SJ>HGUGHT®a 
 
 ^ m
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 / 

 
 LIFE THOUGHTS OF MICHAEL HENBY. 

 
 LIFE THOUGHTS 
 
 MICHAEL HENRY 
 
 REPRINT OF PAPERS CONTRIBUTED BY HIM 
 
 ''SABBATH READINGS," 
 
 ISSUED BY 
 
 THE JEWISH ASSOCIATION FOR THE DIFFUSION 
 OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 P. VALLENTINE, 34, ALFRED STREET, BEDFORD SQUARE. 
 
 1876
 
 LONDON: 
 
 FEINTED BY WERTHEIMEP, LEA AND CO. 
 
 CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBUB.Y CIRCUS.
 
 B-fi 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To those of tlie present generation who may read this 
 volume, it will not be necessary to say a single word 
 about the Author. For the name of Michael Henry 
 lives, and is likely to live, in the heart of every 
 member of that community he loved so well. 
 
 But lest, in days to come, this book may chance 
 to fall into the hands of any to whom its Author's 
 name is unknown, or lest Time — often only mindful of 
 work, and oblivious of the worker — may efface from 
 human memory the high virtues of him, whose Life 
 Thoughts lie embalmed in these pages, it is right that 
 the reader should, by these few words of introduction, 
 be introduced to the Author. 
 
 The task falls to the lot of those, who had the 
 privilege of being among his fellow -workers, and 
 who knew him best. 
 
 His was no ordinary life. Busy among the busiest 
 in the world's work, he was busier still in the work of 
 improving the world. Not with the chimeras of wild 
 theorists, nor with the unpractical schemes of ordinary 
 philanthropists ; but dealing singly with individuals, 
 doing practical good in detail to the men and women 
 and boys and girls with whom he came in contact, and 
 
 (
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 imparting to everyone, with whom or for whom he 
 worked, a share of his own goodness, a spark of his 
 own fervid zeal for the cause of Religion and Progress. 
 
 Good himself, he believed in the goodness of all the 
 world besides ; and whatever faults he possessed were 
 but the faults of optimism. 
 
 No one can read these pages without being irre- 
 sistibly led to the conclusion that none but a truly 
 pious man could have penned them, and that they con- 
 stitute the natural outpouring of a pure, unsullied 
 heart. 
 
 The conclusion will be a just one. It is no exaggera- 
 tion to say that the lessons the Author inculcates are 
 those which he practised in his every- day life ; and 
 that many of the ideals of character represented in 
 these pages were, to no small extent, realised in 
 himself. 
 
 His life, private and public, was one long act of self- 
 denial. Ever working for others ; ever forgetful of 
 his own personal interests, pleasures and ambitions ; 
 having but one aim, but one object in life — to make 
 his fellow-men and fellow-Jews happier, wiser and 
 better ; worthy of the ancient glories of their race, 
 worthy of those glories which are the Israelite's 
 hope.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Moses 1 
 
 Elijah 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 Josiah ...... 
 
 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 Neherniah ...... 
 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 Moses Mendelssohn .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 Bar-mitzvah .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 Home Worship .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 The Benediction of the Cohanim 
 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 The Psalms of David 
 
 
 
 
 
 111 
 
 The Hundred-and-Fourth Psalm 
 
 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 A Message of Love . 
 
 
 
 
 
 132 
 
 Peace 
 
 
 
 
 
 139 
 
 Humility ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 Lost at Sea .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 158 
 
 Heaven upon Earth . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 165 
 
 The Soul's Beconciliation . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 178 
 
 The Everlasting Light 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 198 
 
 A Gossip with Boys . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 212 
 
 How we Spoilt our Holiday 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 229 
 
 The Schoolboy and the Angel 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 244 
 
 The Everlasting Rose 
 
 
 
 
 
 266
 
 LIFE THOUGHTS OF MICHAEL HENEY. 
 
 MOSES. 
 
 : W3 |p ntiXti \3 
 
 '• Thou hast found grace iu my sight." — Exodus xxxiii. 17. 
 
 Encircled by the sacred halo of Revelation, Sinai 
 stands peculiarly distinguished among the mountains 
 of all the world. And, like the sacred hill on which 
 the most divine of gifts descended, the Prophet chosen 
 to receive that gift, Moses our Master, stands pre- 
 eminent on the face of history amidst the great names 
 of all humanity. The circumstance that he was 
 selected to receive and promulgate the sublime code 
 dictated by Heaven to Earth, suffices to single him 
 out amongst the children of men, and to stamp him 
 with the most remarkable distinction and the most 
 intense individuality. 
 
 To fulfil a great object — the teaching of the Law of 
 life on earth — he received from Heaven an extra- 
 ordinary and peculiar inspiration. But his inspiration, 
 though it glorified his being, did not transfigure it 
 into a more spiritual order of creation. He was a 
 Prophet, and the greatest of Prophets ; — but he was a 
 Man, though the greatest of men.
 
 2 MOSES. 
 
 We must not misunderstand the expression inspira- 
 tion in its Biblical sense. There are some who misuse 
 the term, and such misuse sometimes produces a 
 dangerous confusion of ideas. Some amplify its 
 application, and imagine that the inspiration of the 
 Prophet endowed him permanently with superhuman 
 powers, and elevated him above the ranks of ordinary 
 mortality. Others extend its supposed import, and 
 Misapply it to every description of genius. Yet in the 
 due Biblical sense of the word "inspiration/' the 
 Prophet was only inspired within certain limits and 
 for certain objects : and mere genius is not inspired 
 at all. Because inspiration, in its highest and theo- 
 logical meaning, appears to be the direct dictation by 
 Heaven to human hands, lips, or minds, of certain 
 laws, truths, and behests, which Heaven desires to 
 proclaim and promulgate for the promotion of human 
 welfare. In the Divine policy, it has seemed best that 
 these laws, truths, and commands, be declared by the 
 familiar channel of the voice and pen of mortal men — 
 creatures like those to whom they are to be announced 
 and whom they mainly affect — rather than by astound- 
 ing and supernatural manifestations which might have 
 been used to convey to earth the will of Heaven. 
 Inspiration is, in effect, a superhuman impulse acting- 
 through human means, for a superhuman purpose 
 directed to human objects. And we insist on this 
 definition, because mistaken persons, who apply to 
 genius the word " inspiration," would elevate profane 
 writers to a spiritual level, and consequently degrade 
 Biblical revelation from its sublime eminence ; or they 
 imagine inspiration to affect every word, thought, 
 action, and feeling of its recipient, and thus fail to
 
 MOSES. 6 
 
 learn the lesson derivable from the consideration of a 
 good and graceful life — the life of a man like ourselves 
 in all respects, save for the one circumstance that the 
 marvel of inspiration has descended upon him. 
 
 Closes is an instance in point. It is true he was 
 inspired. Inspired surpassingly. Inspired more 
 distinctly and directly than any other Prophet. The 
 impulse of inspiration glorified him for the purpose 
 of enabling him to teach humanity that moral law by 
 which Heaven decided to control the world which it 
 had created. No better or wiser medium could have 
 been selected than the lips of a man of the most noble 
 character and a most gentle spirit ; a heart ever long- 
 ing for justice, and warm with love for his kind. 
 
 That Moses was inspired — and far above the calibre 
 of all other inspired men — we need scarcely urge. 
 There is no other instance in all history of the union 
 of such varied elements of greatness in any one 
 character. There is no other instance in all history 
 of one man being at the same time a legislator so far- 
 seeing and judicious ; a statesman so politic and wise ; 
 a patriot so devoted and energetic ; a general so able 
 and valiant ; a leader so prudent ; a priest so pious ; a 
 teacher so successful ; a friend so tender ; a relative so 
 meek ; a ruler so decided and yet so accessible to 
 reason. It would be idle to compare him with any 
 character in ancient history, even those who might 
 have boasted the greatest combination of great 
 qualities. 
 
 Any reflecting man must easily see and appreciate 
 the almost immeasurable distance between Moses, our 
 hero, and any hero of antiquity or of modern times. 
 And, passing from the characters of such heroes to
 
 4 MOSES. 
 
 their careers, we shall find the distance equally great, 
 the abyss of separation equally difficult to bridge. 
 There is no code so original, so all- wise, so universal, 
 so immortal, as that which Moses taught the world. 
 Other codes are compilations. The charter of Moses 
 was a creation. There is no social system so trium- 
 phantly true. 
 
 The revolutions of the history of society confirm 
 the superhuman wisdom of the Mosaic dispensation. 
 It taught the purest love in an age of rage, vengeance, 
 and hatred. It evolved the brightest wisdom amidst 
 clouds of ignorance and superstition — even in an era 
 in which Knowledge was disguised in magical myths, 
 and Faith itself shrouded in mystery. It initiated 
 and developed institutions which have been immortal : 
 institutions which only seemed to perish when ignor- 
 ance was rampant, and which were seen to rise like 
 the phoenix from the fires of destruction into a brighter 
 "low of resurrection, when the torch of Knowledge 
 throws its gleam on the world. It deduced order and 
 law despite the tangle of misrule and chaotic disorder. 
 The inexorable and unfailing testimony of fact and 
 circumstance forces the minds of men to bear almost 
 involuntary witness to the inspiration of its promul- 
 gator and to the divinity of such inspiration, as 
 thoroughly as if indeed the old llabbinical hyperbole 
 be an historical fact — as if it be true that not alone 
 the souls of all men then living, but the souls of all 
 men evermore to be, stood around the base of Sinai, 
 when the Commandments were delivered, amidst the 
 thunders and lightnings and the Voice of the Trumpet 
 from Heaven ! 
 
 But we must be equally careful to avoid falling into
 
 3I0SE.S. 
 
 the error of believing that inspiration so transfigured 
 the individuality of Moses that he stood absolutely 
 above the possible imitation of less favoured men- 
 Though the Law was diA r ine ; though the lawgiver 
 was inspired ; though he and his faltering voice were 
 selected for the delivery of the Law to the world ; yet 
 let us carefully avoid the supposition that the man so 
 favoured was himself divine. No; his inspiration was 
 in his heart, but not always ; in his words, but not in 
 all of them : on one or two occasions it failed to control 
 all his actions. Because he was subject to human 
 imperfections ; because he was so very human, it is 
 the more easy to believe that the perfect and super- 
 human Law which he proclaimed was not of mortal 
 framing, but divine. 
 
 Yes : and because he was so very human, from this 
 humanity we learn a wonderful lesson. The teachings 
 of Heaven do not reside only in prophetic utterances 
 and in Scriptural records, but in the example of the 
 careers of men. And thus the life of Moses in its 
 struggles, its strivings, and its sorrows ; in its intrinsic 
 beauty, standing in bright relief amid the shadows of 
 his human imperfections, presents a model offered to 
 us not alone for contemplation — not alone for admira- 
 tion — but even for imitation. He has taught us not 
 only b} 7 his immortal Law, but likewise by his mortal 
 Life. 
 
 And thus he stands pre-eminent among men, not 
 only by the majesty of his mission, but also by 
 the almost angelic, yet fully human, beauty of his 
 character. In that character were combined the two 
 extreme virtues of a noble nature, meekness and 
 manliness. His meekness was substantiated by his
 
 b MOSES. 
 
 sturdy manliness. His manliness was beautified by his 
 angelic meekness. 
 
 Placed high among men by the grandeur of his 
 charge, the story of his life, and the loftiness of his 
 character, he yet seems to move amongst us like one 
 of us, whom we may venture to follow, and, in a 
 humble fashion, to imitate. It is remarkable that, 
 though he lived in times so remote, and though his 
 destiny was so peculiar, yet his nature is thoroughly 
 intelligible. His aspirations, his passions, and desires, 
 nay, his very weaknesses — were colored with the fami- 
 liar tints of those of ordinary men. His virtues, though 
 sanctified and spiritualised, were not unreal nor im- 
 practicable. He is indeed so very real, that it seems 
 he might have lived amongst us yesterday, even in our 
 common-place, every-day walk of life ; and yet he was 
 so holy, that if we would permit our tutored fancies to 
 fashion a pattern for resemblance, he would be the 
 man. While, if we would allow our more etherial 
 flights of conception to imagine an angel upon earth — 
 that angel would be he ! 
 
 We do not learn from the Scripture record, nor need 
 we inquire, whether it was from his remarkable virtue, 
 ability, and nobleness of character, that he was selected 
 for his marvellous mission ; or whether the incidence 
 of that marvellous mission communicated to him his 
 especial grace of moral nature. In some respects the 
 man and his mission are inseparable. Yet not in all 
 respects. Sinai was glorified when Heaven descended 
 on its chosen crest : yet when the Awful Presence de- 
 parted, it remained in the cold outlines of its familiar 
 form. Thus Moses was glorified when the fire of 
 inspiration burned in his bosom : but when the sacred
 
 MOSES. t 
 
 glow passed from hiru, lie moved in the ranks of ordinary 
 men, spoke human words, and thought human thoughts. 
 Yes ; though the Moses of history is essentially the 
 Moses of the Bible ; though to us the halo of Sinai 
 seems to rest upon his brow ; yet we can see him even 
 through this glowing light ; and he seems to descend, 
 at times, from the radiant path to our every-day earth, 
 and move amongst us. We can understand him. "We 
 can conceive that a human heart throbbed in his bosom, 
 that human ardour glittered in his eyes ; that human 
 hopes and fears, joys and sorrows — yes, and human 
 passions also, formed and fretted the current of his 
 career. 
 
 May the time come when an able hand will add to 
 the literature of England a life, written by a Jewish 
 pen, of this extraordinary man ! Such a biography 
 would far exceed the limits of these pages — and we 
 have not attempted one; but it would be a work for 
 which generations yet unborn would have reason to be 
 grateful. All that we would do here is to call attention 
 to that which seems strangely overlooked in these 
 modern days — the character of Moses as a man, apart 
 from his character as a heavenly missionary. We may 
 infer something of the inner life-story of the un- 
 paralleled Prophet from the suggestive references to 
 that story which appear from time to time in the course 
 of the Scripture narrative, from the hour which first 
 introduces him to the sacred scene amid the tall water- 
 plants that fringed the jSTile, till the pathetic day when 
 that life-story is for ever parted from the narrative, 
 with which it is so intimately blended. 
 
 The second chapter of Exodus contains, alone, 
 sufficient allusion to the character of Moses to render
 
 8 MOSES. 
 
 its beauty thoroughly intelligible. At once, in the few 
 verses that compose this chapter, we ascertain that his 
 nobleness of mind precluded his allowing his interests, 
 as attached to the princely court and dominant race of 
 Egypt, to interfere with his determination to fight the 
 battle of his distressed brethren, and to identify himself 
 with the cause of this abject people. No circumstance 
 of Egyptian education, no self-interest or ambition, 
 thus damped the ardour of his attachment to his fallen 
 and enslaved race. His heart was not corrupted by 
 courtly blandishments nor courtly favours. He im- 
 perilled position, liberty, and safety, and, in fact, be- 
 came an exile, by his spirited conduct. His manliness 
 and hatred of injustice induced him to chastise an 
 oppressor; his love of peace and his kindliness lead him 
 to endeavour to part two struggling Israelites. This 
 manly spirit of hatred of tyranny appears to actuate 
 him when he flies to the rescue of the maidens of 
 Midian. In each case, he is treated with ingratitude — 
 which appears to follow his every step through life. 
 His brethren revile him (verse 14). The Midianite 
 damsels neglect him (verse 20). Meek and placid, he 
 does not seek to punish the former, nor to censure the 
 latter. Careless of the charms of ambition, he is con- 
 tent to lead a shepherd's life in the fields of Jethro. 
 
 And now we will roughly glance through some 
 striking instances, interspersed in the Pentateuch, of 
 the beauty of his holy nature. Chapter III. affords a 
 remarkable testimony to his meekness and his prudence : 
 the language of verse 11 clearly indicates no want of 
 faith, but the reticence of his modesty and the circum- 
 spection of calm judgment. His song in Chapter XV. 
 proves his reluctance to attribute any glory to himself;
 
 MOSES. 9 
 
 he carefully attributes it to the Hand from which it 
 came. Chapter XYIIL instances the readiness with 
 which he listened to sage advice. In Chapter XXXII. he 
 prays for his people, and even offers — himself innocent 
 — to be punished for their sins. From this angelic 
 sublimity of character he descends to the ordinary pale 
 of mortality in the wild wail of despair (Numb. xi. 12, 
 13) with which he pleads for aid. His gentleness and 
 self-abnegation and the absence of envy are singularly 
 evidenced by his earnest desire that the spirit of 
 prophecy — the real love of virtue and most direct means 
 to moral perfection — might descend on all the people. 
 His prayer — his heart's battle — for the pardon of this 
 rebellious people (Xumb. xiv.) shows the sweetness 
 and loving tendencies of his disposition. His for- 
 giveness of his sister and brother, who even added their 
 bitter dole to the national ingratitude, is one of the 
 most touching instances of the heavenly forbearance of 
 his nature. His prayer (Numb, xvii.) for the appoint- 
 ment of a successor manifests his caution, his freedom 
 from jealousy or envy, and his earnest patriotism. 
 
 In fact, two words in Chapter XXXIV. of Deutero- 
 nomy describe his character admirably ; Moses was 
 Tl nig " The servant of the Lord." He served Him 
 in fulfilling His behests; he served Him in proclaiming 
 His Law ; he served Him in the beauty of his life ! 
 
 But — as we all know — when his great work was 
 nearly accomplished ; when he had brought his people 
 near to the confines of the Promised Land ; when he 
 had led them from bondage to freedom ; when he had 
 taught them the Great Law of Life, and had laid the 
 basis of that Tower which alone resists the shocks of 
 foes and the attacks of ages — which alone reaches from
 
 10 MOSES. 
 
 the earth on which it stands unto the heavens by which 
 it is crowned; — then, he died ! He did not press his 
 weary foot on the soil for which he fought, for which 
 he lived, for which he languished ! Oh ! Brethren of 
 the House of Israel, who can learn so much from the 
 story of his life, learn something also from the story of 
 his death ! Brethren, who have in this life toiled so 
 ardently for some Promised Land that your feet shall 
 never touch — some Promised Land flowing with milk 
 and honey to be gathered for yourselves, to be stored 
 and garnered for your own ambition, and for the 
 happiness and pleasure of your own children and your 
 own kindred — Brethren, who perish when the borders 
 of the Land are reached — think of his grief, his sorrow ; 
 he who sought and strove for the Land and its 
 abundance, not for his own sake, not for his children's 
 sake, not for the exaltation of his name and family, but 
 for the sake of his rebellious brethren ! And you, who 
 can understand him better; you, who follow humbly in 
 his footsteps, and toil for a Promised Land and for its 
 milk and honey for the sake of your brethren, for the 
 weak, the poor, the aged, the helpless, the young; for 
 the generations who are to live when you shall have 
 perished; you can in better degree sympathize with 
 his sorrow, when the Land he was never more to see 
 and never to touch was spread out before his eyes. 
 But you can also sympathize with the possibility of that 
 most divine joy which may have comforted and animated 
 him at the last supremo moment; when life was 
 passing away ; when the hopes of earth were fading 
 from his heart, and the prospect of the Promised Land 
 was fading from his dying eyes — the sublime, heavenly 
 joy of knowing that life's great victory was won — but
 
 MOSES. 11 
 
 not for himself. No, not for himself — but for genera- 
 tions yet unborn : for a world hidden in the future : 
 for ages that should bless his name beyond all other 
 men ! 
 
 Moses was taken from us more than three thousand 
 years ago. But, — 
 
 " He is not dead, whose glorious mind 
 Lifts thine on high ; 
 To live in hearts we leave behind 
 Is not to die." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 He is with us still — still in the spirit. For his spirit, 
 like the cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, 
 leads us on our way through life's tangled wilderness, 
 teaching us duty in the daylight of joy, and showing 
 us comfort in the night-time of adversity. Still may 
 he lead us, the spirit of the Great Prophet — the servant 
 of the Father whom we adore ! Guided by the Divine 
 Law which he proclaimed, and by the sublime life 
 which he led — both glorious and gracious gifts of 
 Heaven to Earth — may we pass safely and trustfully 
 amidst the foes that obstruct us, and through the 
 perils that assail us in life's long wilderness. But, 
 more faithful than our fathers, may we never doubt 
 our leader's word ; more happy than that leader, may 
 our feet press the Promised Land on earth, — or may 
 we meet him — happier, immortally — in the Promised 
 Land of Heaven !
 
 ELIJAH. 
 
 "I pray thee, let a two-fold portion of thy Spirit be upon me." 
 
 II Kings ii. 9. 
 
 As a brilliant comet flashes across the surface of the 
 firmament, coming we know not whence, going we 
 know not whither, mysterious in origin, nature, pur- 
 pose, and destiny, so Elijah flashes athwart the hori- 
 zon of Jewish History. He is a brilliant meteor 
 among the personages of the Bible. The little we 
 know of him has an absorbing, almost an awful interest. 
 He, scarcely even excepting the unsurpassed and un- 
 paralleled Moses, or the princely Abraham, is the most 
 majestic of all the most marvellous figures of the true 
 and varied drama, the first scene of which opened with 
 the outburst of Nature from Chaos, and the last scene 
 of which closed on the sacred forms of the later 
 prophets, dejected and dispirited — } r et breathing words 
 of hope and comfort to a fallen people. 
 
 About the time at which Homer sang his stately and 
 graceful epics, and Lycurgus framed his stern laws in 
 Greece, this Hebrew prophet lived in Palestine. Not a 
 hundred years had passed since the kingdom of Israel 
 had been rent in twain by the dissensions between the 
 tribes. The royal house of Judah still reigned at
 
 ELIJAH. IS 
 
 Jerusalem. The usurping successors of Jeroboam ruled 
 the northern provinces. 
 
 Our knowledge of the history of Elijah, and our 
 narratives of his utterances, do not come to us from his 
 own hand, as is the case with many other prophets. 
 There is no book of the Bible that bears his august 
 name, or is transmitted to us as having been written or 
 dictated by him. What we know of him comes chiefly 
 from the First and Second Books of Kings, though, 
 doubtless, tradition has helped the history in fashioning 
 it in the way in which it is usually understood. In the 
 character and the deeds of this prophet, we find that 
 blending of mildness and majesty, that mingling of 
 mercy with might, which marks every messenger, every 
 message of Heaven, which in its most sublime and 
 ineffably supreme form marks the attributes of the 
 Godhead. The awful prophet, whose fiery thunders 
 invoked the flames of just vengeance on the wicked 
 and murderous pseudo-priests of Baal ; the prophet 
 who fearlessly, with flashing eye, denounced the im- 
 piety of tyrannic kings — Elijah, the terrible minister 
 of divine wrath, yet bent gently and tenderly over 
 the feeble widow's boy, and with the love of a caressing 
 father, and the love of a comforting mother, invoked 
 divine compassion, and prayed that the breath of 
 renewed life might flush the pallid cheeks of the 
 child. Yes, he, whose zealous heart was ruthless when 
 the cause of the Lord was to be set on high, is the 
 same hero as he, who in his heart's desolate sadness, 
 prayed to be taken away from the struggles and sorrows 
 of his life. 
 
 For, when we remove from the history of Elijah the 
 mysterious halo that surrounds him, we shall find in
 
 14 ELIJAH. 
 
 him, in the glimpses of his inner life, the human and 
 not the superhuman element. Notwithstanding the 
 miraculous circumstance of his translation and the 
 promise of his return, Elijah was not really far 
 different in the scope of his thoughts, his feelings, 
 even his failings, from other men, men living in his 
 own and in modern days. How otherwise can we 
 explain his occasional weakness, when he prayed to be 
 relieved of his severe and painful task ? How, other- 
 wise, explain the impatient almost rebellious temper 
 which he manifested when the widow reproached him. 
 for the supposed death of her son ? 
 
 Indeed, our faith in the Bible is strengthened by our 
 appreciation of the fallibility of character occasional^ 
 evident in those whom God selected as the vehicles of 
 His Revelation. They were only His instruments. 
 They were but mortals, even erring mortals. Thej^ 
 were men like ourselves, yet men who battled with 
 temptation, and often triumphed over it. The gentle 
 hills of Mendip, and the rough mountain of Hecla, 
 are alike made of dull earth, though the one lifts its 
 silent height, clothed in pleasant verdure, and bathed 
 in serene sunshine, while the terrible Voice of God's 
 fiery thunder roars through the other's crest, and pro- 
 claims His Might. Nay, even immortal Sinai, on which 
 God's awful Presence rested, is a crag undistinguishable 
 from the dull rough peaks that surround it in the 
 Arabian wilds. 
 
 Of Elijah's early history we know nothing. He 
 was by birth a Gileadite, but, as the land of Gilead 
 was divided amongst at least three tribes, it is not 
 clear to which tribe he belonged. Gilead is a region 
 of which very frequent mention is made in the Bible.
 
 ELIJAH. 15 
 
 It was situated on the east of the Jordan, and was a 
 mountainous territory, yet celebrated for the excellence 
 of its pastures. These pastures, or rather the sleekness 
 and number of the cattle bred on them, seem to have 
 attracted the attention of two of the tribes, the sons of 
 Reuben and of Gad, who desired to settle in the fair 
 and fertile land, instead of seeking " pastures new " 
 across the Jordan.* Medicinal plants grew amidst the 
 mountains, or in the fields of Gilead. The warlike 
 judge, Jepthah, was a Gileadite, not only by family 
 name, but by locality. 
 
 The first call of Elijah came at a sad epoch of 
 Jewish history. Among all the wicked successors of 
 Jeroboam on the throne of revolted Israel, Ahab stands 
 in shameful pre-eminence. He had a very great mis- 
 fortune, the infliction of a wicked wife. The wretched 
 queen, Jezebel, has gone down to posterity as a name 
 or bye-word for female iniquity. It is singular, but 
 not the less true, that women when wicked (which is 
 very rare) are very wicked. Posterity has, however, 
 done its worst for women, by adopting their names in 
 language as personifications of the vices of which they 
 were culpable. We talk of a Jezebel, a Xantippe, a 
 Lucrezia Borgia, a Brinvillicrs, almost as if these were 
 common nouns instead of proper names. 
 
 Ahab was a son of king Omri, who built the capital 
 city Samaria, and who was raised to the throne, like 
 some of the old Roman emperors, on the shoulders of 
 the soldiers. Ahab married, as we have said, the 
 wicked Jezebel, daughter of the king of Sidon, a do- 
 main situated on the north-west coast of the kingdom 
 of Israel, and celebrated, or rather infamous, for the 
 lNumbers xxxii.
 
 16 ELIJAH. 
 
 worship of Ashtaroth, probably the same as the Cretan 
 Astarte, or the Roman Venus. The worship of idols 
 was in full force in the kingdom of Israel. With 
 furious cruelty Jezebel induced Ahab to slay the priests 
 or pious "prophets," (probably preachers) of our sacred 
 Faith, though some of these were saved secretly by 
 the king's chamberlain, Obadiah, and concealed, by his 
 care, in refuges in which he provided food for them, a 
 circumstance which was afterwards reported to Ahab. 
 King Ahab did not, however, punish Obadiah for it 
 with death or disgrace, a fact which leads one to 
 imagine that Ahab had some redeeming qualities, or 
 that he did not reveal the secret to Jezebel, for 
 certainly she would have hounded Ahab on to slay 
 Obadiah. 
 
 Ahab's wickedness becoming intolerable, Elijah, who 
 now first appears on the scene, was called on to de- 
 nounce the king, and to threaten him with a visitation 
 of national famine and drought. 
 
 Elijah was then directed to escape from the wrath of 
 Ahab. We do not propose to give in other words the 
 details so admirably related in the Book of Kings. 
 The story is doubtless familiar to our readers, and no 
 pen can give it a fraction of the force and beauty 
 which adorn the scriptural narrative. 
 
 Let us rapidly glance over the events of Elijah's 
 career. 
 
 In his retreat the fugitive was fed by ravens, a 
 signal proof of the miraculous care by which he 
 was preserved, a miracle which perhaps loses its 
 intensity when we remember how, every day of our 
 lives, greater miracles occur ; the feeding of millions of 
 God's creatures by His tender care, manifesting itself
 
 ELIJAH. 17 
 
 in the wonders of natural reproduction, and that in- 
 dustrial genius by which Nature becomes the comrade 
 of Art and the servant of Utility. 
 
 But Elijah was not long to dwell secluded from 
 human society. The tender charities of home-life 
 were yet reserved for him. From his shelter in the 
 glens he went, by Divine direction, to the house of a 
 poor widow in a town in the domain of Sidon, at the 
 foot of Lebanon. There, again by miraculous provi- 
 dence, the scanty store in the poor woman's home failed 
 not. Her son fell sick, and apparently died. The 
 mother in her anguish reproached the prophet, as if 
 his presence had caused the loss of her child. Elijah 
 himself feared that this might be so, and for once it 
 would seem his faith wavered. But for a moment 
 only. He invoked the help of God, and implored 
 Him to revive the dead or dying child. And He who 
 is mighty to strike, is merciful to save ! He who with 
 His hand of Power dooms to destruction myriads of 
 transgressors, yet with His hand of Pity stanches the 
 widowed mother's tears. And who shall deny (though 
 we cannot understand it or fathom it), that when His 
 Hand deals death to thousands, it is as much fraught 
 with Love as when that Hand gives new life to the 
 dying child ! 
 
 Meanwhile the atrocities of Ahab continued. Famine 
 and drought blighted the land. Elijah, impelled by 
 Divine Command, went towards Samaria, the royal 
 residence of the wicked king. On his road he met the 
 chamberlain, Obadiah, and commissioned him to ask 
 Ahab to hasten to him. The officer naturally hesitated 
 to " beard the lion in his den." But he yielded ; and 
 Ahab and Elijah met. In vain the haughty tyrant 
 
 c
 
 18 ELIJAH. 
 
 endeavoured to intimidate the prophet. Elijah, con- 
 scious that he held a sublime trust, and being ever 
 zealous in the fulfilment of his duty, disregarded Ahab's 
 threats, reproached him boldly for his iniquities, and 
 offered to rest his credence on a test in which he should 
 take part on the one side, and the priests of Baal on 
 the other. Altars were raised. The priests of Baal 
 invoked their idol to testify his power by kindling 
 them with superhuman fire. Their efforts were vain. 
 They were driven to desperation by the prophet's 
 taunts, but their impotence was manifest. Their 
 prayers, their cries, fell powerless on the senseless ear. 
 Then Elijah, after taking care to drench the altar with 
 floods of water, probably lest he might be accused of 
 obtaining fire by artificial means or trickery, called 
 on God to vindicate His power and His prophet. 
 The fire streamed from Heaven ! Then rang forth the 
 cry that the one Lord united in himself all powers — 
 D™n Mil \] : DTlWl w snn \) that cry which in 
 the self-same words, rings year by year from the lips 
 of the people of Israel, when the Day of Reconciliation 
 draws to its close, and when the fire that they invoke 
 from Heaven to complete their sacrifice is the gleaming 
 light of Pardon ! 
 
 Here let us pause, and consider the extraordinary 
 faith of Elijah, who courageously upbraided a mighty 
 and cruel king, regardless of the dangers he incurred, 
 regardful only of his imperious duty. He knew well 
 that the king had already ruthlessly slain many 
 prophets, preachers or teachers of his faith. But he 
 looked death calmly in the face ; and the heart that 
 was full of faith in God and of zeal for His cause 
 trembled not in the presence of the despot !
 
 ELTJAH. 19 
 
 But Elijah showed a still greater proof of courage 
 — courage, moral rather than physical. Though his 
 bravery of spirit was clearly beyond doubt ; though, 
 as it would seem afterwards, he did not cliug to life ; 
 yet when he was ordered to fly for refuge and conceal- 
 ment, he fled and hid himself. The same soul, which 
 did not blench before a cruel monarch's throne, bowed 
 before the will of Heaven submissively. "When 
 ordered to imperil his life, he bravely risked it. 
 When ordered to preserve that life, he, with equal 
 courage, sought to save it. He "feared God and knew 
 no other fear." 
 
 He did not cling to life, but he did not know that 
 he was not to die. It was not the foreknowledge of 
 translation to Heaven that emboldened him to face 
 Ahab, and to trust to the lonely and barren fastnesses 
 in the mountains. 
 
 For when this part of his work was done ; when 
 the wicked priests of Baal had paid the penalty of 
 their blasphemies and their crimes ; when the power 
 of Heaven had removed the famine and the drought; 
 there came to the prophet that which perhaps comes to 
 many a weary worker in the world — a wish for rest 
 and death. 
 
 He had been misunderstood and unappreciated ; his 
 labours had met with ingratitude. He had removed 
 the burdens of affliction that rested so heavily on his 
 country and his king, but he had been pursued with 
 implacable vindictiveness. His life was sought ; again 
 he fled. Worn with anxieties, yet ever willing to obey, 
 he lifted up his voice to Heaven — and asked to die ! 
 
 But, even in this supreme agony of his life — an 
 agony from which men inferior to prophets arc not
 
 20 ELIJAH. 
 
 exempt — lie did not seek death by his own hand, nor 
 strive to hasten it by any act of his. He only humbly 
 sought to be relieved of a burden which he felt lay too 
 heavy on his heart. 
 
 Suicide was not a crime common to the Jews of old. 
 Nay, it was scarcely known amongst them. Yet, the 
 so-called noble Roman and the so-called civilized 
 Japanese exalt that crime to the rank of a virtue. 
 The Jew meets death with fortitude and glorified 
 hope, now in these prosaic days on the quiet pillow, 
 as he met it with like hope and fortitude at the 
 martyr's stake, or on the battle-field, in the glorious 
 days of old. Such is his confidence in the Life Giver, 
 who proclaimed Himself MX TpK p3H1 MPH 
 " Merciful, gracious, and long-suffering," that he 
 thanks Him and relies on Him for both lives ; life 
 here, life on the shores unknown. The God who takes 
 care of us here, will surely take care of us hereafter. 
 He is as near to us now, as He will be in the world to 
 come ! What is there to fear ? 
 
 " As through life's shadowed vale my footsteps stray, 
 Thy Mercy smiles, Thy bounties cheer my way ; 
 And when my spirit seeks its sacred rest, 
 
 'T will dwell in safety on Thy sheltering breast." 
 
 And, when'in some few instances a Jew has perished 
 by his own hand, in our historic days, how noble has 
 been the self-sacrifice! Thus Eleazar the Maccabee 
 doomed himself to death beneath the weight of the 
 turreted elephant, in his heroic and supreme devotion
 
 ELIJAH. 21 
 
 to his country and his faith ; thus the aged Rabbi of 
 York perished in the horrors of the besieged castle. 
 Even Samson drew death on himself, so that the 
 enemies of his country might perish, — unless, indeed, 
 he drew down the building in which he stood, in the 
 frenzy of agony. And Saul — well, as to the sin of 
 suicide involved in his sad stoiy, let us believe 
 that, in the touching words so familiar to us, " the 
 recording angel dropped a tear, and blotted it out for 
 ever ! ; ' 
 
 But Elijah was not to die in the agony of his despair. 
 His work was not yet complete. 
 
 For the answer of God came to him. The roaring 
 wind arose and pealed in ringing thunder through the 
 trembling rocks ; the rifted mountain fell asunder, rent 
 by the raging storm ! The earthquake cleft the plains 
 with awful shock ! The raging fire flamed beneath the 
 lurid sky ! But not in the thunder of the wind, nor the 
 shock of the earthquake, nor the flash of the fire was the 
 Lord ! But there was the sound of a still 
 
 small voice : and then came the Yoice of the Lord ! 
 
 Oh ! marvellous type of infinite Compassion ! We 
 must bear the storm, and the shock, the alarms, the 
 pains, the scathing griefs of life — but the Mercy comes 
 at last ; and in that Mercy is God's dwelling place. 
 Yes ! He proclaims His Might and Majestjr, it is true, 
 in the stupendous voice of Nature, the "wreck of 
 matter and the crash of worlds," but to us, to each 
 of us, He speaks in the " still small voice," which is 
 only heard in each man's inmost breast ; heard only 
 by himself; the Yoice of Duty borne on the wings of 
 Conscience, called into action by the mercy and grace 
 of God.
 
 22 ELIJAH. 
 
 So the prophet was told that he had yet duties to 
 perform, work to achieve, trusts to fulfil. 
 
 But doubtless his Master had compassion on His ser- 
 vant's weariness, and He promised him a successor, one 
 to relieve him from his life's burden of work. And he 
 was enjoined to select the loyal Elisha. Even in this 
 brief episode appears one of those touches of " nature 
 that make the whole world kin," and which abound in 
 the Bible ; one of those " tender charities," which 
 bring the Bible home to the heart. Elisha, in the 
 glory of his new mission, in the pride of his triumphant 
 exaltation, in the awful gravity of his new duties, yet 
 asked and was allowed "to kiss his father and mother," 
 before he parted from them — to bid his dear ones at 
 home a tender and a loving farewell ! 
 
 When next Elijah appears on the sacred scene, he 
 had once more to confront the fierce tyrant and to 
 reproach him for slaying and robbing Naboth; a 
 startling instance of the wickedness of that sin of 
 covetousness which is denounced in the tenth command- 
 ment. Ahab dreaded Elijah, whom he idly affected to 
 accuse of personal hostility to him ; for often, indeed, 
 had the Tishbite appeared as an embodied Conscience, 
 a living, a speaking vengeance ! 
 
 Ahab died in the battle field, and a son scarcely less- 
 guilty than himself succeeded him. Unwarned by the 
 career and fate of his father, Ahaziah pursued the 
 j^aths of idolatry. Elijah was sent to rebuke him and 
 to advise him of his approaching death, and he was 
 preserved miraculously for that purpose from the 
 soldiers of Ahaziah. With this act, he seems to have 
 accomplished his life's mission. 
 
 Elijah, being conscious of his approaching departure-
 
 ELIJAH. 23 
 
 from earth, desired to spare Elislia, who loved him. so 
 well, the pain of seeing him pass away. Or it may be 
 that Elijah wished not to be disturbed in that supreme 
 moment of his departure by the presence of a friend 
 and follower whom he dearly loved, and whose affec- 
 tion formed a tie that bound to earth the soul about to 
 w r ing its flight to heaven. For it is a custom of our 
 people to remove gently from the bedside of the dying, 
 the dear ones whom they are to quit. And this is 
 done either lest the sorrow of the living should be too 
 severe, or lest it disturb the dying : or more likely the 
 motive is a fear lest in that mighty moment of the 
 soul's, farewell flight, the tender loves, the trembling 
 hopes and fears of earth, shall mingle with the thoughts 
 which then belong to Heaven alone. For it is not 
 ambition, nor fame, nor avarice, nor pleasure, but Love 
 the Immortal, that forms the last bond which anchors 
 the captive soul to earth, before it breaks from earth 
 for ever ! 
 
 And Love is immortal. Surely, we shall meet again, 
 in the world beyond the grave — transfigured, purified, 
 but still remembered and beloved — the father, the 
 mother ; the husband, the wife ; the little child — the 
 child matured to the strength of manhood, and the 
 graces of womanhood : ah ! all the dear ones — from 
 whom we part in agony in this valley of the shade. 
 
 The faithful follower Elisha would not leave his be- 
 loved master in the looming approach of the supreme 
 farewell. "Wherever Elijah went, he followed him ; 
 and as the last moment of departure nearcd, Elisha 
 asked — not for worldly wealth, or rank, or material 
 inheritance — but for a twofold portion of his master's 
 spirit. "Thou hast asked a hard thing," said Elijah,
 
 24 ELIJAH. 
 
 "but if thou seest me taken from thee, it shall 
 be so." 
 
 And then occurred that marvellous and mysterious 
 scene, the miraculous translation of Elijah. A whirl- 
 wind or a storm (1]}D) arose, and a chariot and horses 
 of fire descended, and Elijah mounted this chariot, and 
 was wafted in it to the sky. 
 
 Elijah passed from earth to Heaven, and he cast his 
 mantle on Elisha, and gave him a twofold portion of 
 his spirit. That spirit was surely the spirit of duty 
 done in spite of drawbacks, dislike and difficulty. A 
 grander spirit never pervaded a human heart. It 
 speaks to us all — to all who would fain neglect duty's 
 trumpet-call from apathy, from love of ease, from 
 jealousy, from ill-temper, from exaggerated bashful- 
 ness, from indulgent tendencies to rest or pleasure ; — the 
 many motives which urge men to be deaf to the call of 
 duty — motives which are varied forms of selfishness. 
 
 It is true that some men are too anxious to thrust 
 themselves into the world of action and to undertake 
 responsibilities for which they are unfitted, or to which 
 they are urged by ambition. But others sin far more 
 deeply in an opposite fashion, by disregard of, or indif- 
 ference to, that " still small voice " which speaks in 
 the recesses of the heart; which bids men take up their 
 work and do it. Our earthly powers are given to us 
 in trust, and our consciousness of them is the advocate 
 of duty : 
 
 " Arise for duties yet to do, 
 Or aims achieve, or plans pursue ! 
 
 For labour, life is given. 
 Dream not, nor idly bind the hours 
 To earthly rest by chains of flowers ; 
 Arise ! and think of Heaven ! "
 
 ELIJAH. 4, 
 
 It seems to us that the characteristic of Elijah's life 
 was this : — He was a man of quiet modest tastes, 
 perhaps of retiring disposition, perhaps not even an 
 impulsively brave man, certainly not ambitious. But 
 at the voice of duty, he was aroused. All the man- 
 liness of his nature stood forth. Self was obliterated. 
 Yes, regardless of self, of self-interest, of temperament 
 and desire of ease, or even of safety, he was "zealous," 
 and stood forth to do his duty. For he ivas strong m 
 faith. This was his watchword. He " committed his 
 way" trustfully to a Hand which he felt would uphold 
 him. 
 
 Miraculous and mysterious as was the departure of 
 Elijah, it is not more miraculous and mysterious than 
 the translation which we call death ; the ordeal through 
 which the millions of the past have departed, and 
 which we all await. 
 
 Oh ! happy we, if when we pass away, we leave 
 behind us, like Elijah, a twofold portion of the spirit 
 which those whom we love have reason to desire of us ! 
 Happy, if we lead lives of faith and duty in a spirit so 
 righteous and strong, that those whom we leave behind 
 — the children in the home, the children in the schools, 
 the men and women of our own time — may pray that 
 a twofold portion of our spirit shall rest with them. 
 This is, " not to die." 
 
 There are certain traditions connected with him. It 
 is said, that he who sees him in dreams, he who salutes 
 him in a vision and receives his greeting in return is 
 a happy man. His original mission was, it is said, 
 delivered to him by Moses. A beautiful story is 
 related as to a visionary meeting between him and 
 Rabbi Joshua ben Levi, when Elijah promised the
 
 26 ELIJAH. 
 
 sage that the Messianic age would be proclaimed when 
 men deserved its advent. It may be observed that 
 Scripture makes mention but once only (Chronicles ii.) 
 of his prophetic powers of warning as evoked against 
 the kings of Judah. The wicked Jehoram was then 
 the object of his severe denunciations. 
 
 The promise of the re-appearance of Elijah by 
 Malachi — as the harbinger of the Messianic reign of 
 peace and love, is still fondly dwelt on by our people 
 — though how or what will be the nature of that 
 return, we cannot surmise. Elijah's return typifies 
 the reign of duty and unselfishness, which must 
 prevail ere the Messiah shall come ; and he who passed 
 from earth in the days of yore will again return to the 
 haunts of men. On Sabbath nights, when the day of 
 joyful rest is waning, and we stand on the threshold of 
 the newly dawning week of work, we pray for the 
 return of Elijah the prophet. Every night on which 
 we celebrate the exit from Egypt by the ancient 
 service of the ITagodah, the wine-cup is set in readi- 
 ness for the expected Prophet. Even, in our daily 
 grace after meals, the anticipation of his restoration is 
 not forgotten. 
 
 To dwell on this advent, and on the mode in which 
 we may merit it, is not within our province here. Let 
 us rather briefly gather our own lessons from the 
 prophet's life. All have duties to perform that seem 
 sometimes hard to us. Let us rise up, be strong, 
 and do what is given to us to do. Not for ambition, 
 not for fame, not for wealth, not for vain glory, but 
 for Faith. Let us be " obedient to the Master's call," 
 and break for the sake of Heaven the bonds that bind 
 us to the ease and temptations of earth. The still
 
 ELIJAH. 
 
 2< 
 
 small Voice speaks to us all. All of us are feci by the 
 bountiful Hand that supplied the fugitive Prophet. 
 All of us are called on to " labour and to wait." All 
 of us can so govern our spirit that others may ask us 
 for its inheritance, when we shall pass away. Many 
 are the tyrannies and the falsehoods with which we 
 have to struggle. True, indeed, that when we shall 
 have to pass away, we cannot anticipate a glorified 
 translation from earth to heaven. We cannot expect 
 the glowing chariot and horses of fire to bear us from 
 this world to the world unknown. No ! we must await 
 the resurrection of the dead in the cold embraces of 
 the lonely grave. We must pass away in the faint- 
 ness, perhaps in the pain and struggle, of death. 
 But, may that supreme hour of death not pass in the 
 crash of the tempest, the throb of the earthquake, the 
 flash of the fire. Not then may the Message come to 
 us. But, in the still small voice of the tranquillised 
 heart, the conscience satisfied ; the voice that speaks 
 of a life's labour of duty, fearlessly achieved by the 
 strength of Faith triumphant over self: thus may the 
 message come ! 
 
 Yes, thus, God of the living and the dead, may 
 we fall asleep trustfully and quietly under the shadow 
 of Thy protection, as a child in the arms of its 
 mother !
 
 JOSIAH. 
 
 History often repeats itself. We find in two countries 
 and two ages similar historical events, brought about 
 by similar circumstances, and leading to like results ; 
 and, perhaps, more frequently we find at different 
 periods, and in different countries, personages pos- 
 sessing strongly marked points of resemblance in 
 their characteristics or their conduct. For instance — 
 and one or two examples will suffice for our present 
 purpose — Alexander of Macedon and Charles XII. 
 of Sweden, were strangely alike. So were Talbot, the 
 hero of the Anglo-French war of the Plantagenets, and 
 Nelson, the hero of the Anglo-French war of the 
 present century. And a striking resemblance exists 
 between the early life and character of King Josiah, 
 and Edward VI. — though unfortunately the career of 
 the British boy-king was untimely closed. In the 
 " thoroughness " of Josiah's nature, as evidenced by 
 his acts, we find a marked analogy to the disposition of 
 the noble Alfred, probably, not even excepting William 
 III., the greatest and best man that ever wore the 
 British Crown. If Edward Tudor had lived to man- 
 hood, he might have resembled Alfred also — at least if 
 one may judge from the piety and strength of mind 
 he manifested, until physical suffering and the prostra- 
 tion resulting from failing powers led him to yield to 
 the pertinacitj'- of the ambitious and astute counsellors,
 
 JOSIAH. 29 
 
 who surrounded him with their cajoleries and their 
 intrigues. 
 
 Josiah, like Edward VI., was the son and successor 
 of an evil-minded father. A modern historian, oppo- 
 sing tradition, and denying the authenticity of long- 
 recognised narratives, has represented Henry VIII. in 
 a more amiable light than that in which earlier 
 historians have depicted him ; though even Shakespeare, 
 notwithstanding his anxiety to please Queen Elizabeth, 
 cannot avoid leaving an impression that the "bluff king 
 Harry " was a very disagreeable personage. However, 
 as to the wickedness of Amon, the father of Josiah, 
 there can be no doubt. The Bible expresses itself in 
 terms of strong reprobation of Anion's career; and 
 certainly, Josiah came to the throne under a black 
 cloud — under inauspicious circumstances — because he 
 succeeded a father deservedly execrated. 
 
 The virtues of Amon's ancestor, the good king 
 Hezekiah, had unhappily left no enduring harvest ; for 
 all that he had done with the view of restoring the 
 ancient and holy worship of Israel had been undone 
 by the atrocious and audacious wickedness of his im- 
 mediate successors. History does not record from what 
 source Josiah received his good impressions, nor how 
 it came to pass, whether from divine, or as it is called 
 " innate," impulse, or from early education, or from 
 wise surroundings, that he became attached to the princi- 
 ples of morality and religion which his father and his 
 people had ruthlessly abandoned. But as the Bible 
 makes special mention of the name of his mother, 
 Jedidah, the daughter of Adaiah, it may be possible 
 that Josiah, like other good and great men, owed to 
 his mother the inculcation of the virtues that took root
 
 30 JOSIAH. 
 
 in his young heart. The sacred influence of a good 
 mother, " unseen but not unfelt," is the hallowed 
 source whence flows the golden stream of many a 
 noble life ! 
 
 It is probable that the undisturbed accession of 
 Josiah to his father's throne was facilitated by the 
 attachment of the Jews of Southern Palestine to the 
 dynasty of Judah — the line of their ancient kings — or, 
 perhaps, by their loyal attachment to fixed and duly 
 constituted monarchical authority. Their character 
 was more akin to that of the Englishman than to the 
 disposition of the Frenchman of the present day. We 
 are told that, notwithstanding the wickedness of Amon, 
 which led to his being assassinated by some members 
 of his own household, his murderers were duly 
 punished, and his son succeeded him. Amon perished 
 very much after the fashion of the Czar Paul, of 
 Pussia. He was, like him, slain in his own palace by 
 persons of his own establishment, and his violent death 
 was the result of a conspiracy — just as in the case of 
 the Emperor Paul. But the regicides were seized and 
 put to death, and the hereditary succession was secured 
 by the immediate elevation of his little son, Josiah, to 
 the vacant throne. From these facts, brief as is their 
 record, one may gather a fair idea of the political status 
 of the land at this epoch, and of the national charac- 
 teristics of the Jewish people. There was no prevailing 
 lawlessness, no anarchy, no change of dynasty, no 
 violent revolution. 
 
 Had such events occurred in modern days, or in other 
 climes, the chances are that the result of the conspiracy 
 would not have been the tranquil elevation of a young 
 child to his murdered father's throne. We find, for
 
 JOSIAH. 31 
 
 instance, that the overthrow of Charles I. and James II. 
 in England, and of the first Napoleon and Louis 
 Philippe in France, all of whom left youthful heirs, 
 was followed by the overthrow of the dynasty to which 
 those ill-fated monarchs respectively belonged. The 
 crown taken from the father was not given to the son. 
 Even in cases in which an infant heir succeeded, there 
 have usually been anarchy and usurpation. We need 
 not ransack English and French history for parallels or 
 analogies. In Poland, when the young Boleslas suc- 
 ceeded the virtuous Lesko, the White ; in Holland, 
 when the great William, afterwards King of England, 
 succeeded his father as Prince of Orange, disturbances 
 ensued. In Judea, however, it seems that no revolu- 
 tion, no intrigue, interfered with the hereditary trans- 
 mission — at least, none is recorded. The salutary and 
 judicious constitutional influences of the Mosaic code 
 of political government prevailed, even though wicked 
 monarchs had overthrown, or at least abandoned, that 
 code of religious government. The liberties and laws 
 of the country were maintained under circumstances of 
 exceptional difficulty, and the boy-king, Josiah, suc- 
 ceeded peacefully to the throne which his father had 
 disgraced, but not enfeebled. This result materially 
 speaking, seems due to the steady temper of the 
 people, 'h i"D5^ Dyn n#« " Happy is the people 
 whose portion is such." One is disposed to believe that 
 at this period of Jewish history, the nation itself would 
 not have been prone to idolatry, if it had not been 
 under the influence of idolatrous kings. Anyhow, it 
 would seem clear that the counsellors, who surrounded 
 the youthful Josiah, led him to religious courses, and 
 the infliction of the lev talionis on the murderers of his
 
 32 JOSIAH. 
 
 father, is a testimony of attachment to the established 
 principles of Jewish law. 
 
