2 
 
 REESE LIBRARY 
 
 OF THK 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Received.- .-^KS>4W^ i 
 
 A ccessions No. ~^-. X _-~^_ ^7/^//" A r <? 
 
 ^>> 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
SACRED SCENES 
 
 AND 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 I, T, HEADLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SACRED MOUNTAINS," ETC. 
 
 WITH ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY DARLEV. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 BAKERAND SCRIBNER, 
 
 145 NASSAU STREET AND 3G PARK ROW. 
 
 1850. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1849, by 
 
 J . T . H E A D L EY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 C. W. BENEDICT. 
 201 William street. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 SADL AND SAMUEL Frontispiece. 
 
 PAUL -Title. 
 
 THE RED SEA PASSAGE, ..... .1 
 
 RUTH, . ^ ..... .27 
 
 THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL, ..... 39 
 
 ABSALOM, ........ 69 
 
 THE NAMELESS PROPHET, V . * . . . . .115 
 
 THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT, .... 127 
 
 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM, ...... 146 
 
 THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED, . . . . .158 
 
 FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND, . 01 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 THE same motive which induced me to write the 
 " SACRED MOUNTAINS" has prompted these sketches, 
 viz. to render more familiar some of the most interest- 
 ing scenes described in the Bible. As I said in my 
 preface to that work ; delineations of character, inci- 
 dents, scenes, and indeed principles, are given only in 
 outline in the sacred volume. The elaboration of 
 them, or in other words the filling up, is left to the 
 reader; for the whole "world could not contain the 
 books that should be written." 
 
 The elucidation and application of the great truths 
 of the Bible, is the highest work in which a man can 
 be engaged. It involves no less than the theory of 
 our religion and the whole system of moral philosophy, 
 and hence belongs peculiarly to the public teacher 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of Christianity. Mine is an humbler task, leav- 
 ing the fields of theology and ethics to those better 
 fitted to occupy them, I confine myself to scenes and 
 characters, the outlines of which are furnished by the 
 sacred historian. But though humbler, it is no less a 
 legitimate and proper work. 
 
 I have thought it necessary to say thus much, in 
 order to meet the objection which might be raised by 
 the ignorant and prejudiced, that I was "attempting 
 to improve on the Bible." He who elaborates and ex- 
 plains Christ's sermon on the Mount, never dreams of 
 improving it, and yet is a task which the best man 
 undertakes from the purest and noblest motives. 
 Every sermon on the Sabbath day is an example of 
 this mode of enforcing Christian duty. All the decla- 
 rations of the Bible are in this way amplified and 
 made simple. The same is true of Scripture scenes. 
 There is probably no event described with greater 
 minuteness of details, and which, beside, from its 
 very nature forbids all attempts to make it more pa- 
 thetic and fearful, than the crucifixion scene, and yet 
 there is none so much dwelt upon in the pulpit, and 
 rightly, too. 
 
 For not only was it intended we should do this for 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 our own benefit and that of others, but the change 
 which passes over language renders it necessary to a 
 right conception of the sacred writings. And so long 
 as the great truth designed to he illustrated by the 
 event, scene or incident, is kept in view, there is not 
 only no wrong done, but a positive good accomplished. 
 This much I have endeavored faithfully to do. 
 
 Acting on one principle, -" look into thine own 
 heart, then write" I know I shall find those who will 
 sympathize with me ; for no man can be true to his 
 own nature without being true to that of many others. 
 
 If I succeed in giving greater prominence, and im- 
 parting a deeper interest, to some of the scenes and 
 characters of the Bible than they have before possess- 
 ed, I shall be amply rewarded. 
 
 I am aware that the description of a succession of 
 scenes, each of which is chosen for the high-wrought 
 interest it possesses, is apt to appear overstrained ; but 
 if truth and nature have been preserved, I am content. 
 For the mere sake of balancing a book, I would not 
 depart from either. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 THE RED SEA PASSAGE, . *. , 1 
 
 II. 
 ELI, ......... 15 
 
 III. 
 
 ..... 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE HAND- WRITING ON THE WALL, . . .39 
 
 V. 
 
 THE CHARIOT OF FIRE, ...... 54 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 VI. 
 ABSALOM, ...... .69 
 
 VII. 
 
 \/ THE POWER OF BEAUTY, .... $$ 
 
 VIII. 
 
 INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE DEAD, . 104 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE NAMELESS PROPHET, 115 
 
 X. 
 
 THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT, . . . .127 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM, . . . . .146 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED, . . . .158 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON, . 17(3 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 XIY. 
 
 Page 
 
 PAUL, 185 
 
 XV. 
 
 FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND, . . . .201 
 
 XYI. 
 
 THE TOMB OF CHRIST, . . . 214 
 
\v V OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
THE last fearful night had at length come 
 the night of alarm, dread visitation and 
 death. The terrible judgments sent in such 
 rapid succession on the haughty monarch of 
 Egypt were found insufficient to subdue his 
 imperious nature. 
 
 The rivers, streams and rills of Egypt had 
 been turned into blood, bearing on their crim- 
 son bosom masses of dead and dying fish. In- 
 sects and vermin had swarmed into every 
 chamber and closet, dying where they had 
 gathered, till an intolerable stench arose from 
 the fetid heaps. Disease had seized on the 
 cattle, sweeping them away by tens of thou- 
 sands a grievous plague smitten the people, 
 
2 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 filling the air with notes of lamentation. A 
 storm of thunder, hail and fire commingled, 
 had burst on the land the flames breaking in 
 angry billows along the streets, and consum- 
 ing every green thing in their devastating 
 flow. A cloud of locusts, darkening the 
 heavens in their endless flight, followed, de- 
 vouring every tender blade which had shot 
 forth since the passage of the storm, so that a 
 vast desert spread away where smiling fields 
 had been. Darkness, such as could be felt, 
 for three days covered the earth, till the deci- 
 mated, diseased and starving population were 
 filled with fearful forebodings that the last 
 hour of time was about to strike. 
 
 Amid all this desolation and death, this 
 wreck of his empire ; amid the prayers and 
 maledictions of his suffering and distracted 
 subjects, the iron-hearted monarch stood firm 
 to his purpose. The captives that lay bound 
 to his throne should not go forth free. Sternly 
 defying God, he bore up under these accumu- 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 
 
 lated woes with a resolution and will that 
 astonish us. But now, he was to be struck 
 nearer home, the iron was to enter his own 
 soul, and wring from thence the bitter cry of 
 anguish and entreaty. The first-born in every 
 house, from the first-born of the beggar to the 
 heir-apparent to the throne, was to be smitten. 
 Death in his grimmest form was to darken 
 the door of every dwelling of Egypt; and the 
 night of his dread visitation had arrived. In 
 the solemn hour of midnight, the angel of 
 doom was to tread the quiet hamlet and the 
 thronged city, and his icy hand be laid on one 
 beating heart in every family, and its marble 
 pressure force a death-shriek that should 
 startle every sleeper there ; and lo ! twelve 
 o'clock was striking. Three bright blood 
 spots on the two door-posts and the lintel of 
 each door of the Israelites the blood of the 
 passover lamb showed that within dwelt a 
 Hebrew, and said to the passing angel, 
 " Enter not here." Humble tenements thev 
 
4 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 all were, on which these crimson stains were 
 placed, but they contained dwellers nobler 
 and more sacred than the royal palace. 
 
 It was midnight, and as the last hour struck, 
 a deep silence rested on the vast city. The 
 tumult of the day and evening was over the 
 crowd had forsaken the streets, across which 
 dim lights were swinging ; and nought broke 
 the solitude save the measured tread of the 
 sentinel walking his nightly rounds, or the 
 rumbling of a chariot as some late reveller 
 returned to his home. Here and there a light 
 \vas seen in a solitary sick chamber, giving to 
 the gloom a sadder aspect, and out from a 
 narrow alley would now and then burst the 
 sounds of folly and dissipation. All else was 
 still, for the mighty population slumbered as 
 the sea sometimes sleeps in its strength. But 
 suddenly, just as the " ALL'S WELL !" of the 
 drowsy sentinel echoed along the empty 
 streets, piercing shrieks rent the silence ; 
 and, passing rapid as lightning from house to 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 5 
 
 house, and blending in with each other, rung 
 out on the night air with strange and thrilling 
 distinctness. And then came a wail, follow- 
 ing heavily after, and rolling up even to the 
 palace and throne of Pharaoh. 
 
 Unseen by mortal eye, the angel of death 
 was treading with noiseless step the silent 
 avenues and lanes, putting out one light in 
 each household and dismissing one spirit 
 thence to its long home. In a moment the 
 city was in an uproar ; lights danced to and 
 fro ; the rapid tread of urgent messengers 
 made the streets echo ; the rattling of wheels 
 was heard on every side ; but still the wail of 
 desolated houses rose over all, like the steady 
 roar of the surge above the crash of the 
 wreck. 
 
 In the midst of this scene of excitement and 
 terror, the children of Israel took their flight. 
 Nearly a million of them, their muffled tread 
 shaking the earth, streamed through the dark- 
 ness and emerged into the open country. 
 
6 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 When the morning dawned in the east, there 
 lay the city before them, its towers and domes 
 flashing back the beams of the rising sun in 
 redoubled splendor. But what a change had 
 passed over it since that sun last looked upon 
 its magnificence. Sobs and cries now arose 
 from every door, for the dead lay in every 
 dwelling. 
 
 In solid ranks, the hundreds of thousands 
 of Israel took up their line of march, and night 
 found their tents spread on the edge of the 
 wilderness. Far as the eye could reach, they 
 dotted the open country around, and fringed 
 like a ridge of foam the dark forest beyond. 
 And when night fell on the scene, suddenly a 
 solitary column of fire shot into the heavens, 
 lighting up with strange brilliancy the forest 
 and the encampment. There it stood, lofty 
 as a tower that beetles over the sea, and 
 inherent with light from base to summit. 
 The white tents grew ruddy in its blaze, and 
 the upturned countenances of the innumerable 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 7 
 
 host that gazed awe-struck on its splendor, 
 shone as if they were standing under a burn- 
 ing palace. All night long it blazed there in 
 their midst and above them, illuming the 
 desert, and shedding unearthly glory on hill, 
 valley and forest. 
 
 When the morning came, it turned into 
 a column of snowy whiteness, revolving within 
 itself like a cloud, yet distinct and firm as 
 marble. No voice shook its thick foldings, 
 yet it had a language more potent than that of 
 Moses, and its silent command of " FORWARD," 
 caused every tent to be struck, and set the 
 vast multitude in motion. Over the wide plain 
 it moved in advance of the army, and through 
 the deep gorges it rose far above the moun- 
 tains, the strangest leader that a host ever 
 followed. When the sun struck it, its long 
 shadow fell across the massive columns in one 
 unbroken beam, filling every heart with fear 
 and dread. At night it stopped and stood 
 still, like a single marble shaft, till darkness 
 
8 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 came down, and then it became again a shaft 
 of fire. 
 
 Thus, day after day, they continued their 
 march, plunging deeper and deeper in the 
 wilderness, until at length word was brought 
 that the enraged Pharaoh, with his entire 
 army chosen chariots and all was in full 
 pursuit. Consternation then filled every heart, 
 and each eye turned anxiously to that myste- 
 rious pillar. But no change passed over its 
 silent form steady and calm as ever, it moved 
 majestically forward, heedless of the shouts 
 and tumult that were gathering in the rear. 
 Perchance at night it did not stop as before, 
 but moved on in the darkness, blazing along 
 the desert, lighting it up with more than 
 noon-tide splendor. 
 
 On, on swept the weary host, while every 
 moment nearer and louder roared the storm 
 on their track. Still hoping, yet fearing and 
 trembling, they followed that steadily moving 
 column, until, at last, it stopped on the shore 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 9 
 
 of the sea. As they pressed up and gathered 
 on the beach, despair seized every heart ; for 
 far away naught but a wide waste of water 
 met their gaze, while the unchecked billows 
 broke heavily along its bosom, and behind, 
 rushing on, came the tens of thousands of 
 their foes, panting for the slaughter. That 
 fearful pillar of cloud and fire, then, was only 
 sent to delude them to their ruin. Oh, what 
 lamentations, and prayers, and murmurings 
 went up from the despairing host. They 
 were on the desolate shore, against which the 
 restless sea beat with a monotonous roar, 
 while from the solitude arose the deafening 
 roll of countless chariot wheels, rushing to 
 the shock. All that night, the only obstacle 
 between them and their enemies was that 
 pillar of fire. Yet slight as it seemed, it was 
 more impregnable than a wall of adamant. 
 Still it was a wild and fearful night ; the 
 morning must bring the onset and the 
 
 slaughter ; while, as if to heighten the ter- 
 1* 
 
10 
 
 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 rors of the scene, a terrific wind arose, driving 
 the sea into billows that fell in thunder on 
 the shore, and sounded as if God also was 
 about to fight against them. 
 
 Thus passed this night of anguish and 
 dread to the Israelites : but when the morn- 
 ing dawned, lo ! there opened the sea, like a 
 mountain gorge the green and precipitous 
 sides standing in massive walls on either hand. 
 " FORWARD/' spake the cloud, and the stern 
 command rolled in startling accents along the 
 mighty column, and it descended slowly into 
 the fearful depths. Like an army of insects 
 they moved below, while the billows that 
 broke along the surface of the deep crested 
 over the edge of the watery clifls above them, 
 as if looking down on the strange spectacle 
 and the spray that fell on their heads was the 
 " baptism of the sea." The pursuers plunged 
 into the same watery abyss, and as their rapid 
 chariots drew near the flying host, it seemed 
 for a while that the sea had been opened on 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 11 
 
 purpose to entrap them, and make them fall 
 easier victims to their foes. But at this criti- 
 cal moment, that strange cloud rose up, and 
 moving back over the long line, planted itself 
 in front of the Egyptian army. Its solemn 
 aspect and mysterious form, troubled the 
 monarch and his followers the wheels rolled 
 from the axletrees of the chariots the solid 
 ranks became disordered and broken, and 
 terror and tumult took the place of confidence 
 and strength. 
 
 At length, the fugitives, with their bleat- 
 ing Hocks and lowing herds, ascended the 
 opposite shore : as the last one stepped 
 upon the beach, that dripping cloud also 
 moved up after them, and then, with a loud 
 crash, the sea smote together, and the waves 
 rolled swiftly on as before. Fierce, circling 
 eddies and whirlpools, and huge bubbles of 
 air bursting on the surface, alone told where 
 'he mighty host was buried, and where 
 and how they struggled in the depths. At 
 
12 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 length the wreck began to heave upward, 
 and oh ! what an overthrow it revealed. 
 Chariots and horses, and spears and shields, 
 and myriads of corpses darkened the sea as 
 far as the eye could reach. 
 
 But what a spectacle that shore presented ; 
 the beach, the rocks, the hills were all black 
 with the living masses, as they stood tremb- 
 ling and awe-struck, and looked back on the 
 deep. For a long time not a sound broke the 
 death-like silence that reigned throughout the 
 vast throng. Each heart was filled with dread 
 and awe as the heavy swells fell at their feet, 
 casting on the beach with every dash, broken 
 chariots, whole ranks of men, pale in death, 
 and horses and weapons of war. 
 
 There, too, stood the cloud, and looked on 
 the scene, while, on its white and lofty form, 
 the eyes of the multitude ever and anon 
 turned reverently from the piles of the dead 
 below. But at last, joy and gratitude, and 
 triumph at their great deliverance, gave way 
 
THE RED SEA PASSAGE. 13 
 
 to the terror that had oppressed them; and 
 suddenly there arose a shout louder than the 
 , bursting of the sea, " Sing unto the Lord, for 
 he hath triumphed gloriously : the horse and his 
 rider hath he thrown into the sea. The Lord is 
 my strength and song, and he is become my salva- 
 tion. Who is like unto thee, Lord, among the 
 gods? Who is like thee, glorious in holiness, 
 fearful in praises, doing wonders ?" From rank 
 to rank from ten times ten thousand lips, 
 rolled on the mighty anthem, till the shore 
 shook with the glorious melody, and the 
 heavens were filled with the strain. And 
 Miriam, with her prophetic face and eye of 
 fire, separated herself from the multitude, fol- 
 lowed by a throng of dark-haired maidens, on 
 whose cheeks the glow of excitement had 
 usurped the pallor of fear; and as they moved 
 in shining groups and graceful dances, their 
 silvery voices rung out over the clash of tim- 
 brels and roar of the waves in triumphant 
 bursts of music, and " SING YE TO THE LORD, 
 
14 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 FOR HE HATH TRIUMPHED GLORIOUSLY : THE 
 HORSE AND HIS RIDER HATH HE THROWN INTO 
 
 THE SEA," arose and fell like melody along 
 the rivers of Paradise. 
 
 Fearful had been the pursuit, and great was 
 the deliverance. 
 
II. 
 
 ELI was a high priest of Israel, possessing 
 great goodness of heart, but wanting firmness 
 of purpose and energy of action. Of tender 
 feelings and vacillating will, he appears to me 
 like a man who would rather submit his neck 
 to the executioner's axe, than himself inflict 
 the blow on one every way deserving his 
 fate. This weakness of character was exhi- 
 bited in the manner in which he educated 
 his sons. He allowed their bad passions to 
 grow unchecked, so that from wayward 
 children they became wicked men. His 
 conscience compelled him to reprove them, 
 while he failed in energy to enforce his 
 
16 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 rebuke. This was the more culpable, since 
 as a high priest, his sons would necessarily 
 themselves be priests : and hence it became 
 him to see that they did not minister with 
 impure hands. Instead of this, however, he 
 let their evil tendencies have such scope 
 that when they assumed the sacerdotal 
 robes, they used their office for selfish ends 
 and the gratification of their base passions. 
 When a man came to offer a sacrifice they 
 appropriated a great part of it to themselves, 
 and insulted the women assembled at the 
 door of the temple. So gross and open was 
 their conduct, that the people turned with 
 disgust from the sacrifice, feeling that no 
 good could come from such mercenary and 
 brutal priests. These enormities w T ere told 
 to Eli, but the doting old man only said, 
 " Why do ye such things ? nay, my sons, 
 it is no good report that I hear." A very 
 weak reproof and wholly disregarded by his 
 contemptuous sons. 
 
ELI. 17 
 
 At length a man of God came to Eli ; and 
 placing before him his past conduct, and 
 recounting, in concise but plain language, the 
 solemn obligations that lay upon him, and the 
 sin he had incurred in not restraining his 
 vicious children, pronounced the doom of 
 utter extermination on his family. Not long 
 after, the same malediction was uttered by 
 the Lord to Samuel, to which the old man 
 bowed his head, saying, "It is the Lord; let 
 him do what seemeth him good." He had 
 done wrong, and he knew it, and now he 
 would meekly suffer the penalty of his mis- 
 deeds. 
 
 Time wore on, and at length war was 
 declared between the Israelites and Philis- 
 tines, and a battle was fought in which the 
 former were beaten, with the loss of four 
 thousand men. 
 
 Attributing their defeat to the absence of 
 the ark of the covenant, they sent for it, and 
 Hophni and Phinehas, the sons of Eli, of 
 
18 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 course accompanied it. The two armies lay 
 opposite each other, awaiting each the onset 
 of his antagonist, when the Israelites saw 
 the ark slowly approaching over the plain, 
 with the mercy-seat of solid gold glittering 
 in the sunbeams. In a moment, despondency 
 gave way to courage, despair to triumph, 
 and there went up a shout that rocked the 
 mountains. " The Ark of God! The Ark of 
 God!" rolled in deep Hebrew accents from 
 tens of thousands of lips over the field of 
 battle, sending terror and dismay to the 
 hearts of the enemy. "What shout is that? 55 
 ran from lip to lip, and when it was told that 
 the ark of the Lord was in the camp of Israel, 
 they exclaimed, " We are lost ! These are 
 the mighty gods which smote the Egyptians 
 and strewed the way from Egypt hither with 
 dead armies, and how shall we escape ? 5 ' 
 Their leaders, however, encouraged them 
 saying, " Be men and fight bravely. Will 
 you be the Hebrew's slave as he has been 
 
ELI. 19 
 
 yours ? Quit yourselves like men !" Rous- 
 ing their courage by such appeals they led 
 them to the onset. 
 
 What a terrific sight did the battle-fields 
 of old present. Not in solid columns flanked 
 by clouds of cavalry and headed by fierce 
 batteries did they advance slowly to the 
 work of death, but ten. times ten thousand 
 men rushed suddenly and savagely upon 
 each other's bosoms, and the battle became 
 so many fierce hand to hand contests. 
 Hence it was longer protracted and more 
 murderous than now. 
 
 As these two immense hosts, like two 
 dark clouds, closed on each other, the shout 
 of each drowned for a moment the braying 
 of trumpets and clash of instruments of music. 
 Straight on the ark of God went the Philis- 
 tine thousands, bearing down everything 
 before them. Israel saw it, and all over the 
 tumultuous field arose the cry " To the 
 rescue!" Begirt with countless foes, the sa- 
 
20 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 cred emblem stood still on the plain, while 
 that strong Hebrew shout rolled steadily 
 to the heavens, and the countless masses 
 went pouring forward. Around the holy 
 Shekinah, swords dripping with blood flashed 
 and waved, spears glanced and banners rose 
 and fell. The mercy-seat tottered to and 
 fro in the doubtful fight the cherubim shook, 
 while clouds of dust rolled over the com- 
 batants, and all was rage, terror and confu- 
 sion. Wicked but brave, Hophni and Phine- 
 has, true to their sacred trust, fell pierced 
 with a hundred wounds, and the boldest of 
 Israel's warriors sealed their fidelity with 
 their blood. Vain valor trampled under 
 foot, borne backward by the on-rushing 
 thousands, the defenders of the ark broke 
 and fled. With a shout that fell like a 
 death-knell on those brave spirits, their ene- 
 mies seized the ark and bore it triumphantly 
 away. Faint terror and utter despair seized 
 every heart, the shriek rang out over the 
 
ELI. 21 
 
 din of combat, "The ark is lost! The ark 
 is lost !" and that magnificent host became a 
 herd of fugitives, sweeping hither and thither 
 over the plain. How well they fought, how 
 freely they bled, we know from the fact that 
 there fell of Israel that day " thirty thousand 
 footmen." 
 
 On this same terrible day of battle and 
 of defeat, far off in the beautiful plains of 
 Shiloh, sat an old man by the w r ayside, lis- 
 tening eagerly to every passing footstep. 
 Bowed over his staff, w r ith pallid cheek and 
 lip, the venerable high-priest of Israel was 
 filled with gloomy forebodings. The ark 
 of God, the idol of his heart, the more than 
 his life, had gone to the .doubtful battle field. 
 Ah ! w 7 as the long-impending curse now to 
 be fulfilled, and the approaching night to 
 be the one which should close on him, a 
 withered trunk, with every green branch 
 lopped away ? Each passer-by regarded the 
 blind old man with pity, and spoke cheer- 
 
22 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 ing words which fell on unheeding ears. 
 His heart was far away with the host of 
 Israel and the ark of God, and on his dream- 
 ing, excited spirit, there came the noise 
 of conflict and sounds of alarm. Thus 
 he sat till evening, and as the glorious sun 
 of Palestine stooped behind the western 
 hills, flooding the valley below with beauty, 
 his melancholy face took an expression of 
 intenser anxiety. The gentle breeze lifted 
 his thin silver locks from his temples, but 
 still he sat like a statue cut from stone, and 
 listened. Hour after hour had worn heavily 
 away, but just as the last sunbeams fell in 
 a shower of gold on his venerable head, 
 the sound of hasty footsteps smote his ear. 
 Not the startled deer lifts his head in more 
 eager attitude, than did that blind old man 
 when first roused from his reverie by that 
 rapid tread, which his heart foreboded too 
 well brought heavy tidings. It was one of 
 the fugitives from the battle field, still crim- 
 
ELI. 23 
 
 son with the slaughter, his clothes rent, 
 and dust on his head, and despair in his eye. 
 And lo ! as he sped onward with the sad 
 news, a cry of distress and anguish followed 
 him. Eli heard it and asked its meaning. 
 The next moment the messenger of evil 
 stood before him and cried, " I am just from 
 the army, and all is lost. Israel is fled be- 
 fore the Philistines, and her bravest lie dead 
 on the field. Thy two sons Hophni and Phine- 
 has are slain, and the ark of God is taken." 
 Under the defeat of Israel the patriarch bore 
 firmly up: even the death of his two only 
 sons did not shake his aged frame ; but 
 when it was told him that the ark of God 
 was taken, he fell dead to the earth. All, 
 all else could be borne : the slaughter of his 
 people, his own and his sons' death were 
 nothing in comparison to the honor of his 
 God. This last blow broke his heart as 
 with a sudden crash, and he died without 
 uttering his sorrow. Ah!* who can tell the 
 
24 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 tide of feeling that swept over him at the 
 fatal news. That his sins should be visited 
 on the people and his sons was natural 
 the prophetic curse had prepared him for 
 this ; but that the honor of God, which was 
 dearer to him than life, should suffer for his 
 misdeeds was more than he could bear. 
 The curse had struck deeper than he had 
 anticipated, and in that day of terrible sus- 
 pense, and in that moment of unspeakable 
 anguish, he received the punishment of a 
 fond but erring father. 
 
