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THE REEF, 
 
 ani ©tfjer ParaMea. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD HENRY BICKERSTETH, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOREVER." 
 
 " Though what, if earth 
 Be but the shadow of heaven, and things therein 
 Each to other like, more than on earth is thought-" 
 
 > Paradise Lost. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
 
 530 Broadway. 
 
 1874. 
 

 Cambridge : 
 Press of JoJm Wilson and Son. 
 
 GIFT 
 BERTRAM SMITH 
 
TO MY YOUNG FRIENDS IN ENGLAND 
 AND AMERICA. 
 
 r I ^HESE parables were most of them writ- 
 ten in a home, which for long years 
 had been one of sunshine and of song. The 
 storms had indeed lately fallen upon us once 
 and again ; but God, who is rich in consola- 
 tion, granted us a season of clear shining 
 after rain, until, as these pages were passing 
 through the press, a cloud of sorrow greater 
 than any we had known before almost sud- 
 denly overshadowed us. The light of earth 
 was darkened and the voice of laughter 
 hushed. But you, dear friends, who are 
 disciples in the school of Jesus, have learned 
 at His feet that the golden glow of heaven 
 can shine down upon our pilgrim path in the 
 cloudy and dark day, and its melodies be 
 heard by those who listen for them over the 
 
VI PBEFACE. 
 
 waves of this troublesome world. May I 
 then venture to ask (for I set great store 
 by the prayers of young warm hearts) that, 
 if you find your trust and love and patience 
 quickened by any of the stories in this little 
 volume, you will sometimes pray that the 
 writer and his motherless children may, in 
 their shadowed home, see the far-off glory 
 and catch the music of that better land, to 
 which he has striven in every parable to lead 
 your footsteps on. 
 
 E. H. B. 
 
 Christ Church Vicarage, Hampstead, 
 14 October, 1873. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Reef 9 
 
 avehdah or the lost island 35 
 
 1 * Over the Hills Homeward" 74 
 
 The Plague-stricken City 115 
 
 Eugene the Debtor 157 
 
 Phaedrus and Philemon 188 
 
 Una the Bride 224 
 
 Beyond the River 272 
 
THE REEF. 
 
 Y home was situ- 
 ated in an island 
 on a wooded 
 hill, which rose 
 far above the 
 surge- beaten 
 cliff, and from 
 which, when 
 the air was pe- 
 culiarly clear, 
 yon could dis- 
 cern the faint 
 outline of the opposite coast. One beautiful 
 summer day I had threaded the zig-zag path 
 which led down to the fisherman's cove, and 
 was pacing the shingly shore, interspersed as 
 it was with reaches of silver sand, when, lulled 
 
10 THE BEEF. 
 
 by the murmur of the waves, I fell into a 
 muse ; and, musing, my thoughts shaped them- 
 selves into the waking dream which I will 
 relate. 
 
 I thought I was carried in spirit leagues 
 and leagues away to a far-off rock-bound 
 land. It was early morning. The mists of 
 night still clung around the stern cliffs ; but 
 just emerging from their skirts, as they 
 rolled themselves up in massive folds of 
 vapor, I saw a little boat with a snow-white 
 sail, and in it a sailor-boy all alone. The 
 boat was gaily painted, and the sparkling 
 waters fell in drops of light on either side of 
 its prow, as the sun arose in the distant east. 
 The boy held the rudder with a cheerful but 
 somewhat reckless air ; and I could not 
 doubt from the direction in which he steered 
 that he was purposing to cross the straits 
 which separated the shore he had left from 
 the distant mainland. 
 
 My heart misgave me when I remembered 
 all I had heard of those dangerous straits, so 
 
THE REEF. 11 
 
 often vexed with sudden squalls, so intricate 
 with opposing currents, and so thickly set 
 with sunken rocks and shoals and perilous 
 sand-banks. I said to myself, how could his 
 friends allow so young a boy to venture 
 alone ? I did not know then what I learned 
 afterwards, that they had strictly charged 
 him to solicit the aid of an experienced pilot, 
 who had indeed -that very morning proffered 
 to go with him, but whom the sailor-lad, 
 confident in his own powers, had gaily 
 refused. 
 
 For a long while I watched the little 
 boat, and all went well. The wind and tide 
 at first were favorable. And I marked 
 with joy how one, and another, and yet 
 another dangerous spot was passed in safety 
 by the young, unheeding voyager. At last, 
 however, when a bold, prominent headland 
 was cleared, the wind died away to a mere 
 breath. The tide was now at the lowest. 
 The sail flapped against the mast; and a 
 strong current bore the little vessel out of its 
 
12 THE REEF. 
 
 course. A shade of vexation passed over the 
 sailor-boy's countenance ; but he lowered his 
 useless sail, and betook himself to his oars. 
 
 Now for the first time he observed that his 
 boat had sprung a leak. It was somewhere 
 near the keel ; but with his utmost efforts he 
 could not discover the exact spot. Perhaps 
 he had grazed unawares some sharp sunken 
 rock, or it might be some decayed plank 
 admitted the oozing wave — he could not 
 tell ; but the water, though very slowly, was 
 evidently deepening in the bottom. He 
 tried to bale it out with a bucket which he 
 fortunately had with him; but though this 
 for a while abated the danger, he was soon 
 conscious that, notwithstanding his utmost 
 efforts, the leak was steadily gaining on him 
 instead of his gaining on the leak. What 
 could he do ? He was already many miles 
 from the land he had left, and he was quite 
 sure his boat could not live to make that 
 shore. He pressed his hands over his eyes 
 for a few seconds in troubled thought ; when 
 
THE REEF. 13 
 
 his now painfully anxious ear caught tlie 
 sound of breakers; and looking steadily in 
 the direction in which his boat was drifting, 
 he plainly saw a reef of rocks, which at low 
 tide was left dry. 
 
 There was nothing else to be done. He 
 continued his strenuous labor of baling. It 
 was of no avail. The boat, water-logged as 
 it was, was drifted by the strong current into 
 the breakers — for you must note, though 
 the wind had sunk, the heavy ground-swell 
 that set upon the reef made the water 
 broken and troubled. The tiny craft was 
 just settling down when the boy sprang into 
 the waves, and partly by swimming, partly 
 by wading, not without many bruises, 
 reached the ledge upon which, soon after, 
 his boat was cast shivered and useless. 
 
 Hapless boy, what could he do now ? A 
 few hundred feet of barren rock were all that 
 he could call his own; and this wretched 
 lodgment would be covered by the advancing 
 tide. He looked round ; some timbers from 
 
14 THE REEF. 
 
 the wreck of a noble vessel were firmly- 
 embedded in one cleft of the reef, and told, 
 in language which he could read only too 
 well, of some former terrible disaster. He 
 thought of making a raft, and toiled long 
 with a few old timbers, which with great 
 difficulty he tore from the old wreck, and 
 with the fragments of his shattered boat. 
 But he was compelled to abandon the at- 
 tempt; he lacked tools, he lacked skill, he 
 lacked time. One hour and another passed. 
 He became very hi^ngry, but the only food 
 he had was an old biscuit, which had been . 
 soaked when he cast himself into the sea, 
 and was salt and nauseous ; and, far more, 
 he became thirsty, terribly thirsty, and there 
 was not a drop of fresh water on the reef. 
 He cast his eye round the horizon : not a 
 friendly sail was to be seen: nothing but 
 the wide waste of ocean, and the sea-gulls 
 sweeping through the sky. 
 