 It is not unlikely that the character and career of 
 another royal youth, Josiah's remote ancestor, David, 
 the minstrel king, influenced the young monarch. 
 Might not Josiah, fired by David's example, have taken 
 his progenitor as his model? Having once adopted 
 the right course for his line of conduct, he pursued it 
 with steadfast consistency and earnestness. We may 
 even infer from the language of the Bible that adverse 
 influences were not wanting to divert him from the 
 straight path which he had chosen. "He turned not 
 aside to the right hand nor to the left." Certainly, 
 the wonderful steadfastness of his character presents a 
 marked contrast to the vacillation of many monarchs 
 of his line. Even David and Solomon were not stead- 
 fast in the pursuit of virtue throughout their chequered 
 careers. Hezekiah had his weak moments ; Manasseh 
 was not unchangeable even in his wickedness. Josiah, 
 even from this point of view, was a remarkable person- 
 age and prince. 
 
 Josiah was nearly of the age at which Edward 
 Tudor died, when he took the great work of reforma- 
 tion in hand — he was a boy of fifteen. At this period 
 it would seem that the strength of his character began 
 to develop itself. One of his biographers described him 
 as an " amiable prince." We confess that amiability 
 does not seem to be one of the specially prominent 
 traits of his disposition, though in common experience 
 we do find that amiability and strength of character 
 are often combined. Superficial observers and epigram- 
 matic talkers indulge in the hackneyed notion that 
 good temper and firmness are incompatible. This
 
 JOSIAH. 33 
 
 sententious diagnosis is faulty. Its error arises from 
 mistaking weakness for amiability, and grimness or 
 obstinacy for firmness. 
 
 Josiah was very young when lie assumed the reins 
 of government in Judea and, like Louis XIV. the 
 motto .of his reign was at once, " L'etat c'est moi." 
 His first step — and this was the great object of his 
 whole career — was to make war against the idolatrous 
 practices of his people. The task was protracted and 
 difficult ; idolatry was no new importation ; it was the 
 besetting sin of the nation. 
 
 The idolatrous practices of the two preceding 
 reigns had caused this heinous sin to sink so deeply 
 into the popular mind, that it was not easy to root 
 it out. 
 
 Idols, heathen temples, and other monuments of 
 pagan rites were teeming — to use a recognised 
 modern expression — from end to end of the land. The 
 ignorant populace clung to a personal deity ; the people 
 were satisfied with an image or a picture. They were, 
 it would seem, unable to satisfy themselves with the 
 grand conception of an unseen, an impersonal, an 
 intangible deity. Debased as they were, they were 
 unable to grasp and adopt the sublime idea taught by 
 the great Prophet of God. 
 
 Possibly in those daj 7 s, as in ours, there were scholars 
 who fancied that Faith must be subservient to Reason 
 — or, at least, to what they mistook (honestly enough, 
 no doubt) for Reason — and who declined to believe 
 what they could not understand, nay, what they could 
 not touch or see : who considered their own opinions 
 paramount, and who, like some philosophers, and even 
 some clergymen in our own days, set up idols of their
 
 34 JOSIAH. 
 
 own manufacture or adoption under various names, and 
 worshipped them ; so their prototypes in those bye- 
 gone times chose to set up their idols, and worship 
 them, rather than join in paying glorious homage to 
 the unseen God of Faith. Many religions, however, 
 are overthrown, enfeebled, even forgotten ; but the 
 philosophers, and the graduates, and the sages of the 
 new school, have not succeeded in overthrowing even 
 the most minute particle of influence of the one Reli- 
 gion which has lasted through all the ages, and which 
 bears its elements of strength in itself. 
 
 Possibly another circumstance may account for the 
 extraordinary spread of idolatry. It is true that nearly 
 three hundred and fifty years before the accession of 
 Josiah the separation between the tribes had been 
 effected by a revolution, or rather a civil war, and 
 South Judea remained under the sacred dynasty of 
 Judah, while a recreant kingdom established itself in 
 North Judea, under the mutinous usurper, Jeroboam. 
 The northern kingdom succumbed to the invasion of 
 the Assyrian king, Shalmaneser, possibly the father of 
 the celebrated Sennacherib. Many of the Israelites 
 were deported wholesale after the fashion of the forced 
 emigrants of the highly civilized Russian empire. It 
 is said that their lands were for the most part expro- 
 priated, and given to non-Jews, or to neighbouring 
 people who followed a certain perverted Judaism. 
 These transplanted nations followed certain Jewish 
 customs, even though they were likewise addicted to 
 idolatry. Their religion was a curious mixture of 
 Judaism and heathenism, and it is just this description 
 of mongrel creed which may have had some effect in 
 importing idolatry into the neighbouring districts of
 
 JOSIAH. 35 
 
 the kingdom of Judah, as well as among the Jews 
 remaining in the kingdom of Israel. 
 
 The conquest of Shalmaneser occurred about a cen- 
 turj r before Josiah succeeded to the throne of Judah. 
 Then the kingdom of Israel, as it is historically called, 
 came to an ignominious and utterly inglorious end. 
 In those days national iniquity was punished by almost 
 immediate retribution. This is scarcely the case now- 
 a-days. 
 
 Now it is probable that either the conquered Jews 
 had returned to the northern provinces of Judea in 
 the days of Josiah, or that his sway, or at least his 
 influence, extended over the new settlers, or that he 
 had some delegation or suzerainty, tributary or other- 
 wise, from the Assyrian king, for it would seem certain 
 that Josiah exerted monarchical authority over the 
 severed provinces of Israel, as well as over the heredi- 
 tary kingdom of Judah. 
 
 Josiah set to his work right zealously. His was a 
 j)olicy of " thorough," resembling in its manner, 
 though not in its matter, the policy associated with 
 the name and career of the ill-fated "Wentworth, Lord 
 Strafford. 
 
 Henry VIII.'s hearty warfare against the monas- 
 teries and conventual establishments of the Church of 
 Rome, was a faint shadow of Josiah's expeditions 
 against the idolatrous edifices, practices, and priests 
 that disgraced the land. He gave no quarter. He 
 lifted a vigorous and unsparing hand against the 
 various forms of pagan worship then prevailing in 
 Palestine, and which do not seem to have been confined 
 to its borders, but either (as is probable) to have been 
 imported thither by foreign settlers, or gathered from
 
 36 JOSIAH. 
 
 intercourse with neighbouring nations. Many of these 
 forms appear to have had their prototypes in other 
 climes and ages, and among other races. Josiah, the 
 great iconoclast, was the Julian of an earlier day. An 
 examination of the various forms of idolatry is curious ; 
 and though these seem to have been assailed at various 
 portions of Josiah's reign, we may mention (and dis- 
 miss) them here. Paramount seems to have been that 
 Sabean worship, or adoration of the heavenly host 
 (tf!3¥, perhaps connected with "OV, splendour) which 
 existed in Mesopotamia in the days of Abraham, and 
 which, in the form of the Parsee creed, exists in India 
 and Persia to the present day. This is, perhaps, the 
 most explicable form of idolatry among ignorant men, 
 Avhich quality may perhaps explain its long endurance 
 and its wide diffusion. It spread into the Cretan my- 
 thology of Greece and Rome, in the worship of Helios 
 or Apollo, and of Selene or Diana ; it spread into the 
 Teutonic or Saxon mythology, where Sun and Moon 
 were adored. It was akin to the fire-worship of the 
 Guebres among the ancient Persians ; it was found 
 among the gentle Peruvians, under the Incas, when 
 they were conquered by the cruel Spaniards ; it found 
 its most foolish form in the Moloch worship of Canaan, 
 and the Vestal worship of Greece and Rome. A pos- 
 sible verbal connection between the roots of the words, 
 Par-see, Per-u, Ter-sia, and the Greek Pi'tr (whence 
 our English word fire, through the Teutonic Feuer) has 
 attracted attention, just as the association between Inca 
 and Ign-is. There was then the worship of Baal, the 
 Bel, and Belus of other countries, possibly the Vulcan of 
 Crete. There was also the grove- worship, known to the 
 pagans of Northern Scandinavia, and which, perhaps,
 
 JOSIAH. ot 
 
 was akin to the worship of Pan and the sylvan deities, 
 and the worship of the Dryads of Rome and the Druids 
 of Britain — the horrid and pestilent phallic worship, 
 which seems linked, through Moloch, to the idolatry 
 in which human sacrifices played a prominent part, as 
 even now in the Polynesian and Melanesian islands. 
 Then there was a worship connected with sepulchres, 
 or tumuli, or heaps of stones, or " barrows," with which 
 the Druidical worship, if Stonehenge be any proof, 
 was also connected. There was the worship of Astoreth 
 or Ashtoresh, said to be the Isis or Osiris of the 
 Egyptians, the Astarte of the Greeks, and the Yenus, 
 or possibly the Vesta, of the Romans ; of Chemosh, 
 who we are disposed to believe was the Mars of Rome, 
 and the Odin of the Teutons, the warlike character of 
 the Moabites offering some grounds for this supposi- 
 tion; and in Jeremiah, chap, xlviii., verses 7, 13, and 
 46, special reference is made to Chemosh, of the 
 Moabites, and one of the places in which the idol was 
 worshipped was Aroer, a word, perhaps, akin to Ares, 
 the Hellenic name of Mars ; and lastly of Milcom, the 
 idol of Ammon, possibly the Jupiter of the Greeks. 
 
 But the fire-worship had been audaciously introduced 
 into the very precincts of the Temple itself. Josiah's 
 first work was to purify the Temple or what remained 
 of it, to rebuild what had fallen into ruins, to restore 
 it for purposes of divine worship, to furnish it anew 
 with the vessels and appliances used in its sacred 
 service. 
 
 For this sublime object, a suitable system of labour, 
 duly divided, was carefully organised. Doubtless these 
 were not forced corvdes, such as a tyrannical sovereign 
 might institute, but the free work of a free people :
 
 38 JOSIAH. 
 
 such as in later days was established by the noble 
 satrap, Nehemiah, for a similar object, and such as 
 Paris witnessed for a less sacred but not less patriotic 
 purpose in days in which patriotism had not fled from 
 that dejected city. Even the Levites were called on 
 for their share of the work — not by manual labour, 
 with hod, chisel, hatchet, or plane, but by acting as 
 clerks of the works, overseers, accountants. &c. ; there 
 were no drones in Josiah' s hive. Josiah seems to have 
 been a frugal and judicious prince, and in this respect 
 Edward VI. did not resemble him. Edward's econo- 
 mical grandfather, Henry VII., had a touch of him. 
 He did not lavishly spend the money of the State, 
 nor the revenues of the Crown (if it had any) for 
 the requisite purposes of renovation and restoration. 
 Possibly the national exchequer was empty, and the 
 financial condition of a perhaps impoverished country 
 would not have justified the imposition of heavy 
 burdens. But collectors were set to work. Money 
 was gathered in, not only from the inhabitants of 
 Judah itself, but from the tribes that had formed the 
 shattered kingdom of Israel. So Josiah not only re- 
 established the neglected national worship, but took 
 care that those who had destroyed it should pay for its 
 restoration. 
 
 In the course of the repairs, the Scroll of the Law, 
 which had been preserved in the Temple, but which 
 had been lost or neglected during the reigns of 
 Manasseh and Anion, was found and brought to the 
 king. Shaphan, the royal scribe or secretary, read 
 it to the monarch, whose excellent intentions were 
 confirmed by it. He resolved to carry out its ordi- 
 nances persistently, and proceeded to act on the pre-
 
 JOSIAH. 39 
 
 scriptions of rc^al duty as laid down in the book of 
 Deuteronomy. The law was solemnly read to the 
 people ; but when the king heard the awful denuncia- 
 tions of the inspired law-giver against national dis- 
 obedience — the curses hurled on the recusants — his 
 strong heart quailed. Fearless in the sight of man, 
 he trembled beneath the frown of angry Heaven. 
 For indeed, Heaven's just indignation threatened his 
 people. A thousand years ago that law had been given, 
 those anathemas had been launched, those terrible but 
 sublime warnings — terrible and sublime as the welkin 
 thunder — had been uttered. Those menaces were 
 spread over the serenity and sweetness of the Religion 
 of Love and Compassion, as the angry storm-cloud 
 darkens the bright face of the soft summer sky. 
 
 The echoes of the tempests of Sinai resounded in 
 the ear of the alarmed and patriot king ; for his people 
 had sinned grievously. They had incurred the fearful 
 penalties of the outraged Law. For himself, he had 
 little to fear ; he had done his duty. He had followed 
 the divine behest. But the people in his own time 
 — in the time of his father and grandfather, three 
 generations, had committed the fatal iniquities, which, 
 by the unerring voice of Heaven, were to be visited 
 with the appalling chastisements revealed to the prophet 
 Moses. 
 
 Under these impressions, he still felt some doubt as 
 to whether those penalties might be averted, or whether 
 he had removed all danger of their incidence by his 
 own restoration of the ancestral worship. He called 
 his council together ; and they decided on consulting 
 a woman, who was celebrated at that time for what is 
 termed " prophecy." Her name was Huldah.
 
 40 JOSIAH. 
 
 Here let us pause a moment, to refer to two errors 
 that seem to prevail, even amongst Jews themselves, 
 in respect to, first, the meaning of the word prophet, 
 and secondly, the position of women in the Jewish 
 sj-stem. Both these considerations are applicable to 
 the episode of Huldah. 
 
 As regards prophecy, a notion seems to prevail that 
 a prophet is primarily, a revealer of the future. This 
 we doubt. The English word prophet is derived from 
 the Greek irpo^rjixl, probably meaning, one who speaks 
 out or proclaims, rather than one who predicts. The 
 prefix pro in Greek commonly means before, in point 
 of place, nearly corresponding to the French decant. 
 The Hebrew word ^^J seems to have a like meaning. 
 Its radix is doubtless the stem-word, ^13, meaning, to 
 sprout out, to bear fruit, (of course spontaneously, by 
 innate power, as does the tree or plant) and, thence, to 
 speak out, to speak eloquently (e-loquor). (This 113 by 
 the way has, perhaps, travelled west-ward in such 
 forms as knopf, knqp, knob, the bud or the button of a 
 tree.) Thus the French word, derived from prcdico, is 
 Prcdicatcur, a preacher — one who speaks out ; one who 
 speaks eloquently — or at least, ought to do so. A 
 prophet seems to be a man, from whom the fruit bursts 
 forth without an effort of his own will ; one inspired 
 w T ith the divine afHatus, so that he may speak pro- 
 ducticehj, not necessarily one who foretells. The old 
 English sooth-sayer, or truth- speaker, is akin to this. 
 Even the English seer, which corresponds with the 
 Hebrew niPl, does not necessarily mean a foreteller. 
 Indeed, many so-called prophecies are not foretellings. 
 They are utterances, springing forth to be culled, 
 like fruit. If this were well understood we should,
 
 JOSIAH. 41 
 
 perhaps, cease to hear statements of Christological 
 writers, as to the application of certain " prophetic " 
 passages in Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel. 
 
 The so-called prophecies are either codes (Moses), 
 recommendations (Samuel), denunciations (Isaiah), 
 exhortations (Micah), visions (Ezekiel), narratives 
 (Jonah), elegies and dirges (Jeremiah), or lastly fore- 
 tellings (Isaiah). 
 
 Eloquence directed to such objects as denunciations, 
 exhortations, and lamentations, often assumes the aspect 
 of prophecy : and indeed, much of what is commonly 
 designated prophec}* - is blended with other writings or 
 utterances of the inspired poets and preachers of the 
 Bible. The prophets certainly spoke from "lips touched 
 by hallowed fire," and poured out the words that were 
 given to them ; words that might often be the out- 
 risings of a knowledge of the past, and the clear com- 
 prehension of the present, by an intelligent and 
 cultivated mind. They may sometimes have been the 
 setting-forth in clear language of inferences drawn 
 from a just and palpable appreciation of passing events, 
 of the action and character of existing personages, and 
 from a similar appreciation of the past and fore-judg- 
 ment of the future. Yet prophecy as recorded in the 
 Bible differed from such intellectual manifestations as 
 above set forth, in this respect; that Prophecy was 
 inspired, breathed into, and impelling heart, brain, lip, 
 and hand, by the Divine Will, for the carrying out of 
 purposes necessary in the divine scheme in its relation 
 to man. A prophet was no ordinary man. His 
 thoughts and utterances, his sentiments and his 
 writings, were controlled by the Heaventy fiat. All 
 that the prophet had to say or to write, and even all
 
 42 JOSIAH. 
 
 that he thought, was bounded by the limits defined by- 
 hallowed intention for the achievement of some im- 
 portant and, of course, sacred purpose. 
 
 Another lesson is taught by the history of Josiah. 
 It is the fashion of superficial observers to state that 
 women were disregarded in the Jewish coimnonwealth, 
 and held as of no account. It was the interest of 
 Christians to promulgate and proclaim this view, as it 
 afforded them an opportunity of offering Christianity 
 to the world, as a necessary agent for the placing of 
 women in their proper position in humanity. 
 
 Superficial observers and writers confounded the 
 treatment of women among the Jews with that which 
 they met with among Moslems and heathen nations of 
 the East. This is a mistake. Women held a high 
 position in the Jewish commonwealth. Of this there 
 can be no doubt. The Jews exalted the household 
 virtues in womankind ; and, in one of the most esteemed 
 of the Jewish Scripture books, a homely matron is 
 described as the most blessed of women. Work, it is 
 true, is always held in high repute among the Jews. 
 And, in intellectual and spiritual rank, the women of 
 Israel had the same chance of obtaining distinction. 
 We had, it is true, no "screaming sisterhood," but we 
 had amongst us the poetess Miriam, the judge Deborah, 
 the prophetess Huldah. It is clear that Huldah is held 
 in high repute. She lived, according to the Authorised 
 Version, in the " College," and according to Dr. 
 Benisch's rendering, in the " second quarter," perhaps, 
 the arrondissement designated as No. 2, in the topo- 
 graphical description of the city. She was the wife of 
 the Keeper of the Wardrobe. 
 The King's council, on hearing the doubts and
 
 JOSIAH. 43 
 
 difficulties that exercised the royal mind, decided on 
 applying to this celebrated woman. She gave a reply 
 to the question submitted to her in plain, explicit, 
 forcible, and telling language. In vain did the King 
 in his strong-minded goodness hope that his virtues 
 would save his iniquitous people. O no ! Vicarious 
 atonement forms no portion of God's system. The 
 Almighty Himself told His chosen prophet, Moses, 
 that even he, good and self-denying as he was, could 
 not save others from the consequences of their sin. 
 
 Throughout scripture, there is perhaps no prophecy 
 or utterance delivered in terms more forcible and more 
 touching than those in which Huldah expressed herself 
 when appealed to by the ministers of Josiah, on behalf 
 of this earnest and anxious king. 
 
 She cries with terrible strength, yet with serene 
 calmness that gives point to every word of her enthusi- 
 astic reply, that the chastisement ordained by God shall 
 fall on the guilty people who had forsaken the One 
 Lord, and had provoked Him. His anger would be 
 kindled against them ; and it would not be quenched. 
 We can imagine the fire of denunciation and menace 
 flashing from Huldah's eyes ; flashing and then fading 
 — as those fiery eyes became filled with a woman's 
 tender tears — when she tells the King's envoys that, 
 since Josiah's heart was humble and gentle; since he 
 had sought divine compassion by Ms life's obedience ; 
 she knew that God would save him from seeing the 
 misery and terrible punishment of the people whom 
 he loved. This trouble would not fall en him ; Josiah 
 would be gathered to his grave in peace ! And to those 
 who work and struggle for a good purpose, what 
 greater reward can there be than — Peace !
 
 4-1 JOSIAH. 
 
 Still, the good monarch made one effort to avoid the 
 impending wrath. He gathered the people together 
 and read the law to them, while standing on a raised 
 platform or pulpit. 
 
 Here, Josiah solemnly promised to obey the divine 
 law as revealed by Moses. The priests, the prophets, 
 and the people surrounded him in vast multitude, as he 
 stood puominently forward in the wide courts of the 
 Temple. There, amongst rich and poor, noble and 
 humble, the King set forth his solemn compact with 
 the King of Kings ! 
 
 He passed through the land resolved to root out 
 idolatry ; and after having performed his work in his 
 hereditary provinces of Judah, he passed on to the 
 kingdom of Israel. A curious incident and a prophecy, 
 in the sense in which the word is commonly under- 
 stood, are narrated in the First Book of Kings, when 
 the rebellious Jeroboam built idolatrous altars, and was 
 rebuked by a prophet, who himself having sinned, 
 perished, and was buried by a second prophet, whose 
 remains, at his own desire, were afterwards laid in the 
 tomb of his friend. The destruction of the idolatrous 
 altar and the advent of the good Josiah were then 
 foretold. 
 
 The prophet prayed that his bones might not be dis- 
 turbed ; and one is forcibly reminded of the curious 
 distich engraved on Shakespeare's tomb in Stratford-on- 
 Avon church, which runs something like this : — 
 
 " Blessed be he who guards these stones, 
 And curst be he who moves my bones." 
 
 "Well, centuries afterwards, Josiah in the course of 
 his expedition northward, came to this very place.
 
 JOSIAH. 45 
 
 He saw the altar, which he destroyed, and which, or 
 near which, was a sepulchre built on a hill somewhat 
 after the fashion of a beacon. He asked what it meant; 
 and the story was related to him, for it would seem that 
 he knew little of the history of his own race. The 
 King refused to disturb the bones of the prophet. 
 
 Here, by the way, occurs another of the oft-recurring 
 instances of the faultiness of the so-called Authorised 
 Version, according to which Josiah, on beholding the 
 building, is made to ask, absurdly enough, " what is 
 this title ? '* Now j^V is the Hebrew word used, and it 
 means a monument, or signal, (perhaps, the stem- word 
 of the Latin sign-um whence English sign and signal, 
 and probably it is akin to the Teutonic zeichcn, whence 
 our English " token," and also to " zeuge") It is pos- 
 sible that the translator mistook the word monumen- 
 tum for munimentuni, and hence rendered it " title." 
 Dr. Benisch puts the word in its proper meaning. 
 |V¥ or J*% is used for a sepulchral monument in 
 Jeremiah xxxi. 21, and Ezekiel xxxix. 15. 
 
 Josiah either went or sent to Samariah, the capital of 
 the revolted and subdued tribes, and here he destroyed 
 the apparatus of idolatrous worship, and condemned 
 its wicked priesthood to capital punishment. 
 
 Throughout the length and breadth of the land, the 
 feast of Passover was solemnly celebrated. Never since 
 the days of the Judges had the festival been held so 
 satisfactorily. The bondage of idolatry had been 
 broken, there was a new redemption in the land, and it 
 was indeed fitting that it should be sanctified by the 
 memorial of the old redemption. Ah ! if the old man 
 who died alone and untended by human hand on solitaiy 
 Nebo, could have seen, with prophetic eye, the king of
 
 4G J0S1AH. 
 
 his race cany out the precepts of his law, the blessed 
 vision may have soothed his heart, as he sank to rest 
 in sight of the promised land his foot should never 
 tread ! 
 
 "Ah ! If the fading eye, with conscious gaze, 
 In the last hour that ends our earthly days. 
 Could catch the vision of our hopes fulfilled, 
 The spirit's farewell shriek would sure be stilled." 
 
 The prescribed ordinances of the Passover were 
 carried out with due precision. Josiah's powers of 
 organization would seem to have developed ; for some 
 time before, when he carried out the work of renovating 
 the Temple, it would appear that the royal administra- 
 tion must have been at a low ebb, seeing that no 
 accounts were kept of the monies expended in the work, 
 implicit confidence being placed in the honesty and 
 economy of the persons charged with the undertaking. 
 But now Josiah was in the vigour of his young man- 
 hood. He was about 26 or 27 years of age. He re- 
 organized the ancient Temple-service with care and 
 order. The priests, the Levites, the singers, all had 
 their assigned duties ; even the porters at the gates 
 (for there was the grand institution of \212& even in 
 those days) had their parts set forth. The poor were 
 not forgotten ; ample provision was made for them. 
 Men of rank and wealth came forward liberally with 
 the contributions required of them. Judah and Israel, 
 long separated, were again united in this solemn assembly. 
 It is sublime to dwell for one moment on this grand 
 scene, the climax of Josiah's glory — the crowning joy 
 of his reign — the golden harvest of his labours. There, 
 in the restored Temple, stood the scion of the most
 
 JOSIAH. 47 
 
 truly royal house of all the world — for Heaven had 
 made it royal. There stood he, surrounded by the 
 princes and the priests, the sages and the saints. 
 Round him pressed the throng of his own subjects : and 
 the scattered and subdued remnants of the rebellious 
 tribes. 
 
 Thousands of bleating sheep, hundreds of lowing 
 oxen, wreathed with their myrtle garlands, were led 
 to the altar. The songs of David resounded from the 
 lips of the hallowed choir. The spirit of the Minstrel 
 King, the spirit of the wise Solomon and the sainted 
 Hezekiak, lived with beatified life in the solemn 
 enclosure. Surely, as the song of welcome rose on 
 high, above the hushed murmurs of the people and 
 the cries of the cattle, the voices of the dead must 
 have whispered at the king's heart ! But no. His 
 heart might have been proud and peaceful, but it could 
 not have been joyful. There was a shadow on the 
 sunshine. The pious and resolute king had made his 
 peace with Heaven, but he knew that on the might} 7 
 throng before him the just wrath of that outraged 
 Heaven must fall. Yes ; fall sooner or later with 
 unerring, even though tardy hand. Hush ! Beyond 
 the clashing of the cymbals and the braying of the 
 trumpets; beyond the choral songs of the Levites and 
 the psalmody of the people ; lie heard the distant roar 
 of the thunder. It reached his heart; he felt the 
 whisper of the coming storm — though before its blast 
 should burst on his people, he would be at rest in the 
 peaceful grave. 
 
 * * # * * 
 
 And now a new scene opens. Life's hey-day has 
 been reached. Noon has shone in its meridian glory,
 
 48 JOSIAH. 
 
 and the day begins to wane. Josiah lias passed from 
 boyhood to manhood. He is advancing to life's prime, 
 and the darkness is closing around him. 
 
 In those days, no such theory as the balance of power 
 existed. Tn our days it is only a theory, a name for lust 
 of power, and greed of annexation. 
 
 Josiah was the sovereign of a small state, wedged in 
 between two powerful and ambitious empires. It had 
 something of the position of the Netherlands in our 
 own days, wedged in between Prussia and France. 
 These powerful ancient empires on the borders of 
 Palestine, were Egypt on the south-west, Assyria, or 
 rather Babylon, on the east. These jealous rivals were 
 at war, just as France was in our own days, and in the 
 days of our fathers. Egypt attacked Assyria. The 
 then king of Egypt was called Nccho. He was of the 
 dynasty called Pharaoh, and is also known in history 
 as Necao and Nechos. He is celebrated not only for 
 his battles with Assyria, but also for an unsuccessful 
 attempt made by him to unite the Mediterranean, the 
 Nile and the Red Sea, by means of a canal, a sort of 
 foreshadowing of Lesseps' famous Suez Canal. King 
 Josiah decided on endeavouring to prevent JSTecho from 
 passing through his territories, to attack the Assyrian 
 king at Charchemish. It seems the fashion in histories 
 based on the Bible to blame him for this procedure, 
 and the chief grounds for this censure, appear to be 
 that the Egyptian king, in endeavouring to prevent 
 Josiah from allying himself with his enemy, used 
 scriptural warnings, couched in scriptural language. 
 He invoked the divine name to prevent Josiah 's inter- 
 ference. It appears that Necho did this unjustifiably,
 
 JOSIAH. 49 
 
 for he was eventually defeated by the Assyrians, as we 
 learn from Jeremiah. 
 
 It was clearly the interest of Necho, that Josiah 
 should take no part in the quarrel, for had he been 
 neutral, he could have passed through Josiah's do- 
 minions without molestation, and thus reached the 
 Euphrates which was to the east of the Assyrian king's 
 territory. If Necho invaded Assyria from the south, 
 and Josiah were hostile, he would have been in a 
 perilous position. Necho sought to obtain not his 
 alliance, but his neutrality. 
 
 Josiah might have considered himself bound to fight 
 for Assyria from ties of gratitude if, as we conjecture, 
 Assyria had permitted Josiah the privilege of spreading 
 Judaism and destroying idolatry among the provinces 
 of Israel, which had been conquered by the Assyrians. 
 This conjecture would account for Josiah's friendliness 
 to the Assyrian king, and for the influence he had in 
 rooting out idol worship in the ten northern tribes, 
 which he could scarcely have effected without Assyria's 
 sanction. 
 
 It may seem strange that so many thousand years 
 after Josiah's death, one should endeavour to find out 
 good reasons for his course of action. But there is a 
 justification for this. We are anxious to vindicate his 
 character, and show him in the light of a patriot king, 
 so that he may serve, as we believe he should, as a 
 great example for after ages. 
 
 The Egyptian army met the Jewish army at a place 
 called Megiddo, which was in a valley to the east of 
 the range of mountains, known as Carmel, in the 
 province of Issachar, a district afterwards forming 
 part of the Roman province of Galilee. Near the 
 
 E
 
 50 JOSIAH. 
 
 valley was a river, which is the waters of Megiddo, 
 mentioned in the song of Deborah. This place was 
 situated to the north-west of Jerusalem, and would 
 probably lie in the way of JSTecho, who in passing 
 through the Holy Land to invade Assyria, would be 
 anxious to have a sea-board in his flank, so that he 
 might be protected in his march by the parallel course 
 of the Egyptian navy, a plan pursued in after ages by 
 a modern general, and somewhat similar to that of the 
 Duke of "Wellington in the Peninsula. 
 
 This Megiddo is probabty the Magdoluni mentioned 
 by Herodotus as the site of a battle. 
 
 The patriot king, actuated by no sordid ambition, as 
 we believe, went like a hero into the thick of the battle. 
 He disguised himself, so that he might take active part 
 in the fight, and share the fortunes of his soldiers — 
 and he died —died striving to do his duty to the 
 country he loved. 
 
 So Judas Maccabeus died — so our own English Nelson 
 died. So have perished the army of heroes that have 
 lived since the world began, almost in every age, in 
 every race, in every clime. 
 
 " Whether it be on scaffold high, 
 Or in the battle's van, 
 The noblest death for man to die, 
 Is when he dies for man." 
 
 It seems that Josiah was shot by an archer, and he 
 knew that his wound was severe, perhaps mortal. 
 Probably, fearing that the sight of his death would 
 operate unfavourably on his arnry, and produce dis- 
 comfiture, he desired his attendants to take him from 
 his chariot, and place him in another, possibly one not
 
 JOSIAH. 51 
 
 bearing signs of his royal dignity, so that he might not 
 he known. "Take me away,""" said the dying king, 
 "for I am sorely wounded." 
 
 It seems that he died on the field of battle : for the 
 apparent discrepancy between II. Kings xxiii., and II. 
 Chronicles xxvi., 24, is explicable, the latter which is 
 probably only a record, may be thus translated : "They 
 Drought him to Jerusalem, for he was dead," or it even 
 may be when he was dead. Josephus and one or two 
 other writers state that he did not die till he reached 
 Jerusalem. It matters not. He died like a hero, 
 wherever he died. 
 
 This is the end of his life's story, though that life- 
 story cannot be said ever to end, when its recollection 
 still lives for a purpose : 
 
 " To live in hearts we leave behind, 
 Is not to die." 
 
 He was "mourned" by the great poet, patriot, and 
 prophet, Jeremiah, who was a son of the Hilkiah, men- 
 tioned in an earlier part of this narrative as the high 
 priest. Jeremiah's elegy has not been identified, though 
 possibly it may be the celebrated " Lamentations," or it 
 may form a portion of these. The 10th verse of the 
 12th chapter of Zechariah, is also an elegy on the good 
 king: 
 
 " And tears by bards and heroes shed, 
 Alike immortalise the dead ! " 
 
 His people wept for him, as well they might : and 
 the conquering Egyptian paid respect to his memory or 
 
 8 Probably the correct translation, judging from the use of 
 the -word "Oy in the next verse, is "remove me, let me bo 
 changed from one chariot to another."
 
 52 JOSIAH. 
 
 to the popular feeling, by placing his son on the vacant 
 tli rone. 
 
 He perished in the 30th year of his age, and the 
 thirty-second of his glorious reign. The period of his- 
 tory is cotemporaneous with that in which Draco gave 
 laws to Athens, and in which the regal government 
 existed in Rome, about the epoch of the reigns of the 
 kings Ancus Martius, and Tarquinius Priscus. Archi- 
 damus was reigning in Lacedacmon. 
 
 The story is long : let the moral be short. 
 
 From the history of Josiah, young and old may learn 
 111 it this king, the most manly king of Judah, was also 
 the most religious; that he who was not afraid of 
 crushing the old idolatries, and acknowledging his own 
 faith, and who scrupulously observed its institutions, 
 was also not afraid to risk his life in battle, for what he 
 believed to be his duty. He was earnest, he was 
 straightforward, he was thorough. Earnestness, piety, 
 and courage, are virtues that all may imitate ; and 
 after the lapse of twenty-five centuries, the history of 
 Josiah speaks to us from the grave where he was laid, 
 when he perished at Megiddo — perished, on that battle- 
 field ; to be a signal and a beacon on life's great battle- 
 field for ever !
 
 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 There is an evil, a crying evil, in our community. 
 We disregard the great men of our own race. Not 
 the great men of modern times, of whom both 
 absolutely and relatively there are but few ; but the 
 great men of ancient times — men who have left behind 
 them their work, the enduring record of their lives 
 and their labours, — so that for our neglect of them, 
 while we profit by what they achieved, we have no 
 excuse. A people that ceases to honour its great men, 
 ceases to regard its past with befitting reverence, and 
 risks its own chance of greatness. It is no small part 
 of the work done by the heroes of other days, that 
 their lives are examples to be followed by generations 
 yet unborn. 
 
 But we Jews allow the dull cold waters of indifference 
 to wash over the footprints of the men of our race. 
 We follow, it may be, their guiding lights, but we 
 forget — oh, we utterly forget the hands that kindled 
 them. In the upper classes of life, we Jews are familiar 
 with the mythological and historical heroes of Greece 
 and Home, and with the shining luminaries of our 
 European orbit. In the lower classes these names may 
 be but little known, but the heroes of the drama and 
 the romance are thoroughly appreciated. Thus in our 
 public schools our boys are able to talk glibly of the 
 beauty of Homer's verse, the magnanimity of Leonidas'
 
 54 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 heroism — the humour of Terence, and the bravery of 
 Scipio, and the statesmanship of Pitt and the vigour 
 of Wellington. In our humble schools, doubtless, the 
 deeds of Nelson and the exploits of Napoleon are 
 not unknown : and the fanciful performances of Jack 
 iSheppard and Dick Turpin are familiar as household 
 words. But how often do we hear of those men whose 
 lives were of themselves sufficient to dignify — to en- 
 noble — nay even to consecrate, a nation? — men who 
 like Joshua the dauntless general, David the sublime 
 poet, Ezra the zealous champion, and Judas the heroic 
 patriot, — and these are but few of the immortal many 
 — have set on the face of the ages a glowing stamp of 
 lustrous light, in whose rays we bask : though we 
 carelessly cast aside the line that would lead the eyes 
 of grateful and reflecting men to the source whence 
 the radiance flows ? 
 
 The consequences of this evil are perilous. We, as 
 Jews, cease, and have long ceased, to entertain a due 
 pride in ourselves — a pride which is important and 
 perhaps necessary to the maintenance of that dignity, 
 with which we, as true soldiers of the Faith, should 
 rally round the banner which is our sacred heirloom. 
 We are not proud of our race ; we who are the world's 
 most ancient nobility ; whose blood is the bluest of all 
 the life streams of the races of the earth ; we whose 
 pedigree dates from those to whom was given the 
 most glorious patent of aristocracy — the most sublime 
 heritage of humanity — the Revelation of God — as 
 understood by Heaven — to be a gift to man for ever- 
 more. 
 
 There arc, in the rolls of renown which we, though, 
 utterly unworthy of them, are still permitted to retain,
 
 KEHEMIAH. 55 
 
 some names around which, there shines a halo of so 
 sacred a gloiy that one scarcely ventures to approach 
 them ; still less to deal with them so as to try to draw 
 them from the sublimity of their own age and its 
 solemn surroundings, to the more dense and less pure 
 atmosphere of our commonplace and unsentimental 
 (which means unfeeling) age, To this grave category 
 belong such men as Moses our Master; David our 
 Minstrel; Elijah our mysterious Prophet. But on 
 the other hand, there are other men who, though their 
 associations are connected with the loftiest conditions 
 of humanity, and their careers are hallowed with 
 purposes and occurrences of a sacred character, are yet 
 so comprehensible to our ordinary understandings, and 
 so legible to the reading of our hearts, that we can 
 feel a thorough sympathy with them, and gather a 
 ready lesson from their lives, their works, and their 
 ways. 
 
 To this class of men belongs the prophet Nehemiah, 
 one of the most remarkable men of his, or of any, age. 
 He was a peculiarly useful man: one of those personages 
 in whose character were intimately combined the fervour 
 of passionate thought and the serenity of practical 
 action. In certain minds, and those are very noble 
 minds, the powers of sentiment are found intermingled 
 with the powers of work. Such men are formed to be 
 leaders. They excite with the voice or the pen, while 
 they incite with the mighty force of example. In them 
 precept and practice find their impulses blended. And 
 when these conditions of being are exerted for a high, 
 a noble, a religious object — for the happiness of hu- 
 manity and the service of the Maker — such men as 
 these are blest with the holiest of blessings — the
 
 56 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 assurance that one is fulfilling a career which leads 
 straightway from earth to Heaven, and lifts the soul 
 on the wings of a divine influence from a human to an 
 angelic sphere of being. Such a man was Nehemiah. 
 He lived at a critical period of our history : a period 
 at which such a person was wanted for the carrying 
 out of a great object. Let the carping critics of Biblical 
 literature say what they will, and dig out new-fangled 
 theories from their thin soil of learning, no discrepancy 
 that they can discover, or fancy they can discover, in 
 the historical portions of the hagiographa-narrative 
 can affect a fact clear to the unprejudiced investigator, 
 the fact that Nehemiah, his writings, his character, 
 and his recorded thoughts and deeds, fitted in most 
 perfectly with the time in which he lived. 
 
 That time was a remarkable one. Some knowledge 
 of it has come down to us from history. The Jews, after a 
 long captivity, had been permitted to return to their 
 own land. They had undergone great vicissitudes. 
 The Chaldean or rather Babylonian sovereign Nebu- 
 chadnezzar had destroyed their city and their temple ; 
 he had overthrown their throne, and had endeavoured 
 to crush out their nationality. Of course in this last 
 attempt he could not succeed ; for the fire smouldered 
 in the ashes — that fire which was kindled from a 
 heavenly fount of light ; and which was, and is, and 
 will be, imperishable. Belshazzar, the successor of the 
 Babylonian king, had been conquered by the victorious 
 Mede. The empire of the great and good Cyrus was 
 established on this side of the Caspian sea, and that 
 excellent potentate had ameliorated the condition of his 
 Jewish subjects and had made arrangements for their 
 restoration to their ancient land. Cyrus was a prince
 
 2JEHEMIAK. 57 
 
 whous. modern monarchs would do well to imitate. He 
 was wise, temperate and brave ; a model prince in the 
 age in which he lived. We all know how, under the 
 edict of the Medo-Persian king, our ancestors, led by 
 Zerubbabel, the son of Shealtiel, lineal descendant of 
 the anointed David, returned to their beloved land. It 
 W T as this Zerubbabel, called in the Persian history 
 Shesh-Bazzar, who is commemorated in our familiar 
 n^ljn song commencing Tl^l^ ^IIX TI^E. The nation 
 was restored. The first stone of the temple was laid. 
 And here let us pause and listen to the grand record of 
 Scripture. 
 
 "And all the people shouted with a great shout 
 when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of 
 the house of the Lord was laid. 
 
 " But many of the Priests and Levites, and the 
 chiefs of the fathers, old men who had seen the first 
 house, wept with a loud voice when the foundation of 
 this new house was laid before their eyes."* 
 
 We can picture to ourselves, even in this cold un- 
 enthusiastic age, the mingled tears and smiles : how, 
 while the memories of the past bid the old men weep ; 
 the joys of the present, and the hopes of the future 
 shone like summer sunlight, struggling for mastery 
 through the shadows of lost glories and all 
 
 " The tender grace of a day that is dead."f 
 
 But though under the gracious permission and with 
 the generous assistance of the noble Persian monarch 
 our fathers were restored to their ancient land where 
 they could "sing the songs of Zion" once more; 
 though in the sacred city and on its holy mount they 
 
 8 Ezra hi. 11, 12. f Tennyson.
 
 58 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 were allowed to rebuild the temple of their worship ; 
 many of the glories of the past had fled, and eould not 
 be restored. The Jews were no longer a powerful, a 
 prosperous, or a dominant people. Their national 
 banner was tarnished, their renown was sullied, their 
 prestige was gone; their commerce, once so splendid, 
 was reduced to a mere second-rate condition. Their 
 spirit was broken by captivity, and, unhappily, the pure 
 descent of some of their ancient families was tainted 
 by intermarriage with inferior races. 
 
 It was not wonderful then that the restoration was 
 not at first a success. The weakness of the Jews made 
 itself felt. They unwisely and ungraciously refused 
 the proffered assistance of the Samaritan Jews, and. 
 the} 7 were exposed not only to their hatred but to the 
 enmity of neighbouring non- Jewish tribes. 
 
 Ezra, or as the Apocrypha, Josephus, and the Greeks 
 call him, Esdras, went either with the permission, or, 
 as we are inclined to believe, with a special commission 
 from the Persian Sovereign, and organised the nation. 
 He re-established our religion on its former defined 
 basis, and he even arranged a constitution, evidently 
 of a religious, and possibly even of a political character, 
 which afforded a settlement for the restored people. 
 It would seem, however, that after Ezra's death or 
 retirement, misfortunes ensued. The city of Jerusalem 
 was not defended by walls. It was unprovided with 
 fortifications. The condition of the city of the people 
 and of all that they held dear became pitiable. And 
 as news did not travel fast in those days, some time 
 appears to have elapsed before intelligence of these: 
 misfortunes reached the Jews who remained in Per&ia. 
 
 In those days a king named Artaxcrxes reigned in
 
 NEHEMIAH. ( J 
 
 Persia, and his swa}* extended from the confines of 
 India to the shores of the Levant. He was, probably, 
 the successor of that Xerxes "who was defeated by the 
 Greeks. But whether he or his ' predecessor was the 
 Ahasuerus of Scripture seems somewhat doubtful. 
 
 When persons, in books or lectures or elsewhere, 
 pretend to know all about these ancient kings, without 
 giving a single fact as an authority for their statements, 
 one need not believe them. Notwithstanding the 
 researches of such great men as Bollin and Prideaux, 
 there is great doubt as to the identity of the eastern 
 kings ; and historians are even now doubtful as to the 
 monarch mentioned in Scripture History as having 
 conquered the luxurious Belshazzar. 
 
 Things must have gone very wrong at Jerusalem ; 
 for new"s came to Susa, the Persian capital, of the 
 misfortunes under w r hich the Jews were suffering. 
 There was then residing in Susa a very distinguished 
 Jew named JNehemiah. It would seem that he had 
 been carried away in captivity at a very early age, 
 when Nebuchadnezzar conquered Jerusalem. He had 
 risen somewhat after the fashion of Joseph, to great 
 eminence in the court of the Persian monarch ; for the 
 great oriental satraps, more wise than those modern 
 Christian kings who refused to emancipate the Jews, 
 and preferred to oppress them, thought it wise to avail 
 themselves of the signal talents, sincere patriotism, 
 earnestness and integrity of their Jewish subjects ; and 
 as Joseph rose to distinction in the court of Pharaoh, 
 and Daniel in that of Belshazzar, so Nehemiah obtained 
 a post of high distinction in the court of the Medo- 
 Pcrsian sovereigns. He was called the royal cup- 
 bearer. Such an office was till quite recently even a
 
 60 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 post of honour in the imperial court of Germany ; an 
 elector of the Empire, himself a sovereign prince in his 
 own dominions, holding a similar office in the palace of 
 the Kaiser. 
 
 The word used in scripture for the description of 
 Nehemiah's office is the Tirshatha, and this word seems 
 to be usually translated Cupbearer. Others, however, 
 translate it Governor. A great authority is of opinion 
 that the word is of uncertain etymology. It seems 
 probable, however, notwithstanding the occurrence of 
 the letter T\ instead of tD the expression may be derived 
 from "lfcDfcy meaning governor or ruler ; or it may be 
 some Chaldaic compound of *VtD palace and ItO^ 
 governor, the letters T\ and £3 being often interchange- 
 able. Be this, however, as it may, there can be no 
 doubt that Nchemiah filled a position of very great 
 dignity in the court of the Asiatic monarch. But in 
 his case, as in that of his great predecessor Joseph, the 
 old love of nationality, and the old attachment to his 
 country and his faith prevailed ov r er the attractions of 
 his exalted position in the land of exile. 
 
 When Nehemiah heard of the misfortunes of his 
 brethren ; when the sound of their sufferings reached 
 him ; when he knew that the land of his birth, the 
 land of his race, the land in which his fathers Avere 
 buried, and in which was his childhood's home, was 
 exposed to the tread of an insulting invader, he 
 resolved on abandoning the comforts of his home, the 
 hopes of ambition, the pleasures of his high position, 
 the associations of personal friendship ; and he de- 
 termined on casting his lot with his unhappy, his 
 endangered, his degraded brethren. 
 
 If we wish to understand what really he did resign,
 
 NEHEMIAH. 61 
 
 let us imagine for instance, a nobleman of Polish 
 descent such as Count "Wale w ski, who is so recently 
 dead that we can all remember him, resigning the 
 splendour of his position at the then magnificent court 
 of Paris, where he was the intimate of the Emperor, 
 and the cynosure of the courtiers' eyes, in order to 
 blend his fate with that of his unhappy countrymen in 
 subjugated Poland. 
 
 However, regardless of personal comfort and public 
 ambition, Nehemiah left Susa, the Persian capital, and 
 hurried to Jerusalem. It is true that the favour of his 
 sovereign furnished, it may even be said armed, him 
 with credentials likely to keep in awe those troublesome 
 hordes who, whatever might have been their hatred 
 towards the Jews, would necessarily be deterred from 
 annoying them by fear of the anger of the great 
 monarch who reigned at Susa. 
 
 Nehemiah arrived at Jerusalem, and almost immedi- 
 ately on his arrival went to inspect the city. Josephus 
 thinks he was accompanied by a number of exiled Jews 
 from Babjdon ; but this is not quite clear ; indeed it 
 is not important. Nehemiah found the Holy City in 
 a very sad condition. The walls were in a state of 
 dilapidation. They had never been rebuilt. He saw 
 the danger of an unwalled city, containing treasures, 
 and situated in a region surrounded by ^hostile tribes. 
 It is not likely that persons would resort thither with 
 a feeling of security, or that the city would be likely 
 to attain a reputation for, or condition of, dignity, so 
 long as it remained unfortified. Nehemiah then at 
 once resolved to rebuild the walls. It was here that 
 the remarkable energy of his character manifested 
 itself. No sooner had he decided, than he at once
 
 63 . NEHEMIAH. 
 
 determined on action. He hardly lost a moment ; 
 waiting only three days either for necessary rest, or 
 possibly for religious purification after his journey. He 
 neither exaggerated the importance of his undertaking 
 nor the necessity of hurrying it. To use a common 
 English expression, and a very forcible one, Nehemiah 
 at once put his shoulder to the wheel. Hard to work 
 he went, and wisely he made others work too. In 
 reading the Biblical account of the building of the 
 walls, one is reminded of an episode in the early days 
 of the French He volution, when a fortification was 
 thrown up by the combined labours of persons of all 
 classes and all ages, and both sexes. Then noblemen 
 and. priests laboured cheerfully at the earthworks. In 
 like manner, priests, nobles, merchants, and people 
 laboured strenuously at the rebuilding of the walls of 
 Jerusalem. Of course there were exceptions to the 
 general ardour. The nobles of the Tekoites, Nehemiah 
 tells us with noble simplicity, " put not their necks to 
 the work of their Lord." There are drones in all 
 communities ; and the idleness or pride (often inter- 
 changeable terms) of the Tekoite hidalgos has thus 
 gone down to posterity. 
 
 The detail of the work and the division of labour are 
 graphically and carefully described by the great writer. 
 One could almost draw a plan of the wall and its gates 
 from the Biblical explanation. Among the many in- 
 teresting facts to be gathered from this description, 
 two may be especially mentioned. First, it is clear 
 that at this period there were manufactures carried on 
 in the holy city, for the goldsmiths are specially 
 alluded to as performing a great portion of the work ; 
 and there were furnaces, the tower — probably the high
 
 KEHEMIAH. 63 
 
 snaft or chimney — of which was repaired by two of the 
 workers. The expression " tower of the furnaces " 
 would lead one to infer that there were a number of 
 fires, hearths, or furnaces discharging their products of 
 combustion into a common shaft. If so, economy of 
 furnace construction was not unknown to our fore- 
 fathers, who may have been in an advanced condition 
 of industrial progress. And this indeed is likely, when 
 we consider how rapidly the wall was built. 
 
 Nor was Nehemiah content with merely throwing 
 "ap the masonry of the fortifications. He took care to 
 provide gates and fit them with the necessary furniture, 
 so that the city boundary might be as complete for 
 purpose of peaceable ingress and egress as for purposes 
 ©f defence in case of war. 
 
 The work went on, but not unmolested. Certain 
 foreigners — we mean men not of Jewish race — sub- 
 jected Nehemiah to constant menace and annoyance, 
 being possibly actuated by jealousy of the Jews, and 
 apprehension of the power that might accrue to them, 
 if their city were in a state of security from the 
 aomadic and plundering tribes that dwelt around 
 Jerusalem and its vicinity. First they laughed at the 
 Jews ; but when they found that Nehemiah, regardless 
 of their mockery, pursued the work, they grew angry, 
 and the energetic Tirshatha found it necessary to divide 
 Ms band into two parties — one to work at the wall, 
 and the other to cover them ; he armed the latter so 
 that they might be ready to protect those who laboured 
 at the fortification in the event of their being attacked 
 by their enemies. Indeed, he took the precaution of 
 arming those that were actually engaged in building, 
 ©r in carrving building materials, or removing debris
 
 64 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 and rubbish ; each man, builder, and bearer had his 
 weapon ready, and as the necessities of the work kept 
 them apart at intervals on the fortification, Nehemiah 
 arranged that there should be a signal in case of 
 danger — that is to say, when a trumpet was sounded, 
 all were to hurry to the spot whence the sound came, 
 and thus close their ranks. By this excellent plan the 
 risk was avoided of their being cut off in detail in case 
 of a sudden surprise. 
 
 Imagine the grave responsibilities that pressed on 
 this great man. He, with his brethren and his own 
 immediate followers — his guards and servants — were 
 in constant vigil : " Never," says he in that homely 
 language which seems to us so strikingly forcible, 
 " Never did we put off our clothes, save for our ablu- 
 tions." 
 
