uncle.
The seven years were. thrown away, and in
that moment of heart-sickness and bitter
disappointment and disgust, he felt that
deception was a two-edged sword, that cuts
both ways.
But here we meet again the brighter
aspect of his character.  Gentle in his
nature, and relying more upon management than force-rarely giving way to
impulse, but swayed by judgment, he nevertheless had a warm and affectionate heart.
It was this, no doubt, which so endeared
him to his mother. His love for Rachel
was lasting as life-indeed, life was worthless to him without her, and he cheerfully
toiled seven years more to obtain her. A
spirit so sacrificing, and a love so deep and




JACOB.o            1i
abiding, reveal a nobleness of character
seldom seenb
His manageirnent, however, again exhibited itself, in obtaining his just wages
from Laban, and his timidity when, in his
flight from his father-in-law, he met his
brother Esau.  Fearing the vengeance of
the latter, he endeavored, by flattery and
presents, to turn him from his purpose, and
succeeded. So, also, his religious character
is seen in the faith and earnestness with
which he wrestled in prayer till he prevailed, and thus obtained the name of
Israel.
All along, there start forth those little
incidents which reveal, like a sudden flash,
the whole horizon of thought and feeling.
Thls, when he met Esau, and was still
uncertain what his reception would be, the
-o10*




114 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo
division of his little band tells where his
heart was.  Leah, and her maids and
children, were put in advance, and Rachel
and Joseph in the extreme rear, where the
shock should reach last. And as, in those
stormy, rough days, the strong hand of
violence frecquently seized first on woman
as its prey, should it be so here, Leah and
her maids might furnish victims enough,
and his beautiful Rachel be spared.
Of his return, at length, to Canaan-of
his interviews with Heaven, and the events
that followed, we shall say nothing. Rachel,
in giving birth to another son, Benjamin,
died; and Jacob was left to mourn her loss.
The more interesting passages of his life
we shall speak of in connection with Joseph.




JACOB AND JOSEPIL       115
C IHAPTER  VIiLI
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILMENT; OR,
JACOB AND JOSEPH.
THERE is nothing in the whole range of
human history or romance so full of strange
occurrences and touching incident, as combine to bring about the fulfilment of Joseph's dreams.  -Ie was the son of Rachel,
whom Jacob always designated by the appellation "'Miy wife"-the other was none
of his choosing, and hence had none of his
love. As it was natural, after the death
of his wife, his affection all concentrated
in her two children. Joseph was the eldest,
and beautiful as he was brave and good.




116 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
The old man could not conceal his partiality
for the boy, and lavished on him  the
choicest presents in his power to bestow,
and decked him out in a gay coat-thus
selecting him from all his brethren to receive the special marks of his favor. Their
hatred and envy on this account were
greatly augmented when he, in his innocence, related two dreams; one in which
their sheaves stood up around his sheaf
and made obeisance to it; and the other,
where the sun, moon, and stars did him
reverence; —the  only interpretation  of
which was, that he should be lord over his
brethren, and honored even by his father.
So, once, whilst pasturing their flocks in
Shechem, seeing Joseph-who had been
sent by their father to inquire after their
welfare-approaching, they said:'"Here




JACOB AND JOSEPH.       117
comes this dreamer: let us finish him at
once, and see what will become of his
dreams." Reuben interfered, on the ground
that it was monstrous to shed the boy's
blood, and persuaded them  to fling him
into a pit, doubtless with a view to liberate
him  privately.  When the unsuspecting
Joseph was first made to comprehend the
full extent of the wrong meditated against
him, he could hardly believe it true. But
as they harshly stripped off his parti-colored
coat, and roughly dragged him towards the
mouth of the pit, he could no longer doubt,
and begged most piteously for life.  iHe
besought them by the ties of brotherhood,
for their father's sake, for pity's sake, not
to cast him alone down that fearful abyss.
His prayers and tears were alike unavailing, and they thrust him harshly into the




118 SACRED SCENES AND CHIARACTERS.
dark entrance, and his agonizing shrieks
gave way to low moans of despair.
At length, however, seeing a company
of Ishmaelites passing by, they concluded
to sell him; and then, dipping his coat in
the blood of a kid, they took it back to
their father, saying,'"We found this in the
field, all bloody and torn, as you see it;is it Joseph's?" s" Yes," replied the afflicted
father, "it is Joseph's: a wild beast has
devoured him."  And he rent his clothes,
and put on sackcloth, and mourned bitterly.
All his friends endeavored to comfort him,
but he repelled their sympathy, declaring
he would go broken-hearted to his grave.
In the mean time, Joseph was taken to
Egypt, and- sold to one of the officers in
the king's army. It is not common for
the Bible to stoop to compliment one's




JAUOiS ANiJ J OSEPiiL       i
personal appearance, but it says  that
"'Joseph was a goodly person, and well
favored."   Possessed of a fine, noble form)
and  handsome  face, his  manly  beauty
awoke the passions of his muaster's wife,
and she persecuted him with base proposals,
Finding all her approaches repelled, her
love turned into hatred; and, with a lie
too infamous to be placed in the catalogue
of ordinary crimes, she charged him  with
assaulting her person.  Hurled from  his
place of trust, and cast into prison without
leave to defend himself, he suffered not
Dnly the miseries of a dungeon for two
years, but the mortification  of knowing'hat his character was ruined-his truth:,,nd virtue all gone in the eyes of the
vorlld. Ah! his brothers were right enough
n calling him  "a vain  dreamer,"  His




.I^. i-0 SA~liO) S-10 E: rS AN')  C1{A tACT Eiitg
little role is played out, and the great world
of strife and toil moves on without his
prison walls, and he is forgotten for ever,
Tbhus might he reason: but the sleepless
eye of One above human events did not
forget him. Pharaoh must have a troubled,
dream, and Joseph be the only one to interpret it. From the hard floor of a dunl
geon he mounts to the chariot of Pharaoh,
and the neglected prisoner of a captain of
the guard becomes first lord of all EgyptL
Ah! when she saw him in the king's chariot,
invested with regal power, how that false
woman must have trembled for herself and
husband. The man she had basely maligned
and imprisoned, was now where he could
strike any enemy downl   His hour of revenge had come; and in the suspense she
endured day after day, expecting her ex



O'AcoB AND Jo0s.&IIL     i2iA
tposure and humiliation, slhe received the
punishment of her crime.  But Joseph east
her fromn his meinmory, as he would a reptile
from his path, and bent all his energies
during the.seven years of plenty to hoard
enough for the seven years of famine that
were to follow. Why, in the plenitude of
his power and success, he never sent to his
father, to tell him  of his existence and
prosperity, we are not informed.  Nor
does it matter;-we only know that the
complicated plot was not to end thus.
That he thought of his father and his
home-that he wished to know if he were
still alive, and feared that he might die
before he could weep on his neck, may well.
-be imagined.
But time passed on, and by long famine
the land was withered up-the crops failed2




122 SACRED SCENES AND CI-IARACTERIL
and the hoarded grain of the years that
had passed was exhausted.
It is then, when the sons of Jacob came
to Egypt to buy corn, that we for the first
time begin to see how the tangled web of
events is to be unraveled, and catch a
glimpse of the way the riddle is finally to
resolve itself.
Those envious brothers stand in presence
of the lord of Egypt without recognizing
lin. 1-e has changed since they tore himr
fromn their side, and drac ged him shrieking
to the pit.  The beautiful boy has become
the well-developed and noble man; and
clothed, not in "a coat of many colors,"
but in the royal apparel of the chief manl
in the realm, he looks himself " every inch
a king." But the shepherds of Shechem
have not so changed-they look just as




JACOB AND JosEPIr.       123
they did when he plead beseechingly for
life, and he recognizes them  at a glance.
lie has not forgotten the unspeakable anguish of the last moment his eyes fell upon
them. As he turned to them, one after
another, in his touching prayer for mercy,
the face of each became daguerreotyped
on his heart for ever.  Hie knows thenm,
and speaks harshly to them-they  are
spies-they are any thing but honest men.
When, to repel this charge, they honestly
told their history, and spoke of their family
— referring to Joseph as dead, and Benjamin as with their father-he declared,
by the life of Pharaoh, that he would not
believe them, unless they brought that
younger brother down.  He imprisoned
them three days, and then released them,
on condition that one should remain bound