 What could he do ? He had been noted 
 among his companions as a very expert 
 
THE REEF. 15 
 
 swimmer for his years. And though to any- 
 one who knew those straits the attempt was 
 perfect madness, the poor boy thought it was 
 his only chance : — he might float or drift 
 towards the shore : — he might be picked up 
 by some passing vessel: — so with a heavy 
 heart he stripped himself of his clothes and 
 plunged into the sea on the side nearest the 
 land from which he had started that morning 
 so merrily. Happily for him, by the turn of 
 the tide, the current now set dead towards 
 the rocks. He could hardly make any way. 
 By immense efforts he swam a few hundred 
 yards from the reef, when he became quite 
 exhausted, and, knowing he could not hold 
 out much longer, he turned, and by the aid 
 of the strong current regained, though with 
 great difficulty, the now slippery edge of the 
 reef, and, shaking in every limb, dressed 
 himself once more, and laid himself down as 
 if to die. 
 
 I think he would have died but for a 
 sudden heavy shower of rain. It slaked his 
 
16 THE REEF. 
 
 parched lips ; it cooled his feverish thirst ; it 
 prevented his giving way to utter despair. 
 Yet another precious hour had passed, and 
 his little island of rock was almost covered 
 with the advancing tide. Suddenly the oar 
 of his little boat, which had been washing 
 among the waves, floated to his feet. As a 
 last forlorn hope he tied his red kerchief to 
 one end of the oar, and, raising it for a sig- 
 nal, cried aloud for help. There was no 
 answer but the sighing of the wind, which 
 had now risen again, and the wild call of the 
 sea-mew. Still he cried again and again; 
 and, though his hands were very weary, he 
 held up the signal of distress. But now the 
 waves washed his feet: they covered his 
 ankles : they rose to his knees. Seeing that 
 the bare, gaunt framework of the wrecked 
 vessel would afford him a little vantage- 
 ground, he contrived to Avade to it, still 
 holding up the oar with one hand. 
 
 But the waters rose higher and higher: 
 they reached his loins. His brave young 
 
THE BEEF. 17 
 
 heart failed him (I am sure my heart mis- 
 gave me for him) and his brain began to 
 reel. He raised one faint last cry: — it was 
 a very feeble cry — but I thought I caught 
 the words, "Save me: I perish! 51 — when 
 he heard — oh, no, he could not be mistaken 
 — he heard a man's voice, though it sound- 
 ed far away. It came again and again. It- 
 nerved hiin to hold out a few minutes longer. 
 And now he distinguished words bidding 
 him cheer up and keep his head above the 
 waters, which, with the aid of his oar, he 
 contrived to do. And at last, for the min- 
 utes seemed hours, he saw through the mist 
 and spray of the breakers a boat approach- 
 ing, and in it his true old friend, the pilot, 
 whose company and skill he had so madly 
 refused in the early morning. 
 
 " Dear lad, will you come with me now ? " 
 was the only question. The friendly hand 
 was held out to him. He grasped it with 
 the tenacity of a drowning boy, and was 
 dragged into the safety-boat. It did my 
 
 2 
 
18 THE BEEF. 
 
 heart good to see how tenderly the pilot 
 nursed him. There was no frown on his 
 brow, no harsh look in his eye, no word of 
 reproach on his lips. He was as gentle with 
 the poor lad as any mother could have been. 
 He stripped him of his dripping garments : 
 he chafed his trembling limbs : he bound up 
 the cuts and bruises, which he had received 
 when dashed against the sharp rocks : he 
 wrapped him in warm and dry apparel: he 
 gave him a cordial which seemed fresh life : 
 he persuaded him to take some nourishing 
 food : until the poor lad wept, and thanked 
 him with a voice broken with gratitude, and 
 then, quite overcome, sank into a short, deli- 
 cious slumber. 
 
 He soon awoke, for the wind had fresh- 
 ened. And now again the pilot asked him, 
 " Will you trust me, dear lad, now, and 
 work our boat under me to yonder shore ? '" 
 The bright eye of the saved sailor-boy 
 flashed the answer, before the words passed 
 his lips — " Yes, master, yes; if you'll have 
 me." 
 
THE REEF. 19 
 
 He now looked more carefully at the boat, 
 on board of which he thus found himself, and 
 handled all its tackling and gear with ear- 
 nest, inquisitive interest. It was built like a 
 life-boat, being so constructed that it could 
 not sink ; and it was provided with every 
 requisite for storm or calm, for night or day, 
 for repairing any damage that might occur, 
 and for taking observations of the sun or 
 stars. There was the little anchor with its 
 strong but slender cable ; and, what the 
 sailor-lad chiefly admired, a most beautiful 
 compass, and in the chest beside it a roll of 
 parchment, which was a chart accurately 
 noting every sunken rock an! reef and shoal 
 and sand-bank, indicating the prevalent set 
 of the currents, and marking the distances 
 of the various tracks across the straits from 
 shore to shore. Seeing him bending over it, 
 the pilot took occasion to instruct and exam- 
 ine him in the use of this compass and chart; 
 nor did he desist, until he found the boy 
 could tell him how they ought to hold the 
 
20 THE REEF. 
 
 rudder and shift the sail under every combi- 
 nation of wind and tide. Indeed, they had 
 much close conversation together. The pilot 
 told him how he had guided scores and 
 scores of voyagers over these straits, not one 
 of whom had failed of safely reaching the 
 opposite coast. He told him also the sad 
 story of the vessel to the wreck of which the 
 boy had clung, and of many a noble ship 
 which had been cast away in these perilous 
 waters. He also spoke in most glowing 
 words of the beauty of the further shore. 
 
 All this converse was held while they both 
 were diligently at work, for it must not be 
 supposed the boy all this time was idle. 
 The pilot continually called him, as he said, 
 to lend a hand. But it was pleasant work 
 under such a master. For the boy could not 
 but mark the wondrous skill with which the 
 pilot used the rising wdnd, how he availed 
 himself of the changing currents, how he 
 avoided every rock, and threaded his way 
 through the deceptive shallows. Many a 
 
THE REEF. 21 
 
 sudden squall of wind fell on them, but the 
 pilot always discerned indications of these 
 gusts beforehand ; they tacked on their 
 course, or reefed the sail, and all was well. 
 Often it seemed to the boy the vexing squall 
 had hastened their voyage. Indeed he him- 
 self was rapidly learning his master's art. 
 
 They had hitherto steered by a lofty 
 mountain on the opposite coast, to which the 
 pilot had early directed the eye of the boy. 
 But once it chanced, though it proved only 
 for a short half -hour, they were wrapped in 
 the sudden mist of a sea-fog. Then the pilot 
 closely and anxiously consulted the compass 
 and chart — and when the fog cleared they 
 found they had been steering quite rightly, 
 though they had shortened sail, lest una- 
 wares they should fall among breakers. 
 