 It may be incidentally mentioned that the name 
 Nehemiah was probably not an uncommon name, as 
 amongst the builders of the Avail a Nehemiah is men- 
 tioned who is evidently not the hero of our paper, but 
 a man who — or whose father — was a satrap of a por- 
 tion of a district called Beth-zur.* 
 
 Then, while the wall was being partially built, 
 Nehemiah met with a new annoyance. The Jews dis- 
 puted among themselves, and evidently endeavoured 
 to profit by the misfortunes of those who had neces- 
 sarily raised money on their lands and houses in order 
 to pay the taxes levied by the Persian King. No 
 doubt the Monarch and his governors were as exacting 
 in the matter of tribute as are the Pashas of our time 
 in the East. To raise the necessary tribute some of 
 the Jews had mortgaged their landed property; but 
 '"' The present Bassorak is the H"!^'? of Scripture.
 
 SEHEMIAH. 65 
 
 Neheniiah, wlio seems to have had marvellous powers 
 of persuasion, managed to set this matter right. He 
 induced the mortgagees to promise to restore the pro- 
 perty, and — with his usual shrewd foresight — called 
 the priests and caused the mortgagees to seal their 
 promises by a solemn vow; for possibly they might 
 have repented at leisure of what they had promised in 
 haste, under the captivating influences of Nehemiah's 
 persuasion or the fear of his indignation. It is satis- 
 factory to learn that the promises thus made and 
 ratified were faithfully kept. 
 
 JNTeheniiah, as we think we have before mentioned, 
 had been appointed Governor by Artaxerxes, the 
 Persian monarch. He shewed the greatest generosity 
 and self-denial in the exercise of his high office, and 
 evidently presented a great contrast to the former 
 governors. He, unlike them, exacted no tax or tribute 
 from the people. Instead of taking from them he gave 
 to them. He maintained a sumptuous table, at which 
 he not only received and feasted 150 Jews, but even 
 heathen guests. He refused to take tribute from the 
 people, because the bondage was heavy on them. And 
 when he tells us this, he breaks off his narrative, and, 
 with singular pathos, that strikes home to the heart, 
 he exclaims, — 
 
 " Think of me, my God, for good, according to all 
 that I have done for this people ! " 
 
 Sanballat was the name of the chief instigator of the 
 opposition to Nehemiah's plans. He attacked Nehemiah 
 with bitter words, alleging that ho had treasonable 
 motives in fortifying Jerusalem. He calumniated him 
 by declaring that his object was to rebel against the 
 Persian Kin£ and to make himself Kino; in Jerusalem.
 
 66 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 This was a perilous scandal, but Sanballat did not 
 venture, it would seem, to publish this foul accusation 
 at Susa. He endeavoured to intimidate JNTehemiah, 
 whose friends took f riff lit and urffed him to take shelter 
 in the Temple, which was strongly fortified ; for they 
 evidently apprehended a resort to physical force on the 
 part of Nehcmiah's enemies. But ISTehemiah was too 
 courageous, too strong in his moral convictions of 
 right, to fear the cowardly calumniator. He dauntlessly 
 refused to exhibit the least fear of Sanballat, and — to 
 use a homely phrase — " would not show the white 
 feather." 
 
 Like Nelson, when his work was done, he gave all 
 the glory to God. 
 
 We have neither time nor space to describe step by 
 step the history told in the Book of jNehemiah. In 
 some respects it is a repetition of certain chapters of 
 Ezra — the fact probably being that the chapters were 
 at some time added to the earlier book; and we believe 
 that the Book of Nehemiah has been called in certain 
 canons the second book of Ezra. We have been mainly 
 desirous to urge those points of the story that bear 
 most forcibly on the characteristics of the great Jew, 
 and indicate the sterling beauties of his noble dis- 
 position. 
 
 One of his first acts of rule, after he found himself 
 released from the labour of building the wall, was to 
 take a census of the people, and to ascertain and register 
 their genealogies. The census even extended to the 
 cattle. 
 
 And now the worship of old was restored. The 
 Scroll of the Law — the divine heirloom of our race, 
 again appeared before the eyes of the congregation.
 
 NEHEMIAH. 57 
 
 No doubt the people wept when they heard it. The 
 feast of Tabernacles was kept with due observance for 
 the first time since the days of Joshua. 
 
 Nehemiah organized various matters of high im- 
 portance, and returned for a brief time to the king's 
 court. For he had evidently a divided duty. But his 
 heart seems to have yearned for his own people ; for he 
 again obtained the king's permission to set out for 
 Jerusalem, and went thither. He found that a part of 
 his work had been undone in his absence, and there- 
 fore he had to make various administrative arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 He found, moreover, to his great disgust, that the 
 Sabbath-day was violated in the most shameless 
 manner. Field work and trading were carried on, but 
 he zealously put an immediate stop to this iniquitous 
 practice. He was no middle-course man. His was the 
 policy of " thorough " — the only policy that succeeds 
 in this world : and he put down Sabbath-breaking with 
 a strong hand. He closed the gates of the city during 
 the Sabbath, and had them guarded so that no mer- 
 chandize or produce should be brought in from the 
 commencement till the conclusion of the Sabbath. 
 Finding that some traders had established themselves 
 just outside the wall in the hope of carrying on business 
 unobserved or unmolested on the day of rest, he 
 pounced on them too, and vowed he would visit them 
 with condign punishment if he caught them a second 
 time at their nefarious practices. They took care not 
 to repeat them, however. And the next abuse he 
 stopped was the sin of mixed marriages. He forbade 
 intermarriage of the Jews with any of the women of 
 other nations, a practice that had apparently grown up
 
 68 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 in Jerusalem, but which he loudly denounced ; and he 
 purified the priesthood by ejecting from the sacerdotal 
 office a man who had married a daughter of San- 
 ballat. 
 
 And this is all he tells us of his work. And he ends 
 his narrative with these plaintive words, " Remember 
 me for good, oh God ! " 
 
 Yes : these not unfrequent interjaculatory suppli- 
 cations of his convince us, that though it is himself who 
 has drawn the narrative of his works and thoughts, 
 whence we infer the beauty of his character ; yet that 
 narrative is true, and not overmuch coloured or too 
 highly wrought. It seems that he lays the story of 
 his life and deeds, and his thoughts and hopes, not be- 
 fore man, but before God. It is not man whom he 
 seeks to please. It is the Heavenly Father whom he 
 tries to conciliate in tremulous apprehension, scarcely 
 with the confidence one might anticipate. Yes, the 
 Book of Nehemiah seems to us to have been written by 
 the sacred author not to convince man of the goodness 
 and greatness of his labours, but to plead his own cause 
 at the Throne of the Almighty. 
 
 Nehemiah was, indeed, a great and good man. His 
 character seems to be unfolded before us by the story 
 of his life. His indomitable energy and his firm and 
 " thorough " policy cannot fail to strike us with ad- 
 miration. His love for his people and for the Holy 
 City was so strong that he sacrificed, on more occasions 
 than one, the ease, comfort and luxury of a high posi- 
 tion in the court, and about the person of the proudest 
 monarch of the age. He sacrificed royal favour, courtly 
 splendour, luxurious ease — for what ? To re-build the 
 walls, to re-establish the glory of the Sacred City, the
 
 NEHEMIAH. 69 
 
 home of his fathers and his Faith. He breasted the 
 wicked jealousies and false machinations of treacherous 
 enemies, to risk his life for Jerusalem and his brethren. 
 He grappled with the thousand difficulties incidental 
 to the re-modelling of a small community, exposed to 
 external and internecine jealousies. 
 
 We learn a great lesson from his life — a lesson not 
 easily to be forgotten. Around himself, around his 
 noble character, clusters the main interest of his book. 
 The introduction of his narrative into the Canon of 
 Scripture affords more advantage than is derivable from 
 its historic passages, from the additions it offers to the 
 annals of our ancient days. It serves another purpose. 
 It is a lesson taught by a life of action. The book 
 contains no precept of morality, no revelation of doc- 
 trine, no narration of miracles. It is the story of a 
 life, the story of a hero ; the story of a man of ordinary 
 condition of life, which apart from the incidental sur- 
 roundings of the age in which he lived, and the 
 circumstances which signalised that age, was a condi- 
 tion of life of an almost common-place character. He 
 acted in the round of his life as many of us could act 
 if we would. But what was most remarkable about 
 him was this. He made his duties for himself. He 
 grooved a channel of action for himself. He set 
 himself work to do, and he did it manfully. Oh ! you 
 who live idle lives, and declare that your position 
 unfortunately obliges you to no duty — ridiculous 
 assertion ! — learn a lesson from this man, who finding- 
 there was work to be done, wrong to redress, good to 
 accomplish, went out of his easy way of life to effect 
 w r hat had to be effected. You who complain of life's 
 hardships, learn your lesson from this hero, who
 
 70 NEHEMIAH. 
 
 breasted his hardships and trials with a stout heart, 
 and never was cast down. And through all his exer- 
 tions, all his trials, all his troubles, all his struggles ; 
 he had but one thought — "Remember me, oh God!" 
 
 The walls that he built with so much care and energy 
 exist no longer. The ramparts which he raised have 
 been beaten down. The work which he laboured at 
 so painfully with hand, and heart, and brain, is all 
 undone. The enemy besieged the city and crushed 
 the fruit of his life's labour. Is this quite true? 
 No. The work of his life, the fruit of his life is 
 not destroyed, and never can be. The effect of a 
 virtuous and manly life is immortal. No enemy can 
 break down that fortification. It lives on; it lives for 
 ever. 
 
 The character of Nehemiah may be written in a 
 few words. It was a combination of manliness and 
 holiness. Like him, may we learn to be manly and 
 holy ; to find out the work to be done and to do 
 it, despite obstacle and evil report, and enmity and 
 trial ; relying only on Heaven. Like him, let us be 
 self-sacrificing, and earnest; and above all things, let 
 us sanctify the labour of our hands, the thought of our 
 minds, nay, the very passion of our hearts. Then we 
 may confidently hope that " God will remember us for 
 good ! "
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." — Ps. cxi. 10. 
 
 Many and varied are the modes by which Heaven in- 
 structs mankind in the great lessons of life. We may, 
 indeed, suppose that the Bible, which is replete with 
 precept, doctrine, narrative, and example, and which 
 appeals with equal force to the understanding, the 
 imagination, and the heart, is, in itself, all-sufficient 
 for the moral education of humanity. 
 
 Yet the Divine scheme, which is always lavish in 
 its bounties, does not content itself with granting to 
 man the means of instruction which Scripture affords, 
 but graciously offers other beacons for his guidance. 
 Brilliant as are the lights which the revelations of 
 Scripture shed on the world, the Holy Hand has 
 mercifully kindled other lamps, to indicate and to 
 illuminate the road, which leads through the circum- 
 stances and conditions of life, to that earthly happi- 
 ness which consists of hope and endeavour, and beyond 
 it, to that heavenly happiness in which hope is fulfilled 
 and endeavour triumphant. 
 
 The world teems with these lessons, and glows with 
 these lights. There are indeed, "tongues in trees, 
 sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, and 
 good in everything." 
 
 And, among the many methods by which men learn
 
 72 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 to be good and happy, there are, excepting religion, 
 no aids so forcible and no systems of guidance so 
 effective as those involved in the examples and the 
 memorials of great and good men. The story of their 
 lives strikes home to us all. For, in all lives, however 
 distinct and different in circumstance and aspect, there 
 is, at least, some one condition of similarity, some one 
 element of affinity, some one connecting link. There 
 is a kinship in humanity. We may never know how 
 great or how small a thing may have kept the worst 
 of us from being virtuous, or may have saved the best 
 of us from doing wrong. But if, when we read the 
 records of some great and good life, we are touched by 
 its example and awakened to its merit and honour, do 
 we not all feel that we have within us the capability, 
 which, had we trained it wisely, directed it duly, or 
 seen it in time, might have made us as great or as 
 good as he whom we admire, or brought us to the per- 
 formance of actions as heroic, or to the leading of a 
 life as true, as his ? Do not 
 
 " Lives of great men all remind us, 
 We may make our lives sublime ! " 
 
 For even though it may not be within the competency 
 of all of us to imitate every or any great action, we 
 may all of us, in some respect, imitate every or any 
 good life. 
 
 It was said by a man of genius, who not long since 
 rose from a comparatively humble origin to an eminent 
 position, " The question is not so much what you do, as 
 what manner of man you are." Indeed, the matter at 
 issue with all of us really is the manner of our man- 
 hood. The character of a career is not involved in an
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 73 
 
 individual action, or in isolated actions, but in the sum 
 of one's actions, in their combined and blended effect ; 
 or, rather, in the influence which dominates, directs, 
 and actuates them. The loveliness and power of light 
 do not reside in the separate elementary colours into 
 which the prism resolves it, but in their combined 
 effect when fused into one glittering ray ; or, better 
 still, in the influence which, when these hues — some 
 bright, some gloomy — are intimately blended, merges 
 the individuality and effect of each, and strikes out 
 from their union a new, a strong, a brilliant and har- 
 monious, an almost immortal beauty. 
 
 The pencil of light is an emblem of what a true life 
 should be. When analysed the every phase of one 
 should present — like every tint of the other — a certain 
 if not a perfect charm ; and its darker shadows be- 
 coming cleared, and its brighter glows subdued in the 
 harmony of union, its ultimate effect should be a beauty 
 and a glory and a blessing. 
 
 Of the many careers which serve to 
 
 " Point a moral or adorn a tale," 
 
 there are some which are useful only as warnings, 
 while others are useful as examples. It is of these 
 latter that we would speak. To find such lives as 
 these we need not travel out of the records of our own 
 race. It is, unhappily, not the practice of our people, 
 even on occasions, to exalt or quote the heroes of our 
 own history, or to assert their merits or eulogise their 
 fame. We cite instances of ancient greatness from 
 the pages of Plutarch and Nepos, and yet Greece, 
 Rome, and Carthage never produced more illustrious 
 examples than did the Palestine of our ancestors. And
 
 74 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 no modern career in the whole range on which a 
 Carlyle descants, or from which a 8miles draws his 
 didactic inferences, shines with a brighter, a steadier, 
 or a purer light, than does that of our Jewish sage and 
 philosopher, Moses Mendelssohn. 
 
 It is not so long since he was taken from us but that 
 we can call him a man of our own times, and appreciate 
 him better from our capability of understanding the 
 condition of society in which he lived ; for its features 
 do not differ widely from those of our own contemporary 
 social system. His station and external fashion of life 
 were not far removed from — perhaps the same as — 
 those of our readers. Indeed, such differences as there 
 are between the age and conditions in which he lived 
 and those in which we live, are just such as rendered 
 the accomplishment of his greatness more difficult to 
 himself, and as render the possibility of imitating it 
 more easy to ourselves. 
 
 Moses Mendelssohn was born at Dessau (in Germany) 
 in 1729 ; his father was a schoolmaster and scribe or 
 Sop/ier, (copyist of the rnin 13D), and was so very 
 poor that the young Mendelssohn determined on leaving 
 home at fourteen to seek his fortune and relieve his 
 father from the burden of supporting him. He arrived 
 at Berlin without the means of purchasing food, but by 
 the intercession of a Rabbi Frankcl, who had taught 
 him at Dessau, he obtained shelter in a garret and an 
 occasional meal. 
 
 It will not detract from the benevolence of this act, 
 if we mention that it was at that time customary for 
 the wealthy — and, indeed, for those whose means 
 scarcely raised them above poverty — to contribute 
 weekly allowances, called icocliengcld, to students, to
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHX. 75 
 
 supply them with the means of maintenance, in order 
 to enable them to pursue their studies. The contributors 
 paid these sums in turn. The custom still prevails in 
 Poland, and among the more ancient congregations of 
 Germany. In those old-fashioned days, intellect was 
 not only honoured, but supported also. 
 
 Mendelssohn now applied himself sedulously to the 
 attainment of knowledge ; and his thirst for wisdom, as 
 well as his aptitude for acquiring it — or, perhaps we 
 should say, his energy and diligence in acquiring it, 
 were marvellous. 
 
 At Dessau he had at first received the meagre in- 
 struction commonly imparted to Jewish boys at that 
 time ; he had learned to repeat by rote a number of 
 rabbinical texts, the meanings of which were beyond 
 a child's comprehension ; but his gigantic mind, even 
 while yet held in his boyish frame, greedily sought 
 other and higher food. He determined on studying 
 Hebrew grammatically, though in his day boys of his 
 class did not thus learn it. He was aided in his efforts 
 by Rabbi Frankel. At Berlin, he became acquainted 
 with an eminent Pole named Israel Moses, and with a 
 young medical man named Kisch, and from these he 
 obtained an immense amount of knowledge. His ac- 
 quaintance with these friends was due to one of his 
 numerous acts of charity. The difficulties which he 
 had to surmount to obtain knowledge were as great as 
 the stores of knowledge which he at length acquired. 
 Notwithstanding the defects of early education and the 
 drawbacks of class, clique, and poverty, he gained a 
 profound acquaintance with Hebrew and German, a 
 knowledge of other languages, of natural philosophy, 
 general literature, and mathematics. He wrote twenty-
 
 70 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 one works, full of erudition and literary beauty ; works 
 which are models of style, no less than treasures of 
 wisdom. For, though he was born of a class whose 
 vernacular was a corrupt mixture of distorted German 
 and Hebrew, he acquired so pure and elegant a style 
 in the German language, that his writings are cited as 
 having effected an improvement in the language, and 
 as having, so to speak, formed a great step of progress 
 in the literature of his native land. 
 
 While he was lodging with his friend at Berlin, a 
 Jewish manufacturer, named Bernard, having heard of 
 his peculiar abilities and attainments, appointed him 
 tutor to his children, and afterwards clerk in his manu- 
 factory. Mendelssohn's mind, though capable of soaring 
 to the noblest heights of literature and science, was not 
 incapable of descending to the material details of a 
 business career. From the position of clerk in Bernard's 
 house, he rose to be manager, and eventually partner. 
 
 He married in 1762 and enjoyed great domestic 
 happiness. He fell a victim to the intensity of study, 
 mental labour, and meditation, and died in 1787 at the 
 comparatively early age of fifty-seven. 
 
 Having given this cold sketch of his life, let us 
 enquire a little into the " manner of his manhood." 
 
 The " accidents of birth " were, in a social point of 
 view, wholly against him. He was born of a race 
 despised and maligned in the age and country in which 
 he flourished, yet he lived till that age and that country 
 were proud of him, and glad of him. He was, as we 
 have said, the son of poor parents, but he "broke his 
 birth's invidious bar," and attained honourably-earned 
 wealth, and a respectable worldly position. He was but 
 feebly educated in his childhood ; but by arduous, dili-
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 77 
 
 gent, sustained, strenuous, nay, extraordinary exertions, 
 he acquired marvellous knowledge, and became a very 
 monument of learning, a model of literary taste, a bold 
 pioneer of new paths of wisdom. He had none of those 
 personal advantages, which even among men, exert 
 a certain fascination, command a hearing, dignify 
 presence, or produce effect ; yet to use the words of his 
 biographer, " he won every heart at first sight." He 
 had not even the advantage of strong health, yet he 
 laboured far more energetically and thoroughly than 
 the stalwart and robust. 
 
 Immense and varied as were his acquirements, he 
 was not in the position of life in which he could devote 
 himself wholly to literature or study, for he supported 
 his family mainly by mercantile pursuits ; yet he was a 
 great and an industrious writer, and he has left to pos- 
 terity treasures of authorship, which perhaps a genera- 
 tion less material than our own will appreciate as they 
 deserve. 
 
 In his day, every obstruction was offered to the 
 advance and improvement of the race to which he 
 belonged, and it held no recognised place in society ; 
 yet he lived down obstacle and impediment, and he 
 became the central star of an admiring group of dis- 
 ciples, friends, and adherents. Though the wisest of 
 his day sought his companionship and his friendship ; 
 though trusting pupils and delighted auditors sur- 
 rounded him ; and contemporary fame sounded his 
 renown throughout Germany, and, indeed, throughout 
 Europe, he never, never forgot the beauty of humility, 
 and was as modest when he had reached the pinnacle 
 of his fame as while he was engaged in attaining it. 
 
 He moved at first in an unenlightened and a pre-
 
 78 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 judiced society, and was virulently opposed even by 
 his co-religionists ; but lie was neither discouraged nor 
 disgusted, as a man of feebler mind, or even ordinary 
 temper, would have been ; he only waited and perse- 
 vered. He had learnt 
 
 " to labour — and to wait." 
 
 And thus readily seeing evils, of which men of inferior 
 capacities had no glimpse, he did not dash into wild 
 projects of reform, but he strove to pierce prejudice 
 and habit with the light of truth — not with the sword 
 of violence — and he triumphed over hostility as much 
 by his meekness as by his merit. 
 
 But, above all things — and this was his greatest 
 glory — his life was, in its morality and its piety, a 
 striking and a shining illustration of the beauty and 
 strength of Judaism. For high above his position, his 
 philosophy, his attainments, his intellectual fame, his 
 wordly condition, he placed the Judaism in which he 
 gloried. It was the master-key to the music of his 
 life. He was a Jew above all things and through all 
 things. His religion was to him not only the sun that 
 shone high in the sky, over the earth beneath, but the 
 sunshine that permeated everything on the face and in 
 the depths of Nature. He discovered that he could be 
 a good citizen, and yet a Jew ; a great literate, a 
 companion of sages and philosophers of other creeds, 
 and yet a Jew ; a striving, and eventually a prosperous, 
 merchant — and yet a professing, a practising, and a 
 persistent Jew. 
 
 There was no way of his life in which he failed to 
 shine. Though he spiritualized his existence by inten- 
 sity of meditation, and lifted his soul continually to
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 79 
 
 the contemplation of the objects which float in the 
 regions of thought, he did not soar above worldly ties 
 and duties, nor in any wise break from the home 
 feelings, without which no life, however finely cast, 
 can be completely beautiful. He was an excellent 
 father; he was no ascetic, but enjoyed the charms of 
 society ; he was a hearty friend ; and, when his frame 
 was decaying, and the hand of death near him, he 
 sacrificed his love of tranquillity and his natural need 
 of repose to the duty of defending a deceased friend. 
 Though warmly attached to his religion, he was no 
 fanatic, but supported controversy with amiability, 
 and endured difference of opinion with toleration. 
 He followed the maxim of the Psalmist, he " sought 
 peace and pursued it." 
 
 Study and knowledge sealed in his heart the great 
 truths of religion. His was the faith which is clothed 
 in wisdom ; his the wisdom which is hallowed by faith. 
 His faith was to him, as it should be to all of us, an 
 armed angel. For faith, however firm her tread, is too 
 ethereal to walk on earth, unless shielded by the armour 
 of knowledge from the weapons of earthly learning. 
 His faith presented to the world a breastplate of 
 wisdom, against which the Mows of sophistry and 
 casuistry rang in vain ; and yet, had it been otherwise, 
 had artifice pierced the joints and shattered the almost 
 invulnerable mail, his faith would have spread her 
 angel pinions, and soared high above earth, and far 
 beyond defeat ! 
 
 We do not propose to enter here into the details of 
 his life, but will content ourselves with quoting three 
 instances to exemplify what "manner of man" he 
 was.
 
 80 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 "While yet a boy, and very poor, he was so reluctant 
 to become a burden to others, that he would purchase 
 a loaf of bread, and notch it in such a manner, as to 
 apportion it into a certain number of meals correspond- 
 ing with the state of his means. 
 
 Though a profound, assiduous, and successful student 
 of the highest branches of learning, he sedulously cul- 
 tivated and acquired an elegant handwriting; because he 
 deemed that it would help him to maintain a family 
 respectably. And, indeed, it was partly owing to this 
 accomplishment, that he obtained so much worldly 
 success. 
 
 He lost his eldest child, a babe of eleven months 
 old. Every heart to which young children are dear 
 can conceive the heaviness of such a blow to his 
 tender spirit. He felt it — but he did not repine or 
 despair. No ; he thanked heaven for having granted 
 his lost little one a happy life, while she was yet on 
 earth. 
 
 Indeed, his affectionate heart not only throbbed with 
 love for his own kindred, but was alive to sympathy 
 with those who needed it; he was benevolent and 
 singularly gentle. 
 
 But these gentle spirits are often those that strive 
 most strongly and work most bravely. He taught the 
 world that the Jew, hitherto despised, must be despised 
 no more : he conquered a place in society, in the 
 highest society — the intellectual circle — for the people 
 of his faith. And this victory he won, not by dint of 
 clamour, or falsehood, or obtrusive self-assertion, but by 
 the force of his own intellectual powers, his unsullied 
 integrity, his admirable character. 
 
 His great contemporary, Lessing, having learnt from
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 81 
 
 his experience of Mendelssohn, the true beauty of the 
 character of a good Jew, stamped that experience on 
 the face of contemporary literature, and strove to teach 
 it to the million, by means of his famous and popular 
 drama, " Nathan der Weise ; " and it is said that under 
 the disguise of the hero of the piece, he paid a tribute 
 to his friend — and to truth, by painting the character 
 of Mendelssohn. 
 
 When, at length, Mendelssohn fell ill, broken beneath 
 the weight of thought and labour — which while they 
 uplift the mind bear down the body — he was bidden to 
 desist from all mental occupation. Those to whom 
 such work is life's main interest, vocation, and enjoy- 
 ment, can conceive the penalty involved in such an 
 abstinence. He knew that his life was a gift and a 
 trust of precious value, which it was a duty to preserve. 
 He made every needful sacrifice ; quailed before no 
 effort, but met disease just as a brave man meets an 
 enemy, grappled with it, and, with the blessing of 
 Heaven, threw his foe. 
 
 Threw him for a time only ; for at length the day 
 came when no courage, no care, no effort, could avert 
 the blow which was to take him from the world of 
 living men. He died, as he had lived, calmly, serenely. 
 
 It is said that while Addison was expiring, he called 
 his pupil to his bedside, in order that he " might see," 
 said the sinking philosopher, "how a Christian can 
 die." But Mendelssohn gave mankind a more useful 
 lesson, a more touching example, a more glorious 
 spectacle ; he showed — without ostentatiously proclaim- 
 ing it — how a Jew should live ! 
 
 The career of Mendelssohn may in certain respects be 
 summed up in a few words — the few words inscribed 
 
 G
 
 82 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 
 
 on his bust in the Berlin Jews' Free School, and 
 written by Karl Wilhelm Ramler, — one of the poets 
 by whom truth is none the less substantially told be- 
 cause clothed in spiritual language : 
 
 "Weise wie Sokrates, 
 Treu dem Glauben seiner Vater, 
 Wie er, die Unsterblichkeit lehrend, 
 Und sich unsterblich machend wie er." 
 
 " As wise as Socrates, 
 True to the faith of his fathers, 
 Like him, he taught immortality, 
 And, like him, rendered himself immortal." 
 
 At this day, when we hear around us complacent 
 ignorance questioning the solemn truths of ages, it is 
 some satisfaction to learn from the history of this great 
 man that, after he had spent a life-time in thought and 
 study, the glow of faith which had lighted the birth of 
 his labours shone on their summit with undiminished 
 sheen. And it is refreshing to turn from the troubled 
 stories of kings, warriors, and statesmen, to the record 
 of this calm, pure life, in which, as in the religion he 
 followed, peace, love, and wisdom are harmoniously 
 combined. 
 
 The wisest of men, favoured with natural genius, 
 rich in acquired knowledge, admit that at the acme of 
 their renown, or at the end of their work, they have, 
 after all, only attained the beginning of wisdom. 
 Even Mendelssohn, profound as was his learning, great 
 and varied as were his acquirements, fruitful as were 
 his meditations, doubtlessly never arrived beyond the 
 beginning of wisdom. But he had arrived at the 
 beginning of wisdom in another and a better sense,
 
 MOSES MENDELSSOHN. 83 
 
 for, on that beginning, he built the beauty Of his life. 
 His knowledge was the altar on which he stood to 
 worship his God. For his history confirms the truth, 
 which the Psalmist whose music he loved^ taught 
 mankind, ages ago — 
 
 'n my naan rv#an 
 
 — : • t : t • 
 
 " The be2rmnm<j of wisdom is — the fear of the Lord."
 
 BAR-MITZVAH. 
 
 : r\mh pw"fi ai»n T5$? ^ *)$*< rnv&n Sj 
 
 "All the commandments which I command thee this day 
 shall ye observe to do." — Deut. viii. 1. 
 
 " Words have wings " is an old aphorism, capable of 
 a higher interpretation than a hackneyed reference to 
 the rapid travel of rumour. Words have wings which 
 not only bear them through and about the world, but 
 spread for loftier flights, and soar for regions far 
 beyond earth and its connections, urged not only by 
 the cold force of intellect, but by the glowing power 
 of the heart, being laden with the influence by which 
 they are impelled. The winged word, like the winged 
 horse of yore, strikes through the valleys of earth and 
 their low-lying mists, and rises to the tall summit of a 
 Parnassus, round whose base lie the fields of duty and 
 every-day action, and about whose peak, high above 
 cloud-land, gleams the warm light of an ever sunny 
 sky. And higher still, higher than the realms of 
 matter and nature, higher than the proudest form that 
 matter takes, or the most majestic throne which nature 
 rears, words wing their upward flight, and bear on 
 their pinions our hearts and our hopes to the golden 
 gates of heaven. 
 
 These are the winged words of which we are now 
 
 Initiation into the duties of a Jew.
 
 BAR-MITZVAH. 85 
 
 thinking ; words which, in the shape of prayer, hymn, 
 or blessing, carry our thoughts from the visible to the 
 invisible, from the known to the unknown, from time 
 and space to the Infinite and the Eternal. 
 
 Supernatural manifestations of an ever-present Deity 
 no longer arouse the senses to a supernatural awe ; the 
 glory of the Presence shines no more within the veil 
 of the sanctuary, and the fire of prophecy no longer 
 lingers on the lips of our poets and sages ; but prayer, 
 psalm, and blessing still remain to hallow our materi- 
 alism, and to bind our earth to heaven. They are our 
 messengers. Needing no miraculous mediation, no 
 vicarious interposition, to bear and guide them on 
 their way, they soar, direct from the lips of man to 
 the Power which is so immeasurably distant, and the 
 Love which is so marvellously near. And, as they 
 leave us, to rise heavenward, they purify the spirit 
 and light the lips from which they pass, as we may 
 fancy that an angel, rising to the skies, leaves a glow 
 and a blessing in its track. 
 
 To no words do these thoughts more forcibly apply 
 than to the blessing which we pronounce, when bidden 
 to the hearing or the reading of the Law. If ever 
 there be a signal fitness in things, it rests assuredly in 
 the language of this benediction. As the heavenly 
 message was the most sublime of gifts, it is well that 
 the blessing which acknowledges it should be adapted 
 to its sublimity. Its frequent repetition may, in some 
 unreflecting minds, deprive it of its external solemnity, 
 but cannot affect its intrinsic sanctity. It is difficult 
 to imagine any combination of words for the purpose 
 more telling, more appropriate, and more suggestive ; 
 and never is it more fitting and impressive than when
 
 8G BAIt-MITZVAH. 
 
 pronounced publicly, for the first time, by the fresh 
 lips of a young boy, who stands forth in the congrega- 
 tion of Israel, to take on himself the " yoke of the 
 law," and who withdraws from his father's side, and 
 in some respect from his authority, to yield and bind 
 himself by lip, heart, and soul, to the Father of us all, 
 whose authority he that day acknowledges, not for that 
 day only, but for life and immortality ! 
 
 Many as are the solemn moments of a Jewish life, 
 there are few more solemn than this. It is a fore- 
 shadowing of a still more awful moment — a moment 
 not reckoned on the dials of time — when, if the vision 
 of the prophet and the dream of the poet be rightly 
 read, the soul depending on no human care, aided by 
 no earthly strength, shall stand forth in a greater 
 congregation, on the threshold of a world still more 
 unknown, to give an account of the fulfilment of the 
 duty taken in charge this day ! 
 
 The boy seems to us like a traveller, who has climbed 
 to a ridge beneath which a valley lies outspread as if 
 in a dream ; a valley lighted with the dawn of hope 
 and promise, warm and cheery in its early glow. How 
 cold will the landscape seem when the rosy tinge is 
 withdrawn, and clouds of care and mists of doubt 
 overshadow it ! How different will it be when the 
 traveller goes down into the vale, and strays through 
 the dream's reality, till at length the night falls ! But 
 well shall it be if the wanderer bear in his hand the 
 lamp which shall withstand the storm, and pierce the 
 darkness and the mist : 
 
 " Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto
 
 BAR-MITZVAH. 87 
 
 my path." The everlasting light of the Law he shall 
 forsake at his peril ! It shall be a signal that shall 
 never fail — a beacon that shall never grow dim. It 
 shall be his "cloud by day;" his "pillar of fire by 
 night." 
 
 Nor is it only to the parents, or even to the near 
 kindred, that the ceremony is of grave interest. Not 
 only is it the father or the mother whose heart on that 
 day beats with a quicker throb. For these young boys 
 are heirs to all of us ! They will inherit the world 
 when we shall have passed away from it. But, let us 
 not forget, the world which they will inherit will be 
 such as we bequeath it to them. If by our misdoings, 
 or our short-comings, we impair or scathe the inheri- 
 tance, the generation which shall follow us will reap a 
 blighted harvest. If by our struggles, our cares, our 
 endeavours — perhaps by our vigils and our tears — we 
 sow a healthy crop, and rear a fruitful growth — the 
 golden yield will be gathered by our heirs in the hour 
 of their manhood. The heirloom is theirs. The 
 responsibility and the trust are ours. For them, 
 spring and summer will smile, when autumn shall 
 have fallen on us, and winter shall have laid us low. 
 The snow which shall lie cold on our dull breasts will 
 be lighted with the rainbow smiles of their prime. 
 True, they may not be the children of our blood. The 
 story of our lives may never have been rendered 
 beautiful by the love of j r oung children — a love which 
 purifies and sanctifies the love of earth, and links it 
 with the love of heaven. The voices of the young 
 may not sound cheerily in our homes, nor whisper to 
 our hearts. There, these tender sounds may have 
 never been, or thence they may have passed away —
 
 88 BAR-MITZVAH. 
 
 passed into the hard strife of the world, or into the 
 soft shelter of heaven. But not for these things shall 
 our hearts be closed to the voices of these children 
 of all Israel, when they call on, and bless, the name 
 of their Father and ours. They are near to us and 
 dear to us ; for they are henceforth our brothers, and 
 their hands shall touch ours in upholding and bearing 
 down through ages the Law and the Mission which 
 were given to us. So, let us aid their hands and strive 
 to strengthen them. Let us enrich and beautify the 
 heritage which we shall leave to them, when we go to 
 sleep in the dust. And, though we may have none so 
 near to us as to bless our Father through their tears for 
 us, yet they will keep our memory green, and think of 
 us tenderly, lovingly and prayerfully, when, for us, the 
 " silver cord is loosed " for ever ! 
 
 Some, listening to the law of expediency, and look- 
 ing so steadfastly down on earth that they never see 
 the heavenly lights which tinge it, would tell us that 
 the prescribed age of a boy's becoming bar-mitzvah, 
 though adapted to a more fervid clime, is unfitted for 
 our cold and tardy zone. We cannot think it. Better 
 is it when the heart is fresh and young, unsullied by 
 the taint of wrong, unscathed by the fire of passion ; 
 that then that heart should be offered as a free-will 
 offering, as a young lamb without blemish, on the 
 altar ! Better, then, when the field is fresh to sow it. 
 Better then to take on the eager shoulders, and into 
 the plastic mind, the yoke of the Law, which we were 
 chosen to receive and to transmit — and in which is the 
 germ of that eternal life which, with that Law, we 
 inherit ! 
 
 The world is in a transition ajje, and much affecting:
 
 BAR-MITZVAH. 89 
 
 it depends on this transition period of human life. It 
 was a selfish atheist who said, " After me the deluge !" 
 The believer, the man of feeling, is free from such cold 
 complacency. It behoves us to give a sheer temper to 
 the instruments which shall do the world's work when 
 we shall be rusted and broken. We are too apt to 
 regard in a boy's career in the world the world's effect 
 on him. Let us reverse this, and consider the world's 
 career, and the boy's effect on it. Great results are in 
 man's hands ; each generation gives its complexion to 
 its own age ; and its shadow falls before it on the ages 
 which are to follow. How shall we deal with these 
 young boys to fit them for their task? 
 
 Perhaps not quite as we are doing now. Our treat- 
 ment of boys is an inconsistency ; for while we talk to 
 them as if they were sages, we deal with them as 
 if they were babes. We talk to them as if their 
 judgments were as mature, their experience as ex- 
 tensive, their knowledge as ample as our own ; but we 
 treat them as if they had no hearts, no sensibility, no 
 affections. Yet, a little consideration will convince us 
 that though wisdom and experience grow with time, the 
 feelings of a boy are as quick, his affections as warm, as 
 those of manly years. 
 
 Judaism is a faith of the heart, even more than of 
 the intellect. The dread proclamation of the Unity, 
 on which our creed is built, is closely followed by the 
 declaration, that man's duty to his Maker is a service 
 of love. It will not be more difficult for the teacher 
 to teach, or for the student to learn, if the lesson is to 
 be a lesson of love, taught through the heart as well as 
 through the mind. 
 
 And the mission of Judaism is perhaps on the eve
 
 90 BAR-M1TZVAH. 
 
 of a broader development. The doubts, disturbance 
 and difficulties which beset the age can best be resolved 
 by an appeal to the steady and constant principles of 
 right and justice, taught in the Bible and transmitted 
 by the Jews. Only but the other day, we Jews held it 
 our duty to fight the battle of faith against astute 
 sophisms and cunning scepticism, not the less serious 
 because ascribed to a Zulu, nor less perilous because 
 urged by a bishop. While infidelity shoots its random 
 arrows, and casuistry raises its empirical mists, it is 
 for those, who are the living witnesses of the Law of 
 truth, to be its living lights also. It is for those who 
 indicate the road, to cast on it the rays of knowledge. 
 But the guide on the mountain side must not only 
 point to the path — he must also be habituated to 
 tread it. 
 
 Hence we must train the guides who are to follow 
 us to be surefooted in the way; to be examples of the 
 trusty precepts which they preach ; for in this example 
 will be the strength of their pilotage. And this is true 
 for rich and poor. In this thing he only shall be rich 
 who enriches the fields of his heritage; he only shall be 
 poor who impoverishes the land. 
 
 And you, young boys, who are on the platform of 
 the Almemmar ; who are about to mount its steps or 
 who have but just descended them, with the excitement 
 of the day still fresh on your brows ! to you, we your 
 brothers who have grown old in the service, and have 
 had aching and heavy hearts since they beat in their 
 gay hope on our bar-mitzvah day, we welcome you to 
 our brotherhood, and we do not hear unmoved the 
 blessing in which you call on our Father's name, and 
 thank Him for having chosen Israel for his earthly
 
 BAR-MITZVAH. 91 
 
 mission and his heavenly destiny. But do not you 
 forget, even if some amongst us have forgotten it, that 
 the glow of hope shall fade, while the glow of duty 
 shall endure ; that resolve is not truly sanctified until 
 it grow into accomplishment ; that the excitement of 
 an hour is but a meteor, and plays no true part in your 
 life unless its consequences pervade your nature with 
 an even flow, as light saturates the atmosphere. Life 
 is an illusion, unless shaped to good purpose ; a fitful 
 dream, unless substantiated by duty ; a wavering flight, 
 unless it point upward ever. 
 
 " The world is all a fleeting show, 
 For man's illusion given ; 
 The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, 
 Deceptive gleam, deceptive flow, 
 There's nothing true but heaven."* 
 
 For, by earnestness of aim and pursuit ; by solemn 
 fore-thought of responsibility ; by imitation, not of the 
 frivolous ephemera whose gay plumage flutters at 
 random about you, but imitation of good, great and 
 true men; by steadfast reliance on the grace which 
 virtue alone can hope to win, the work shall be done, 
 and well done, and " triumph crown the toil." 
 
 We welcome you, as you stand before the Law, which 
 is to be your guide and your delight. We welcome 
 you as you come down amongst us, perhaps with a 
 resolve in your breast to sacrifice to the service many 
 an hour of ease and pleasure. And, with the joyous 
 welcome with which we greeted you in your innocent 
 infancy when you were first bound to the covenant, 
 and with which our fathers of old greeted those who 
 
 ° Moore.
 
 92 BAR-MITZVAH. 
 
 brought the myrtle-bound sacrifice to the altar ; so may 
 men welcome you when you pass among them on your 
 way on earth — keeping the Law and the commandments. 
 So may angels welcome you, to your reward, at the 
 portals of the life eternal in heaven, when your life on 
 earth is passed.
 
 HOME WORSHIP. 
 
 All men are not poets ; but the spirit of poetry dwells 
 in many things, and tells its unexpressed tale to the 
 heart. Men, incapable of penning a line of verse, 
 almost incapable of reading a page of a poem, may 
 yet be not insensible to the spiritualizing influence of 
 the unseen, but penetrating, poetry which rises from 
 material things, and strikes through the awakened 
 senses of the heart. 
 
 The poetry of which we speak is not the metrical 
 or musical expression in which language embodies 
 spiritual thoughts, but rather the music of the thought 
 extracted from the music of the language. It is the 
 perfume, not the colour of the flower ; the influence 
 which, though it seems to spring from worldly things, 
 wakes, from hidden chords, sounds which are not of 
 the world, and which proclaim the presence of a sense, 
 not wholly material, not of the matter which we can 
 analyze, combine, transform, and regulate ; but par- 
 taking of, and tending towards a higher nature, beyond 
 the world's control. 
 
 Judaism is a poem in itself; a great, true, divine 
 poem ; the supreme poetry of the world — to the world, 
 what other poetry is to matter — a grand, solemn, spi- 
 ritual teacher, sublime in its heavenly origin, glorious 
 in its high nature, lovely in its earthly dress. 
 
 Judaism is a poem in the hallowed grandeur of its
 
 94 HOME WOHSHIP. 
 
 revelation ; in the majesty of its history ; in the teach- 
 ings and testimonies of its existence and its career; 
 in the grief of its fallen state ; in the mystic glories 
 of its aspirations; in the tender charities of its loving 
 precepts, — a poem in its being, its belongings, its 
 associations, its destinies and its hopes. Its literature, 
 its story, its very liturgies are poems from beginning 
 to end. Its ceremonies, especially, are fraught with 
 the holiest poetry. 
 
 Cold must be the heart of the worshipper who sees 
 nothing but waving verdure when the palm branches 
 are borne aloft ; or hears nothing but a chant when the 
 CirO bless their brethren. 
 
 The ceremonies of the synagogue are, to the intel- 
 lectual witness, alive with poetry, — the divine poetry 
 which unchains the spirit from worldly influences, 
 touches the throbbing breast, fills the eyes with tears, 
 and lifts the yearning soul to God. 
 
 When the lithe, myrtle-bound branches wave in all 
 their tremulous grace ; when the descendants of Aaron 
 stand on the steps of the Ark ; when the scrolls, 
 hidden by their gorgeous robes and crowned with 
 their glittering bells, are carried amid our ranks ; the 
 eye speaks to the heart, and the material beauty which 
 we see is spiritualized into a beauty which we feel. 
 Yet, not only in these public displays of a hallowed 
 pomp does the spirit of unearthly poetry dwell ; but 
 also in the humbler ceremonies, the modest rites, which 
 mark, and grace, and bless the Jewish home. 
 
 For it is an especial privilege of the Jew that his 
 house may be a place of holy worship. As he himself 
 is by birthright a priest — one of a nation of priests, — 
 so is his house, when hallowed by the nMTfi on his
 
 HOME WORSHIP. 95 
 
 door post, a house where his Lord may be worshipped 
 and his rites practised. We need no tower, no spire, 
 no glowing painted window ; but in our homes — the 
 homes in which we dwell and follow the bent of our 
 every day career; in which we spent our childhood 
 or grew to manhood ; in which our holy loves were 
 sanctified, our little ones first brought to our hopeful 
 arms, our dead taken from our tearful eyes ; our homes 
 endeared to us by our. joys, hallowed by our sorrows 
 and our struggles, — there, may we worship our Heavenly 
 Father ! 
 
 There are acts of religion, pertaining to recurring 
 periods of the year, month, or week, which are special 
 acts of the home. They are landmarks which define 
 the bounds or intervals of time ; signals which indicate 
 the consecrated days and seasons ; but they also serve 
 as beacons to which man may lift his eyes, as he pauses 
 in life's battles, to think of better things, and higher 
 hopes ; beacons which lift their steady light over the 
 throbbing troubled seas of the world, to which one may 
 look back in life's varied phases with hopeful heart, 
 because they point from earth to heaven. 
 
 The narration of the Exodus in the service of the 
 Tnt^ ; the dedication of our houses ; the sanctifying 
 of the Sabbath ; the blessings of the PnHSri ; the 
 lighting of the lamps at nSJH ; these and many more, 
 do we all practise at home ? Have we grown unmind- 
 ful of, or indifferent to them ? Are we fully sensible 
 of their import and their influence ? 
 
 And yet, through life, can we ever forget the impres- 
 sion of the home service of the Passover ? Let other 
 people celebrate the anniversaries of their freedom by 
 public jousts and games, laurel wreaths and glowing
 
 96 HOME WORSHIP. 
 
 illuminations. We, in our quiet homes, round the 
 familiar board, about which our dear ones gather, 
 never so thickly but that a place and a cup are left for 
 the stranger, tell again and again, year by year, the 
 story which never grows old: the story of our great 
 deliverance (wrought not by our own, or our fathers' 
 prowess, but by the Divine Hand!)— a deliverance 
 from a miserable bondage to a sublime destiny — a 
 deliverance by which a people was brought amid the 
 waves and carried across the wilderness, to be the en- 
 during witnesses of a truth that cannot fail and a hope 
 that cannot die. 
 
 A tender light shines in the Jew's home on the 
 Sabbath eve. Blessed are the rays of the Sabbath 
 lamp as they fall on the table round which the house- 
 hold gathers on the eve of rest; — the father, worn 
 with the week's toil and struggles ; the mother, weary 
 with the past household cares; the schoolboy tired 
 with the exertion of mind ; the child to whom rest is 
 only rest from noisy play. The Sabbath has been 
 welcomed abroad by hymns and psalms. Let us 
 welcome its presence at home by that simple but 
 wonderful record of the origin of the Day of Rest, 
 and by a blessing of thanks for the grateful wine, 
 which is its type, for, like the Sabbath, it infuses 
 renewed vigour, strength, and energy into the wearied 
 frame. 
 
 A touching sight is the ("TH^lI, before our hands 
 resume the labour which should be for God's service, 
 as the rest is for his delight. Let us bless the Giver 
 of the strength which nerves our hands, the skill 
 which fires our brains, the energy which glows in our 
 hearts. Let us bless the Giver for the power to work,
 
 HOME WORSHIP. 97" 
 
 for the happiness of work. Let us bless the Giver, 
 with our young ones around us, for these dear precious 
 gifts for whom we have to labour, for whose loved sake 
 we pray our labour may be triumphant. 
 
 But it is vain to multiply instances. The poetry of 
 the rite is, in truth, but the very shadow of its enduring 
 influence. There is no home-ceremony that has not, 
 apart from its grace and charm of beauty, an intrinsic 
 solid good in the power it works in those who take 
 part in it at the time ; or in those who may remember 
 it in the years to come. 
 
 And why do we now-a-days shirk their fulfilment ? 
 Is it apathy ? is it idleness ? is it a false shame lest we 
 be, in our social practices, unlike our fellow country- 
 men of other faiths ? Do we fail to bless the Giver of 
 food, to sanctify the feast, lest we be unlike other 
 Englishmen ? And yet, glorious as it is to be of this 
 English nation, whose history glows with deeds of 
 world-wide renown, whose position is magnificent in 
 its dignity and splendour, how much more glorious 
 is it to be of this Jewish race, whose origin and 
 story are emphatically registered in the Book of 
 books, the record which all civilization reveres ? a 
 race which received its guiding laws from the 
 Divine voice? a nation which bears through the 
 course of ages the inheritance of a Divine mission, 
 the presence of a Divine priesthood, the recollection 
 of a Divine deliverance, the assurance of a Divine 
 destiny ? 
 
 Let us be Jews above all things ; Jews not only in 
 the Synagogue, but in the home ' n not only in the 
 presence of our brother Jews, but also in the presence 
 of our brother Englishman; not only before the Ark 
 
 H
 
 98 HOME WORSHir. 
 
 which holds the Law, but also at the table round which 
 our children cluster. 
 
 For the sake of those children, those dear young 
 children, those soft, sweet faces, those loving, trustful 
 eyes, those tender, innocent hearts, which the Father, 
 whose cherished children we all are, has committed to 
 our care ; for the sake of our children let them see, 
 day by day, the rites of our glorious faith! They may 
 think of them in after days, far from borne and its 
 influences ; far from the roof that sheltered, the breast 
 that nurtured, the voice that counselled, their happy 
 childhood. 
 
 In the feverish throb of the world's battle, in the 
 crisis of fitful life, memory may picture some happy 
 Sabbath eve, when the father sanctified the bread and 
 wine, and the mother passed the cup from her loving 
 lips to the lips she loved ; memory may wake again the 
 young voices of brothers and sisters clustering round the 
 gay taper with the joyous chant of T^^D* Again may 
 they feel on their weary brow the kindly pressure of 
 the parent's hand and the breath of the hallowed 
 blessing of boyhood. And, remembering these things, 
 shall they never say in the throes of their re-awakened 
 heart, " God ! I was once innocent, true, and 
 happy. Let me be innocent, true, and happy once 
 again ! " 
 
 And the memories of a man's own childhood may 
 follow him to his own home, when children of his own 
 gather near him. Surely no modern fashion, no new 
 refinement can ever compensate for the old, old fashion 
 of our childhood'^ joyous observances. Shall he not 
 yearn to hear from these fresh lips the sounds of days 
 gone by — the uplifting of the Sabbath blessings, the
 
 HOME WORSHIP. 99 
 
 tones of familiar hymns, the reproduction of his own 
 hallowed boyhood ? 
 
 Yet, not only for the sake of the old home, or the 
 new home, or the home that we may hope to own on 
 earth. Alas ! to many, between them and the old 
 home the prospect may be dimmed by a mist of tears ; 
 or the joys of a new home, and the homely loves, and 
 the ring of children's voices may be all unknown, and 
 never or never more to be. 
 
 But there is a home which is for all of us ; a home 
 which we only know as yet by name and by hope. 
 Then, for the sake of that home in heaven, let us 
 sanctify our homes on earth. Let us bless the hand 
 that gives the bread and wine. Let us signalize the 
 seasons of our deliverance from the Egyptian and the 
 Greek ; let us sanctify the Sabbath day, and thus 
 prepare for a great deliverance from life's cares and 
 sorrows; for a great Sabbath of rest from its struggles 
 and its toils !
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 " Speak to Aaron, and to his sons, saying, On this wise ye 
 shall bless the children of Israel : The Lord bless thee and keep 
 thee ; the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious 
 unto thee ; the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and 
 give thee peace." — Numb. vi. 23. 
 
 On the festival daj^s, when, in obedience to Divine 
 command, and in memorial of Divine mercies, we, the 
 children of Israel, assemble in our places of worship, 
 we signalise the rites by a ceremony of solemn import 
 and of sublime origin — a ceremony peculiar to these 
 joyful and hallowed times. On these days, the descen- 
 dants of Aaron, first of our long line of priests, stand 
 before the Law which is the silent witness of our faith, 
 and before the congregation which is its living witness, 
 and invoke the Benediction which has endured through 
 all the wanderings of our people in the wilderness of 
 the world. 
 