124 SACIRED SCENES AND CHARACTERIS
with him, as surety that the rest should
return with Benjamin.  He spoke to them
in Egyptian, and they, supposing he did
not understand Hebrew, conversed with
each other in an under-tone,  Remorse
had at length awoke, and self-reproach,
and they said: "'This is the punishment
for having treated our brother Joseph so.
We saw his anguish when he plead with us,
but would not hear; and now his blood is
required of us!"  This was striking a tender chord in Joseph's breast, and calling
back a whole world of associations.  In a
moment, Egypt, and Pharaoh's court, and
his own glory, all disappeared from sight,
and he saw only his fathe's white tent
and the sweet fields of Canaan. Nature
tugged heavily at his heart-strings, and the
choking sensation in his throat told him




JACOB AND JOSEPH.       125
ithat his self-control was fiast vanishing
before the swelling tide of fraternal and
filial love, and he retreated hastily to his
room. There, giving vent to his emotions
in sobs and tears, he washed himself and
returned.
When they again arrived at home, and
told their father what had happened, the
old man's fears were aroused, and he exclaimed, h"Ye have bereaved me of my
children: Joseph is dead, and Simeon gone,
and now ye will take away Benjamin also.
All these things are against me. He shall
not go; for if any mischief befall him,
you will bring my gray hairs with sorrow
to the grave." Not to save Simeon will he
risk Benjamin.  They ceased entreating,
and waited to see how the famine would
affect hlimo




:126 SACIED SCENES AND CIIARACTEiRS.
The little ruse the old man practised,
some time after-so natural, and yet so
easily detected-lets us into his character
at once. After days and weeks had passed
away, and want began to stare him in the
face, he spoke in the most ordinary, indifferent manner, as if the whole affair of
Benjamin had been forgotten-indeed, was
not worth being referred to again, saying,
"' Go down into Egypt and buy more corn."
"'No," said Judah, " we cannot, we zwill not
go without [Benjamin." With the petulence
and unreasonableness of old age, ewhen it
finds its structure of straw, reared with so
much pains and cunning, suddenly demolished, he exclaimed, "'Why did you tell
him that you had a brother? Why deal
so ill with me?"
It was useless, however, to contend with




iXUOB AND JOSEPII.      2i7
famine. -Without corn, Benjamin and all
must die; and the troubled patriarch, after
receiving the solemn oaths of his sons to
bring him back, at last consented. To
bless him and send him away, was a task
almost too great for his strength. Joseph
was long since dead, Rachel was dead, and
Simeon a captive. The boy Benjaminthe child of his old age-the only relic of
the wife he had so long and so deeply
loved-the last nestling on the roof-tree to
cheer, the evening of his days-the only
object that made the world bright to him,
must then go to a foreign land, to meet,
perchance, the fate of Simeon and of Joseph.  How the doting father, when he
found he could no longer shrink from the
fatal blow, grasped at every thing that
could add to the security of his child,




128 SACRED SCENES AND OHlAACTERIS.
"<Take,  said he, "the choicest fruits of
the land, and carry them down to the man
as a present; and a little balm, and a little
honey, and spices, and myrrh, and nuts,
and almoncds. Perhaps when he sees these
little presents from the old man, he will
pity his loneliness and be kind to his boy."
At length, after' having done all withia
his power, he shook off, by a strong effoyt,
the anxious parent, and rising to the dignity of the man of God, said: "' Go, and
God Almighty give you mercy before the
man.  If I be bereaved of my children, I
am bereaved."
The light of his heart, the joy of his
life, is at length gone.  The patriarch
stands in the door of his tent -his white
locks falling on his shoulders-and watches
the fair form of his boy receding in the




JACOB AND JOSEPL.       129
distance, until at last a clump of trees
shuts him from sight. Even then he does
not turn away, but lingers a long time,
gazing with an ashen cheek and tremulous
lip on the spot where he last saw his idol;
and then he bows himself in prayer to the
God of his fathers.  Oh! how he laid before him the promises he had made- llow
he pressed the pledge that had been given.
Wearily and sadly passed the days to
Jacob; the nestling was gone from  his
bosom-the light of his tent departed.
That tent was now desolate; the whole
world looked lonely; his very herds moved
sorrowfully over the fields; the sky, the
clouds, the earth, had suddenly changed
their aspect.
While Jacob and his sons are in this
state of ignorance and suspense, it is pleas




i'30 SACRED SCENES AND CI-IARACTEtS.
sant to turn to Joseph, who alone manages
the whole plot.  But he had overestimated
his self-control; for, when his brethren
again stood before him, and gave him the
presents and money of his father, antd he
saw Benjamlin with them, his heart beat
with a violence that mocked the mandates
of his will.  That beautiful boy, with his
open, affectionate countenance, was " his
_2other's son," his only brother, and his
whole nature reached forth towards him.
He could only say, "Is this the brother of
whom  you spake?"  God be gracious to
thee, my son!" and rushed out of the room
to hide the tears that could not be stayed.
In the solitude of his chamber, he relieved
his burdened heart, and returned with a
composed mien into their midst. IHe had
the whole of them  with him  at dinner;




3AOOB tAND JOSE Prt.
yet even here his love, which clamored so
loudly for expression, could not help revealing itself.  He piled on Benjamin's
plate-boy though he was-five times as
much as on any of the others. The look
of innocent wonder with which he met this
extravagance, again and again brought the
tears into Joseph's eyes.  Ah  how blind
they were, not to see that he was devouring
that child with his looks, and that every
motion was an effort to restrain himself
from snatching him to his bosom.
Hlaving passed this trial safely, he sent
them away, with their sacks full of corn —
ordering the steward to put the silver cup
into Benjamin's sack, and then, as soon as
they had left the city, to pursue after and
charge them with stealing it.  I-Ie did so;
and the brothers, knowing themselves in



1`2 SACRED SCE'NES Arb ClOIARACTLriEiXg
iocenit, bade him search, saying that he i.n
whose sack it was found, should be his
lord's bondman for ever.  Beginning at
the eldest, he opened one sack after another with the same success, until at last
none but Benijamin's remained. All anxiety
had now, ceased on their part, for they
knew that little Benjamin could not stealIt was a mere matter of form, opening hie
sack; but lo 1 the first object that met their
astonished eyes, was that glittering cup.
Alas, alas! they had just been congratulating themselves on their good fortuLne
With plenty of corn, and Benjamin with
them, they were on their return route to
their father.  Their fears had all given
way to delightful contemplations, when lo!
their hopes were thus suddenly dashed,
and Benjam-in, on their own conditions, was




4AdOf AoD JOS!EPi. R
to be a bondman for life. With rent clothes
and despairing hearts they returned to the
city, and prostrating themnselves before
their lord, made no excuse, but offered
themselves at once as slaves. This was
all he could ask, and the worst was over.
Not so. Joseph declared he would have
none but the culprit-the rest might return
to their father.  What, go back without
Benjamin! Such an alternative was worse
than death, and Judah roused himself to
onhe desperate effort to avert the catastrophe.  Rising and approaching Joseph,
he begged him not to be angry, but hear
him; he then commenced a most tender,
touching appeal to his feelings and his
affectionsO  Ah, that was quite unnecessary; poor Benjamin, as he stood silent
and wretched, the innocent cause of all
12




13A OSCthD SCENES AND C1AReACT:  8
this rmisery, the tears trickling down his
cheeks, was making that appeal with tenl
thousand tongues, tiill Joseph himself turned
paler than his brethren, But, swallowing
down by a convulsive effort his rising
rmotions, he stood with compressed lips)
and knitted brow and heaving chest, awaits
Ing the issue. Judah then went on to remind him that he had questioned them of
their father and family; and when they
had honestly told him all —even of their
brother Benjamin, he had commanded them
to bring him down to Egypt. Said Judah,' I told my father this, but he would not
let him come. And when he besought us
again to go and buy food we refused, una
less B1enjamin  accompanied us. He replied, You know my wife bare me two sons,
and one went out from me, and was torn