 Of a noble heart, full of all gentleness and 
 love, pure and upright himself, he yet did 
 not fulfil the responsibilities of a parent. His 
 defects were rather mental than moral, and 
 his crime consisted in not restraining others 
 instead of not controlling himself. All his 
 thoughts, wishes and desires were pure, but 
 he refused to arrest the vices of his children. 
 Too easy in his temper, and doting in his 
 affections, he would not see the evil he was 
 
ELI. 25 
 
 bringing on them, on the people, and on 
 himself. Thus does the fondness of parents, 
 when allowed to blind their eyes to the faults 
 of their offspring, or prevent them from pun- 
 ishing their misdeeds and checking their pas- 
 sions, always end in the misery of both. 
 This is the lesson intended to be taught in 
 this chapter of history, and it must be con- 
 fessed that it is a fearful one, accompanied 
 with fearful warnings. 
 
 How little we know of the designs of hea- 
 ven and how completely contradictory do 
 they often appear to passing events. Around 
 that ark of God the symbol of love and 
 mercy and for the silent tomb of the Son 
 of God, who came to preach peace on earth, 
 more blood has been shed than for any war- 
 like banner that ever floated over a field of 
 slaughter. The frightful wars of the Israel- 
 ites and the millions slain in the Crusades, 
 to deliver the Holy Sepulchre, are strange 
 
 facts in history. Yet the ordering of the 
 
 2 
 
26 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 one, and the permission of the other, are 
 equally parts of that great plan whose origin 
 is perfect wisdom, and whose result will be 
 the greatest good that could be accomplished. 
 The maudlin philanthropist of the present 
 day, like Eli, of old, cannot look upon 
 severity or death, and would much rather 
 crime should go unpunished, freedom fall, 
 and justice be trampled under foot, than 
 that men should be slain. These are they 
 who would abrogate all law but that of 
 kindness. To them the Old Testament is 
 an antiquated book, and the history of God's 
 dealings with wicked men rather a curious 
 relic of the barbarous past, than the stern 
 and right action of their Maker and Judge. 
 
. 
 
III. 
 
 THERE seems no reason why the Book of 
 Ruth should have been written except to 
 show the lineage of David. It is simply a 
 sweet pastoral, a truthful tale, embodying 
 the finest sentiments, and placing before us 
 in attractive colors, a young, lovely and 
 beautiful \voman. It is a chapter in domes- 
 tic life, told with charming simplicity, and 
 awakening in the reader feelings of the 
 purest and noblest kind. To one who reads 
 the Bible in course, it comes like a sudden 
 yet sweet surprise. The sterner feelings 
 of his nature have been roused by the tur- 
 bulent scenes of the book of Judges. Fierce 
 
28 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 battles, private murders, and terrific slaugh- 
 ters have followed each other in rapid suc- 
 cession. One of the last scenes that he 
 dwelt upon was the violent death of an un- 
 chaste woman, whose dismembered body 
 was sent in bleeding fragments, throughout 
 the land, like the fiery cross of Scotland, to 
 call men to arms, followed by the slaughter 
 of a hundred thousand men, whose corpses 
 strewed the fields the whole closed by the 
 forcible seizure of women for wives, like the 
 rape of the Sabines. 
 
 From such a succession of horrors, the 
 reader comes upon the simple and gentle 
 story of Ruth, like one who emerges from 
 an Alpine gorge, black with thunder-clouds, 
 and filled with the roar of mad torrents, upon 
 a little green pasturage slumbering in the 
 embrace of the hills, along whose quiet sur- 
 face, herds lazily recline or slowly wander, 
 while the tinkling of bells mingling with the 
 murmur of the streamlet, charms the soul 
 
RUTH. 29 
 
 into pleasure, the whole seeming, from the 
 very contrast, doubly sweet. 
 
 No novelist has ever been able, with his 
 utmost efforts, to paint so lovely, so perfect 
 a character as this simple story presents. 
 From first to last, Ruth appears before us 
 endowed with every virtue and charm that 
 renders a woman attractive. Naomi's hus- 
 band was a man of wealth, and left Bethle- 
 hem to escape the famine that was wasting 
 the land. In Moab he found plenty, and 
 there w T ith his wife and two sons, who mar- 
 ried Ruth and Orpah, lived awhile and died. 
 In the course of ten years, the two sons 
 died also, and then Naomi, broken-hearted, 
 desolate and poor, resolved to return and 
 die in her native land. How touching her 
 last interview with her daughters-in-law, 
 when she bade them farewell, and prayed 
 that as they had been kind to her and her 
 dead sons, so might the Lord be kind to 
 them. Surprised that they refused to leave 
 
30 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 her, she reasoned with them, saying that she 
 was a widow and childless, and to go with 
 her was to seek poverty and exile in a 
 strange land. She could offer them no home, 
 and perhaps the Jewish young men would 
 scorn their foreign birth, and then when she 
 died none would be left to care for or pro- 
 tect them. There they had parents, bro- 
 thers and friends, who loved them and would 
 cherish them. On the one hand were rank 
 in society and comfort, on the other disgrace 
 and poverty. Orpah felt the force of this 
 language and turned back; but Ruth, still 
 clinging to her, Naomi declared that it was 
 the act of folly and madness to follow the 
 fortunes of one for whom no bright future 
 was in store, no hope this side thfe grave 
 She sought only to see the place of her 
 childhood once more, and then lie down 
 where the palm-trees of her native land 
 might cast their shadows over her place of 
 
RUTH. 31 
 
 rest. " Go back," said she, " with thy sis- 
 ter-in-law." 
 
 She might as well have spoken to the 
 rock : that gentle being by her side, all 
 shrinking timidity and modesty, whose ten- 
 der feelings the slightest breath could agi- 
 tate, was immovable in her affections. Her 
 eye would sink abashed before the bold look 
 of impertinence, but with her bosom pressed 
 on one she loved, she could look on death 
 in its grimmest forms unappalled. Fragile 
 as the bending willow she seemed, but in her 
 true love was firm as the rooted oak. The 
 hand of violence might crush her, but never 
 loosen that gentle clasp. With those white 
 arms around her mother's neck, and her 
 breast heaving convulsively, she sobbed forth 
 " Entreat me not to leave thee, for where thou 
 goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I 
 will lodge : thy people shall be my people, 
 and thy God my God : where thou diest 
 
32 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 I will die, and there will I be buried : 
 naught but death shall part us." 
 
 Beautiful and brave heart ! home, and 
 friends, and wealth, nay, the gods she had 
 been taught to worship, were all forgotten 
 in the warmth of her affection . Tearful yet 
 firm, " Entreat me not to leave thee" she said : 
 " I care not for the future ; I can bear the 
 worst ; and when thou art taken from me, I 
 will linger around thy grave till I die, and 
 then the stranger shall lay me by thy side !" 
 What could Naomi do but fold the beautiful 
 being to her bosom and be silent, except as 
 tears gave utterance to her emotions. Such 
 a heart outweighs the treasures of the world, 
 and such absorbing love, truth and virtue, 
 make all the accomplishments of life appear 
 worthless in comparison. 
 
 The two unprotected women took their 
 journey on foot towards Bethlehem. It was 
 in the latter part of summer, and as they 
 wandered along the roads and through the 
 
RUTH. 33 
 
 fields of Palestine, Ruth by a thousand win- 
 ning ways endeavored to cheer her mother. 
 Naomi was leaving behind her the graves 
 of those she loved, and, penniless and deso- 
 late, returning to the place which she had 
 left with a husband and two manly sons, 
 and loaded with wealth; and hence a cloud 
 hung upon her spirit. Yet in spite of her 
 grief she was often compelled to smile 
 through her tears, and struggled to be cheer- 
 ful, so as not to sadden the heart of the 'un- 
 selfish innocent being by her side. And at 
 fervid noon, when they sat down beneath 
 the shadowy palm to take their frugal meal, 
 Ruth hastened to the neighboring rill, for a 
 cooling draught of water for her mother, and 
 plucked the sweetest flowers to comfort 
 her. 
 
 Thus, day after day, they travelled on, 
 until at length, one evening, just as the 
 glorious sun of Asia was stooping to the wes- 
 tern horizon, the towers of Bethlehem arose 
 2* 
 
34 s u urr> CH VK u ITK*. 
 
 in sight. Suddenly a thousand tender asso- 
 ciations, all that she had possessed and all 
 that she had lost, the past and the present. 
 rushed over the broken spirit of Naomi, and 
 she knelt, and prayed, and wept. "Call me 
 not," said she to the friends of her early days, 
 who accosted her as she passed through the 
 gates, " call me not Naomi, (or the pleasant,) 
 but Mara, bitter, for the Almighty hath dealt 
 very bitterly with me." 
 
 Here again Ruth's character shone forth 
 in its loveliness. She was not one of those 
 all sentiment and no principle : in whom de- 
 votion is mere romance, and self-sacriiice 
 expends itself in poetic expressions. Though 
 accustomed to wealth, and all the attention 
 and respect of a lady of rank, she stooped 
 to the service of a menial in order to sup- 
 port her mother. With common hirelings 
 she entered the field- gleaner, and with- 
 
 out a murmur trained her delicate hands to 
 the rough usage of a day-laborer. At night, 
 
RUTH. 35 
 
 her bard earnings were poured with a smile 
 into the lap of her mother, and, living wholly 
 in her world of love, she was unmindful of 
 everything else, Boaz saw her amid the 
 gleaners, and struck with her modest hearing 
 and beauty inquired who she was. On being 
 told, he accosted her kindly, saying that 
 he had heard of her virtues, her devotion 
 to her mother, and her self-sacrifices, and 
 invited her that day to dine at the common 
 table. 
 
 With her long, dark locks falling in ring- 
 lets over her neck and shoulders, and her 
 ek crimson with her recent exertions 
 and the excitement at finding herself oppo- 
 site the rich landlord, in whose fields she 
 had been gleaning, and who helped her at 
 table as his guest, she sat the impersonation 
 of beauty and loveliness. That Boaz was 
 fascinated by her charms, as well as by her 
 character, was evident. He had watched 
 her deportment, and saw how she shunned 
 
36 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 the companionship of the young men who 
 sought her acquaintance, and of whose atten- 
 tions her fellow gleaners would have been 
 proud. Nothing was too humble, if it min- 
 istered to her mother's comfort, but beyond 
 that, she would not condescend to anything 
 inconsistent with her birth. Whether abash- 
 ed by his looks and embarrassed by his 
 attentions, or from her native delicacy of 
 character, she arose from the table before 
 the rest had finished, and retired. After she 
 had left, Boaz told the young men to let her 
 take from the sheaves without rebuke ; and 
 then, as if suddenly recollecting how different 
 she was from the other gleaners, and that every 
 sheaf was as safe where she trod as it would 
 have been in his own granary, he bade them 
 drop handfuls by the way. She, wondering 
 at their carelessness, gathered these up in 
 the afternoon, and at sunset beat out the 
 grain and carried it to her mother. Naomi, 
 surprised at the quantity, questioned her 
 
RUTH. 37 
 
 closely as to where she had gleaned, and 
 when Ruth told her the history of the day, 
 the fond mother divined the whole. Her 
 noble and lovely Ruth had touched the heart 
 of one of her wealthy kinsmen, and she wait- 
 ed the issue. 
 
 The long conversations they held together, 
 arid the struggles of the beautiful Moabitess, 
 before she could bring herself to obey her 
 mother and lie down at the feet of Boaz, 
 thus claiming his protection and love, are 
 not recorded. Though custom made it pro- 
 per and right, her modesty and delicacy 
 must have thrown her young heart into a 
 state of agitation that almost mocked her 
 self-control. The silent appeal, however, 
 was felt by her rich relative, and he made 
 her his wife. The devotion to her helpless 
 mother her self-humiliation in performing 
 the office of a menial the long summer of 
 wasting toil the many heart aches caused 
 by the rough shocks she was compelled, 
 
38 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 from her very position, to receive, at length 
 met with their reward. Toiling through the 
 sultry day, and beating out her hard earn- 
 ings at night; the only enjoyment she had 
 known was the consciousness that by her 
 exertions Naomi lived. It had been diffi- 
 cult, when weary and depressed, to give a 
 cheerful tone to her voice, that she might not 
 grieve her anxious mother-in-law ; but still 
 the latter saw that the task she had volun- 
 tarily assumed was too great, and therefore, 
 at length, claimed from Boaz the obligations 
 of a kinsman. Love, however, was stronger 
 than those claims, and he took Ruth to his 
 bosom with the strong affection of a gener- 
 ous and noble man. She thus arose at once 
 to the rank for which she was fitted ; and in 
 time the beautiful gleaner of the fields of 
 Bethlehem became the great-grandmother 
 of King David of Israel. 
 
IV. 
 
 ys^NXNXN^ 
 
 m&ao^pttswraa w 
 
 ONE evening a royal form was seen walk- 
 ing on the terrace of his palace, and looking 
 off upon the magnificent city at his feet. As 
 his eye swept round the circuit of the walls, 
 fifty miles in circumference, and three hun- 
 dred and fifty feet high, and saw their hun- 
 dred lofty gates of brass flashing in the sun- 
 beams, and the hanging gardens suspended 
 nearly four hundred feet in the heavens, 
 loaded with shrubs and waving trees, and 
 sparkling with fountains that leaped from 
 beneath gayly decorated arches; and be- 
 low on the wilderness of palaces and dwell- 
 ings at his feet, his lips murmured, " Is not 
 
40 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 this great Babylon that I have built by the 
 might of my power and for the honor of my 
 majesty ?" And well he might indulge * in 
 vain boasting, and believe that naught but 
 an earthquake that should sink the land, 
 could shake the city of his pride. Those 
 massive walls, broad enough for eight or 
 ten carriages to drive abreast upon, rose 
 higher than the loftiest spire of our land, 
 till the clouds seemed to rest on their 
 summits, while around, a deep ditch was 
 sunk, filled by the Euphrates. Twenty-five 
 gates of brass upon each of the four sides, 
 with strong towers between, bade defiance 
 to mangonel or battering ram, while the 
 boldest might shrink from scaling those slip- 
 pery heights. Fifty streets, each a hundred 
 and fifty feet broad and fifteen miles long, 
 went from gate to gate, lined with palaces 
 and temples and tow r ers, and crowned with 
 arches, till the eye ached with the magnifi- 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 41 
 
 cence and grandeur that met it at every 
 turn. 
 
 But deep down amid those costly piles 
 was a far different scene. By the streams 
 and fountains over which the willows wept, 
 sat a band of Hebrew captives, their harps 
 hanging silent upon the drooping branches, 
 and their heads bowed in grief. To the gay 
 promenaders who paused as they passed, and 
 asked them to sing one of their native melo- 
 dies, they replied with tears. In that 
 strange land they could not sing, for their 
 hearts were too full of Zion and her sad 
 fate. They were the prisoners left from 
 the spoils of Jerusalem ; but their tears and 
 prayers as they sat there scorned and deso- 
 late, were shaking that proud city to its 
 overthrow. Little did the haughty monarch 
 think, as he looked on his stronghold, that 
 the cries of those neglected captives were 
 bringing down the lightning of heaven on 
 its towers and battlements; and that to re- 
 
42 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 dress their wrongs fell at that moment on 
 his ear the voice from heaven, which startled 
 him like a thunder-peal, " THY KINGDOM is 
 
 DEPARTED FROM THEE." 
 
 Years have passed by, and Nebuchadnez- 
 zar is in his tomb, resting in more than regal 
 splendor amid the despots who have gone 
 before him ; and another occupies his throne 
 as haughty and wicked as he. Belshazzar, 
 too, has heard, but not heeded, the first 
 mutterings of the coming storm. The Per- 
 sian thousands have swarmed for a long 
 time around the city to overthrow it, and 
 have battered its massive walls and brazen 
 gates in vain. Equally vain were the at- 
 tempts to scale the heights from lofty towers 
 of palm-trees ; and so the baffled foe sat 
 down to starve the impregnable city into 
 subjection, and for two years hedged it in 
 with a wall of men. At this last attempt, 
 also, the self-confident monarch laughs, for 
 his granaries are stored with provisions for 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 43 
 
 twenty years. The prophets may prophesy 
 and the captives pray; he mocks at them 
 all, and girdled in by his impregnable walls 
 and fortresses, and surrounded by his myriad 
 troops, he says : " I will exalt my throne amid 
 the stars of God." 
 
 It is a night of festivity, and the baccha- 
 nal's song and shout ring through the crowd- 
 ed streets of Babylon. Around her ancient 
 towers, the reeling multitude cry hosannas 
 to their gods. Wine flows like water, and 
 lust and revelry walk the streets unchecked. 
 In a magnificent palace, apart from the tu- 
 multuous crowd, the king is feasting a thou- 
 sand of his lords. It is a gorgeous room, 
 column within column, arch above arch, 
 long corridors, splendid statues, costly hang- 
 ings, leaping fountains, and an endless pro- 
 fusion of ornaments, combine to form a scene 
 of such dazzling splendor, that the unaccus- 
 tomed spectator is bewildered and lost in 
 its midst. It is illuminated by lights from 
 
44 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 golden candlesticks, beneath which is spread 
 a table loaded with golden vessels. 
 
 Princes and nobles, wives and mistresses, 
 arrayed in splendid apparel women whose 
 beauty out-dazzles the splendor that sur- 
 rounds them, men of high renown the gay, 
 the voluptuous, and the proud are there, 
 making the arches ring with their songs of 
 revelry and shouts of mirth. Ever and 
 anon come bursts of music, now swelling 
 triumphantly out through the amplitude, and 
 now dying away in soft and lulling ca- 
 dences, while the perfume from burning 
 censers is wafted in clouds over the intoxi- 
 cated revellers. 
 
 At length the king, excited with wine, ex- 
 claims, " Bring forth the vessels of gold that 
 were taken from the Hebrews' temple ;" and 
 the servants bring them in. Gorgeous ves- 
 sels they were, and as they stood upon the 
 table covered with sacred emblems, and 
 made holy by their dedication to the God 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 45 
 
 of heaven, they seemed to rebuke those who 
 were about to profane them. But they 
 only laughed, and filling them up with wine, 
 drank confusion to the God of Israel, and 
 " praised their gods of gold and silver and 
 brass and stone." But in the midst of their 
 sacrilege, just as their mirth and madness 
 had reached the highest point, there " came 
 forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote upon 
 the plaster of the wall" The sudden flash 
 of that illuminated hand out-dazzled the 
 brilliancy of the lighted room, and as the 
 slowly-moving fingers silently traced the let- 
 ters of fire before their eyes, terror and dis- 
 may fell on the revellers. The startled 
 monarch turned paler than the marble be- 
 side him, the untasted goblet fell from his 
 hand, and his knees smote together. Those 
 loudest in their mirth suddenly grew silent 
 as death ; the seductive look became solemn 
 and anxious, the music stopped in the midst 
 of its most joyous burst, and stillness, broken 
 
46 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 only by the half-suppressed shriek of the 
 fainting, or the tremulous sigh of utter fear, 
 reigned through the vast apartment. When 
 the dread line was finished, the finger still 
 pointed voicelessly to it, saying in language 
 more impressive than the sternest command, 
 " READ THY DOOM." 
 
 Oh ! what a sudden change had passed 
 over that hall of riotous mirth : every mouth 
 was sealed, every eye fixed, and the up- 
 turned faces of the throng wore a ghastly 
 hue in the light of that blazing hand and 
 those letters of flame. 
 
 At length the king broke the silence, and 
 cried aloud for his astrologers and wise men 
 to read the mysterious writing for him. 
 They came and gazed, and turned away be- 
 wildered and terrified. Then Daniel, one 
 of the Hebrew captives, who had been 
 brought a mere boy from Jerusalem, but 
 had grown into favor with the monarch's 
 father, interpreted his dreams and foretold 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 47 
 
 his doom was brought in. Turning to those 
 strange letters written in his native language, 
 he slowly read, " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHAR- 
 SIN." Then looking steadfastly on the trem- 
 bling, pallid king, he unfolded his crimes be- 
 fore him, and, pointing above to the God 
 he had scorned, and whose mandates he 
 had trampled under foot, he read aloud the 
 doom written there in letters of fire on the 
 walls of his own palace : " God hath number- 
 ed thy kingdom and finished it," for " thou art 
 weighed in the balances and found wanting : 
 thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes 
 and Persians" 
 
 He turned away, and scarcely had the 
 echo of his footsteps died along the silent 
 corridors, when a distant murmur, like the 
 far-off sound of bursting billows arose over 
 the city. It was not the tramp and shout 
 of the drunken multitude. Sterner sounds 
 than the hurrahs of revellers, and steadier 
 footsteps than those of reeling men, com- 
 
48 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 mingled there the battle cry of charging 
 thousands, and the measured tread of an 
 army moving to battle. 
 
 The Euphrates had been turned from its 
 channel, and underneath the ponderous gates 
 that closed over its waters, the Persian 
 host had entered, and were already pour- 
 ing in countless numbers through the streets. 
 In a moment the vast city was in an uproar, 
 and from limit to limit rung the cry of " to 
 arms, to arms" and trumpets pealed and ban- 
 ners waved, and swords clashed, while shouts 
 and shrieks swelled the tumult, that, gather- 
 ing force at every step, at length rolled like 
 the sea up to the very gates of the palace. 
 The streets ran blood; and borne back be- 
 fore the steadily advancing foe, the weary 
 and mangled fragments of the royal army 
 made a last stand at the palace gates of their 
 master. He, too, turned at bay, and throwing 
 himself amid his guard, made one brave effort 
 for his throne. Overborne and trampled 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 49 
 
 under foot, he soon fell amid his followers, 
 and the excited conquerors streamed through 
 the royal apartments. They entered the 
 hall of the revellers, and the sacrilegious 
 fell where a moment before they had shout- 
 ed for their gods. The wine goblets still 
 stood on the table, and the perfume still fill- 
 ed the room, but the hand-writing had dis- 
 appeared, for its denouncing woe had been 
 fulfilled. 
 
 The illuminated and gorgeous apartment 
 the throng of princely feasters the hand and 
 characters of fire the battle and the slaugh- 
 ter, had succeeded each other with frightful 
 rapidity, and then the silence of death suc- 
 ceeded all. 
 
 Over the sickening scenes of that terrible 
 night we draw the veil of oblivion. A vast 
 and thronged city taken by storm and given 
 up to. rapine and lust, is one of the few spec- 
 tacles that make us abhor our race. But 
 
 Babylon had fallen, and her glory gone for 
 3 
 
50 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 ever. In a few years a magnificent ruin was 
 all that remained of her former splendor. 
 Wild beasts and reptiles swarmed through 
 her ancient palaces the owl hooted in the 
 presence chamber of kings, and the vampyre 
 flapped his wings in the apartments once 
 occupied by the beautiful and the proud. 
 Her strong towers and battlements slowly 
 crumbled back to their original dust, and 
 silence and desolation reigned, where once 
 the hum of a mighty population had sounded. 
 The dust of the desert has long since covered 
 the very ruins, and the Arab now carelessly 
 spurs his steed over the foundations of the 
 former glory of the world. 
 
 Turn back your eye for a moment a hun- 
 dred years before this great overthrow. On 
 the hills of Palestine stands a man whose 
 prophetic eye pierces the future, and whose 
 tongue of fire proclaims in language that 
 thrills the blood, the coming doom of Baby- 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 51 
 
 Ion, the mistress of the world.* He sees his 
 people carried away captive by her Jerusa- 
 lem laid in heaps the Holy Temple plun- 
 dered of her treasures, and the God of his 
 fathers held in derision. As he contemplates 
 all this, and then looks beyond and sees the 
 day of vengeance, his soul takes fire, and he 
 pours forth in the loftiest strains of poetry 
 that sublime ode which has no equal on 
 earth. A chorus of Jews first come forward 
 and sing their astonishment at the overthrow 
 of their oppressor. How hath the oppressor 
 ceased ! the golden city ceased ! " Then the 
 whole earth breaks forth into singing," and 
 the fir-trees and cedars of Lebanon join the 
 anthem, shouting " since thou art laid low, no 
 feller is come up against us" 
 
 The scene then changes to the regions of 
 the dead, and by the boldest figure ever in- 
 troduced into poetry, the long line of the 
 departed monarchs of Babylon are made 
 
 * Vid. Isaiah xiii. and xlvii. 
 
52 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 each to start from his sepulchre, where they 
 have reposed in ghastly rows for ages, and 
 as they move towards the mouth of the 
 gloomy cavern to welcome the last of their 
 race, they chaunt to the fallen king, "Hell 
 from beneath is moved to meet thee at thy 
 coming it stirreth up the dead for thee, all 
 the chief ones of the earth ; it hath raised 
 up from their thrones all the kings of the 
 nations. Art thou," they exclaim in de- 
 rision, " become weak as we ? Art thou be- 
 come like unto us ? Thy pomp is brought 
 down to the grave the worm is spread un- 
 der thee and the worms cover thee." This 
 funereal and scornful welcome being over, 
 the people of God again break in with the 
 triumphant apostrophe, " How art thou fallen 
 from heaven, oh Lucifer, son of the morning ! 
 how art thou cut down to the ground that 
 didst weaken the nations !" 
 
 A hundred years before the downfall of 
 this vast empire, while Babylon ruled the 
 
THE HAND-WRITING ON THE WALL. 53 
 
 world, was this sublime and prophetic ode 
 sung by Isaiah. The skeptic may deride the 
 prophesy, but he cannot escape the effect of 
 the sublime language in which it was uttered. 
 The opening of Byron's great ode to Napo- 
 leon is a weak imitation, or rather poor 
 paraphrase of it. 
 