 But the sun was slowly sloping to the west 
 ere they sighted the white cliffs, which 
 guarded the entrance on this side and on 
 that of the haven to which they were bound. 
 The time seemed long to the boy, who 
 
22 THE KEEF. 
 
 longed to be on that shore of which the pilot 
 had spoken such excellent things — though 
 they were really making very good progress. 
 However, the evening twilight fell upon 
 them, when they were yet two or three 
 leagues from the shore. But then the har- 
 bor lights were kindled, and a more favor- 
 able breeze than any they had had the whole 
 voyage before sprang up and bore them 
 swiftly on their way — and at length, though 
 the last few waves were the roughest, to the 
 boy's inexpressible delight they shot into the 
 haven. They were now at rest. There 
 were no waves in that tranquil harbor. 
 And very soon they moored themselves with 
 their grappling-iron to the massive pier ; and 
 the pilot himself led the boy he had rescued 
 that day from a watery grave to a magnifi- 
 cent mansion, which far surpassed in its 
 beauty and delights his fondest and most 
 ardent anticipations. 
 
 ox^o 
 
THE REEF. 2o 
 
 OUCH was the parable which an old 
 white-haired pastor, whose name was 
 Obeiiin, told to a group of his grandchildren 
 one Sabbath evening. I must introduce you 
 to this little circle. There was the thought- 
 ful Aimee, a lovely girl of nearly fourteen 
 summers ; her twin brothers, the somewhat 
 pensive Adolphe -and the merry-hearted 
 Gustave, aged twelve years ; and, lastly, 
 the blue-eyed, flaxen-haired Roschen, whose 
 ninth birthday had been kept the day before ; 
 she was everyone's darling. Oberlin was 
 himself of Huguenot extraction ; but his son, 
 whom God had early called to rest from his 
 labors, had married a German lady, and she 
 had joined her sainted husband in the pres- 
 ence of Jesus when her infant, the sweet 
 Roschen, who bore her name, was barely 
 three years old. The children, therefore, 
 were brought up in their grandfather's home, 
 which was on the lovely coast of South 
 Devon, being watched, and tended, and 
 
24 THE EEEF. 
 
 nursed with almost a mother's care by an 
 aged nurse, named Marie, who was as much 
 a part of the family as any member of it. 
 The Oberlins had, indeed, for so many gen- 
 erations now found a home in England that 
 they all esteemed it their fatherland, while 
 yet you could not but trace the irrepressible 
 vivacity of the French character blended 
 with the imaginative cast of German thought 
 in the children. It had been Oberlin's cus- 
 tom for many years to give them a story or 
 parable, sometimes from Holy Writ, some- 
 times from the " Pilgrim's Progress," or 
 some like allegory, which he expected them 
 to explain or prove by their Bibles, every 
 Sunday evening And now he had promised 
 them a new series of stories, to which they 
 looked forward with most eager interest. 
 
 When he had finished reading " The 
 Reef," they drew a deep breath, and one 
 and all exclaimed, " 0, grandfather, what 
 a delightful story ! " 
 
 " Well, my children," replied the old man, 
 
THE REEF. 25 
 
 with a beaming eye, "I am glad you like 
 my tale ; but can you tell me what it all 
 means?" 
 
 " Grandfather," said Aim£e, " while you 
 were reading I could not help thinking of 
 the prayer we all prayed for Robin's little 
 baby [Robin, be it known, was the gar- 
 dener] at the font this afternoon, that she, 
 being received into the ark of Christ's 
 church, might so pass the waves of this 
 troublesome world that finally she might 
 come to the land of everlasting life." 
 
 "I am glad you thought of those words," 
 said Oberlin ; "the figure of the voyage is 
 just the same, though there we speak of a 
 mighty ark, and my story told of a little 
 boat. They are both true, only we cannot 
 grasp all truth at one time. What do 
 you understand, Adolphe, by the stormy 
 straits ? " 
 
 " This short life," answered Adolphe, 
 " which separates time from eternity." 
 
 " And what you, my Roschen, by the cliffs 
 
26 THE REEF. 
 
 half hidden in mists from which the gaily- 
 painted boat emerged?" 
 
 " The land of babyhood and childhood, I 
 suppose," replied Roschen, " where every 
 thing looks so large and wonderful." 
 
 " And what you, Gustave, by the sailor- 
 boy who would set forth to cross those 
 dangerous waters by himself?" 
 
 44 Is it not one who hopes to get to heaven 
 by himself — I mean by his own strength 
 and wisdom ? ' : answered Gustave. " I 
 hope, dear grandfather, you do not look so 
 earnestly on me as if you thought I wished 
 to do this — once I did, but I don't now." 
 
 " No," said Oberlin, " I believe God has 
 taught all my grandchildren now to seek 
 and welcome the aid of the Good Pilot. But 
 what do you think the sailor-boy's refusing 
 the pilot's proffered assistance represents?" 
 
 The children were silent. 
 
 " Do you not think," continued Oberlin, 
 44 that when Christian parents give their 
 babes to Jesus, as your parents gave you, in 
 
THE REEF. 27 
 
 His own covenant of baptism, as they grow 
 out of infancj r into childhood Jesus comes to 
 their hearts — yes, comes very often — and 
 offers to be their teacher, and guardian, and 
 guide ? Some welcome Him, but some, like 
 the sailor-boy of our story, thoughtlessly but 
 successfully refuse Him. But what do you 
 understand by the boat passing safely so 
 many dangerous spots, while it was under 
 the shelter of the headland?" 
 
 " Is it," said Adolphe, " that we are shel- 
 tered from so many temptations here at 
 home?" 
 
 " It is," replied Oberlin ; " only remember, 
 the time will come when you must pass from 
 this sheltered spot to encounter the currents, 
 and calms, and gusts, of this present evil 
 world. What think you, however, the lad's 
 discovery of that fatal leak somewhere near 
 the keel of his little boat means?" 
 
 " O, surely," said Gustave, with a deeper 
 thoughtfulness of tone than before, " the 
 first sense of sin and of danger." 
 
28 THE BEEF. 
 
 " Quite right," said Oberliii. " What, 
 then, is the attempt to bale out the water? " 
 
 u Is it not," replied Adolphe, " the trying 
 to overcome sin in our own might without 
 Christ ? " 
 
 " Yes, my boy," answered Oberlin. " And 
 if so, then the boat filling with water despite 
 all his efforts, and the poor lad being cast 
 upon the reef, while his boat was broken up 
 before his eyes, will show the utter failure 
 of such struggles. Some make fatal ship- 
 wreck on this rock, like the noble vessel 
 whose skeleton framework the boy saw. 
 Yet you remember the hope of saving him- 
 self had not died in his bosom. First he 
 toiled long to make a raft. This is like a 
 poor sinner trying hard to get to heaven by 
 his own good works. It cannot be ; they 
 will not bear the weight of his soul. He 
 will become very hungry and thirsty like 
 the sailor-boy, and the whole world cannot 
 give him the bread of life or slake his fever- 
 ish thirst for everlasting joy. And if he 
 
THE REEF. 29 
 
 makes a last effort, stripping himself of every 
 earthly pleasure to merit salvation, as some 
 self-righteous ones have sought to do in 
 every age, it will be still of no avail. If he 
 is to be saved at last, he must be driven back 
 to self-despair. But such experience is not 
 gained without many painful wounds and 
 bruises." 
 