JACOB AND JOSEPH.       135
in pieces, for I have never seen him since;
and now if you take this one away also,
and mischief befall him, you will bring
down my gray hairs with sorrow to the
grave." In this simple and earnest manner, he went on pleading for his aged
father and for Benjamin, in such touching
language, that the heart of a stranger
would have melted.  Joseph listened to
the recital-saw the picture Judah drew of
his father, and when he came to speak of
how dearly that father still loved his long
lost son Joseph, and the sorrow and
wretchedness that now threatened his declining years, he could no longer restrain
himself. The swelling tide of feeling that
had so long been kept back, now rushed
the wilder for the force that had been laid
pon it, and he cried with a loud voice2




136 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
"Let every man leave me;" and he. stood
alone with his brothers.  He then burst
into a passionate fit of weeping, and sobbed
so loud and convulsively, that the court of
Pharaoh heard him. After the first gust
of feeling had passed by, he exclaimed,
"I am Joseph; doth my father yet live?"
Had a thunderbolt suddenly fallen at their
feet, they could not have been more astounded, and they stood silently looking
on each other-while consternation, shame,
remorse, and hope, agitated them by turns.
But there was no place in Joseph's bosom
for anger, and he endeavored to console
them by saying it was all for the best that
they had sold him.  God had ordered it
aright. He then snatched Benjamin to
his bosom, and covered him with caresses,




JACOB AND JOSEPHo       187
and the two brothers lay a long time in
each other's embrace, weeping.'All this time, Jacob was counting the
days that should bring [Benjamins back;
and when at last the little caravan heaved
in sight, how his heart beat as he saw him
riding safely in the midst. In the fulness
of his joy at his safe return, Judah told
him that Joseph was yet alive, and was
lord of Egypt. The shock liked to have
proved too much for his aged frame-the
blood sallied back to his heart, and he
fainted. When he at length revived, he
said, 1' It is enough; Joseph my son is yet
alive, I will go down and see him before I
die."  And he did go down, and Joseph
came in his chariot to meet him. Of that
interview  we cannot speak.  An  aged
father taking to his bosom a long-buried
12'




I$S SACRED SCENES AND CHIAACTERS.
son, and a noble son murmuring on that
bosom, in the midst of his tears)'1/y
father, my father," answered only by the
tremulous "' God bless thee, my son," is one
of the holiest sights this earth presents.
The rapture of that moment compensates
for years of pain. The Bible says that
Joseph "wept on his neck a good whkile."
How simple the declaration, and yet how
full of meaning.'"A good while!" yes,
the garnered affection of years, the hoarded
treasures of the heart, all it had suffered
and all it had hoped were not to be uttered
in a short embrace.
THus was the double dream fulfilled.




'SHE STAR 0V' BETHLEHEM.   189
CIAPTER  IX.
TrHE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
LATE one night, when all was still around
a rude hostelry in Judea, save, perchance,
the rippling of the wind through the treetops, a young mother gave birth to a son.
She was one of a company of poor travelers, who had taken up their night lodgings in the stable. Such a birth was no
uncommon thing among the poorer classes;
and yet Heaven never bent over a universe
just rolled into being with such intense,
absorbing interest, as it did over that unconscious babe, as it lay with feeble fluttering breath upon its mother's bosom.  The




140 SACRED SCENES AND CHiARACTER5S
heavens were quiet above-the inmates of
the low inn slumbered peacefully -the
shepherds were dreaming, free from care,
amid their flocks on the fresh hill-sides, and
all nature was at rest when the birth-throes
of that fair young mother brought troops
of angels from the throne of God.
But suddenly a change seemed to pass
over nature-mysterious influences were
in the air-the slumberers on the hill-side
and in the valley felt a strange unrest, and
arose and came forth into the open air.
Whisperings were about them, and sounds
like the passage of swift wings, all sweeping onward to one place, and then on the
darkness of night a new star arose, bathing
the landscape in mellow splendor, and flooding that rude inn and ruder stable with
light that dazzled the beholder.  There it




THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.    141
stood, beautiful and bright, pointing with
its steady beam to that slumbering babe.
Encompassed in the still glory, the wondering shepherds turned in alarm one to
another, but saw in the shining countenance of each only cause of greater fear.
While they thus stood hesitating what to
do, an angel hovered above them, saying,
"Fear not, for behold I bring you good
tidings of great joy, which shall be to all
people: for unto you is born this day, in
the city of David, a Saviour, which is
Christ the Lord."  Suddenly, crowds on
crowds of radiant beings swept around
them, singing,'" Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men."
Oh, how that glorious anthem arose and
fel along the Judean mountains.  " Glory
to God in the highest!" from voices tuned




142 SACRED SCENES AND CIIARACTTERS.
in HIeaven for ages to melody, and sent up
in one exultant shout firom that excited
host, burst again and again on the ear.
The heavens trembled with the song, and
far away, beyond the reach of watching
shepherds, or listening men, were louder
shouts, and more entrancing melody.
With that shout and that song on their
lips, the host of glad angels wheeled away
to Heaven, and all was still again. But
still that star kept shining on, and lo  the
shepherds from the hill-tops, and wise men
from  afar, guided by its finger of light,
came to where its beam fell on the infant
in the manger, and worshipped him there.
Strange occupants were in that stable.
The wise and proud were there kneeling.
Angels had been there adoring. The Son
of God was there sleeping in a human




T1 E STiAR 0 BJETHLEI1 t M.    i4l
Miotler's arms.  That stable was greater
than the palace of a king, for its manger
cradled the "'KING of kihngs, Emmanuel]
The  Wonderful,  Counsellor, Prince  of
Peace, Redeemer, Saviour of men," were
all embraced in that helpless infant.  There
it lay, calm, and fair, and lovely, the comaI
panion of cattle, and yet the Maker of the
earth, and the adored of ieaven-the son
of a carpenter, and the " Son of God.''The feeble arm could scarcely liftitself to
its mother's neck, yet on it the universe
stood balanced.  Its voice was faint, low~
and infantile, and yet, at its slightest cryj
myriads on  myriads  of angelic  beings
would crowd to its relief.  A  few hours
measured its existence, and yet it lived
before the stars of God.  Born to die, and
yet the conqueror of death. No wonder




144 SACRED SC'iWNES AND OCiAitACTEL' RbP 
t.hat star beamed on its face, for it did
more than declare its heavenly birth, or
direct the wise men to where it was cradledc
It was pointing -to the great solution of
the problem of life, and of the profoundest
mystery of Heaven. For four thousand
years the world had summoned its thought
and energies, and exhausted its wisdom on
the single question, "How shall man be
just with God?"  The smoke of the first
altar-fire kindled on the yet unpeopled
earth, as it curled slowly heavenward2, was
burdened with this question.  From  the
borders of deserted Eden-from the top of
Mount Ararat-from  the Bethel of Abraham, and from the tents of Jacob, had the
sacrificial flame burned skyward in vainm
The priests of Aaron had stood before the
altar, and struggled for ages with the




mighty problem, and lo! the   $ Star of
Bethlleheim" pointed to that babe as its
solution.   The long wanderings of the
Hl.ebrews — the miracles that preserved
them — the imposing ceremonies of their
religion-the "ark of God," the "'mercyseat," the pomp of temple worship, what
did  they all mean?   That silent star
pointed to the reply. Altars and sacrifices,
prayers and prophecies, all were to end
here. For four thousand years the earth
had been rolling on its axis to bring about
one event, and lo! it was accomplished.
To the thousand inquiries of the human
heart-to its painful questionings-to all
its hopes and fears for so long a period,
this was the answer and the end. Like a
shadow for ever fleeing, had the mystery
of justification baffled both the thoughtfiu:1.8




146 SACRED SCENES AND CIIARACTERSL
and inspired. The Hebrew Tith. his temple
worship and his offerings-the pagan with
his heathen rites and his gods-the philosopher with his reason and his conscience,
and the poet with his imagina'tion, hadcI
pondered for ages over it. \Watchings and
fastings, self-hnumiliation, long pilgrimages,
self-immolation, and, death, had been cheerfillly, nay, joyfully endcured, to solve it].
Too high for the rapt prophet, too deep for
the sage, it still remained to sadden alcnd
excite the heart of man, till the " Star of.Bethlehem" arose on the plains of Judea.
Then the problem' was solvedC and the mystery explained, but by One greater than all.
The long line of David, unbroken through
so many centuries, was maintained solely
to secure the birth of that child. Rapt hin
holy enthusiasm, Isaiah and Jeremiah, andc