 " 'Tis done but yesterday a king 
 
 And armed with kings to strive 
 And now thou art a nameless thing ! 
 
 So abject yet alive ! 
 Is this the man of thousand thrones, 
 Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, 
 
 And can he thus survive ? 
 Since he miscalled the Morning Star, 
 
 Nor man, nor fiend hath fallen so far." 
 
V. 
 
 HEAVEN appears every day to be remov- 
 ing farther and farther from the earth. In 
 those olden times, when the prophets and 
 patriarchs lived, it bent nearer to us than 
 now, and scarcely a week passed, that some 
 of its bright inhabitants were not seen walk- 
 ing along our valleys, or holding sweet con- 
 verse in those secluded retreats where the 
 good man retired to ponder. It seemed as 
 if they could not at once break away from 
 the bright planet which had been so newly 
 born, and over whose birth " the morning 
 stars sang together for joy." The bowers 
 of Eden, where they had strayed with such 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 55 
 
 strange and fresh delight, as they gazed at 
 the new immortals their king had placed 
 amid them, were not easily forgotten ; and 
 they therefore slow r ly and reluctantly left 
 those spots, hallowed by innocence and the 
 beings ,once so pure and happy, and ever and 
 anon returned to see if hope must give way 
 to despair, and this fair orb be abandoned as 
 a lost world. But as the tide of wickedness 
 swelled higher and higher, and the quiet 
 solitudes of nature became peopled with sin- 
 ful men, and tumultuous with their selfish 
 struggles, and mad ambitions, and blasphe- 
 mies and revelries; they withdrew farther 
 and farther away. Once only did they flock 
 back in shining groups and songs of delight, 
 as if the hour of redemption had arrived ; and 
 that was when the Babe of Bethlehem was 
 born. 
 
 With the prophets departed the divine 
 presence on earth ; and the last effulgence 
 of the holy Shekinah lighted up the Cheru- 
 
56 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 bim, when Jerusalem fell before the Chal- 
 deans. 
 
 Of all the prophets who conversed so much 
 with God, Elijah is the most remarkable, not 
 only from his character, but from the mys- 
 tery which wraps his entrance and departure 
 in history. Unlike Samuel, who was edu- 
 cated in the temple ; no account is given of 
 his parentage or early training; nothing said 
 of his dwelling-place or connections. He 
 bursts upon us with a terrible malediction 
 on his lips, and leaves us in a fierce whirl- 
 wind. The first we know, a stately form, 
 wrapped in a mantle, and girded with a 
 leathern girdle ; his beard unshaven, and 
 falling in a white mass upon his breast ; his 
 long and heavy hair resting upon his shoul- 
 ders, and his dark, solemn eye beaming with 
 unearthly fire, stands before us. We look 
 again, and erect in a chariot of fire, his 
 hands upraised to heaven, he is mounting the 
 skies. 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 57 
 
 The little time he is on the earth, he ap- 
 pears only at intervals ; and then, like some 
 awful messenger from another world, sent 
 to startle the inhabitants of this. 
 
 While we are looking in amazement on 
 the madness and crimes of Ahab and Jeze- 
 bel, and wondering what the end will be, 
 suddenly this mysterious stranger appears 
 before us, confronting the haughty monarch 
 on his very throne, and thundering in his 
 ears "As the Lord God of Israel liveth, there 
 shall not be dew nor rain for these years on the 
 land of Israel." With this fearful curse yet 
 ringing through the royal apartment, he turns 
 and departs. 
 
 We next see him sitting alone by a soli- 
 tary brook, wrapped in solemn contempla- 
 tion, while the ravens bring him food. Deep 
 in the tangled forest, with no companions but 
 the wild beasts, that come and look on him 
 in fear, he lies concealed for a whole year. 
 
 Then he is seen occupying a little chamber, 
 3* 
 
58 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 in a widow's humble dwelling, whose single 
 cruse of oil and barrel of meal never fail 
 while he is her guest. Here, too, the gentler 
 traits of his character exhibit themselves. 
 Tender as he is stern, he pities the sorrows 
 of the lone mother whose only child lies 
 dead, and restores it to life. 
 
 Time passes on, and that stately form once 
 more darkens the door of Ahab's chamber. 
 The smitten monarch has never looked upon 
 it since the day that dreadful malediction 
 shook his throne, yet he remembers it well. 
 " What," said he, "art thou he that troubleth 
 Israel?" "I," replied the prophet, "have 
 not troubled Israel, but thou and thy father's 
 house, in that ye have forsaken the command- 
 ments of the Lord/ 3 
 
 Again he vanishes to re-appear on Mount 
 Carmel, surrounded with an innumerable 
 throng, eager to take his life. The sea is 
 below him, his foes around him, but the 
 heavens of his God bend over him, and open 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 59 
 
 to his prayer, and lo ! the falling fire sheds 
 a strange and unearthly light upon his kneel- 
 ing form and upturned countenance, as it con- 
 sumes the sacrifice. 
 
 The scene changes to a deep and seques- 
 tered valley, through which murmurs a gen- 
 tle brook ; and there on the bank stands that 
 stern man, and surveys the death struggles 
 of the prophets of Baal as they sink one after 
 another beneath the sword of the slayer. 
 Nearly a thousand of them fall before his 
 vengeance, and the people roll their corpses 
 into the stream, which turns purple with the 
 slain. 
 
 The scene shifts again to the top of Carmel, 
 and there, amid the ruins of the altars, the 
 man of doom is kneeling with his face to the 
 sea, that sleeps in quiet majesty below. The 
 scowl of wrath is gone from his brow, and a 
 holy serene light has usurped its place. He 
 is praying for rain, and lo ! black thunder 
 clouds are rolling up the brazen heavens, 
 
60 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 the sea sobs on the shore, the rushing 
 sound of a storm fills the air, and the fields 
 of Israel smile again in verdure, and bloom 
 in beauty. 
 
 The wilderness once more receives him; 
 and when the curtain again lifts, it discloses 
 a dark and gloomy cavern amid the savage 
 cliffs of Horeb, on the floor of which Elijah 
 is stretched, listening to the heavy plunge 
 of precipices in the gulfs below, and rend- 
 ing of rocks, and groaning of the smitten 
 mountain as it sways and staggers before 
 the storm and the earthquake. In the lull 
 is heard a still small voice, and God passes 
 before him; and the two, the worm and 
 the Deity, are heard talking with each 
 other. 
 
 Turn now to that quiet farm on the plains 
 of Palestine. The summer wind is gently 
 blowing flocks and herds are lazily reclin- 
 ing under the rustling trees the birds are 
 singing in the branches, while near by, a 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 61 
 
 farmer with his oxen and plough, is slowly 
 traversing the field, perchance humming to 
 himself some tune as he goes. But while 
 you are looking on this pleasant picture, a 
 majestic stranger crosses with long strides 
 that field, and approaching the unsuspecting 
 peasant, casts his mantle over him. It is 
 Elijah, choosing Elisha as his successor and 
 the two depart together. Where they go, 
 what they do, is never known. 
 
 Years roll on, and Ahab, forgetting the 
 severe lessons he has received, lapses again 
 into his old sinful habits. A rich man has a 
 fine vineyard near his palace, which he 
 wishes to purchase, but cannot, for the for- 
 mer will not sell the old homestead where 
 his father lived, and where he himself was 
 born. Enraged at the refusal, the avaricious 
 monarch causes him to be slain, and then 
 takes possession of his property. But while 
 he is walking over the vineyard, planning 
 
62 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 the alterations he wishes to make, a shadow 
 crosses his path. 
 
 With a sudden start at the boldness of the 
 intruder, he looks up, and there stands Eli- 
 jah. " Ah," exclaims the conscience-stricken 
 king, " hast thou found me, oh mine enemy ?" 
 With his mantle folded sternly over his 
 breast, and his dark eye fixed movelessly 
 upon him, he replies in slow and measured 
 accents, each word telling like the blow of 
 a hammer, " I have found thee, because thou 
 hast sold thyself to work evil; and behold, 
 where the dogs have licked up the blood of 
 Naboth, shall they lick up thy blood. Thy 
 posterity shall perish like thee him that 
 dieth in the city the dogs shall eat, and him 
 that dieth in the field the fowls of the air 
 shall eat. Thy wife, too, shall be thrown a 
 mangled corse over the walls of the city, 
 and the dogs shall devour her." Terrible 
 curse, and awfully was it fulfilled. 
 
 Again he disappears, and when we next 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 63 
 
 behold him, he is seated on the top of a high 
 and isolated hill, the dark outlines of his 
 form showing clear and distinct against the 
 hack-ground of sky. As he thus sits, like a 
 statue carved out of stone, a cloud of dust 
 is seen rising in the distance, and a troop 
 of horse come in a sweeping gallop towards 
 him. As they draw up at the base of the 
 hill, on which he sits, they bid him descend, 
 for Ahab has sent them to take him pris- 
 oner. He speaks, and the falling lightnings 
 stretch the entire company dead on the 
 plain ! A second troop meet the same fate, 
 for woe to him who would lay violent hands 
 on that man of God. 
 
 A life so eventful, a character so extraordi- 
 nary, are not to vanish like a common exist- 
 ence. A succession of such terrific expe- 
 riences is to close up with an event greater 
 than all that have preceded it. How it be- 
 came known, no one can tell ; but the " sons 
 of the prophets" all over Israel were aware 
 
64 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 that Elijah's departure from this world was 
 about to take place, and they expected some 
 fearful exhibition would accompany it. 
 
 This firm and terrible man before whom 
 kings trembled, and on whose lips the 
 fate of nations hung, knew he had finished 
 his mission, and calmly, serenely waited the 
 hour of his release. He had become deeply 
 attached to Elisha, and the latter to him. 
 They had wandered together as friends and 
 fugitives over the fields and through the 
 forests of Israel. They had slept side by 
 side ; they had prayed together, and con- 
 versed with God together. But now he felt 
 that it might be better to go alone to the 
 spot were God should meet him ; and he 
 said to Elisha, " Tarry here, for the Lord hath 
 sent me to Bethel." But Elisha knew that 
 his master was about to leave him, and he 
 determined to remain with him to the last ; 
 and he replied, " As the Lord liveth, and as 
 thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee." A strong 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 65 
 
 oath, and revealing a purpose too fixed and 
 settled to be moved by any expostulation. 
 So they went on to Bethel together. There 
 the sons of the prophets met them, and tak- 
 ing Elisha aside, said in a whisper : " Do 
 you know that the Lord is going to take 
 away your master, to-day ?" Nervous and 
 agitated, his heart breaking at the thought 
 of separation, and his feelings excited at the 
 scenes he knew were before him, he could 
 not bear their questions, and he replied, " / 
 know it; hold your peace." Here again Eli- 
 jah kindly endeavored to get rid of him, 
 telling him to stay there while he went to 
 Jericho. "As the Lord liveth, and as thy 
 soul liveth, I will not leave thee," was still 
 the reply. There is something inexpressibly 
 touching in the kind, nay, almost childish 
 way, in which the prophet endeavored to 
 shake off his devoted follower. He who had 
 frowned down monarchs, and faced a thou- 
 sand foes alone, could not speak harshly to 
 
66 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 the true heart that clung so affectionately to 
 him to the last 
 
 At Jericho the same attempt was repeated 
 with the same success, and then the two 
 went on alone towards the river Jordan. 
 Fifty men, sons of prophets, followed at a 
 distance, and running up every eminence, 
 stood and watched with eager countenances 
 those two solitary forms, as they slowly 
 crossed the fields to the river's brink. Hav- 
 ing reached the shore, Elijah stood and gazed 
 a moment on the swift-rushing waters, then 
 folding up his mantle, smote them in the 
 name of the Lord. The rapid current rolled 
 back on itself in affright, and piling up in a 
 green and massive wall, left a dry path for 
 him and his friend, and then, as they passed, 
 rushed swiftly together again. Ascending 
 the opposite bank, they were seen moving 
 away, by the astonished spectators in the 
 distance, towards the open plain. What 
 they talked of is not known ; but expressions 
 
THE CHARIOT OF FIRE. 67 
 
 of affection were doubtless mingled with 
 wondrous thoughts and bright visions of the 
 world to come. Oh ! how the words of a 
 man so near the presence-chamber of the 
 Deity must have burned ! At length they 
 stopped, and Elijah, turning to Elisha, said in 
 kind and solemn accents : " I am now about 
 to leave thee : ask what I shall do for thee 
 before I go." " Let," replied Elisha, " let a 
 double portion of thy spirit fall upon me." 
 " A hard thing," indeed ; nevertheless, said 
 the prophet, " if thou seest me when I am 
 taken away, it shall be so." In the midst of 
 this strange, exciting interview, a rushing 
 sound was heard, and like a falling star, a 
 bright and fearful object came cleaving the 
 fields of space, and lo ! a chariot and horses 
 of fire w^ere sweeping full upon them. Under 
 the tramp of those steeds of flame, and fierce 
 rolling of those fiery orbs, the elements be- 
 came convulsed, and a wild hurricane in- 
 volved the earth and heavens. The bright 
 
68 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 cavalcade drew up between the two pro- 
 phets, and the fearful driver stretched forth 
 his hand, and lifted Elijah in, and away went 
 steeds and chariot like an ascending glory. 
 Stunned and bewildered, Elisha exclaimed : 
 " My father ! my father ! the chariot of Israel 
 and the horsemen thereof." But as the daz- 
 zling vision vanished, he saw a dark object 
 fluttering back to earth. It was Elijah's man- 
 tle fraught with Elijah's spirit. 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
 VI. 
 
 WE have Apollo Belvederes, Jupiters, the 
 Venus de Medici, and a host of fictitious per- 
 sonages wrought in marble, as the embodi- 
 ment of what is most beautiful in form and 
 feature, but no Absalom ; and yet a more 
 superb and perfect physical development was 
 never seen than his. At least, no one ever 
 had so high a compliment paid to his mere 
 person as he ; for the inspired historian says, ** 
 " there was none in all Israel so praised for his 
 beauty" " and from the sole of his foot to the 
 crown of his head, there was no blemish in him" 
 He must have been made after a magnificent 
 model. To a form of splendid proportions 
 
70 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 and faultless symmetry, was added a face of 
 incomparable beauty not the mere beauty 
 of flesh, and color, and regular features, but 
 of expression. In it you saw the poet, the 
 hero, the orator, and the man of thought and 
 energy all combined. Around this chiselled 
 countenance, long dark locks hung in rich 
 and waving masses, throwing into still greater 
 relief his throat and chest of classic elegance 
 and strength. But underneath this face of 
 almost celestial beauty, slumbered a whirl- 
 wind of untamed passions. His smile was 
 sweet and gentle, and caressing as a wo- 
 man's, yet his hatred was fearful and deadly, 
 as that of a " nursing cat o' the mountain. 35 
 His large and lustrous eye, veiled with its 
 long dark lash, would melt in tenderness ; 
 yet when kindled into rage, its glance wither- 
 ed where it fell. His voice was soft and rich, 
 and musical to those whose love he would 
 win; yet his battle shout sent the blood to 
 the heart, like the blast of a bugle. Aware 
 
ABSALOM. 71 
 
 of his power over others, he would allay their 
 suspicions and win their confidence, even 
 while unsheathing the dagger he designed to 
 plunge in their bosoms. Of fierce impulses 
 and passions, and a spirit that scorned re- 
 straint, he yet had perfect command over 
 himself. Like the lion, which, though de- 
 voured with hunger, can coolly await the 
 moment till his spring shall prove fatal; so 
 he, while tortured with the thirst for ven- 
 geance, could patiently bide his hour for his 
 hatred was tireless as time. 
 
 Such was Absalom possessed of many 
 noble qualities, and capable of becoming a 
 great and good man. Standing before us in 
 his peerless beauty and perfect manhood, he 
 enlists our sympathies and anxiety. We 
 know at the outset, that his life will be no 
 smooth and steady current ; but through fear- 
 ful trials to greatness, or through dark crimes 
 to a violent, ignominious death, he is sure to 
 go. No wonder David loved him, for all his 
 
72 ABSALOM. 
 
 natural affection was enhanced by the beauty 
 of his son, and the lofty qualities he detected 
 in his character, as well as by his fear of the 
 curbless nature of his passions. 
 
 It was unfortunate for Absalom, that the 
 first trial to which he was subjected, was one 
 he was least fitted to bear well. Like many 
 other strong, but proud and passionate natures, 
 his first departure from right, had its origin 
 in his better feelings. Aroused to sudden 
 indignation by a great and inexcusable 
 wrong, such men often pass suddenly to its 
 revenge, and thus make a noble impulse lead 
 to a dark and dreadful crime. 
 
 Absalom had a beautiful sister, Tamar, who 
 had unconsciously awakened in her brother 
 Ammon the basest desires. Resolved to get 
 possession of her person, he feigned sickness ; 
 and when she, at his urgent request, came to 
 nurse him, he effected by violence, what he 
 had failed to accomplish by persuasion. Dis- 
 gusted, as brutal passion always is, with the 
 
SACRED CHARACTERS. 73 
 
 object that aroused it, he then bade her be- 
 gone ; and when crushed and broken-heart- 
 ed, she told him that the wrong of sending 
 her forth disgraced, was greater than the one 
 he had just committed, he called angrily for 
 his servants, and ordered them to " thrust 
 her out, and bolt the door after her," and she 
 went forth a blighted thing. 
 
 At this same hour, Absalom was sauntering 
 along the streets of Jerusalem, when his foot- 
 steps were suddenly arrested by a loud and 
 bitter cry. Looking up he saw a female, 
 with her garments torn, ashes on her head, 
 and her long hair dishevelled and soiled, and 
 streaming around her naked shoulders, ap- 
 proaching him. As she drew near, wringing 
 her hands and weeping, he perceived with 
 astonishment, that the garments that fluttered 
 in rags about her person, were those of a 
 princess the court dress of king David's 
 palace. Another look, and he staggered as 
 under a sudden blow, and his face became 
 
74 ABSALOM. 
 
 paler than marble for that wretched dis- 
 tracted being was his beautiful sister Tamar. 
 Amid her broken sobs, he caught the story of 
 the dark crime his brother had committed ; 
 but curbing the wrath which the relation 
 awakened within him, he consoled her with 
 kind words, and took her to his own house. 
 
 After this, all intercourse between the two 
 brothers ceased, and for a long time Ammon 
 was constantly on his guard against the at- 
 tacks of Absalom. The latter, however, 
 showed no inclination to resent the outrage, 
 and his suspicions gradually wore away. 
 Thus two years passed, during which, Ab- 
 salom, though preserving a calm exterior, 
 was absorbed with one single desire that 
 of revenge. This was constantly fed by the 
 desolate and broken-hearted appearance of 
 his lovely and wronged sister. Her pale 
 cheeks, melancholy countenance, and long 
 and passionate fits of weeping, made the out- 
 
SACRED CHARACTERS. 75 
 
 rage ever fresh, and gave a sacredness to the 
 crime he designed to perpetrate. 
 
 At length he persuaded his father tp send 
 Ammon with the rest of his brothers into 
 the country, to help him shear his sheep. 
 Not long after, as they sat one day at dinner, 
 Absalom plied Ammon with wine, until the 
 latter in his mirth and laughter, forgot every- 
 thing but the present enjoyment. He then 
 made a slight signal to his servants, and in 
 an .instant a dozen daggers, gleamed over the 
 bosom of the wretched criminal, and the next 
 moment he was weltering in his blood. Ter- 
 ror and dismay seized the rest, and mounting 
 their mules they fled to the city, carrying 
 the sad news to their distracted father. 
 
 Absalom immediately fled to another coun- 
 try, where he remained a self-exile for three 
 years. His father, however, could not forget ' **^ 
 him, and it w^as evident to all his court, that 
 his heart yearned towards that fiery and 
 wayward son. With a melancholy counte- 
 
76 ABSALOM. 
 
 nance, and drooping head, be wandered about 
 his palace, seeking in vain for happiness. In 
 pity for his forlorn condition, they laid a plot 
 to get Absalom back, and succeeded, and his 
 splendid form was once more seen treading 
 the streets of Jerusalem. David, however, 
 would not see him, and he remained banish- 
 ed from the palace for two years more. 
 
 But knowing the strength of parental affec- 
 tion, and that if he could once see his father, 
 a reconciliation would follow; he at length 
 managed to secure an interview, when a kiss 
 from the doting parent cancelled all the 
 dreadful past, and he was restored to full fa- 
 vor. With chariots, and fifty horsemen as a 
 body-guard, he assumed all the regal appoint- 
 ments and display of a prince of the blood, 
 and even carried his ambition so far, as to 
 erect a magnificent column to himself, to 
 perpetuate his name. But with this sudden 
 elevation to favor and power, began that un- 
 natural treason, which makes .us shrink in 
 
ABSALOM. 77 
 
 abhorrence from his character. To make a 
 reconciliation the basis of a conspiracy, and 
 turn the fondness of a father into the means 
 of his destruction, reveals a heart, if not rot- 
 ten from the outset, at least so debased 
 and degenerate, that we lose all hope of its 
 recovery. 
 
 Though there can be no excuse for a trai- 
 tor, and least of all, for such a traitor as he, 
 there may be circumstances influencing him 
 in his course, which will cause us to mingle 
 sympathy with our abhorrence. To a man 
 of Absalom's pride and temper, the outrage 
 perpetrated on his sister was a hard thing to 
 bear. Revenge he must have, and revenge 
 nursed in the heart for two years, seeking 
 only a favorable moment for the accomplish- 
 ment of its purpose, is sufficient to overthrow 
 a stronger moral nature than his. This 
 gradual lapse of his character, was accel- 
 erated by the crime itself. Then followed 
 the long years of banishment, during which 
 
78 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 he had nothing to do but brood over his dis- 
 grace and poverty, and nurse feelings of bit- 
 ter hatred against a father, who would hunt 
 him down for taking vengeance on the man 
 who had dishonored his daughter. The two 
 years, also, he was in Jerusalem, denied the 
 palace, and treated with the neglect and dis- 
 respect which are always shown to one who is 
 in disgrace at court, added to all the accumu- 
 lation of wrath, and mortified pride, and reck- 
 lessness, which had long before rendered him 
 fit for any desperate deed. But his ruin was 
 effected by the first step he had no business, 
 no right, to take the vindication of his sis- 
 ter's honor from the father's hands, especially 
 when that father was king, and could do as 
 he liked, and the criminal and the victim 
 were both his own children. It was arro- 
 gant in him, thus to assume both the mo- 
 narch's and the father's place, and the very 
 act, which in other circumstances we could 
 palliate, reveals an untamed nature, and a 
 
ABSALOM. 79 
 
 spirit in which anger is stronger than prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 The deliberate manner in which he plotted 
 the overthrow of his father's throne, and the 
 cool and calculating process by which he 
 brought the unnatural rebellion to head, 
 expose not only the depravity and ambition; 
 but the tireless energy and firm character 
 of the man. Every morning early, found him 
 at the gate of the city, accosting each stran- 
 ger as he entered w r ith that bland and per- 
 suasive manner so few could resist. " From 
 what part of the country do you come ?" he 
 inquired ; " and what is your business here ?" 
 To be thus noticed by a prince was sufficient 
 condescension ; but when he went farther, 
 and asked of his troubles and grievances, 
 and sympathized with him, exclaiming, " Oh 
 that I were a judge in Israel ; how soon 
 would I interest myself in your suit, and re- 
 dress your wrongs !" the unsuspecting coun- 
 tryman was completely won over, and re- 
 
80 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 turned to his home filled with the praises 
 of Absalom. And when any of the lower 
 classes paused to render him that homage 
 which was his due as prince of the blood, he 
 checked him, and taking him aside, kissed 
 him, and whispered flatteries and promises in 
 his ears. How could the embarrassed sub- 
 ject resist the attentions and familiarities of 
 so kind and splendid a prince. He boasted 
 of it to his fellows, and they in turn proved 
 that condescension. Added to all this, he 
 mourned over the absence of justice, and 
 complained of the loose manner in which his 
 father administered the government. Thus, 
 by his hypocritical cant, his bewitching man- 
 ners, eloquent tongue, base flatteries, and 
 magnificent appearance, " he stole away the 
 hearts of the people" 
 
 Year after year he prosecuted this cunning 
 but nefarious plan, till all over the land there 
 was a secret wish that he could sit in king 
 David's place. When he discovered this, 
 
ABSALOM. 81 
 
 he organized his conspiracy ; and under pre- 
 tence of going to Hebron, to pay a vow to 
 the Lord, he set up there his standard, and 
 blew his trumpet of defiance. That bugle 
 blast shook the throne of his father to its 
 foundations, and he fled in affright and grief 
 from his palace and capital. Still a host of 
 brave hearts clung to him, ready to fight 
 and die in his defence. 
 
 Thus two immense armies were gathered 
 around the father and the son. After various 
 marches and counter-marches, and changes 
 of counsel, they at length drew near each 
 other, and the final struggle approached. 
 On that day the king, at the request of 
 his followers, remained behind in the gate 
 of the town, \vhere he had taken up his 
 quarters ; and it is more than probable it 
 required no great urging to keep him from 
 going forth to meet his son in the deadly en- 
 counter. But as he saw the tens of thou- 
 sands defile before him in all the pomp and 
 
82 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 splendor of battle array, a deathly sickness 
 came over his heart. The shrill trumpet, 
 that had so often stirred him, as he rode at 
 their head to do battle for his kingdom, 
 sounded like a funeral knell ; for to him 
 victory and defeat were equally terrible. To 
 save his throne at the expense of his son, 
 was asking too much of his parental heart, 
 but it must be done for Israel's sake. Yet 
 to his generals, as they saluted him ere they 
 departed to the battle field, he said in tremu- 
 lous accents, " Deal gently for my sake with 
 the young man, even with Absalom." 
 