 As the Blessing is uttered in our midst, memory, 
 aided by tradition, may well revert to the past. Time, 
 as it floats away from us, leaves its persistent murmur 
 with us, like the continuous murmur of a river as it
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHAN IM. 101 
 
 sweeps towards the sea. In the past, these words and 
 forms, this very chant, clothed the Benediction. 
 Shrouded in their Q*H v£D> which now, perhaps, enwrap 
 their buried forms, our fathers spoke or listened to the 
 Blessing. Life's ardent tones may never more be 
 heard from their familiar lips, but they have left their 
 memories on earth, as the light leaves its track in the 
 sky, whence it has fled at evening. And, looking be- 
 yond these nearer years to a past more remote, 
 recollections embalmed in the grave dignity of history, 
 press on the mind. Centuries back, in the mediaeval 
 synagogues, which have perhaps crumbled into dust, 
 like the hands that raised them, and the feet that trod 
 them, it may be that the steps on which the Cohanim 
 mounted to their station before the ark were stained 
 with their martyred brethren's blood, while the cries of 
 a frantic crowd and the clash of a furious soldiery 
 rang madly without the walls and mingled with the 
 chant ! Still farther back, the brief day of a renewed 
 splendour flashes on the recollection. The princes and 
 sages of the captivity rise in majestic, melancholy 
 train, and take their- stately places in the dream of 
 memory. We see their shadowy forms as they gather 
 on the holy dais in the dim old-world light, to utter 
 the threefold Benediction in tones, which, it is said, 
 have descended to us from the days of the Second 
 Captivity.* Thus history bears us back on its shadow- 
 laden wings, through varied years of glory and misery, 
 to the bright days in which the temple of our faith and 
 nationality lifted its imperial height ; when a king on 
 whose brow gleamed the gems of the East, and a priest 
 on whose breast flashed the jewels of the Ephod, stood 
 ° The late Rev. D. A. de Sola's Essay on Hebrew Music.
 
 102 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 in its splendid courts, the one to receive, the other to 
 pronounce, the blessing which Aaron was enjoined to 
 utter three thousand years ago, and which, almost 
 yesterday, was trembling in our ears. 
 
 For the throng of the familiar and the unfamiliar 
 dead, those gone from life long since, and those gone 
 from us so lately ; the faces which we picture to our- 
 selves, though we have never seen them, and the faces 
 which we have so often seen, but may never see again ; 
 the kings, the priests, the prophets, the historic heroes 
 of our race, and those nearer and dearer to us still, our 
 own homely dead ; all these have passed away, but the 
 Blessing still endures ! Living lips repeat the words 
 which those faded lips pronounced. Living ears 
 receive the sounds which their silent ears shall listen to 
 no more. The Benediction lives through time and 
 space, and all the turbulence of change ; and though it 
 has passed through three thousand years of history, its 
 influence and intensity remain unimpaired — for the 
 light of His Countenance shines with unaltered power 
 and undimmed brightness, though it has flashed 
 through millions of leagues of space, on millions of 
 glowing orbs, through all the range of time lost in 
 Eternity. 
 
 More solemn than the influence of memory is the 
 sacred consideration that the words of the Duchan are 
 not of human conception, but were dictated by Him 
 who rules the world. And yet this Benediction, round 
 which so many dear and grave associations cluster, 
 and on which beams so radiant a glory, is not always 
 heard in these degenerate days, with all its due 
 solemnity. Do we all remember what it implies, and 
 docs it reach our hearts ? Do we strive to abandon
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 103 
 
 worldly thoughts beneath its sounds ? Or, do we not, 
 at times, disregard it, or listen to it with ridicule or 
 apathy — failing to accept its meaning, or to appreciate 
 its influence, as if, in truth, the benign light of His 
 Countenance, for which we pray, had been withdrawn 
 from us, and had left us in spiritual darkness, through 
 which His Grace had ceased to shine ? 
 
 For, if we thought profoundly and intelligently of 
 what the Blessing implies ; by whom it was framed ; 
 and what we should be, were its prayer rejected ; 
 should we then let it fall unheeded on pre-occupied 
 ears, or despise it because at times its accents jar 
 unmusically on the refined ear from untrained or 
 unmelodious lips ! Surely, its language was woven 
 into the beauty of concord by a Divine Master, and 
 its meaning appeals to a Nature which existed before 
 the age of Art. 
 
 There is a shallow sophistry, which is to true logic 
 what the mirage of the desert or the fata morgana 
 of the Sicilian shores is to the substantial landscape 
 beyond it — a semblance of reality, yet distorted, 
 reversed or transmuted, striking the senses at first 
 with plausibility, yet fading before the advance of 
 tangible reasoning. This frothy argumentation, which 
 being more blatant than quiet truth, shouts its in- 
 ferences uproariously, and sometimes prevails for a 
 time, is often applied to institutional religion. We 
 have heard it directed to the particular instance of the 
 Duchan. Men have urged that it is objectionable to 
 hear and receive a blessing pronounced by unworthy 
 lips ; that as the Cohanim are not always individually 
 better than their brethren, therefore it is unfitting that 
 these shall pronounce a benediction, and that others
 
 104 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 shall accept it from them. We would deal earnestly 
 with this objection — because it has had some practical 
 effect. Yet we believe that its force will vanish under 
 the cold scalpel of analysis. It is not the Cohen per- 
 sonally who blesses the congregation ; he is merely an 
 instrument, a means, a vehicle of transmission for 
 carrying a spiritual purpose into material effect. It 
 is a message from Heaven, embodied in the utterance 
 of human lips. The Cohen, in pronouncing the bless- 
 ing, is no more the giver of the blessing than the 
 precentor who reads the Law is the giver of the Law. 
 Heaven often condescends to work by human agency; 
 and this is easy to be understood, now, since we have 
 offended as a nation, and are no longer worthy of 
 superhuman manifestation. The Presence has departed 
 from the sanctuary; the cloud no longer fills the house; 
 the awful voice is heard no more among the Syrian 
 hills. Heaven has taken from us our Fatherland and 
 our throne and our nationality, and our temple ; but 
 — tenderly compassionate — it has left us still its 
 Blessing ! 
 
 Now, the institution of Cohan im or hereditaiy 
 priesthood, establishes an hereditary guardianship of 
 the Benediction amongst the Jews, just as, b}^ the 
 institution of Judaism, an hereditary guardianship of 
 the Law is established among the nations. The wisdom 
 and advantage of a personal transmission of the duty of 
 delivering the Blessing thus appear evident. Though 
 a notoriously evil-doer may be debarred from fulfilling 
 the sacred functions — because he is an unfit instrument 
 — yet we simplify the question and give it an improving 
 issue, if we consider that the matter concerns the Cohen 
 because he has inherited the privilege of pronouncing
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 105 
 
 the Blessing, not because he pronounces it. It is for 
 him to ask his own breast whether he be worthy of 
 his heritage — and, if not, to strive to render himself 
 worthy of it. As a selected member of a selected 
 people, as a priest in a kingdom of priests, as one 
 especially privileged, among a nation especially privi- 
 leged, he bears a high honour, a great trust, a solemn 
 distinction — and, therefore commensurate respon- 
 sibility. Because the Cohen has received this mission 
 — to go up to the sacred place, to spread his hands before 
 the congregation, and to bless them; it behoves him to 
 sanctifjr and purify himself for the service. But what 
 if, perchance, among the numbers of Cohanini, a person 
 morally unworthy of transmitting God's blessing were 
 found on the Duchan ? Would this destroy the objects 
 of his mission, and rob the blessed of God's promised 
 mercies ? "We think not — if the blessing is received 
 in a proper spirit, and with a heart truly raised in 
 thankfulness to the Source of all blessings. 
 
 The duty, however, of the Cohen to purify himself 
 for the sacred service still remains. And, indeed, this 
 is true of all humanity. Every faculty which is given 
 us to enable us to benefit and thus to bless our fellow 
 men ; every power delegated to us, by which we are 
 permitted to be instrumental in the Divine scheme, is a 
 privilege graciously bestowed on us by Heaven. In 
 this sense all of us are privileged — all of us instruments 
 of mercy, all transmitters of a heavenly blessing, from 
 generation to generation. And, thus, we can all of us 
 extend our hands and uplift our voices, impelled by 
 pious hearts, in words, acts, and thoughts, which in 
 themselves constitute a benediction. But we must all 
 strive to sanctify and purify our souls to render them
 
 106 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 worthy of this hallowed mission in the great temple of 
 the world — 
 
 "And who shall stand in His Holy Place? He that hath 
 clean hands and a pure heart." — Psalm xxiv. 4. 
 
 It is, indeed, wonderful that this one family of 
 Cohanim, these lineal descendants of Aaron, should 
 endure through thousands of years, as if it had been 
 expressly determined that the continuity of transmis- 
 sion should be perpetuated in one unbroken line. 
 Dynasties fall into oblivion, and pass away beyond human 
 recognition into the obscurity of ages. Great races 
 perish. The haughty oppressors of the Jews, the 
 proud houses of Pharaoh and Antiochus, nay, even 
 the imperial Caesars,, are swept away into those eddies 
 of forgetfulness which never return their dead. They 
 have faded away from the lists of living families, and, 
 save in the records of history and art, their "place 
 knows them no more." The same law which appears 
 to control the destinies of gentile dynasties has even, 
 to some extent, existed among the Jews. When the 
 '•'sceptre departed from Judah," the continuity even 
 of its heroic and its royal lines fell into the mists of 
 ages ; and the dispersion in which our faith and our 
 customs were preserved, broke the chain of lineage. 
 The descendants of Gideon, Joshua, Isaiah, nay, even 
 of the royal David, are unknown. But it is not so 
 with the Cohen and the Levite. The priestly lineage 
 has been preserved, even to modern recognition, 
 through all the disintegrating influences of exile, 
 disunion, and indifference. If to-morrow, at length,
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHAN IM. 107 
 
 the long expected trumpet-call should awaken the 
 world with the sound of our Salvation ; if to-morrow the 
 Messiah should arise and uplift the banner of redemp- 
 tion and return ; if once more the Temple were 
 upraised and the throne were restored, miraculous 
 interposition could alone point out in whose veins 
 coursed the royal blood of our ancient kings, and on 
 whose brow their diadem should rest ; but for the 
 Cohen and the Levite the abyss of ages is already 
 bridged, and they could go up to the Sanctuary and 
 take their places to minister as of yore, as if our historjr, 
 our exile, our sorrows and our longings had been but a 
 moment's troubled and terrible dream ! 
 
 The Duehan is one of the few remnants of our 
 ancient service. The glories of the Temple have fled, 
 its rites and observances have passed into the dim 
 domains of tradition ; little is now left us save feeble 
 emblems of historic splendours, and remembrances of 
 departed ceremonials. The Duehan yet remains : a 
 glorious but a melancholy memorial. It stands, a sad 
 and solemn monument amid wrecks of fallen grandeur, 
 as, in the ruins of the cities of the East, some rifted 
 pillar lifts its lone height amid the recumbent columns, 
 and broken battlements of shattered palaces. Let us 
 retain it. Let these landmarks stand ; landmarks 
 which resist the levelling waters of time as they rush 
 over the plains of the world ; landmarks which tell of 
 our lost land, our fallen greatness ; and which yet point 
 hopefully forward to a future which we await, and 
 steadfastly upward to the Heaven in which we trust ! 
 
 These ordinances and practices, traditional in form, 
 hallowed in origin, are connections of daily life with a 
 higher world. They are not mere types, nor fashions
 
 108 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 variable by caprice. The Duclian is a fact ; an embodi- 
 ment of a command, a witnessing by modern living 
 men of the ancient living faith. By their endurance, 
 and by the belief manifested in their observance, they 
 bear evidence to the truth of Sinai with almost the 
 intensity of the faith which led men, in the days of 
 old, to answer the prophet, " We will obey, and we 
 will hear ! " 
 
 It is singular that, notwithstanding the gracious 
 privilege accorded to the Cohanim, there are some, 
 who, like holders of other high powers and faculties to 
 serve mankind, lay aside at once its burdens and its 
 blessings. At times they disavow and shun their 
 priestly duty. There are at times due motives for this 
 abnegation. The ordinance of the Duchan forbids or 
 releases him whose heart is newly charged with sorrow, 
 from taking part in the sacred rite. The mourner 
 must not mingle his tear-laden voice with the voices of 
 those who speak the Benediction. But it would be 
 well for those who can plead no excuse for omission or 
 absence, to claim, and to fit themselves for their part 
 in the holy service of the synagogue — their share in 
 the foremost inheritance of all the house of Israel. 
 
 "We hear about the possible unworthiness of the 
 Cohen to pronounce the blessing, but we do not hear 
 whether men have greatly considered their own un- 
 worthiness to receive it. Have we ever applied this 
 touchstone of merit to ourselves ? For, indeed, with the 
 utterance of the Benediction, the power and the pri- 
 vilege of the Cohen cease. He speaks it, he cannot 
 bestow it. The gracious rain which falls from Heaven 
 fosters the fertile field, and blesses where it falls. Gay 
 harvest-sheaves bear golden witness to its life-awaken-
 
 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANI.M. 109 
 
 ing strength. The soil receives a blessing and yields 
 its gracious growth. But the rainfall beats in vain 
 upon the fallow ground, the rugged plain unploughed 
 by the coulter, unenriched by seed. Thence no joyous 
 growth springs up beneath its influence. Ah ! when 
 the threefold blessing falls on our hearts, may they be 
 ready to receive it, to take it into their hidden depths, 
 and send forth, evoked by Heaven, a hallowed produce ! 
 Pierced by the keen ploughshare of reflection, cleared 
 from weeds of sin by the tearing harrow of repentance, 
 may these hearts of ours be hardened never more, and 
 never more repel the gracious gift. 
 
 We ask Him, our Father, to bless us and to preserve 
 us. Without His aid, life would be impossible ; with- 
 out His blessing, it would be unendurable. The light 
 of His Countenance pierces the deepest darkness with 
 a living ray, and gilds the blackest cloud with a hope- 
 ful tinge. Without its gracious radiance shining on 
 us, the world — the heart — would be lost in a terrible 
 abyss. We are so apt to draw from the visible world 
 our fancies of the invisible, that we may picture to our 
 minds this fearful vacuity and gloom, as a vision of a 
 physical globe whence all the glows and joys of light, 
 and all the powers and energies of heat, and all the 
 beauties of form, colour, and motion, had been with- 
 drawn for ever. God's peace calms the storms of life, 
 and He alone preserves its tempered beat in the breast. 
 He alone can make life happy and give the peace which 
 renders life sublime. Ah ! may His face be turned to 
 us and shine on us, and grant us peace, in all the 
 shadows and struggles of death. Henceforth, when 
 the Cohanim arise to bless us, may the Master's grace 
 descend upon the hallowed words. For the Cohanim,
 
 110 THE BENEDICTION OF THE COHANIM. 
 
 and for the congregation whom they bless, may the 
 Benediction render life holy, and sanctify the living ; 
 and, when life be past, may the light of His counten- 
 ance pierce the shadows of the grave, and glorify the 
 dead!
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 It is singular that the superficial dabblers in literature 
 and natural science, who imagine themselves to be 
 profound scholars, and who — standing on the hollow 
 and trembling basis of their slender acquisitions — try 
 to analyse and assail the holy truths of Scripture, have 
 never yet attempted to grapple with one point of 
 Biblical difficult}" quite as marvellous as the Mystery 
 of Creation, or the Mystery of Historical Miracles. The 
 point to which we refer is the Mystery of Inspiration. 
 
 Mystery though it be, it exists as a fact — a fact sus- 
 tained by the inexorable logic of the ages. Centuries 
 have passed, generations have lived and died, cele- 
 brities have left their "foot-prints on the sands of 
 time ; " yet the greatness of the works of the inspired 
 men of the Bible remains practically unchallenged, 
 because that greatness infuses, penetrates, and pervades 
 all succeeding works and thoughts of non-inspired 
 writers, workers, and thinkers ; imparting to them a 
 force, a beauty, and a spirit readily traceable to their 
 sacred source — the inspired originals — the writings of 
 the men on whom some mysterious influence, sent 
 direct by Heaven, and called by us for want of a better 
 name. Inspiration, was graciously bestowed, in order 
 that the work of their hands might be more mighty, 
 more permanent, more effective, and more saturating 
 than the work of other hands, and — always for the 
 highest of purposes.
 
 112 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 Perhaps these inspired writers, these men on whom 
 the gift of inspiration had been bestowed, were not in 
 all cases better men than other men. There might 
 have been in their days, as perhaps there are in these 
 days, men more virtuous, more noble, more pious, than 
 they. But what they did, — that is what they said or 
 wrote, — far surpassed in its intrinsic substance, and in 
 its resultant influence, all that other men have done, 
 said, or written. They were mortal like other men, 
 but their works are immortal. They lie in their cold 
 graves, withered to dust like the ordinary dead ; but 
 an undying light hovers above their graves, lighting 
 all the world. The hand that wrote, the lip that spoke, 
 have passed into the irrecoverable change of life 
 quenched in death ; but the work of that decayed hand, 
 the sound of that wasted lip exists, in themselves, in 
 other works, in other sounds, infusing the works 
 wrought and the sounds uttered age after age, in every 
 clime of this revolving world, in every phase of our 
 revolving time; living and active now as if they were 
 like the wind that breathed on them, the inspired 
 messengers when they were living men ; and breathes 
 on us now —on us — from whom their earthty presence 
 is divided by the chasm of centuries. 
 
 Such is the power of Inspiration that there have, as 
 yet, been found but few, even among the noisy and 
 arrogant throng of shallow critics of the present day, 
 so bold as to dispute it. For who can deny its ex- 
 istence ? Among many salient instances, let us take 
 but one, the inspiration of the minstrel king — David. 
 Centuries have passed since he lived and wrote. Cen- 
 turies have passed since the Psalms, which were for 
 the most part written by him, were first sung in the
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 113 
 
 now, alas ! shattered courts of Zion. But he endowed 
 the world with an immortal, an all-permeating litera- 
 ture. In how man} r a hook, in how many a written 
 page, in how man}' an uttered speech — aye, in every 
 brain, in every heart, the spirit of the Psalmist lives ! 
 To him how many a thought of poet, romancist, 
 essayist, preacher, may be traced ; how many a word 
 that flows from the ready writer's pen, the ready 
 speaker's lips ; how many a spoken, or unspoken, im- 
 pulse of the suffering, the hopeful, the struggling, the 
 broken, heart. 
 
 His was a strangely chequered life. It is one of the 
 most marvellous and signal features of inspiration, that 
 those in whom this Divine afflatus is infused are not of 
 necessity perfect men. In other faiths, the imagina- 
 tions of their framers have depicted the recipient of 
 alleged inspiration in shining and perfect colours. A 
 man without passion is taken, for instance, as the 
 master prophet of one creed. Not so in the creed 
 framed b} r Heaven. David, who as his name suggests, 
 was beloved — David, the sweet singer of Israel — was 
 by no means a blameless man. No ; he was a man like 
 ourselves, with passions like our own, guilty of sin, 
 even as we all are ; yet when he had sinned he was 
 filled with poignant grief, burning remorse, and sincere 
 penitence. Feeling, and yielding to, temptation, no 
 doubt like us all ; yet bitterly and tearfully lamenting 
 his weakness and perversity, as perhaps we all lament 
 them when too late, at least too late for aught save 
 penitence. The shadows of deep sorrows hung heavily 
 on his life, and many clouds dimmed the sheen of his 
 diadem, and the lustre of his purple. We hear in the 
 strains of his harp sad echoes of our own hearts. The 
 
 i
 
 114 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 strings his fingers swept in plaintive or in impassioned 
 music, seem knitted to our own heart-strings. The 
 music of his Psalms throbs in unison with the music — 
 now wailing, now stormy, now harmonious, now dis- 
 cordant — of our own breasts. 
 
 With that restless disbelief that marks our age — the 
 exceptional longing for a disturbance of all recognized 
 landmarks and standpoints of ages — it has been for 
 some time the fashion to question the authorship of 
 the Psalms attributed formerly to the minstrel King. 
 Nay, as it is the fashion, especially of young persons, 
 to call every conclusion of variable Peason certain, 
 while every conclusion of unchangeable Faith is un- 
 certain, he must be a venturesome if not an audacious 
 person, who dares offer an opinion contrary to that of 
 these sapient young logicians. Still we must venture 
 to express a belief that it is very likely that the 
 majority of the Psalms were written by David, even 
 if some few be due to different writers. It is true that 
 there is a difference in the style of some of them ; but 
 what of that ? Difference of style is noticeable in the 
 productions of many profane writers. For instance, 
 who could readily trace the light pencil of the author 
 of " Pickwick " in the grave pages of " Oliver Twist," 
 or the " Mystery of Edwin Drood " ? Who could 
 trace a similarity of style between "Measure for 
 Measure," and "Julius Coosar"? or between "Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream," and " The Taming of the 
 Shrew " ? Nay, who, not knowing it, would believe 
 that the hand that wrote the graceful and pathetic 
 story of " Evangeline," with its classic periods and 
 its soft touches of tenderness, could have scrawled 
 the platitudes and prose-jingle of " Miles Standish " ?
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 115 
 
 "Who would believe that the Bulwer who wrote 
 " Ernest Maltravers/' is the Lytton who wrote "The 
 Caxtons " ? 
 
 It does not seem strange to us, therefore, that we 
 should attribute to the same hand Psalms so different 
 in style and phase of feeling, as — for instance — the 
 jubilant strains of the 150th Psalm, and the melancholy 
 pathos of the 55th ; the philosophical poetry of the 
 104th, and the homiletic vein of the 52nd. Yet there 
 seems a general tone of sentiment that links them 
 together ; and when we consider the varied life-story 
 of the minstrel King, the varied song seems at once 
 explicable and natural. 
 
 The numerical arrangement of the Psalms cannot, 
 however, be relied upon slavishly. They seem, whether 
 classified according to style or subject, to be somewhat 
 out of order. For instance, the 65th Psalm and the 
 104th, divided numerically from each other by nearly 
 forty intervening Psalms, breathe the same spirit. So 
 also Psalms lxvii., xcvi., and c, are tuned in accord 
 with the spirit of Psalms cxlviii., cxlix., and cl., 
 though many Psalms of widely divergent character 
 are interposed. 
 
 Some of the Psalms are descriptive poems, even 
 pastorals or idyls. Some are didactic — sermons or 
 homilies in verse. Some are jubilant songs of national 
 triumph. Others are melancholy elegies of personal 
 grief, or bitter outcries of the passion of regret, 
 repentance, or remorse. In one Psalm it is the 
 preacher who speaks, in another the conqueror ; in 
 one the stately monarch, in another the weeping 
 penitent. 
 
 Each Psalm presents its own scene. In one we see
 
 11G THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 the monarch standing in jewelled crown and purple 
 robe, on the steps of his canopied throne, lifting his 
 strain of royal dignity amidst his subjects. " Thy 
 people shall be willing in the day of thy power, in the 
 splendour of holiness. "—Psalm ex. 
 
 In another Psalm it is the Poyal preacher, the pious 
 sovereign, who leads his people in their worship as 
 well as in their battles. We can imagine him before 
 the Tabernacle of the Ark on the Hill of Zion, while 
 the votaries kneel around him, and the choral strains 
 of sacred music float in the air. " Oh ! come let us 
 prostrate ourselves, let us kneel before our Maker." — 
 Psalm xcv. 
 
 Or — " Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, into 
 His courts with praise." — Psalm c. 
 
 In another Psalm we see him in the conqueror's 
 military panoply, shilling in his glinting armour, 
 mounted on his caparisoned charger ; while the legions 
 of Israel, armed and arrayed, are gathered in review 
 before him. "Who will bring me into the strong city ? 
 who will lead me into Edom ? Wilt not thou, God, 
 who hadst cast us off? and thou, God, who didst not 
 o-o out with our armies?" — Psalm lx. 10. 
 
 When, at last, the glowing vision fades — the splen- 
 dours of palace, sanctuary, or battle-field vanish — no 
 courtiers press around, no priests or minstrels throng 
 the hall, no soldiers in glittering lines wave their 
 shining spears. The voice of singers is hushed ; the 
 clash of cymbals and the tender tones of the psaltery 
 are heard no more. Alone in his silent chamber, away 
 from pomp and pageant, the suffering, agonized, almost 
 heart-broken man kneels in deepest misery, and uplifts 
 his tremulous voice, stifled by tears : — " Turn thou
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 117 
 
 unto ine, for I am desolate and afflicted : the troubles 
 of my heart have increased. Oh, bring me out of my 
 distresses ; look on my affliction and my pain and for- 
 give all my sins." — Psalm xxv. 
 
 Thus in the varied aspects of his life we see the 
 royal poet ; thus each of the many phases of his career 
 claims his poetic strain : the vicissitudes of that career 
 are met by the variable powers of his lyre. This is 
 true inspiration. 
 
 Delaney, who gave the world an "Essay on David," 
 says of him that he was " in youth a hero; in man- 
 hood a monarch ; in age a saint." We are not certain 
 that the last part of the eloquent description is quite 
 accurate ; but there can be no doubt that the heroism 
 the majesty, and the sanctity of David's character 
 pervade his whole life. 
 
 But what is most remarkable in him is his constant 
 trust in his Maker. In his hour of triumph, he ascribes 
 all glory to him : — " Not unto us, not unto us, but to 
 Thy name be the gloiy given." 
 
 In the hour of his regal magnificence he bids his 
 subjects give honour where honour is alone due. In 
 his joy he thanks his Master. In his sorrow, in his 
 troubles, even in his agony of remorse, he throws him- 
 self confidently on the compassion of Him who is the 
 fount of forgiveness, the source of comfort and com- 
 passion, the " Rock of his strength, and the Shield of 
 his salvation." 
 
 Neither time nor space would permit in these pages 
 of a narrative of the life of David. Moreover, that 
 life- story is well-known, and it is far better told in the 
 pages of Sacred Writ itself, than it could be told by 
 the comparatively feeble hand of even the most forcible
 
 118 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 profane writer. It has been truly said that " perhaps 
 he is that monarch in the history of the world of whose 
 public and private character we have the most complete 
 and finished portrait." His life-history becomes all 
 the more interesting- when we trace it in the language 
 of his writings, just as one finds a special interest in 
 tracing a narrative in connection with the scenes in 
 which it is conducted. Writings are, perhaps, more 
 often autobiographical than the outer world is aware. 
 A man's heart often speaks through his pen, and his 
 experiences force themselves uppermost in his mind. :;: 
 
 We obviously have not space in this short paper for 
 a critical review of the Psalms ; but we would like to 
 point out that they seem capable of two distinct classi- 
 fications, viz., a classification according to subject; and 
 a classification according to music. The numerical 
 arrangement which obtains in our present revision, 
 seems not to follow either order ; nor does it probably 
 follow the chronological order. The Psalms seem 
 numerically arranged, as if according to the caprice or 
 convenience of transcribers. 
 
 It seems to us likely that the Psalms headed *n1DT£ 
 were intended to be sung with musical accompaniment, 
 especially as the word rYn£TC, which probably denotes 
 a musical instrument, is used in Kings,| and the primi- 
 tive meaning of the root, seems to favour this presump- 
 
 ° We who in our days know how the great writer, whom we 
 have recently lost, tells his own story in "David Copperfield" 
 — perhaps the finest novel of the age — can in some dim way 
 comprehend how much the relation of events and thoughts that 
 were real in the writer's case, gives force and beauty to his 
 writings. 
 
 f 2 Kings xii. 14. .
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 119 
 
 tion, as if the singer's notes were marked or cut off by 
 bars, or by the easily regulated notes of a musical 
 instrument. The name of no musical instrument is, 
 we think, derived from any of the other words applied 
 to the titles of Psalms, viz., y&, rh>T\n, and SoBMl 
 
 The supposition as to the meaning of the term D1"0£ 
 is supported by the language of several HWA3, notably 
 Psalms xii., xcviii., c. 
 
 The word TiDk^D used at the head of several Psalms, 
 is ordinarily left untranslated. It is probable that it 
 meant a didactic poem, a metrical reflection, or as it 
 is sometimes rendered " a psalm of instruction," in 
 fact, a sermon in song, as distinguished from hynms 
 of prayer, penitence, thanksgiving, or triumph. An 
 examination of the Psalms headed Maschil tends to 
 confirm this interpretation (see Psalms xxxii., lxxviii., 
 lxxxix.). DrDD probably meant a commemorative poem, 
 a song written in remembrance of some great deliver- 
 ance (such as Psalms lvi. tolx.). Several musical instru- 
 ments are mentioned in the headings of the Psalms, 
 probably as suited to the special symphony or 
 accompaniment of the choir. Thus HTlX probably 
 an instrument played by pressure (see analogous words, 
 English guitar, German zither, &c), perhaps an in- 
 strument of the character of an accordion, ni^^G, 
 a modulated musical instrument, from p]. 
 
 The peculiar expression (D^pHI D/&S fDV) used in 
 one of the Psalms, is either a musical instrument, as 
 the Authorised Version has it, or it denotes the melody 
 of an ancient song commencing — 
 
 "A silent dove flown far,"' 
 according to which the Psalm was to be sung.
 
 120 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 The " Songs of Degrees " are said to be either songs 
 sung on the steps of the Altar by the priests, or sung 
 by the pilgrims or travellers on their way to the Holy 
 City to attend the Temple services. The language of 
 Psalm cxxii. favours the latter supposition. Psalm 
 cxxvii. favours the former supposition. 
 
 Psalm cxix. has the peculiarity of consisting of as 
 many strophes as there are letters of the Hebrew 
 alphabet, each line of each such strophe beginning 
 with the respective letter of the alphabet. Each of the 
 176 verses of this Psalm is devoted to the so-called 
 glorification of the Divine Law, to set forth the ex- 
 cellence and usefulness of Divine Revelation and re- 
 commend its earnest study and pious observance. 
 
 Psalm cxlv. consists of twenty-one verses, commencing 
 with the letters of the alphabet in alphabetical order, 
 X to ]1 excepting 3 . 
 
 The psalms are written in strophes and antistrophes, 
 and they should thus be sung, though it is not the 
 constant practice. 
 
 Much of the beauty is lost by the neglect of this 
 practice, which would even enhance the facility of 
 comprehending, no less than of appreciating, the Psalms. 
 
 These glorious works have laid the foundation of the 
 mass of more modern literature. We do not only refer 
 to the quotations with which they have embellished 
 literature ; but to the thoughts with which they have 
 enriched it. These thoughts have lived immortally in 
 books, in speeches, in the hearts of men. In one of 
 the finest passages of a great orator, author and 
 statesman of our age, Benjamin Disraeli, the debt due 
 by humanity to the Psalms of David is well and 
 brilliantly expressed. The Minstrel King has sown
 
 THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 121 
 
 a golden seed that has fertilized the world's broad field 
 — the broad field of immortal thought. What tears 
 have they not stanched, what minds have they not 
 refined? What noble passions have they evoked, what 
 vile passions have they checked ! They have endowed 
 religion with archives of wisdom and knowledge. 
 They have purified society. They have blest humanity. 
 They begin with the doctrine of virtue clothed in poetic 
 imagery ; they end with the praise of the Divine 
 Father. They teach the lessons of virtue ; they 
 console the sufferer ; they threaten the impenitent 
 sinner ; they soothe the murmurer ; they give hope 
 to the contrite. They open up in gorgeous lines the 
 brilliant scenes of earthly nature. The smile of hope, 
 the glance of immortality, beams through them and 
 lights the shadowy vale of death. In their earthly 
 music we hear heavenly music ; and their strains as 
 they strike on the ear, on the mind, on the heart of 
 earthly man, prepare him for the strains which he 
 hopes to sing, to hear, to feel in heaven — in heaven, 
 when the earthly ear shall hear no more, the earthly 
 life be mute, the earthly heart be still ; but when even 
 there !T SSnH niDB^n ^3 
 
 All spirits shall praise the Lord. Hallelujah.
 
 THE HUNDRED-AND-FOURTH PSALM. 
 
 Throughout the majestic range of ancient, mediaeval, 
 and modern literature, there is no collection of poetical 
 writing capable of comparison with the Psalms of 
 David, even when these are considered apart from the 
 associations of the evidently Divine inspirations which 
 imbue and permeate them. 
 
 If we consent even to regard them as a monument of 
 literature, we cannot fail to be touched and moved by 
 their solemn music, their profound philosophy, their 
 imageiy, their pathos and their passion. Above all, 
 what may perhaps strike us most is their truth to 
 nature. How many of us, in the varied drama of our 
 own inner lives, may have felt a chord within our own 
 hearts vibrate in unison with the strings of David's 
 lyre! His music and his meaning strike — sometimes 
 it may be suddenly — through the worldly garb which 
 enwraps the spirit of us all, and reach the secret heart 
 which feels full well the magic melody of the minstrel 
 King. 
 
 It is evident that more than an ordinary mortal 
 hand swept the Psalmist's harp: it is clear that the 
 combination of characteristics that distinguish the 
 Psalms proclaims a higher than human impulse. A 
 human hand indeed may have penned them ; a human 
 voice may have sung them. But the immortality of 
 their existence has been attained by the immortality 
 of their origin.
 
 THE HUNDRED- AND-FOURTH PSALM. 123 
 
 With, one Psalm alone it is now proposed to deal — 
 a Psalm which might be often read by us all ; for it 
 seems that new beauties awake in it as we read it — 
 fresh charms rewarding the patience and intensity of 
 meditation. 
 
 It is a Psalm of no fewer than thirty-five verses, and 
 it is especially suitable for the portion of the service in 
 which it has been placed — the service of the Sabbath 
 afternoon during the winter months. For in what 
 mode can at least a part of the Holy Day of Heaven be 
 better spent than in considering and contemplating the 
 works of Creation, which reached its culminating point 
 on the Sabbath Eve, and received its seal on the 
 Seventh Day, "a memorial of the work of Creation?" 
 The day is Heaven's ; hence thoughts should be 
 turned heavenward in this fashion on this day. "We 
 should not, as some would have us, spend the Day of 
 Rest only in thinking of ourselves — our deeds and 
 misdeeds (and of our neighbours' deeds and misdeeds 
 still more often), nor set it apart for austere earnest- 
 ness or cold formalism, over which no smile may 
 hover ; but it is good on the Sabbath to think of the 
 marvellous surroundings amidst which we wend our 
 earthly pilgrimage, and which in their never-ceasing 
 wonders, their never-failing harmony, reveal the 
 Divine Hand as clearly and as forcibly as did the 
 burning of the bush, the parting of the waters, the 
 writing on the wall ! 
 
 How easy it is to sympathise with the minstrel's 
 thought in the opening verse of this glorious Psalm ! 
 It is his soul that breathes its blessing ! It is not 
 here, as in many Psalms, a wearied heart, an anxious, 
 troubled heart, that speaks ; it is not the jubilant lips
 
 124 THE HTJNDRED-AND-FOURTH PSALM. 
 
 that are touched to psalmody by the evoked influence 
 of the varied senses, or the varied impressions of the 
 da} r . It is his soul, the highest, mightiest, noblest,, 
 most Divine part of him that speaks its blessing; it 
 feels in its own conception of the might of creation the 
 kinship of itself to the .Highest, the kinship of a 
 feeble, trembling, ignorant child to an All-wise, All- 
 powerful, All-prevailing Father ! And what ex- 
 pressions could — were volumes to be filled with thickly- 
 studded pages — more amply express the bewildering 
 admiration of the awakened soul than the majestic 
 opening words of this great Psalm? 
 
 The figure that concludes the first verse — "Thou 
 art clothed with honour and majesty " — is carried 
 on to, and becomes amplified in, the second — "Who 
 coverest thyself with light as with a garment." Light 
 is the greatest marvel, the first marvel, the first known 
 product of the work of creation. Here, as in the 
 Biblical record, it may be said to open the solemn 
 narrative of creation. And the light is "as a gar- 
 ment." We believe the < Veator to be incorporeal, 
 without form or similitude ; in our vague, imperfect 
 conceptions, we imagiue Him, as if robed in light. 
 Light is the only poinl of approach, between our ideas 
 of material things and our knowledge of His incor- 
 poreality. We think of 1 1 im, as if a mantle of ethereal 
 light surrounded, not Him. but our indistinct notion of 
 Him, based on the finite nature of our ideas, which are 
 incapable of conceiving aught non-material. But, as 
 if the brilliancy of thai robe of light were too intense 
 for human eye, — as if when gazing upward, as man is 
 wont to do in the hour of prayer and praise, the burst 
 of liffht around His throne were so overwhelming that
 
 THE HUX5DRED-AXD-F0URTH PSALM. 125 
 
 no man could draw near it and live, — the Psalmist tells 
 us that He "stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain ! " 
 As a curtain which hides from mortal eye some 
 mysterious radiance too brilliant, too glittering to be 
 borne. It is true that in fact His throne, His light, 
 His glory are everywhere : not more beyond the sky 
 than on earth below : but, as we are obliged to use 
 words of human import, to render attributes of the 
 Deity in some way comprehensible to us, so the eye in 
 its gaze towards Him pictures His throne as if placed in 
 the far heavens — the heavens extending as a curtain 
 before His Robe of Light ! 
 
 The heavens seem, in the vanishing line of the 
 horizon, to spring from the seas, as if they rested on 
 them, — as if the piers of the great arch were sub- 
 merged in the ocean ! How well the verse seems to 
 render this idea — "Who layeth the beams of His 
 chambers in the waters/' Then, as the wild clouds 
 drive over space, the poet sees in them the chariot of 
 the Creator ! He hears His footsteps in the awful 
 gales! "He maketh the clouds His chariot; He 
 walketh on the wings of the wind ! " 
 
 In the next verse, the authorised version seems a 
 little at fault. As it stands in that version it is feeble. 
 But, what is evidently meant by the text is this: that 
 he "maketh the winds His messengers, and the flam- 
 ing fire (perhaps the lightning) His ministers ! " 
 
 But, lest the mind should rest too forcibly on the 
 evidences of Divine might and power, — the motive 
 agencies, disturbing influences, and active forces of 
 creation, — the next verse calms the imagination, and 
 refers to the quiescent or passive strength which also 
 dominates creation, — the vis inerUce, — the power of
 
 12G tup: hundkeu-and-fourtii psalm. 
 
 stability — " He laid the foundations of the earth, so 
 that it should not be removed for ever." 
 
 The Psalmist then seems to cite one instance in 
 which it appeared as if the motive or disturbing power 
 triumphed over the stable or organised natural order of 
 the universe. He seems to allude to the great Deluge, 
 which would, at a first inconsiderate glance, appear to 
 controvert the idea of the previous verse — "Thou didst 
 {once understood) cover it (the earth) with the deep, as 
 with a garment : the waters stood above the mountains." 
 But lest anyone should advance the record of this event 
 as an instance of disturbance of the natural establish- 
 ment of physical things, his mind is at once set at rest, 
 and the proof of the triumphant power of a Deity 
 vindicated, in such manner as to offer a fatal blow to 
 materialism — 
 
 "At Thy rebuke they fled; at the voice of Thy 
 thunder, they sped away." 
 
 Yes ! the direct Hand of the Creator, after He had 
 flung the waters of the deluge over the land — like a 
 garment — proved its control over obedient nature, and 
 drove the waters back, chaining the storm, and making 
 the roaring flood of ocean — His instrument — His docile 
 slave ! 
 
 In the next verse, the natural arrangement of the 
 waters is truly and beautifully told ; the situation of 
 rivers, lakes and seas, and of the rock-bound ocean, 
 is perfectly described — " They flow on the mountains; 
 they go down by the valleys unto the place which Thou 
 hast hollowed (or established) for them : Thou hast set 
 a bound that they may not pass over : that they turn 
 not again to cover the earth." Here again is a climax 
 to the argument of the joint powers of motion and rest, —
 
 THE HUNDRED- AN D-FOURTH PSALM. 127 
 
 disturbance against the recognised order of nature, and 
 quiescence within that order, present in the same hand. 
 
 And, now, the scene changes. The lyre assumes a 
 gentler tone. The sweep of majestic music has passed 
 over its vibrating chords with a loud and stirring- 
 sound : the golden strings now whisper a tender strain. 
 When the waters subsided, and they streamed into 
 their beds, not only did the angry torrents rush from 
 the mountain crags, and the swift rivers pour their 
 waters to the sea, and the lakes stretch their wide 
 waters from shore to shore, and the frantic ocean beat 
 its angry waves over fathomless depths far, far into 
 hidden distances, — but, beside all these, soft limpid 
 springs flowed softly amid the green grass of the 
 smiling fields and — like shining crystal threads —mur- 
 mured gently mid flowery brakes and dew-gemmed 
 meads. "He sendeth the springs into the valleys: 
 they run amidst the hills ! " See in what charming 
 verse the pastoral music melts. The tranquil country- 
 side rises before the mind. One reads and hears not 
 only the gurgle of the brook as it winds among the 
 reeds, but the soft voice of the breeze as it scarcely 
 stirs the flickering leaves in the dell ; and the low bleat 
 of the white-fleeced sheep that dot the meadow; and 
 the call of the lark and the plover, as they wing their 
 way to the skies ; and the whistle of the ploughman 
 on the lea ; and the far off voices of the village school- 
 boys as they speed along the hawthorn-lined lanes, and 
 the paths of the tremulous woodland ! 
 
 Our minds are floated, on the bosom of the springs, 
 towards many pleasant scenes of field and flower, hill 
 and dale, and grove ! Hear the psalmist in his tender 
 lines —
 
 128 THE IirXDRED-AND-FOURTII PSALM. 
 
 " He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which 
 run among the hills ; 
 
 " They give drink to every beast of the field : the 
 wild, asses quench their thirst. 
 
 " Near them the birds of Heaven dwell- — the birds 
 which sing among the branches." 
 
 The running, flowing words of the 10th verse are 
 remarkable — a sort of word-painting. 
 
 But this is not all. The bounteous Hand which 
 sends the streams among the hills and vales, also sends 
 from His skies the seasonable rain to fertilize the land 
 — to cause the thirsty soil to yield its grass, its corn, 
 its shrubs and fruit. 
 
 " He watereth the hills from His high domains. 
 The earth is satisfied with the fruit of Thy works. 
 
 " He causeth grass to grow for cattle ; and herb for 
 the service of man ; that he may obtain food from the 
 earth. 
 
 " And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and 
 oil that maketh his face to shine ; and bread which 
 strengthened man's heart ! " 
 
 The 16th, 17th and 18th verses relate to familiar 
 scenes of country life, depicted in terse, forcible, and 
 poetical language. 
 
 In the 19th verse the changes of light and darkness, 
 perhaps most noticeable by those who are brought face 
 to face with nature in the field and the forest, are told 
 in marvellously graceful words. The 20th and 21st 
 verses, describing darkness, are wondrously fine. The 
 picture of the shadow of the night " when all the 
 beasts of the forest creep forth, and the young lions 
 roar after their prey," is graphic and solemn. The 
 touch of piety at the end of the 21st verse, reminding
 
 THE HUXDRED-AND-FOURTH PSALM. 129 
 
 man of the all-bounteous providence of the Creator 
 and Maintainer, is most forcible. Then — momma: 
 breaks; the beasts retire to their fastnesses in the 
 wood ; — and 
 
 " Man goeth forth to his work ; and to his labour 
 till the evening." 
 
 And here — at this culminating point — the minstrel 
 breaks off his narrative ; and tuning his harp to a 
 higher chord, exclaims, as if in the over- charged fulness 
 of his heart, 
 
 " Lord ! how manifold are Thy works ! In 
 wisdom hast Thou made them all ! The earth is full 
 of Thy riches ! " 
 
 The transition is natural from the marvels and wealth 
 of the land to the wonders and treasures of the sea. The 
 25th and 26th verses refer to this mighty work, " made in 
 wisdom," in strong and telling words. One almost hears 
 the roll of the ocean, or feels its broad immensity, in the 
 verse D?T 21Tp ShJ DJH S1J 
 
 The description of Divine Providence, which occupies 
 the next few verses, is clear, true, and forcible. The 
 utter and complete dependence of all created beings 
 and things on the care of the Creator is told briefly, 
 but wondrously well. The heart droops with the verse 
 in the touching line — 
 
 " Thou hidest Thy face ; they are troubled ! Thou 
 takest away their breath ; they die, and return to their 
 native earth ! " 
 
 The verse dies in a plaintive, wailing sound ; but see 
 how in the next verse the trumpet-tone of poetry 
 rings in the triumph of renewed creation — nature re- 
 awakened and revived in spring — the symbolised 
 suggestion of the Resurrection ! — " Thou sendest forth 
 
 K
 
 130 THE HUNDRED-AND-FOURTH PSALM. 
 
 Thy Spirit ; they are created ! and thou rcnewest the 
 face of the earth ! " 
 
 And higher, and higher stillj swells the jubilant 
 note — 
 
 " The glory of the Lord shall be for ever : the Lord 
 shall rejoice in His works.'' 
 
 The greatness and power of the Creator are told by 
 the majestic figures of earthquakes and volcanoes con- 
 tained in the next verse — 
 
 " He looketh on the earth, and it trembleth ! He 
 toucheth the hills, and they smoke ! " 
 
 And now there is a break in the continuity of the 
 Psalm. The story of creation is told. The commentary 
 on nature's marvels .is ended. The pictures of the fair 
 earth, and the rushing seas, and the changes of night 
 and day painted by the music of the minstrel's lyre, 
 have passed before the scene. And now the poet-king 
 pauses and looks into the recesses of his heart — as men 
 will look — to gather thence the impressions of these 
 pictures, proceeding from his own strains. Influenced 
 by the impulses he himself has evoked ; overwhelmed 
 by the marvels of creation and the might and wisdom 
 of the Creator ; he cries in the over-fulness of his 
 heart — 
 
 " I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live ; I will 
 lift strains of praise to God while I exist ! " 
 
 And there seems to steal over his heart a very rapture 
 of delight, born of his pious ecstasy ! a gladness of his 
 soul, exultant in its praise — 
 
 " My meditation on Him shall be sweet ! I will 
 rejoice in the Lord ! " 
 
 And then it would appear as if it would be well to
 
 THE HUNDRED- AND-FOURTH PSALM. 131 
 
 banish from the scene of gladness, the heavenly sun- 
 shine of prayerful joy, all shadow, all cloud, all dark- 
 ness — the heaviest gloom, that darkens the world — the 
 darkness of sin. For, as we know, sorrow is not really 
 a dark cloud on the earth — it is but a mist which the 
 sun of faith pierces and dispels ; but sin cannot exist 
 in the light of a jubilant divine world. 
 
 So the psalmist cries pKPl ]£ D^EPl !|&ft\ 
 " Let sins pass away from the world ! so that there 
 be no more wicked men (in it)." 
 
 And, then, reverting to the outburst of praise with 
 which the Psalm commenced, the initiatory thought 
 which woke his meditation becomes its climax — 
 " Bless the Lord, my soul ! — Hallelujah ! " 
 And all hearts that read Nature and rejoice in it, and 
 see in the marvels of creation a revelation of a Divine 
 Master Hand, and in the varied scenes of earth, sea, 
 and sky, altars of worship ; — all hearts like these swell 
 the chorus of the minstrel's song, and lift up their cry 
 of joyful praise — Hallelujah !
 
 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 " Thou slialt love thy neighbour as thyself." — Lev. xix. 18. 
 
 Although the words that constitute this text are widely 
 known, it is well to append to them the name of the 
 sacred book from which they are quoted. For some 
 persons do not seem to be aware of their existence in 
 the Pentateuch, but suppose them to have originated 
 in the teachings of another faith ; either because that 
 faith claims, however unwarrantably, an exclusiveness 
 in the doctrine of brotherly love, or because it has set 
 up as a prominent maxim a portion or rather a single 
 effect of this comprehensive and broad command. 
 
 That single effect is, "Do to others as you would 
 that they did unto you," — as if that were the whole 
 import of the behest ! If we would really love our 
 neighbours as we love ourselves, it would be assuredly 
 insufficient to do for them, as for ourselves. We must 
 think and we must feci for them, as for ourselves. We 
 must proffer no mere visible service, no cold mechanical 
 performance of kindnesses, such as a paid servant 
 would perform for hire ; we must not be satisfied with 
 action and behaviour, such as social laws exact and 
 civil laws enforce. There is something more de- 
 manded of us ; something which no money can pur-
 
 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 133 
 
 chase, no society can claim, no legislation can control ; 
 something which is neither to be wrought by the 
 hand nor seen by the eye, but which is only felt by 
 the heart — and its name is Love. 
 
 Self-interest or policy might be sufficient motives to 
 prompt us merely to do as we would be done by ; and, 
 as before suggested, the laws of the land and of society, 
 to a certain extent, oblige us so to do. For we might 
 do to our neighbour as we would he did to us, and yet 
 hate him in our hearts. Nor is kindly speech sufficient; 
 since gentle language may be a smooth and false 
 flattery for carrying out selfish views or for concealing 
 cold indifference. It is not action nor language, not 
 hand service nor lip service that is alone required of 
 us ; but it is the love which lies in the breast, the love 
 which springs from an origin purer far than the shrine 
 in which it dwells — this is the tribute which we must 
 render to our neighbour — render freely, unreservedly. 
 For this, what have we to do ? We must think for 
 him as for ourselves, wish for him as for ourselves, feel 
 for him as for ourselves. Our innermost self laid bare, 
 must have no thought, no hope, no prayer for the 
 frame in which our own heart beats, or for the soul 
 with which that frame is mysteriously linked, unless 
 such thought, hope, and prayer, be combined with a 
 like thought, a like hope, a likeprayer, for our neighbour! 
 Such is the import of the message which a loving Father 
 has sent to all his children. Such is the command 
 conveyed in Leviticus. 
 
 And how shall this command be obeyed ? Surely, 
 first, by learning to love our Father with all our heart, 
 with all our soul, and with all our might. For if we 
 love Him, shall we not love His children, the work of
 
 134 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 His hands — the glorious work which was the last act 
 of the six days of His creation — the creature who treads 
 the earth with us ; who has sympathies, hopes, fears, 
 aspirations, qualities, and desires in common with us ; 
 who is nurtured by the same care, and nourished by 
 the same gifts; who is the object of God's love, and is 
 made in His image? 
 
 To love our neighbour, let us accustom ourselves to 
 think gently of him ; to prize him highly, to bear with 
 his infirmities, to discover his merits, to accept his 
 peculiarities. We know how earnestly we do all these 
 things for ourselves ; how lightly we think of our own 
 weaknesses, — how highly we value our own miserable 
 merits ! 
 
 Let us then carry into effect the Divine command. 
 Let us think charitably of our brother, and let us 
 think earnestly for him ; let us take an active interest 
 in his welfare, consider the means of improving him 
 materially, intellectually, and spiritually ; talk kindly 
 of him — and, mean what we say ; strive to make him 
 happy, even at the cost of a little discomfort to our- 
 selves ; speak mildly to him, respect his opinions and 
 tastes, and bear with his importunities and infirmities 
 as meekly and indulgently as we bear with our own. 
 
 And what if it be a sacrifice ? Will not the sacrifice 
 of a little pleasure, a little time, a little repose, a little 
 ease, a little thought, a little temper, serve as offerings 
 for us to bring to our Father's altar, — the altar that 
 must be approached with a willing tribute ? Not — 
 since the Temple has been cast dowu — Avith the sacri- 
 fice of bull or heifer, or the oblation of blood and 
 frankincense ; but the offering which each of us may 
 bring from his heart into the great temple of the
 
 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 135 
 
 world, and lay on the invisible, but ever present, altar, 
 round which all men are free to gather. 
 