TriE STABR oF BET4ILEHEMo    i4
all the prophets of God, had spoken of a
King of Israel yet to come, whose throne
should excel all the thrones of earth' and
in the sublimest strains of eloquence spoken
of the glory of his kingdom and the splendor of his reign.  Through ages of oppression-through long years of captivity
-from the depths of suffering, had prophets and people looked forward to the
coming of the "tRedeemer of Israel," and
now, as if to mock their hopes, that silent
star pointed. to the babe' of a carpenter's
wife as the fulfilment of all.
Oh what a bitter disappointment, to be
told'that the King-of Glory-the Prince
of Peace-the Redeemer of Israel-thle
hope of the human heart, were in that
infant, coarsely clad and laid in a nmanger,
Yet that star said more than all thiso




148 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTEIRS.
To the longings after inmtvmortality-to the
dim hopes-the painful bitter cry of the
human soul after a life to come, it still cast
its dazzling rays on that rude manger.
The sad soul may question on anld struggle
on; but the sleeper there alone can satisfy
its desires.  It mnay range the fields of
thought-exhaust all learning and all phil
losophy   dive into its own unfathomed
depths; yet there alone is unfolded the
mystery.  "Life and immortctity" are in
that manger-so speaks the ever-beaming
star. Kneel there with thy soul, which
has fallen back exhausted from the fearful
heights it has endeavored to climb unaided;
fling thy philosophy, thy pride, as well as
thy fears away, and let the light of that
wondrous star fall on thy countenance, and
its ray subdue  and gladden thy spirit_




THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.    149
Painful doubts and appalling fears, lest the
sinful heart could never be accounted pure
— unsatisfied longings and shadowy visions
of a life to come, are all over. Oh, with
what thrilling eloquence that silent star
spoke to the bewildered, melancholy race
of men!
Not only did it point to the only way
of justification, and reveal the life of the
soul, when its earthy clog is cast away,
but it shed light on the grave of the bodycast the first ray that ever fell within its
dark and voiceless chambers.  It said, as
it shone, "Behold the resurrection and
the life:" "cThere is the first-fruits of
them that sleep."  Wondrous beam, penetrating to the caverned head, casting unearthly splendor on the charnel-honse, and
flooding with light and glory the mutilated
1:3




1[0 SACRED SCENES AND CIHARACTEIRS
fragments which the worm and corruption
have left. To the "whole creation, tral
vailing in pain and groaning," waiting for
the redemption of the body, it said, in accents sweeter than ever yet fell on mortal
ears, "Be still-that babe shall open the
portals of death, and lead captivity captive."
To the heavens above, it also spoke a
language. It solved the mystery of redemption-showed how Mercy and Justice
could be united; and revealed the length,
and breadth, and depth, and height of the
love of God-a length that reaches from
everlasting to everlasting, "a breadth that
encompasses every intelligence and every
interest; a depth that reaches the lowest
state of hulman degradation and misery,
and a height that throws floods of glory on
the throne and crown of Jehovaho"




THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.    151
Two great events mark the long history
of the earth. One is the coming of Christ
in a human form as the "Babe of ]Bethlehem," to save and redeem-the other is to
be his coming in the plenitude of his divinity to judge the world.  A single star
arose and beamed on his birth: at his
second appearance, the stars of heaven
shall all be quenched, the sun be "turned
into darkness, and the moon into blood.








THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 15s
CHAPTER X.
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED.
THE lives of most men are on the same
plan, marked by the same vicissitudes,
checkered by the same light and shade,
joys and sorrows. The same storms overhang their path; and, passing through
similar sufferings, they drop, one like an
other, over the same brink, into the echoless abyss of the grave.  But now and
then one appears, born to a different destiny.  Thrown upon turbulent or rapidly
changing times, he is impelled, by a viol
lence he cannot resist, along dizzy heights
and down frightful gulfs, until the long




154 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
mlartyrdom  is brought to a close by a
death which changes the fate of an empire. Another, from childhood, goes only
from  mystery  to  mystery; revelations
from on high, spirit voices singing in his
ears, and unearthly visions dazzling his
eyes, keep his soul in a state of fearful
excitement, now thrilling with joy and now
shuddering with fear.  One-half of his
sky is always too bright for mortal eye to
gaze upon, and the other half, black with
thunder clouds piled on thunder clouds.
Thus it was with the prophets and priests
of old, and with the inspired apostles of
Jesus Christ. They dreamed dreams, they
saw visions, they heard "the lyres of angels and the whispers of friends"-they
talked with G'od face to face.
Most of these men, chosen for such a




TiHE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 35/
high destiny, possessed characters of greatenergy and activity.  John alone seemed
made to love. Less fitted than Paul for
the sterner struggles which accorded with
the latter's natnure, he wished ever to be
reposing on the bosom, or receiving the
caress, of his Friend and Master.  Sentiment and sympathy predominated in him;
he was a poet by nature; kind, generous,
and full of emotion; and was happy only
when surrounded by those he loved. Serene trust and immovable faith were his
great virtues.
There is so mething inexpressibly touching in his attachment to Christ; there was
an abandonment about it, and such an
utter forgetfulness of the whole world but
him, and merging of all he wished or hoped
for into the affection of that single bosom.I




1].b  SACIRED SCENES AND CHARIACTERS,
that we never in imagination can behold
his head resting upon it in childlike happiness, as if life had nothing more to give,
without the deepest emotion6
There is a certain sadness connected
with the attachment of two friends who
have become so much to each other, that
they divide the world in only two parts,
"one where the loved object is, and one
where it is not."  It is too intense for
this life; changes and separation will
weaken it, or death disrupt it. But there
is something sadder in the attachment of
Christ and John. The deep devotion, the
pure and generous heart, the tender sympathy, the trusting, loving nature of the
latter, had so won upon the Saviour, that
every look he cast upon him was a caress,
and every word he spoke, took the gentle




THIE   ThAIN T Ai A T J I. ISV LOVL9E1D. 157
tone of a mother addressing her childcl
HTe knew how his disciple loved him, and
knew too how nmuch he must suffer in the
sufferings that awaited him.  John, absorbed by his attachment, his countenance
by turns made tearfal and joyous at the
kind words and glorious truths that fell
from  his 3Master's lips, seemed never to
dream of approaching evil, of possible separation. Jesus, on the other hand, as
he with his sorrowful face looked down
upon him leaning contentedly on his
breast, thought of the future.  With his
human heart beating warmly for the true
devoted friend on his bosom, he could not
but sigh, knowing, as he did, the trials
and sufferings his tender nature must yet
pass through to prove its love for him.
As, in imagination, I behold the two in
14




t58 SACPRED SCENES AND CMiARACTsEAs
each other's embrace, I seenz to see tears
on the cheeks of Jesus, at the same time
-that his hand bestows a, car ess.  The imm'
licit confidence and trust of his follower
appealed to every noble quality of the
heartj anld he mnust ili thos'e moments have
looked upon John, as a mother upon the
smiles of her infant, when she knows that
in a few hours the executioner's axe -ill
leave it an orphan in the worldo   The
dark hints he ever and anon threw  out-filled  John  with  wonder, rather  than
anxiety, and he loved on, indifferent to his
own fate.  The other disciples respected
this attachment, and, far from being jeaih
oUs, seemed affected by ito  When Christ
attered those sad words, "One of yout
shall betray. me2e" they dared not ask him
who it was, but requested John, who they




THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 159
knew would not be rebuked, to do it for
them.  fe, looking up from that pillow
he cozuld not surrender to any other head,
said, "Lordl, who is it?" and the Saviour
told him.  The youngest of all, a mere
yonth when he began to follow Christ, he
was yet most beloved of all.
John must have passed through strange
states of mind, as the wondrous character
of the being he loved so intimately and
treated so familiarly, became revealed to
him in his miracles and by his high claims.
Christ seems always to choose him for a
companion when about to accomplish any
great event.  John heard his predictions
respecting Jerusalem  and the Jewish nation; stood by when he took the hand of
the dead daughter of Jairus, and bade her
arise amid her astonished friends; wa,s