 With waving standards, and flourish of 
 trumpets, the mighty host took up the line of 
 march, and as the echo of their muflled tread 
 and martial strains died away in the distance, 
 who can tell how the desolate father felt. 
 Ere the sun should go down, that host would 
 return Shouting victory, or return no more ; 
 and he.be a fugitive on the face of the earth, 
 or his son slain or lost to him forever. Oh, 
 
ABSALOM. 83 
 
 what fervent prayers he put up for that 
 handsome and wayward youth, and what 
 floods of sorrow swept over his aged bosom. 
 
 The two armies met in a thick forest, and 
 the battle at once became fierce and san- 
 guinary. Amid the braying of trumpets, 
 the neighing of steeds and clash of weapons, 
 the shout of Israel and Absalom was heard 
 ringing over the din, as brothers and friends 
 closed in the mortal struggle. They fought 
 long and bravely, but the rebel forces at 
 length gave way, for God was on the father's 
 side. Absalom saw with despair the rout 
 of his best troops, and strove with almost 
 superhuman efforts to stay the reversed tide 
 of battle. Vain valor broken and dispersed, 
 they fled on every side, and twenty thousand 
 corpses strewed the forest. Enraged and 
 desperate, Absalom, bareheaded, his long 
 tresses streaming in the wind, spurred all 
 alone on the king's guard, doubtless in the 
 hope of finding his father, and by one bold 
 
84 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 blow restoring his fortunes. But as he was 
 galloping under an oak, his hair caught on a 
 knotty branch, and stripping him from his 
 mule, left him dangling in mid-heaven. He 
 strove desperately to reach the limb and ex- 
 tricate himself, but in vain. He now cursed 
 the hair, which had ever before been his 
 glory, and saw, with unutterable anguish, 
 the crown and throne for which he had peril- 
 led all, vanish from his grasp. While thus 
 struggling, he heard the clatter of a horse's 
 hoofs, and wrenching half around, he saw 
 Joab, the fiercest general of the royal army, 
 approaching. He knew too well the hate 
 that fiery warrior bore him, to expect or ask 
 mercy ; and with a countenance pale as mar- 
 ble, and a brow knit in stern defiance, he 
 awaited his doom. Joab reined up before 
 him, and gazing a moment on the helpless 
 prince, drew forth a javelin and hurled it in 
 his body. Another and another followed, 
 and Absalom swung a corpse in the forest. 
 
ABSALOM. 85 
 
 The sun went down in blood, and just at 
 evening, David, who had not moved from 
 his seat in the gate all day, saw, as he looked 
 in the direction of the battle field, a messen- 
 ger swiftly approaching. As he drew near, 
 the trembling father exclaimed, " Is the young 
 man Absalom safe?" For a moment his 
 crown, his throne and Jerusalem were all 
 forgotten in the overwhelming anxiety for 
 his son. Nature could not be repressed, and 
 he cried, " Is the young man Absalom safe ?" 
 Oh, what a world of love, solicitude and dis- 
 tress does that burst of parental feeling re- 
 veal ! The panting messenger saw it, and 
 had not the courage to tell his royal master 
 that his son was dead ; and not till a second 
 came, did the dreadful truth burst upon him. 
 Then struck as by a death-blow, he arose and 
 staggered to his chamber, and falling on his 
 face upon the floor, gave way to the flood of 
 sorrow he could no longer repress. His anx- 
 ious attendants without, heard his convulsive 
 
86 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 sobs, and in the intervals, the touching ex- 
 clamation, wrung by overwhelming agony 
 from his bosom : " Oh my son Absalom ! my 
 son, my son Absalom, would God I had died 
 for thee, Absalom, my son, my son!" The 
 rebel and traitor was forgotten in the gush 
 of parental tenderness ; he no longer saw 
 his proud standard and fierce battle array ; 
 he could see only the beautiful face of his 
 boy, pale in death ; that form which had been 
 the pride of his heart, and which he had so 
 often strained to his bosom, mangled, and 
 torn, and bleeding on the earth. He no lon- 
 ger heard his shout of rebellion and defiance ; 
 he could hear only the low " My father," 
 which had so often made his bosom heave 
 with joy. For a long time no one dared to 
 approach him no shouts of victory rolled 
 through the streets no bursts of joyful 
 music, as the triumphant thousands streamed 
 back into the city. A funereal sadness and 
 silence rested on all, and pity and anxious 
 
ABSALOM. 87 
 
 foreboding mingled on every countenance; 
 for still, from that solitary chamber rang the 
 heart-piercing cry of the fallen monarch, " Oh 
 my son Absalom! Oh Absalom, my son, my 
 son /" Thus, for a long time did the heart- 
 broken father sob forth his anguish, for his 
 was a grief that mocked control. Oh what a 
 noble nature there suffered ! 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
VII. 
 
 OR, HADASSAH OR ESTHER. 
 
 IT is a little singular that the words, God 
 or Providence, are not mentioned in the whole 
 book of Esther. The writer seems studiously 
 to have avoided any reference to them, as if 
 he did not wish to recognize the interposition 
 of Heaven in any of the events that trans- 
 pired ; while his narrative is evidently de- 
 signed to teach nothing else. The hand of 
 Providence is everywhere seen managing the 
 whole scheme. 
 
 Ahasuerus, king over a hundred and 
 twenty-seven provinces, and prosperous to 
 the extent of his vast ambition, made a grand 
 exhibition of his wealth to his subjects, which 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 89 
 
 lasted six months. At the end of this time, 
 he gave a feast to continue a week. The 
 court of the garden of his palace was paved 
 with the choicest marbles, black, red, blue, 
 and white. From this costly floor, pillars of 
 polished marble arose, supporting a gorgeous 
 canopy, while all around were the richest 
 hangings, upheld by cords and rings of sil- 
 ver. Beneath this magnificent drapery, were 
 spread couches, covered only with gold and 
 silver cloths. In the midst, the table was 
 laid groaning under a weight of gold every 
 goblet being of solid gold, and each differing 
 from the other in its form and elaborate 
 workmanship. The queen had a similar feast 
 in her apartments for the women, and all was 
 mirth and festivity. At the end of the week, 
 however, when the dissipation had reached 
 its height, the king merry and uxorious 
 from his long and deep libations sent for 
 his wife to come and show herself to his 
 guests, that they might praise her beauty. 
 
90 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 Knowing the state her husband was in, and 
 also the shocks her delicacy would receive in 
 the interview, she refused to go. The king 
 was just drunk enough to be dignified, and 
 hence received this refusal as a mortal of- 
 fence. He asked the wise men about him, 
 what should be done in such an extraordinary 
 case. Much wiser than if they had been 
 sober, they one after another expressed pro- 
 per horror at the monstrous act, and stroking 
 their beards and looking grave and sage, told 
 him that it was a matter that concerned not 
 only him, but husbands the world over ; for 
 if such a thing should be passed by in silence, 
 all authority over their wives would end. 
 Poor Vashti could not but suffer before such 
 a jury, and she was unqueened at once. 
 
 When the king, however, came out of his 
 dissipation, he began to pine for his beautiful 
 wife. His favorites no sooner perceived this, 
 than they set on foot a plan to wean him en- 
 tirely from her. They knew her restoration 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 91 
 
 would be the signal of their disgrace and 
 banishment so all the beautiful virgins of 
 that vast realm were brought before him, 
 from whom, after a trial which does as much 
 honor to the morals, as to the wisdom of those 
 sages, he was to select one as a wife. Among 
 these was Hadassah, a Hebrew maiden whose 
 parents were dead, and who had been reared 
 by her cousin Mordecai, one of the prisoners 
 carried away when the king of Babylon took 
 and sacked Jerusalem. 
 
 The character of Esther is here exhibited 
 at the outset; for when she went into the 
 presence of the king, for his inspection, in- 
 stead of asking for gifts as allowed by him, 
 and as the others did, she took only what the 
 chamberlain gave her. ' Of exquisite form 
 and faultless features, her rare beauty at 
 once captivated the king, and he made her 
 his wife. Following the advice of her cousin, 
 she never told him her lineage, and the en- 
 thralled monarch forgot his former queen. 
 
92 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 Mordecai always reminds one of Hamlet. 
 Of a noble heart, grand intellect, and un- 
 wavering integrity, there was nevertheless 
 an air of severity about him a haughty, un- 
 bending spirit, which, with his high sense of 
 honor, and scorn of meanness, would prompt 
 him to lead an isolated life. I have some- 
 times thought that even he had not been 
 able to resist the fascinations of his young 
 and lovely cousin, and that the effort to 
 conceal his feelings had given a greater 
 severity to his manner than he naturally pos- 
 sessed. Too noble, however, to sacrifice 
 such a beautiful being by uniting her fate 
 with his own, when a throne was offered 
 her; or perceiving that she could never re- 
 turn his love indeed could cherish no feel- 
 ing but that of a fond daughter he crushed 
 his fruitless passion, even if it had for a mo- 
 ment mastered him. In no other way can 
 I account for the life he led, lingering for- 
 ever around the palace gates, where now 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 93 
 
 and then he might get a glimpse of her who 
 had been the light of his soul, the one bright- 
 bird which had cheered his exile home. 
 That home he wished no longer to see, and 
 day after day he took his old station at the 
 gates of Shushan, and looked upon the mag- 
 nificent walls that divided him from all that 
 had made life desirable. It seems, also, as 
 if some latent fear that Haman, the favorite 
 of the king younger than his master and of 
 vast ambition might attempt to exert too 
 great an influence over his cousin, must have 
 prompted him to treat the latter with disre- 
 spect, and refuse him that homage which was 
 his due. No reason is given for the hostility 
 he manifested, and which he must have 
 known would end in his own destruction. 
 Whenever Haman with his retinue came 
 from the palace, all paid him the reverence 
 due to the king's favorite, except Mordecai, 
 who sat like a statue, not even turning his 
 head to notice him. He acted like one tired 
 
94 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 of life, and at length succeeded in arousing 
 the deadly hostility of the haughty minister. 
 The latter, however, scorning to be revenged 
 on one man, and he a person of low birth, 
 persuaded the king to decree the slaughter 
 of all the Jews in his realm. The news fell 
 like a thunderbolt on Mordecai. Stern, 
 proud, and indifferent to his own fate, he 
 had defied his enemy to do his worst ; but 
 such a savage vengeance had never entered 
 his mind. It was too late, however, to re- 
 gret his behavior. Right or wrong he had 
 been the cause of the bloody sentence, and 
 he roused himself to avert the awful catas- 
 trophe. With rent garments, and sackcloth 
 on his head, he travelled the city with a 
 loud and bitter cry, and his voice rang even 
 over the walls of the palace in tones that 
 startled its slumbering inmates. It was told 
 to Esther, and she ordered garments to be 
 given him. But he refused to receive them, 
 and sent back a copy of the king's decree, 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 95 
 
 respecting the massacre of the Jews, and 
 bade her go in, and supplicate him to remit 
 the sentence. She replied that it was cer- 
 tain death to enter the king's presence un- 
 bidden, unless he chose to hold out his 
 sceptre ; and that for a whole month he 
 had not requested to see her. Her stern 
 cousin, however, unmoved by the danger 
 to herself, and thinking only of his people, 
 coldly replied that she might do as she 
 liked if she preferred to save herself, de- 
 liverance would come to the Jews from some 
 other quarter, but she should die. 
 
 From this moment the character of Esther 
 unfolds itself. It was only a passing weak- 
 ness that prompted her to put in a word for 
 her own life, and she at once arose to the 
 dignity of a martyr. The blood of the proud 
 and heroic Mordecai flowed in her veins, and 
 she said, " Go, tell my cousin to assemble all 
 the Jews in Shushan, and fast three days and 
 three nights, neither eating nor drinking; I 
 
96 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 and my maidens will do the same, and on 
 the third day I will go before the king, and 
 if I perish, I perish' 9 Noble and brave heart ! 
 death a violent death is terrible, but thou 
 art equal to it ! 
 
 There, in that magnificent apartment, filled 
 with perfume, and where the softened light, 
 stealing through the gorgeous windows by 
 day, and shed from golden lamps on mar- 
 ble columns and golden-covered couches, by 
 night, makes a scene of enchantment, be- 
 hold Esther, with her royal apparel thrown 
 aside, kneeling on the tesselated floor. 
 There she has been two days and nights, 
 neither eating nor drinking, while hunger, 
 and thirst, and mental agony, have made 
 fearful inroads on her beauty. Her cheeks 
 are sunken and haggard her large and lus- 
 trous eyes dim with weeping, and her lips 
 parched and dry, yet ever moving in inward 
 prayer. Mental and physical suffering have 
 crushed her young heart within her, and now 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 97 
 
 the hour of her destiny is approaching. Ah ! 
 who can tell the desperate effort it required 
 to prepare for that dread interview. Never 
 before did it become her to look so fascinat- 
 ing as then; and removing with tremulous 
 anxiety the traces of her suffering, she deck- 
 ed herself in the most becoming apparel she 
 could select. Her long black tresses were 
 never before so carefully braided over her 
 polished forehead, and never before did she 
 put forth such an effort to enhance every 
 charm, and make her beauty irresistible to 
 the king. At length fully arrayed, and look- 
 ing more like a goddess dropped from the 
 clouds, than a being of clay, she stole trem- 
 blingly towards the king's chamber. Stop- 
 ping a moment at the threshold to swallow 
 down the choking sensation that almost suffo- 
 cated her, and to gather her failing strength, 
 she passed slowly into the room, while her 
 maidens stood breathless without, listening, 
 and waiting with the intensest anxiety the 
 
98 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 issue, Hearing a slight rustling, the king, 
 with a sudden frown, looked up to see who 
 was so sick of life as to dare to come unbid- 
 den in his presence, and lo ! Esther stood 
 speechless before him. Her long fastings and 
 watchings had taken the color from her 
 cheeks, but had given a greater transparency 
 in its place, and as she stood, half shrinking, 
 with the shadow of profound melancholy on 
 her pallid, but indescribably beautiful counte- 
 nance, her pencilled brow slightly contract- 
 ed in the intensity of her excitement, her 
 long lashes dripping in tears and her lips 
 trembling with agitation ; she was in herself 
 though silent an appeal that a heart of 
 stone could not resist. The monarch gazed 
 long and silently on her, as she stood waiting 
 her doom. Shall she die ? No ; the golden 
 sceptre slowly rises and points to her. The 
 beautiful intruder is welcome, and sinks like 
 a snow-wreath at his feet. Never before did 
 the monarch gaze on such transcendent love- 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 99 
 
 liness ; and spell-bound and conquered by it, 
 he said in a gentle voice : " What wilt thoi/, 
 queen Esther ? What is thy request ? it 
 shall be granted thee, even to the half of my 
 'kingdom /" 
 
 Woman-like she did not wish to risk the 
 influence she had thus suddenly gained, by 
 asking the destruction of his favorite, and the 
 reversion of his unalterable decree, and so 
 she prayed only that he and Haman might 
 banquet with her the next day. She had 
 thrown her fetters over him, and was deter- 
 mined to fascinate him still more deeply be- 
 
 i 
 
 fore she ventured on so bold a movement. 
 At the banquet he again asked her what she 
 desired, for he well knew it was no ordinary 
 matter that had induced her to peril her life 
 by entering, unbidden, his presence. She, 
 in reply, invited him to a second feast, and at 
 that to a third. But the night previous to the 
 last, the king could not sleep, and after toss- 
 ing awhile on his troubled couch, he called 
 
100 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 for the record of the court, and there found 
 that Mordecai had a short time before in- 
 formed him, through the queen, of an at- 
 tempt to assassinate him, and no reward 
 been bestowed. The next day, therefore, 
 he made Haman perform the humiliating 
 office of leading his enemy in triumph 
 through the streets, proclaiming before him, 
 " This is the man whom the king delighteth 
 to honor." As he passed by the gallows he 
 had the day before erected for that very man, 
 a shudder crept through his frame, and the 
 first omen of coming evil cast its shadow on 
 his spirit. 
 
 The way was now clear to Esther, and so 
 the next day, at the banquet, as the king 
 repeated his former offer, she, "reclining on 
 the couch, her chiselled form and ravishing 
 beauty inflaming the ardent monarch with 
 love, said in pleading accents, " I ask, O king, 
 for my life, and that of my people. If we had 
 all been sold as bondmen and bondwomen, 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 101 
 
 I had held my tongue, great as the evil 
 would have been to thee." The king start- 
 ed, as if stung by an adder, and with a brow 
 dark as wrath, and a voice that sent Haman 
 to his feet, exclaimed : " Thy life ! my queen ? 
 Who is he ? where is he that dare even think 
 such a thought in his heart?" He who 
 strikes at thy life, radiant creature, plants 
 his presumptuous blow on his monarch's bo- 
 som. " That man," said the lovely pleader, 
 " is the wicked Haman." Darting one look of 
 vengeance on the petrified favorite, he strode 
 forth into the garden to control his boiling pas- 
 sions. Haman saw at once that his. only re- 
 maining hope was, in moving the sympathies 
 of the queen in his behalf; and approaching 
 her, he began to plead most piteously for his 
 life. In his agony he fell on the couch where 
 she lay, and while in this position, the king 
 returned. "What!" he exclaimed, "will 
 he violate the queen here in my own 
 palace !" Nothing more was said : no order 
 
102 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 was given. The look and voice of terrible 
 wrath in which this was said were sufficient. 
 The attendants simply spread a cloth over 
 Hainan's face, and not a word was spoken. 
 Those who came in, when they saw the 
 covered countenance, knew the import. It 
 was the sentence of death. The vaulting 
 favorite himself dared not remove it he 
 must die, and it only remained for him to 
 wait the moment of execution. In a few 
 hours he was swinging on the gallows he had 
 erected for Mordecai. 
 
 After this, the queen's power was supreme 
 everything she asked was granted. To 
 please her, the monarch let his palace flow 
 in the blood of five hundred of his subjects, 
 whom the Jews slew in self-defence. For 
 her he hung Haman's ten sons on the gal- 
 lows where the father had suffered before 
 them. For her he made Mordecai prime 
 minister, and lavished boundless favors on 
 the hitherto oppressed Hebrews. And right 
 
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. 103 
 
 worthy was she of all he did for her. Lovely 
 in character as she was in person, her sud- 
 den elevation did not make her vain, nor her 
 power haughty. The same gentle, pure and 
 noble creature when queen, as when living 
 in the lowly habitation of her cousin gen- 
 erous, disinterested, and ready to die for 
 others she is one of the loveliest characters 
 furnished in the annals of history. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
VIII. 
 
 X t / 1 \/'wvrs_ 
 
 x 
 
 OR, SAMUEL AND SAUL. 
 
 ONE evening, just as the sun was setting 
 over the hills of Palestine, a host was seen 
 encamped in a beautiful valley, through 
 which wandered a clear stream, and over 
 whose green surface, woods, and fields, and 
 flocks, and herds, were scattered in endless 
 variety and profusion. The white tents dot- 
 ted the landscape far and wide, standing 
 against the green background distinct as a 
 fleet of snowy sails against a storm-cloud on 
 the sea. Between, glittered long rows of 
 chariots, while gay standards floating above, 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 105 
 
 and groups of officers and ranks of soldiers 
 moving about, gave animation and life to 
 the scene. At intervals came triumphant 
 bursts of music, and the thrilling strains of 
 the trumpet arose and fell over the plain, 
 till the echoes were lost in the woods beyond. 
 And the evening sun was shining on all this, 
 tipping the tens of thousands of lance-points 
 with silver, and flashing back from burnished 
 armor, till the eye became dazzled with the 
 splendor. 
 
 On a gentle eminence that overlooked this 
 glittering plain, was spread the tent of the 
 king. Of ample dimensions, and decorated 
 with gorgeous hangings and costly ornaments, 
 it looked like a fairy palace there upon the 
 swelling hill-top. Underneath its spreading 
 canopy sat the monarch himself, gazing 
 thoughtfully upon the prospect below him. 
 It was a scene to stir a warrior's heart, for 
 every one of those countless tents that stood 
 bathed in the sunlight, contained soldiers 
 
106 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 true and tried ; and the whole vast host at 
 his feet was but a single instrument in his 
 hand. At the blast of his trumpet, that plain 
 would tremble under the tread of armed men, 
 twice ten thousand lances shake in the de- 
 parting sunbeams ; and, at his command, 
 rank upon rank rush all steadily on a 
 stand of levelled spears. They had often 
 crowded after him to battle, and stood a 
 wall of iron about him in the hour of peril : 
 he had heard their shout of defiance ring 
 over the clash of arms and tumult of the fray 
 aye, and their shout of victory, too, louder 
 than all, as they drove the broken and shat- 
 tered forces of the enemy before them. 
 Well, then, might the sight of that tented 
 host send the flush of pride to the monarch's 
 brow, and fill his heart with exultant feel- 
 ings. 
 
 But, alas, no color came to that marble 
 cheek : pale and anxious the chieftain sat and 
 gazed, his brow knit in gloomy thought, and 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 107 
 
 care resting like a cloud upon his counte- 
 nance. No food had passed his lips all day, 
 yet something more than fasting had wrought 
 that haggard look and bowed that regal head. 
 The white tents sprinkling the field, the 
 chariots beside them, the shining ranks of 
 warriors, the triumphant strains of music, the 
 glorious landscape smiling in the setting sun, 
 the hum of, the mighty army, were all un- 
 heeded. He saw them not, he heard them 
 not ; his troubled soul was busy amid other 
 scenes, struggling with far other thoughts. 
 The past and the future shut out the present. 
 Another army arose before him a host of 
 sins in ghastly array, in whose dread aspect 
 no relenting could be seen. And worse than 
 all, the oracles of God were dumb to his 
 earnest questioning no response had been 
 given; the Urim and Thummim ceased to 
 be irradiated at his call, and silence and dark- 
 ness rested on the ark of God. And now as 
 
108 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 he thought of his crimes, and the silence of 
 God, and of the battle on the morrow, 
 
 " Coming events cast their shadows before," 
 
 and he saw his army routed and slain, and 
 himself and his throne trampled under foot. 
 No wonder the waving banners below him 
 brought no glow to his wan and wasted fea- 
 tures. No wonder his troubled spirit cast 
 about for some relief from the darkness that 
 was gathering so fast over his head, until he, 
 as a last resort, could rashly invoke the dead 
 prophet from the eternal world to help him. 
 
 As the last light of day disappeared, and 
 the fires began to be kindled in the broad 
 encampment, he entered his tent, and put- 
 ting on a disguise, stole forth, and turning his 
 steps towards the house of a sorceress, en- 
 tered and asked that Samuel might be raised 
 from the dead. 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 109 
 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 Scarcely had his request been made, when 
 a stately form arose before him clad in a 
 dark mantle, his long grey locks and beard 
 falling upon his breast and shoulders. It 
 was Samuel the same Samuel who had 
 anointed him king over Israel, and for so 
 long a time been the pillar of his throne ; the 
 dread and fearless prophet who so often had 
 withstood him to his face and hurled the 
 malediction of heaven upon him, whose last 
 curse, backed with the startling declaration, 
 " The Strength of Israel will not lie nor repent" 
 still rang in his ears. The frightened mo- 
 narch stood dumb and powerless before the 
 dread spirit he had evoked from the land of 
 shadows, when the deep sepulchral tones 
 of the prophet broke the silence, " WHY 
 
 HAST THOU DISQUIETED ME TO BRING ME UP ?" 
 
 " I am sore distressed" humbly murmured the 
 king, " for the Philistines make w T ar upon me, 
 
110 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 and God is departed from me, and answereth 
 me no more, neither by prophets nor dreams : 
 therefore have I called thee that thou mayest 
 tell me what I shall do." " Wherefore" an- 
 swered the spirit, "dost thou ask me, seeing 
 the Lord has departed from thee and is become 
 thine enemy ?" He then repeated over again 
 the curse of former days, and his words fell 
 like a funeral knell on the ears of the mo- 
 narch, "The Lord hath rent the kingdom 
 out of thy hand, and given it to thy neighbor 
 David." Not only has the throne gone, but 
 the dynasty closes with thee, and thy family 
 is disinherited forever for thy sins. Nor is 
 this all: the battle to-morrow shall go against 
 thee, for, " the Lord will deliver Israel with 
 thee into the hands of the Philistines ; and" 
 the prophet's voice here made the heart of 
 the listener stand still in his bosom "and, 
 to-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me." 
 The thunderbolt had fallen, and the utter 
 silence that followed was broken only by 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. Ill 
 
 the sound of the king's body as it struck 
 heavy and lifeless on the earth. No shriek, 
 no groan, told when and how deep the blow 
 struck ; that heavy fall was more startling 
 than language. 
 
 The fearful apparition then sunk slowly 
 away, and Saul was left alone with the 
 night. 
 
 The next morning found the king in his 
 tent, nerved for the worst; and to those 
 who saw him, as his servants buckled on 
 his armor, he appeared the same as ever, 
 save that a deeper pallor was on his cheek 
 than thought can ever give, the pallor of 
 despair. Nevertheless, the trumpets were 
 ordered to sound, and soon the plain shook 
 with the preparation of arms. Chieftains, 
 each with his retainers behind him, marched 
 forth, prancing steeds and chariots of war 
 followed, banners and lances and helmets 
 fluttered and flashed in the morning sunlight, 
 and all was hope and confidence in the army. 
 