 " Grandfather," asked little Roschen, " what 
 is meant by the shower of rain which fell 
 upon his parched lips ? Oh ! I was so glad 
 for him." 
 
 "Well," said Oberlin, "I think God's 
 grace often secretly keeps the soul from 
 utterly perishing, even before the heart has 
 found peace in Christ. It seems to me to 
 set forth this. And what do you under- 
 stand,. Adolphe, by the boy tying his 
 kerchief to the oar, and crying out for 
 help ? " 
 
 " Is it not prayer, grandfather? " answered 
 Adolphe, " that strong prayer that goes on 
 asking, and won't take a denial, of which 
 
30 THE REEF. 
 
 you spoke to us last Sunday from Jacob's 
 wrestling all night, who said, ' I will not let 
 thee go except thou bless me ? " 
 
 " Quite so," replied Oberlin ; " such prayer 
 as Martin Luther said ' wrings a yea out of • 
 God's nay' — not that our Father is unwil- 
 ling to give, but that he would test the sin- 
 cerity of those who ask. And as at last, 
 when the sailor-boy had given up every other 
 hope, the voice of the pilot was heard bid- 
 ding him hold on and hold out, so Jesus will 
 surely come to those who cry after Him, 
 even though they may have for many years 
 refused Him. And when He comes His only 
 question is, ' Will you trust yourself to Me 
 and My salvation ? ' He will not upbraid 
 the sinner for all the past, but will tenderly 
 heal, and nourish, and revive him till the 
 soul is lost in loving wonder, and sinks down 
 to rest in His bosom." 
 
 " But, grandfather," said Aclolphe, " the 
 voyage was far from over when the boy got 
 on board the pilot's boat. While you were 
 
THE EEEF. 31 
 
 reading, I guessed what so many things 
 meant. The boat being a life-boat, which 
 could not sink, I suppose signifies that no 
 one who trusts in Christ can perish. Then 
 is not the anchor hope ? And the compass 
 and chart, whose use was explained by the 
 pilot, the Bible which Jesus opens out to us 
 by His Holy Spirit ? And the distant moun- 
 tain peak by which they steered so long, a 
 glimpse of heaven ? And when this was 
 shut out by the fog-bank, and they were 
 driven only to the compass and chart, the 
 Christian cleaving to the promises when all 
 seems dark ? And the pleasant talk which 
 the pilot had with the boy regarding the 
 voyage and the land to which they were 
 going, our speaking to Jesus here, and hear- 
 ing from Him of His Father's house and 
 kingdom ? " 
 
 " You are quite, right my boy," replied 
 Oberlin ; " I think almost every sentence of 
 m} r story has some counterpart in the voyage 
 of life. But what do you understand by the 
 
32 THE REEF. 
 
 boy's working so diligently, if Jesus Christ 
 has done all for us ? " 
 
 "Oh!' grandfather," said Gustave, "is it 
 not like the text you preached on this morn- 
 ing : — c Work out your own salvation with 
 fear and trembling, knowing that it is God 
 which worketh in you to will and to do of 
 His good pleasure?' I am sure it will be 
 pleasant enough work with Jesus for our 
 captain." 
 
 " Gustave is quite right," said Oberlin. 
 " Are we not called to watch and pray, to 
 read and learn God's Word, to fight the good 
 fight, to take up our cross, to keep under our 
 body, to deny ourselves, to visit the sick, and 
 help the poor ? All this will only be done 
 and borne cheerfully, as we do and bear it 
 for Jesus and with Jesus. But if He is with 
 us and we with Him, then, as the pilot steered 
 his boat safely through every toil and peril, 
 and even availed himself of the gusts and 
 squalls to hasten their voyage, so our Mas- 
 ter's presence will lighten every toil, and 
 
THE REEF. 33 
 
 teach us to escape dangers on the right hand 
 and the left, and even enable us to use the 
 troubles of time to further our heavenward 
 course, and at last, as our martyred fore- 
 fathers used to sing : — 
 
 ' Be the day weary or be the day long, 
 At length it ringeth to Evensong.' 
 
 They sighted the haven at last." 
 
 " What does it mean, dear grandfather," 
 asked Aimee, " by the evening twilight fall- 
 ing on them, when they were yet two or 
 three leagues from the shore?" 
 
 " Failing strength or advancing years," 
 said Oberlin, with a happy, tranquil smile, 
 " before the rest is won. But often the toil 
 is eased at the last, and a favoring breeze 
 bears the soul onward swiftly towards the 
 haven. The lights on the shore are seen ; 
 and though there may be some rough waves 
 in the saint's last illness, some sharp pain 
 or weary struggles, the time is then very 
 
34 THE REEF. 
 
 short ; and soon, very soon, he will be borne 
 into the harbor of everlasting peace, and go 
 to the Palace Home of the King, to be with 
 Him for ever." 
 
AYEHDAJL 
 
 MUST give you a 
 -_'•"_- ' I story to-day from 
 
 ; ™ the closing chapters 
 Jj>^ \ :^--_ of Avehdah. 
 |H]Jj|^ A v e h d a h — i n 
 
 tffir ;;5 very ancient times 
 called Shulam — was 
 a large and beautiful 
 island, larger than 
 England, and was 
 situate in the wide ocean, many hundred 
 miles away from the nearest continent. It 
 was clothed with noble forests, in which 
 grew almost every kind of fragrant and 
 fruitful tree. It was intersected by solemn 
 mountains, whose snowy peaks seemed to 
 
36 AVEHDAH. 
 
 mingle with the blue heavens into which they 
 climbed ; and from the glaciers and springs 
 of these mountains there flowed many rapid 
 crystal rivers to the purple sea. It was alto- 
 gether a delightsome land, and was owned 
 by the mightiest monarch of the continent, 
 who was so fond of its beauty and freshness 
 that he designed it for a marriage portion for 
 his only son. In the records of Avehdah this 
 monarch is called the King, and his son the 
 Prince. 
 
 The island had been originally peopled by 
 a hardy, truthful, and affectionate race. The 
 easy tribute of fruits and spices and gems — 
 for Avehdah abounded not only, as I said, 
 with fruit trees, but with all aromatic shrubs, 
 and also with precious stones — was cheer- 
 fully and punctually delivered to the royal 
 merchants. The voice of song was heard 
 from every home, and it seemed that the 
 peaceful inhabitants were as happy and 
 secure as the peerless isle in which they 
 dwelt. 
 
AVEHDAH. 37 
 
 But the event proved far otherwise. For 
 a cruel, crafty enemy of the King, a satrap 
 who had revolted from his sway, and had 
 already usurped a vast dominion far stretch- 
 ing towards the north, fixed his baleful 
 regards on Avehdah, and determined if pos- 
 sible to wrest it from the sceptre of its right- 
 ful sovereign. This usurper's name was 
 Abaddon, or "the destroyer." He knew 
 that to accomplish his purpose would be 
 impossible so long as the simple-hearted 
 dwellers in that land were true to their 
 allegiance. He therefore came over at first 
 in disguise, with a few like-minded associ- 
 ates ; and under pretence of trafficking in 
 the island — by offering rich vestments of a 
 foreign manufacture, and vessels embossed 
 with many a strange device, in exchange for 
 the simple produce of their gardens and vine- 
 yards—he so ingratiated himself with the 
 people that they freely admitted him to their 
 hearts and homes. 
 