 The poets, who are akin to the prophets, the priests, 
 and the preachers, have sung the theme ; and one 
 among them, whose breast was keenly alive to affec- 
 tionate sympathies has told us — 
 
 " He prayeth best who loveth besb 
 All things both great and small ; 
 For the great God who dwells above, 
 He made and loveth all."* 
 
 Life presents various methods in which man may 
 manifest his love for his neighbour, — methods contin- 
 gent on individual character and on external conditions 
 and circumstances. Sometimes it seems to take the form 
 of public and sounding virtue. Abraham interceding 
 for the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah ; Moses 
 praying for the rebellious Israelites, Hillel scattering 
 around him acts of goodness ; John Howard visiting 
 the fever-stricken dungeon ; Vincent de Paul taking 
 to his heart the innocent foundling ; — all these, and 
 many others whom we might name, no doubt, loved 
 their " neighbour " as well, aye, better than them- 
 selves. 
 
 But others have neither the occasion nor the faculty 
 to manifest their brotherly love by such acts of public 
 heroism ; and, happily for these, it may take the shape 
 of a homely and gentle virtue. The humblest amongst 
 us, in the most tranquil home, in the most secluded 
 way of life, may love their neighbour like themselves. 
 By a generous, a thoughtful, a well considered charity, 
 given not with a lavish, careless hand, but with a 
 
 Coleridge.
 
 136 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 willing and kindly heart ; by the sacrifice of ease, 
 time, and personal comforts to the claims of those who 
 need our aid ; by that still more difficult sacrifice, 
 which, in any home that we would render happy, we 
 are so often called on to make, the sacrifice of temper. 
 By such charities, such sacrifices as these, we may shew 
 we love our neighbour. 
 
 Temper is often the main temptation of ordinary men 
 and women in every-day life ; trivial as the word may 
 seem, the indulgence of temper may mar the household 
 happiness, may exert effects of ultimate extreme im- 
 portance on the career and character of human beings. 
 Our family circle may, for example, contain members 
 whose tastes, manners, and expressions — controlled by 
 influences other than those that govern ours, or 
 fraught with fashions and feelings of by-gone days, 
 or untaught by our experiences — may jar on our 
 susceptibilities and offend our sentiments or be dis- 
 sonant from our sympathies. The aged, the dull, the 
 eccentric, the young — how difficult it is at times to bear 
 with their ways and words ! 
 
 But shall we deal hardly with them ? Shall we be 
 impatient because their opinions are not in harmony 
 with ours ? Shall we not rather think of the claims 
 on our forbearance which their very imperfections give 
 them ? The old, who have nothing to hope for save 
 the trifling pleasures of purposeless age, or the weary 
 longing for the repose of the tomb ; the dull, whose 
 life may have been overshadowed by the experience 
 of a great sorrow, or by having no creature very near 
 to them, to love them the most ; the eccentric, who 
 may carry into their intercourse with ordinary men a 
 mutilated heart, a blighted life ; the young, so weak
 
 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 137 
 
 that a hasty word may bruise them, so loving that a 
 kindly smile may charm them — ah ! shall we not think 
 of all these claims on our forbearance, and deal kindly 
 with our neighbour ? Shall we not think of the effect 
 our temper may exert on the uncultivated, the ne- 
 glected, the burdened mind ? Or rather, shall we not 
 be impelled by a higher motive than these relative 
 conditions, and strive to recollect that by sacrificing 
 temper and tastes to render others good and happy, 
 we obey a Divine command ; for He, who is so mighty 
 that He gave His law on Mount Sinai amid awful 
 thunders, and yet so tender that He brings the gentle 
 tears from our touched hearts — He bade us love our 
 neighbour as ourselves ! 
 
 If the delicate and intricate systems of created or- 
 ganism impress our minds with the infinite Wisdom of 
 our Maker ; if the changing movements, the glorious 
 beauties, the hidden forces, the stupendous sounds 
 of Nature impress our senses with His awful Might, 
 assuredly a consideration of the effect of this Divine 
 behest may well impress our hearts with His merciful 
 Love. For the injunction of love is addressed to me, 
 to you, to all alike. Each individual is to have his 
 feelings returned to him a thousandfold, reciprocated 
 to him by all who come into contact with him. 
 
 And what a world would it be if all men obeyed, or 
 sought to obey, the solemn and comprehensive com- 
 mand ; if every man would strive so to subdue his 
 passions, so to control his impulses, as to give to his 
 brother man a love equal to the love which Nature has 
 implanted in him for himself. War, dissension, fraud, 
 tyranny, cruelty, coldness, would exist no more. No 
 hand would be raised to strike ; no word would be
 
 138 A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 breathed to wound ; no deed would be done to harm. 
 Men would be knit together by a chain of tender affec- 
 tion — an emblem, though at an immeasurable distance 
 from the reality, of the Universal Love Divine. The 
 Poet's thought would be realised, " Seyd umschlungen, 
 Mittionen" — "Millions! be locked in one embrace." 
 Life would be as the "days of heaven upon earth." 
 Surely none but He, who is unspeakably, infinitely 
 loving, could have created the conception of such 
 glorious, world-embracing love. 
 
 But, since, in the presence of our failings, our 
 passions, our selfishness, our temptations, it is, alas! 
 so difficult to love our neighbour as ourselves — oh, let 
 us pray, let us entreat Him who is the Perfection of 
 Mercy, the Fountain of Ineffable Pity, to look down 
 on our weaknesses with His Divine compassion ! May 
 we learn to love Him with all our heart and soul and 
 might ; and through that love, may we learn to love 
 our brother as ourselves. And it may be, that the love 
 we bear His creatures may smooth the path of life and 
 calm the strife of death ; and glisten in our fading 
 eyes, and glow in our fluttering hearts, when, in the 
 last supreme hour, wo lift our eyes — we turn our hearts 
 — to Him !
 
 PEACE. 
 
 — ■• — 
 
 " Seek peace and pursue it." — Psalm xxxiv. 14. 
 
 With the exception of belief in the unity of God, there 
 is probably no sentiment which enters more thoroughly 
 and persistently into our Jewish national and devotional 
 life than the aspiration for peace. We sing of peace 
 in our Psalms ; we pray for it, frequently and passion- 
 ately, in our prayers. Peace is the last blessing in 
 the threefold Benediction of the priests. A petition 
 for peace concludes the prayer of the Eighteen 
 Blessings ; peace is the last of David's tuneful words 
 that strike the ear as the Law is borne through our 
 congregation to its resting place. The familiar 19*10 
 in which language almost exhausts itself in praise, and 
 which has so solemn an association with our mournful 
 hours, contains a supplication not only for peace, but 
 for "the abundant peace, the fulness of peace from 
 Heaven." Peace is the wish we proffer to each other 
 in our national salutation ; and our sages, who are 
 lavish in their praises of peace and of peace-making, 
 tell us that the promotion of peace is the pursuit of 
 the wise, the duty of all men, and the highest of social 
 virtues. Peace is a sacred condition with which we 
 invest the mystery of death, and a supreme bliss which 
 we picture as one of the glories of the life to come.
 
 140 PEACE. 
 
 It is easy to indicate a likely historical reason for the 
 recurrence of this sentiment. In the fighting days of 
 yore, when we were politically a nation, our country 
 was placed among hostile states and exposed to con- 
 tinual wars and incursions. Moreover civil dissension 
 was unhappily not unknown among us. To a people 
 so situated, and especially an agricultural people, with 
 fields to till and to protect, the advent of peace would 
 be a predominant desire. When we ceased to be a 
 polity, and were scattered among other nations, we 
 were long exposed to aggression and injury from 
 governments and governed. Our early history presents 
 a picture of almost continual disquiet. "Well may the 
 hope of peace have been a prevailing sentiment in the 
 heart and on the lip of priest, prophet, poet, and people 
 in those troubled days. Anxiously must our fathers 
 have prayed for the blessing promised in Leviticus, 
 pK3 DW VirOI "And I will give peace to the 
 land/' * 
 
 But in these calmer times, when, save in exceptional 
 cases, we are protected from injury, even in countries 
 where Israel is despised ; when we have mingled so 
 intimately with our fellow citizens that hostilities affect 
 us only as they affect them, and our hearts throb with 
 theirs in prayers for peace and enthusiasm in war; the 
 constantly recurring Jewish call for peace ceases to 
 have a distinctive political significance. But not on 
 that account has it lost its moral significance, or 
 diminished in its importance. For if war has ceased 
 from our border ; if we may till our fields and pursue 
 our avocations in tranquillity, without fear of foreign 
 invader or civil tumult ; there is yet war in our midst, 
 Lev. xxvi. G.
 
 PEACE. 1 41 
 
 war in our hearts, an invader's step on the threshold, 
 an enemy on the broad fields of humanity; and in the 
 narrow inclosure of our conscience, which can only be 
 met by an appeal to Divine Grace for peace, for " the 
 fulness of peace from heaven." 
 
 Many may have observed in human nature the 
 presence of two antagonistic principles, struggling for 
 mastery, and contrasted as distinctly as light and dark- 
 ness. Such antagonism Persian mythology dimly 
 shadowed forth in the fantastic notions of Ormuzd and 
 Ahriman, and a more spiritual teaching has presented 
 in the good and evil genii of the baby's cradle. Such 
 is the contrast of happiness and sorrow in human life, 
 such the struggle for right and wrong in the human 
 heart ! 
 
 He who rules all breasts, and knows all secrets, can 
 alone pronounce as to degrees of earthly happiness ; 
 but if the history of humanity, if reflection and worldly 
 knowledge, if personal experience may guide us, we 
 may infer that none can expect perfect happiness in 
 this life ; and those who seek it, seek a delusion and a 
 snare. 
 
 On the other hand we need never be completely un- 
 happy ; there is no sorrow without a consolation, no 
 shadow so dense as wholly to obscure the light ; for 
 divine mercy flecks the heaviest cloud with threads of 
 gold, and in the darkest hour we may pray — we may 
 hope for peace : 
 
 And he who prays for peace, prays a wise prayer. 
 For him to whom the gates of peace are opened, pros- 
 perity cannot too much elate, nor adversity deject ; his 
 heart no passion can madden, no wild ambition torture 
 with restless dreams, no broken hope nor disappointed
 
 142 PEACE. 
 
 aim irritate with bitter regret. In the hour of its 
 keenest joy it will not be lost in delirium of rapture, 
 nor intoxicated in phantasies of impossible delights, 
 nor agitated by restless desire of change or shadowy 
 presages of evil. In the day of its affliction, though 
 blinding tears may for a while conceal the radiant 
 presence of peace, yet so surely as the sun pierces the 
 morning mist with its ruddy glow, so surely will the 
 peace that we pray for break through the veil of sorrow, 
 and lay her healing hand on the bleeding wound! 
 
 And now as to the struggle between good and evil. 
 To whom is that fight unknown ? The campaign 
 begins in the bosom of the child, battling between the 
 attractions of appetite and the desire to obey. From 
 the nursery and the school-room to the after scenes of 
 life, wherever placed, the home, the counting-room, the 
 forum, the cottage, the palace, wherever temptation 
 rises in our way, like a gaunt ghost with fair face and 
 shrouded ugliness, or like the tormenting figure of the 
 old German story, with its alluring arms and its spiked 
 embraces, there the genius of good and the genius of 
 evil fight for mastery — there war is waged between 
 right and wrong, duty and passion, principle and 
 impulse. 
 
 "We, who are growing weary with the struggle, may 
 well ask if to this war there be an ending, if there be 
 a day when the darkness of night will pass, and peace 
 be proclaimed, before at length the last silent peace of 
 the grave stills the throbbing breast ? Yes, when we 
 pray for peace, may it not be peace in this life ? Peace 
 that may be won, as other peace is won, by hard fight- 
 ing, perseverance, and trust in a good cause; but never 
 without grace, favour, and mercy, and complete sub-
 
 PEACE. 
 
 143. 
 
 mission ; never till we lay down our impulses as the 
 Romans of old laid down their arms, and pass humbled, 
 bowed, and broken, under the yoke of the law, as they 
 under the Caudine yoke of their victors. 
 
 If we disdain habitually the summons to do rightly, 
 and yield to temptation, there can be no peace for us : 
 "There is no peace for the wicked!" D^tfhS DW |*N.* 
 
 If the evil grow and strengthen from the hour of 
 its feeble and timid first assault till the day of its 
 maturity, we shall have a giant and not a dwarf to 
 fight. But there is a battle in which we need never 
 succumb. Divine help is for those who seek it by daily, 
 hourly sustained endeavour, unchecked by failure, un- 
 appalled by doubt or difficulty. If any effort, if many 
 an effort fail, let us not fear. If we find the enemy 
 beyond our strength to-day, let us take courage and 
 gather our forces to meet him on the morrow ; if, as 
 we reach the wall's summit, we fall from the height, 
 even then let us remount, believing that at last the 
 thick front of the foe will be pierced, the rampart 
 gained, and triumph crown the fight with the fulness 
 of peace from heaven ! 
 
 Having regarded peace in the abstract, in its spiritual 
 meaning, as a Divine boon for which to pray, let us 
 consider it in its relative, its applied, its human mean- 
 ing, the peace which we may be the means of diffusing, 
 and which our Rabbins enjoin us to promote. For it 
 is a great privilege that we enjoy, we who are made in 
 the Divine likeness, that we may be the instruments of 
 transmitting the blessings which we ask as a hallowed 
 gift for ourselves. We can promote peace in the world 
 by example, and there is no human force more powerful 
 Isaiah lvii. 21.
 
 144 PEACE. 
 
 than the force of example : we can promote peace in 
 the family circle by examples of forbearance, temper, 
 and amiability. " Behold how good and how pleasant 
 it is for brethren to dwell together in unity."* We 
 can promote peace by precept, for we can teach the 
 beauty of peace to children, pupils, servants, and all 
 those over whom we have influence or authority ; we 
 can recommend peace by friendly counsel to our equals, 
 and by respectful persuasion to our elders and superiors. 
 And as the sphere of effort and duty enlarges, we can 
 employ example, precept, and persuasion to promote 
 peace in the circle in which we move, in the town in 
 which we dwell, in the community in which we mingle, 
 in the congregation in which we worship. We can 
 promote peace between class and class, interest and 
 interest, and thus work material service to the land in 
 which we are born. We can promote peace in the 
 earth by advocating the high doctrine of humanity, 
 which sets its foot on wrong, and strives to a height 
 far beyond the loftiest trophies of ambition, or the 
 haughtiest majesty of imperial thrones. 
 
 Thus we can promote peace outwardly in the world, 
 and by that effort promote peace inwardly in our hearts; 
 we can spread around us a peace of earth, like a sun- 
 picture of the spiritual peace we ask from Heaven for 
 ourselves. 
 
 And then, how often soever the prayer for peace be 
 repeated among us, it will be no idle repetition. If we 
 promote peace in our families, and among Israel our 
 brethren ; if we advocate peace among mankind at 
 home and abroad ; if we desire peaceful lives, whether 
 cheered by prosperity or chilled by sorrow ; if we 
 Psalm exxxiii.
 
 PEACE. 145 
 
 establish peace in our souls by suppressing the attempts 
 and struggles of wrong against right ; then hencefor- 
 ward there will be a deep and solemn meaning for us 
 in every greeting of peace, in every prayer for peace, in 
 every blessing of peace, in every sound of peace, spoken 
 to us or by us ! 
 
 "May He who maketh peace in His high heavens, 
 through His infinite mercy, grant peace to us, and all 
 Israel. Amen."
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 t *s ^m ^55 **6^ pan n 1 ? 
 
 " The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof, 
 The world and they that dwell therein." 
 
 Psalm xxiv. 
 
 The heart which, in the flush of success in a noble aim, 
 ascribes the victory to God, and brings to His altar 
 the fire of its pride and the sheen of its triumph, is 
 assuredly imbued with a spirit of true piety. Its 
 humility, far from degrading it, elevates and glorifies 
 it. 
 
 Humility has widely different natures. It may be a 
 baseness ; it may be a weakness ; it may be an en- 
 nobling and dignifying virtue. It is a vice when it 
 stoops to servility ; when it springs from cowardice ; 
 when it masks' ambitious and selfish purposes ; when it 
 disguises pride, the " pride that apes humility." It is 
 a weakness when it manifests itself in acts of objectless 
 debasement ; a dangerous weakness when it leads to 
 undue self-depreciation, and thus destroys self-reliance, 
 and checks the exercise of powers or capabilities which 
 might be utilized for man's advantage. The humility 
 of Sixtus, aspiring to the pinnacle of the papacy, was 
 a vice ; the humility of the Queen of Castille and Leon 
 at the feet of mendicants, was a weakness ; and a weak- 
 ness, no less, the false humility of Diogenes, trampling 
 with miry sandals on the purple draperies of Plato. 
 " See," he said, " see how I trample on the pride of
 
 HUMILITY. 147 
 
 Plato ! " " With equal pride, thyself, Diogenes," replied 
 the true philosopher. 
 
 But there is a humility of a different nature, a 
 humility which springs not from cowardice, servility, 
 misconception, self-seeking, or self-depreciation, but 
 from a pure, a holy source : the humility which bows 
 man's spirit, not before the spirit of his fellow man, 
 but before the Mighty Power which made him ; the 
 Power from whom spring, and to whom belong, him- 
 self, and nis works, his genius, his strength, and his 
 powers. This is the humility which does not stoop so 
 low as to be incapable of great deeds, but which, when 
 these are performed, ascribes their glory to their true 
 origin ; the humility which impels the hero, in the 
 hour of his triumph, to lift the laurel from his own 
 brow, and to bring it, as an offering, to his Master's 
 altar ; which teaches the man of genius not to be 
 dazzled by the glitter of his success, but to track its 
 rays to the everlasting Fount of light from which they 
 flow ; the humility which acknowledges that great 
 qualities are given, not for personal aggrandizement, 
 but for the Giver's service ; because it admits the 
 solemn truth that the earth and the fulness thereof, 
 the world, and they who dwell therein, are all the 
 Lord's ! 
 
 And this should be the Jew's humility ; for humility 
 is essentially a Jewish quality. Among the three points 
 which our sages say should distinguish the disciples of 
 Abraham are these two nSs^ &$) Pl^&l IJPl — " a 
 lowly spirit and a humble soul." But assuredly this is 
 not abject humility ; not the servile obsequiousness 
 which exhibits itself in kissing hems of garments or 
 whispering craven flatteries. The humilitv of the
 
 148 HUMILITY. 
 
 slave is not for a race born to a heritage of freedom, a 
 race which God Himself once redeemed, and will again 
 redeem " with a strong hand, and an outstretched 
 arm ! " Ours should be a proud humility, the pride 
 which will not bow its crest to man, but droops in the 
 dust, prostrate, subdued, before man's Maker. 
 
 David, our minstrel king, was deeply impressed with 
 this feeling. Though eminently successful in his career, 
 he seldom vaunted his own merits. Not only in his 
 adversity did he cast himself on the Divine compassion, 
 but in his prosperity he unreservedly acknowledged the 
 Divine control. His triumphant psalm — the twenty- 
 first — said to be a chant of victory, is no pa3an exalting 
 his personal prowess, but an ascription of glory to 
 the Source whence all glory flows. 
 
 And near the close of his eventful life, he expressed 
 this feeling even more emphatically in his celebrated 
 act of thanksgiving, when he exclaimed, " All things 
 come of Thee, and of Thine own do we give Thee." * 
 
 So, also, king Solomon, when he had raised the 
 Temple with lavish pains and expenditure, did not 
 " mark the marble with his name," nor call for homage 
 as the author and architect of the magnificent structure ; 
 but he sanctified his work by invoking a blessing on his 
 people, and by eloquent, thrilling, and majestic prayer. 
 Thus were the work and the worker hallowed. 
 
 And Holy Writ affords no more striking instance 
 of this sentiment than the example recorded in Exodus 
 — when Moses, having stretched his hand over the 
 seas, and beheld them part asunder, while Israel passed 
 through — and, having again extended his hand and 
 beheld the waters return and overwhelm the pursuer 
 c 1 Chron. xxix. 14.
 
 HUMILITY. 149 
 
 — having thus been the instrument of a tremendous 
 miracle — lifted his voice in exulting hymn, not to 
 extol his own agency, nor the choice of himself as 
 agent, but to sing to the Lord, for He had "triumphed 
 gloriously." 
 
 Nor, need we draw examples solely from those early 
 times, those hallowed days, when the Divine Voice 
 spoke directly to the mortal ear, or sounded in the 
 vision ; when the Awful Presence, resting upon earth, 
 cast a sublime halo on humanity ; when man walked 
 in the world amid visible manifestations ; when the 
 " bush burnt with fire," and the " cloud filled the 
 house."* For, even in these cold, prosaic days, among 
 ordinary men, engaged, like ourselves, in the every- 
 day struggle of professional, commercial, or common- 
 place life, the pious sentiment has found a home in 
 more than one breast, and is recorded in the history 
 of more than one life. And, perhaps, it is wise to 
 insist on such examples, because they afford evidence 
 that right feeling is practically possible in all climes, 
 and in all ages, for all classes of men, and all social 
 conditions. 
 
 When Telford was on the eve of completing the 
 Menai bridge, the master- work of his career, he paused 
 before he struck home the last rivet which was to finish 
 the achievement, and withdrawing to his chamber, no 
 eye seeing him save the Eye which sees us all, knelt 
 down to give thanks to his Maker ! To Him he brought 
 the work of his hands. Thus, also, when Reginald 
 Heber had declaimed his prize poem in the hall of his 
 university, amid the applause of an intellectual audience, 
 he was missed from the assemblage, and — his ears 
 ° 2 Chron. v. 13.
 
 150 HUMILITY. 
 
 perhaps still ringing with the plaudits — his heart still 
 bounding with conscious pride — he was found on his 
 knees, lifting his thanks to heaven. Imbued with a 
 like feeling, a great man of a different order of great- 
 ness, the patriotic Nelson, after each battle had been 
 fought and each victory won, the heat of contest yet 
 glowing in his breast, and the flash of command 
 burning on his brow, was accustomed to dispatch home 
 the story of each exploit, not with a reference to his 
 own prowess, but with the acknowledgement that it 
 had pleased Heaven to " bless his majesty's arms with 
 victory." 
 
 Thus, these three great men, each in his own arena 
 — the one in arts, the struggle of mind with matter; the 
 next in literature, the combat of mind with mind ; the 
 last in arms, the contest in which both mind and 
 matter are pitted against mind and matter ; each 
 ascribed the glory to Him to whom they held it to be 
 due. 
 
 Nor is the expression of this thought confined to 
 individual instances. Public feeling distinctly recognizes 
 it. On the stately front of the commercial palace of 
 this metropolis are inscribed the words, " The earth is 
 the Lord's, and the fulness thereof." These words, 
 also, selected possibly by the gifted prince whom 
 England still laments, were displayed on the walls 
 within which the world's choice industrial and artistic 
 treasures were gathered. And they are placed appro- 
 priately on structures such as these, because they 
 remind men engaged in the pursuit, production, and 
 accumulation of wealth, that the treasures which they 
 produce and collect are not only not their own ; that 
 not only the crude material torn from earth, tree, or
 
 HUMILITY. 151 
 
 animal, is a gift of heaven ; but that so also are the 
 labour, the skill, the inventive faculty, the nervous 
 energy and the muscular strength which fashion the 
 material into shape by the subduing arts of manufacture, 
 and utilize it for man's advantage by the pervading 
 means of commerce. 
 
 Man's intelligence and strength proceed from God, 
 the bestower of all things, and belong to Him as 
 assuredly as does the crude matter on which that 
 intelligence and strength are exerted. As he has 
 enriched the earth with natural products, so also has 
 he endowed the human hand with force to work ; the 
 brain with power to plan ; the heart with courage to 
 pursue. In the presence of this solemn truth, the 
 highest genius may well droop its stately crest. Not 
 only does the history of mankind forcibly remind us 
 that " unless the Lord build the house, they labour in 
 vain who build it," but we also know that the works of 
 intellect and ingenuity long survive the hand that 
 framed them, the brain that conceived them. 
 
 Long after the troubled heart, the weary brain, the 
 striving hand, have withered into corruption or passed 
 into unrecognizable transformation, the products of that 
 heart, brain and hand still endure and flourish in the 
 world — a tangible, a visible assurance that the product 
 does not belong to the earthly producer ; that he who 
 has discovered, developed and cultivated a portion of 
 the earth's fulness has appropriated nothing to himself. 
 
 All, all the world, and the abundance thereof; the 
 treasures of light and heat and colour which sleep in its 
 depths ; the forces which reside in the gases that permeate 
 it ; the properties and capabilities which dwell in the 
 fibres and juices of the plants that garnish it ; — and
 
 152 HUMILITY. 
 
 not only these ; but the treasures, the forces, the 
 properties and capabilities of our human brain and 
 heart and hand, — all these belong to God. 
 
 Rich are the lessons to be drawn from this solemn 
 truth — gratitude to the Giver of these bounties which 
 we enjoy, these wonders which we admire ; the 
 importance of employing His gifts for His service and 
 His purposes ; the vanity of human pride and human 
 greatness. And, with this last lesson, let us next 
 deal. 
 
 While great geniuses acknowledge gratefully the 
 source of their inspiration and their success; while 
 public feeling admits willingly the greatness of the 
 Creator and the littleness of the created ; it happens 
 often that mediocre minds, giddy with their " little 
 learning," plume themselves on their scanty attainments, 
 and rear their obtrusive structures of vanity on 
 miserably shifting foundations. 
 
 It is common to find unhesitating judgments laid 
 down and positive opinions put forth by men whose 
 profound ignorance is thinly covered by a superficial 
 acquaintance with scientific, historical or literary 
 knowledge. From this, in political history, fatal mis- 
 fortunes, cruel, bitter feuds, murderous disturbances 
 have arisen. 
 
 But it is in religious matters especially that the 
 dangerous pride of a " little learning " exhibits itself 
 with terrible effects. Few men would be so rash as to 
 impugn the conclusions of science without a sufficient 
 acquaintance with its first principles; yet it is certainly 
 true that there are men who impugn the truth of a 
 Book written in a language of which they are nearly 
 ignorant ; men who have dug just a little way into the
 
 HUMILITY. 153 
 
 upper crust of knowledge, who have disturbed the top- 
 most film of the strata which conceal its treasures, 
 throw up their tiny mole-hills of wisdom with noisy 
 spades, smooth them with self-sufficient complacency, 
 and lift their feeble selves on their puny heaps to storm 
 the stalwart battlements of the frowning fortress built 
 on the Hock of Ages. 
 
 For example, it has been truly said that the miracles 
 recorded in the Bible are not more wonderful than the 
 miracles registered in the book of present Nature, 
 miracles whose effects are palpable, though the causes 
 which produce them are undiscovered ; whose effects 
 are recorded by laws which can be learnt, collected 
 and analyzed, while the laws of the causes are un- 
 revealed. 
 
 Science spreads her branches far and wide like a 
 majestic forest- tree, grand in its elevation, generous in 
 its bounties, prominent as a land-mark to the passer 
 by. Man may tend it, and trim it, and gather from 
 it the treasures of its leaves, fibres, bark and sap ; man 
 may transplant its branches, discover and study its 
 properties and apply them, and learn the external laws 
 which govern its growth and its decay ; but the roots 
 of the tree lie hidden in sods which no human hand 
 has had — or may ever have — the cunning to penetrate : 
 and even as time moves on, as wonders are daily 
 developed before our astonished eyes, as Discovery, 
 Study, and Invention draw the veil aside, fold by fold, 
 the very laws we have framed as landmarks lose their 
 fixity, tremble, and grow dim. The laws of induction 
 are as a cluster bound together, but progress gnaws 
 the binding thread, till the cluster, the law itself, gives 
 way.
 
 154 HUMILITY. 
 
 The poised needle starts from its polarity as the 
 electric current passes near ; the mute iron wakes to 
 action as the unseen fluid winds around it ; the glitter- 
 ing tints flow from the ugly coal; the burning metallic 
 vapours proclaim their presence by bands of colour on 
 the spectral disc; the subtle salt binds the fleeting light 
 on the smooth plate, and retains the image long after 
 the original has passed away; the lens discovers love- 
 liness of device and ornamentation on bodies which 
 the naked eye is unable to perceive ; the inanimate 
 metals resting in the briny bath evoke an influence 
 capable of bridging leagues of land and ocean, defying 
 distance, travelling swift as thought through realms 
 of space. What is their secret ? What is the secret 
 held in the stagnant water which sleeps in the lazy 
 pool, water which the soil absorbs, the frost enchains, 
 the sun parches ; and yet, which, when heat shall have 
 transformed its particles into a less substantial shape, 
 acquires a giant's force, plies ponderous weights with 
 tremendous power, splits compact metal masses as 
 children crush their feeblest toy, drags inert matter 
 through wind, wave, and storm, on the rugged land 
 and on the throbbing sea ? What is the secret which 
 resides in the cold, dead magnet, and bids it draw to 
 its embraces the inanimate steel, as if one or both 
 were endowed with sudden life, feeling, and passion ? 
 
 Well, shall we witness these loud-resounding miracles 
 whose trumpet-tongues speak to our bewildered ears — 
 these miracles marvellous in what they reveal to our 
 startled senses — still more marvellous in what the}'- hold 
 concealed ? Shall we deem these to be facts, and yet 
 doubt the power of their Creator's hand, to disturb or 
 modify them at his will ? Shall we stand dazed on
 
 HUMILITY. 155 
 
 the threshold of science, groping so blindly amid its 
 mysteries, avowing our halting progress in its truths, 
 finding, day by day, the laws we have established 
 eluding our grasp and dissolving into new shapes as 
 the clouds in a summer sky — shall we admit we know 
 so little of science and of nature, and yet doubt or 
 deny the miracles with which we fancy our miserable 
 notions of science do not accord, our feeble knowledge 
 of nature does not correspond ? Shall we admit miracles 
 of nature which to us seem to have no purpose, no 
 object ; and deny the miracles of the Bible, to each of 
 which a marked, an evident, a recorded purpose is 
 attached ? 
 
 Human knowledge is, at best, but a fragile force in 
 the presence of the mighty forces enshrined in nature : 
 and since the fulness of earth, the world and they that 
 dwell therein belong to nature's Maker ; since matter 
 and its laws ; genius and its works ; force and its 
 effects ; are all of His own creation and His own, even 
 in this study of nature the aspiring human wisdom, 
 which seeks to soar too high, and to fly where there is 
 no passage, will break its wing against a rock, and fall 
 drooping, sick and wounded, to parent earth. 
 
 Where then is the shifting sand on which we build 
 our doubts ? It is true that for countless ages the 
 beating sea has swung and rolled on the face of a 
 whirling globe, — now smiling in calm, now frantic 
 with storm, for purposes that we cannot gather, or can 
 only conjecture. Well, shall we doubt that once a limb 
 of the mighty sea rose in its bed and stood apart, that 
 the living witnesses of its Maker's word might pass 
 through to tell His power and bear His truth to a 
 benighted world — to untold generations ?
 
 156 HUMILITY. 
 
 Let humility, then, guide the Bible student, and 
 teach him to learn a little more, before he flings his 
 hasty decisions broadcast in the world. Sages who have 
 pondered over the book of life, sentence by sentence, 
 word by word, almost letter by letter — strengthened in 
 their labours by concentrated study, accumulated and 
 inherited wisdom, profound general knowledge, and 
 brilliant abilities — have found those labours hallowed 
 by the crowning blessing of belief. And those of you 
 who have so little knowledge, such meagre wisdom, so 
 weak an aspiration for study, shall you deny the truth 
 because your lights burn so dimly that they fail to shew 
 it on your mental disc ? 
 
 Then, let man, whose powers are given by God, and 
 belong to Him, seek those powers and use them humbly, 
 as he believes will be for God's pleasure and for His 
 work. Let him yield to the Giver the wealth of his 
 strength, his intellect, his skill, and his acquirements, 
 and use them in the pursuit of great and good ends, 
 never failing to sanctify his work and his thought by 
 ready acknowledgment of the Source from which they 
 rise. Perhaps, this it is, for those who have no other 
 worldly wealth, to love God with all one's might. Let 
 us listen to the voice of the prophet Micah for in 
 his words lies the gist of the whole matter, H J? J^.VlH 
 YiTW-Bj; " Walk humbly with thy God."* 
 
 Not by the vanities of pride, nor the pomp of learn- 
 ing, nor the presumption of opinion, is He to be served; 
 but by hearts such as theirs, who, in the glow of their 
 triumph, brought to His altar the laurels they had 
 won, the work they had achieved ! Not by idle humi- 
 lity that hides or checks the powers He gave, is His 
 * Micah vi. 8.
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 157 
 
 work to be done ; but by seeking out those powers by 
 the lamp of faith, and employing them by the light of 
 judgment. Not by undue reliance on our miserable 
 wisdom, our nickering lights, our withering strength, 
 our puny knowledge, is He to be approached ; but with 
 the consciousness written in our hearts, imbuing our 
 thoughts, inspiring our actions, and strengthening our 
 wills, that the earth and its fulness, its gathering, its 
 wealth, its inhabitants, their genius and their power, 
 all are His own. His are the harvests of our labours, 
 the triumphs of our toils. His no less the crop we reap 
 than the seed which He gives us to sow. His no less 
 the work wherewith we till the field, than the mystery 
 in which He shrouds the secret of its growth. Let us 
 then strive to do His work worthily, and raise a crop 
 that shall be for His glory — a crop of which, though 
 the seeds be deep in earth, the golden crests shall rise 
 aloft and the perfume reach to heaven. 
 
 Be it ours, then, to uplift our minds to a sense of the 
 high truth that the earth and its fulness are God's ; be 
 it ours to remove the icy rigid bar of pride from our 
 hearts, and to throw their portals widely open, that the 
 " King of glory maj enter " and fill them with a sense 
 of our weakness and our duties, and of Mis majesty and 
 might! (
 
 LOST AT SEA.* 
 
 "Who maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty 
 waters." — Isaiah xliii. 16. 
 
 When the intelligence of a great calamity — a calamity 
 by which hundreds perish, and many households are 
 plunged in mourning, — is borne to us on the wings of 
 swiftly-circulating rumour, we should be less than 
 human if we did not feel a pang of horror, or a throb 
 of sympathy, even though none very near or dear to 
 us may happen to be among those who have perished, 
 or among those who are bereaved. But such is the 
 charity of our earthly nature — a charity which of itself 
 asserts that nature to have in it something of divine 
 essence — that, when the news of a great trouble reaches 
 us, though the trouble may not lie at our own thres- 
 holds, yet we take it home to our hearts in some fashion, 
 — we turn aside for a time from our individual thoughts 
 and hopes and fears, our personal cares and trials, — and 
 at such an hour our faces grow grave, and our hearts 
 chill, for those who have gone away, and for those who 
 are weeping for their dead ! 
 
 Only lately, such a calamity as we describe occurred 
 near our own shores : a calamity which is of such charac- 
 ter that it will be felt not only in this country, but 
 
 Written on the occasion of the wreck of the " London," 1866.
 
 LOST AT SEA. 159 
 
 will affect in like manner a distant region thousands 
 of miles away from us. In a dreadful hour of storm, 
 the frantic ocean beat to destruction a stalwart ship, 
 freighted with some hundreds of souls, and drove it, 
 all unresisting, into the trough of the terrible waves. 
 For long, long weary hours, the fated ship tossed at 
 the mercy of the foam and the gale. For long weary 
 hours, death, believed to be near, imminent and certain, 
 hovered like an angry welkin over these shipwrecked 
 human beings. Prayers, tears, and passionate suppli- 
 cations, sustained exertion, and calm courage could not 
 avert the threatening blow. JSTo human help was near. 
 JSFo human help could save! And the dread sea wrought 
 its work. Those brave hearts went down into the 
 " mighty waters," never, as we believe, to rise again, 
 till all the dead shall rise ! 
 
 Among these, as we know, or may have known, 
 when we met on the succeeding Sabbath in our syna- 
 gogues, were some of our own faith. Of course, such 
 is the all-embracing loving-kindness of our creed, that 
 the faith of those who perished matters not as to the 
 effect of this great sorrow on our hearts and minds. 
 We, Jews, are taught not alone to love our brother- 
 Jews, but to love all men on earth. Yet we advert to 
 the incident that, of these hundreds of sufferers, some 
 were of the brotherhood of Israel, in order to give 
 additional excuse, if such be needed, for our reference, 
 in our Sabbath Readings, to those who were "lost at 
 sea." 
 
 We have said that such a grief as this, whether it 
 be intimately our own or not, wakes an answering 
 chord in every heart. But shall this be its sole effect? 
 An hour's serious thought ? a minute's sudden shock ?
 
 160' LOST AT SEA. 
 
 a moment's disinterested sympathy ? No ! for from 
 this, as from many other acts of Heaven of which we 
 are witnesses, though we do not always comprehend 
 them in their profundity, there are higher, deeper, more 
 enduring, more momentous inferences ! 
 
 For these are the lessons of life ! These blows that 
 fall so unexpectedly — so swiftly — so heavily — so sharply 
 — so resistlessly — these blows strike almost as if a bolt 
 had fallen from Heaven in our midst, and had startled 
 us from the dream of our internal life to a sense of the 
 external life around us ; these blows teach in a sudden, 
 mighty, and awful manner, that, however great our 
 powers, however strong our wills, however profound 
 our plans, there is a Power, a Will, and a Plan, which 
 we cannot control nor comprehend ! a Power, a Will, 
 a Plan, before which our brightest intelligence, our 
 mightiest faculties, shatter, crumble, and are dissipated, 
 as the bright strong light of summer "fades into 
 nothingness" before the driving shadows of the storm- 
 cloud. 
 
 Ah ! those who were " lost at sea," are not lost to 
 us, nor lost for ever. For, from the throbbing grave 
 which yawned to gather them into its dread bosom, and 
 then closed coldly over them, rise lessons that survive 
 the dead ! lessons of Life emerging from the heaving 
 chasms of Death ! 
 
 What, then, are the lessons which we may learn from 
 this recent stroke of Heaven ? First, let us learn from 
 those who have perished, how 
 
 " great a thing it is 
 To suffer and be still." 
 
 Let us learn a lesson of fortitude from men and women 
 * Longfellow.
 
 LOST AT SEA. 161 
 
 who, suddenly called upon to yield up all bright hopes 
 of life, and to see their dearest ties of love torn 
 asunder, and believing almost inevitable death to be 
 at hand, could yet, in such a time, be calm and still 
 and resigned : could wait for the supreme hour as 
 gently and peacefully as the weary wait for the hour 
 of earthly slumber ! 
 
 Let us learn too, how He, who is merciful, soothed 
 the last great struggle ; sent the " fulness of peace 
 from Heaven," and softened the anguish of impending 
 death with more — ah ! with how much more — than the 
 tenderest earthly love ! 
 
 And yet let us learn another and a harder lesson. 
 It is for us who have still our dear ones round 
 us to learn the difficult lesson of due affection. On 
 the one hand, not to set our hearts too wildly, too 
 fondly, too madly on those we cherish, lest we raise 
 an idol in our breasts, and worship it — worship it till 
 the terrible hand — may-be in mercy to ourselves — 
 strikes it from the pedestal, and breaks it into dust 
 at our feet ! 
 
 But yet, on the other hand, not to neglect the tender 
 kindnesses, nor yield to ungentle impulses, which, if 
 the former be neglected, or the latter yielded to, will 
 rise before us in a bitter hour, in the cruel light of 
 unavailing regret. To think that we have been unkind 
 — that we have spoken wounding words, or given a 
 hurtful pang to those whose stricken hearts will never 
 beat again ; that we have repulsed the loving glance 
 of eyes which shall look on us no more ; that we have 
 spurned the hands that shall never, never, press our hands 
 again in this our earthly life. Pray Heaven that none 
 of us may know at any time this hard, this keen regret. 
 
 M
 
 162 LOST AT SEA. 
 
 For, regret for faults that can never be atoned, save 
 before the Throne of Him who is all love, will embitter 
 even the prayers we lift to Him for pardon. Then, 
 may such thoughts as these draw us more nearly still 
 to those who are akin to us ; calm our vain petulance ; 
 soothe our childish jealousies ; and wake our hearts to 
 all the joys of kind affection, and all the holy charms 
 of hallowed love ! 
 
 Let us learn also the lesson that can never be too 
 often taught — the lesson of our miserable weakness in 
 the presence of the awful Power which rules the world. 
 We think ; we scheme ; we plan ; we labour ; we delve 
 into the recesses of the earth for the marvellous metal ; 
 we shape it to our uses, and work it and use it with 
 deft skill, and numerous devices. We build our strong 
 ship without a chink in its seams, a flaw in its plates, 
 or an error in its design. We launch it on the ocean, 
 and smile as we see it breast the parted waves, in all 
 its steady grace and its proud adaptability. We note 
 its trim keel cleave the heavy pressure of the waters 
 as readily as our fingers cleave the elastic air. We 
 equip it with the ingenious compass that shall never 
 fail from its true purpose, with its signals, and its 
 lights, and its life-boats,, and its safety gear, and its 
 obsequious helm that answers to guidance almost as a 
 sentient being. We set over it the well-skilled master- 
 mariner, who knows so well, with all his aids of science 
 and experience, " the way in the sea, and the path in 
 the mighty waters." We throng its fair decks with 
 alert and vigilant sailors — and then, trusting our 
 nearest and our dearest to it, we bid it speed on its 
 outward road in all its strength and capability — when, 
 lo ! there comes " a great wind into the sea, and a
 
 LOST AT SEA. 163 
 
 mighty tempest/'* and the strong ship, with all its 
 power of freight — with all its hopes and promise — is 
 lost in the waves. " The wind passeth over it, and it 
 is not ; and its place shall know it no more."f 
 
 And yet there is still another lesson to be learnt; 
 the lesson of the uncertainty of human life. Our 
 sages have bidden us repent the day before we die. 
 But when shall we die ? This day — this hour — may 
 be our last. It is not only those who " go down to 
 the sea in ships," that are exposed to the peril of 
 immediate death. It is not only the hour of hurricane 
 and tempest in which the destroying angel wings his 
 way through the air ! His pinions flutter near us in 
 every hour, in every place, in every phase of life. All 
 of us are launched in the frail ship of life that sails — 
 outwardly so strong, intrinsically so weak — on the 
 world's broad ocean. To us all, the storm that is 
 waiting to overwhelm us, may be near at hand ! We 
 may look in vain to the bright sky that bends its 
 smiling arch above us, and may not see the faintest 
 shadow-birth of the cloud that is swelling into the 
 fatal fire-concealing nimbus, ready to burst over us, 
 and strike us to the tomb ! We may not hear the 
 first low murmur of the gale that is rising to destroy 
 us — nor know its presence till its anger breaks above, 
 and drives us from our holdfast ! In vain our hopes, 
 our plans, our fancied security. For, as with the hearty, 
 cheerful mariner on the seas — " Thou carriest them 
 away as with a flood!" J 
 
 Then, let us try — oh, let us at least try — to be pre- 
 pared ; we who write, and you who read ; for we who 
 write would be untrue to our mission if we did not take 
 e " Jonah i. 13. f Psalm ciii. % Psalm xc. 5
 
 164 LOST AT SEA. 
 
 home to our own weak sinful heart the lessons we are 
 teaching — and learning too ! We who write and you 
 who read, let us all strive to be prepared for the storm ; 
 sooner or later, it must come. 
 
 " For come it slow or come it fast, 
 It is but death that comes at last." 
 
 Sooner or later we too shall know that our bark is 
 shattered and can never rise again to the waves; sooner 
 or later we shall see the billows ready to gather us into 
 their cold embrace ; sooner or later to us, Conscience, 
 the captain of our ship, shall answer to our appeal, as 
 it was answered to these poor shipwrecked travellers, 
 " There is no earthly hope." Ah ! but there is one 
 hope which never dies ; no roaring gale can drown the 
 sound of the one dread minute gun, no sea can quench 
 the light of the one bright beacon-fire. A hope shines 
 through the storm and pierces the seething wave, for 
 though we may be " lost at sea " there is yet before us 
 a haven that we cannot fail to reach if we steer our 
 course aright. Then, may those who were lost at sea 
 in that terrible day have passed through the gate of 
 death to a rest and a bliss that shall be everlasting. 
 And may we take the lesson to our hearts, that when 
 the storm of death overwhelms us in the wave ; when 
 we are lost to life, far perhaps away from the earthly 
 port we have been seeking ; may we travel through 
 the " way in the sea and the path in the mighty 
 waters " till we anchor fast in the tranquil Harbour, 
 where, as we believe, storms shall never reach us more, 
 tears no more be shed, and " death shall be destroyed 
 for ever." 
 
 * Scott.
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 "We picture to ourselves a world of blessed beauty and 
 deathless joy, which, when this world of ours, with all 
 its cares, its hopes, its sorrows, and its tears, shall have 
 passed away from us for ever, shall open in a flood of 
 glowing light to our glorified awakening ; a world 
 which awaits us, as we humbly hope, when the dark 
 grave shall have closed over us, and the sods of our 
 last earthly home shall have parted us from all the 
 pangs with which our hearts have throbbed. When 
 life's cares weigh heavily upon our breasts ; when our 
 hopes grow very dim; and a stormy or a blighted Past 
 chills our Present, and casts its shadow far into our 
 Future, it is then that our souls are fain to see a light 
 through the mist of tears, and rise exultant with the 
 hope that the trial and the struggle will not last for 
 ever ; and that, one day, there will dawn for us a 
 Festival of Joy, in which we shall never weep again — 
 a Sabbath of Pest, in which we shall be weary never 
 more. 
 
 But, since no revelation of the beauty of the world 
 which we await has descended to the world in which 
 we live ; since the highest flight of intellect cannot 
 escape the chains of association with the material 
 world, we necessarily clothe our dreams of the life of 
 future hope with the familiar attributes of the life of 
 present being. Faith spiritualised, it is true, portrays
 
 166 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 the fancied beauties of the world to be, in the lights 
 and colours of the world we know; though those 
 colours are heightened, those lights intensified. And 
 no marvel is this ; for, in the lavish mercy which 
 penetrates and illuminates Creation, this feeble world of 
 ours has been hallowed with the presence of a beauty 
 so sublime, that, even in itself, it seems to realise the 
 glories, joys, and charms, which, in our Master 
 Prophet's words, are " the days of heaven upon earth ! " 
 
 Not alone in the immeasurable loveliness of Nature ; 
 not alone in the treasures which glitter in the skies, 
 flutter in the breeze, rise on the crest of the waves, or 
 sleep in their depths, and cluster in a galaxy of glory on 
 the teeming breast of the generous earth. Not alone in 
 the intense, almost dream-like beauty of the physical 
 world, in all its triumphs of light and life; in all its 
 flow and flood of sound, colour, and perfume ; in all its 
 grace of passive form and active motion. There is a 
 greater beauty than in all these stores of loveliness ; a 
 beauty, more solemn and more bright, which dwells on 
 earth, and yet may serve to clothe our hopeful visions 
 of heaven. It is said that there are gems which absorb 
 light from the skies and conceal it till evoked by the 
 burnisher, when it bursts from the polished surface in 
 a flood of rich radiation. So, also, the rays drawn 
 from heaven lie deep-buried in our hearts, ready for us 
 to bring them forth, and send their glow throughout 
 the earth, to hallow it, and to bring upon it the " days 
 of heaven." 
 
 Yes, rays of light lie in our hearts. We carry with 
 us a fount of blessing, and have only to unlock its 
 source to bid it freely flow. Formed, as we are, in the 
 " image of our Maker," we, although at the immeasur-
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 167 
 
 able distance which separates the feeble creature from 
 the Omnipotent Creator, bear within us, and can give 
 forth from us, the glory of a delegated power, by 
 which we ourselves and others may be rendered good 
 and happy. He is all love, all mercy, all compassion, 
 all forbearance. And we, dust as we are, may be loving, 
 merciful, compassionate, and forbearing. From Him 
 all bounties flow ; yet we are hallowed with a reflected 
 light, which streams from Him, and, like angels, who 
 of old bore messages to man, and the words of heaven 
 to earth, we may bear His bounties to our fellow 
 beings, and bring to earth theidays of heaven. 
 
 And this is a lesson we have to learn from Him who, 
 through the " faithful of His house," told us all that 
 was needful for the mission of our lives, and its due 
 accomplishment. When, in the later days of the 
 wanderings of our ancestors, the first taint of their 
 former bondage had passed away, and their emancipated 
 minds were prepared to receive a spiritual creed ; He 
 who had before proclaimed Himself to them by His 
 awful power, His signal deeds, at length declared 
 Himself by an appeal, not to their thrilled senses, but 
 to their aroused hearts. He asserted the majestic 
 attribute of His unity, and then announced the method 
 and measure in which He would be served. Lore me, 
 He said, with all your heart, with all your soul, and all 
 your might! This was- the sacrifice, this the service, 
 this the worship which He demanded. Human intellect 
 can devise no purer, holier, more transcendant creed. 
 It is the creed of love, the creed of Heaven upon 
 earth ! 
 
 In all our ways, then, we must be led by the gracious 
 guidance borne to us on the wings of these words.
 
 168 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 We must not merely serve Him for the awe induced in 
 us by His power to save and slay; nor for the worldly 
 blessings which His bounty has provided for us, and 
 promised to us. No, not even for the reward which 
 we await, and the promise which we infer. Virtue 
 must be no incident, no compromise, no barter. Not 
 from fear ; not for worldly advantage ; not even for 
 hope of heavenly recompense alone; but, as has before 
 been truly said, for lore of Him ! Love, complete, 
 absolute ; untarnished by selfish motives, unalloyed by 
 outward influence ! And loving Him thus, and there- 
 fore, serving Him, we may safely trust to Him for an 
 accomplishment, according to His wisdom, of the 
 worldly recompense declared in words, and the heavenly 
 recompense deduced by thought. 
 
 Now it is this creed of love which is so rich in 
 meaning, so ample in its development, from which the 
 lesson we would convey is derivable. It is by a love 
 of Grod, properly understood, and rightly felt, that we, 
 in our fulfilment of it, can learn how to carry out the 
 mission of conveying to mankind the bounties of our 
 Father. It is in this mode that we can be the messen- 
 gers of His mercy, and His love. Thus each of us, in 
 his humble way, can be a reflex, however pale, not the 
 less certain, of that Divine " Sun of Righteousness " 
 which illuminates mankind. Thus, then, can we 
 kindle in our hearts a glow of holiness, and bring on 
 earth days like the days we hope to meet in heaven. 
 
 Yes, we can render earth an almost heavenly home, 
 and earthly life a state of blessing. The way lies 
 before us, ready to be trodden ; a way which is no wild 
 chimera of a fantastic philosophy, no empty phantom of 
 a poet's dream, no impracticable dogma of a visionary
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 169 
 
 faith. We, the children of Israel, are not bidden to 
 perform impossible feats, to sacrifice our manhood and 
 our affections, our human tendencies and natural feel- 
 ings on the altar of our Faith. We are not enjoined to 
 yield to the claims of a fanciful virtue the tender 
 home-charities by which life is rendered happy and 
 complete. We are not told to strive against the very 
 nature of our being. We may be good men and yet 
 our hearts may beat with manly courage, our cheeks 
 flush with honest passion, our minds be filled with 
 human aspirations. We need not turn the left cheek 
 when stricken on the right, nor impoverish ourselves to 
 enrich the poor, nor let the guilty go free because we 
 are not righteous enough to punish, nor leave the holy 
 charms of family delights to follow the standard of 
 fanatical self-denial. But what we have to do is this. 
 True to the teachings of our faith, we have to take our 
 nature as it is ; with all its aims, its passions, its 
 impulses ; and, beating the evil from it as the thresher 
 strikes the chaff from the grain, or the smelter frees 
 the dross from the gold, we must shape and trim the 
 pure material into its best form, and work it to its best 
 purpose ; drawing from it all that it has of good ; 
 giving to all its strength an upward tendency. For 
 our thoughts and our powers, even those of our earthly 
 nature, if cultivated in the pure atmosphere which 
 flows from heaven, will, like the growth which springs 
 from seeds and roots buried in the sod — like corn, 
 flowers, and trees — rise from earth and point through 
 the air upward, from earth to heaven, flinging around 
 the graceful presence of their use and beauty, yet ever 
 tending to the lofty skies ! 
 