SACRED SCENES. 
 
 As the troops defiled before the royal tent, 
 shouts of " Long live the king" rent the air. 
 Ah, with what a sudden death-chill those 
 shouts fell upon his heart; that host was 
 going forth to be slaughtered, and that bright 
 sun in its course was to witness the loss of 
 his army, his throne, his sons, and his life. 
 Perhaps he strove to cheer his desponding 
 spirit with the vain hope that God might yet 
 be appeased, or that Samuel had spoken 
 falsely ; at all events he w r as determined to 
 battle nobly for his crown. As his guard 
 closed sternly around him, the determina- 
 tion written on his brow betokened a bloody 
 day, and a fierce struggle even with fate 
 itself. 
 
 The hostile armies met, and rank after 
 rank, troop after troop, rushed to the onset. 
 The Hebrew sword drank blood ; and the 
 shout of Israel went up thrilling and strong 
 as it ever rose from Mount Zion itself. And 
 never before did their monarch lead them 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 113 
 
 so steadily and fiercely on ; or give his royal 
 person so freely to the foe. But courage, 
 and heroism, and desperate daring were 
 alike unavailing ; the sentence was writ on 
 high, and Israel was scattered before her 
 foes. Vainly did their leaders rally them 
 again and again to the charge. Vainly did 
 the three princes, the sons of Saul, call on 
 their followers to emulate their example, as 
 they threw themselves on the advancing 
 ranks. Vainly did the king himself lead on 
 his troops, while the blood from his wounded 
 side trickled over his armor. God was 
 against them all ; and discomfited and scat- 
 tered they fled on every side. The three 
 sons of the king fell one after another, 
 bravely battling for their father's throne and 
 Israel's honor, till at last Jonathan, the 
 bravest and noblest of them all, fell lifeless 
 on the hill-side. The wounded monarch, 
 hard hit by the archers, at last turned and 
 fled for his life, but finding no way of escape, 
 
114 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 he stopped and commanded his armor-bearer 
 to stab him to the heart, " Lest," said the 
 dying man, "these uncircumcised come and 
 thrust me through and abuse me." His 
 armor-bearer refusing to commit the horrid 
 deed, he placed the hilt of his own sword 
 upon the ground and fell upon it. The 
 faithful servant followed his example, and 
 he and the king and his three sons lay 
 corpses together on the mountain of Gilboa. 
 
 The prophecy was fulfilled, the curse had 
 fallen, heaven was appeased, and morning, 
 the morning of prosperity, once more broke 
 on the land of Israel. 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
IX. 
 
 THE hills and groves of Palestine, ever so 
 beautiful to the traveller over its burning 
 plains, were in olden times often selected as 
 the building spots for altars and temples. 
 The shadowy recesses gave solemnity to 
 the imposing ceremonies of the priest, while 
 the breezes that wandered through them 
 bathed in refreshing coolness the silent wor- 
 shippers that gathered there. 
 
 In one of these delicious groves, on a 
 beautiful day, a royal form was seen stand- 
 ing before a magnificent altar, around which 
 stood images and vessels of gold in costly 
 profusion. Clad in splendid apparel, he re- 
 
116 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 mained a moment contemplating the smoke 
 of the incense, as it curled slowly upward, 
 while the dense throng around darkened 
 every avenue that led away in the distance. 
 That royal personage was the head of the 
 rebel house that had usurped the throne of 
 David, and drawn every tribe but Judah 
 after its banner. To complete his scheme 
 of wickedness, he had made gods of gold, 
 and plunged the people into the vices of 
 idolatry. He knew that if they reverenced 
 the God of Israel, their hearts would soon 
 yearn again towards the house of David. 
 
 With his honors fresh upon him, and feel- 
 ings of pride and triumph swelling his heart, 
 he gazed long and earnestly at the smoking 
 altar, when suddenly a shadow darkened the 
 ground before him. With a quick and angry 
 glance, he looked up to see who had dared 
 thus presumptuously to intrude on his devo- 
 tions. A grave, stern man, wrapped in a 
 mantle, stood beside him, with his eye fixed 
 
THE NAMELESS PROPHET. 117 
 
 steadfastly upon the altar. Paying no heed 
 to the haughty monarch by his side not 
 even deigning him a glance showing no 
 reverence to the gods before him, he calmly, 
 sternly surveyed the gorgeous fabric with 
 its unholy sacrifice. Before the king could 
 recover his astonishment at this strange and 
 sudden apparition, a voice broke the silence. 
 Apparently unconscious of the presence of 
 the king and his menials, wholly absorbed 
 with the altar before him, he addressed it 
 as if it were a living thing, " altar, altar ! 
 thus saith the Lord, a child from the house 
 of David, Josiah by name, shall yet sacrifice 
 upon thee, and his offerings shall be these high 
 priests that now burn incense, and men's bones 
 shall be burnt upon thee. The Lord hath said 
 it, thou shall be rent, and the ashes poured 
 out." The altar alone received his maledic- 
 tion, but the denouncing curse was meant 
 for the king who worshipped there. It was 
 a bold and fearful act, for he stood alone 
 
118 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 amid a throng of menials, who needed but 
 the slightest signal to hew him in pieces. 
 The monarch's astonishment gave way to 
 uncontrollable rage at being thus defied and 
 cursed by an unknown and powerless man ; 
 and he sprang forward to seize him. In an 
 instant, the outstretched hand fell withered 
 by his side, and the altar parted in the mid- 
 dle, and the ashes were poured upon the 
 ground. As suddenly as astonishment had 
 given way to rage, did fear usurp the place 
 of both; and the king, who a moment be- 
 fore was bent on taking his enemy's life, 
 now tremulously begged for mercy. He be- 
 sought him to restore the withered arm that 
 hung lifeless at his side. Prayers and tears 
 effected what threats could never have done ; 
 and the heart that seemed made of iron so 
 cold, and relentless, and fearless did it beat 
 amid his foes was instantly filled with the 
 tenderest sympathy, and he restored to the 
 humbled monarch his arm. 
 
THE NAMELESS PROPHET. 119 
 
 In the fullness of his delight and gratitude, 
 the king invited him to his palace and to 
 his table, offering to load him with gifts. 
 But the nameless prophet refused, declaring 
 that he could not accept either his hospi- 
 tality or his presents, on any conditions ; for 
 the Lord had charged him saying, " Eat no 
 bread nor drink water, nor turn again by 
 the way thou earnest." So he departed. 
 
 The singular appearance of this unknown 
 man his boldness the fearful doom he had 
 pronounced, and the miracles he had wrought, 
 filled the beholders with amazement, and the 
 news soon spread on every side. Among 
 others, the sons of an old prophet of the 
 Lord brought the tidings to their father's 
 ears, who instantly saddled his ass, and pur- 
 sued after him determined to know more of 
 one who had uttered so dreadful a maledic- 
 tion, and shown such high authority for it. 
 He found him sitting by the way-side, under 
 a spreading oak, doubtless musing on the 
 
120 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 mission he had just fulfilled, and the Being 
 who had sent him on it. 
 
 The old prophet began immediately to 
 urge the stranger to go back and eat with 
 him. But the latter replied to him as he had 
 to the king, that it was the explicit direction 
 of the Lord that he should not eat bread 
 nor drink water in that place. Finding all 
 his entreaties of no avail against the com- 
 mand of the Almighty, he changed his plan, 
 and told him that he too was a prophet of 
 the Lord, and added, "an angel spake unto 
 me by the word of the Lord, saying, Bring 
 him back with thee into thine house, that 
 lie may eat bread and drink water." " But he 
 lied unto him." This staggered the stranger, 
 and though he thought it singular that the 
 Lord should send two such contradictory 
 messages, still, one of his prophets, a venera- 
 ble and revered man, would not tell a lie. 
 What questions he put, and what falsehoods 
 the old prophet uttered to sustain the first un- 
 
THE NAMELESS PROPHET. 121 
 
 truth, we are not told. The whole question 
 hinged on the single fact, whether God had 
 altered his commands. It doubtless was with 
 many misgivings that he at length admit- 
 ted that it might be* so, and consented to 
 return. 
 
 As he reined his unwilling beast back, 
 methinks his heart felt a sudden chill, and 
 a gloomy foreboding darkened his spirit. 
 Perhaps that story was false, and he was pro- 
 voking the curse of that God, whom, he 
 would rather perish than disobey. 
 
 The two prophets, however, were at length 
 on their way back, and a venerable pair they 
 were as they rode side by side, and con- 
 versed of those high themes which related 
 to God and the fate of Israel. As the old 
 prophet spoke of the revelations that from 
 time to time had been made to him of his 
 solemn interviews with the Almighty, the 
 heart of the stranger must have felt relieved 
 
 of its doubts ; and the fearful misgivings 
 6 
 
122 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 which would ever and anon shake his soul, 
 departed. This was a man of God and had 
 been sent to hasten his return. 
 
 At length they reached the old prophet's 
 home, and entered his humble dwelling. 
 Their beasts were unsaddled, and the anx- 
 ious and officious host ordered dinner to be 
 spread, to which he sat down with his guest. 
 In the midst of pleasant cheer, and still 
 pleasanter conversation, the hours wore ra- 
 pidly on. The old prophet exerted all his 
 powers to give zest to the entertainment ; 
 and for once disobedience seemed about to 
 be crowned with blessings. 
 
 But suddenly at the very moment when 
 they felt most secure a strange light illu- 
 mined the old prophet's face and flashed in 
 fearful splendor from his eye. The Spirit 
 of the Almighty the true inspiration had 
 entered him, and rising up before his aston- 
 ished guest, who sat watching with the in- 
 tensest anxiety this sudden change, he cried 
 
THE NAMELESS PROPHET. 123 
 
 aloud ; " Thus saith the Lord, forasmuch as 
 thou hast disobeyed the mouth of the Lord, 
 and hast not kept the commandment he 
 gave thee, but earnest back, and hast eaten 
 bread and drunk water in the place where 
 he did say to thee, eat no bread and drink 
 no water, thy carcass shall not come unto the 
 sepulchre of thy fathers" Had a thunderbolt 
 suddenly fallen at the feet of the prophet, 
 he could not have been more astounded. 
 On his own confession his guest had lied 
 to him ; and now at his own table pronounced 
 the curse upon that disobedience of which 
 he himself had been* the author. 
 
 With a fallen countenance and a heavy 
 heart, the doomed man saddled his ass and 
 rode away. With his head bowed on his 
 bosom, and his long beard sweeping his 
 garments, he passed slowly along, heedless 
 of all the objects around him. Weary and 
 heavy was the way ; for he knew the light 
 of his dwelling would never more cheer his 
 
124 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 eyes, nor the voices of those he loved fill his 
 heart with delight. By the road-side his 
 rejected body must be thrown, to be de- 
 voured, perchance, by the dogs, and worse 
 than all, the stigma of a wicked prophet be 
 fixed on his name forever. Oh ! who can 
 tell the sorrow that then wrung his bosom, 
 or the agonizing prayer to the God of his 
 fathers which then arose from his crushed 
 and broken spirit. 
 
 While he was thus passing sadly along, a 
 lion sprang upon him, and slew him. But 
 held by an invisible hand from touching his 
 prey, he, together with the ass, stood and 
 watched over the corpse. Travellers turned 
 in wonder from the strange spectacle of a 
 lion and ass keeping harmonious and solemn 
 watch together over a dead body, and 
 brought the news to the city. The old 
 prophet knew at once that it was the vic- 
 tim he had seduced to his ruin; and filled 
 with remorse and pity, hastened to the 
 
THE NAMELESS PROPHET. 125 
 
 spot. Finding the corpse stretched on the 
 earth, he took it carefully up, and placing it 
 on his own beast, brought it to his house. 
 A few hours before, the two had passed over 
 that road together in friendly conversation, 
 and now they came again, the living bearing 
 the dead. Mourning over it with tears that 
 came too late, the survivor cried, " Alas, my 
 brother f" And well he might, for that pale 
 face in its death-stillness, uttered a reproach 
 more touching than language ; and all the 
 ghastly wounds, " with their dumb mouths," 
 pleaded like angels against the murderer. 
 " Take him," said the stricken prophet, " and 
 lay him in my grave, and when I am dead, then 
 bury me in the same sepulchre : lay my bones beside 
 his bones" Let the same sepulchre enclose 
 us, and let the monument that tells of the dis- 
 grace of the one perpetuate the falsehood 
 and crime of the other. It was all that he 
 could do by way of atonement; and one 
 tomb held the victim and the seducer. NV> 
 
126 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 name crowned the resting place of the 
 stranger ; he was known only as the " man 
 of God/' and for ages his sepulchre was 
 the sepulchre of " THE NAMELESS PROPHET." 
 A fearful lesson this, to those who would 
 forsake the command of God for the declara- 
 tions of man. 
 
X. 
 
 OR, JACOB AND JOSEPH 
 
 THERE is nothing in the whole range of his- 
 tory or romance so full of strange occurrences 
 and touching incident, as the simple story of 
 Joseph. He was the son of Rachel, whom 
 Jacob always designated by the appellation, 
 " My wife" the other was none of his choos- 
 ing, and hence had none of his love. As was 
 natural, after the death of his wife, his affec- 
 tion all concentrated in her two children. 
 Joseph was the eldest, and beautiful as he 
 was brave and good. The old man could not 
 conceal his partiality for the boy, and lavished 
 
128 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 on him the choicest presents in his power to 
 bestow, and decked him out in a gay coat, 
 thus selecting him from all his brethren to 
 receive the special marks of his favor. Their 
 hatred and envy on this account were greatly 
 augmented, when he, in his innocence, related 
 two dreams one in which their sheaves stood 
 up around his sheaf and made obeisance to it; 
 and the other, where the sun, moon and stars 
 did him reverence ; the only interpretation 
 of which was, that he should be lord over his 
 brethren, and honored even by his father. 
 
 So, once, while pasturing their flocks in 
 Shechem, seeing Joseph who had been sent 
 by his father to inquire after their welfare 
 approaching, they said : " Here comes this 
 dreamer ; let us finish him at once, and see 
 what will become of his dreams." Reu- 
 ben interfered, on the ground that it was 
 monstrous to shed the boy's blood, and per- 
 suaded them to fling him into a pit, doubtless 
 with a view to liberate him privately. When 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 129 
 
 the unsuspecting Joseph was first made to 
 comprehend the full extent of the wrong 
 meditated against him, he could hardly be- 
 lieve it true. But as they harshly stripped 
 off his parti-colored coat, and roughly dragged 
 him towards the mouth of the pit, he could 
 no longer doubt, and begged most piteously 
 for life. He besought them by the ties of 
 brotherhood, for their father's sake, for pity's 
 sake, not to cast him alone down that fearful 
 abyss. His prayers and tears were alike un- 
 availing, and they thrust him harshly into the 
 dark entrance* and his agonizing shrieks gave 
 way to low moans of despair. 
 
 At length, however, seeing a company of 
 Ishmaelites passing by, they concluded to sell 
 him. Then dipping his coat in the blood 
 of a kid, they took it back to their father, 
 saying ; " We found this in the field, all 
 bloody and torn, as you see it; is it Jo- 
 seph's ?" "Yes," replied the afflicted father, 
 
 " it is Joseph's : a wild beast has devoured 
 6* 
 
130 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 him." And he rent his clothes, and put on 
 sackcloth, and mourned bitterly. All his 
 friends endeavored to comfort him, but he 
 repelled their sympathy, declaring he would 
 go broken-hearted to his grave. 
 
 In the meantime, Joseph was taken to 
 Egypt, and sold to one of the officers in the 
 king's army. It is not common for the Bible 
 to stoop to compliment one's personal appear- 
 ance, but it says that " Joseph was a goodly 
 person, and well-favored." Possessed of a 
 fine, noble form, and handsome face, his 
 manly beauty awoke the passions of his mas- 
 ter's wife, and she persecuted him with base 
 proposals. Finding all her approaches repel- 
 led ; her love turned into hatred, and w r ith a 
 lie too infamous to be placed in the catalogue 
 of ordinary crimes, she charged him with 
 assaulting her person. Hurled from his place 
 of trust, and cast into prison without leave to 
 defend himself, he suffered not only the 
 miseries of a dungeon for two years, but the 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 13] 
 
 mortification of knowing that his character 
 was ruined his truth and virtue all gone in 
 the eyes of the world. Ah ! his brothers 
 were right enough in calling him " a vain 
 dreamer." 
 
 His little role is played out, and the great 
 world of strife and toil moves on without his 
 
 prison walls, and he is forgotten forever. 
 
 
 
 Thus might he reason : but the sleepless eye 
 of One above human events did not forget 
 him. Pharaoh must have a troubled dream, 
 and Joseph be the only one to interpret it. 
 From the hard floor of a dungeon he mounts 
 to the chariot of Pharaoh ; and the neglect- 
 ed prisoner of a captain of the guard be- 
 comes first lord of all Egypt. Ah! vvhen that 
 false woman saw him in the king's chariot, 
 invested with regal power, how she must 
 have trembled for herself and husband. The 
 man she had basely maligned and imprisoned 
 was now where he could strike any enemy 
 down. His hour of revenge had come ; and 
 
132 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 in the suspense she endured day after day, 
 expecting her exposure and humiliation, she 
 received the punishment of her crime. But 
 Joseph cast her from his memory as he would 
 a reptile from his path, and bent all his ener- 
 gies during the seven years of plenty to hoard 
 enough for the seven years of famine that 
 were to follow. Why, in the plenitude of his 
 power and success he never sent to his father, 
 to tell him of his existence and prosperity, we 
 are not informed. Nor does it matter ; we 
 only know that the complicated plot was not 
 to end thus. That he thought of his father 
 and his home that he wished to know if he 
 were still alive, and feared that he might die 
 before he could weep on his neck, may well 
 be imagined. 
 
 But time passed on, and by long famine the 
 land was withered up, the crops failed, and 
 the hoarded grain of the years that had passed 
 was exhausted. 
 
 It is then, when the sons of Jacob came to 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 133 
 
 Egypt to buy corn, that we, for the first time, 
 begin to see how the tangled web of events is 
 to be unravelled, and catch a glimpse of the 
 way the riddle is finally to resolve itself. 
 
 Those envious brothers stand in presence 
 of the lord of Egypt without recognizing him. 
 He has changed since they tore him from their 
 side, and dragged him shrieking to the pit. 
 The beautiful boy has become the well-devel- 
 oped and noble man ; and clothed, riot in " a 
 coat of many colors/' but in the royal apparel 
 of the chief man in the realm, he looks him- 
 self, " every inch a king." But the shepherds 
 of Shechem have not so changed they look 
 just as they did when he plead beseechingly 
 for life, and he recognizes them at a glance. 
 He has not forgotten the unspeakable anguish 
 of the last moment in which his eyes fell upon 
 them. As he turned to them one after ano- 
 ther, in his touching prayer for mercy, the face 
 of each became daguerreotyped on his heart 
 forever. He knows them, and speaks harshly 
 
134 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 to them they are spies they are anything 
 but honest men. 
 
 When, to repel this charge they honestly 
 told their history, and spoke of their family- 
 referring to Joseph as dead, and Benjamin as 
 with their father, he declared, by the life of 
 Pharaoh, that he would not believe them, 
 unless they brought that younger brother 
 down. He imprisoned them three days and 
 then released them, on condition that one 
 should remain bound with him, as surety that 
 the rest should return with Benjamin. He 
 spoke to them in Egyptian, and they, suppos- 
 ing he did not understand Hebrew, conversed 
 with each other in an under-tone. Remorse 
 and self-reproach had at length awoke, and 
 they said : " This is the punishment for hav- 
 ing treated our brother Joseph so. We saw 
 his anguish when he plead with us, but 
 would not hear ; and now his blood is re- 
 quired of us !" This was striking a tender 
 chord in Joseph's breast, and calling back a 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 13 
 
 whole world of associations. In a moment, 
 Egypt, and Pharaoh's court, and his own 
 glory, all disappeared from sight, and he saw 
 only his father's white tent and the sweet 
 fields of Canaan. Nature tugged heavily at 
 his heart-strings, and the choking sensation in 
 his throat told him that his self-control was 
 fast vanishing before the swelling tide of fra- 
 ternal and filial love, and he retreated hastily 
 to his room. There giving vent to his emo- 
 tions in sobs and tears, he w T ashed himself and 
 returned. 
 
 When they again arrived at home, and told 
 their father what had happened, the old man's 
 fears were aroused, and he exclaimed, " Ye 
 have bereaved me of my children : Joseph is 
 dead, and Simeon gone, and now ye will take 
 away Benjamin also. All these things are 
 against me. He shall not go; for if any mis- 
 chief befall him, you will bring my grey hairs 
 with sorrow to the grave." Not to save 
 Simeon will he risk Benjamin. They ceased 
 
136 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 entreating, and waited to see how the famine 
 would affect him. 
 
 The little ruse the old man practised some 
 time after, so natural, and yet so easily 
 detected, lets us into his character at once. 
 After days and weeks had passed away, 
 and want began to stare him in the face, 
 he spoke in the most ordinary, indifferent 
 manner, as if the whole affair of Benjamin 
 had been forgotten indeed was not worth 
 being referred to again, saying, " Go down 
 into Egypt and buy more corn." "No;" 
 said Judah, " we cannot, we will not go 
 without Benjamin." With the petulance and 
 unreasonableness of old age, when it finds 
 its structure of straw, reared with so much 
 pains ,and cunning, suddenly demolished, 
 he exclaimed, "Why did you tell him that 
 you had a brother ? Why deal so ill with 
 me ?" 
 
 It was useless, however, to contend with 
 famine. Without corn, Benjamin and all 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 137 
 
 must die ; and the troubled patriarch, after 
 receiving the solemn oaths of his sons to 
 bring him back, at last consented. To bless 
 him and send him away, was a task almost 
 too great for his strength. Joseph was long 
 since dead, Rachel was dead, and Simeon a 
 captive. The boy Benjamin the child of 
 his old age the only relic of the wife lie 
 had so long and so deeply loved the last 
 nestling on the roof-tree to cheer the evening 
 of his days the only object that made the 
 world bright to him, must then go to a 
 foreign land, to meet, perchance, the fate of 
 Simeon and of Joseph. How the doting 
 father, when he found he could no longer 
 shrink from the fatal blow, grasped at every- 
 thing that could add to the security of his 
 child ! " Take," said he, " the choicest fruits 
 of the land, and carry them down to the man 
 as a present; and a little balm, and a little 
 honey, and spices, and myrrh, and nuts, 
 and almonds." Perhaps when he sees these 
 
138 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 little presents from the old man, he will pity 
 his loneliness and be kind to his boy. 
 
 At length, after having done all within 
 his power, he shook off, by a strong effort, 
 the anxious parent, and rising to the dignity 
 of the man of God, said ; " Go, and God 
 Almighty give you mercy before the man. 
 If I be bereaved of my children, I am be- 
 reaved." 
 
 The light of his heart, the joy of his life, 
 is at length gone. The patriarch stands in 
 the door of his tent his white locks falling 
 on his shoulders and watches the fair form 
 of his boy receding in the distance, until at 
 last a clump of trees shuts him from sight. 
 Even then he does not turn away, but lin- 
 gers a long time, gazing with an ashen cheek 
 and tremulous lip on the spot where he last 
 saw his idol; and then bows himself in 
 prayer to the God of his fathers. Oh how 
 he laid before him the promises he had 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 139 
 
 made how he pressed the pledge that had 
 been given. 
 
 Wearily and sadly passed the days to 
 Jacob ; the nestling was gone from his bo- 
 som the light of his tent departed. That 
 tent was now desolate ; the whole world 
 looked lonely ; his very herds moved sor- 
 rowfully over the fields; the sky, the clouds, 
 the earth had suddenly changed their as- 
 pect. 
 
 While Jacob and his sons are in this 
 state of ignorance and suspense, it is pleas- 
 ant to turn to Joseph, who alone manages 
 the whole plot. But he had overestimated 
 his self-control; for when his brethren again 
 stood before him, and gave him the presents 
 and money of his father, and he saw Benja- 
 min with them, his heart beat with a vio- 
 lence that mocked the mandates of his will. 
 That beautiful boy, with his open, affectionate 
 countenance, was " his mother's son" his only 
 brother, and his whole nature reached forth 
 
140 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 towards him. He could only say, " Is this 
 the brother of whom you spake ! God be gra- 
 ->/< to thee, my son f" and rushed out of the 
 room to hide the tears that could not be 
 stayed. In the solitude of his chamber, 
 he relieved his burdened heart, and returned 
 with a composed mien into their midst. He 
 had the whole of them with him at dinner; 
 yet, even here, his love which clamored so 
 loudly for expression, could not help reveal- 
 ing itself. He piled on Benjamin's plate- 
 boy though he was five times as much as 
 on any of the others. The look of innocent 
 wonder With which he met this extrava- 
 gance, again and again brought tears into 
 Joseph's eyes. Ah ! how blind they were 
 not to see that he was devouring that child 
 with- his looks, and that every motion was 
 an effort to restrain himself from snatching 
 him to his bosom. 
 