160 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
one of the three who ascended the Mount
of Transfiguration, and saw the face and
form he had so often caressed assume the
likeness and splendor of God; was in the
garden on that night of fearful agony, and
gazed on that pallid face streaked with
blood which had so often and so kindly
smiled on him; and, last of all, beheld
him ascend into Heaven, triumphant over
death and the grave.
But there is one event which gives John
peculiar claims to being "that disciple
whom Jesus loved."  Christ had endured
the agony in the garden; his sacred face
had been spit upon; his cheek shamefully
struck; the farce and insult of a trial endured; he had fainted under the cross as
he struggled with it up the steep hill-side;
and, with his frame strung to the point of




TiE DSCIPLE THiAliaT JESUS LOVED. 161
extremnest sensibility, had been laid on the
rough beams, and the bolts rudely crushed
through his shrinking hands and feet, and
thus suspended on high. Around him was
the railing crowd, beside him a scoffing
thief. All his friends had forsaken him
and fled; and alone, all alone, he was left
to wrestle with his doom. No, not quite
alone, for nearer the cross than the taunting rabble stood his mother. It was her
ehild, bleeding and dying there before
her eyes, and what were the scoffs and
violence of those around her! ay, what
was death itself compared to the throes of
maternal anguish that shook her bosom!
There stood John, rivaling even the mother in love. He forgot he had a life to
lose; he did not even hear the taunts
that were rained upon him, nor see the
14*




162 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTErTSo
fingers of scorn that were pointed at his
tears; he saw only his dying friend and
Lord; beheld but the bosom on which he
had so often rested his head, heaving and
swelling as though the heart would burst
its confinement, and the brow on which
peace ever sat like a white-winged dove,
contracted with agony unutterable. True
to the last, pale as the suffering being before him, he stood and wept in speechless
sorrow.  Christ, in the midst of his torture, and in the midst of his stupendous
scheme he was finishing at such a fearful
price, cut off from earth, and just as Heayen too was about to abandon him, and
the power of his Father was darkening
over his spirit, was struck with this matchless love.  The last, the wildest wave that
ever broke over the soul of the Saviour,




I'RE DISCIPLE ~TAT JE SUS LOVED. 136
was gathering for its flow, yet even then
he gazed lovingly on those two faithful
hearts, and his calm though failing voice
reached their ears, and he said to his mother,'I Behold thy son," and to John, " Behold thy mother."  True-hearted disciple,
faithful friend, take my place beside my
mother; to thy love, so great for me, I can
safely commit her. Oh! what a proof of
confidence and attachment was that!  So
high an honor ias never before paid human love.  Oh! what an inheritance was
that the Son of God gave him, —his mother, and his affectionate confidence in the
last hour of his suffering, and while standing on the portals of the eternal kingdom.
No wonder that John, after that, took her
to  his own hole, soothed her sorrows,
nursed her declining years, and at last




164 SACRED SCENES AND CHIARtACTFER$o
gently and sorrowfully laid her in her
graveo
Years passed by, and changes and persecution came, but no change in the affection of John for his Master. Living in
his life, he now lived to make known his
death and resurrection. Love seemed to
supply the place of native energy, and he
passed into Asia, preaching the gospel,
and planting churches, until at length the
hand of persecution reached him also, and
he was banished to a lonely island in the
2Egean Sea.
How long he remained there we know
not; silence and uncertainty rest on his
history.   Alone he trod the  desolate
beach, cheered by no voice, solaced by no
companionship. He whose happiness had
consisted in laying his head on the bosom




THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 165
of his friend and Lord, was left without a
friend,  The monotonous dash of waves
at his feet, the broad and boundless deep
stretching away before him, the cry of thi
sea bird and the roar of the storm, these
were the only sights and sounds left to
the lonely exile. Day after day, and week
after week, the same unvarying routine.
The solitary walk on the shore, and still
more solitary rest under an overhanging
rock, filled up the measure of his employments. Ah, how sweet then was the remembrance of his long and affectionate
interviews with Christ —how full of solace
the words he had spoken, so sweet that
the desert seemed peopled with angels,
and the hoarse murmur of the sea sounded
like an anthem of praise to God. As he
stood and saw the sun go down on the




166 SACRED SCENES AND CHAltACTEliSo
deep, he remembered that just so it flashed
over the Sea of Tiberias, when Jesus fed
the five thousand. As he looked up to the
silent firmament, gorgeous with stars, he
remembered the strange night he passed
with Jesus on Mount Tabor, looking on the
same heavens; and when he pillowed his
lonely head upon the sand, he thought,
with throbbing heart, of him "who had not
where to lay his head.
HIow long he lived thus in holy contemplation, to prepare him for the wondrous
revelations about to be made, we know
not; but, one Sabbath morning, as he was
walking  the  desert island, filled with
thoughts of the world to come, he heard
a voice repeating in trumpet tones behind
him, "I am Alpha and Omega, the first
and the last." Turning to meet the voice,




tiE DrSC`IpLE TI'irIA JESUS LOVED. 16ti
he saw a forln dread enough to appal the
stoutest heart. A mantle wrapped it from
the neck to the feet! the head and hair
were white as wool, the eyes burned like
fire, the feet shone like brass in a furnace;
in his uplifted hand seven stars were blazIng; his countenance was like the s2un sKining in  its strength, and his voice like
6"the sound of manazy vwaters'"   No wonm
der the overwhelmed exile fell on his face
as a dead man, before this fearful form
and aspect, and dared not lift his eyes
again from the earth, till the same terrible
voice bade him  arises  Of the wondrous
- Visions that were then revealed to him,
who can speak?  The gates of hell and
heaven were flung open to his view.  I-He
saw the smoke that curtained the bottoms
less pit, and the city whose only light is




i68 SACRED SCENES AND CmiARACTElRSd
the presence of the Lamb; but -the speechi
less agony, the terrific confli'-ls, the appalling sights, together with the splendors
of the heaven of heavens, the throne and
the white-vested elders, the clazzling glory
of the crystal sea and rivers of paradise,
the  music of the harpers, the thrilling
power of that loud hallelujah, "W orthy is
the Lamb that was slain," as it rolled from
tell times tell thousand tongues full on the
throne of God and the Lamb, who can
describe?   That desolate island  around
John, was greater than Mount Carmel of
old, when horses and chariots of fire encircled the prophet.  God was there! un
veiling himself, this world, and eternity;
to a mortal.
This strange interview, with its long
train  of mysterious and fearful visions,




TiE~ DiSCIPLE TIHA'i  JESUS LOVED. 169
Was at last ended; as was also the exile of
John, and he smiled once mnore in the
midst of his friends. But the scenes he
had passed through did not change his
nature; he was: the same gentle, loving
being as ever.  Overflowing with kindness
and sympathy, all things else seemed
worthless in comparison.
And when the lamp of light burned dimly,
and his trembling voice could hardly articulate, he still spoke of love. It is said he
lived to be eighty years of age, and then9
too feeble to walk, was carried into- church
on men's shoulders, and, though scarcely
able to speak, would faintly murmur,'"Brethren, love one another." Affection
was his life, and it seemed to him that the
world could be governed by love.
15








PAUL.              17
CHAPTElR  XI.
PAUL.
THE history of our race furnishes some
few fien who. are like those mountain summits which repose in light, while all below
is in deep shadow. To me, Moses, independent of the inspiration he received firom
Heaven, is the grandest man the race has
produced. Intellectually, he towers above
all before and after him. The level ray
which should leave his forehead wonld gild
but few brows on the earth.  By it we
might see the faces of Elijah, David, and
Isaiah, but scarce another till we came to
Paul.