 And we shall better understand that it is within our
 
 170 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 nature to render earth a blessed home, if we — however 
 unwilling we may be to recognise it — reflect how many 
 of our sorrows and our cares proceed from our own mis- 
 deeds, our faults of omission or commission ; how much 
 of struggle, grief, and despondency are due to errors, 
 many of which we might have avoided. The mariner 
 cannot drive the storm from the air, nor the lightning 
 from the cloud, nor the chafing billows from the 
 tempest-tossed sea ; but the ship can be built to breast 
 the wave with a stalwart strength, and to cleave the 
 mighty water with a deft and lithe prow ; and it can 
 be steered in the right track, and away from the 
 hidden rock and the fatal surf. And its sails can be 
 trimmed to the wind, and every heart can be set to the 
 work, and thus the better will it make its course, and 
 meet the winds as they blow, and even the gale if it 
 rises ; and, at last, it shall come to harbour, either safely 
 sheltered from the storms at sea, or still more safely 
 sheltered where life's storms shall never rage again. 
 
 Yes, many of life's sorrows are in our own control. 
 Not all ; for death and sickness fall on us, and around 
 us ; and our hearts grow sad beside a sufferer's bed, — 
 before a new-made grave. But even as to these, had 
 the Divine laws of temperance and health been duly 
 followed, it may be we should have less sickness to 
 assuage, fewer untimely losses to deplore. Not for our- 
 selves only, lest men should barter, for a few so-called 
 happy years, a life's moderate exercise; but for others, 
 on whom the excesses of intemperance, and the dis- 
 obedience of physical laws strenuously tell their tale, 
 should we seek to adhere to a code sanctified by the 
 ordinance of heaven, and spoken , even in words, to our 
 forefathers, round the base of Sinai ; and, by another
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 171 
 
 sort of revelation, spoken to every mind in every age. 
 It is not, however, to this part of the subject that we 
 call attention now. It is to another, and almost a 
 higher, injunction that we appeal. 
 
 If we would bring on earth the days of heaven, there 
 is a lesson, among others, taught us from on high, and 
 by many a holy example — the lesson of Forbearance. 
 It is difficult to acquire ; but it brings close in its wake 
 the blessings of its reward. In how many ways, at 
 how many times, its exercise is required of us, let every 
 man declare from the story of his own life, and the 
 struggle of his own heart ! 
 
 It is a hard lesson to learn, so great are our temp- 
 tations, so signal is our weakness ; yet not an im- 
 practicable one, so great are our examples, so strong is 
 the power of the soul ! In the history which has been 
 miraculously revealed to us, and by an equal miracle 
 has been retained to us through all the vicissitudes of 
 ages, are recorded bright and enduring examples ; and 
 a heavenly power beats triumphantly in our hearts, 
 capable of combating and overcoming our earthly 
 feebleness. 
 
 "When Aaron the priest, and Miriam his sister, 
 spoke evil of their brother Moses, and assailed him 
 with invective, Moses, who had been, under Providence, 
 their deliverer from bondage, and their redeemer from 
 captivity ; he who had been the founder of their 
 exalted fortunes, and was the leading spirit of the 
 nation — how did he meet their insults ! He, the 
 beloved and chosen of his Master ; he, who notwith- 
 standing all his sublime honours and peculiar exaltation, 
 was " the meekest of all men who were on earth," bore 
 the unmerited reproach, the poignant blow, with calm
 
 172 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 and gentle forbearance. He did not resent it ; he 
 manifested no mean spirit of retaliation. Scripture 
 tells how he returned good for evil ; for, when Miriam 
 was visited by grave punishment, a punishment which 
 took shape in the form of a loathsome disease, the 
 meekest of men avenged his wrongs by a prayer — 
 "Heal her," he cried, " I beseech Thee !"* 
 
 "When Joseph, who, in his youth, had been the 
 victim of vindictive jealousy ; for his hard and malicious 
 brethren had torn him from the joys and comforts of 
 home, and the tender love of his father, and had sold 
 him., a miserable slave, into the hands of strangers, 
 thus inflicting on him the most cruel of wrongs, for 
 they robbed him of his freedom, and 
 
 " The love of liberty with life is given, 
 Life is itself the inferior gift of heaven ! " j - 
 
 yet, in after days, far from resenting the injury which, 
 but for a higher interposition, would have blighted the 
 promise of his manhood as it blighted the bloom of his 
 youth, he forbore ; he forgave his brethren willingly 
 and graciously. Vengeance, anger, and resentment 
 had no place in his noble heart. He gave to all suc- 
 ceeding ages an example of a generous and high- 
 minded forbearance, which, considered apart from the 
 touching poetry of expression which is the vehicle of 
 its narration, appeals to our intellect and our spirit as 
 heroism to be admired and imitated. 
 
 The conduct of Gideon,:}: when kingly rule was offered 
 
 to him, is an instance of forbearance of another 
 
 character, yet not less difficult to practise, for there is 
 
 perhaps no struggle more severe than to turn a deaf 
 
 * Num. xii. 13. f Dryden. % Judges viii. 22, 23.
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 173 
 
 ear to the voice of ambition and the joys of power and 
 position, when the cold hand of duty intervenes 
 between the tempting- purple and the heart that in its 
 glow of triumph pants for glory. In after ages we 
 know how this example was followed. Cincinnatus, 
 Cromwell, and Washington met the temptation and 
 overcame it ; but the glorious instance of Gideon is 
 probably the first record of a man, with little, if 
 any experience of the career of heroes, raised to power 
 by a people, rejecting an offer of empire, when that 
 offer had been deserved by a triumph so brilliant and 
 a result so important. 
 
 The instance of Samuel is a remarkable one. The 
 people had grievously offended him, as it would appear, 
 by refusing to be governed by his sons ; and urged him 
 to appoint a king to rule over them in their stead. 
 When evil days came, when the king who had been 
 raised by their own desire oppressed and misgoverned 
 them, they, in their distress, turned to Samuel for relief. 
 He did not reproach them. " Moreover, as for him," 
 he said, " he would not sin by ceasing to pray for 
 them !"* 
 
 But there is a higher, mightier, holier example of 
 forbearance, which man may seek humbly and 
 hopefully. By one of the mysteries of Creation, there 
 is an example far beyond humanity for comparison, yet 
 near to it for imitation. In an awful moment, when 
 the divine attributes of mercy were proclaimed to 
 Moses, mankind learnt the lesson of Divine Love.f 
 And if we would truly be God's children, and gather 
 to ourselves a ray of the light of His countenance ; 
 would we, when that light falls deeply into our hearts, 
 * 1 Sam. xii. 23. f Exodus xxiv. 6.
 
 174 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 diffuse its beauty through His holy world ; — ah ! we 
 too, then, must learn, in our own poor feeble way, to 
 call forth the love He has implanted in us ; we must 
 learn the difficult lesson of forbearance. 
 
 Almost every day of our social domestic business, 
 or public life, our life in the home circle or in the 
 wider world abroad, forbearance is sorely tested. The 
 failings of our surrounding fellow-men are serious, 
 and the occasions of our having to cope with them 
 numerous. We do not speak of forbearance in its 
 absolute sense — forbearance from all sin or fault — for 
 that might in truth be a chimera, since " there is no 
 man who sinneth not."* Nor do we speak of for- 
 bearance manifested by an active suppression of all 
 natural impulse, or a passive abnegation of self; since 
 our own nature, far from been impure, bears with it 
 a fount of goodness ready to flow forth freely in the 
 sight of men and under the sunlight of heaven, 
 unless we clog and fret the fair stream with our 
 iniquities. But, let us forbear with our"fellow-men ; 
 forbear with their frailties, their faults, their resist- 
 ance to our wills, guidance, and opinions. There 
 is no condition of existence or society which can 
 claim immunity from the necessity of such forbearance ; 
 rich or poor, high or low, young or old. The poor 
 seem importunate to the rich ; the rich seem hard to 
 the poor. Yet, if the rich forbore generously, and 
 considered the trials and temptations of the poor ; if 
 the poor forbore willingly, and considered the claims 
 and anxieties of the rich, charity would indeed be 
 the two-fold blessing it is said to be. It would be no 
 question of giving or taking of alms, but an inter- 
 ° 1 Kings ix. 4G.
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 175 
 
 change of heart. The rich, thinking kindly of the 
 poor, would give as joyously as a father gives to a 
 child; the poor, thinking gently of the rich, would 
 receive as proudly as a child receives from a father. 
 
 And thus, too, let the old and the young mutually 
 forbear with each other. The sunshine of life would 
 never pass away from home ; the cold shadow would 
 not gloom the familiar gathering of kindred. Let it 
 not be supposed that religion, in its world-embracing 
 tendency, takes too broad a grasp, or soars to too high 
 a point, to regard matters such as these. The story of 
 Moses and his sister, which we have just cited, reminds 
 us that the wondrous book, in which the bases of 
 civilisation, society, and general legislation are laid 
 down, and the awful revelation of Heavenly Will is 
 majestically interpreted, contains also the simple nar- 
 rative of a family episode, and thus teaches a lesson 
 of home forbearance. Hence we may well suppose 
 that family government and home trials are not matters 
 of indifference to Divine consideration, which rules 
 highest and lowest, powerful and feeble, helpful and 
 helpless ; and that the great scheme of Religion includes, 
 not alone public performance, outward observance, and 
 inward devotion, but the milder charities, whose scene 
 is the home, and whose actors are those whose careers 
 lie in the narrow circumference of our family ex- 
 periences. 
 
 The spirit of our prayers confirms the impression 
 that, if we would be truly religious men and women, 
 we must think gently of each other. We pray, not 
 singly, but in concert. According to the chaste lan- 
 guage of our liturgy, we pray in the name of a 
 congregation, or rather, perhaps, of all Israel, more
 
 176 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 
 
 than as individuals. It is to our Father we address 
 our supplications. We ask Him to lead us not into 
 temptation, to deliver us from sin, transgression, and 
 contempt. We bless Him in the joint name of Israel. 
 We praise Him, not singly, hut in our conjoint names. 
 We, calling on Him as our Father and our King, ask 
 Him to forgive our sins, declaring that we all have 
 transgressed, including many forms of words in which 
 the unhappily too numerous shades of sin may be 
 comprehended, lest anyone amongst us, guilty of his 
 own special iniquity, stand confessed and shamefaced 
 before the rest. If, thus, in the presence of the Maker 
 of us all, we link ourselves together in our prayer, our 
 praise, and our repentance ; surely when we go from 
 His house, in which we worship in words, into His 
 world, in which we must worship by act and thought, 
 we must not break the tender chain. If our voices 
 mingle, let our hearts mingle also. Nor will this 
 seem so difficult, if we only forbear with one another. 
 Kindness grows apace in the fruitful soil of humanity. 
 The more we learn to love, the more hard it seems to 
 hate. The habit of gentleness and affection soon takes 
 firm root, for it is more akin to the intrinsic beauty of 
 our human nature than is the artificial habit of harsh- 
 ness and unkindness. And the world, instead of con- 
 tracting before our eyes, in the winter of indifference 
 or bitterness, will expand under the warmth of the 
 heart's own sunshine, and become a world of beauty, 
 triumph and glory. 
 
 Even in the troubles which, it may seem, we have 
 in no wise occasioned, in adversity, in sickness, in the 
 deeper and more solemn sorrow, when those we love 
 pass through the gates of death into the house of life;
 
 HEAVEN UPON EARTH. 177 
 
 ah ! even then, and then, perhaps, more than ever, 
 the tear is sweetened, the gall is dashed from the cup, 
 the very bitterness of death is half removed if we can 
 call forward in the mirror of our conscience the angel- 
 presence of Forbearance ; if that mirror is undimmed 
 and untarnished by lack of love and gentleness to 
 those who have suffered ; to those who have for ever 
 left us ! 
 
 In ourselves then, with divine grace, it mainly rests 
 to make of earth almost a heaven. Not indeed to be 
 always happy, but to be always at peace. Our hearts, 
 attuned to a divine concord, will be ready for the home 
 they await. The days of heaven upon earth will pre- 
 pare us for the days of heaven, when earth shall be a 
 dream. If, when the last scene of our life's history 
 draws to its close, and our story is about to end ; if, 
 then, our hearts, soon to be still, shall yet beat with 
 exultation, because in the days of strength and action 
 they had sent forth and around, in world-wide radia- 
 tion, their light of love to humanity ; those glows shall 
 enwrap the parting soul and bear it upward, as in the 
 chariot of fire in which the prophet was lifted to the 
 skies ! To the skies, from that earth on which he 
 himself had brought days almost as blessed and holy as 
 the days of the heaven into which he ascended ! 
 
 N
 
 THE SOUL'S RECONCILIATION. 
 
 h>bh d-jkpt 1 ?^? nwi 1^8 naniji ^p rfesri ^ 
 : nnScfi ^nn^ pas own y&Bto nna 1 : njn n*2n 
 
 "What prayer and supplication soever be made by any man, 
 or by all thy people Israel, which shall know every man the 
 plague of his own heart, and spread forth his hands towards 
 this house : then hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place, and 
 forgive."— 1 Kings viii. 38, 39. 
 
 As the revolving year pursues its circling march, it 
 treads with the steady step of Time, but its "way lies 
 through many varied experiences of human life, and 
 many varied scenes of Nature — and, there is one season 
 of the year more solemn than the rest. It is the season 
 in which the first dull shadow of autumn falls on the 
 bright face of smiling Nature, and its first chill breath 
 whispers in the gay summer air ; the season in which 
 the fulness of the golden beauty of summer seems, as 
 if, from its very exuberance, to pall into the sullen 
 sickness of decay. A faintness steals over its fairest 
 flush ; a dimness clouds and mellows its gayest glow. 
 The rich reds and purples of the orchard and garden 
 merge almost imperceptibly into the sober russet of de-
 
 the soul's reconciliation. 179 
 
 cline. The fatal speck mars the hectic bloom of the 
 fruit ; the tender flower droops at the lip, parts with 
 its smile for ever, and crumbles in the rough breeze. 
 The leaves on the forest trees grow tawny, crisp, and 
 frail; and, as a blighted life resigns its vigour, its 
 action, and its place in the world's ranks, so these 
 yield up their proud strength and their glowing- 
 colours, and fall from their stately height on the lowly 
 ground ; writhing, as if in the mute agony of death, 
 till scattered far abroad into forgetfulness. Chill winds 
 rise from the secret distance and sweep across the 
 sea, stirring amidst the woodland and the cloudland, 
 and bearing the breath of winter on their wings 
 from the icy regions whence they float, as heralds of 
 the coming desolation. Men look grave in the country- 
 side, and gather in the yellow sheaves and garner the 
 stacked hay ; and men look graver still around the 
 coasts, and hoist the storm-drum, and make the life- 
 boat ready — as, from time to time, the broken flotsam 
 and the shrieking gull bear to the shore tidings of 
 tempests far out at sea, and tales of shipwreck and 
 disaster. And, thus, the face of Nature, even ere it 
 has lost its golden summer smile, bears the autumn 
 shadow on its brow, and there is a voice of Death in 
 the air. 
 
 But, meanwhile, at this very period of the year, 
 while on one side of the globe nature is drooping into 
 winter, on the other side it is blushing with the open- 
 ing beauty of the spring ! "While, here, the fields 
 grow thin, and the flowers fade, and the winds are 
 shrill with a sad murmur — there the meadows, the hill 
 sides, and the glades are awakening to the mantling 
 flush and cheery call of the coming summer. Here,
 
 180 the soul's reconciliation-. 
 
 decay broods like a falling shadow on the swelling up- 
 lands and the silent vales ; — there 
 
 " To mute and to material things, 
 New life, revolving summer brings, 
 Its genial call, dead Nature hears, 
 And, in her glory, reappears." — Scott. 
 
 There, the limpid rivers sparkle in the growing heat — 
 the new-born blossoms wake to life and joy ; the gay 
 trees wave in the gentle breeze and fleck the laugh- 
 ing sunlight as it shimmers on the grass. The world 
 is in a glow : or, as the sacred Psalmist sings in 
 joyous numbers — 
 
 |N^n Dnp ^iS 
 
 The hills rejoice on every side, 
 
 The pastures are clothed with flocks ; 
 
 And the valleys are covered over with corn ; 
 
 They shout for joy, they also sing. — Psalm lxv. 13, 14. 
 
 Thus Nature, the great primeval Revelation, which 
 descended from heaven to earth, when the charmed 
 eyes of man first opened on the marvellous beauty of 
 Eden — Nature, which is the revelation of heavenly 
 greatness, as the Law given on Sinai is a revelation of 
 the heavenly will — teaches lis by these signs and 
 wonders — these varying phases — these striking inter- 
 changes of Life and Death — of renewal and decay — a 
 mighty and pervading lesson, which appeals to us in a 
 voice not loud but deep ; a voice borne by the senses to
 
 the soul's reconciliation. 181 
 
 the soul ; a voice laden with the wealth of great truths 
 and types and the records of the " constantly renewed 
 work of the creation." 
 
 On the one hand, life and youth, hope and promise ; 
 on the other, decay, death, and desolation. Here, a 
 world fading sadly into wintry gloom ; there a world 
 bursting triumphantly into strength and gladness ; 
 emblems of the history of nations and of individual 
 man, in which hopes and fears, joys and sorrows exist 
 contemporaneously, side by side, and weave the con- 
 tinuous band of life ; types of the gladness of a spirit 
 striving upward to the victory of triumphant virtue ; 
 of the misery of a soul sinking beneath the crushing- 
 burden of its sin ; reminders of the scheme of life, in 
 which the summer glory droops beneath the blight of 
 age ; and, as we believe and hope, a brighter summer 
 glory awaits our re-awakening from the winter of the 
 tomb ; images of the truth that, as summer sunshine 
 does not for ever glitter, so joy and prosperity shall not 
 be for ever ours ; but, as wintry frosts do not endure 
 for ever but melt at the step of spring, so even care 
 and sorrow pass away at last. Yet all these are but 
 types and emblems on this outspread page of Nature's 
 revelation. That page, open to us all, bears a still 
 mightier, a deeper import. 
 
 Tradition has on good grounds taught us that this 
 wondrous season of the chequered year, rich with such 
 portentous changes, is the world-long recurring anni- 
 versary of creation ; — the epoch at which the human 
 soul, whatever it may have been before, whatever it 
 may be hereafter, whatever the inferences of science, 
 or the inspirations of faith, first received the impress 
 in which all that we know of human being is en-
 
 182 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 shrined ; — the period in which the history of wedded 
 body and soul first was unfolded to the world ; the era 
 at which, launched on its mysterious voyage — starting 
 we know not whence, steering we know not whither 
 — the soul first rushed forth on its marvellous career ; 
 tossed on the ocean of life between the shores of time ; 
 making for the unseen port of Immortality through 
 the narrows of death, and under the all-extending arch 
 of Ileaven ! 
 
 To the Jew, this season of the year is not alone the 
 most solemn and suggestive of nature ; it is also the 
 most solemn and suggestive season of his life. It is at 
 this epoch that he is called upon to regard the question 
 of Creation, as far as it affects himself. At this anni- 
 versary of the first blending of spirit and matter, 
 within the scope of his intellectual vision, he is 
 summoned by the trumpet of Faith solemnly to consider 
 how spirit and matter, blended in himself, have worked 
 and lived ! He need not, at such an hour as this, call 
 in the aid of abstruse science nor of profound philology, 
 to gauge the meaning of the word Atonement, nor the 
 powers of Expiation ; nor need he even base his mental 
 exercises on, nor 'direct them towards, a consideration 
 of the nature of a future state, nor proofs of an immor- 
 tality be} r ond the grave. There is a louder, nearer call ! 
 Some things he knows full well, without the aid of 
 science or research. He knows and feels that he is not 
 all material, but that he has an inner life which lies 
 deeper than in mere outward seeming ; he knows that 
 he is not alone responsible for powers, duties, and trusts 
 confined within the narrow bounds of worldly limits ; 
 but that he has other powers, duties, and trusts for 
 which he is responsible ; he knows that there are in
 
 the soul's reconciliation. 183 
 
 him, and of him, senses and hopes (whether instinctive 
 or whether instilled perceptibly or imperceptibly, it 
 matters not) ; senses and hopes not restricted by the 
 aspirations, pursuits, dealings, and language of the 
 world ; he is conscious of a portion of himself, or of 
 an influence within himself, not tangible, visible nor 
 audible ; not imaginable by the senses, nor producible 
 by human means nor of earthly matter. He is aware 
 that not only the earth on which, and its marvels 
 among which, he dwells, are beyond his mightiest 
 control; not alone that events occur around him which 
 he is all incompetent to guide, and all incapable to 
 understand ; but that he lives in a torrent of wonders, 
 as a man struggling in a rush of an ocean ; and that 
 high above all is a God, all- seeing, all-knowing, all- 
 mighty, in whom he believes, whose will he must 
 obe}', and whom he has been solemnly adjured to serve, 
 to fear, and to love ! 
 
 And oh! merciful Heaven! what have we done 
 with these trusts ? what have we done with these 
 duties ? There are powers within us so gracious 
 and sublime, that they would, if carried into effect, 
 permit us to take part in the glorious scheme of Mercy 
 which pervades Creation, and to confer on the world, 
 which is around us, a happiness which is almost Divine ! 
 "We know that our Master — He who rules and controls 
 us all ; who rules and controls nature and humanity — 
 life animate and life inanimate — he who is all Mercy, 
 Goodness, and "Wisdom — has given us, His creatures, 
 some faculty of being merciful, good, and wise; and 
 thus He has infused within our nature, and imbued our 
 being with some of the fire of His divinity. In us, 
 with us, of us, we carry from the cradle to the grave a
 
 184 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 portion of ourselves far, far bej-ond our base humanity, 
 but partaking of the glorified state of holy heaven. It 
 is as if, in the hour of our birth, an angel, brilliant with 
 a heavenly light, came down and passed into our frame, 
 to dwell with it for life, to dwell with us for ever. And 
 if this be so, let us ask ourselves, what have we done 
 with this angelic visitant, this Divinity w T ithin us? How 
 have we polluted it ! How have we defaced its beauty, 
 and dimmed its hallowed light ! 
 
 For these powers which we have are surely trusts, and 
 unlike other trusts, or trusts of earthly origin, they carry 
 their reward with their fulfilment, ji TltfS prO 73H 
 say the Sages. Everything is given to us on trust ; 
 powers, virtues, faculties, senses, and lights, not of our 
 own producing, not of own fashioning, not of our 
 earthly nature ; surely these are trusts for which we 
 are accountable to the hand which gave them. What 
 have we done with them ? What account shall we give 
 of them? What shall we say, if the hour should 
 come, when a Yoice, mighty as the Power which 
 fashioned these virtues, these faculties, these intelli- 
 gences should ask us to render, in the story of our 
 lives, a reckoning of the fulfilment of these awful 
 trusts of existence ? 
 
 Miserably we err, if in our presumption we imagine 
 that because we have never been guilty of what the 
 world calls a heinous sin, therefore we are wholly 
 innocent. For let us here bring logic to our aid, if 
 faith suffice not. Persons, doubtlessly, become habit- 
 uated to interpret sin as signifying the commission of 
 some notorious crime, or the practice of vice. Con- 
 scious that they are free from these flagrant trans- 
 gressions, these iniquities of a public and striking
 
 the soul's reconciliation. 185 
 
 order, they grow to consider themselves unstained by 
 sin, preserved from the very necessity of repentance. 
 Ah ! alas for these, the measure of iniquity is not 
 result, but temptation. Temptation which we children 
 of earth cannot gauge, but which is, if reason fail not, 
 the standard test of a higher estimation. And when 
 some of us reflect on our few temptations, we, perhaps, 
 may well dread to reflect on the character of our lives. 
 Born under the influence of a virtuous home ; reared 
 beneath the sacred shelter of a father's roof, within the 
 tender refuge of a mother's arms, the gentle teaching 
 of a hallowed childhood may have kept temptation 
 from the threshold of our lives ; as if an angel stood on 
 guard with flaming sword before the threshold of our 
 homes. Yet we dare to pride ourselves in our not 
 having succumbed to sins, sins of which, though our 
 ears may have heard the names, our hearts could have 
 never known the nature. Senseless pride ! Mercy 
 kept the sin far away from us. Mercy descended on 
 our lives and fenced them from the stroke of iniquity, 
 and we thank ourselves, our strength, our forbearance ! 
 when every power of thankfulness within us should be 
 spent, as if in a torrent of our powers, to gratefully 
 render to the Strength and Forbearance which saved us, 
 and made us what we are, our feeble meed of thanks ; 
 thanks which should never end while life wakes the 
 throbs of our heart. 
 
 Measured by the gauge of temptations, what have 
 our lives been ? Surrounded by virtuous associations, 
 guided by right teachings, impelled by sacred in- 
 fluences, the vulgar crimes of more unhappy men may 
 have been kept far from us. But yet, what have our 
 own lives been ? It is not possible that every act of
 
 186 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 our lives shall have been a right act, or a wholly 
 virtuous one. Nor, in the exigencies and hurry of our 
 existence, could it have been possible for us to shape 
 our every deed with a perfect impress, nor bend it to a 
 perfect end. But what we might have done is this : — 
 We might have shaped our manhood in a right mould, 
 we might have directed the aim of our lives to a right 
 end ; once on the true road, the little breaks on the 
 way would not have turned us from the main path. 
 It is the manner of our manhood which is at fault. 
 We sin because we fail to form our lives as we should 
 form them, and we do not turn their direction to a 
 true purpose ; because we do not fulfil our trusts, nor 
 lift ourselves to the glory of the Nature which is 
 mingled with our own, a nature so sublime that, if we 
 were but true to its holy inspirations, we should walk 
 through the valley of the shadow with a halo on our 
 care-worn brows, and hope to rise, transfigured into 
 angels, from the darkness of the grave ! 
 
 Let us, then, take small credit to ourselves for our 
 avoidance of the snares which have been removed from 
 our path ; and recollect that because our temptation to 
 wrong-doing is so small, therefore the greater becomes 
 whatever little wrong we do, It may be, indeed, 
 measured by such a test, that he, whose sin would be 
 characterised in worldly language as a venial fault, a 
 weakness, nay, perhaps, in the gentle jargon of the 
 day, an amiable eccentricity ; he may be a greater 
 criminal before the high tribunal of Heaven than 
 many an outcast, many an untaught, unbefriended 
 wretch, who has expiated his discovered crime by public 
 ignominy, or by the most terrible of public chastise- 
 ments.
 
 THE SOUL S RECOjNXILIATION. 
 
 187 
 
 Indeed, in the so-called better classes of society, the 
 srnall vices assume alarming magnitude, for two 
 reasons — first, from their effect on the sinner himself ; 
 because a man whose career, moral or material, is 
 assured to him, or made easy to him, and whose sur- 
 roundings are of a nature to improve him either by 
 example or by precept, is just the man who, as we have 
 before urged, is thoroughly guilty in the commission of 
 sins called small by a worldly standard ; just because 
 his excuse is so small ; and, secondly, his sins become 
 the greater by reason of their effects on society and 
 humanity, which are most liable to impressions from 
 the acts of those to whom moral power and influence 
 are given. Whether it be true, as some philosophers 
 have told us, that every act of our lives travels with 
 the travel of light from star to star, through all the 
 realms of space and all the ways of time, till time be 
 lost in eternity, never hidden from vision nor blotted 
 from existence ; whether this be true or not, surely it 
 is true that the effect of every action of our lives never 
 perishes ; that the past is in this way irretrievable ; 
 that it lives on, and that its result once stamped on the 
 face of events or on the mind of humanity, is indelible ; 
 and that, though divine compassion may pardon the 
 offender, his offence, as far as our feeble intellects 
 permit us to comprehend the Divine scheme, endures 
 in its effects to the utmost verge of time, and perhaps 
 far beyond — for ever, and for ever ! 
 
 "We know that no human intelligence, however 
 powerful, no human perspicuity, however profound, no 
 human experience, however vast and varied, can probe 
 every human heart, and bring the light of conscience 
 to bear on every soul's particular iniquity. For each
 
 188 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 sincere breast knows not alone its own sorrow, but its 
 own sin. Here the preacher and the homilist can be 
 of small avail ; the occasion is too solemn for other than 
 general admonition ; too sublime for the narrow sphere 
 of human instruction. Here the free heart, and not 
 the trammelled mind, must speak. Yet the homilist 
 has, at least, this deep strong sympathy with those 
 whom he ventures to address. In the painful con- 
 sciousness, each of his own transgressions, he, and 
 those for whom he writes, can comfort each other in 
 the sorrow of sin, and with the solace of its acknow- 
 ledgment. For it might be vain to appeal at this time 
 to any one heart against any one especial sin ; or to 
 warn it against any one vice or weakness. "We repeat, 
 every candid heart knows — and knows alone on earth 
 — its own sin, its own temptation, its own struggle. 
 Perhaps, in the silence of the night, when the world is 
 shut out by the darkness, and the Father, ever present, 
 seems more near to us in the loneliness and the gloom ; 
 and perhaps (pray Heaven that it be so !) in the faint- 
 ness and weariness of the Day of Reconciliation, the 
 heart speaks aloud, and breaking through the trammels 
 of materialism, stands, like an accusing angel, before 
 our awakened eyes ! It is, surely, the day, not the 
 formalized word, which touches the secret spring, and 
 lays open the hidden wound. Heaven will see it, will 
 hear it, though the world may know it not, may never 
 know it. When, in the great public confession of sins, 
 that brotherly avowal in which, impressed with the 
 love which is the holy key of Judaism, as taught by 
 our leader — the children of Israel passionately pray 
 for pardon for their joint sins, careful not to lay 
 on any one man a public self-confession — in that
 
 THE soul's reconciliation. 189 
 
 combined avowal, it may be that the lip may tremble, 
 and the tear stand in the eye, and the heart beat 
 faster, when the voice pronounces the name of the one 
 fault, for which any one soul may need to cry for a 
 pardon for itself ! 
 
 We will not dare, therefore, to speak of individual 
 iniquities, nor imagine vainly that any words of ours, 
 however deftly aimed, could fly straight to every 
 bosom. Each life has its own story. Each life is 
 lighted by its own lights and shadowed by its own 
 clouds. But there are faults, nay, vices, appertaining 
 to us as a nation ; and even to us when considered 
 in a division of classes — vices, of which we burn to 
 write. Dare we speak out at such a moment as this ? 
 Dare we say to the rich, how often they forget that 
 the poor are their brothers, to be loved as themselves 
 — not an alien class to whom charity must be doled 
 sparingly, with cold, cautious and sharp reprehension ; 
 and idle pursuit of old, vain aims, in the old worn-out 
 grooves, which, though they may strike forward for 
 better ends — for triumph over the results of poverty — 
 always wind back in a circle to the old origin, the 
 tangle of causes of misery and indigence ? Dare we 
 say to the poor that they blindly, madly, neglect the 
 powers which are in them — the powers to work ; the 
 powers to think ; the powers to feel ; that they do not 
 strive to be self-helpful, but rest carelessly on the 
 minds, hands, and hearts of others, forgetful that there 
 are no moral, mental, or spiritual faculties of the rich 
 which they have not themselves ? Dare we say to all, 
 rich and poor alike — upper class, middle class, lower 
 class — that they are untrue to the spirit of their faith ; 
 unfaithful to the practices and precepts of their re-
 
 190 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 ligion ; alarmed lest by pursuing its ordinances 
 publicly they might move counter to fashions, tastes 
 and susceptibilities ; careless of its high moralities 
 which breathe a spirit of immortal love ; or perhaps 
 content to shelter themselves beneath ceremonial ob- 
 servances, whose sole animation would be, if practised 
 in the inspiration of faith, as evidenced in virtuous 
 lives, and which are mere dead, soulless practices when 
 unlit by the star of holy feeling ? Dare we say that 
 they, though they inherit from the days of Sinai the 
 duty of setting before mankind by example, and teach- 
 ing by precept, the sublime truths of virtue, morality, 
 humanity and love, have shamefully abandoned and 
 neglected their solemn, inherited, inspired and hallowed 
 duty, and who are almost only known by the neglect 
 of their own religious ordinances, their abject sup- 
 pression of the salient peculiarities of their code, their 
 unhallowed levity in their assemblies of prayer ? Dare 
 we speak truths such as these ? Ah ! may Heaven 
 have mercy on a people who stand so far from that Re- 
 demption which can alone be expected when holy lives 
 and purified hearts shall mark their scattered thou- 
 sands — whose dispersion shall be one day gathered 
 together, and in whose midst the standard of Freedom 
 shall be raised. 
 
 Not perhaps that we, considered as a race or people, 
 are worse than any other race or people ; but, if we 
 may venture to tell this truth — a truth not told for the 
 first time — we ought to be better. We have the strongest 
 inducements to be better. In the first place, we have 
 a pure, rational faith, in which a man may believe 
 without sacrificing his reason, judgment, or knowledge. 
 Ours is no fantastical creed ; no jumble of notions half
 
 THE soul's reconciliation. 191 
 
 monastic, half pagan. Ours is a creed which men may 
 follow without abandoning the natural impulses of 
 their human nature, or surrendering their intellect and 
 their senses. With us, a man may be a devoted 
 adherent of his religion, and yet avoid nothing save 
 the attractions of evident sin, and the vile appetites 
 which injure health, destroy peace, and affect happiness 
 so clearly, so prominently, that educated reason, nay, 
 uneducated reason, almost the instincts of intelligence, 
 come in aid of faith, and set a seal on the mandates 
 traced by faith itself! But more than this; we have 
 been kept together as a nation — miraculously, we may 
 say — because it is contrary to the precedents of history, 
 and the disorganising influences which have marked 
 our career ; and we thus present an evidence of the 
 truth which was first transmitted to ourselves, and 
 intended to be transmitted through us to the world. 
 " He shall not fail, nor be discouraged, till he have set 
 judgment in the earth, and the isles shall wait for his 
 law."* And, surely, it is not enough that we should 
 hand down the law intact by the fairly written scrolls 
 of the synagogue ; we must hand down the spirit of 
 the law, by the example of the virtues which its tenets 
 enforce, the moralities which its precepts so persistently, 
 so sedulously, so majestically enjoin. If we be untrue 
 to this mission, we are untrue to a duty incumbent on 
 us as a nation, but possible of fulfilment if the indi- 
 viduals of that nation undertook, each, to bring his 
 element of the tribute to the altar of humanity. 
 
 The season of self-examination is at hand. Two 
 days for the summons to repent, yet seven more for 
 penitence, and one for the culminating Reconciliation. 
 ° Isaiah xlii. 4.
 
 192 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 Brethren of the house of Israel, what will it be for us 
 if the summons sound, and our hearts fail to hear ? 
 "What if the days of penitence pass by, and our 
 contrition be incomplete ? What if the hour of Re- 
 conciliation strike, and our souls be still unshriven ? 
 For who shall say whether for us in this life — for any 
 one of us — that hour may strike again ! The seasons 
 come and go ; the year pursues its round ; the leaves 
 grow thick on the tree ; they wither, and they fall ! 
 but, ah ! before another autumn shall have mellowed 
 into winter ; before another summer shall have waned 
 into autumn ; it may be that some ears shall be for 
 ever closed to the summons to repent : some hearts, as 
 yet untouched, shall throb no more : some souls that 
 now are all unreconciled may have passed from the 
 bonds of that mortality to rest until the dead shall rise 
 again. 
 
 There was a man, no romantic, sentimental youth, 
 but a man in the stubborn prime of life, who, in the 
 silence of his chamber and the darkness of the lone 
 night, set his mind to consider his position and his 
 hopes. The night's gloom was not darker than his 
 thoughts ; the night's chill struck not so keenly home 
 as the cold whisper of his miserable retrospect. For 
 he was a lone and sad man. The tender charities of 
 wife and child did not cheer his heart, nor beautify his 
 life. His ambition was crushed, his aims unsuccessful, 
 his health impaired, his vigour abated : he was not 
 rich, nor happy, nor beloved. For him no dawn shone 
 through the shadow of the night, but a murmur of 
 despair stole on its silence. When, suddenly, as by an 
 impulse which we cannot fathom nor analyse, the 
 thought woke within him, that he had yet a friend, a
 
 the soul's kecoxciliatiox. 193 
 
 comfort, a hope, a mine of wealth, a rock of strength. 
 He thought of the tender Love which never fails — 
 the niighty Power which never yields — the glowing 
 Promise whose light no darkness can obscure. He 
 discovered that he had one Hope left ; and, clinging 
 to that Hope with all the strength of faith, in the 
 stormy ocean of his vexed life, and amid the fury of 
 the tempest, he saw through the welkin " the sun of 
 righteousness arise, with healing on its wings;" and 
 he understood, even as if an angel had borne the mes- 
 sage to him, that life, before so dark, need never more 
 be unhappy, never more shadowed by despair, but 
 beautified, sanctified, glorified for ever ! He then 
 earnestly sought the ways of Reconciliation. 
 
 The secret life- story of many a man has perhaps had 
 in it a like chapter ; for this man felt, as a child feels, 
 when suddenly awakened to the true meaning of a 
 parent's love. The analogy may be a trivial one, and 
 wholly insufficient to express the fulness of the fact; 
 but we must borrow from material life, which we all 
 know well, instances which render us capable to con- 
 sider spiritual things of which we know so little. 
 True, there is this difference. A knowledge of a 
 parent's love may come too late — may come when the 
 love we failed to seek is now for ever lost in the still- 
 ness of the grave. But the love of Heaven fails never; 
 it is immortal ; the grave does not hide it ; death does 
 not part it from us. No, let us hope, not even death. 
 We may all of us have felt the misery of awakening 
 from a night's sleep to the recollection of a sin or 
 regret of the previous day. Ah ! what would be the 
 misery of awakening from the sleep of death to the 
 recollection of past sins never more to be atoned ! but 
 
 o
 
 194 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 what the glory of awakening from the still grave 
 to the triumph of a heavenly home attained, and a 
 heavenly love won to us — for ever ! 
 
 But not for the life beyond the grave ; not for the 
 reward which is promised to us, whether on the familiar 
 fields of earth, or in the mystic plains of heaven ; not 
 for the fear of death, though death may hover near at 
 hand ; but for life — actual, present, earthly life — and for 
 love, without reward — let us strive, at this hour, to bo 
 reconciled to the Father of us all. He knows best the 
 secret struggle and the silent sin ; he sees the tear that 
 mortals cannot see, the pang we hardly own to our 
 own consciousness. Let us not impiously shroud our 
 spirits in the presumption of a supposed innocence, and 
 weave out of our vanity a mantle of obduracy to veil 
 the impurity of our hearts. We cannot hide in the 
 glades of a fancied Eden, an Eden bright to the eye, 
 but blighted in the root of every fairy tree. We 
 cannot hide from the Voice which will call us in the 
 cool evening of our days. May every heart plead for 
 itself. Its own agony, its own passion of regret will 
 be its best advocate. The thought of the powers 
 intrusted to us, and of the miserable use we have 
 made of them ; the thought of the love given to us to 
 lavish freely on mankind — love which we have with 
 such base selfishness garnered in our breasts for our- 
 selves alone ; the recollection that, with so much power 
 to confer happiness, we have conferred so little ; the 
 reflection of our dull insensibility to bounteous favours, 
 our cold ingratitude for lavish mercies ; these, alone, 
 are bitter, cruel thorns, however fair the garland of our 
 twined years may be. But, far more bitter still, far, 
 far more terrible, is the anguish of a heart which
 
 the soul's reconciliation, 195 
 
 wakes to a consciousness of having offended Him, 
 whose pity guards us, whose mercy spares us, whose 
 might preserves us, whose love accords us every joy 
 that stirs our pulses. 
 
 Not because His might controls the universe, un- 
 chains the storm, and holds death and terror in His 
 mystic leash ; not from a craven fear of a power too 
 awful for expression, but manifest in ways which thrill 
 us beyond the ordinary feelings of our nature ; not 
 from a dread of the death which may await us near at 
 hand, to-morrow, to-day, this hour, this actual fleeting- 
 minute ! Nay, not even for the anticipation of the 
 unknown waking from the grave — from the sleep of 
 which we know so little to the hereafter of which we 
 know nothing, save its promise and its instinctive hope 
 — but for a holier, a better impulse of our nature. 
 Let us rather weep for His offended love than tremble 
 at His offended majesty. • For the Hand which rent 
 the earth asunder, and bade the fire pour forth to wreak 
 its wrath on Korah and his sons, gave the gladdening 
 stream to the fainting child in the wilderness, and sent 
 His angel to save the little lad whose mother moved 
 far from him lest she should see him die ! The Power 
 which smote the house of Eli, yet preserved the gentle 
 Joash from the tyranny of Athaliah. The awful Might 
 which flings the lightnings from the skies is shewn in 
 love and pity near the feeble, the sufferer, and the 
 young. His ruling strength thralls the streams in the 
 ice of winter, sends forth the roaring winds on the 
 bleak steeps and the furious seas ; casts aloft the fatal 
 fires of the volcano, and pursues the fated ship with 
 the terrifying storm, — yet, in the fulness of time He 
 bids the tender flowers spring from the earth with all
 
 196 the soul's reconciliation. 
 
 the charms of their colour, their fragrance, and their 
 grace ; permits the feeble birds to build their soft nests 
 in the waving boughs, and throws the laughing 
 sparkles of the sun amid the ripples of the brook. 
 For the seasons come and go. Now summer laughs 
 in the breeze, now winter shrieks amid the woods; 
 now the blossoms gaily garnish the glades, now the 
 branches wave in the blinding gale. So at one time 
 joy gladdens the heart with its merry glow, at another 
 sorrow girds the brow with its cold bands of steel; 
 now the mirth of new-born life and the glee of marriage 
 sports wake the resilient air ; now the chill sadness of 
 a life passed from the dull shadow of grief, sickness, or 
 death steals on the face of the home. Joy and sorrow, 
 spring and winter, sin and virtue, fall and triumph; 
 -all take their hasty round. But high above all, far 
 beyond all, with a glow that summer sunshine cannot 
 equal, with a warmth that winter frosts can never 
 blight, with a beauty that the glitter of joy cannot 
 outshine, nor the shadow of sorrow destroy — nay, with 
 a sheen that even sin cannot for ever tarnish — burns 
 the towering fire of faith ! Faith given by the unseen 
 hand, poured into our souls, glorifying our lives, render- 
 ing us angelic even in the lowliness of our humanity. 
 Ah ! may gracious Heaven in this dread hour of our 
 appeal, the hour of our contrition and our passionate 
 prayer, the hour of the awakening of our conscience, 
 in which our spirits wait for the rising in the sky of 
 those three stars of hope which seem like heavenly 
 acceptance of our prayer, our penitence, our charity — 
 in this solemn hour appointed for our reconciliation, 
 may Heaven have pity on our tears ! 
 
 For, guilty of polluting our Divine element of being,
 
 the soul's reconciliation. 197 
 
 guilty of treason to the sacred trusts reposed in us; 
 guilty of want of love to our brothers on earth, and 
 want of love to our Father in heaven ; guilty of 
 rejection of His tenderness, Plis compassion, and His 
 care — we throw ourselves wholl}-, passionately, heartily, 
 on His enduring pity, and we ask Him for a Father's 
 pardon. Pardon now in our lives, pardon beyond the 
 grave, so that this day, in the hour of our tribulation, 
 and in the inevitable day which will be the day of our 
 death, our souls, hopeless of their own merits, may 
 blend their tears, their terrors, their struggles, and 
 their prayers in all the torrent of their love for Him 
 from whom all life proceeds, from whom all mercy 
 flows.
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 " To give tliem light on the way wherein they should go." 
 
 Nehemiah ix. 12. 
 
 One Sabbath morning, when a congregation of our 
 brethren had assembled for public worship in one of 
 our metropolitan synagogues, a dense mist such as 
 occasionally broods over London (as we Londoners 
 know to our cost) had penetrated into the sacred 
 building, and rendered its interior dim and obscure. 
 A young boy, calling the attention of a man beside 
 whom he stood in the Synagogue, said to him some 
 such words as these ; " Look at the T^ft *l!J (the 
 Perpetual Lamp) — how beautiful it is !" 
 
 And he was right : truly it was beautiful. Shining 
 in the mist, as it hung above the steps of the ark, it 
 was the chief bright point in all the gloomy building. 
 Possibly its light had acquired especial beauty from 
 its contrast with the surrounding gloom. All near it 
 and about it was shrouded in the dull mist. Men's 
 faces were indistinctly seen ; indeed, at a short distance 
 they were scarcely perceptible; certainly undistin- 
 guishable. The words of the open prayer-book were 
 scarcely visible. The pale darkness which pervaded 
 the solemn hall rendered the whole scene coldly 
 obscure. But through the clouded air, one point of
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 199 
 
 light shone brightly, distinctly, and beautifully : it 
 shone as a glowing beacon in the mist ; a lamp in the 
 shadowy darkness ; a signal in the uncertainty. It 
 was the Perpetual Lamp which shone before the ark, 
 as if to guide the steps of the doubtful and the blind — 
 groping through the mist — to the Law before which 
 the Lamp was suspended. 
 
 Oh ! symbol of that other, that higher, brighter, 
 everlasting lamp — the light of faith — that hangs before 
 the Law, and shines in the mist of Life : perpetual 
 light which gleams in steady, constant beauty through 
 all the shadows and the clouds — through the darkness 
 and doubt that surround us ! "We, who stand enwrapt 
 in the life-long mist, in which we know so little of our 
 nearest comrade, and so imperfectly understand even 
 the most familiar things ; we who grope blindly, 
 doubtfully, and need a guiding ray — oh, happy are we 
 that we can ever lift our dim and shadowed eyes to 
 the Perpetual Lamp of Faith which hangs in its 
 enduring beauty — an everlasting light to lead us to 
 yonder ark ! 
 
 For all the world is veiled in the cold pale shroud, 
 and its mists will never lift, it may be, till we pass from 
 its darkness to the greater darkness or the greater 
 light of death. The world is dim, not so mudi with 
 the heavy shadows of sorrow as with the gloom of 
 doubt. We know so little ; we understand so little. 
 Life seems so strange to us. Our feeble judgments 
 fail ; our frail hearts tremble in the presence of events 
 in which wo take a part, or which pass before us, 
 beneath our eyes. Yet they pass as the visions that 
 float through the night, and we take part in them as 
 the phantom figures of a dream.
 
 200 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 Have not all of us, or at least many of us, known 
 and seen in our own experiences so muck that renders 
 life difficult of solution ? If we charge our recollection 
 with the story of our own lives, or of the lives of 
 those whom we know, or of whom we have heard, will 
 not our amazement, our doubts and difficulties raise 
 around us a mist, a shadow, a cloud, through which 
 we wander in vain, wander as without full perception 
 or intelligence, until we lift our eyes at last to the 
 one enduring light, the "Vftfi *\). '■ 
 
 Let us cite the one most striking example of these 
 great problems which can only thus be solved. See 
 how death — which, whether it bring joy or sorrow to 
 those who die, assuredly brings great grief to those 
 who are to live on, parted from their dead whom they 
 loved, ah, so dearly in their lives — see how death falls 
 in our midst in a manner and with incidents that we 
 cannot understand. The shadows of its cold pinions, 
 which fling a pall of gloom on our sad hearts, cast a 
 mist of doubt on our troubled minds. They die — those 
 whom we might well imagine would be most likely to 
 live on : the young, the hearty, the helpful. They 
 die — those whom we might well suppose would be 
 most desirous to remain on earth : the happy, the 
 hopeful, the ambitious. They die — those whom, as we 
 conceive, can be spared the least — the useful, the 
 generous, the wise : fathers of families, mothers of 
 young children, friends of the poor, workers in the 
 world, helps to society. 
 
 Oh ! look through the record blotted by our tears ! 
 Who, gazing into the veiled future, or resting on his 
 own weak pedestal of judgment, would have dreamt 
 that the lightning darts of death would have fallen
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 201 
 
 where, alas ! they have struck so fatally ? Sad and 
 sorrowful are the tales of human experiences. No 
 fiction writer ever drew more melancholy pictures 
 from his free fancy than some of us know are imprinted 
 by the stern hand of fact upon the tablet of our 
 hearts and memories. The earnest worker, treading 
 his noble path of usefulness and charity ; caring for 
 the poor, teaching the young, preaching the truth, 
 founding good works, directing the eyes of men from 
 earth to heaven, and filling on this material world what 
 we deem to be an angel's mission — suddenly is checked 
 in the midst of his ardent career, his burning energy ! 
 He dies — dies, while the idle, the useless, the thought- 
 less, and the vain live on, and mouth their silly pla- 
 titudes above his grave, and lounge with useless strut 
 about the world which he adorned. Again ; the 
 young husband — the young wife — gay and blest in 
 their new-born happiness, treading lightly on the 
 threshold of their first home, as if they floated through 
 the golden clouds of the fragrant dawn; with life's 
 young love circling their hearts, and nothing save its 
 silent depth checking the glad outburst of joy almost 
 too great to bear ! with the seal of all this love and 
 happiness, the cry of the first-born trembling on the 
 ear ; with a vista of a long, long future, a visionary 
 future, belted by rosy garlands and leading to sunshine ; 
 — they die — die in the midst of all their love and joy. 
 Alas ! the vista led but to the grave. The hope of 
 so many lives breaks, crumbles, and is scattered to 
 the winds. They float from the fairy present into the 
 unknown future — away from tho grasp of hand and 
 heart, and all the household ties. They die, while the 
 broken-hearted, the blighted, and grieving still live
 
 202 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 on ; still trail, through the melancholy years, the 
 ravelled thread of a weary, withered life. One other 
 picture, and no more. The fair young child, the pride 
 of the household, the dear joy of the mother, her 
 golden curls glistening in the sun of love — falls asleep 
 in death — dies in her angel youth ere life has bloomed 
 into fruition ; — while the evil-hearted, the hateful, and 
 the mischievous, whose presence is a cloud in the 
 home, and a blight on the household joys, lives on — 
 lives, and scatters sorrow as he passes by, in his 
 career. 
 
 And bitter pain, the great grief of incurable malady, 
 falls at times on the gentle, the happy, and the good — 
 while the wicked and the rough seem to revel in their 
 impunity. The true-hearted and the loving, whose 
 hand is ever open to the poor, and whose foot is 
 ever on their threshold, struggle almost in vain for 
 daily bread, or fail in the schemes and plans of their 
 lives — while the cold, the harsh, and the hard, who 
 never sympathise with sorrow and suffering, luxuriate 
 in golden prosperity, and gather in the stores of lavish 
 wealth. These things seem strange to us, and amidst 
 our mourning and our wonder, the old cry, " Why does 
 this happen ? why is this so ? " rises in our heart, and 
 hurries to our lips. A great mist of doubt and dis- 
 couraffinff amazement hangs over the scene of the 
 
 Do D 
 
 event and the mind that contemplates it. We cannot 
 penetrate it with the dim lamp of experience and 
 reasoning. The darkness resists our gaze so long 
 as " men see not the bright light which is in the 
 heavens." * 
 
 But high shines the everlasting light — the Lamp of 
 Job xxxvii. 21.
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 203 
 
 Faith. By its bright rays, calm and strong, the 
 shadows are pierced, and the doubt grows clear. Let 
 us have Faith ! let us look through the mist to the per- 
 petual light, and trust to its guiding beam ! Then, oh 
 brother, oh sister ! " The light shall shine on thy 
 ways,"* and we shall read the enigma of life's strange 
 story, the answer that Faith discovers, " all, all for 
 Love ! " 
 
 At first it may not seem so ; the certainty may not 
 lie on the surface, but rest in the depths. Not the 
 less is it there. Shall we, with our puny loves, our 
 feeble -affections, so frail that they scarcely survive 
 absence, so fickle that they hardly endure a life-time, 
 or scarcely brook a moment's petulance, or admit a 
 moment's sacrifice of temper ; shall we pretend to 
 ffause or reason with a love of which our own is the 
 merest shadow ? With what measure of ours shall we 
 mete a love so great, that when judged beside it our 
 fondest, firmest love is scarcely love at all ? And yet 
 so gently by analogy are divine things familiarized 
 with our earthly natures, that we can even from our 
 poor worldly affections form some weak estimate of the 
 strength of heavenly love. Oh ! fathers and mothers, 
 to whom your little ones are so dear! oh, you friends 
 of young children, to whom the blessing of offspring 
 has been denied : you can understand in some fashion 
 the love that at times must needs afflict. To some 
 hearts it is a penalty to force the lip to speak a chiding 
 word ; it is a punishment to turn the cheek away from 
 a proffered caress, be the present chiding or the pre- 
 tended coldness ever so needful for the future advan- 
 tage. It does seem so hard to punish a child one 
 ° Job xxii. 28.
 