 Abaddon was in ecstasy of delight at his 
 
38 AVEHDAH. 
 
 success. This, however, he carefully con- 
 cealed, and only spoke of himself as one who 
 longed to raise those among whom he was 
 sojourning to a far higher standard of knowl- 
 edge and enjoyment. And it was only very 
 gradually, and with consummate skill, that 
 he and his comrades began to insinuate ques- 
 tionings and doubts as to the wisdom and 
 goodness of the King. " It w^as long, very 
 long since their monarch had set foot on their 
 shores.*' " Surely, if he cared for it so 
 much, he would visit them more frequently." 
 " What, after all, was his claim to the sover- 
 eignty over an isle which lay so far away from 
 his own dominions?" " Why should they 
 send away the choicest of their fruits and spices 
 and jewels to a land from which they never 
 returned?" "It is true the King spoke of 
 his son fixing his home here ; but the promise 
 was still delayed." " Would it not be better 
 to have a ruler of their own choice, and at 
 once ? " 
 
 These words of Abaddon sank into the 
 
AVEHDAH. 39 
 
 hearts of the people of Avehdah. It was all 
 in vain that the royal merchants and collec- 
 tors of tribute warned them of his true char- 
 acter. The islanders resented what they 
 called base and baseless suspicions. They 
 entered into daily closer league with their 
 new friends ; until Abaddon thought he 
 might safely send for a larger body of his 
 adherents. They came in troops, and brought 
 all the munitions of war with them ; but 
 these were hidden from view in countless 
 bales of merchandise. New tastes for foreign 
 goods were rapidly springing up among the 
 people. 
 
 Well, years rolled on, and still the follow- 
 ers of Abaddon increased in number ; until, 
 little by little, he had introduced a vast army 
 into that island. Then at last he threw off 
 the mask. Partly by persuasion, partly by 
 suspicion, partly, as he waxed stronger, by 
 threats, he induced the nobles and elders of 
 the people to raise the standard of revolt, 
 and to refuse any longer to pay the appointed 
 
40 AVEHDAH. 
 
 tribute. Shortly after, by the aid of his 
 emissaries, who were dispersed all over the 
 land, Abaddon caused himself to be elected 
 the governor of Avehdah. And now, to 
 rivet his dominion more closely, he changed 
 both times and laws. He abolished the 
 former sacred clays in which the people had 
 rested from their easy toil, alleging that every 
 day was alike their own, for pleasure or for 
 work. He loosened by degrees all the ties 
 of kinship. Children no longer cherished 
 the same respect for their parents, nor neigh- 
 bor for neighbor, nor friend for friend. " Let 
 
 EVERY MAN DO WHAT IS EIGHT IN HIS OWN 
 
 eyes," was proclaimed as the Magna Charta 
 of the island. Soon worse evils forced an 
 entrance ; distrust bred faction ; and faction, 
 feuds ; and feuds, violence. Deeds of rapine 
 and of wrong were done. The soil of Aveh- 
 dah was for the first time stained with the 
 blood of murder. And now you might hear, 
 as evening deepened into night, the cries 
 of injured innocence from hamlets whence 
 
AVEHDAH. 41 
 
 once ascended only the songs of overflowing 
 
 joy. 
 
 These were dark days for Avehdah. For 
 now the soldiers of Abaddon began to show 
 themselves in their true colors. They tram- 
 pled on every thing that was good. They 
 maltreated all who opposed them. They 
 compelled many of the islanders — women 
 and children as well as men — to work in 
 dark and gloomy mines, which their restless 
 avarice discovered among the mountains. 
 Over these miners and their families they 
 appointed hard taskmasters. What deeds of 
 cruelty and crime were wrought in those 
 dark abysses of the earth I cannot and dare 
 not tell. For the soldiers of the governor 
 encouraged every vice, and jeered at every 
 remnant of virtue. One thing I marked, 
 they seemed to infuse into the bosoms of 
 their victims their own insatiable greed of 
 lucre. 
 
 Then it was that the royal merchants first 
 called the island " Avehdah," which signifies 
 
42 AVEHDAH. 
 
 in the Hebrew tongue " that which was lost ;" 
 for its former name " Shulam," or " she that 
 is at peace," was dropped by universal con- 
 sent, and never heard of more. 
 
 You must not think, however, that all this 
 while the King was careless of the high dis- 
 honor which had been done to his authority, 
 or to the deep miseries into which the dwel- 
 lers of Avehdah had plunged themselves. 
 He sent them messengers after messengers, 
 who expostulated with them, sometimes in 
 the strongest, sometimes in the tenderest 
 terms. Nor were their warnings and en- 
 treaties altogether fruitless. Some of the 
 islanders welcomed them, and pledged their 
 faith anew to the King, and entered into a 
 solemn league to oppose Abaddon and his 
 soldiers to the uttermost. These faithful 
 ones were few and far between compared 
 with the teeming myriads of the revolted 
 inhabitants ; yet some were never wanting in 
 every province, nor was their testimony ever 
 altogether silenced. 
 
AVEHDAH. 43 
 
 Al taddon's most strenuous efforts were 
 directed to intercept these messengers, and 
 to pervert, or. if he could not pervert, to 
 destroy, those who gave heed to them. He 
 denounced them as his enemies. He beat. 
 he imprisoned, he put them to death. In- 
 deed, for manv Ions: vears it was a state of 
 suppressed civil war in the unhappy island 
 of Avehdah. 
 
 There was a time when the usurper fondly 
 imagined he had succeeded in establishing 
 his undisputed sway. All open opposition 
 seemed crushed. There were secret servants 
 of the King in all ranks, of whom Abaddon 
 knew not, and the murmurs of serfs and 
 groans of prisoners did not seem worth his 
 regarding. But then (so I have read in the 
 chronicles of the island), when he was boast- 
 ing most loudly of his success, tidings were 
 brought to his court which troubled him 
 greatly. It was announced that the Prince. 
 laying aside his royal estate, had landed from 
 a little boat on the shore of Avehdah, and 
 
44 AYEHDAH. 
 
 was himself passing quietly from home to 
 home among his true-hearted subjects, and 
 giving them tokens of his royal approval. 
 
 What happened at that eventful time be- 
 longs altogether to another chapter of A veil- 
 dah's story, nor must I enter on it now. 
 Suffice it to say that the Prince met Abad- 
 don face to face and rebuked him. And 
 though he was afterwards seized by the 
 rebels and soldiers and suffered foul indig- 
 nities at their hands, he broke loose from the 
 prison in which they immured him. Nor did 
 he leave the island till he had confirmed all 
 his faithful ones in their allegiance, and 
 banded them together in a common covenant 
 to fight against the usurper and his hosts in 
 a panoply of proof, which he told them his 
 messengers would always be ready to sup- 
 ply from a secret arsenal in the metropolis. 
 Moreover, he solemnly promised them that, 
 when he had been proclaimed as heir of the 
 island by his father, he would return with 
 an overwhelming army and take possession 
 
AVEHDAH. 45 
 
 of his rightful inheritance. He said that he 
 could not tell them exactly what day, or 
 month, or year, he should return, for this 
 depended on the will of his royal father and 
 the counsel they should hold together. But 
 he said that, when he came, he would cer- 
 tainly bind Abaddon and his hosts in chains 
 from which they should never be loosed, and 
 consign them to a penal fortress, in a far-off 
 land, from whence they should never escape. 
 He said, moreover, that those of the island- 
 ers who cast in their lot with Abaddon 
 now, and refused all the messages of the 
 royal clemency, must share the doom of the 
 rebel satrap then ; but that he himself would 
 reward his true followers with large and last- 
 ing recompense from the boundless treasury 
 of his father. 
 