 Having passed this trial safely, he sent 
 them away with their sacks full of corn 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 141 
 
 ordering the steward to put the silver cup 
 into Benjamin's sack, and then, as soon as 
 they had left the city, to pursue after and 
 charge them with stealing it. He did so, 
 and the brothers knowing themselves inno- 
 cent, bade him search, saying that he in 
 whose sack it was found, should be his 
 lord's bondman for ever. Beginning at the 
 eldest, he opened one sack after another 
 with the same success, until at last none 
 but Benjamin's remained. Ail anxiety had 
 now ceased on their part, for they knew 
 that little Benjamin could not steal. It was 
 a mere matter of form, opening his sack ; 
 but lo ! the first object that met their aston- 
 ished eyes, was that glittering cup. Alas, 
 alas, they had just been congratulating them- 
 selves on their good fortune. With plenty 
 of corn, and Benjamin with them, they were 
 on their return route to their father. Their 
 fears had all given way to delightful contem- 
 plations, when their hopes were thus suddenly 
 
142 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 dashed, and Benjamin, on their own condi- 
 tions, was to be a bondman for life. With 
 rent clothes and despairing hearts they re- 
 turned to the city, and prostrating themselves 
 before their lord, made no excuse, but offer- 
 ed themselves at once as his slaves. This 
 was all he could ask, and the worst was over. 
 Not so. Joseph declared he would have 
 none but the culprit the rest might return 
 to their father. What, go back without 
 Benjamin ! Such an alternative was worse 
 than death, and Judah roused himself to one 
 desperate effort to avert the catastrophe. 
 Rising and approaching Joseph, he begged 
 him not to be angry, but hear him : he then 
 commenced a most tender, touching appeal 
 to his feelings and his affections. Ah that 
 was quite unnecessary ; poor Benjamin, as he 
 stood silent and wretched, the innocent 
 cause of all this misery, the tears trickling 
 down his cheeks, was making that appeal 
 with ten thousand tongues, till Joseph him- 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 143 
 
 self turned paler than his brethren. But 
 swallowing down by a convulsive effort his 
 rising emotions, he stood with compressed 
 lips, and knitted brow and heaving chest 
 awaiting the issue. Judah then went on to 
 remind him that he had questioned them 
 of their father and icimily; and when they 
 had honestly told him all even of their bro- 
 ther Benjamin, that he had commanded them 
 to bring him down to Egypt. Said Judah, 
 " I told my father this, but he would not let 
 him come. And when he besought us again 
 to go and buy food we refused, unless Ben- 
 jamin accompanied us. He replied, you 
 know my wife bare me two sons, and one 
 went out from me, and was torn in pieces 
 for I have never seen him since; and now 
 if you take this one away also, and mischief 
 befall him, you will bring down my grey 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave." In this 
 simple and earnest manner, he went on 
 pleading for his aged father, and for Benja- 
 
144 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 min, and in such touching language, that the 
 heart of a stranger would have melted. Jo- 
 seph listened to the recital saw the picture 
 Judah drew of his father, and when he came 
 to speak of how dearly that father still loved 
 his long-lost son Joseph, and the sorrow and 
 wretchedness that now threatened his de- 
 clining years, he could no longer restrain 
 himself. The swelling tide of feeling that 
 had so long heen kept back, now rushed 
 . the wilder for the force that had been laid 
 upon it, and he cried with a loud voice, " let 
 every man leave me;" and he stood alone 
 with his brothers. He then burst into a pas- 
 sionate fit of weeping, and sobbed so loud 
 and convulsively, that the court of Pharaoh 
 heard him. After the first gust of feeling 
 had passed by, he exclaimed, " I am Joseph, 
 doth my father yet live ?" Had the earth sud- 
 denly opened under their feet, they could not 
 have been more astounded, and they stood 
 silently looking on each other, while con- 
 
THE DREAM AND ITS FULFILLMENT. 145 
 
 sternation, shame, remorse, and hope, agitat- 
 ed them by turns. But there was no place 
 in Joseph's bosom for anger, and he endea- 
 vored to console them by saying it was all 
 for the best that they had sold him. God 
 had ordered it aright. He then snatched 
 Benjamin to his bosom, and covered him 
 with caresses, and the two brothers lay a 
 long time in each other's embrace weeping. 
 
 All this time Jacob was counting the days 
 that should bring Benjamin back, and when 
 at last the little caravan heaved in sight, 
 how his heart beat as he saw him riding 
 safely in the midst. While in the fullness of 
 his joy at his safe return, he was told by 
 Judah that Joseph was yet alive and was lord 
 of Egypt. The shock liked to have proved 
 too much for his aged frame the blood sal- 
 lied back to his heart and he fainted. When 
 he at length revived he said " It is enough, 
 Joseph my son is yet alive, I will go down 
 and see him before I die." And he did go 
 
146 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 down, and Joseph came in his chariot to meet 
 him. Of that interview we cannot speak. 
 An aged father taking to his bosom a long bu- 
 ried son, and a noble son murmuring on that 
 bosom in the midst of his tears, " my father, 
 my father,' 9 answered only by the tremulous 
 " God bless thee, my son," is one of the holiest 
 sights this earth presents. The rapture of 
 that moment compensates for years of pain. 
 The Bible says that Joseph " wept on his 
 neck a good while" How simple the declara- 
 tion and yet how full of meaning. " A good 
 while" yes the garnered affection of years, 
 the hoarded treasures of the heart, all it 
 had suffered and all it had hoped were not 
 to be uttered in a short embrace. 
 Thus was the double dream fulfilled. 
 
THE 
 
 ' 
 
 UNIVEESIT'/] 
 
XL 
 
 LATE one night, when all was still around 
 a rude hostelrie in Judea, save perchance, 
 the rippling of the wind through the tree- 
 tops, a young mother gave birth to a son. 
 She was one of a company of poor travellers 
 who had taken up their night lodgings in the 
 stable. Such a birth was no uncommon 
 thing among the poorer classes, and yet 
 heaven never bent over a universe just roll- 
 ed into being, with such intense, absorbing 
 interest, as it did over that unconscious babe, 
 as it lay with feeble, fluttering breath upon 
 its mother's bosom. The heavens were quiet 
 above the inmates of the low inn slumbered 
 
148 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 peacefully the shepherds were dreaming 
 free from care amid their flocks on the fresh 
 hill-sides, and all nature was at rest, when 
 the birth-throes of that fair young mother 
 brought troops of angels from the throne of 
 God. 
 
 But suddenly a change seemed to pass 
 over nature mysterious influences were in 
 the air the slumberers on the hill-side and 
 in the valley, felt a strange unrest, and arose 
 and came forth to gaze on the sky. Whis- 
 perings were about them, and sounds like the 
 passage of swift wings, all sweeping onward 
 to one place ; and then on the darkness of 
 night a new star arose, bathing the landscape 
 in mellow splendor, and flooding that rude 
 inn and ruder stable with light that dazzled 
 the beholder. There it stood, beautiful and 
 bright, pointing with its steady beam to that 
 slumbering babe. Encompassed in the still 
 glory, the wondering shepherds turned in 
 alarm one to the other, but saw in the shin- 
 
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 149 
 
 ing countenance of each, only cause of greater 
 fear. While they thus stood hesitating what 
 to do, an angel hovered above them, saying, 
 " Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings 
 of great joy, which shall be to all people : for 
 unto you is born this day in the city of David, a 
 Saviour, which is Christ the Lord :" and sudden- 
 ly crowds on crowds of radiant beings swept 
 round them, singing, " Glory to God in the 
 highest, and on earth peace, good will to men." 
 Oh, how that glorious anthem rose and fell 
 along the Judean mountains. " Glory to 
 God in the highest!" from voices tuned in 
 heaven for ages to melody, and sent up in 
 one exultant shout from that excited host, 
 burst again and again on the ear. The hea- 
 vens trembled with the song, and far away, 
 beyond the reach of watching shepherds, or 
 listening men, were louder shouts, and more 
 entrancing melody. 
 
 With that shout and that song on their 
 lips, the host of glad angels wheeled away 
 
150 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 to heaven, and all was still again. But still 
 that star kept shining on, and the shep- 
 herds from the hill-tops, and wise men from 
 afar, guided by its finger of light, came to 
 where its beam fell on the infant in the 
 manger, and worshipped him there. Strange 
 occupants were in that stable. The wise 
 and proud were there kneeling. Angels had 
 been there adoring. The Son of God was 
 there sleeping in a human mother's arms. 
 That stable was greater than the palace of 
 a king, for its manger cradled the " KING of 
 Kings :" " Emmanuel, The Wonderful, Coun- 
 sellor, Prince of Peace, Redeemer," Saviour 
 of men, were all embraced in that helpless 
 infant. There it lay, calm and fair and 
 lovely, the companion of cattle, and yet the 
 Maker of the earth, and the adored of heaven 
 the son of a carpenter, and the " Son of 
 God." The feeble arm could scarcely lift 
 itself to its mother's neck, yet on it the uni- 
 verse stood balanced. Its voice was faint, 
 
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 151 
 
 low, and infantile, and yet at its slightest cry, 
 myriads on myriads of angelic beings would 
 flock to its relief. A few hours measured 
 its existence, and yet it lived before the stars 
 of God. Born to die ; it was still the con- 
 queror of death. No wonder that star beam- 
 ed on its face, for it did more than declare its 
 heavenly birth, or direct the wise men to 
 where it was cradled. It was pointing to the 
 great solution of the problem of life, and of 
 the profoundest mystery of heaven. For four 
 thousand years the w r orld had summoned its 
 thought and energies, and exhausted its wis- 
 dom on the single question, " How shall man 
 be just with God ?" The smoke of the first 
 altar-fire kindled on the yet unpeopled earth, 
 as it curled slowly heavenward, was burden- 
 ed with this question. From the borders of 
 deserted Eden from the top of Mount Ararat 
 from the Bethel of Abraham, and from the 
 tents of Jacob, had the sacrificial flame burn^ 
 ed skyward in vain. The priests of Aaron 
 
152 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 had stood before the altar, and struggled for 
 ages with the mighty problem, and now the 
 " Star of Bethlehem" pointed to that babe as 
 its solution. The long wanderings of the He- 
 brews the miracles that preserved them 
 the imposing ceremonies of their religion 
 the "ark of God/' the "mercy-seat," the 
 pomp of temple worship, what did they all 
 mean ? That silent star furnished the reply. 
 Altars and sacrifices, prayers and prophecies, 
 all were to end here. For four thousand 
 years the earth had been rolling on its axis to 
 bring about one event, and this was its ac- 
 complishment. To the thousand inquiries of 
 the human heart to its painful questionings 
 to all its hopes and fears for so long a pe- 
 riod, it was the answer and the end. Like a 
 shadow forever fleeing had the mystery of jus- 
 tification baffled both the thoughtful and in- 
 spired. The Hebrew with his temple wor- 
 ship and his offerings the pagan with his 
 heathen rites and his gods the philosopher 
 
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 153 
 
 with his reason and his conscience, and the 
 poet with his imagination, had pondered for 
 ages over it. Watchings and fastings, self-hu- 
 miliation, long pilgrimages, self-immolation, 
 and death had been cheerfully, nay, joyfully 
 endured, to solve it. Too high for the rapt 
 prophet, too deep for the sage, it still remain- 
 ed to sadden and excite the heart of man, till 
 the " Star of Bethlehem" arose on the plains 
 of Judea. Then the problem was solved and 
 the mystery explained, by a mystery and 
 problem greater than all. 
 
 The long line of David, unbroken through 
 so many centuries, was maintained solely to 
 secure the birth of that child. Rapt in holy 
 enthusiasm, Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all 
 the prophets of God had foretold a King of 
 Israel yet to come, whose throne should 
 excel all the thrones of earth; and in the sub- 
 limest strains of eloquence spoken of the 
 glory of his kingdom and the splendor of 
 his reign. Through ages of oppression 
 
154 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 through long years of captivity from the 
 depths of suffering, had prophets and people 
 looked forward to the coming of this King 
 and " Redeemer/' and now, as if to mock 
 their hopes, that silent star pointed to the 
 babe of a carpenter's wife as the fulfilment 
 of all. 
 
 Oh what a bitter disappointment to be 
 told that the King of Glory the Prince of 
 Peace the Redeemer of Israel the hope 
 of the human heart, were in that infant, 
 coarsely clad and laid in a manger. 
 
 Yet that star said more than all this to 
 the longings after immortality to the dim 
 hopes the painful, bitter cry of the human 
 soul after a life to come, it still casts its daz- 
 zling rays on that rude manger. The sad 
 soul may question on and struggle on ; but 
 the sleeper there alone can satisfy its desires. 
 It may range the fields of thought exhaust 
 all learning and all philosophy dive into its 
 own unfathomed depths ; yet there alone is 
 
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 155 
 
 unfolded the mystery. " Life and immor- 
 tality are brought to light" in that manger 
 so speaks the ever-beaming star. Kneel there 
 with thy soul, which has fallen back exhaust- 
 ed from the fearful heights it has endeavored 
 to climb unaided ; fling thy philosophy, thy 
 pride, as well as thy fears away, and let the 
 light of that wondrous star fall on thy counte- 
 nance, and its ray subdue and gladden thy 
 spirit. Not only painful doubts and appalling 
 fears lest the sinful heart could never be ac- 
 counted pure but those unsatisfied longings 
 and shadowy visions of a life to come, are all 
 over. Oh, with what thrilling eloquence that 
 star spoke to the bewildered, melancholy 
 race of man. 
 
 But not only did it point to the only way 
 of justification, and reveal the life of the soul, 
 when its earthly clog is cast away it also 
 shed light on the grave of the body cast the 
 first ray that ever fell within its dark and 
 voiceless chambers. It said as it shone, " Be- 
 
156 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 hold the resurrection and the life:" " There is 
 the first fruits of them that sleep" Wondrous 
 beam ! penetrating to the caverned dead, 
 casting unearthly splendor on the charnel 
 house, and flooding with light and glory the 
 mutilated fragments which the worm and 
 corruption have left. To the "whole crea- 
 tion travailing in pain and groaning," waiting 
 for the redemption of the body, it said in ac- 
 cents sweeter than ever yet fell on mortal 
 ears, " Be still, that babe shall open the por- 
 tals of death, and lead captivity captive." 
 
 To the heavens above, it also spoke a lan- 
 guage it solved the mystery of redemption 
 showed how Mercy and Justice could be 
 united, and revealed the length, and breadth 
 and depth, and height of the love of God. 
 
 Two great events mark the long history of 
 the earth one is the coming of Christ in a 
 human form as the " babe of Bethlehem," to 
 save and redeem the other is to be his com- 
 ing in the plenitude of his power to judge the 
 
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 157 
 
 world. A single star arose and beamed on 
 his birth : at his second appearance, the stars 
 of heaven shall all be quenched, the sun be 
 " turned into darkness and the moon into 
 blood." 
 
XII. 
 
 THE lives of most men are on the same 
 plane, marked by the same vicissitudes, 
 checkered by the same light and shade, joys 
 and sorrows. Kindred storms overhang their 
 path; and passing through similar suffer- 
 ings, they drop one like the other over the 
 same brink into the echoless abyss of the 
 grave. But now and then one appears, born 
 to a different destiny. Thrown upon turbu- 
 lent or rapidly changing times, he is impelled 
 by a violence he cannot resist, along dizzy 
 heights and down frightful gulfs, until the 
 long martyrdom is brought to a close by a 
 
\v v OF TEE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
* I 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 159 
 
 death which changes the fate of an empire. 
 Another, from childhood, goes only from mys- 
 tery to mystery ; revelations from on high, 
 spirit-voices ringing in his ears, and unearthly 
 visions dazzling his eyes, keep his soul in a 
 state of fearful excitement, now thrilling it 
 with joy, and now making it shudder with 
 fear. One half of his sky is always too bright 
 for mortal eye to gaze upon, and the other 
 half, black with thunder clouds piled on thun- 
 der clouds. Thus it was with the prophets 
 and priests of old, and with the inspired apos- 
 tles of Jesus Christ. They dreamed dreams, 
 they saw visions, they heard " the lyres of 
 angels and the whispers of friends," they talked 
 with God face to face. 
 
 Most of those men chosen for such a high 
 destiny, possessed characters of great energy 
 and activity. John alone seemed made to 
 love. Less fitted than Paul for the sterner 
 struggles which accorded with the latter's 
 nature, he wished ever to be reposing on the 
 
160 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 bosom, or receiving the caress of his Friend 
 and Master. Sentiment and sympathy pre- 
 dominated in him ; he was a poet by nature, 
 kind, generous, and full of emotion ; and was 
 happy only when surrounded by those he 
 loved. Serene trust and immovable faith 
 were his great virtues. 
 
 There is something inexpressibly touching 
 in his attachment to Christ ; there was an 
 abandonment about it, such an utter forget- 
 fulness of the whole world but him ; and 
 merging of all he wished or hoped for into the 
 affection of that single bosom, that one can 
 never in imagination behold his head resting 
 upon it in childlike happiness, as if life had 
 nothing more to give, without the deepest 
 emotion. 
 
 There is a certain sadness connected with 
 the attachment of two friends who have be- 
 come so much to each other, that they divide 
 the world in only two parts, " one where the 
 loved object is, and one where it is not." It 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 161 
 
 is too intense for this life ; changes and sepa- 
 ration will weaken it, or death disrupt it. 
 But there is something sadder still in the 
 attachment of Christ and John. The deep 
 devotion, the pure and generous heart, the 
 tender sympathy, the trusting, loving na- 
 ture of the latter, had so won upon the 
 Saviour, that every look he cast upon him 
 was a caress, and every word he spoke, took 
 the gentle tone of a mother addressing her 
 child. John, absorbed by his attachment, 
 his countenance by turns made tearful and 
 joyous, at the kind words and glorious truths 
 that fell from his Master's lips, seemed never 
 to dream of approaching evil, of possible sepa- 
 ration. Jesus, on the other hand, as he with 
 his sorrowful face looked down upon him, 
 leaning contentedly on his breast, thought 
 of the future. With his human heart beating 
 warmly for the true devoted friend thus re- 
 posing there, he could not but sigh, knowing, 
 as he did, the trials and sufferings his tender 
 
162 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 nature must yet pass through to prove its love 
 for him. That implicit confidence and trust 
 were the strongest appeal that could be made 
 to his pure and noble nature, and he must in 
 those moments have looked upon John, as a 
 mother upon the smiles of her infant, when 
 she knows that in a few hours the execu- 
 tioner's axe will leave it an orphan in the 
 world. The dark hints he ever and anon 
 threw out, filled John with wonder, rather 
 than anxiety, and he loved on, indifferent to 
 his own fate. The other disciples respected 
 this attachment, and far from being jealous, 
 seemed affected by it. When Christ uttered 
 those sad words, "One of you shall betray me," 
 they dared not ask which it was, but request- 
 ed John, who they knew would not be re- 
 buked, to do it for them. He, looking up 
 from that pillow he could not surrender to 
 any other head, said, " Lord, who is it ?" and 
 the Saviour told him. The youngest of all, a 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 163 
 
 mere youth when he began to follow Christ, 
 he was yet most beloved of all. 
 
 John must have passed through strange 
 states of mind, as the wondrous character of 
 the being he loved so intimately and treated 
 so familiarly, became revealed to him in his 
 miracles and by his high claims. Christ 
 seems always to have chosen him for a com- 
 panion when about to accomplish any great 
 event. John heard his predictions respecting 
 Jerusalem and the Jewish nation ; stood by 
 when he took the hand of the dead daughter 
 of Jairus, and bade her arise amid her aston- 
 ished friends; was one of the three who as- 
 cended the mount of Transfiguration, and saw 
 the face and form he had so often caressed, as- 
 sume the likeness and splendor of God ; was 
 in the garden on that night of fearful agony, 
 and gazed on the pallid face streaked with 
 blood which had so often and so kindly 
 smiled on him; and last of all, beheld him 
 
164 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 ascend into heaven, triumphant over death 
 and the grave. 
 
 But there is one event which gives John 
 peculiar claims to being " that disciple whom 
 Jesus loved." Christ had endured the agony 
 in the garden ; his sacred face had been spit 
 upon ; his cheek shamefully struck ; the farce 
 and insult of a trial endured ; he had fainted 
 under the cross as he struggled with it up the 
 steep hill-side ; and finally, with his frame 
 strung to the point of extremest sensibility, 
 he had been laid on the rough beams, and the 
 bolts rudely crushed through his shrinking 
 hands and feet; and thus, quivering and dy- 
 ing, was hung on high. Around him was the 
 railing crowd, beside him a scoffing thief. All 
 his friends had forsaken him and fled ; and 
 alone, all alone, he was left to wrestle with 
 his doom. No, not quite alone, for nearer 
 the cross than the taunting rabble stood his 
 mother. It was her child, bleeding and dy- 
 ing there before her eyes, and what were the 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 165 
 
 scoffs and violence of those around her; aye, 
 what was death itself compared to the throes 
 of maternal anguish that shook her hosom. 
 There, too, stood John, rivalling even the 
 mother in love. He forgot he had a life to 
 lose ; he did not even hear the taunts that 
 were rained upon him, nor see the fingers of 
 scorn that were pointed at his tears ; he saw 
 only his dying friend and Lord, beheld but 
 the bosom on which he had so often rested 
 his head, heaving and swelling as though 
 the heart would burst its confinement, and 
 the brow on which peace ever sat like a white 
 winged dove, contracted with agony unuttera- 
 ble. True to the last, pale as the suffering 
 being before him, he stood and wept in 
 speechless sorrow. Christ in the midst of 
 his torture and in the midst of the stupendous 
 scheme he was finishing at such a fearful 
 price, cut off from earth, and just as heaven, 
 too, was about to abandon him, and the frown 
 of his Father was darkening over his spirit, 
 
166 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 was struck with this matchless love. Al- 
 though the last, the wildest wave that ever 
 broke over his suffering soul was gathering 
 for its flow, yet even then he gazed lovingly 
 on those two faithful hearts, and his calm 
 though failing voice reached their ears, and 
 he said to his mother, " behold thy son" and 
 to John, " behold thy mother" True-hearted 
 disciple, faithful friend, take my place beside 
 my mother ; to thy love, so great for me, I can 
 safely commit her. Oh ! what a proof of con- 
 fidence and attachment was that ! So high 
 an honor was never before paid human love. 
 Oh ! what an inheritance was that the Son of 
 God gave him, his mother and his affec- 
 tionate confidence in the last hour of his 
 suffering, and while standing on the portals 
 of the eternal kingdom. No wonder that 
 John after that took her to his own home, 
 soothed her sorrows, nursed her declining 
 years, and at last gently and sorrowfully laid 
 her in the grave. 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 167 
 
 Years passed by, and changes and persecu- 
 tion came, but no change in the affection of 
 John for his Master. Living in his life, he af- 
 terwards lived to make known his death 
 and resurrection. Love seemed to supply the 
 place of native energy, and he passed into 
 Asia, preaching the gospel, and planting 
 churches ; until at length the hand of perse- 
 cution reached him, also, and he was banish- 
 ed to a lonely island in the ^Egean Sea. 
 
 How long he remained there we know not ; 
 silence and uncertainty rest on his history. 
 Alone he trod the desolate beach, cheered by 
 no voice, solaced by no companionship. He, 
 whose happiness had consisted in laying his 
 head on the bosom of his friend and Lord, 
 was left without a friend. The monotonous 
 dash of waves at his feet, the broad and 
 boundless deep stretching away before him, 
 the cry of the sea bird and the roar of the 
 storm, these were the only sights and 
 sounds left to the lonely exile. Day after 
 
168 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 day, and week after week, the same unvary- 
 ing routine. The solitary walk on the shore, 
 and still more solitary rest under an over- 
 hanging rock, filled up the measure of his 
 employments. Ah, how sweet then was the 
 remembrance of his long and affectionate in- 
 terviews with Christ, how full of solace the 
 words he had spoken so full that the desert 
 seemed peopled with angels, and the hoarse 
 murmur of the sea sounded like an anthem 
 of praise to God. As he stood and saw the 
 sun go down on the deep, he remembered 
 that just so it flashed over the sea of Tiberias, 
 when Jesus fed the five thousand. As he 
 looked up to the silent firmament, gorgeous 
 with stars, he lived over again the strange 
 night which he passed with Jesus on Mount 
 Tabor, gazing on the same heavens ; and 
 when he pillowed his lonely head upon the 
 sand, he thought with throbbing heart of 
 him, " who had not where to lay his head.' 9 
 
 How long he lived thus in holy contempla- 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 169 
 
 tion, to prepare him for the wondrous revela- 
 tions about to be made, we know not : but 
 one Sabbath morning, as he was walking the 
 desert island, filled with thoughts of the 
 world to come, he heard a voice repeating in 
 trumpet tones behind him, " I AM ALPHA AND 
 OMEGA, THE FIRST AND THE LAST." Turning 
 to meet the voice, he saw a form dread 
 enough to appal the stoutest heart. A mantle 
 wrapped it from the neck to the feet the 
 head and hair were white as wool, the eyes 
 burned like fire, the feet shone like brass in a 
 furnace, in his uplifted hand seven stars were 
 blazing, his countenance was as the "sun 
 shining in its strength." and his voice like " the 
 sound of many waters" No wonder the over- 
 whelmed exile fell on his face as a dead man, 
 before this fearful form and aspect, and dared 
 not lift his eyes again from the earth, till the 
 same terrible voice bade him arise. Of the 
 wondrous scenes that were then revealed to 
 
 him, who can speak ? The gates of hell and 
 8 
 
170 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 heaven were flung open to his view. He saw 
 the smoke that curtained the bottomless pit, 
 and the city whose only light is the presence 
 of the Lamb : but the speechless agony, the 
 terrible conflicts, the appalling sights of the 
 one, together with the splendors of the hea- 
 ven of heavens, the throne and white-vested 
 elders, the dazzling glory of the crystal sea 
 and rivers of Paradise, the music of the 
 harpers, the thrilling power of that loud hal- 
 lelujah, " Worthy is the Lamb that was slain" 
 as it rolled from ten times ten thousand 
 tongues full on the throne of God and the 
 Lamb, who can describe ? 
 