172 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
Paul, in his natural character before his
conversion, resembles Bonaparte more than
any other man-I mean both in his intellectual developments and energy of will.
He had the same inflexibility of purpose,
the same utter indifference to human sufferings when he had once determined on
his course, the same tireless, unconquerable resolution, the same fearlessness both
of man's power and opinions, and that calm
self-reliance and mysterious control over
others. But the point of greatest resemblance is in the union of a strong, correct
judgment, with rapidity of thought and
sudden impulse.  They thought quicker,
yet better than other men.  The powers
too, which both possessed was all practical
power. There are many men of strong
minds, wvhose force nevertheless wastes




PAUL.             178
itself in reflection, or in theories for others
to act upon.  Thoughlt may' work out into
language, but not Into action.  They will
plan better than they can perform. But
these two men not only thought better, but
they could work better than all other men.
I have made this comparison because this
great practical power is of rare occurrence.
An astonishing head and an astonishing
arm are seldom united.
The birthplace of Paul was well adapted
to the formation of such a character as his.
Born on the Mediterranean, with its broad
and ever-heaving bosom before him, and
an impenetrable barrier of mountains be'
hind him, his mind early took its stern
character and lofty bearing, and in his
youth he exhibited those qualities which
afterwards made him such a fearful and
15*




I["4 SACRED SCENES AND CHARIACTEiRS
wonderful man.  HIe had scarcely cornm
pleted his studies, before he plunged into
the most exciting scenes of those times.
The new religion, professing to have the
long-promised Messiah for its founder,
agitated the entire nation. To the proud
young scholar, those ignorant fishermen,
disputing with the doctors of law, and
claiming for their religion a superiority
over his, which had'been transmitted
through a hundred generations, and been
sanctioned by a thousand miracles and
wonders, were objects of the deepest scorn.
Filled with indignation, and panting for
action, he threw himself boldly into the
struggle, and became foremost in the persecution that followed.
With a stern brow and an unflinching
eye, he stood by and saw Stephen stoned




PA UL.            i75
to death. Arrested by no obstacles, softened by no suffering, he roamed the streets
of Jerusalem  like a fiend, breaking even
into the retirement of the Christian's home,
dragging thence women and children, and
casting them into prison.  Though young
in years, he had the nerve of a hoaryheaded tyrant, and before his relentless
will every thing went down.
I have often wondered how his hatred
and rage could hold out in his long journey to Damascus.  The silence and solitude of nature, her quiet aspect and lovely
scenes, as he passed along, should have
subdued, or at least allayed his hostility.
Especially at night, when he pitched his
tent on some green hill-side, and saw the
sun go down in a sea of green, and felt the
balmy breeze of evening, redolent with the




I'T6 SACRED SCENES AND CHIARACTEito
perfume of flowers, softly kissing his brow;
and later, perchance, listened to the note
of the bulbul filling the mIoonlight with
melody, it must have required nerves of
iron to resist the soothing influences around
him. Yet, young as he was, and hence
peculiarly open to all the beauties of nature, he never seems a moment to have
vacillated in his purpose.
The same self-control and perfect subjection of his emotions-even terror itself
-to the mandates of his will, are exhibited
in his conduct when smitten to the earth,
and blinded by the light and voice from
Heaven. John, when arrested by the same
voice on the Isle of Patmos, fell on his
face as a dead man, and dared not stir or
speak till encouraged by the language,
"Fear not."  But Paul (or Saul), though




PAUL.              177
a persecutor, and violent manl, showed no
symptoms of alrm  or terror.  The voice,
the blow, the light, the glory, and the
darkness that followed, were suffimcient to
upset the strongest mincd; but he, master
of himself and his emotions, instead of
giving  way  to  exclamations of terror,
simply said: "'Lord, what wilt thou hare
me to do?" With his reason and judgment
as steady and strong as ever, he knew at
once that somethling was wanted of him,
and, ever ready to act, he asked what it
was.
1From this moment we cease to contenmplate him  in his natural character alone.
When the persecutor becomes the persecuted, and the proud young scholar the
humlle, despised disciple of Jesus of Nazareth, and leaving the halls of the wiso




f78 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
and proud, and companionship of dignitaries, casts his lot in with ignorant fishermen, he becomes a different being.  His
mental characteristics, his resolute will,
fearless heart, and tireless energy, are the
same; but his moral nature, how changed!
From this time on, his track can be distinguished by the commotions about it, and
the light above it.  Straight back to Jerusalem, from whence he had so recently
come with letters to legalize his persecutions, he went, to cast his lot in with those
he had followed with violence and slaughter.  His strong heart never beat one
quicker pulsation through fear, when the
lofty turrets of the proud city flashed on
his vision. Neither did he steal away to
the dairk alleys and streets, where the disciples were concealed, and tell them secretly




PAU'L                1'7i 9
his faith in the Son of God. tIe strodce into
tlhe synagogues, and before the astonished
priests preached Christ and hini  crucified~
IHe thundered at the door of the Ssanlledrm1ua
itself, and shaking Jerusalem lekm e'an eartha
nquake, awoke a tempest of rage and fu:ry
on himself   With assassins dogginging his
footsteps, he at length left the city.  But,
in.stead of going to places where he was
unknown, and. where his feelings would be
less tried, he started for his native city,
his father's house, the home of his boy-hood, for his kindred and friends.  To entreaties, tears, scorn, and violence, he was
alike impervious. To Antioch and Cyprus,
along the coast of Syria- to Greece and
Rome, over the known world he went like
a blazing' comet, waking up the nations of
the, earith.  From  the top ofl Mars' H-ill,




IS0 SACOD SCENiES AND CHARACTErS.
with the gorgeous city at his feet, and the
Acropolis and Parthenon behind him; on
the deck of his shattered vessel in the
intervals of the crash of billows, in the
gloomy walls of a prison, on the borders
of the eternal kingdom, he speaks in the
same calm and determined toneo Deterred
by no danger, awed by no presence, and
shrinking from no responsibility, he moves
before us like some grand embodiment of
power.  The nations heave around him,
and kings turn pale in his presence. Bands
of conspirators swear neither to eat nor
drink till they have slain him, rulers and
priests combine against him, the people
stone him; yet, over the din of the conflict
and storm of violence, his voice of eloquence
rises clear and distinct as a trumpet-call,
as he still preaches Christ and him cruci



e-d]. The whip is laid on his back till the
blood starts with every blow, and then his
mangled body is thrown into a dungeon;
but at midnight you hear that same calm
strong voice which has shaken the world,
poured forth in a hymn of praise to God,
and lo! an earthquake rocks the prison to
its foundations; the manacles fall from the
hands of the captives, the bolts withdraw
of themselves, and the massive doors swing
back on their hinges. Finding that the
whip, the dungeon, the assassin's knife,
and the executioner's sword cannot move
him from his purpose, the world point in
scorn to the cross, to signify that the Christ
he preaches died the death of a felon.
"The cross, the cross," they sneeringly
exclaim, to bring-the blush of shame to his
cheek; but, to their astonishment, they
16




182 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERSo
hear him shout louder than they all, "1 The
cross, the cross, I glory in the cross." On
the very spot they have selected for his
confusion, he plants himself, and, with one
arm around the emblem of disgrace, andc
the other pointed to: Heaven, he makes the
hill of Crucifixion burn like the gates of
Paradise. Nay more, he goes and stands,
by that felon's tomb —Him they call a,
felon - and preaches the resurrection of
htie dead..
I can never in imagination behold him',
with his somewhat diminutive form, his.
head slightly bald, nose aquiline, and eyes
dark and flashing, in the presence of Felix,
sweeping every Thing down in his torrentlike eloquence, without feeling my heart
beat with a quicker motion.  In a gorgeous
partment, filled with the noble and the'




gay, who have assembled from  curiosity,
he stands to defend himself against the
charges of the orator Tertullus. tIe listens
to the opprobrious epithets of "pestilent
fellow," "ringleader of a sect of Nazarenes:," "profaner of the temple," with a
composed countenance, until bid to answer
for himself.  At first calm, dignified, and
respectful, he repels the accusations; then,
taking fire as he touches upon the loftier
topic of the resurrection of the dead, he
forgets all but the cause he advocates.
But, especially, when Felix would hear
farther, and he "reasoned of righteousness,
temperance, and a judgment to come,"
does he rise before us like a being from
another world. After explaining the law,
its justice and purity, till the reason of
his listeners was convinced, he spoke of