 As aforesaid, I do not profess to give you 
 the whole history of the wars of Avehdah. 
 The records are very interesting ; but they 
 fill many volumes. For after the departure 
 of the Prince the intestine war between the 
 
46 AVEHDAH. 
 
 hosts of Abaddon on the one side, aided and 
 abetted as they were by the revolted islanders, 
 and the scattered but brave and ever-increas- 
 ing adherents of the Prince on the other, 
 became sharper than ever. The conflict was 
 waged with very varying success. Now, for 
 a while, a secluded valley would be entirely 
 occupied by the Prince's loyal subjects, and 
 they would persuade those on every side to 
 embrace the same righteous cause. Then, 
 not seldom, a legion of the usurper's soldiers 
 would come and violently take possession 
 of the valley, slaughtering or capturing its 
 inhabitants. Yet it was generally observed 
 that the flame of devotion to the Prince, if 
 apparently crushed in one spot, burst forth 
 anew and unexpectedly in many surrounding 
 places. And, what is worthy of especial 
 note, immediately after the Prince's return 
 to his father's court, his personal friends, by 
 dint of heroic courage, effected a lodgment 
 in one quarter of the metropolis of Avehdah. 
 Nor could Abaddon, with all his power and 
 
AVEHDAH. 47 
 
 subtlety, drive them out, for they were sup- 
 plied with armor from the royal arsenal, 
 which his boldest warriors could not with- 
 stand. What rendered this of the more 
 importance was, that quarter of the city 
 embraced a small haven, by which continual 
 intercourse was kept up with the King's 
 country, and supplies received, though from 
 time to time the cruisers of the enemy cap- 
 tured some of the smaller craft. But here 
 and elsewhere many acts of dauntless intre- 
 pidity were wrought, all of which were re- 
 ported by the royal merchants to the King. 
 Well, so years passed on. But the hearts 
 of the Prince's servants in Avehdah grew 
 faint and weary, and when they computed 
 the long time that had elapsed, they hardly 
 knew how to answer the contemptuous ques- 
 tion which was ever on the lips of their 
 taunting foes : " Where is the promise of 
 his coming?" They did answer in his own 
 words, for he had sent them several letters 
 in his own handwriting and sealed with his 
 
43 AVEHDAH. 
 
 own signet : " The time is short ; he will 
 surely come ; he will not tarry ; " but the 
 reply was not seldom uttered with a trem- 
 bling voice. However, after many seasons 
 had passed and gone, vessels of war bearing 
 the royal flag were more frequently observed 
 on the far horizon ; and the watchword, " He 
 cometh quickly," was passed continually 
 from one to another of his servants. Still 
 days and weeks rolled on, and he came not. 
 The usurper Abaddon redoubled his dili- 
 gence ; his troops were constantly on the 
 alert ; he kept the more daring spirits among 
 the islanders far away from the sea-coast, 
 and tried to wear them down with incessant 
 labor. Howbeit, from time to time a message 
 reached the island through the city port; 
 and the hope of the faithful inhabitants, 
 though it often burned low, never went 
 out. 
 
 It was at this time (spring had given way 
 to summer, and summer to autumn, and 
 autumn had already passed into winter with 
 
AVEHDAH. 49 
 
 its lonir nio-hts^ that a messenger of the 
 King, with a band of true-hearted comrades 
 clothed in armor of proof, breaking through 
 the cordon of guards which surrounded the 
 locality, made their perilous way in the fourth 
 watch of the night through a deep defile of 
 the mountains, and down a long cavernous 
 passage, which led to a vast subterranean sil- 
 ver mine. There a most melancholy specta- 
 cle met their view. In that mine the miners 
 were compelled to work in gangs or relays, 
 day and night, so that the work never ceased. 
 Accordingly at one spot men and women and 
 children, all clothed in rags, might be seen 
 hewing the rocky soil with pickaxes, or 
 bending to the earth under heavy burdens, 
 or smelting the ore in furnaces of suffocating 
 heat ; while often the lash of the taskmaker 
 was heard, and the answering groan of the 
 hapless slave. At another spot large num- 
 bers had sunk down in heavy slumber. Not 
 far off from these a fierce dispute was raging 
 among another group. And again a little 
 
 4 
 
50 AVEHDAH. 
 
 distance off there was a large knot of miners 
 pointing with a sad pleasure to the heaps of 
 precious metal they had obtained. 
 
 Now, when he had gained a little vantage- 
 ground in the midst of the mine, the mes- 
 senger put a silver trumpet to his lips and 
 blew a long and musical blast. It was 
 strange, you may be sure, to hear such a 
 sound in such a place. The echoes repeated 
 themselves in the impenetrable gloom of the 
 further recesses, and the whole cavern rang 
 again with the unwonted strain. Most of 
 the poor toiling laborers stood still to listen. 
 Some of the sleepers awoke ; not all, — 
 though the associates of the messenger laid 
 their hands upon them, and even pushed 
 them with their staves. Those who watched 
 the heaps of silver ore clutched the barrows 
 in which it was piled, as if they thought 
 some one was come to deprive them of the 
 fruit of their toil. And most of the angry 
 disputants stilled their quarrel, as again and 
 yet again the blasts of the silver trumpet 
 
AVEHDAH. 51 
 
 reverberated through the mine. And when 
 its latest echo died away, the voice of the 
 messenger was distinctly heard proclaiming, 
 TJie night is far spent ; the day is at hand. 
 Cast off, therefore, the works of darkness ; and 
 put on the armor of light. 
 
 It is impossible here to narrate all the 
 arguments which the messenger used; how 
 he spoke to them of their present misery and 
 degradation; how he unmasked the hideous 
 character of the governor Abaddon ; how he 
 charged them with the basest ingratitude in 
 throwing off their allegiance to the best and 
 most generous of monarchs ; how he assured 
 them that the Prince had sent this latest 
 embassy to certify them of a free pardon for 
 all the past, and of a place among his own 
 followers, if they would only now receive his 
 overtures of grace ; how he set forth the 
 high honor of being numbered with the 
 Prince's servants and enrolled among his 
 soldiers ; and, lastly, how he told them the 
 time for decision was short, very short, for 
 
52 AVEHDAH. 
 
 the Prince was at hand with his father's irre- 
 sistible army ; but the messenger ended even 
 as he began — The night is far spent ; the 
 day is at hand. Cast off, therefore, the works 
 of darkness ; and put on the armor of light. 
 