 This strange interview, with its long train 
 of mysterious and fearful visions, was at last 
 ended; as was also the exile of John, and he 
 smiled once more in the midst of his friends. 
 But the scenes he had passed through did 
 not change his nature ; he was the same 
 gentle, loving being as ever. Overflowing 
 
THE DISCIPLE THAT JESUS LOVED. 171 
 
 with kindness and sympathy all things else 
 seemed worthless in comparison. 
 
 And when the lamp of life burned dimly, 
 and his trembling voice could hardly articu- 
 late, he still spoke of love. It is said he lived 
 to be eighty years of age. and then, too feeble 
 to walk, was carried into church on men's 
 shoulders, and, though scarcely able to speak, 
 would faintly murmur, " Brethren, love one 
 another." Affection was his life, and it seem- 
 ed to him that the world could be governed 
 by love. 
 
XIII. 
 
 AMONG the outline sketches in which the 
 Bible abounds, none is more beautiful than 
 that of the Prodigal Son. And as the great 
 principles of the New Testament are left for 
 man to elaborate, so its sketches are designed 
 to be filled up by our imaginations. 
 
 Christ, in teaching the multitude, drew his 
 illustrations from every day life, and from 
 scenes with which all were familiar. Once, 
 sitting on a hill-side with the multitude be- 
 low him, he pointed to the lilies that filled 
 the valley beneath with fragrance and beauty, 
 to exemplify the ease with which God could 
 clothe those who trusted in him. The man 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 173 
 
 with his lost sheep the " sower going forth 
 to sow" the unjust steward, all were ex- 
 amples that appealed to their own experience 
 or knowledge. 
 
 The Prodigal Son not only illustrates a 
 great truth, but is a touching picture in itself. 
 We are introduced to a rich man with two 
 sons who are both grown to be men. The 
 younger, of an ardent temperament, full of 
 adventure and hope, becomes weary of the 
 dull routine of a farmer's life, and pines for 
 the excitement to be found in the gay world 
 from which he is excluded. His restlessness 
 so increases upon him, that he at length has 
 the hardihood to ask his aged father to give 
 him, at once, that portion of the property 
 which will fall to him at his death. The 
 kind old man has not the heart to refuse him ; 
 and feeling that in a few years he will be laid 
 in his grave ; and having no farther interest 
 in life than to secure the happiness of his two 
 sons, he divides the estate between them. 
 
174 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 With a large fortune at his command, and 
 his bosom throbbing high with hope, that 
 younger son passes through the gate of his pa- 
 ternal home, and steps forth into the world 
 now for the first time open to him. Perhaps 
 the tremulous farewell of his grey-haired 
 father, his last kind advice, and tears of love 
 and solicitude, and faint " God bless thee, my 
 son," for a moment damped his ardor, and 
 made him feel how selfish he had been. Per- 
 haps as he turned for the last time to catch a 
 glimpse of the old homestead, the scenes of 
 his happy childhood, and the quiet joys of his 
 later years, came back on him with such 
 power that he almost regretted the rash step 
 which had separated him from them forever. 
 
 But the bright scenes that his imagination 
 kindled in the future, soon drove these sad 
 thoughts away. He travelled far and wide ; 
 and in the novel sights and new pleasures of a 
 foreign land his home and his father were for- 
 gotten. His ample fortune gave him for a 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 175 
 
 time the means of gratifying his desires ; and 
 the society of the gay and proud, the excite- 
 ments of the revel, and the first keen relish 
 with which the baser passions always tempt 
 their victim on, made the former part of his 
 life seem to him a blank, and filled him with 
 scorn and pity for the dull monotony of his 
 father's house. Entering on a life of sensual 
 pleasure after he had reached manhood, its ex- 
 citements were all the fiercer, and he surren- 
 dered himself to them with an abandonment 
 which showed that he never dreamed they 
 could cloy. But with the madness of such a 
 life, came also its recklessness of the future, 
 and the fortune which seemed exhaustless, 
 fast melted away. With its disappearance, 
 fell off also the friends on whom he had 
 squandered it. Flattered by their praises, he 
 had spent freely, and now in their desertion, 
 he felt the first pang of his coming sorrows. 
 His rich companions did not wish the society 
 of one who was no longer able to meet their 
 
176 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 extravagance, while those who lived by their 
 wits, felt no hesitation in dropping a friend, 
 who had shown himself so unable to take care 
 of himself. 
 
 To what depth of infamy he sunk, we are 
 not told ; but he reached the lowest state of 
 poverty and want. Without money, without 
 friends, without the means of earning a sub- 
 sistence, he wandered about, not knowing 
 whither he went. He would steal trem- 
 blingly to the door of the farmer's cottage, 
 or herdsman's tent, and humbly beg a morsel 
 of bread to allay the pangs of hunger ; and 
 happy he deemed himself, if at night he found 
 any covering but the sky. Suddenly snatch- 
 ed from the world of fashion and excitement 
 in which he had moved his pride humbled 
 not only by his condition, but at the thought 
 of having been duped by treacherous friends 
 indignant with himself and the world, and 
 poor, and hungry, and wretched, he felt keen- 
 ly that ' the way of the transgressor is hard." 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 177 
 
 Yet he dared not return home in that misera- 
 ble plight to become the bye-word of his 
 neighbors and the scorn of all who knew him 
 and his history, although the hand of misfor- 
 tune pressed harder and harder upon him. 
 Poor man ; to what an abyss of suffering he 
 must have fallen, before he applied for the 
 place of a swine herd. 
 
 Behold this proud young man of fortune, 
 brought up in luxury, the companion of the 
 great and fashionable, sitting in the field amid 
 the swine his splendid apparel exchanged 
 for the squalid rags of the lowest menial the 
 ample saloon in which he had sat lord of the 
 feast, for a wretched bundle of straw; and 
 him who poured out wine like water, and 
 turned so often from the richest dainties with 
 the disgust of satiety, longing to snatch the 
 husks or pods from the mouths of the swine he 
 was feeding. Ample time he had for reflec- 
 tion, but alas, memory planted his bed of 
 
 straw with thorns. Self-cursing and loathing, 
 
 8* 
 
178 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 remorse, hatred, want, and suffering, were all 
 that remained to him; and they made sad in- 
 roads on his once fine constitution and manly 
 beauty. 
 
 But it was useless to beat against the 
 prison walls of fate that hemmed him in, and 
 at length his pride and passion gave way to 
 softer feelings. His retrospect extended be- 
 yond his profligate life, even to his father's 
 house, and as the memory of his childhood's 
 joys came back upon him, and the sweet fields 
 through which he had so often wandered, rose 
 once more before him, he bowed his head and 
 wept. The consciousness, too, that, while the 
 friends whom he had treated with kindness 
 and liberality had repaid him with treachery ; 
 his father whom he had neglected and de- 
 spised, still loved him tenderly, wrung his 
 heart with the bitterest sorrow. Before such 
 thoughts and such memories his hard, rebel- 
 lious feelings gave way, and tears of penitence 
 flooded his eyes. In the house of that kind fa- 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 179 
 
 ther was " bread enough and to spare/' while 
 he was perishing from hunger ; and so humble 
 and broken-hearted did he become, that he 
 resolved to brave the scorn and mockery of 
 his early friends, and go and fling himself, in 
 all his wretchedness, at that father's feet, and 
 beg permission to be his servant. In an out- 
 burst of grief he exclaimed : " 1 will arise and 
 go to my father, and say to him, Father, I have 
 sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no 
 more worthy to be called thy son : make me as 
 one of thy hired servants" Willing to become 
 anything if he could only once more rest his 
 weary head in his father's house, he was in 
 the right state to be forgiven. 
 
 And he did arise and start for his home. 
 Long and toilsome w r as the way. Without 
 money, without food, and clothed in rags, he 
 begged from door to door. Ah, little they 
 knew who drove him roughly away, how 
 heavily their taunts smote the heart that was 
 breaking while it begged. As he staggered 
 
180 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 on, the thought would flash like sudden light- 
 ning through his soul, what if my father 
 should drive me thus from his door and a 
 heavy groan told how dire would be the ca- 
 lamity. Still despair of help from any other 
 quarter, and the wish to die, if die he must, 
 at his father's feet, pleading for forgiveness, 
 impelled him on. 
 
 At length he began to approach his native 
 village. The scenery around grew familiar 
 to his eye the outline of the hills he remem- 
 bered well. He crossed the brook along the 
 banks of which he had once strayed the 
 fields were the same as when he left. Ever 
 and anon one whom he had known in better 
 days would pass him by without noticing 
 him. His rags and abject condition were 
 better than any disguise, and he toiled wearily 
 on, unknown to all. 
 
 How many associations thronged around 
 him as he trod amid those familiar scenes. 
 Memory was busy with the past, and for a 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 181 
 
 while he forgot the present in the rush of by- 
 gone days over his heart. But when at last 
 he saw the roof of his father's house above 
 the tree-tops, his heart sunk within him, and 
 his trembling limbs could scarcely support his 
 frame. That father had heard of his profli- 
 gacy and ruin ; and in the oblivion that after- 
 wards fell on his name, had read his death. 
 How would he now receive him oh, that the 
 first dread interview were over. 
 
 Oppressed with these thoughts, and his 
 brain reeling with the sudden rush of so many 
 thousand things over him at once, he walked 
 slowly up the long avenue that led to his home. 
 While yet afar off, that aged father, who was 
 sitting by the window to enjoy the cool air of 
 evening, which gently lifted his grey hairs 
 from his temples, saw the miserable object, 
 that barefoot and slow, was approaching his 
 house. In an instant the blood flowed back 
 on his heart, for nature at once asserted her 
 claims. What vestment of rags and squa- 
 
182 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 lid appearance could ever deceive a pa- 
 rent's eye ! It penetrates the deepest dis- 
 guise ; for a strong, mysterious sympathy 
 unites him to his child which no outward 
 obstacles can destroy. In that tattered out- 
 cast he saw his son, and forgetting everything 
 else, he hurried forth to meet him. With 
 outstretched arms, and the tears streaming 
 from his eyes, he ran up to him, and falling on 
 his neck, kissed him, mingling terms of en- 
 dearment with every caress. The poor peni- 
 tent began his confession and request to be a 
 servant. But the overjoyed and doting pa- 
 rent interrupted him, and called out to his 
 servants to " bring forth the best robe and put 
 it on him, and put a ring on his hand and 
 shoes on his feet." Make haste, too, said, he 
 and " bring forth the fatted calf, and kill it, 
 and let us eat and be merry, for this my son 
 was dead and is alive again, was lost and is 
 found." Overwhelmed and rendered speech- 
 less by this exhibition of love and tenderness, 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 the wretched profligate could only stand and 
 weep before his father. A sad spectacle he 
 was ; for vice, and want and suffering had 
 written more wrinkles on his brow than time 
 yet the fond father saw naught of these 
 he only beheld his lost child felt him once 
 more on his bosom as 'he strained him to his 
 heart ; and he was happy. 
 
 Music and joy were in the old homestead 
 that night, and the returned prodigal was 
 soothed and melted by turns. He seemed 
 like one moving in a dream, so great and sud- 
 den had been the change in his condition. A 
 few hours before, and he was an outcast and a 
 beggar, chased from every door, and devour- 
 ed both by grief and hunger, and now he was 
 feasting amid his friends, the chief object of 
 every one's regard. He could hardty believe 
 the scene around him to be real, yet ever and 
 anon, as he caught his father's look fixed 
 upon him in absorbing tenderness, the whole 
 swept over him with such overpowering 
 
184 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 force, that he longed for a place where he 
 might go and weep alone. The happiness of 
 that night outweighed the misery of years, for 
 he felt the full transport of forgiveness. 
 
 What a beautiful illustration of the kind- 
 ness of our Heavenly Father, and w T hat a pic- 
 ture of the joy over one returning sinner. 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE history of the world furnishes some 
 few men who are like those mountain summits 
 which repose in light while all below rests in 
 deep shadow. To me, Moses, independent of 
 the inspiration he received from heaven, is 
 the grandest man the race has produced. 
 Intellectually he towers above all before and 
 after him. The level ray which should leave 
 his forehead would gild but few brows on the 
 earth. By it we might see the faces of Eli- 
 jah, David, and Isaiah, but scarce another till 
 we come to Paul. 
 
 Paul, in his natural character before his 
 conversion, resembles Bonaparte more than 
 
186 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 any other man, I mean both in his intellectual 
 developments and energy of will. He had 
 the same inflexibility of purpose, and utter 
 indifference to human suffering when he 
 had once determined on his course, the same 
 tireless, unconquerable resolution, and fear- 
 lessness both of man's power and opin- 
 ions, and that calm self-reliance and mysteri- 
 ous control over others. But the point of 
 greatest resemblance is in the union of a 
 strong, correct judgment, with rapidity of 
 thought and sudden impulse. They decided 
 quicker yet better than other men. The 
 power, too, which both possessed was all prac- 
 tical power. There are many men of strong 
 minds, whose force nevertheless wastes itself 
 in reflection, or in theories for others to act 
 upon. Thought may work out into language, 
 but not into action. They will plan better 
 than they can perform. But these two men 
 not only thought better, but they could work 
 better than all other men. I have made this 
 
PAUL. 
 
 187 
 
 comparison because this great practical power 
 is of rare occurrence. An astonishing head 
 and an astonishing arm are seldom united. 
 
 The birth-place of Paul was well adapted 
 to the formation of swch a character as his. 
 Born on the Mediterranean, with its broad 
 and ever-heaving bosom before him, and an 
 impenetrable barrier of mountains behind him, 
 his mind naturally assumed a stern character 
 and lofty bearing; and in his youth he exhi- 
 bited those qualities which afterwards made 
 him such a fearful and wonderful man. He 
 had scarcely completed his studies, before he 
 plunged into the most exciting scenes of 
 those times. The new religion, professing to 
 have the long promised Messiah for its 
 founder, agitated the entire nation. To the 
 proud young scholar, those ignorant fisher- 
 men, disputing with the doctors of law, and 
 claiming for their religion a superiority over 
 his, which had been transmitted through a 
 hundred generations, and been sanctioned by 
 
188 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 a thousand miracles and wonders, were ob- 
 jects of the deepest scorn. Filled with indig- 
 nation, and panting for action, he threw him- 
 self boldly into the struggle, and became 
 foremost in the persecutions that followed. 
 
 With a calm brow and an unflinching eye, 
 he stood by, and saw Stephen stoned to 
 death. Arrested by no obstacles, softened 
 by no suffering, he roamed the streets of 
 Jerusalem like a fiend, breaking even into the 
 retirement of the Christian's home, dragging 
 thence women and children, and casting 
 them into prison. Though young in years, he 
 had the nerve of a hoary-headed tyrant, and 
 before his relentless will everything went 
 down. 
 
 I have often wondered how his hatred and 
 rage could hold out in his long journey to 
 Damascus. The silence and solitude of na- 
 ture, her quiet aspect and lovely scenes as 
 he passed along, should have subdued, or at 
 least allayed his hostility. Especially at 
 
PAUL. 189 
 
 night, when he pitched his tent on some 
 green hill-side, and saw the sun go down in 
 a sea of green, and felt the balmy breeze of 
 evening, redolent with the perfume of flowers, 
 softly kissing his brow; and later, perchance, 
 listened to the note of the bulbul filling the 
 moonlight with melody, it must have required 
 nerves of iron to have resisted the soothing 
 influences around him. Yet, young as he 
 was, and hence peculiarly open to all the 
 beauties of nature, he never seems a moment 
 to have vacillated in his purpose. 
 
 The same self-control and perfect subjec- 
 tion of his emotions even terror itself to the 
 mandates of his will, are exhibited in his con- 
 duct when smitten to the earth, and blinded 
 by the light and voice from heaven. John, 
 when arrested by the same voice on the isle 
 of Patmos, fell on his face as a dead man, and 
 dared not stir or speak till encouraged by the 
 language, " Fear not." But Paul, (or Saul,) 
 though a persecutor, and violent man, showed 
 
190 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 no symptoms of alarm or terror. The voice, 
 the blow, the light, the glory, and the dark- 
 ness that followed, were sufficient to upset 
 the strongest mind ; but he, master of himself 
 and his emotions, instead of giving way to ex- 
 clamations of terror, simply said : " Lord, what 
 wilt tJiou have me to do ?" With his reason 
 and judgment as steady and strong as ever, 
 he knew at once, that something was wanted 
 of him, and ever ready to act, he asked what 
 it was. 
 
 From this moment we cease to contemplate 
 him in his natural character alone. When 
 the persecutor becomes the persecuted, and 
 the proud young scholar the humble despised 
 disciple of Jesus of Nazareth; and leaving the 
 halls of the wise and proud, and companion- 
 ship of dignitaries, casts his lot in with 
 ignorant fishermen, he is a different being. 
 His mental characteristics, his resolute will, 
 fearless heart, and tireless energy, are the 
 same ; but his moral nature, how changed ! 
 
PAUL. 191 
 
 From this time on, his track can be distin- 
 guished by the commotions about it, and the 
 light above it. After communing a long time 
 with his God in the solitudes of Arabia, in 
 order to prepare himself for his great work, 
 he went deliberately back to Jerusalem, from 
 whence he had so recently come with letters 
 to legalize his persecutions ; and cast his lot in 
 with those he had followed with violence and 
 slaughter. His strong heart never beat one 
 quicker pulsation through fear, when the lofty 
 turrets of the proud city flashed on his vision. 
 Neither did he steal away to the dark alleys 
 and streets, where the disciples were con- 
 cealed, and tell them secretly his faith in the 
 Son of God. He strode into the synagogues, 
 and before the astonished priests preached 
 Christ and him crucified. He thundered at 
 the door of the Sanhedrim itself, and shaking 
 Jerusalem from limit to limit, kindled into 
 tenfold fury the storm of persecution which 
 already threatened his life. With assassins 
 
192 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 dogging his footsteps, he at length left the 
 city. But instead of going to places where 
 he was unknown, and where his feelings 
 would he less tried, he started for his native 
 city, his father's house, the home of his boy- 
 hood, for his kindred and friends. To en- 
 treaties, tears, scorn and violence, he was 
 alike impervious. To Antioch and Cyprus, 
 along the coast of Syria to Greece and Rome, 
 over the known world he went like a blazing 
 comet, waking up the nations of the earth. 
 From the top of Mars' Hill, with the gorgeous 
 city at his feet, and the Acropolis and Parthe- 
 non behind him ; on the deck of his shatter- 
 ed vessel in the intervals of the crash of bil- 
 lows, in the gloomy walls of a prison, on the 
 borders of the eternal kingdom, he speaks in 
 the same calm and determined tone. Deter- 
 red by no danger, awed by no presence, and 
 shrinking from no responsibility, he moves 
 before us like some grand embodiment of 
 power. The nations heave around him, and 
 
PAUL. 193 
 
 kings turn pale in his presence. Bands of 
 conspirators swear neither to eat nor drink 
 till they have slain him, rulers and priests 
 combine against him, the people stone him ; 
 yet over the din of the conflict and storm of 
 violence, his voice of eloquence rises clear 
 and distinct as a trumpet-call, as he still 
 preaches Christ and him crucified. The whip 
 is laid on his back till the blood starts with 
 every blow, and then his mangled body is 
 thrown into a dungeon ; but at midnight, you 
 hear that same calm, strong voice which has 
 shaken the world, poured forth in^a hymn of 
 praise to God, and lo! an earthquake rocks 
 the prison to its foundations; the manacles 
 fall from the hands of the captives, the bolts 
 withdraw of themselves, and the massive 
 doors swing back on their hinges. 
 
 Finding that the whip, the dungeon, the 
 assassin's knife, and the executioner's sword 
 cannot move him from his purpose, the world 
 
 point in scorn to the cross, to signify that the 
 9 
 
194 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 Christ he preaches, died the death of a felon. 
 " The cross, the cross'' they sneeringly exclaim, 
 to bring the blush of shame to his cheek ; but 
 to their astonishment, they hear him shout 
 louder than they all, " The cross, the cross, I 
 GLORY IN THE CROSS." On the very spot they 
 have selected for his confusion, he plants 
 himself, and with one arm around the em- 
 blem of disgrace, and the other pointed to 
 heaven, he makes the hill of Crucifixion burn 
 like the gates of Paradise. Nay more, he 
 goes and stands by that felon's tomb Him 
 they call a felon and preaches the resurrec- 
 tion of the dead. 
 
 I can never in imagination behold him, 
 with his somewhat diminutive form, his head 
 slightly bald, nose aquiline, and eyes dark 
 and flashing, in the presence of Felix, sweep- 
 ing everything down in his torrent-like elo- 
 quence, without feeling my heart beat with 
 quicker motion. In a gorgeous apartment, 
 tilled with the noble and the gay, who have 
 
PAUL. 195 
 
 assembled from curiosity, he stands to defend 
 himself against the charges of the orator Ter- 
 tullus. He listens to the opprobrious epithets 
 of " pestilent fellow/' " ringleader of a sect of 
 Nazarenes," " profaner of the temple/' with a 
 composed countenance, until bid to answer 
 for himself. At first, calm, dignified, and re- 
 spectful, he repels the accusations, then tak- 
 ing fire as he touches upon the loftier topic 
 of the resurrection of the dead, he forgets all 
 but the cause he advocates. But, especially, 
 when Felix would hear farther, and he " rea- 
 soned of righteousness, temperance, and a 
 judgment to come," does he rise before us like 
 a being from another world. After explaining 
 the law, its justice and purity, till the reason 
 of his listeners is convinced, he speaks of its 
 claims on man and on them shows how sin- 
 ful and corrupt they have been, then passes 
 on to the judgment of the great day, and its 
 just and fearful retributions. 
 
 As his imagination kindles on this stu- 
 
196 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 pendous theme, all things else vanish from 
 his sight the noble audience before him, 
 his bonds, imprisonment, and coming fate. 
 Those massive walls sink away before the de- 
 scending God; the Archangel's trumpet is 
 heard ; the dead come forth ; the throne is set, 
 and before it all the nations of the earth are 
 gathered, awaiting their doom. Gone is the 
 look of indifference and smile of incredulity; 
 gone even the sneer of Tertullus; and solemn 
 silence, broken only by the tones of the fear- 
 ful speaker, reigns through the vast apart- 
 ment. No wonder when he closed, the 
 haughty Felix trembled. 
 
 But stern as Paul was amid his foes, and 
 lofty in his course, he nevertheless had a 
 heart full of the tenderest emotions. A truer, 
 never beat in a human bosom. At limes his 
 natural fierceness would break forth, as when 
 the High Priest ordered him to be smitten 
 contrary to the law. Turning like a lion 
 upon him, he thundered in his astonished 
 
PAUL. 197 
 
 ears, " God shall smite thee, thou whited watt." 
 Yet he was ready in a moment to be just; 
 and there never was before so fearless and in- 
 flexible a nature, joined with so much tender- 
 ness of heart. Look at his parting with his 
 friends at Ephesus, when on his way to Jeru- 
 salem ! How touching his address, and how 
 characteristic. In closing he said, " And now 
 I go bound in the spirit to Jerusalem, not 
 knowing the things that shall befall me there, 
 save that in every city bonds and imprisonment 
 await me." " In every city," the same hard 
 fate, " yet none of these things" he says, " move 
 me, neither count I my life dear unto me, so that 
 I might finish my course with joy, and the 
 ministry which I have received of the Lord 
 Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of 
 God." None of these things moved him no, 
 they were trifling matters, bonds, imprison- 
 ment and death ; duty, the salvation of man, 
 the honor of God, these alone filled him with 
 anxiety, and nerved him to action. Of one 
 
198 SACRED CHARACTERS. 
 
 thing, however, he told them he was con- 
 vinced, and that was, that they "should see his 
 face no more." To them he appealed as wit- 
 nesses, that he had labored faithfully for their 
 welfare, and then kneeling down on the 
 shore, prayed with them. How often have I 
 wished that that prayer had come down to us. 
 One thing, however, I know, it was full of 
 self-forgetfulness and fervent pleading for 
 those who knelt around him. No wonder 
 when it was finished, they fell on his neck 
 and kissed him, " sorrowing most of all for 
 the words, they should see his face no more. 3 ' It 
 would be a long, long time before they could 
 find another heart so brave and affectionate 
 one that would dare all things, and suffer all 
 things for them. They doubtless besought 
 him to stay with them, and be comforted by 
 their sympathy and love. But no, though 
 bonds and imprisonment awaited him in every 
 city none of these thing moved him. On to 
 his fate, not sadly, not reluctantly, but se- 
 
PAUL. 199 
 
 renely, joyfully he went, thinking only of ful- 
 filling the ministry he had received. Firm, 
 dignified and resolved, he took the path of 
 duty, with an unfaltering step. No malice or 
 threats of his foes could deter him from labor- 
 ing for their welfare ; no insults prevent his 
 prayer in their behalf; no wrongs heaped on 
 his innocent head keep back his forgiveness. 
 One cannot point to a single spot in his 
 whole career where he faltered a moment, 
 or gave way to discouragement or fear. 
 Through all his perilous life, he exhibited the 
 same intrepidity of character and noble spirit. 
 With his eye fixed on regions beyond the ken 
 of ordinary mortals, and kindling on glories it 
 was not permitted him to reveal, he pressed 
 forward to an incorruptible crown, a fadeless 
 kingdom. And then his death, how inde- 
 scribably sublime. Napoleon dying in the 
 midst of the midnight storm, with the last 
 words that fell from his lips a battle-cry, and 
 his passing spirit watching in its delirium the 
 
200 
 
 SACRED CHARACTERS 
 
 torn heads of his mighty columns, as they dis- 
 appeared in the smoke of the conflict, is a 
 sight that awes and startles us. But behold 
 also Paul, a war-worn veteran, battered with 
 many a scar, though in a spiritual warfare, 
 looking back not with alarm, but transport ; 
 gazing riot on the earth, but on heaven. 
 Hear his calm, serene voice ringing over the 
 storms and commotions of life : " I am now 
 ready to be offered, and the time of my de- 
 parture is at hand. I have fought a good 
 fight, I have finished my course, there is laid 
 up for me a crown of righteousness." No 
 shouts of foemen, nor smoke and carnage of 
 battle surrounded his spirit struggling to be 
 free ; but troops of shining angels, the smile 
 of God, and the songs of the redeemed ; 
 these guarded him and welcomed him home. 
 