184 SACRiED SiCEz.IES AN-D ClHAiACiTERS.
its claims in man and on then —-showed
how sinful and corrupt their lives ha7d been,
then passed to the judgnment of the great
day, and its just and fearful retribiutions~
As his imagination kindled on this stu:
pendous theme, forgot was all-the noble
audience before him, his bonds, imprisonment, and coming fate.  Those massive
walls sink  away before the descending
God; the Archangel's trumpet is heard
pealing the knell of time; the dead come
forth; the throne is set, and before it all
the nations of the earth are gathered,
awaiting their doom.  Gone is the look of
indifference and smile of incredulity; gone
even the sneer of Tertullus; and a solemn
silence, broken only by the tones of the
fearful speaker, reigns through the vast




PAULo              185
apartment. No wonder, when he closed,
the haughty Felix trembled.
But stern as Paul was amid his foes, annd
lofty in his course, he nevertheless h- d
a heart full of the tenderest emotions.  A
truer never beat in a human bosom.  At
times his natural fierceness would break
forth, as when the high priest ordered him
to be smitten contrary to the law. Turning like a lion upon him, he thundered in
his astonished ears, " God shall smite thee,
thou whited wall."  Yet he was ready in
a moment to be just; and there never was
before so fearless and inflexible a nature
joined with so much tenderness of heart.
Look at his parting with his firiends at
Ephesus, when on his way to Jerusalem!
HSow touching his address, and how characteristic! In closing, he said, "And now
16*




186 SACRED SCENES AND CHA:RtACTiTERSo.
I go bound in the spirit to Jerusalem, not
knowing the things that shall befall mo
there, save that in every city bonds and
imprisonment await me." "In every city"
the same hard fate; "yet none of these
things," he says, "move me, neither count
I my life dear unto me, so that I might
finish my course with joy, and the ministry
which I have received of the Lord Jesus,
to testify the gospel of the grace of God."
None of these things moved him - no,
these were trifling matters, bonds, imprisonment, and death; duty, the salvation of
man, the honor of God, these alone filled
him with anxiety, and nerved him to action.
Of one thing, however, he told them he
was convinced, and that was, that they
"' should see his face no more." To them he
appealed as witnesses, that he had labored




PAUL.             187
faithfully  for their welfare, and then,
kneeling down on the shore, prayed with
them. How often have I wished that that
prayer had come down to us.  One thing,
however, I know, it was full of self-forgetfulness and fervent pleading for those who
knelt around him.  No wonder, when it
was finished, they fell on his neck and
kissed him, "sorrowing most of all for the
words, they should see his face no more."
It would be a long, long time before they
could find another so brave and affectionate
a heart-one that would dare all things,
and suffer all things for them.  They
doubtless besought him to stay with them,
and be comforted by their sympathy and
love. But no, though bonds and imprisonment awaited him in every city, none of
these things moved him. On to his fate,




88 SACRED SCENES AND CHIARACTERSo
not sadly, reluctantly, but serenely, joyfJaly he went, thinking only of fulfilling
the ministry he had received.  Calm, dignified, and resolved, he took the path of
duty with an unfaltering step. No malice
or threats of his foes could deter him from
laboring for their welfare; no insults prevent his prayer in their behalf; no wrongs
heaped on his innocent head keep back L's
forgivenesso
One cannot point to a single spot in his
whole career, where he faltered a moment,
or gave way to discouragement or fear.
Through all his perilous life, he exhibited
the same intrepidity of character and lofty
spirit. With his eye fixed on regions beyond the ken of ordinary mortals, and.
kindling on glories it was not permitted
him to reveal, he pressed forward to an




PAUL.              189
incorruptible crown, a fadeless kingdom.
And then his death, how indescribably
sublime.  Napoleon, dying in the midst of
the midnight storm, with the last words
that fell from his lips a battle cry, and his
passing spirit watching in its delirium the
torn heads of his mighty columns, as they
disappeared in the smoke of the conflicts
is a sight that awes and startles us. But
behold Paul also, a war-worn veteran, battered with many a scar, though in a spiritual warfare, looking back, not with alarm,
but transport; gazing not on the earth, but
-on Heaven.  Ifear his calm, serene voice
ringing over the storms and commotions
of life: "II am  now ready to be offered,
and the time of my departure is at hand.
I have fought a good fight, I have finished
my course, there is laid up for me a crown




190 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTEIIS.
of righteousness.  No shouts of foemen,
nor smoke or carnage of battle surrounded
his spirit struggling to be free; but troops
of shining angels, the smile of God, and
the songs of the redeemed, these guarded
him and welcomed him home.




THE TOMB OF C:HRTST.     1091
CHAPTER  XIIo
THE TOMB OF CHRISTo
WHILE Jesus of Nazareth lived, nothing
seemed able to subdue the malice of his
foes.  The less cause he gave for their
hatred, the greater it became. If he had
been guilty of the charges brought against
him, they would of course have put him
to death, while the vindication of his- innocence only strengthened and quickened
their bloody purpose. Hle sought no man's
gold or silver, he inflicted no evil —btt
poor and self-denying, devoted all his time
and efforts to the benefit of others; yet
his conduct did not soften the hearts of




192 SACRED SCENES AND CHARiACTI'S{o"
his enemies. When the band of soldiers
came upon him  on Mount Olivet, the
ghastly and blood-streaked face, and utter
exhaustion and lonely condition of the sufferer, awoke no commiseration. Though
he stood in the Judgment Hall of Pilate
like a "lamb before his shearers," his
gentle aspect could not prevent the rude
buffet; or his sacred face from being spit
upon.  His meek  obedience could not
save his back from the whip, nor his kind,
forgiving look keep the thorns from his
temples. His hard fate could not find a
sympathetic chord in the bosom of those
who sought his life, and when he fainted
under the cross, they were only fearful
lest the overtasked frame should give out
before they had inflicted on it greater
torture.  His unutterable agon y —even




TiHE TUOMB OF CHRIST.    19J
the "Father, forgive them!" which has
since thrilled the heart of the world, awoke
no remorse in their hearts. They clamored
more fiercely for his life, who was praying for them and theirs, than for the
thieves by his side. Through the hands,
opened only to bless, they smote the nails,
and on the agony, borne solely for their
redemption, they railed in mockery. And
even after death they drove the spear into
his side, though the silent language he
uttered to them was, "There is an easier
and better way to my heart than by the
spear."
All this did not move them; but at last
malice and hate had done their worst.
They had been allowed to insult, to torture, and at last to slay, and there was
nothing more for them to do. The victim




' d  SACRPED SCENE'S AND CHARAC'TE R
was beyond their reach, and so, with ri-1
b)3aldl songs and shouts, they moved away,
and left the dead Christ hanging on the
cross.  But a wealthy counsellor, who had,
secretlv loved Jesus, went to Pilate and
begged the body.  Sadly and silently he
took it down, and laid it in a new tomb.
He and Nicodemus bending over the life-r
less form, paying the last sad tokens of
respect to him they loved, composing the
limbs decently for the grave, is a sight
that not only soothes but startles us. For
the grave they are preparing him. Do
they really think then that he is dead for
ever, that nothing but the  archangel's
trump will waken him again?
ile is dead, and the stillness of night
has settled on his lonely sepulchre in the
garden.  A rock closes the entrance, and




THE TOMB OF CHRIST.      1 95
the great drama is over. Sad, sad is the
fate of the little band of Christians.  They
have forsaken friends and home, endurecd
privations, abuse, and torture; and now
stand the objects of universal scorn, for
their attachment to one who has left them
nothing but his grave. Wanderers on the
wide earth, they are like "sheep without
a shepherd."  The form  they worshiped
is wrapped in the shroud, the lips on which
they hung in tears of rapture are sealed
in death. The hope of the world is vanished, the light that was rising on its
darkness, quenched for ever; for there, in
that tomb, cold and dead, rests the body
of him who called himself the " Son of
God."  The arm that claimed. to uphold
the universe, has been stretched upon the
cross, and now lies stark and stiff beside




196 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
its owner, and the tongue that declared il
could with a word bring "legions of angels" from on high, is now dumb and powerless. Leaning over the dead Lazarus,
he, with a simple command, had raised
him from corruption. The sheeted dead
obeyed his call, and the charnel-house
stirred with living men at his voice; but
no motion or life is within his sepulchre;
darkness covers it.  "He saved others,
himself he cannot save." Perchance the
angels were in the same state of uncertainty as men, and the melancholy echo
came back from the skies, "' Christ is dead!
we are orphans! all orphans!"  The star
that shone over the manger_ of Bethlehem
was a mockery.
The sun shrouding itself in darkness
and the earthquake rending the globe,