 204 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 loves ; to inflict pain of any sort seems a pain so 
 acute. And yet have not tender mothers held their 
 darling little ones in their arms with averted eye and 
 compressed lip, while they have stretched the cherished 
 shrinking limb to the lancet of the surgeon — and — 
 all for love ? 
 
 Thus may we form some frail notion, very weak but 
 very clear, of the nature of that great love which — all- 
 potent, all-wise, and all-enduring — subjects at times 
 our shrinking breasts to the keen and scathing knife 
 of pain and grief. We human creatures, when we 
 make others suffer, even as we believe for the best, do 
 so always in a sort of ignorant blindness. It is a 
 necessity of our ignorant and blind nature. But the 
 blow that strikes from heaven is dealt in wisdom. 
 Knowing this so well, and understanding it a little 
 even from our earthly experiences, we feel that the 
 pain is none the less keen, the blow none the less 
 severe ; yet the mist of doubt is somewhat brightened, 
 and at least the way through its pale shadows seems 
 more clear, when our eyes, upturned to the everlasting 
 light, read by its rays, the rays of Faith, the true solu- 
 tion — all for love. 
 
 But let us understand it well, and not read it too 
 lightly. It is not enough to say these things. Let us 
 feel them. Let them enter into our hearts. We must 
 be guided by them, and led by them. They must pass 
 into the spirit's deep recesses, and into the channels of 
 life's action. And it is needless for us to grope vainly 
 into mysteries which Faith itself is insufficient to 
 unravel — the mysteries of the special reason for each 
 manifestation of this supreme love, the special applica- 
 tion, in any special instance, of the truth we propound.
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 205 
 
 Let us remember that the Perpetual Lamp which 
 lights our steps to the ark, does not penetrate the cur- 
 tain that conceals it. Thus we need never ask how 
 heavenly love is evinced in any special instance, nor 
 battle for some motive which we cannot unravel ; 
 enough for us to know, by the Faith which should never 
 fail us, that it is all for love ; enough for us to have 
 been so assured by those extraordinary men who were 
 privileged to penetrate the curtain — the inspired seers 
 of Israel — who solemnly declared, " Whom the Lord 
 loveth He correcteth."*" " Happy is the man whom 
 God correcteth ; therefore despise not thou the chasten- 
 ing of the Almighty. "§ 
 
 And if this lesson be well taught, better taught than 
 by these humble words of ours, if the heart be well 
 saturated with this conviction ; the densest clouds will 
 roll swiftly away, and leave the blue expanse in its 
 serene solemnity. He who made our love, which we 
 believe so strong, and placed it in our hearts, which 
 we believe so loving ; how strong must His love be ! 
 He who sustains our love, which we think so enduring ; 
 how lasting must His love be ! 
 
 Have faith, and it all seems easy. Lift up your eyes 
 from the bed where the dear one lies so sadly — lift up 
 your eyes from the cold lone grave where the dear one 
 sleeps so calmly ; nay, uplift your eyes from the inmost 
 recess of your own torn heart which holds the dust of 
 shattered hopes, and the ashes of blighted passions ; 
 uplift your soul from the mist which surrounds these 
 dead visions, to yonder everlasting lamp — the light of 
 Faith ! Its beams will pierce the darkness, and the 
 
 Prov. iii. 12. § Job v. 17.
 
 206 . THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 visions of the past will no more be bedded in tlie cold 
 shades of troubled cloudland, but will float in the holy 
 peace and warmth of a sunny sky. 
 
 When we fail to see that this must be so ; or when, 
 being willing to believe this to be so, we grope blindly 
 for reasons, as if to justify Providence to our hearts and 
 understandings, we are miserably weak in Faith. We 
 trust to the dull torches of our own intellect and 
 inferences, which we carry with us as we grope through 
 the mist ; but these fail to illuminate the shadow in 
 which we struggle. How can we rely on such feeble 
 lights as these ? We know, in sober truth, nothing of 
 each other. It is a common saying, " The good are 
 taken, the wicked remain ; the happy die, the wretched 
 live on." But we do not know who is good, nor who 
 is wicked. We do not know who is happy, and who 
 is unhappy. We, who are absolutely ignorant of the 
 workings of the secret heart, nay, who scarcely under- 
 stand our own, can only judge from outward evidences. 
 We cannot penetrate the veil which shrouds every 
 bosom. We judge of men's virtues by what they 
 choose to shew us of themselves, or by what we happen 
 to infer. And, indeed, it may be that while we are 
 forming our idle estimate, we know nothing of the 
 hidden sins, the real temptations, the master-virtue of 
 a man's true life. For perhaps that master-virtue 
 may not be his outward acts of good works, his 
 efforts for the poor, the helpless or the sick, which 
 may be easy to him ; but the daily, hourly, con- 
 stant, mighty struggle with some great temptation 
 of his life ! 
 
 Still less do we know who is happy, and who un- 
 happy. We cannot penetrate into the hidden chamber
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 207 
 
 of which each, heart keeps the key. Human beings 
 live together perhaps for years, sleeping beneath the 
 same roof, breaking bread at the same table, having 
 ties of kindred and close interests in common, con- 
 stantly interchanging the ebb and flow of conversa- 
 tion, and yet they may pass each to his grave without 
 any knowledge of the secret thought, the hidden hope, 
 the ruling joy and grief of each other. 
 
 For not our nearest and dearest know the breast's 
 own mystery. None on earth ; none save the Father 
 in Heaven, as the wise king cried in his glorious 
 prayer, " For thou, even thou only knowest the secrets 
 of the hearts of all the children of men."* And let us 
 learn from Faith to understand this thoroughly, and to 
 forbear recording inferences drawn from our feeble 
 experiences, our unenlightened intelligence, and our 
 restricted means of knowledge. 
 
 But lifting our eyes through the mist of life to the 
 Perpetual Light of Faith, we see very clearly that we 
 are all, not one more than another, creatures and 
 subjects of an overruling Power, all equally objects of 
 divine care and solicitude. The work of which each 
 human soul is in some way permitted to be an instru- 
 ment is not confined within the scope of each man's 
 career. Man is but a link in the universal cha 
 Nay, each man's work is not even restricted to his o 
 household, his own family. Perhaps not even to his 
 own community nor country. Perhaps, if science aid 
 the eye of faith in its upward tending glance through 
 the realms of space ; if wisdom turn the beams of its 
 everlasting light towards the unnumbered orbs which 
 glitter in the ethereal dome, the sphere of each ini- 
 ° 1 Kino's viii. 39.
 
 208 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 mortal soul may even not be limited to this one planet 
 which we call our own. The soul may be called from 
 the orbit in which it fluttered for a while, as a forest 
 bird in a golden cage, and bidden to stretch its im- 
 patient pinions for other higher flights, to make for 
 other spheres ! The task of the undying spirit may 
 not be bound by the range of our material world ; but 
 the soul, like the light which streams from the central 
 sun to star on star, in countless order, may strike from 
 its source through the realms of unknown ether, from 
 orb to orb, from world to world, spreading blessings 
 where it goes, glorifying its Maker in its passage, like 
 the blessed glorious light itself; until it is merged in 
 the awful and mysterious Fount of Light, Glory, and 
 Blessing ! 
 
 And Faith, the perpetual lamp, shews us also, and 
 shows us clearly, that death, and pain, and grief may 
 be a very blessing to us, and a "joy for ever."* If in 
 some supreme hour the secrets of all hearts shall be 
 made known ; if the histories of human spirits be 
 spread before us as a written scroll ; it may be that we 
 then may learn how many souls have been saved by 
 the influence of a great grief, or by the power of a 
 great awakening, brought about by the advent of 
 death ! Its fearful presence, its surroundings, its 
 inferences, warnings, and results may rouse the apa- 
 thetic, and inspire the thoughtless. The key that 
 opens the charnel-chamber to admit the dead, may 
 open a secret chamber of the heart, and let some holy 
 living thought pass out ; some thought that may fruc- 
 tify for everlasting good. Death may sometimes check 
 not only the useful career on earth of him who dies, 
 '••' Keats.
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 209 
 
 but the evil or useless career of him who lives on. 
 How many hearts may be uplifted to the sacred skies 
 by the flight of one heart thither ! How many angels 
 may be newly born on earth the day on which one 
 angel is newly born in heaven ! 
 
 Still, steadily lifting our earnest eyes to the perpetual 
 light, the TfiH *\) of Faith, we may see through the 
 mist other things, and learn other lessons. "We shall 
 understand that because that light is everlasting, it 
 cannot, it must not perish with our perished joys, nor 
 die with our dead hopes, nor be buried in the graves 
 of those we dearly love. Oh! no ! Faith is immortal ! 
 Let us not cast away with our lost happiness the duties 
 we have still to do, the work we have still to accom- 
 plish. These duties may seem cold, and the work 
 cheerless, when the long cherished inspiration, the long 
 fostered ambition, the warm sweet smile of those we 
 once dearly loved, shine on us no more. But the un- 
 dying light still lends some pleasant, some tenderly 
 cheerful beam even then : and beneath its rays they 
 cease to be utterly darksome. 
 
 Oh ! brothers and sisters, you who have loved and lost, 
 you who have struggled and have lived to mourn over 
 many shattered hopes and withered ties, do not bury 
 your hearts and energies in the tombs of your dead! 
 Give to your dead, to your dead hopes and ambitions, 
 give to your dead dear ones the sad tribute of your 
 tears, your sobs and sighs, but not the sacrifice of all 
 your life's best strength, all your life's energy, work, 
 and duty. For the Perpetual Lamp shines in its 
 enduring radiance, not to make things clear while we 
 rest, while we only " stand and wait." It beams 
 through the mist to guide our steps, so that we may 
 
 p
 
 210 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 
 
 pass firmly, hopefully, reliantly, to the ark before 
 which it hangs. Then may the lamp which never 
 perishes, even when the lamp of earthly love has 
 quenched its ray ; may love eternal light us, cheer us, 
 guide us on our sad way, may it light us through our 
 tears on the earthly paths which we have yet to tread 
 through life's cold mists to the Ark of Rest. May we 
 truly exclaim with the Psalmist, " Thy word is a lamp 
 to my feet, and a light to my path."* 
 
 "We may not hope, it is true, that in this our earthly 
 sphere, all things will be made wholly clear to us. 
 The mist may never wholly lift, some things be never 
 known ; but at last, at the supreme time, we may say 
 as Schiller said, " Now is life so clear,"§ and we may 
 look back like Job to the hours " when by His light I 
 walked through darkness." || 
 
 Butj while life lasts, and its mists endure, let us learn 
 our lesson. Let us lift up our eyes faithfully, trust- 
 fully, persistently, to yonder everlasting lamp ! the 
 lamp which time does not affect, which no " rain of 
 tears " shall quench, no storm of struggle shatter, 
 no hurricane of passion overthrow. It gleams in its 
 solemn beauty, a beacon in the gloom. Oh ! brothers 
 and sisters, who have loved and lost — whose sun of 
 earthly joy may never rise again ; oh ! brothers and 
 sisters, to whom life seems so dark, so doubtful, and so 
 cold ! Be comforted ! Take courage ! May the un- 
 dying ray, the perpetual light of Faith guide us on our 
 way through the throngs of our fellow men, and lead 
 us through all the mists of life, and through the 
 
 * Ps. cxix. 10G. 
 
 § " Nun ist das Leben so Mar." — Last words of Schiller. 
 
 II Job xxix. 3.
 
 THE EVERLASTING LIGHT. 211 
 
 curtain of Death, and the gates of the Grave, to the 
 Ark of the Future, in which we hope that at last, the 
 " light will break forth as the morning,"* when in the 
 divine "light we shall see light,"§ and all our troubles 
 and doubts being ended, the Father of Love will be to 
 us an "everlasting light." || 
 
 ° Isaiah. § Ps. xxxvi. 9. || Isa. Ix. 19.
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 * ^i? Tn5 *&& D ^n ^? n ^ y& 
 
 " Hear thou, my son ; and be wise ; and guide thine heart on 
 the way. — Pro v. xxiii. 19. 
 
 Boys ! you are the hope of the world ! You are the 
 heirs of the future, if time shall endure. When we, 
 who are now writing for you, who think of you, and 
 work for you, shall have passed away from this busy 
 life, and shall be cold in our silent graves, you, if you 
 are spared, will inherit our labours and our cares, and 
 the world which we shall have left. You will be sailing 
 smoothly — or tossing roughly — on the ocean of life, 
 when we shall have drifted far away into the hidden 
 distance beyond the low lying line of the horizon. 
 Pray heaven that the rudder of Wisdom and the beacon 
 of Faith may guide you, and may then have guided us 
 into the harbour of immortality ! 
 
 Boys ! we who are now addressing you, understand 
 you, like you, and sympathize with you. We will not 
 flatter you in a false fashion, nor will we weary 
 you with lectures or censure. We will not imitate 
 the style of certain tracts for boys which are simply 
 absurd, because written as if you were angels or 
 fools ; and usually you are neither. However good 
 some of you may be, and however foolish others, there 
 are in your aggregate, ordinary virtues and good sense.
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 213 
 
 Some tracts we wot of are severe punishments — stories 
 of impossibly good boys who talk like saints ! render 
 themselves remarkably unhappy (and their friends also) 
 and die, '''talking 1 good," at an early age. Now, boys, 
 we, your Jewish brethren, do not wish you to talk like 
 saints, but had rather you talked like boys ; we do not 
 wish you to be unhappy, because our faith is intended 
 to make boys and men very happy ; we hope you will 
 not die at an early age, nay, not even if you spouted a 
 Bible-full of virtuous sayings, like a collection of copy- 
 slrps, on your death-bed. We would rather — ah ! far 
 rather — that you should live an honoured, holy life, to 
 a green old age. For we belong to a religion that 
 every-day people can understand, believe, and practise ; 
 and for that reason, if for no other, you should be 
 grateful that you were born and bred as Jews. 
 
 Boys, we once said in a previous paper, * something, 
 which, in effect, we will repeat to you, as it leads to 
 what we wish to say : we said that men often treat boys 
 inconsistently ; they talk to them as if they were sages, 
 but treat them as if they were babes. They talk to 
 boys as if their judgments and experiences were equal 
 to theirs, but treat them as if they had no sensibilities 
 or affections. But we would talk to you in quite 
 another fashion. Your experiences are, perhaps happily 
 for you, not equal to ours ; but your affections are as 
 vivid, your hearts as stout, your sensibilities far more 
 fresh. Hence, when we, with our minds, appeal to your 
 hearts, we think you will understand us, and we shall 
 get on well together. 
 
 Jewish boys ! we say that in you rests the hope of 
 the future — the hope of the world. You are not 
 ° Barmitzvah (page 84).
 
 214 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 ignorant of what is passing around yon. Do you not 
 see that men's minds are disturbed in their old ideas 
 and creeds ? Do you not notice, you boys, who read 
 newspapers and magazines (instead of silly sensational 
 stories), and who listen to the conversations of men, 
 that your fellow-countrymen of other creeds, are 
 abandoning long upheld notions, and veering round, or 
 rather "tacking" to the old, yet always fresh, principles 
 of right, laid down in the Mosaic law, and its proper 
 interpretations, familiar to you by hear- say and 
 practice ? 
 
 Now, some examples will bear us out. Some years 
 ago, when we who write were boys, people were hanged 
 with as little compunction as they are now imprisoned. 
 Yes, readily hanged on circumstantial evidence, which 
 leads too often to frightful mistakes. Well, at present, 
 as you may be aware, public feeling revolts against 
 capital punishment ; and reverts, in theory, if not in 
 practice, to the merciful doctrine of the old Jewish 
 criminal law. Those who say that such law was 
 sanguinary really know nothing of the subject, though 
 when you reach our age you will find it common — alas ! 
 too common — for persons to talk very much and 
 boisterously on subjects of which they know little or 
 nothing. Again, when we were boys, our fellow- 
 countrymen were accustomed to bury their dead in the 
 midst of the living — a most unseemly and unhealthy 
 practice ; but now they pursue our old Jewish custom, 
 and lay them far away — where the dear ones who were 
 so good to them in life cannot harm them in death ; 
 and where they may be at rest, distant from rude 
 business haunts, and under the calm skies, with the 
 fresh country breeze playing on the grass beneath
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 215 
 
 which they sleep. Again, gradually, in every day life, 
 as if circumstance — a strong lever in the world's 
 machinery — were assisting to a result — our fellow- 
 countrymen are approaching a sort of Sabbath obser- 
 vance of Saturday, treating it as a day of rest and 
 sensible enjoyment, in good Jewish fashion, and not as 
 a gloomy, silent, uncomfortable day like the English 
 Sunday. We will not touch upon the proofs offered by 
 the modifications of religious opinions noticeable in 
 these days, for it would neither be delicate, nor gracious, 
 nor politic, to refer to our neighbours' religion, which 
 we are bound to hold in respect. But leaving this last 
 topic to your reflections, we believe you will agree with 
 us when we say, that public feeling and intelligent 
 opinion are turning towards Jewish laws and institu- 
 tions as positively as the magnetic needle of the 
 compass-card points to the north. 
 
 Now, is it not likely that one day the world may 
 look to us — or perhaps not to us, who may be gone, 
 but to you who may be here — to be the witnesses of 
 the beauty of the Law, as we are now the witnesses of 
 its Truth ; to raise its banner, and show all men that 
 it makes men and men's lives good, true and happy ? 
 "We cannot help being the witnesses of its truth, you 
 understand. That does not depend on us. For our 
 very existence as Jews bears witness of its truth to the 
 world. But what does depend on us, under Heavenly 
 will and aided by Divine help and grace, is to show 
 by our lives the use and beauty of our religion. Just 
 think, boys — especially those among you old enough to 
 understand us — what a glory it would be for your 
 manhood and your race to be the leaders of the world ! 
 to be its teachers and its examples, by your inter-
 
 216 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 pretation of the Heavenly will, and by the goodness of 
 your earthly lives — no longer to be the despised and 
 rejected of nations, but to prove their blessing and 
 their light ! 
 
 Of course, we do not mean that you are called on to 
 teach all men to be Jews, to adhere strictly to ob- 
 servances not intended for all the world. That may 
 never be, nor be meant to be at any time. Conversion 
 is not our business, nor yours ; and if our neighbours 
 were as rational in that respect as we are, and were to 
 leave attempts at conversion aside, they would be more 
 wise and useful, and have more money to spare for 
 their poor, and fewer persons in their prisons. We 
 have no reason to suppose the gate of Heaven to be 
 only open to the Jew, nor that a man is better than 
 his neighbour only just because he is a Jew. That 
 would be a silly doctrine, foreign to the generous creed 
 of Moses our Master. But assuredly we might try, by 
 precept and practice , to teach all men to be good, and to 
 do right ; to love each other ; to take care of their own 
 health and the health of other people ; to avoid injur- 
 ing others ; to be truthful, honest and charitable ; to 
 be kind to the poor, to all men, nay, even to the 
 meanest creature of the field, the air, and the sea ; to be 
 just in dealing ; to honour their parents and their aged ; 
 to keep the Sabbath in holy joy ; to renounce cruelty, 
 envy, cant, and hypocrisy; to judge justly ; and above 
 all. things to lift up their minds to two of the solemn 
 and precious truths taught by our Father — that He is 
 One, and that He must be served in love. 
 
 For, boys, all these things are among the plain doc- 
 trines of our Religion. If you question this, read your 
 Bible, which we fear you do not read too often ; —
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 217 
 
 we have been at the pains of setting down " chapter 
 and verse" of some of these ordinances.* 
 
 But, independently of the grand future, which may 
 be more or less remote, there is a definite future, 
 which, if you live, will be your lot — the future lives 
 which you will have to lead. Now one of the many 
 beauties of our sacred law — when properly interpreted 
 and understood — is its adaptability to modern life, and 
 to every man's life. I't is not an impossible religion, 
 which only angels can believe and only saints pursue. 
 But it is a faith which, though one may not exactly 
 perceive its presence, may be present and make itself 
 felt in every waking hour and every pursuit of one's 
 life, and may beautify and illuminate those hours and 
 those pursuits, just as the light is present in the air, 
 makes its presence known in it, and beautifies it. 
 
 Indeed, boys, it is by following our religion in all 
 your life, as boys and as men, that you will be happy ; 
 whether as the children of your parents, or as — we sup- 
 pose you expect to be one day — the parents of your 
 children. When we speak here of happiness, we do 
 not mean that sort of temporary enjoyment or plea- 
 surable intoxication, which lasts for a short time, so 
 long as its immediate producing cause endures ; and 
 which "fades into nothingness," or changes into 
 misery when such immediate cause is withdrawn ; a 
 sort of pleasure like that which greedy boys experi- 
 ence when eating a quantity of indigestible cakes, 
 which, when eaten, have the disagreeable effect of 
 making the eaters violently ill. Ah ! boys — if you 
 
 Exodus xxiii. 12 ; Lev. xi., xiii., xiv., xix. 9 to 18, and 
 32 to 3G, all inclusive; Deut. x. 19; xv. 7, 8, 11; xvii. G; 
 xxv. 4, etc.
 
 218 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 only knew how many indigestible cakes we do eat in 
 after life ! How nice they are during the repast ! How 
 horribly wretched we are when the banquet is con- 
 cluded ! Before we taste we envy the full-grown boy, 
 rich enough to buy as many as he likes ! But 
 when we have eaten to repletion, we envy the sensible 
 boy who leaves them alone, or even the poor boy who 
 has not money enough to buy them ! But the happi- 
 ness to which we refer, the happiness which religion 
 affords, is a description of happiness which you, in 
 your boyhood, can comprehend as thoroughly as we in 
 our manhood — the happiness of conscience satisfied ! the 
 happiness which endures continually ; in which the 
 moment's joy is sacrificed for everlasting joy ; a happi- 
 ness so powerful that it shines through the deepest dis- 
 appointment, the most gloomy sorrow, and most bitter 
 pain ; the happiness of pleasing those we value and 
 those we love ; the happiness of pleasing our own 
 hearts, when " not led astray ;" — the sublime happi- 
 ness of believing that we are pleasing Him who, 
 though we cannot see Him — is near to us in every hour 
 of life ! 
 
 We are addressing — we hope — many readers of 
 various ages, various dispositions, classes, and modes of 
 training. Some of you are rich, others of that middle 
 class, which, in happy boyhood, hardly knows its own 
 position ; others are poor — a class which, alas ! always 
 does know its own position. Some of you are sensible, 
 others foolish. Some grave, others gay. Some well 
 brought up, others badly. Some have certain virtues 
 and faults, others other virtues and faults. We cannot 
 hope — unless we wrote at a length beyond our time, 
 space and strength, and beyond your patience and
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 219 
 
 temper — to say words likely to tell home to every one 
 of you ; you know far better than we or any around 
 you what faults you have, and you best can mend your 
 way by curing yourself of these. The Greek sage, 
 Socrates, taught "Know thyself" — the English poet 
 tells us — 
 
 " The fittest study of mankind is man."* 
 
 But all this was far better told, ages ago, by our 
 own royal bard ; — " Stand in awe, and sin not ; com- 
 mune with your own heart upon your bed, and be 
 still."§ 
 
 Here, in a few words, lies a mass of wisdom ; take a 
 little time, each boy, and commune with your own 
 heart ! Take ten minutes each night — as some one we 
 know is in the habit of doing — before you read your 
 "$12$ HN'Hp or each morning after the morning prayer 
 — and, instead of wasting the minutes in idle non- 
 sense as some of you do, or instead of taxing them 
 with too much study, as others of you do, sit tran- 
 quilly by yourselves, and " commune with your own 
 heart, and be still." Think of the day's events. Try 
 to recall your deeds and thoughts ; ask yourselves how 
 you have thought and acted, and whether you have 
 thought and acted wisely, and well. Have you done 
 your duty ? Might you have acted more bravely ? 
 spoken more truthfully ? pursued a better course ? 
 Have you controlled your temper, recollected your re- 
 ligion, done all the good you could, avoided all the 
 wrong ? If your heart's reply be Yes, — praise Him 
 ° Pope. § Ps. iv. 4.
 
 220 A GOSSIP "WITH BOYS. 
 
 who guided you. If it be No, — well, have courage; 
 He is near to help you ; near in the loneliness of your 
 chamber ; near in the silence of the night ; tenderer 
 far than any earthly father or master. He understands 
 all that your heart would say to Him. He is ready to 
 guide, teach and forgive you. Oh ! boys, young as 
 you are, seek Him ; to pray to Him, or to praise Him ! 
 and then " ye shall not be afraid of the terror of the 
 night," for you may well hope " He will give His 
 angels charge concerning thee, to keep thee in all thy 
 ways."* Then " be still," for you may say with earnest 
 lip and sincere heart, TlD TpSS TJT3 "To thine 
 hand I entrust my soul." 
 
 But, boys, though each of you must alone be the de- 
 tective of his own secret sins, though each alone must 
 test his own conscience according to his own weak- 
 nesses, sins and cravings ; yet there are some faults 
 common to you all, as Jews ; at least we mean com- 
 mon to so many of you as to be a fault which leavens 
 the mass. We do not know whether certain qualities 
 are inherent in races, but certain qualities do belong 
 to races, possibly as the results of their education or 
 mode of living. Jews, either because they are Jews, 
 or because, owing to their being Jews, they are taught 
 certain things in a certain way, or brought up in a 
 certain manner, have peculiar faults and failings. 
 
 And they have certain virtues also. And of one 
 of these we would speak; for it leads — like a pleasant 
 road to an ugly village — to the special fault of which 
 we would speak. Boys, we have noticed one particular 
 qualification in which you contrast favourably with 
 other classes of Englishmen. You are not bullies. You 
 • Psalm xc.
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 221 
 
 do not oppress those weaker than yourselves, or de- 
 pendent on you. This is true of you in all classes of 
 life, and we wish it were true of your young fellow- 
 countrymen of other creeds. We are not afraid to say 
 this, because perhaps, if they or their friends should 
 read these pages, our words may be of service to them, 
 — for, as you probably are aware, in the great public 
 schools this cowardly bullying is embodied in the dis- 
 gusting form of fagging — a vile practice which clergy- 
 men approve, and ignorant public opinion tolerates. 
 If Eton and "Winchester were filled with Jewish boys, 
 fagging would be unknown ; big boys would not make 
 little boys nearly die of fear in the river, nor keep 
 them in the hot cricket ground till they sickened and 
 died utterly. It is too common to see in the London 
 streets big boys insult and assault little boys, with 
 cowardly injuries, until some one interferes. We never 
 see Jewish boys bullies in the higher, middle, or 
 poorest classes. We never see them otherwise than 
 kind to their younger brethren. 
 
 Perhaps this may arise from the innate or inherited 
 courage of our race, combined with the instilled mercy 
 of our faith ; courage combined with mercy is the 
 master colour of the hero's character. And there has 
 been from days of yore a stout spirit of heroism in our 
 people, when aroused by emergencies. You boys of 
 the upper and middle classes, who read of the exploits 
 of Greek and Roman heroes ; you boys of the middle and 
 lower classes, who read of the deeds of English worthies 
 who did exist, and of various sensational characters 
 who never did exist ; do not imagine that heroism and 
 daring were confined to the banks of the Tiber, the 
 ►Scamander, and the Thames. The leap of Marcus
 
 222 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 Curtius into the gulf of the forum was not more 
 glorious than the exploit of Eleazer, the Maccabee, 
 who perished beneath the elephant. The martyrdom 
 of Regulus in the nail-studded cask for the sake of 
 Rome was not more heroic than the martyrdom of 
 Kabbi Akiba, for the sake of Heaven. There is no 
 incident in the lives of English soldier or sailor, or in 
 the mock heroics of the penny literature of brigands, 
 banditti, or buccaneers, more romantic than the self- 
 devotion of the Jews of York, or of the two youths of 
 Worms, who died to save their brethren. Pray spare 
 time from a perusal of the doings of Leonidas, Caesar, 
 and Nelson ; or the thrilling deeds of heroes of the Dick 
 Turpin, Red Hover, and Jack Sheppard class — to read of 
 Hyrcanus, Almeida, and Don Solomon ; of Simon ben 
 Gioras, of John of Giscala, and Judas the Maccabee ! 
 
 Yet, boys of Israel, there is one description of 
 courage in which you fail lamentably — and especially 
 in your passage from boyhood to manhood — the moral 
 courage of adherence to your faith. Boys ! you do 
 not stand to your colours ! You quit the flag on which 
 are written the precepts and practices imprinted by 
 the instructions and recollections of your childhood. 
 You think it " fine " to cease to act as a Jew ; you do 
 not desire to be " taken for a Jew." You neglect, 
 gradually, one by one, the customs of your people ; 
 one omission leads to a second ; you break away the 
 wall, fragment by fragment, until you undermine the 
 rock itself ; until the towering height, reared with so 
 much care — that height of which it may be said — 
 
 " Eternal summer settles on its head," 
 
 — crumbles at last into the abyss of infidelity. 
 
 • Goldsmith.
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 223 
 
 Yes, you abandon customs one by one. You neglect 
 the blessing on the food placed before you, or the food 
 of which you have partaken, until you eat carelessly 
 of that forbidden food on which you dare not ask a 
 blessing. You neglect the binding of the T&phillin, 
 until at last the Tephila itself is forgotten. You throw 
 aside the Tsitsith, and at length you throw aside the 
 precepts of which they are to remind you. You cease 
 to be Jews in practice, until you cease to be Jews in 
 theory. Of what are you afraid ? You break down 
 the fences which hallowed wisdom has reared around 
 your heart's sanctuary, until the day comes, on which 
 you find your own unaided moral force insufficient to 
 defend it from the invasion of irreligion. 
 
 Pray bear in mind that you may be very good 
 Jews, and none the worse for it in any way of life ; 
 very good Jews and yet very happy ones. We would 
 not have you angels before your time. We do not 
 expect you to develop the false wings of Icarus. 
 Virtue and enjoyment are not incompatible. It is not 
 unmanly to be good. Your right arm will fling a 
 cricket-ball none the less deftly because your left arm 
 had worn the T&pMUin an hour before you went into 
 the play-ground. Your heart will beat none the less 
 bravely, because it throbs against the four cornered 
 band of the Tsitsith. "We welcome muscular Judaism 
 as a new glad feature of the day ; but we welcome 
 brave intelligent Judaism more gladly. We would 
 have every Jewish boy lift a proud calm brow to 
 his comrades and to the world ; not only because 
 he has the privilege of being born a Jew ; but also 
 because he is conscious of the glory of obedience to 
 the precepts of his religion, and of the endeavour
 
 224 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 to become an example of all manly virtues to all the 
 world. 
 
 When a non-Jewish Lord Mayor gave an entertain- 
 ment to the pupils of a great public school which 
 comprised many Jewish scholars, he offered as portion 
 of the amusement — and a very pleasant portion, no 
 doubt — a sumptuous repast. But ignorant, possibly, 
 of the dietary observances of our people, or judging 
 from observation that they did not all regard those 
 observances too rigorously, he crowded his board with 
 food which Jews must not eat, either because not 
 kosher in itself, or not kosher by the mode of its pre- 
 paration. Nevertheless some Jewish boys partook 
 vigorously of the forbidden dainties ; others, though 
 equally hungry, rigorously abstained. Well, who 
 were the manlier boys? Those who conquered 
 appetite for their faith, or those who bartered its 
 teachings for the leg of a roast fowl ? 
 
 There was once a dinner party of merry young men 
 — very young men ; during the repast some forbidden 
 food was handed round ; it was probably the horridly 
 unwholesome monsters called oysters, which feed on 
 the drowned. All partook except one young man, 
 who, utterly regardless of sneers, jibes and jokes, 
 refused the dainty nastiness. Well, was he not 
 manlier and happier ? He might have found it never 
 very difficult in after life to resist — not only forbidden 
 food, but the other things forbidden by Heaven — life's 
 many temptations. Some da} r s after the dinner, one 
 of the guests said to him, " I wish I had had your 
 courage; I wish I had acted as you did." Perhaps 
 finding it was not so difficult to be brave, this second 
 guest — and it may be others of the guests — may have
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 225 
 
 been more manly on other occasions. For great is 
 the force of example. Every good, wise action drops 
 around it seeds of promise, whence other good, wise 
 actions may spring and flourish. These tales are 
 trifles, but trifles make the sum of life. Boys, learn 
 from trifles, and be wise ! 
 
 Yet, this want of moral courage is not your sole 
 fault of race. Another fault characterizes every class 
 of you. Monstrous pride. The rich are insufferable 
 in their pride of wealth ; the middle class in their pride 
 of caste ; the poor in their pride of race. It is the 
 sole cant of our people. How the children of a people 
 taught to love their neighbours as themselves ; a people 
 who were " bondsmen in the land of Egypt ;" a people 
 whose greatest teacher was a foundling and the 
 meekest of men, and the founder of whose royal race 
 was a shepherd boy ; how such a people can thus build 
 supposed excellence on social rank and position, or on 
 a heap of wealth which their fathers amassed for them, 
 is surprisingly inconsistent. The pride of the wealthy, 
 it is true, has only one trifling disadvantage ; it simply 
 renders them disagreeable in society and to themselves. 
 But the pride of the poor results in a greater disad- 
 vantage ; for it prevents them from engaging in certain 
 humble but very honest pursuits, and encourages them 
 to a style and expenditure beyond their position, 
 and thus they more readily become, and remain, 
 paupers, unable to earn a living and incapable of in- 
 dependence. 
 
 And now a word as to learning. We are not going 
 to fatigue you with the hackneyed conventional sen- 
 tence that now is your special time to learn. Your 
 time to learn will last as long as your time to live. But 
 
 Q
 
 226 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 that is no reason for your not learning as much as 
 you can at the present more favourable season of your 
 life. Not only in your grammars and arithmetic, your 
 Livy and Virgil, your Euclid and Keightley, but in 
 another and far older book, the Book of Books — the 
 Bible ; and in that yet older Book, the Book of Nature, 
 which speaks aloud of Heavenly might and wisdom ; 
 and in that younger book — the pages of your own 
 heart — which speak softly of Heavenly help and love. 
 You live for some great purpose ; then cease to be so 
 frivolous as you sometimes are ; do not be so fashionably 
 supercilious and punctilious, thinking, as many of you 
 seem to do, about your visitings and your smart clothes 
 and your Barmitzvah watch-chains, when you had far 
 better be thinking a little more of your Barmitzvah 
 duties. Do not be so fashionably uncharitable and 
 censorious — after the fashion, we mean, of your elders ; 
 but try to set a new fashion, on an old type — the 
 fashion of loving one's neighbour and never hating 
 one's brother. And, since you are not always happy — 
 for if extremely silly persons tell you in books that 
 boyhood is a season of unmitigated enjoyment, they 
 know nothing about you, and you and we don't be- 
 lieve them — since you are not always happy, you can 
 well understand how sorrow loses its sting, and how 
 happiness doubles its charm, when the mind tells the 
 heart that the soul — even the young boy's soul — has 
 done its duty ! 
 
 "We have spoken to you of the future duties you 
 may have to fulfil, and the future life you may have 
 to lead. But the voice of religion, the belief of wise 
 and pious men, the arguments of reason, and, it may 
 be, the instincts of your own young hearts, point to
 
 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. TZi 
 
 another and a brighter future hidden in the secret 
 world beyond the barred portals of the grave. But 
 to you, who are so young and full of vigour and 
 energy ; you whose blood flows so gaily in your veins, 
 and whose spirits are so elastic that the rebound of 
 your sorrow is in itself a joy, it would be useless to 
 speak of a future in heaven from which you are sepa- 
 rated by the hopes of a long life on earth. And thus, 
 indeed, the rewards of an immortal hereafter were 
 not distinctly indicated to our fathers in the boyhood 
 of our race. Young inexperienced spirits do not grasp 
 the idea readily or availably. Perhaps only those who 
 know life's cares and trials, its sins and sorrows, and 
 who have grown very weary and very penitent, can 
 see through their tears the vision of the Golden 
 Hope. 
 
 But there is one recompence we all can understand, 
 receive and welcome. Yes, the young and the old, the 
 happy and the sorrowful, the merry and the weary — 
 we can, all alike, lift our eyes from earth, and hope to 
 win the love of the Father in Heaven. May that 
 light of love shine on you, boys, in the spring of 
 your youth and the summer of your manhood, in the 
 autumn of declining strength and the winter of old 
 age. Come, boys of our hopes and affections, strive to 
 be brave, wise and good, so that you may become better 
 men than we are ; so that your own boys, in far days 
 to come, may profit by your example, and become 
 better than you ; and thus from generation to genera- 
 tion, improving and yet improving, while time and 
 the world endure. It may be that we shall have the 
 joy of believing we arc links in a chain of generations, 
 rising from the ranks of impure humanity to the
 
 228 A GOSSIP WITH BOYS. 
 
 spiritual beauty of the angelic world. And, it may be, 
 too, that the sun of heavenly love and blessing, shining 
 on an age of grace, in a far distant future, may even 
 shed in our times a forecast of its glory, to brighten 
 our clouded lives, and penetrate the dark shadows of 
 our graves.
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY; 
 
 ALL IS NOT WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 A Story for Jewish Schoolboys. 
 
 Five and twenty years ago I was a schoolboy — a pupil 
 of a great London School. I had some three hundred 
 comrades of various creeds, countries, classes, and 
 capabilities. We had broken up for the summer 
 vacation after a hard struggle in my class for an im- 
 portant scholarship. I had fought for it and had been 
 beaten ; not ignominiously but decidedly. However, 
 I did not complain, because it was won from some 
 twentjr competitors by a Jewish boy named Percy 
 Arnold — a lad of great talent, industry, and good 
 nature. He was a hard worker, full of genius and 
 assiduity, and peculiarly modest and gentle — a great 
 favourite of the masters, and of a few of the boys — 
 though not generally of the school, for some of his 
 school-fellows used to have an occasional fling at him. 
 He was rather a friend of mine, however, and I was 
 glad he gained the scholarship, not so much for 
 himself, but because his success reflected honour on all 
 the Jewish pupils. And in those days, boys, we had a 
 little trouble to " hold our own " at school.
 
 230 . HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 Arnold was not intimate with any of the boys, and 
 neither gave invitations to them nor accepted any from 
 them. He was what you boys might call " close." 
 All we knew about his domestic matters was that he 
 lived in a small house at Islington ; for it is needless to 
 remark that his reserve naturally urged us to conspire 
 together, and to fee a small but trustworthy junior boy 
 to follow him home and ascertain where he did live. 
 
 Percy was awfully shy and sensitive. He would 
 blush like a girl under the slightest provocation ; and 
 he once burst into tears when taken down in class ; a 
 sort of thing, you know, boys, we forgive in the lower 
 forms ; but really we cannot pass it over in the fifth 
 or sixth upper ; where we are all stoics and philoso- 
 phers, and do all our lessons at school, and all our 
 crying and other expressions of feeling at home. 
 
 It was clear that Arnold was very poor, for his 
 clothes though neat, bore evidences of cheapness and 
 coarseness ; and — dreadful to relate — they were ready- 
 made clothes ! The lunch he brought with him to 
 school was beyond a joke. There was a tradition, 
 almost too dismal to record, that it never went beyond 
 thick bread and butter. And, indeed, there was a 
 current legend that his Barmitzrah was passed over 
 without any festivity or increase to his personal adorn- 
 ment. Boys, fancy a Barmitzvah boy without a break- 
 fast or a watch ! Let us hasten to draw a veil over 
 the melancholy picture. 
 
 The term was over; the scholarship gained; the 
 vacation in full force. Most of my schoolfellows had 
 gone to the sea-side or the country, while I was 
 wasting the holidays in town, idling three parts of the 
 day, and persuading myself that I was studying during
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 231 
 
 the fourth part. When lo ! one morning, joy of joys ! 
 I received an invitation. And such an invitation ! Not 
 to the monotony of Margate nor the beatitude of 
 Brighton ; not to revel in any one boy's exile, where 
 opportunities for quarrelling would be varied and nume- 
 rous ; but actually an invitation to spend a month with 
 Ben Barnett ! the richest, proudest, and most stupid 
 boy in all the school. To spend it, too, at his father's 
 lovely country seat, Hillside house, Hertfordshire, where 
 fifteen schoolfellows were already assembled or expected 
 as guests ! There would be boating, bathing, and 
 boys ! Cricket, football, and fives ! Driving, riding, 
 walking, running, and wrestling — such a programme 
 as I can best describe by calling it intensely jolly. 
 
 I obtained parental consent, accepted the invitation, 
 and packed my portmanteau, with, of course, a quantity 
 of articles I could not possibly require, while I naturally 
 omitted such trifling essentials as shirts, shoes, and 
 tooth-brush, and had to undergo the humiliation of 
 re-packing, under maternal supervision. You will 
 quite understand that I was ready to start three mortal 
 hours before the coach which was to convey me could 
 possibly put in an appearance, and that I arrived at 
 Hillside house in a wild nutter of expectation — a pure 
 and pleasurable excitement, which I pray Heaven 
 might be awakened in me again in these hard years of 
 after life ! 
 
 But in the days of youth, even our hopes are some- 
 times realized. The weather was glorious, the house 
 and grounds magnificent ; there were boats enough 
 for us all, though we all wanted to row ; and ponies 
 enough for us all, though we all wanted to ride ; a 
 number which sensibly diminished after the first day's
 
 232 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 experience, when the large majority of us carnc rapidly 
 to grief and violently off the saddle. 
 
 Among the guests were some Christian schoolfellows, 
 and, moreover, a middle-aged gentleman, named Hyde, 
 a friend of our host. Mr. Hyde was the head of a 
 mercantile house of great wealth and high standing. 
 
 Among the Jewish guests was the very Percy 
 Arnold of whom I have spoken. 
 
 Mr. Hyde took little notice of us boys, with one 
 exception. He showed great interest in Percy Arnold, 
 and frequently would he saunter with him through the 
 shrubberies ; his hand on his shoulder, each evidently 
 deriving pleasure from the conversation of the other. 
 And sometimes, when they were walking together, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Barnett would exchange approving and 
 significant glances. 
 
 Percy's favourite resort was a romantic and thickly 
 tangled wood, which extended over some miles of 
 country, about an hour's walk from the house. Hither 
 he would frequently wander, either alone or with 
 any companion he could capture ; and his great delight 
 was to lie down at the foot of some shady tree. He 
 haunted the wood, and we used to banter him, by 
 styling him "Pan," "Dryad," "Jacques," or such 
 other designation as our readings and imaginations 
 suggested. 
 
 I think that jealousy of Percy's abilities and success 
 was at the root of the disfavour with which he was 
 regarded by some of his schoolmates. 
 
 Now, one evening, we boys were sitting late round 
 the supper table, talking of school feats in study and 
 playground ; and some were dealing unmercifully with 
 the characters and scholastic reputations of our absent
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 233 
 
 schoolfellows. In this talk Arnold did not join, but 
 sat apart, and abstracted. Presently, he rose and left 
 the room. He had scarcely closed the door when Ben 
 Barnett, who, to do him justice, rarely spoke scandal, 
 because he rarely spoke at all, said, " Well, I suppose, 
 Arnold is too fine to join our talk about school. He 
 thinks himself a touch above us now." 
 
 " Oh, as to that," observed a boy, named Phillips, 
 " Arnold is as great a humbug as ever breathed !" 
 
 At this remark, spoken very loudly, Mr. Hyde, who 
 had been talking with Mr. Barnett, and had not 
 hitherto paid attention to our gossip, turned his head 
 and glanced at us. I noticed that after this first 
 mention of Arnold's full name he seemed to listen 
 attentively to all we said. 
 
 " I do not agree with you," observed a mild boy, 
 called Millington. " I think Arnold a jolly good fellow 
 and not a bit of a humbug." 
 
 "Ah! " said a boy named Frank Marks, "you don't 
 know as much of him as we do. I tell you Arnold is 
 a sneak." 
 
 " Yes," added Barnett, " he never joins in any of 
 our fun. He is always getting made monitor, and 
 getting other fellows in a row." 
 
 " He told of poor Watson, and nearly had him ex- 
 pelled for copying at the written examination. He 
 said it was his duty, you know. Fine duty ! When 
 he came in second, in consequence ! " Here broke out 
 a storm of invective. 
 
 " Cost him nothing, his duty. He never lets tiny- 
 thing cost him anything," said one boy. " He would 
 not subscribe to the Head Master's testimonial." 
 
 " He only gave a shilling to the fund we raised
 
 234 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 for poor Partridge, the porter, when he broke his 
 leg." 
 
 "He's an awfully sulky fellow, and dreadfully mean.'' 
 
 " But," said mild Millington, " he won the scholar- 
 ship, you know; so he must be clever." 
 
 " Clever ! " answered Phillips, " not he. He won 
 it, in my opinion, by cribs. I know he has access to 
 the City library." 
 
 " Yes, and worms himself round old Grosvenor, the 
 Greek Master, and gets lots out of him somehow." 
 
 " He never comes to see ony of us, nor asks any of 
 us. I am sure I wonder he came to you, Barnett ; 
 but then your father's rich ; and Arnold is no end of 
 a snob." 
 
 11 He isn't a gentleman, though ; " said Phillips, in a 
 slow sententious manner; "in fact, how can he be?" 
 
 " Why not?" asked a chorus of voices. 
 
 "It is not possible," said Phillips, mysteriously, "don't 
 you know all about him ? " 
 
 " No ; what is it ? Do tell us ! " 
 
 " It's a secret," said Phillips, in a pompous voice ; 
 and immediately, boy -like, he proceeded to reveal it. 
 " I heard it as a fact from a servant of ours who, in 
 their better days, was a servant of theirs. His name 
 is no more Arnold than yours. His real name is 
 Abrahams ! He changed it, because his father — well, 
 perhaps I ought'nt to tell — " 
 
 " Oh ! do tell— do— ." 
 
 " Well, as you are all confidential friends," — (there 
 were twelve confidential friends present) — " I don't 
 mind mentioning it. His father forged, and was trans- 
 ported for life to Australia ; and died there a convict ! 
 There's a fine fellow for you ! "
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 235 
 
 I observed that, at this juncture, Mr. Hyde rose from 
 his seat, and paced the apartment twice or thrice con- 
 templatively ; and then, suddenly, as if actuated by 
 a sudden impulse growing out of his meditation, he 
 quitted the room. 
 
 When he had gone, Mr. Barnett said gravely — 
 
 " I wish, boys, you had not spoken so sharply against 
 Percy Arnold ; I do not think he ever did you any 
 harm; but I fear you may have done him a great harm. 
 The fact is, he was strongly recommended to Mr. Hyde 
 by your head master — (though he could not afford to 
 contribute to his testimonial). Yes, recommended to 
 fill a position of high trust in Mr. Hyde's office — a 
 sort of secretaryship, which he requires, as he has 
 many public duties to fulfil in addition to his ordinary 
 business. He asked the head master if he knew of a 
 clever well educated youth, of respectability and un- 
 impeachable character, and pleasant temper, to whom a 
 salary, a home, and a promise of advancement would 
 be inducements. He offered a very handsome salary. 
 Dr. Parker at once named Arnold. And, to tell you 
 the full truth, I invited Arnold in order that Mr. Hyde 
 might have an opportunity of seeing and knowing him." 
 
 We all glanced at each other. 
 
 "Kow," continued Mr. Barnett, "Mr. Hyde was 
 delighted with Arnold, and offered him his situation ; 
 he nearly closed with him, and told him that if he was 
 as pleased with him as he anticipated, he would — to 
 use his own expression — be the 'making of him.' And 
 this is no trifle, boys, for Arnold is very poor, and 
 dependent on a widowed mother, who ekes out a scanty 
 living by her arduous labour as an embroiderer for a 
 London warehouse/'
 
 236 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 We looked rather uncomfortable. Alas ! our unruly 
 tongues — I fear I must say our unruly hearts — had run 
 off with our discretion. We felt it was but too possible 
 that we had done a little mischief, and we were sorry. 
 I then thought of Scott's words — 
 
 " Full many a shaft at random sent, 
 Finds aim the archer little meant ; 
 Full many a word at random spoken, 
 May heal or wound a heart half broken." 
 
 I don't think Hood had written his Lady's Dream in 
 those days, so, of course, I could not quote — 
 
 " Evil is wrought by want of thought 
 As much as by want of heart." 
 
 We gradually filed off to our bedrooms in a sheepish 
 style : but we soon forgot the incident. For long before 
 our usual bedroom conference — prolonged school-boy 
 fashion far into the night — had subsided into slumber, 
 we had allowed all thoughts of Arnold, and of his — or 
 our — shortcomings, to pass away from our minds. 
 
 Morning dawned : and before the sun had dried the 
 dew on the flowers, we were all, as usual, up and about. 
 We assembled for prayers, but missed Arnold. He was 
 usually one of the earliest amongst us ; but he did not 
 appear either at prayers, or even at breakfast. We 
 fancied he had overslept himself; and as he occupied a 
 small chamber in the upper part of the big house, we 
 could only obtain information by sending a special 
 embassy. Breakfast being over, we sent up a servant 
 to look after him, and our emissary brought us the 
 astounding intelligence that he was not in the room,
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 237 
 
 nor anywhere in the house; and that his bed had 
 evidently not been slept in ; for it remained in its last 
 night's " made " condition. 
 
 We then surmised that Arnold, who, as that dis- 
 agreeable boy Marks growled, " always was eccentric," 
 had started for a morning's walk and had lost his way; 
 and we imagined that he would soon return. But the 
 morning wore on. Morning was crowned by noon. 
 Noon waned. And still he did not come. 
 
 Where was he ? Where could he be ? What could 
 have happened ? We questioned the servants, but no 
 one could give any information. No servant and no 
 boy had seen him since he left the room at supper time 
 on the previous evening. 
 
 At length, Mr. Hyde, who had appeared indifferent 
 hitherto to the general excitement, said that he had 
 seen him after supper, because having had a private 
 communication to make to him, he had followed him to 
 his bedroom, and finding him there up and dressed, 
 and hard at study, he had spoken to him a little. 
 
 Mr. Barnett, anxious about his young guest, asked 
 Mr. Hyde if he might enquire the nature of this 
 communication. 
 
 Mr. Hyde hesitated : but, after a pause, he said, 
 " Well, it need not be a mystery. I did not care to 
 mention it : but it may as well be told. I had thought 
 of offering an appointment to your young friend, 
 Arnold. But when I heard all that was said of him 
 last night — all that was said of his character and 
 connections, by those who must have known most of 
 him, and by young boys who could have no possible 
 motive for aspersing him, I distinctly and decidedly 
 withdrew my offer. I told him that I could not possibly
 
 238 HOW AVE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 engage him to fill a position of trust and responsibilit} 7- , 
 requiring tact, temper and talent." 
 