UNIVERSITY 
 
 XV. 
 
 To one who can escape the influences of 
 early education, and free himself entirely 
 from the views which constant and long 
 familiarity w r ith the acts and character of 
 Jesus Christ has given, his history will seem 
 a dream and a fable. From the time when 
 the star arose on the manger where he lay 
 cradled, and where as a babe he was reve- 
 rently worshipped by the sages of the earth, 
 to the hour when the radiant heavens re- 
 ceived him into glory, he startles us as much 
 by his words as by his actions and his destiny. 
 
 A poor man, without family, without property, 
 
 9* 
 
202 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 without education, he nevertheless claims to 
 have the power to forgive sins. As he sits 
 by the table of the humble mechanic, or 
 sleeps on his rude couch, he says, I am your 
 Creator and Saviour. Reclining by the way- 
 side to rest his weary limbs, the dust from 
 the carriage-wheels of the proud man passing 
 by, is perchance cast over him, and he is 
 looked upon in scorn or not heeded at all ; 
 while yet, he is that rich man's final Judge. 
 That sad and expressive sentence, which has 
 since been echoed round the world, "The 
 foxes have holes and the birds of the air have 
 nests, but the Son of man hath not where to 
 lay his head," was literally true of him, and 
 yet he kept the stars in their courses, and had 
 all the angels of heaven at his command. As 
 we see him sitting and eating at the table of 
 the peasant, or stopping at some lowly inn, 
 hungry, weary and slumbrous like other men, 
 we do not wonder it was so hard for either 
 Jew or Gentile to believe in him. But when 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 203 
 
 we hear the words which fell from his lips 
 the new truths that so startled the soul 
 of man, we cease to be surprised. A strange, 
 unearthly influence must have surrounded 
 him, a light never before seen, flashed from 
 his eye, to have drawn the crowds that 
 followed him. When he told man he was 
 greater than a king, that God was his fa- 
 ther, and bade him push aside the high- 
 priest at the altar, step beyond the very Holy 
 of Holies, and bowing himself before God 
 alone, pour out his sorrows and complaints on 
 his infinite bosom, no wonder a whole world 
 of thought awoke at once in his soul, and a 
 tide of emotions rolled through it, more terri- 
 ble in its flow than the throb of the earth- 
 quake. No wonder that the people hung on 
 his lips, and the multitude thronged about 
 him wherever he went. 
 
 It was thus, that once wearied with the 
 press of the crowd, he took his disciples into 
 a ship, and sought a lonely and desert place, 
 
204 
 
 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 where he might rest and commune with him- 
 self and them. But the multitude were not 
 so easily shaken off; the hungry soul was but 
 half satisfied, and hundreds of lame and sick 
 were yet to be healed. 
 
 Behold that solitary bark on the placid 
 deep, wafting onward the weary, thoughtful 
 Son of God. The waves are scarcely stirred 
 by the summer wind; the sunlight glitters 
 on the sparkling waters ; and save the dip of 
 the oar, the leap of a playful fish, or the 
 scream of the wild-bird after its prey, not a 
 sound breaks the solitude of the scene. But 
 as Jesus casts his eye over the broad bosom 
 of the sea, he perceives at a glance that no 
 seclusion or rest awaits him ; for the distant 
 beach is crowded with men and women 
 watching the progress of that frail bark as 
 though it carried their destiny. Litters on 
 which the sick are stretched, cripples strug- 
 gling along, blind men groping their toilsome 
 way by the sound of rushing footsteps, the 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 205 
 
 wretched of every description help to swell 
 the throng that line the sea-shore, and endea- 
 vor to keep pace with the vessel that bears 
 Jesus of Nazareth on. 
 
 Oh I how his heart swelled as he saw the 
 coast black with human beings who would 
 not lose him from their sight. Solitude and 
 weariness were both forgotten in the deep 
 love and compassion he bore them. 
 
 On swept the vessel to the desert place, 
 and on pressed the crowd to people it with 
 life, and make it echo with their solicitations 
 and prayers. Of the words that w^ere there 
 spoken, and the truths which held that crowd 
 of more than five thousand in such long and 
 breathless attention, nothing has come down 
 to us ; but he healed their sick, restored their 
 lame, and melted and consoled the hearts of 
 all. Hour after hour they stood with upturn- 
 ed faces, and drank in the messages of love 
 and kindness, heedless alike of the declining 
 day, and the long journey back to their 
 
206 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 homes. What a picturesque scene they pre- 
 sented there on the sloping shore ! Above 
 them leaned the Saviour behind them heaved 
 the sea far away rose barren mountains, and 
 all around was dreary and wild. Not a house, 
 not a cultivated spot in view that single 
 bark moored to the shore, the dark throng 
 encircling the Son of God these were the 
 only objects betokening life amid the univer- 
 sal desolation. And over all, the setting sun- 
 beams were streaming, flooding with light the 
 form of Christ giving a deeper color to the 
 sea, and throwing into stronger contrast the 
 dark group on the shore. On the stillness of 
 that evening, no sound broke but the voice 
 of the Saviour. Did he point to that wild 
 scene as he once did to the lilies of the valley 
 to enforce his words ? Did the encompassing 
 heavens seem to bend nearer as his eye 
 pierced their depths ? Did the setting sun 
 blaze up with greater brilliancy before he left 
 the presence of his God ? 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 207 
 
 As the disciples, filled with the same ten- 
 der sympathy as their Master, watched the 
 multitude, and thought how long and weary 
 was the journey to their homes, they be- 
 sought him to send them away, before dark, 
 that they might get food to appease their 
 hunger. From the city, the hamlet, the 
 farmhouse, the shop and the hovel, they had 
 come, bringing no supplies with them ; and 
 when the excitement by which they were 
 then upheld should subside, faintness and 
 weariness would make them sink by the 
 way. Jesus knew this as well as they, and 
 bade his astonished disciples feed them be- 
 fore they left. Having nothing themselves, 
 they inquired for bread amid the multitude, 
 but sought in vain. Not one out of the five 
 thousand had food, save a poor lad on whom 
 were found "Jive larky loaves and two small 
 jishes" Whence came this lad, and how 
 happened he there with his basket of bread 
 and two little fishes ? Perchance he was 
 
208 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 sitting on the shore fishing, to provide food 
 for a lone mother, when the crowd came 
 rushing past him with their eyes bent on the 
 slowly moving vessel in the distance ; and 
 snatching up his basket, he followed after to 
 see what it all meant. He was doubtless led 
 by curiosity alone, and deemed himself unno- 
 ticed in the throng. But his basket was 
 taken from him, and he led trembling into 
 the presence of the Saviour,, who having com- 
 manded the mass to separate itself into 
 groups and companies, and sit down on the 
 grass, took the five barley loaves, and giving 
 thanks, broke them before the people. Each 
 of the five thousand received what he wished, 
 and yet the loaves did not waste, nor the fish 
 diminish. At first it seemed a farce to dis- 
 tribute that immense throng into bands of 
 fifties, and in their presence commence divid- 
 ing the mere pittance, but wonder and awe 
 soon usurped the place of every other feeling. 
 As night began to come down on the sea, 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 209 
 
 Christ dismissed the multitude to their homes. 
 Following him from afar bound as by a spell 
 in his presence, they involuntarily obeyed his 
 bidding, conscious only of being under the 
 influence of a superior power. 
 
 The scene is now changed. That multi- 
 tude is merely a black speck on the far wind- 
 ing shore. The hum of their subdued voices 
 as they talk of what they have heard and 
 witnessed, and the sound of their footsteps 
 have long since died away. Even that soli- 
 tary vessel is gone, and is rising and falling 
 on the steady swell, far out upon the water. 
 The disciples are on deck, watching with 
 straining eyes the fast fading form of their 
 Master on shore. He is once more alone 
 with the night. Oh who can tell the sadness 
 that then stole over his human soul ! The 
 far hasting multitude, the distant tossing ves- 
 sel were forgotten in the mightier, more 
 fearful events before him. The thickening 
 shadows of night were not darker than the 
 
210 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 forebodings that gathered around his spirit. 
 The moan of the deep, and the solitude of 
 the desert scene, were in harmony with the 
 feelings that oppressed him, and he turned his 
 footsteps towards a lonely mountain to pray. 
 Kneeling under the open sky, he unburdened 
 his heart to his Father in heaven. What 
 words of anguish and sadness startled the 
 night air, what sweet subrftission and tender 
 sympathy succeeded both, we shall never in 
 this world know. It was a secret and hal- 
 lowed interview ; but while it continued, a 
 far different scene was passing on the sea be- 
 low him. Dark thunderclouds were hover- 
 ing over its bosom the wind swept by in 
 angry gusts, lashing it into fury ; and amid 
 the boiling waters that frail bark was strug- 
 gling desperately for life. By the flashes that 
 ever and anon rent the gloom, its plunging 
 form was seen dividing the sea, as the wild 
 wind and wilder waves hurled it along the 
 distracted deep. Jesus, who had arisen from 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 211 
 
 prayer, and slowly, thoughtfully retraced his 
 steps to the shore, now stood and looked on 
 the turbulent scene, and his heart was moved 
 for his terror-stricken followers, whom he 
 knew to be in despair on deck. He then 
 calmly, serenely stepped on the crest of the 
 billows, as they rolled and crumbled at his 
 feet, and moved out upon the watery waste. 
 Around him the leaping billows crouched like 
 fawning lions the lightning slept harmlessly 
 along his forehead, and the thunder stopped 
 " mid-volley" as he passed. Though foam 
 and cloud and tempest were spread around 
 "thy form, thou Son of God/' 
 
 " And the heavy night hung dark, 
 Yet like a spirit in thy gliding tread, 
 Thou, as o'er glass, didst walk that stormy sea, 
 Through rushing winds, which left a silent path for thee. 
 
 " So still thy white robes fell no breath of air 
 Within their long and slumberous folds had sway, 
 So still the waves of parted shadowy hair 
 
SACRED SCENES. 
 
 From thy clear brow flowed droopingly away ! 
 Dark were the heavens above thee, Saviour ! dark 
 The gulfs, Deliverer ! round the straining bark ! 
 But thou ! o'er all thine aspect and array 
 Was poured one stream of pale, broad, silvery light : 
 Thou wert the single star of that all-shrouding night." 
 
 Oh what a spectacle that self-illuminated 
 and gliding form must have presented to the 
 alarmed disciples on deck. No wonder they 
 cried out " It is a spirit" and turned from the 
 messenger of doom to the wrathful deep 
 around them. But when that calm and gen- 
 tle voice, heard in its lowest accents above 
 the loud sea, " It is I, be not afraid" fell on 
 their ears, despair and horror gave way to the 
 wildest joy, and Peter, carried away by the 
 sudden excitement, leaped into the surge to 
 meet his Lord. 
 
 As the Saviour stepped on deck, a sudden 
 calm fell on the deep the wind sunk to a 
 whisper, and the waves gently rocked them- 
 selves to rest. And when the morning sun 
 
FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND. 213 
 
 flashed over the hills of Galilee, that solitary 
 vessel seemed in the golden beams, to be 
 gliding over a sea of glass. 
 
XVI. 
 
 WHILE Jesus of Nazareth lived, nothing 
 seemed able to subdue the malice of his foes. 
 The less cause he gave for their hatred the 
 greater it became. If he had been guilty of 
 the charges brought against him, they would 
 of course have put him to death ; while the 
 vindication of his innocence only strength- 
 ened and quickened their bloody purpose. 
 He sought no man's gold or silver he inflict- 
 ed no evil, but poor and self-denying, devoted 
 all his time and efforts to the benefit of others; 
 yet his conduct did not soften the hearts of 
 his enemies. When the band of soldiers 
 came upon him on Mount Olivet, the ghastly 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 215 
 
 and blood-streaked face, utter exhaustion 
 and lonely condition of the sufferer, awoke 
 no commiseration. Though he stood in the 
 judgment hall of Pilate like a " lamb before 
 his shearers," his gentle aspect could not pre- 
 vent the rude buffet, nor his sacred face from 
 being spit upon. His meek obedience could 
 not save his back from the whip, nor his kind 
 forgiving look keep the thorns from his 
 temples. His hard fate could not find a 
 sympathetic chord in the bosoms of those who 
 sought his life ; and when he fainted under 
 the cross, they were only fearful lest the 
 overtasked frame should give out before they 
 had inflicted on it greater torture. His un- 
 utterable agony even the " Father, forgive 
 them" which lias since thrilled the heart of 
 the world, awoke no remorse in their hearts. 
 They clamored more fiercely for his life, who 
 was praying for them and theirs, than for the 
 thief's by his side. Through the hands 
 openetl only to bless, they smote the nails, 
 
216 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 and on the agony borne solely for their re- 
 demption, they railed in mockery. And even 
 after death they drove the spear into his side, 
 though the silent language he uttered to 
 them was, " There is an easier and better way 
 to my heart than by the spear" 
 
 All this did not move them; but at last 
 malice and hate had done their worst. They 
 had been allowed to insult, to torture, and 
 finally to slay, and there was nothing more for 
 them to do. The victim was beyond their 
 reach, and so with ribald songs and shouts 
 they moved away, and left the dead Christ 
 hanging on the cross. 
 
 But a wealthy counsellor who had se- 
 cretly loved Jesus, went to Pilate and beg- 
 ged the body. Sadly and silently he took 
 it down, and laid it in a new tomb. He 
 and Nicodemus bending over the lifeless 
 form paying the last sad tokens of respect 
 to him they loved, composing the limbs 
 decently for the grave, is a sight that not 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 217 
 
 only soothes but startles us. For the grave 
 they are preparing him do they really think, 
 then, that he is dead for ever that nothing 
 but the Archangel's trump will awaken him 
 again 
 
 He is dead, and the stillness of night has 
 settled on his lonely sepulchre in the garden. 
 A rock closes the entrance and the great 
 drama is over. Sad, sad is the fate of the 
 little band of Christians. They have forsaken 
 friends and home endured privations, abuse, 
 arid torture, and now stand the objects of 
 universal scorn for their attachment to one 
 who has left them nothing but his tomb. 
 Wanderers on the wide earth, they are like 
 " sheep without a shepherd." The form they 
 worshipped is wrapped in the shroud, the 
 lips on which they hung in tears of rapture, 
 are sealed in death. The hope of the world 
 is vanished, the light that was rising on its 
 darkness quenched forever ; for in that grave, 
 
 cold and dead, rests the body of him who 
 10 
 
218 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 called himself the " Son of God." The arm 
 that claimed to uphold the universe has been 
 stretched upon the cross, and now lies stark 
 and stiff beside its owner, while the tongue 
 that declared that it could, with a word, 
 bring " legions of angels" from on high, is 
 dumb and powerless. Leaning over the dead 
 Lazarus, he, with a simple command had 
 raised him from corruption. The sheeted 
 dead obeyed his call, and the charnel house 
 stirred with living men at his voice, but no 
 motion or life is within his sepulchre dark- 
 ness covers it. " He saved others, himself he 
 cannot save." Perchance angels were in the 
 same state of uncertainty as men, and the 
 melancholy echo came back from the skies, 
 " Christ is dead ; we are orphans, all orphans" 
 The star that shone over the manger of Beth- 
 lehem was a mockery. The sun shrouding 
 itself in darkness, and the earthquake rend- 
 ing the globe, both attested how dire, how 
 irremediable was the calamity. 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 219 
 
 The long expected Messiah the King 
 of Israel is no more. A whole day has 
 he lain in the tomb ; soon dust will begin to 
 crumble back to dust and now night has 
 again fallen on the world. The stars are 
 gently twinkling in the sky the evening 
 wind sweeps carelessly by the hum of the 
 distant town is gradually dying away, and 
 all nature moves on as peacefully as though 
 Christ were not dead. The branches are 
 swaying, and the flowers nodding around 
 that quiet grave, and one cannot dream of 
 the scene that will transpire there before 
 the morning dawns. Nothing uncommon 
 marks the hour or the place, save that Ro- 
 man sentinels are there with the starlight 
 flashing on their steel helmets, and polished 
 spears. The clank of their armor is heard 
 at intervals in the stillness all else rests 
 undisturbed as the sleeping world around. 
 'Tis midnight, and the moon, perchance, 
 is already hanging over the western hills, 
 
220 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 when suddenly darkness wraps the shudder- 
 ing earth. The ground begins to heave be- 
 neath that sepulchre, and lo ! an earthquake 
 thunders on. Rocks are rent, graves open, 
 and the re-animated dead come forth and 
 gaze once more on the heavens. In the 
 midst of this elemental war, and commotion, 
 and gloom, a form clad in vesture white as 
 snow, and with a countenance that outflashes 
 the lightning is seen cleaving the darkness. 
 The throbbing earth and troubled heavens 
 are forgotten before his burning presence, and 
 the sentinels fall as dead men at the door of 
 the sepulchre they are guarding. He rolls 
 back the stone and Jesus of Nazareth stands 
 erect before him. The sleeper has conquered 
 death and the grave, and leaving behind the 
 garments that wrapped him, steps forth into 
 the night. But the place in which he has 
 lain is still held sacred, for two angels clad 
 in white sit, one at the head the other at the 
 foot of the tomb, watching. The earth has 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 221 
 
 slept, but Heaven been wakeful on this fear- 
 ful night. 
 
 The armed soldiers fallen on their faces 
 an angel sitting on the stone rolled back from 
 the door two celestial beings leaning over 
 the tomb within these were the objects 
 that met the gaze at early dawn. What a 
 scene for that quiet garden. On that night 
 and on that spot were secured the resurrec- 
 tion of the body as well as the redemption of 
 the soul. No wonder angels leaned thought- 
 fully there. How strange must the spectacle 
 have appeared to Mary Magdalen. The peni- 
 tent's heart still yearned towards her forgiving 
 Lord. She had stood near the cross and seen 
 him die she had discovered the place of his 
 burial, and lingered long and anxiously about 
 it. Before the day dawned she had risen 
 from her sleepless couch, and stolen out in 
 the darkness to weep there. Scornful eyes 
 could no longer watch her no voice reproach 
 her even the Roman soldiers would respect 
 
222 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 so great a sorrow, and not deny her the poor 
 boon of weeping on the spot where her Lord 
 was entombed. With a heart bursting with 
 grief, and perhaps a strange, undefined hope 
 in her breast, she threaded her way through 
 the garden to the sepulchre. Perhaps the 
 rumbling of the earthquake, so like that 
 which closed the crucifixion scene, had 
 roused her before day, and she expected 
 some new manifestation from heaven. If so, 
 she was not disappointed the open sepulchre 
 with a strange, bright being near the door 
 two angels within, sitting by the empty tomb 
 the risen Saviour standing before her the 
 lifeless sentinels in the midst, might well 
 confuse her senses so that she did not recog- 
 nize her Lord until he spoke. 
 
 The wonderful news soon spread on every 
 side, and Peter, ever impulsive and headlong, 
 came with the speed of wind to ascertain the 
 truth. The sepulchre was open, and though 
 the tomb was there, and the grave clothes 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 223 
 
 were folded upon it, yet the inmate was gone 
 and the angels had departed. It was a de- 
 serted sepulchre, and the solitude and mys- 
 tery that wrapped it, must have fallen with 
 strange power on the heart of Peter. 
 
 How rapidly events had followed each 
 other. The betrayal, trial and crucifixion 
 preceded but a few hours the burial in a few 
 hours more the dead awoke and moved about 
 among his friends. A few days passed away, 
 and the dead, buried and risen Saviour as- 
 cended the heavens. Now the Christian 
 may go back to that grave, around which he 
 wept unavailing tears, and smile in rapture. 
 Its darkness has turned into day, and its 
 solemn depths are filled with angelic voices 
 singing the " resurrection and the life!' 
 
 Centuries rolled by, and that tomb became 
 a ruin amid ruins. The infidel sneered at the 
 poor pilgrim as he knelt beside it in tears, 
 and chased him away with the lash. Years 
 passed away, and Europe awoke as from a 
 
224 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 dream at the insult heaped upon the sepul- 
 chre of the Saviour. At the preaching of 
 Peter the Hermit, Christendom was moved as 
 it never before had been. A crusade was set 
 on foot to redeem that sepulchre, and in one 
 year six millions of souls had volunteered for 
 the Holy War. Old men, women and chil- 
 dren the rich and poor were seen stream- 
 ing by tens of thousands towards the sacred 
 spot. Kings and princes, and warriors of 
 renown buried their feuds, forgot their career 
 of worldly glory, and striking hands together, 
 swore that the sword should never return to 
 the scabbard till the tomb of Christ was de- 
 livered from the hands of the infidels. One 
 desire animated every heart, one purpose 
 filled every bosom the contagion spread 
 from house to house and kingdom to kingdom 
 " it became an enthusiasm, a passion, a 
 madness." 
 
 Nearly a quarter of a million fell on the 
 very threshold of the undertaking, yet an 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 225 
 
 army of six hundred thousand men at length 
 stood in gorgeous array on the plains of 
 Asia, and with waving banners and pealing 
 trumpets, began to hew their way to the 
 tomb of Christ. Carried off by famine, 
 pestilence and the sword, till but half of 
 their number was left, they still pressed on 
 towards Jerusalem. 
 
 Behold them at length approaching Bethle- 
 hem. A deputation of Christians go forth to 
 meet them, and in a moment that weary, 
 wasted army is moved like the forest by a 
 sudden wind. Bethlehem is before them, the 
 place where the Saviour was born. The 
 name awoke a thousand touching associa- 
 tions, and thrilled every heart with a strange 
 rapture. That night the excited host could 
 not sleep, and at midnight took up their line 
 of march for Jerusalem. In dead silence 
 many with bare feet and heads uncovered 
 pressed tremblingly on through the darkness. 
 
 At length, the sun, with that suddenness 
 10* 
 
226 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 which always accompanies an eastern dawn, 
 rushed into the heavens, and there lay Jerusa- 
 lem before them. The object of all their 
 toils ; that for which they had endured famine 
 and pestilence, had been mowed down by the 
 sword of the infidel ; the one bright goal 
 of their lives, was smiling in summer beauty, 
 at their feet. There was Mount Olivet, there 
 Mount Calvary, and there, too, the sepulchre 
 of the Saviour. Oh, who can describe the 
 emotions that then swept through that Chris- 
 tian host. Some knelt down and prayed, 
 others leaped, shouting, into the air ; the mail- 
 ed knight sobbed like an infant, until at 
 length arose the murmur, " Jerusalem," at first 
 faint and IOW T , like the far off sound of the sea, 
 but gradually swelling to the full-voiced thun- 
 der, till "Jerusalem, Jerusalem,' 7 filled all the 
 air, and rolled gloriously to the heavens. 
 Then taking fire at the thought that the holy 
 city and sacred tomb were in the hands of 
 unbelievers, they raised their battle-cry, and 
 
THE TOMB OF CHRIST. 227 
 
 went pouring forward on the walls like the 
 inrolling tide of the sea. 
 
 What a spectacle the crusade presented. 
 The old and the young, the sage and the 
 ignorant, the king and the serf, the knight 
 and the recluse, women and children, the 
 pure and the impure, all pressing forward to 
 one goal, the TOMB or CHRIST. The plains 
 of Asia covered with magnificent armies, and 
 on every banner that waved over them, the 
 Cross of Christ. Ten thousand knights spur- 
 ring joyfully to the onset, every lance set in 
 rest for the honor of Christ. Across trackless 
 deserts, over rugged mountains and bloody 
 battle-fields, through disease and death ; still 
 onward to the Tomb of Christ. Angels 
 watched that tomb after the Saviour had left 
 it. Mary worshipped there the pilgrim for 
 centuries scourged himself before it the 
 chivalry of Europe battled around it, and 
 the heart of the world still throbs at the men- 
 tion of its name. 
 
228 
 
 SACRED SCENES. 
 
 To the Christian it will ever be an object 
 of the deepest interest not merely because 
 it was consecrated by the form of the Son 
 of God, but because, as he looks on its 
 emptiness, he feels assured of the resurrec- 
 tion of the dead. He who laid there " is the 
 first fruits of them that sleep." 
 
YC 29546 
 
 GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY 
 
 
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