TrlE TOMB O CHBIST.     19
both attested how dire, how irremediable
was the calamity.
The long-expected Messiah, the King
of Israel is no more. A whole day has
he lain in the tomb; soon dust Will begin
to crumble back to dust; and now darkness has again fallen on the world. The
stars are gently twinkling in the sky, the
evening wind sweeps carelessly by, the
hum of the distant town is gradually dying
away, and all nature moves on as peacefully.
as though Christ were not dead.  The
branches are swaying, and the flowers are
nodding around that quiet grave, and one
cannot dream of the scene that will transpire there before the morning dawns.
Nothing uncommon marks the hour or
the place, save that two Roman sentinels
stand silent in the moonlight, which flashes
17*




198 SACRED SCENES AND CIIARACTEiRSo
on their steel helmets and polished spears.
The clank of their armor is heard at intervals in the stillness; all else rests undisturbed as the sleeping world around.'Tis
past midnight, and the morn is already
hanging over the western hills, when suddenly  darkness wraps the  shuddering
earth.  The ground begins to heave beneath that sepulchre, and lo, an earthquake thunders on.  Rocks are ren-t,
graves open, and the reanimated  dead
come forth and gaze once more on the
heavens. In the midst of this elemental
war, and commotion, and gloom, a form,
clad in vesture white as snow, and with a
countenance that outflashes the lightning,
is seen cleaving the darkness. The throbbing earth and troubled heavens are forgotten before his burning presence, and




THE TOMB OF CURISTo      199
the sentinels fall as dead men at the door
of the sepulchre they are guarding. He
rolls back the stone, and Jesus of Nazareth stands erect before him.  He has
conquered death and the grave, and leaving behind the garments that wrapped
him, steps forth into the night. But the
place in which he has lain is still held
sacred; for two angels, clad in white, sit,
one at the head, the other at the foot of
the tomb, watching. The earth has slept,
but Heaven been wakeful, on this fearful
night.
The armed soldiers fallen on their faces
-an angel sitting on the stone rolled back
from the door-two celestial beings leaning over the tomb within-these were the
objects that met the gaze at early dawn.
What a scene for that quiet garden! On




200 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
that night, and on that little spot, were
secured the resurrection of the body and
the redemption of the soul. No wonder
angels leaned thoughtfully there.
How strange must the spectacle have
appeared to Mary Magdalene. The penitent's heart still yearned towards her fort
giving Lord.  She had stood near the
cross and seen him die; she had discovered
the place of his burial and lingered long
and anxiously about it. Before the day
dawned she had risen from her sleepless
couch, and stolen out in the darkness to
weep there. Scornful eyes could no longer
watch her; no voice reproach her; even
the Roman soldiers would respect so great
a sorrow, and not deny her the poor boon
of weeping on the spot where her Lord
was entombed.  With a heart bursting




TEE TOMB OF CHRIST.      201
with grief, and perhaps a strange, undefined hope in her breast, she threaded her
way through the garden to the sepulchre.
Perhaps the rumbling of the earthquake,
so like that which closed the crucifixion
scene, had roused her before day, and she
expected  some new  manifestation  from
Heaven. If so, she was not disappointed.
The open sepulchre, with a strange, bright
being near the door-two angels within,
sitting by the empty tomb -the risen
Saviour standing before her-the lifeless
sentinels in the midst, might well confuse
her senses so that she did not recognise
the Saviour until he spoke.
The wonderful news soon spread on
every side; and Peter, ever impulsive and
headlong, came, with the speed of wind, to
ascertain the truth. The sepulchre was




202 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
open, the tomb was there, and the graves
clothes folded upon it, but the inmate was
gone and the angels had departed. It was
a deserted sepulchre, and the solitude and
mystery that wrapped it must have fallen
with strange power on the heart of Peter.
How rapidly events had followed each
other. The betrayal, trial, and crucifixion,
preceded but a few hours the burial; in a
few hours more the dead awoke and moved
about among his friends.  A  few days
passed away, and the dead, buried, and
risen Saviour ascended the heavens. Now
the Christian may go back to that grave,
around which he wept unavailing tears,
and smile in rapture.  Its darkness has
turned into day, and its solemn depths are
filled with angelic voices singing the <"resurrection and the life."




THiE TOMIB OF CHRIST.     208
Centuries rolled by, and that tomb bee
came a ruin amid ruins.  The infidel
sneered at the poor pilgrim  as he knelt
beside it in tears, and chased him away
with the lash. Years passed, and Europe
awoke as from a dream at the insult heaped
upon the sepulchre of the Saviour.  At
the preaching of Peter the Hermit, Christendom was moved as it never before had
been.  A crusade was set on foot to redeem  that sepulchre, and in a year six
millions of souls had volunteered for the
Holy War.  Old men, women, and childl
ren, the rich and poor, were seen streaming by tens of thousands towards the sacred spot. Kings and princes, and warriors
of renown, buried their feuds, forgot their
career of worldly glory, and, striking hands
together, swore that the sword should never




204 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
return to the scabbard till the tomb of
Christ was delivered from the hands of the
infidel.  One desire animated every heart,
one purpose filled every bosom; the contagion spread from house to house and kings
dom to kingdom.  "It became an enthusiasm, a passion, a madness."  Nearly a
quarter of a million fell on the very threshold of the undertaking. Yet an army of
six hundred thousand men at length stood
in gorgeous array on the plains of Asia,
and, with waving banners and pealing
trumpets, began to hew their way to the
tomb of Christ. Swept away by famine,
pestilence, and the sword, they still pressed
on till but half of their number was. left to
fling themselves on the walls of Jerusalem.
Behold them at length approaching Bethlehem.  A  deputation of Christiansgo




TH3 TOMB OF CHRIST.     205
forth to meet them, and in a moment that
weary, wasted army is moved like the forest
by a sudden wind.  Bethlehem is before
them, the place where the Saviour was
born. The name awoke a thousand touching associations, and thrilled every heart
with strange rapture. That night the excited host could not sleep; and at midnight
took up their line of march for Jerusalem.
In dead silence —many with bare feet and
uncovered heads-pressed tremblingly on
through the darkness. At length, the sun,
with that suddenness which always accompanies an eastern dawn, rushed into the
heavens, and there lay Jerusalem before
them.  The object of all their toils, for
which they had endured famine and pestilence, and been mowed down by the sword
of the infidel, the one bright object of their'IQ




206 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
lives, smiling in summer beauty at their
feet.   There was Mount Olivet, there
Mount Calvary, and there, too, the sepulchre of the Saviour.  Oh! who can describe the emotions that then swept through
that Christian host? Some knelt down and
prayed, others leaped, shouting, into the
air; the mailed knight sobbed like an
infant; until at length the murmur, Jerusalem! arose at first faint and low, like
the far off sound of the sea, but gradually
swelling to the full voiced thunder, till
" Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" filled all the air,
and rolled gloriously to the heavens. Then,
taking fire at the thought that the holy
city and sacred tomb were in the hands
of unbelievers, they raised their battle-cry
and went pouring forward on the walls,
like the inrolling tide of the sea.




THE TOMB OF CHRIST.      207
What a spectacle the crusade presented!
The old and the young, the sage and the
ignorant, the king and the serf, the knight
and the recluse, women and children, the
pure and the impure, all pressing forward
to one goal —the tomb of Christ. The
plains of Asia covered with magnificent
armies, and on every banner that waved
over them, the cross of Christ.  Ten
thousand knights spurring joyfully to the
onset, every lance set in rest for the honor
of Christ. Across trackless deserts, over
rugged mountains and bloody battle-fields,
through disease and death, still onward to
the tomb of Christ. Angels watched that
tomb after the Saviour had left it. Mary
worshiped there; the pilgrim for centuries
scourged himself before it; the chivalry of
the world battled around it, and the heart




208 SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS.
of the world still throbs at the mention of
its name.
To the Christian it will ever be an object of the deepest interest; not merely
because it was consecrated by the form of
the Son of God, but because, as he looks
on its emptiness, he feels assured of the
resurrection of the dead.  He who laid
there " is the first-fruits of them that sleep."
THE END.