 We boys were aghast ! What had we done ? Our 
 discomfort of last night was a trifle compared with our 
 horror now ! The uneasy feeling of the evening gave 
 place to a sickening remorse. For myself, I was terror- 
 stricken. I could not divest my mind of an appre- 
 hension of evil. And while I was in this confused 
 condition of mingled regret and alarm, a man-servant 
 entered with a letter which a maid, in arranging my 
 room for the night, had found on my bed. Its position 
 accounted for my not having seen it when I went to 
 dress for dinner. The letter was addressed to me. I 
 tore it open. It was from Arnold! Eagerly, impatiently, 
 I read it aloud. I have kept it ever since on my 
 person, as a reminder. Here it is : — 
 
 " Dear Bernard, — You have always cared for me 
 more than the other boys. I cannot go without a 
 farewell word to you. I am too wretched and confused 
 to write to my kind host and thank him as I ought. 
 For I am heart-broken. I am utterly miserable. The 
 main hope of my life is shattered. My terrible home 
 secret, my father's condition, is known ! known to all the 
 school ! known to Mr. Hyde, the best friend I had ever 
 gained. What will my mother say when she hears it? 
 I yearn to lay my weary head on her dear bosom to 
 comfort her — or to die ! But my limbs ache ; and my 
 head aches ; and my heart aches ; oh, how my heart 
 aches ! So I cannot meet her. I can never go back 
 to school. I can never face the world. I will wander 
 in the wood till it is all over. Say good-bye to my 
 mother for me. Oh ! what will my mother say when 
 she hears it ? "
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR. HOLIDAY. 239 
 
 In one moment the truth flashed on me. Young as 
 I was, I thoroughly understood how terrible, how fatal 
 to a boy of Arnold's sensitive disposition, must have 
 been the knowledge that the dreadful secret of this 
 father's disgrace was known to the school. The world's 
 opinion assumed gigantic proportions in the boy's 
 mind. Its black shadow fell on his heart, blotting out 
 the sunshine of happiness. And it was no imaginary 
 sorrow. For his hopes were blighted. The bright 
 position, the promising career opened to him by Mr. 
 Hyde's brilliant offer were lost to him — lost to him all 
 through our idle, senseless, heartless talk ; nay, let me 
 say the true word — our wicked calumny ! 
 
 I was a boy of positive character, and I at once 
 resolved to set out in search of Arnold. I felt a cold 
 fear at my heart. The dread of the terrible possibility 
 urged me forth to seek my schoolmate. Mr. Barnett 
 condemned, nay, ridiculed, my project. He said that 
 night was coming on, and that a search for a boy in 
 the wood, in the darkness, was a wild, mad scheme. I 
 was firm. The boys, eager for adventure, were anxious 
 to join me in my expedition. Mr. Barnett forbade his 
 own son and some of the younger children to go out. 
 But, to my surprise, Mr. Hyde decided that I was 
 right, and declared that he would accompany me in my 
 quest. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour from the reading of the 
 letter, we had set out, — Mr. Hyde, a few of the elder 
 boys, two men-servants, and ni} r self, in all eight. We 
 walked to the wood, where Mr. Hyde marshalled us in 
 four parties of two each, and each party had a lantern, 
 for the thick trees of the wood, full of July foliage, 
 made our way very dark indeed. We agreed to search
 
 240 HOW "WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 in different directions and to meet at ten o'clock (we 
 started at seven) in the centre of the wood, where a 
 woodman's cottage stood. 
 
 At a quarter past ten, we had all met at the wood- 
 man's cottage — our search utterly in vain ! wearied and 
 discouraged ; and, to be candid, some of us very hungry, 
 for we were but boys. Three of the boys and both the 
 men-servants resolved to return ; one of the latter, a 
 course country hind, angrily declared that " it was a 
 wild goose chase for a fellow who had never tipped 
 them a sixpence." But, with one accord, Phillips, the 
 ringleader of last night's mischief, but now heartily 
 repentant, and Mr. Hyde and myself, determined to 
 resume our search ; for I felt convinced that Arnold 
 had not left the wood ! 
 
 We three, abandoned by the others, and keeping 
 close together, set out again, exploring the least 
 frequented and most tangled brakes of the wood. 
 Eleven o'clock struck. Oh ! that weary, terrible 
 night. Oh ! the grief and remorse that tore our 
 hearts. Oh ! the fear that almost paralyzed them. 
 Never shall I forget our misery and alarm. The 
 hours dragged on, and still we found no clue to 
 Arnold. Our anguish and anxiety grew almost too 
 creat to bear. Twelve — one — struck through the still 
 air from the village clock, and we heard the dull 
 sounds in the dark lone wood. But we found no trace 
 of Arnold. But at last we said to each other — at 
 least I do not know who said it first — we said in a 
 whisper what we had thought for hours in our hearts, 
 " The river ! oh, the river ! " 
 
 For a narrow but deep river edged the wood on its 
 farther side, and the trees reached to its brink as
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 241 
 
 they clustered in fantastic shapes on its steep bank. 
 And thither, though we knew it was vain, we bent 
 our weary way. 
 
 What was this lying on the shelving grass, where 
 the trees were thin ? "What was this, lying stiff and 
 still — stark, cold, and damp ? A pale face turned 
 upward to the chill moonlight, a face so motionless 
 that it looked — ah ! and felt— like stone ! Oh ! 
 Arnold — oh ! our dear injured schoolmate ! Dear 
 boy ! dearest boy ! had we found him at last ? And 
 was he dead ? Had his poor stricken heart ceased to 
 beat for ever ? Oh ! what would his mother say 
 when she heard it ? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 No ! boys, no. He was not dead. We felt faintly, 
 but assuredly, the slow throb in his breast as we laid 
 our hands on him. But his e} T es did not open, nor his 
 lips move. Mr. Hyde knelt on the damp sward, and 
 raised his head on his knees. And oh ! boys — I am 
 not ashamed to tell it, though Mr. Hyde and Phillips 
 were looking on, and though I was a sixth class boy, 
 I knelt down with a great passion of tears and pressed 
 my trembling lips to the cold pale cheek of my 
 schoolmate. 
 
 Perhaps the hot rain of my tears, or the touch of 
 my kiss revived him. For he opened his eyes slowly, 
 and his lips parted — and though he closed eyes 
 and lips again almost instantly — we just caught the 
 words, "Oh! what will my mother say when she hears 
 it!" 
 
 Need I tell you, boys, how we raised him, carefully 
 and tenderly, and bore him to the woodman's cottage, 
 and laid him on a bed? how we sought medical aid
 
 242 HOW WE SPOILT OUK. HOLIDAY. 
 
 and used every wise expedient to revive him ? The 
 night wore on — the dawn broke — and, ere noon, he 
 had woken from his stupor, but was in the first 
 throes of brain fever ! 
 
 But at noon his mother, whom we had sought out, 
 was by his side ; and in all his delirium, though he 
 did not know her, he spoke but one sentence — 
 again and again — " Oh ! what will my mother say 
 when she hears it ! " 
 
 No, boys. He did not die. My story ends well, or 
 I would not have told it on this Sabbath day, the day 
 of Heavenly Joy and Earthly Peace. He recovered — 
 far more rapidly than we had dared to expect. He 
 recovered to forgive us all, as we gathered round his 
 bed, with tearful eyes and quivering lips. 
 
 We tried to expiate our fault by boldly seeking Mr. 
 Hyde, who had returned to his London duties, and 
 telling him that we had exaggerated every weakness, 
 and distorted every characteristic of our schoolfellow 
 — that we had ruthlessly, cruelly, heartlessly vilified 
 him. 
 
 He was a good man, though hasty. He believed us, 
 I think ; but it was clear that he could not quite divest 
 himself of the impression against Arnold left by our 
 calumnies. He never took kindly to him again. ~No, 
 all is not well that ends well. He did not renew his 
 offer of a situation. But he treated Percy charitably, 
 and gave him money to start him in life. 
 
 Percy Arnold is now a happy, prosperous man ; 
 married ; the father of many children. His mother, 
 too, is living. And the story of his father's shame is 
 unknown to the new generation. You may be sure
 
 HOW WE SPOILT OUR HOLIDAY. 243 
 
 that I have substituted a fictitious name, therefore, for 
 the real one. 
 
 And, though Arnold is prospering-, yet the im- 
 pression of that miserable night has remained on my 
 mind through all the years of my life. It stamped 
 my heart from the hour in which I knelt on the grass 
 beside the prostrate form of my schoolfellow. But I 
 do not regret the hours of misery I passed in the 
 wood, for I believe they made me a better man than 
 I might have been otherwise ; and perhaps you, who 
 have listened to me, " may profit by my tale." 
 
 For, be assured, our religion is really a religion of 
 love. And we pray wisely when we pray that our 
 tongues may be kept from speaking evil, and our lips 
 from uttering deceit.
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL; 
 
 OR, 
 
 " THINK AND THANK." 
 
 Another Tale for Jewish Schoolboys. 
 
 " I'm the most unfortunate fellow on the face of the 
 earth," cried Vivian Davis, passionately, — his hand 
 clenched, his eyes flashing, "the most unhappy 
 wretched fellow that ever breathed," he continued, 
 violently striking the playground gate with his left 
 hand ; — his right was in a sling. 
 
 Let us see what, in respect of the speaker, the 
 scene, or the circumstances, justified these strong 
 observations. 
 
 The speaker was a lad of fifteen ; strongly built, 
 graceful, good-looking, well-dressed. Nothing in all 
 these personal qualities to render Vivian " the most 
 unfortunate fellow on the face of the earth." 
 
 The scene was as pleasant a playground as you can 
 imagine — the playground of the Rev. Mr. Morris's 
 boarding-school down at Seaford. Gravelled in one 
 part, grass-covered in another ; with a few tall trees 
 and no brick walls. Sloping upward to the picturesque 
 red- tiled school-house at one side, sloping downward 
 on the other side to a bright flower garden which be-
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 245 
 
 longed to the boys and was cultivated by them ; and 
 beyond which was an acre or two, divided into patches, 
 where com and vegetables grew, and to which the 
 boys had free access. 
 
 For Mr. Morris was a sensible man in one respect. 
 Not sensible, inasmuch that he did not look upon a boy 
 as a coupon representing a dividend payable in half- 
 yearly instalments, when presented at home at the end 
 of the term ; but he actually thought boys were rational 
 beings, with minds to cultivate, bodies to strengthen, 
 hearts to draw to his own heart, and souls to render 
 pure. He really went so far as to imagine that be- 
 cause parents entrusted their children to him he had 
 undertaken a solemn parental responsibility and was 
 called on morally to fulfil it. And one way in which 
 he accomplished his task was this ; he taught his pupils 
 the great lessons to be learnt by the marvels of the 
 garden, the meadow, and the field ; he told them of the 
 seeds which, when carefully planted, grew by myste- 
 rious influence into flower and shrub ; the sheaves 
 which, when carefully tended, yielded the bursting ear 
 to the reaper ; the tree which woke to life in spring 
 and grew rich with leafy shade in summer and withered 
 in the winter, preparing for its new awakening. Ah, 
 well ! some schoolmasters fancy all lessons may be 
 taught by one single vegetable production only, vul- 
 garly called the cane ; but Mr. Morris took a broader 
 and truer view of nature, and enlisted other offspring 
 of the soil in his service. 
 
 Over the fair playground on the day that Yivian 
 spoke the words which head my story, there arched 
 a blue and beaming August sky, flecked here and 
 there with a few feathery clouds. And beyond the
 
 246 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 playing-fields stretched the broad bright country in 
 its green summer beauty. And the soft cool breeze, 
 laden with the breath of the salt sea, near at hand, 
 stirred the gay leaves of the playground trees. Surely 
 there was nothing in this pleasant scene to render 
 Vivian miserable. 
 
 Now as to the circumstances. Well, to tell the plain 
 truth, they were annoying. At least, I think you will 
 say so. Vivian Davis was the head boy of the school; 
 that, of course, was only an annoying circumstance 
 to the boys who were not the head boys. But he 
 wanted, naturally enough, to retain his position, and 
 hold the ground against all comers. 
 
 Caleb Ellis was close on his heels — always trying to 
 trip him up, but never yet quite succeeding. It so 
 befel that a rich gentleman named Barnett, the father 
 of that very Ben Barnett of whom you have read in 
 a certain history narrated in these pages, called 
 "How we spoilt our Holidays," desiring to render 
 himself eminently agreeable, commemorated his 
 sojourn that summer at Seaford by offering a really 
 handsome prize for competition to the first class 
 of Mr. Morris's school. You know that what we 
 public-school boys call the sixth form in our schools 
 the boarding-school boys are so obsolete as to call the 
 first class in theirs. Well, the prize was — of all things 
 in the world — a pony ! It was suggested by young 
 Ben Barnett ; and those who knew him best declared 
 it was the only sensible suggestion he had ever made 
 in his life. 
 
 It was agreed that the test should be a set of printed 
 questions which had just been used by a great public 
 school to which Ben Barnett went, and where, though
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AKD THE ANGEL. 247 
 
 he was taught a great deal, he had not learnt any- 
 thing. 
 
 Yivian thought he should win easily. He glanced 
 at the questions (which he had, of course, to answer in 
 writing), and when told that he had three hours in 
 which to answer thern, he laughed rather contemptu- 
 ously, and said he could do them in half the time. 
 
 Ellis said nothing ; did not laugh at all ; set to 
 work, and — won ! 
 
 Not quite fairly, / think. The fact was, the ques- 
 tions of one subject were printed on both sides of one 
 sheet. Vivian, in his superb disdain, forgot to turn 
 a page, never saw the question on the reverse side, 
 did not answer it, and lost just marks enough to lose 
 the day ! 
 
 Such an easy question, too ; that was the worst of it. 
 You know, boys, that famous arithmetical question, 
 which is not at all likely to be put to anybody in any 
 walk of real life, and which therefore is considered a 
 highly necessary portion of a sound practical educa- 
 tion : " If A could do a piece of work in 24 hours, 
 and B in 12 hours . . . ." I will spare you the re- 
 mainder of the hideous fiction, worthy only of a 
 Colenso. 
 
 Well, Vivian protested ; Mr. Morris would not listen 
 to his protests ! Vivian became angry, a state of mind 
 with which he often inflicted his schoolfellows, espe- 
 cially his dearest friends amongst them ; Mr. Morris 
 persisted in his decision. The marks were read aloud 
 in the schoolroom: Maximum 100 — Ellis 90, Davis 87; 
 all the rest nowhere. Pon} r duly adjudged to Caleb 
 Ellis. Hinc illce lachrynue ! 
 And that was not quite all.
 
 248 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 An hour before the declaration of marks Davis went 
 with, two or three intimates to examine the cricket 
 apparatus ; for a tremendous match was to be fought 
 on the morrow. Not at Seaford; not in the school 
 only. Oh, dear no ! The annual match between Mr. 
 Morris's Jewish boys at Seaford, and a Mr. Smith's 
 Christian boys at the rival town of Cliffsend (a matcli 
 with the fame of which the world ought to have rung, 
 for it woke wild frenzied enthusiasm in twenty-two 
 boys for three months beforehand !) 
 
 Davis was intensely fond of cricket. lie batted 
 well, he bowled better. They had a first rate bat at 
 Smith's school ; but as to a bowler ! There was 
 not a boy in all Cliffsend who could have held a 
 candle to Yivian (even if such an operation had 
 been customary at cricket, which for the benefit of 
 you boys who do not play cricket, T must mention is 
 not the case). 
 
 "Well, now comes the climax of poor Vivian's mis- 
 fortunes. "While passing through the outhouse in 
 which the cricket apparatus was kept, he trod on a 
 fallen ball, which rolled from under him and brought 
 him down heavily, his arm somehow beneath his 
 body. He sprained his wrist fearfully ; and though — 
 for he was a manly, resolute fellow — he determined to 
 make light of it, he suffered great pain, and sustained 
 a serious injury. No cricket for poor Vivian to- 
 morrow ! 
 
 To say the least of it, it was aggravating. But 
 even these troubles did not justify Vivian's annoyance. 
 Assuredly they did not justify his violence and dis- 
 content. 
 
 The truth is, Vivian Davis was a thoroughly dis-
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 249 
 
 contented boy. He had what persons call an unhappy 
 disposition; he was always fancying himself illused, in- 
 jured, and sinned against. This self-tormenting quality 
 made him appear far more ill-tempered and selfish than 
 he was by nature. He rendered himself thoroughly 
 wretched, and, what was far worse, he rendered persons 
 around him thoroughly wretched also. 
 
 Vivian had not even the cause of complaint that 
 some boarding-school boys have. He had left no happy 
 home, no loving parents, no dear young sisters and 
 brothers to live away from those tender ties, under a 
 stranger roof. He had no sisters and brothers, no 
 home — nay, worse still — and this was his greatest mis- 
 fortune, though he did not in any way recognize it — 
 he had no father or mother ! 
 
 This deprivation is a sad blight to a young life ; it 
 makes boyhood so imperfect. For the strong love of 
 the father and the tender love of the mother bless and 
 beautify the life that clings to theirs. They are the 
 angels of the home, the angels who guide our hearts 
 forward in the way of earth — upward in the way to 
 heaven. 
 
 I have a great compassion for fatherless and mother- 
 less boys ; I think each of us should try in his way 
 to be very gentle with them, and very forbearing, 
 knowing what they lack, knowing the love that they 
 have lost. 
 
 If amongst us there are some who have no little 
 ones of our own, let us give some of our spare un- 
 applied care and affection to these children who need 
 them, ah ! so much. Blessed are they who shelter and 
 befriend the orphan ! What if they have no boys of 
 their very own ? The life story of the fatherless whom
 
 250 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 they have guarded and led aright will chaunt a hallowed 
 CH D over their silent graves ! 
 
 No, Vivian had no father and mother. Perhaps if 
 he had had, his character might have been moulded by 
 parental influence into a better shape. But so it was. 
 He had in other ways very much to make him con- 
 tented. He was strikingly clever, he was healthy and 
 strong, he had an affectionate, sensitive heart, and an 
 imaginative mind, and he was rich. He had succeeded 
 to a large inheritance, which had accumulated since he 
 lost his parents in the third year of his life. 
 
 # -&■ -K- -A- 
 
 " I am the most miserable wretch that ever lived," 
 said Vivian again, " everything has gone wrong." 
 
 " Well," answered Harry Bennett, a sympathising 
 young schoolfellow, " you have been unlucky. Nothing- 
 short of an angel would set the matter right." 
 
 "Bah!" cried Vivian impatiently, "don't talk bosh 
 about angels. I don't believe in such nonsense." 
 
 " Don't believe in angels!" exclaimed Harry, aghast, 
 his big eyes opening to their widest expression of 
 surprise, " why Mr. Morris was only telling us about 
 them last Saturday, and that's what made me think of 
 them." 
 
 " Ah well ! angels don't come now-a-days," rejoined 
 Vivian, " it was all very well in former times, little 
 stupid, when there were all sorts of things that people 
 don't understand ; but angels don't come down from 
 the clouds in these times and set all our troubles 
 right." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that, Davis," said, in his 
 usually slow dreamy tone, a boy named Franco, an 
 imaginative young fellow, who (like some twelve years
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 251 
 
 old boys I knew,) wrote poetry, or rhyme, when he 
 ought to have been doing his exercises, or playing 
 prisoners bars, " Don't be too sure of that : I often 
 fancy angels come to us now-a-days, though we do not 
 see them, at least all of us don't see them, but I am 
 sure that " 
 
 What he was sure of never will be known, because 
 Vivian with a fresh gesture of impatience, strode 
 angrily away, frowning, muttering and giving vent to 
 various outward manifestations of savage discontent. 
 
 Strode away and came bolt up against his rival 
 Ellis. 
 
 Now Ellis was not the most amiable of boys, though 
 he differed in character from Vivian. He was not 
 violent, nor discontented, not sensitive nor affectionate. 
 His main annoyance was that though he was anxious 
 to enter professional life (he wanted to be a physician 
 or surgeon,) his father considered him intellectually 
 incompetent, and intended him for a foreign counting- 
 house, a subject on which he was especially sore. 
 
 How it happened I do not quite know, but Ellis, very 
 foolishly and unkindly, taunted Vivian on the result 
 of the examination. High words ensued and Vivian 
 worked himself into a towering passion. 
 
 The passion, the heat of the day, the annoyance of 
 his defeat, the disappointment regarding the cricket 
 match, the pain of the fall, acting on Vivian's sensitive 
 temperament, or, it may be, some physical indis- 
 position, seemed to affect the boy very remarkably. lie 
 felt languid, complained of severe headache and giddi- 
 ness and before evening lie was really very ill. The 
 illness increased as the day waned, and when Vivian 
 went to bed he was distressingly feverish.
 
 252 THE SCHO0L15OY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 As "head boy" he slept in a small chamber by 
 himself, a pleasant room looking over the fields towards 
 the sea, but the soothing murmur of the waves failed 
 to lull the boy to sleep, and when the stars woke in the 
 sky and glittered through the pane, the lad was still 
 awake, tossing feverishly in his bed. 
 
 Mr. Morris was alarmed. Nothing could have 
 happened worse. Mrs. Morris had been the previous 
 day summoned to the sick bed of a relative thirty miles 
 away. The house servants did their best, but the 
 anxious schoolmaster, deprived temporarily of the 
 calm aid and tender advice of the dear partner of his 
 cares, missed her more then ever at this critical 
 moment. You understand ; his pupils were his 
 children, not mere coining dies with which he 
 stamped money. 
 
 Backward and forward during the hours of mid- 
 night, poor Mr. Morris flitted to and from the boy's 
 chamber, of course disturbing the lad very much 
 every time he came in ; trying to walk on tiptoe in a 
 hushed manner, and consequently making a most 
 absurd noise ; and being, like many learned men, just 
 a little clumsy and awkward, he woke the boy from 
 his brief dozes, first by the crash of a cup which his 
 dressing-gown swept to the ground, and next by the 
 fall of his candlestick on the top of the stairs, whence 
 without apparent provocation or mechanical justifica- 
 tion, according to known principles of gravitation, it 
 rolled step by step to the stone pavement below, 
 rousing half the sleeping boys, and rendering poor 
 Vivian more feverish then ever. 
 
 But the last exploit proved fortunate to Vivian, for 
 Mr. Morris visited the boy no more that night, and
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 253 
 
 Vivian manfully endeavoured to compose himself to 
 sleep. Woke up once arguing with little Franco, 
 woke up twice imagining that an angel was going 
 to attend the cricket match on his behalf on the morrow, 
 woke up thrice with a confused notion of an angel 
 bearing off the coveted pony from Ellis' grasp and 
 presenting it to himself, woke up a fourth time in a 
 blended confusion of cricket, angels, boys and exami- 
 nations, and finally fell fast asleep. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Was he awake or was he dreaming ? Was he in 
 the possession of his faculties, or was his brain distem- 
 pered with delirious fancy ? Was he alive ? What 
 was it that the boy, drowsily opening his heavy eyes, 
 saw at the foot of his bed ? 
 
 Surely he was not dreaming ! surely he had his usual 
 intelligence. For, there was the bed, there the window, 
 with the moonlight gleaming through ! there the 
 familiar furniture ; there, carelessly thrown on a chair, 
 the clothes he had worn during the day ; there lay his 
 bandaged arm on the pillow. He felt his temples ache 
 as they had ached when he went to bed ; he felt the 
 keen smart of his arm as it had smarted since his fall ; 
 he even heard the distant murmur of the sea ; yes, he 
 heard the town clock chime the hour ! Surely he was 
 not asleep. 
 
 Not asleep, not dreaming, not delirious, not dead ; 
 and yet, at the foot of his bed, between the parted 
 curtains, there stood — an angel ! 
 
 An angel, if ever boy saw one ; an angel if the fancy 
 of the painter, the dream of the poet, the tradition of 
 all men, be true ! 
 
 In the soft liffht of the moon, which formed a broad
 
 2-3-1 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 silvery shimmering track sloping upward behind her, 
 as if she had glided down the shining path from her 
 native sky, the angel stood. Yes, surely an angelic 
 apparition. Her face, fair, smiling, gentle, and oh ! how 
 beautiful ! Her bright, tender, loA 7 ing woman's face, 
 such as we see in pictures and dreams, with rich golden 
 hair, shining like opaque light, and wreathed with a 
 heavenly garland of azure flowers, on which it seemed 
 the dew-drops sparkled ; while other flowers, oh ! 
 how lustrous in their varied colours ! were clustered 
 at her breast ; she was robed, it seemed, in a cloud 
 of blue, a feathery mist that appeared in the soft 
 moonlight, like a vapour fading from the hills at 
 dawn ; and just on each fair shoulder was a glimpse 
 of a white glistening ridge, like the folded edge of 
 an angel's wings. 
 
 Some sparkling crystals, beaming coloured fires, 
 girded the upraised arm — upraised to hold aside the 
 parted curtain. A perfume sweet, like the breath of 
 violets or hawthorn, floated all around her, and her 
 face — ah ! it was lovely, like a dream ! 
 
 He looked, he looked again, drank in her presence 
 with his eyes — " Ah !" he murmured, " an angel ! an 
 angel has come to me, to set it right." 
 
 She smiled a radiant smile, and then she sang. It 
 seemed to him she sang in notes of an unearthly 
 melody, a sort of gentle lullaby, so softly, that her 
 voice scarcely rose above a murmur ; so sweetly, that 
 it soothed him inexpressibly ; so harmoniously, that 
 it woke some feeling of sleeping poetry in the boy's 
 young breast, and led it upward like the voice of a 
 sacred song, heard for the first time. 
 
 He opened his eyes more widely. Oh ! no, he was
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 200 
 
 not dreaming. There she stood, the angel of the 
 night, the angel who came to the schoolboy, parting 
 his curtain with her jewelled hand, and singing him 
 to sleep. 
 
 And again murmuring " Angel," he sank to slumber 
 once more, lulled by the smile of her brow, the grace 
 of her presence, the music of her voice. 
 
 He slept, yet not so soundly but that he felt (or 
 perhaps then he was really dreaming) that a tender 
 hand turned and smoothed his hot pillow, and bathed 
 his aching head with cooling, soothing, sweet-smelling 
 waters, which lessened its heavy pain ; and that the 
 same tender hand relaxed the bandages of his suffering: 
 arm, dressed it with some kindly balm which checked 
 the smart, and laid it in an easy fashion, on a softer 
 and cooler cushion. 
 
 He slept ; but it seemed to him (though perhaps 
 then he was really dreaming) that as he closed his 
 eyes, calm loving eyes were looking into his ; that a 
 tender kiss was pressed on his heated brow ; that the 
 song was checked for a moment, while a voice, as 
 lovely in its music as the song, breathed gently these 
 fond words, " Poor motherless bo} r ! " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 With the pressure of such a kiss he woke. Woke 
 as some pleasant drink was held to his parched lips, 
 and he saw that it was broad day-light, and that near 
 him stood the angel of the night. 
 
 " Are you," said he, half closing his weary eyes, 
 " an angel come to set it right ? " 
 
 " I hope so," said the angel. " I hope I have come 
 to set you right ; but I fear I am no angel." 
 
 " Who are you, then ? " said the boy.
 
 25G THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 " Emma Lawrence," said the angel. " And I never 
 heard of any angel having such a name as that." 
 
 And she laughed gently, while the boy opened his 
 eyes and saw a bright fair lady near his bed, some 
 thirty-five or forty years old, wearing a gay garland 
 in her brown hair, and clothed in a blue ball-dress, 
 gay with flowers, a white scarf hanging from her 
 shoulders, jewels on her arms, and a smile on her face. 
 Oh ! a smile like the tender smile of — your own dear 
 mother, boys — of your mother, when she stands so 
 gently by your bedside in the hour of sickness or sorrow ; 
 your mother, the real angel of the schoolboy. 
 * * * * 
 
 But mine is no sensation story. I do not write for 
 the " Halfpenny English Youngster," or whatever be 
 the name of the last sensational print ; but I humbly 
 hope, for a better purpose ; hence, you may be sure, 
 that the lady who stood by Vivian's bedside did not 
 turn out to be his long-lost mother, his resuscitated 
 mother, his mysterious mother. Ah ! no, she became 
 to him like a mother in the days that were to come ; 
 but all that she was now she told Yivian in a few 
 brief words. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " I am your schoolmaster's 
 sister. I heard last night of your illness, and of my 
 brother's anxiety, owing to his wife's absence ; and 
 I hurried from the dinner-party where I happened to 
 be in this town, to see if I could be of use to him and 
 to you. You have heard, I fancy, of a sister of Mr. 
 Morris' who had just come to reside near Seaford ? " 
 
 " But have I been dreaming ? " said the boy, " for 
 certainly I did see an angel last night. At least it was 
 you whom I saw, and I — I took you for an angel."
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 257 
 
 " Well," said Euima, " I was at a grand dinner- 
 party yesterday, where there were several gentlemen of 
 fashion, and not one said anything half so polite as that ; 
 no one there took me for an angel. It was worth while 
 coming here to hear so gallant a speech. Did you ever 
 hear of an angel called Emma Laurence, my dear ? " 
 
 " No," said the boy, a little confused ; and for the 
 first time for months he laughed. 
 
 " Was I dreaming ? " said he. 
 
 " I think," said Emma, " if you took me for an 
 angel, you must have been wide awake ; at least I 
 prefer to suppose so. You certainly were not dreaming 
 when you saw me last night ; though, I suspect, the 
 moonlight and the nightlight, and your fevered fancy, 
 and my gay costume, helped the illusion. But I fear I 
 am far from being a real angel." 
 
 " Yet," said the boy, " you are gentler and kinder 
 than most persons are to me. And, to speak candidly, 
 an angel would be a most acceptable visitor to me just at 
 present." 
 
 " An angel would be an agreeable visitor to all of 
 us, at all times," said Emma, " but why do you 
 emphasize the words * just at present ? ' " 
 
 "Because," replied Vivian, harping on his old chord, 
 " I am the unhappiest boy in all the world ; everything 
 goes wrong with me ; and, as one of my schoolfellows 
 justly said yesterday, nothing less than an angel 
 would set me right." 
 
 "Rather a superlative expression," said Emma. 
 " Why do you say this ? " 
 
 And while the gentle lady again smoothed his 
 ruffled pillow, cooled his heated brow, gave him a 
 soothing draught, and tenderly bandaged his injured 
 
 s
 
 258 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 arm — gracious offices, which a woman's sacred hand so 
 well accomplishes — the boy told her the story of his 
 unhappiness. 
 
 And he told her more ; he told her step by step, 
 little by little, his whole life's story. Not the history 
 of incidents, for of these his boyish life had known but 
 few ; but the history of his heart, his feelings, his 
 hopes, his sorrows, and his doubts ; and, little by little, 
 he unfolded his inner boyish life, till it was spread like 
 a fairly written page before her. 
 
 " Well," said she, when all was told, and when she 
 understood all, which she did very quickly ; " there 
 are two thoughts which should influence us in such 
 manner as to prevent us from being wholly unhappy, 
 or, at least, comfort us in our greatest pang. One 
 is, that our own sorrows may be of use to others. 
 The other, that they may be of use to ourselves. 
 And this is, it seems to me, one of the keys of the 
 problem of life." 
 
 " But this does not always seem clear/' said Vivian. 
 
 " We do not always see it at once," replied Emma ; 
 " but as we can all judge from experience, I will tell 
 you how I found this out, from my own experiences. 
 From them I learnt, indeed, that sorrow seems given 
 for our own use or for the use of others. My dear," 
 she continued, after a pause ; " I was an orphan, like 
 yourself ; but, unlike you, I had a sister and a brother. 
 A friend of my father's was our guardian, and brought 
 us up. When I was sixteen, a cousin of ours, a man 
 of great wealth and high social rank, came to visit my 
 guardian. lie was clever, agreeable, and attractive ; 
 he was very courteous to me, and I fancied, giddy girl 
 as I was, that he liked me. At least, to be frank, I do
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 259 
 
 not know that I quite thought that, but I really did 
 suppose he intended to niarry me. I was quite de- 
 lighted with the notion of a wedding at which I should 
 figure as heroine, and of a house of my own, over 
 which I should preside. I think I did not lift my 
 notions beyond this girlish ambition. Well, it is clear 
 that my cousin did not think me an angel, for he 
 married my sister. It appears she was the object of 
 his visits to our house. Ah ! my pride had a fall, and 
 I was fearfully disappointed, unreasonably unhappy ; 
 I complained, as you complain, that I was the most 
 wretched person on the earth. But the sorrow that came 
 to me — for I felt it was a sorrow — was good to some one ; 
 for I learnt that my sister had long loved her husband, 
 for years before their engagement, and his proposal to 
 her had rendered her truly happy ; so my trifling 
 sorrow was a great source of joy to her. Well, my 
 dear, what cured me was a story which my guardian 
 told me. He had a brother whom he loved intensely, 
 and looked up to as he might have looked up to a 
 father ; he loved, regarded, esteemed, and admired 
 him. This dear brother suddenly died. You may 
 imagine my guardian's grief. It seemed to him that 
 the best part of his life had gone from him. He was 
 so wretched with this great sorrow that he fell ill. 
 But a few months after this brother died, he heard 
 that a great disgrace, a great shame, was attached to 
 his name : a disgrace so terrible that, had it been made 
 known in the world, a blight would have been inevit- 
 ably attached to his family and their reputation. By 
 his brother's death this circumstance was for ever con- 
 cealed and the shame for ever prevented. It fell on 
 none. It did not fall on my guardian. He was spared
 
 260 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 this misery, and he quite understood — ere the tears of 
 his grief were dry — that the sorrow which came to 
 him was good for himself. 
 
 " But when I heard of this I was myself married ; 
 my guardian, who was always my wise adviser, had 
 asked me to be his wife. 
 
 " I had been his happy wife one year when a great 
 joy came to me. Oh ! Vivian, a little baby lay nest- 
 ling in my arms ! A baby of my own ! I cannot 
 paint my pleasure in that moment of delight. Some 
 thoughts of joy we can only tell with our tears, with 
 the voice of our hearts — we can only tell them to 
 heaven. 
 
 " Fifteen years ago, my dear, my baby came from 
 heaven to me. It had been with me just three months 
 when I had to give it back to heaven. In just three 
 months the little life I prized passed from my loving 
 arms — " 
 
 And here the gentle lady paused, while her tears, 
 ah ! holy tears, rained on the boy's hand. 
 
 " My dear, had my baby lived, he would have been 
 your age. He went ; but, oh ! my love for my child 
 remained — remained on earth. I do not gi\e it now 
 to one child alone, as I might have done if my boy 
 had lived. No, no ; I give it to all children whom I 
 see, and most warmly to motherless children. I give 
 it to them fully, willingly, heartily. 
 
 "It seems to me that when my baby went to heaven, 
 my love for him remained behind, and grew greater 
 still ; for every child I see has a place in my heart ; 
 and, though I am childless, I am a mother still. 
 
 " Vivian, I did not grieve too much ; at least, I did 
 not murmur nor complain. I had learnt my lesson. I
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 261 
 
 felt my trial was sent to me for good ; perhaps for my 
 own use, perhaps for the use of others. Perhaps it 
 came to teach me to love and tend my husband even 
 more than I had done hitherto : perhaps to teach rne to 
 think of and care for all, all other children, instead of 
 centreing my motherly tenderness on my own ; perhaps 
 to teach me to lift my eyes from earth to heaven, and 
 strive so to live, while still in this world, that when I 
 went away from it, I might see my boy once more 
 yes, and be worthy to take him to my heart. 
 
 And it may be that my boy will not be ashamed of 
 me in a world where we must perhaps prove as pure, 
 or as purified, as the little ones we love." 
 
 # # '<i' # 
 
 " Ah ! " said Vivian vehemently, "how wretched you 
 must be ! " 
 
 " I wretched," said Emma. " Ah ! no ! I am quite 
 happy. I think and thank." 
 
 " You think — and you can thank ? " cried the boy. 
 
 "Yes," replied the lady; "I think of how all my 
 sorrows have turned to good. A sister made happy 
 through my first grief; my husband saved from a 
 wretched life by a second grief ; my heart purified by 
 my last great sorrow, — my sorrow which has made me 
 the mother of all children within my reach who need 
 my care on earth, and of an angel who does not need 
 my care, in heaven." 
 
 She might have spoken more when the boy — who 
 was crying heartily — had dried his tears ; she might 
 have taught him by precept what her story had out- 
 lined to him, had not a great cry arisen beneath the 
 windows, and a hurrying step sped up the staircase, — 
 which startled them both.
 
 2G2 THE SCHOOLBOY VNT) THE ANGEL. 
 
 And Mr. Morris, breathless, r pale, and trembling, 
 rushed into the room. 
 
 " Vivian !" he cried, as soon as he could speak, which 
 was scarcely possible to him at first. " What — what 
 is the name of the place where the boys have gone to 
 play cricket ?" 
 
 " Cliffsend," said Vivian. " Why ? " 
 
 " What train were they to go by ?" asked Mr. 
 Morris. 
 
 " The mid-day train, the only possible one for them," 
 replied the boy. 
 
 " Ah ! gracious heaven !" cried the schoolmaster, 
 falling: back on a chair. " There has been a frightful 
 accident. It has been telegraphed to the town — an 
 accident to the mid-day train ; lives are lost — and — " 
 He stopped, and burst into tears. " More work for poor 
 
 Emma." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " Well !" said the gentle, motherly lady, when she 
 had soothed the suffering master, and revived the 
 fainting boy. " Ah, well, you see, Vivian, how 
 fortunate you were. You might have been with the 
 boys — and then ! Oh, my dear, think and thank." 
 
 " No, no/' answered Vivian excitedly ; " Don't judge 
 me like that ! Don't think so ill of me. I am not 
 thinking of myself; I am thinking only of them, of 
 the boys, of my schoolfellows ! Oh, my schoolfellows ! 
 Oh, dear friends ! Why was I not kinder to them ? 
 Why was I not better to them ? Oh, if I should never 
 see them more ! I only think of them. Yes, I think 
 and thank — for I am indeed thankful that I am well 
 enough to help, if I can yet give some help — if any 
 help can be of avail !"
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 263 
 
 He made a great effort to rise in the bed, eager to 
 be of use, agitated beyond measure ; and sank back, as 
 you may well suppose, quite insensible. He had 
 fainted ! 
 
 She could not rouse him from his swoon. The heavy 
 purple eyelids still lay closed on the pale cheek ; the 
 lips remained colourless ; the cold hand motionless on 
 the irregularly beating heart; the lady scarcely felt 
 the pulsation in his wrist. 
 
 She strove with all the tender remedies which 
 women understand so well and use so deftly, to res- 
 tore his consciousness. It seemed in vain ; still the 
 boy lay cold, and mute and deaf ; lay almost as if his 
 life had winged its flight for ever. 
 
 * * * -* 
 
 Could nothing rouse him ? Nothing ? Yes, j'es. 
 He moves ; he listens ; he breathes ; his eyes open ; he 
 smiles ! He has heard a shout — a shout of joy — a 
 ringing, wild, impetuous, gladdening shout ! The 
 merry cry of boyish voices — voices he knows so well 
 — the dear familiar voices of the school-room and the 
 playground ! The voices of his schoolfellows, breaking 
 the air with their joyous cheers, as they troop boiste- 
 rously, hurriedly, almost turbulently, into the field that 
 lay beneath his window ! And the cry that roused 
 him was — 
 
 " Victory for Seaford School !" 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " Did you think, Vivian,'' cried Harry Bennett, as 
 he rushed into the bed-room; "that we would have 
 gone to Cliffsend without you ? Not we ? we sent 
 over to tell the fellows so. The cowards thought we
 
 264 THE SCH00L130Y AND THE AKGEL. 
 
 were frightened to meet them without Yivian Davis 
 for a bowler or a batter ; so they hired the town 
 omnibus, and came over here to fight us in our own 
 cricket field outside the town." 
 
 " Then you were not in the train ?" cried Vivian. 
 
 " What train?" 
 
 " The mid-day train, where the accident occurred." 
 
 " Oh, no ; and the accident was greatly exaggerated ; 
 only an express train ran into a luggage van. Luggage 
 vans always seem to be left purposely on the line for 
 something to run into. Nobody killed." 
 
 Vivian nearly " went off" again; his joy and gra- 
 titude confused him, and he scarcely heard what 
 followed ; but perhaps you would like to hear. 
 
 It seems that the Cliffsend boys, fancying the Seaford 
 boys shirked the match without Davis to help them, 
 trooped over to " have it out." 
 
 " And it is clear," said Harry Bennett, " we had 
 learnt more than one notion from you, Davis. We 
 have not seen you play cricket so long and so well, 
 without profiting by it. We know your cool way, old 
 fellow ! We know your style of bowling ; and Jack 
 Mendel copied your cool stroke, and we beat the 
 Cliffsend hojs to nothing ! " 
 
 " And, oh ! Vivian," said Ellis, " Such good news for 
 me ! My father is so delighted at my having won the 
 Barnett prize that I am not to go abroad. I am to 
 go to University College. Barnett has promised 
 my father to ' look after me/ and I think I am regu- 
 larly in for life's promotion. So," continued the 
 aggravating boy, " your grief and loss have been my 
 joy and gain." 
 
 " Yes," said Vivian calmly smiling ; " and I am
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ANGEL. 265 
 
 heartily glad of it ; my grief and loss have been my 
 joy and gain also." 
 
 And he looked with meaning eyes — loving eyes, very 
 full of tears — at the gentle lady who stood beside his 
 
 bed. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Vivian rose from that bed a wiser, a happier, a 
 better boy. He did not — for life is not a fairy tale — 
 become at once and entirely cured of his great fault. 
 No marvellous conversion was wrought in him. It is 
 only in chemistry and in the annals of the " Great 
 Gull " societies, that conversions are suddenly effected. 
 But a gentle, tender, loving influence was henceforth 
 exerted on him ; for Emma, taking fondly to the 
 orphan boy, became a mother to him ; she cared for 
 him, a little for his own sake, a little from the large 
 loving-kindness of her heart, and not a little for the sake 
 of the baby boy who had gone away from her; the 
 baby who, had he lived, would have been of Vivian's 
 age. 
 
 The angel influence of her motherly heart cured the 
 boy of his great failing ; for love has immense power. 
 He grew up wise and good, for he learnt through her 
 the blessed strength of a mother's love. As she herself 
 said ; though her child was gone, her motherly love 
 remained. And thus, in truth, it was a real angel that 
 came to the school-boy ; an angel who taught him to 
 " think and thank/'
 
 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 
 
 A Parable for School Boys and School Girls. 
 
 " I am the rose of Sharon." — Song Sol. ii. 1. 
 
 We are bound to believe in God's Bible, even when 
 we do not quite understand it. We must believe in 
 His revelation, even when we cannot fully grasp its 
 intention ; just, indeed, as we are bound to submit to 
 His will, even when we do not comprehend His divine 
 motives and immediate purposes. Yet it is far easier 
 for us to believe and to obey, when we see — or think 
 we see — the reason, motive, or intention of the heavenly 
 scheme or divine ordinance, than when we merely 
 yield a blind obedience. 
 
 Does it not sometimes appear singular to you, that 
 God should have chosen one family among the many 
 families of the earth, and should have specially 
 manifested to that family His power and will, and 
 should have given to it His commandments ? He 
 chose one family — the children of Jacob and their 
 descendants ; and separated them from all other 
 families of the earth by special institutions and ob- 
 servances, which rendered them a peculiar people,
 
 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 267 
 
 apart from all other people, wherever they might dwell 
 and whatever might happejfto them. 
 
 Since all the world and all its creatures are dear to 
 their Creator, how came it that He chose one family ; 
 made it a great nation ; told that nation His will ; 
 and sent it forth, armed with His Law, shielded 
 by His promise, and girded by His institutions, into 
 the world at large, with whose inhabitants that 
 chosen nation might mix — but never blend ? Now let 
 lis see if, by a simple parable, the reason can be made 
 clear to us. 
 
 There were fifty bo}'s in a school-room, and each 
 boy bore in his breast a moss-rose, plucked from a 
 tree that grew in the playground. Presently, the 
 Master came amongst them ; the Master whose 
 voice they heard, but whom they did not always 
 obey, nor trust, nor believe. He was a man with 
 smiling lip but flashing eye, with a gentle but a 
 firm voice. 
 
 He placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the 
 boys, and said, " Pluck out the rose you have gathered, 
 and take the one I offer. Place it in your breast. My 
 rose comes not from your playground, but from a 
 fairer and far distant garden. The other roses, the roses 
 of the other boys, will fade and wither. They will lose 
 their fragrance ; they will droop and crumble. But 
 my rose will never die. It will never lose its fragrance. 
 It will never lose its beauty. Buds will spring from 
 it, which you may give to your comrades. The other 
 roses that you see around you, even if they be grafted 
 on your own, will perish. But not my rose. Summer 
 will fade into autumn. Autumn will grow into winter. 
 Yet in every season — season by season — year by year
 
 268 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 
 
 — indeed for ever — the rose I give to you shall live 
 and bloom and blush and be ever fragrant and fair as 
 at this hour." 
 
 The boy who had been chosen took the rose ; at 
 first according to childhood's impulse, contentedly 
 believing, but, soon, as the impression of the Master's 
 voice died away, he doubted ! The other boys laughed 
 when the Master left. They scoffed at the boy and at 
 his rose. 
 
 For, as the days of the summer advanced — and they 
 were long, light, gay days — their roses grew, and 
 bloomed, and opened, and threw out bright gaudy 
 petals. And the boys quarrelled amongst themselves 
 because each one said that his rose was not alone the 
 brightest, the largest, the fairest, and the sweetest ; 
 but that his was the only true rose, and all the other 
 roses were weeds or artificial flowers. 
 
 Their roses grew and flourished, but the rose that 
 was given to the Chosen Child never grew. It re- 
 mained the same as at the moment in which it was 
 first placed in the boy's bosom. It remained small, 
 very small ; unpretending and unchanging ; fair and 
 fragrant. The sun shone on it brilliantly ; the 
 twilight closed on it gloomily ; the darkness of the 
 night shrouded it heavily, and the storm-rains beat 
 on it sturdily ; and the dawn sent its first pale streaks 
 on it in its humble abiding place ; but the rose of the 
 Chosen Child passed through every ordeal — the pain- 
 ful and the pleasant — and it remained unchanged, 
 still fair and graceful ; still bright and fragrant. And 
 the days wore on. 
 
 Summer faded into autumn; autumn mellowed into 
 winter. The gaudy flaunting roses which the boys
 
 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 269 
 
 carried in their bosoms, withered in their pride. They 
 drooped; they died; they shed their blighted leaves 
 and their over-ripe petals ; they lost their perfume, 
 their color, and their grace ; " they withered on the 
 stem." So that when the winter had well set in, the 
 playground roses perished; they crumbled into dust. 
 And, at last, nothing remained in the breast of each 
 boy of the childish group, but — not even the remnant 
 of a flower — nothing save a blighted, broken, useless, 
 ugly, rotting stem. 
 
 Not so the rose of the Chosen Child. Summer 
 passed into autumn, autumn hardened into winter, and 
 the rose given by the Master from his own ground 
 remained unblighted and unchanged. Unblighted in 
 its freshness ; unchanged in its beauty, its fragrance 
 and its grace. 
 
 And, although when the Chosen Child held the rose 
 aloft in his hands and shewed it to his comrades to let 
 them know its constant loveliness and drink into their 
 senses its undying perfume, the thorns on the stem 
 wounded his hands somewhat roughly, " He was 
 wounded through our transgression"*"; yet he was 
 comforted, for he held in his hands the fairest 
 flower of all — the flower that gave pleasure by its 
 presence and its fragrance to his comrades — the Ever- 
 lasting Rose. 
 
 When the boys saw that their roses died, while this 
 one rose lived on : they began to think it must be a 
 miracle. They cast away — some angrily, others scorn- 
 fully — the withered stalks that had once been sur- 
 mounted by their own gay and proud flowers. Thej^ 
 admitted that the flower of the Chosen Child was the 
 ° Isaiah liii. 5.
 
 270 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 
 
 only true and real rose. And they believed in the good- 
 ness, power, greatness and truth of the Master, the 
 Master by whom the Rose was given. 
 
 Now the Master had given roses to all the boys ; and 
 if these roses had all remained unblighted and un- 
 fading through all the varying seasons and changes of 
 the year, the boys would have naturally thought that 
 this was an ordinary fashion, and that it was the nature 
 of all roses to remain unaltered, ever fresh and fragrant 
 in every time and change and season. They would 
 have said, here is nothing wonderful. The Master has 
 given us ordinary roses; garden roses. It is the custom 
 of roses to bloom periodically. The Master differs not 
 from ordinary gardeners. We need not believe in his 
 wisdom or his truth: we need neither fear nor obey 
 him. 
 
 But, when they saw their own bright roses die ; and 
 when they saw that the humble little flower the Chosen 
 Child wore in his breast, lived on, flourished, bloomed, 
 and gloried in its enduring beauty, grace and perfume: 
 they recognised a Miracle, and they believed, and 
 they gathered (if they were gentle); or snatched (if 
 they were rude), buds and blossoms from the rose of 
 the Chosen Child ; and they began to believe in the 
 Master. 
 
 And they said to the Chosen Child, " What 
 was it that the Master whispered in your ear, when 
 he gave you the rose ? What was it that he said 
 you were to do to keep the rose untarnished and 
 unchanged ? " 
 
 And the Child told them what had been whispered 
 in his ear by the Master. It was this : 
 
 " The rose which I give to you was given to me by
 
 THE EVERLASTING ROSE. 271 
 
 One who gave me with it one command alone ; — Love 
 Me and Mine ! ° 
 
 This immortal rose is God's Law ! Moses is our 
 Master. Israel the Chosen Child ! 
 
 Oh, Israel ! Witness of God's great truth and dear 
 love to all thy comrades in earth's school ! Thou who 
 hast borne through all the ages, and still shalt bear, 
 till thy mission be fulfilled, the Everlasting Rose, guard 
 it and prize it ! 
 
 Israel, the Chosen Child, has borne this rose in his 
 breast through all the historic drama and all its varied 
 scenes ; through all the seasons, with their sunshine 
 and their storms ; through the summer of prosperity, 
 the autumn of decay, the winter of contumely, the 
 dawning spring of hope ! through the days when his 
 comrades feared him, and the days when his comrades 
 oppressed him ; through the days when his comrades 
 courted him, and — gathering round him — proffered 
 the too friendly, too hospitable, and therefore tempting 
 hands. 
 
 May Israel guard and prize the rose with a jealous 
 eye for the Giver's sake, and water it with the tears of 
 contrition and affection ! There was a time in the his- 
 tory of life's school, when, in the dark winter of trouble, 
 it was watered with the life-blood of Israel in the sad 
 hour of martyrdom. 
 
 Other roses grow from earthly roots. They grow, 
 they bloom and flourish gaily; they fade and die. But 
 the rose of the Master grew in a different soil ; it sprung 
 from heaven. Like the asphodel it cannot fade. It is 
 indeed the tree of life which is planted in the midst of 
 us and it cannot die ! 
 
 The rose shall spread over all the earth. Its world-
 
 272 THE EVERLASTING HOSE. 
 
 wide branches shall grow strong and firm ; and all the 
 scholars, led by the Child chosen by the Giver, shall 
 climb the stalwart boughs and pluck its rich fruits — 
 the fruits of godliness and virtue — and thus become 
 worthy of entering the garden whence the Hose sprung, 
 that garden which we call Heaven ! 
 
 Exn. 
 
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