 Thereupon the messenger and his compan- 
 ions opened out to the wondering eyes of 
 these poor enslaved miners chests of white 
 apparel and of gleaming armor, which they 
 had brought with them. And now it was 
 a goodly sight to see one and another of 
 these long-oppressed and degraded ones 
 throwing down the pickaxe and shovel, cast- 
 ing off their miserable rags, and clothing 
 themselves with the beautiful uniform and 
 panoply of the King. The father encour- 
 aged the son to come, and the son the 
 father ; a brother persuaded his brother, and 
 a friend his friend. And it was said to the 
 women and children that there was a part 
 for them to bear, so they likewise were clad 
 in raiment and armor suitable to their 
 strength and tender years. 
 
AVEHDAH. 53 
 
 Oh, would that all had enrolled themselves 
 among the Prince's followers at the royal 
 messenger's invitation that morning ! But 
 not a few replied that they had become 
 accustomed to the mine now, and did not 
 care to leave it. Some would not awake ; 
 though shaken and aroused, they muttered 
 as men in a half-dream. Yet a little sleep, a 
 little slumber, a little folding of the hands to 
 sleep. Some answered, We will settle the 
 matters we have in dispute with our com- 
 rades first, and will then accept this invita- 
 tion. Others roundly affirmed they would 
 never quit the heaps of silver they had so 
 laboriously gathered. Indeed only two or 
 three came forward from that group, and 
 they not without many a sharp pang as they 
 looked back on their forsaken hoards. And 
 many, when urged again and again, replied, 
 Go thy way for this time : to-morrow we 
 will come ; why should you think the Prince 
 will come to-day ? Come to-morrow, and 
 we will handle that brave armor and put on 
 
54 AVEHDAH. 
 
 that beautiful apparel. Persuasions were 
 useless : that one word " to-morrow " blunted 
 every appeal. 
 
 However, a goodly band of nearly a hun- 
 dred souls gathered round the trumpeter, 
 and enrolled their names in his book, and 
 pledged themselves to fight for the Prince. 
 These were all clad in white robes, and fur- 
 nished with armor of proof. And now the 
 messenger led them forth from the dark 
 mine. The morning was just flushing the 
 eastern horizon with a faint tinge of pearl. 
 A troop of Abaddon's forces had mustered 
 to oppose their escape, and attacked them 
 as soon as they emerged from the cavern. 
 More wounds were received than given, for 
 they were unskilful in the art of sword and 
 shield. But though it was a sore conflict for 
 such inexperienced soldiers, the trumpet note 
 was continually sounding — " The time is 
 short;" and, led by the messenger and his 
 comrades, the emancipated slaves acquitted 
 themselves bravely, and fought their way to 
 
AVEHDAH. 55 
 
 a small encampment of friends which was 
 situate on a neighboring hill. 
 
 These allies, who welcomed them heartily, 
 they found in a state of most eager joy. For 
 no less than three couriers had arrived, in as 
 many hours that morning, announcing that 
 the Prince's fleet was lying off the shores of 
 Avehdah, and that the sea, far as the eye 
 could reach, was covered with the snowy 
 sails of his countless vessels of war. Each 
 courier brought a letter in the Prince's own 
 handwriting. The first simply contained the 
 words, " Behold, I come quickly." The 
 second was somewhat longer, and ran thus, 
 " Behold, I come quickly, and my reward is 
 with me to give every man according as his 
 work shall be." And the third was to the 
 same effect as the first, " Surely, I come 
 quickly;" only this courier said that he was 
 ordered to ask for some answer to the gra- 
 cious message of the Prince. So, after a 
 short consultation, it was determined to re- 
 ply in terms which might be a humble and 
 
56 AVEHDAH. 
 
 reverent echo to his own words, " So be it: 
 even so, come, Lord, come." 
 
 This reply, therefore, with the full consent 
 of those so recently set free from the mine, 
 was hastily written and despatched. All 
 cordially consented to it ; only some looked 
 sad when they remembered how long they 
 had served the base usurper, and how short 
 a time they had been enrolled in the King's 
 army, until they recalled again the messen- 
 ger's assurance that all the past should be 
 forgiven : then their countenances again 
 grew serene and bright. And others felt 
 grieved at heart when they thought on their 
 companions in the mine, who had refused 
 every entreaty. However, there was no 
 time now to renew the invitation. Things 
 moved on with a strange rapidity that day. 
 For it seemed the last courier had scarcely 
 time to reach the coast, when tidings were 
 brought that the fleet was casting anchor in 
 a spacious bay ; and, an hour after, that the 
 Prince himself, surrounded with a noble staff 
 
AVEHDAH. 57 
 
 of officers, had landed. And so, indeed, it 
 was ; nor had the sun sunk beneath the 
 western waves before his whole army was 
 safely disembarked, and his standard raised 
 on the shores of Avehdah. 
 
 I must not dwell on all that followed ; 
 how the hosts of Abaddon, after a faint, inef- 
 fectual resistance, fled, overwhelmed with 
 terror ; how the usurper was taken captive 
 in the midst of his stricken followers, and 
 loaded with chains ; how the whole land was 
 subdued under the sceptre of the Prince ; 
 what just and terrible punishment he in- 
 flicted on his guilty enemies, and on those 
 who had persisted in their rebellion : and 
 what magnificent rewards and tokens of his 
 royal favor, such as lands, and titles of 
 honor, and priceless treasures, and positions 
 of trust near himself, he imgradmigly and 
 unsparingly bestowed on his faithful ser- 
 vants. It was dehghtful to see how the 
 Prince made himself one with them in all 
 their joys, how he consoled them for all the 
 
58 AVEHDAH. 
 
 sorrows they had endured for his name's 
 sake, and how he employed them according 
 to the capacity of each in his recovered 
 dominion. 
 
 Now was that beautiful island itself again ; 
 nay, it recovered more than its former glory, 
 for the Prince made it his especial kingdom. 
 Indeed, his nuptials were celebrated here ac- 
 cording to his father's first design. I must 
 not attempt to describe the joy of that lofty 
 bridal. One thing only I record : on that 
 day it was ordered by royal proclamation and 
 blowing of trumpets, that the island should 
 no longer be called Avehdah, or " that which 
 is lost," but Beulah, which signifies " mar- 
 ried," and that the metropolis where he fixed 
 his palace home should henceforth be named 
 Hephzibah, that is, "My delight is in her." 
 
 "V\ 7HEN the venerable Oberlin had fin- 
 ished his story, he looked round on 
 the bright eager faces of the children Aimee, 
 
AYEHDAH. 59 
 
 Adolplie and his twin brother Gustave, and 
 the darling Roschen, as if he expected an 
 immediate shower of questions as to the 
 meaning of his parable. Nor would he have 
 had many moments to wait, only Marie, the 
 old nurse, who had been admitted to the little 
 group of listeners at her own earnest request, 
 anticipated all by saying, " May I make so 
 bold, sir, as to ask whether all this really 
 happened or not? For I thought, as you 
 were speaking, my master, be sure, got that 
 from one of the brass bound vellum folios 
 that take up all the lowest shelf of the study 
 bookcase." 
 
 " Not quite, good Marie, from either Chrys- 
 ostom or Augustine," replied Oberlin smiling. 
 " But we will try and make out together by 
 the aid of our Bibles whether something very 
 like this is not happening every day in the 
 history of Christ's church militant here on 
 earth. What, my children, do you under- 
 stand by the large, beautiful island, Avehdah, 
 or Shulam, as it was first called? " 
 
60 AVEHDAH. 
 
 " The island," said Aimee, " must mean 
 our world, which God created so pure and 
 lovely that it is said, ' God saw every thing 
 that He had made, and, behold, it was very 
 good.' " ! 
 
 " And the King, then," said Gustave, 
 "must represent God, who owns and gov- 
 erns the world." 
 
 " And the Prince," said little Roschen, " is 
 of course the Lord Jesus Christ. I soon saw 
 that." 
 
 "And the revolted satrap, Abaddon," 
 added Adolphe, " can only be the devil, who 
 was a murderer from the beginning, and abode 
 not in the truth. 2 I remembered the name, 
 as soon as I heard it, occurring in Revelation. 
 Here it is, ' And they had a king over them, 
 which is the angel of the bottomless pit, 
 whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abad- 
 don, but in the Greek tongue hath his name 
 Apollyon.' 3 And the meaning is given in the 
 margin, 'that is to say, a destroyer.'" 
 
 1 Gen. i. 31. 2 j hn viii. 44. 3 R e v. ix. 11. 
 
AVEHDAH. 61 
 
 " But before we pass on," inquired Oberlin, 
 81 what think you is meant by the easy tribute 
 of fruits and spices and jewels, which the 
 inhabitants rendered to the King, before 
 Abaddon came among them?" 
 
 " Are they not," answered Adolphe, after 
 a little pause, "the thoughts and words and 
 acts of loving praise which our Father in 
 heaven requires from all his children?" 
 
 " Quite right," replied Oberlin, with a 
 beaming look of approval. " And what can 
 be easier or more delightful for His children 
 to render? Do you remember that even 
 Satan confesses this, in the lines of Milton, 
 which you repeated to me last week? — 
 
 ' Ah, wherefore ? He deserved no such return 
 From me, whom He created what I was 
 In that bright eminence, and with his good 
 Upbraided none : nor was His service hard. 
 What could be less than to afford Him praise, 
 The easiest recompense, and pay Him thanks, 
 How due ? vet all this good proved ill in me/ 
 
 And so, alas, it proved in the poor islanders 
 of Avehdah. What do you understand by 
 
62 AVEHDAH. 
 
 Abaddon, coming over so subtly at first, and 
 stealing the hearts of the people by vessels 
 of curious device and promises of freedom? " 
 
 " Why, sir," interposed Marie, " I think I 
 see that now: it was the serpent tempting 
 Adam and Eve with the fruit in the garden, 
 and promising them that they should be as 
 gods if they would only eat it." 
 
 " Quite so, Marie," replied Oberlin, " and 
 then you know how when once our first 
 parents gave the devil a foothold in their 
 hearts, the evil spread apace. As men mul- 
 tiplied, sin multiplied. Sin entered into the 
 world and death by sin. The land was as 
 the garden of Eden before them, and behind 
 them a desolate wilderness ; until the whole 
 earth, which God created pure, was filled 
 with violence." 
 
 " Grandfather," said Aimee, " who are 
 meant by the royal merchants and the King's 
 messengers? " 
 
 " Let us take the royal merchants first, my 
 children," ansAvered Oberlin. " Will one of 
 
AVEHDAH. 63 
 
 you read Gen. iii. 24 ; and another Gen. 
 xxviii. 12 ; and another Matt, xviii. 10 ; and 
 another Heb.'i. 14?" 
 
 Aimee reads, " And God placed at the east 
 of the garden of Eden cherubims, and a flam- 
 ing sword which turned every way, to keep 
 the way of the tree of life." 
 
 Adolphe reads, " And Jacob dreamed, and 
 behold a ladder set-up on the earth, and the 
 top of it reached to heaven : and behold the 
 angels of God ascending and descending on 
 it." 
 
 Roschen reads, " Take heed that ye despise 
 not one of these little ones : for I say unto 
 you, That in heaven their angels do always 
 behold the face of my Father which is in 
 heaven." 
 
 Gustave reads, " Are they not all minister- 
 ing spirits, sent forth to minister to the heirs 
 of salvation? " 
 
 " So you see, my children," continued 
 Oberlin, " the Bible tells us of a constant 
 intercourse betwixt heaven and earth from 
 
64 AVEHDAH. 
 
 the fall to the present hour, by means of 
 angels. I think, then, that angels may be 
 well signified by the royal merchants." 
 
 " And the King's messengers," said Adol- 
 phe, " must surely be the prophets and apos- 
 tles and evangelists, for I have turned to that 
 verse you pointed out to us the other day — 
 ' And the Lord God of their fathers sent to 
 them by His messengers, rising up betimes, 
 and sending ; because He had compassion on 
 His people, and on His dwelling-place. ' " l 
 
 " You are right," answered Oberlin, 
 " though the word angels, being interpreted, 
 signifies messengers ; and though these celes- 
 tial couriers have often brought God's mes- 
 sages to man, as we read both in the Old 
 and the New Testaments, yet our Father 
 generally employs human lips to utter His 
 words. How I long to know, Adolphe, if 
 you will ever be able to use the words your- 
 self, ' We are ambassadors for Christ, as 
 though God did beseech you by us : we pray 
 
 1 2 Chron. xxxvi. 15. 
 
AVEHDAH. 65 
 
 you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to 
 God.' 1 But we must hasten on. What 
 shall we say of those few faithful adherents 
 to the King's cause, whom the messengers 
 sought out in every province of Avehdah? " 
 
 " O grandfather," said Gustave, " as you 
 spoke of them, I could not help thinking of 
 the Lord's answer to Elijah, when he com- 
 plained, ' I, even I, only am left,' and God 
 said to him, ; Yet have I left me seven thou- 
 sand in Israel, all the knees which have not 
 bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which 
 hath not kissed him.'" 2 
 
 " Yes," continued Aimee, " and did not 
 the time when Abaddon fondly thought he 
 had crushed the witnesses for the truth, 
 mean the long ages between the captivity 
 of Jerusalem and the birth of our Saviour ? 
 Oh, I am so often glad that I did not live 
 then. I think they must have been almost 
 the gloomiest times the world ever knew." 
 
 " How I wish, grandfather," said Roschen, 
 
 1 2 Cor. v. 20. 2 1 Kings xix. 18. 
 
 5 
 
66 AVEHDAH. 
 
 44 you had not passed oyer that chapter of 
 Avehdah's story which told of the Prince's 
 first visit, when he came without his royal 
 robes or retinue. I thought the little boat 
 was like the manger of Bethlehem. But I 
 shall coax you to read me that chapter one 
 day." 
 
 " O Roschen," interrupted Gustave, " you 
 do not understand that all is not written in 
 a parable. Grandfather only meant us to 
 think what would have been in it, if it had 
 been written. I suppose the prison from 
 which the Prince broke loose was the grave 
 from which Jesus rose, and his charge to his 
 servants, before he left them, the last words 
 of the Saviour before He ascended to His 
 Father's right hand." 
 
 44 Roschen and I," said Oberlin, " will have 
 a talk alone some day about that omitted 
 chapter of the story of Avehdah. But now, 
 what is meant by the checkered success of 
 the long war that followed the Prince's de- 
 parture ? " 
 
AVEHDAH. 67 
 
 " Is it not," said Aimee, " the history of 
 the last eighteen hundred years — Christi- 
 anity now apparently conquering whole cities 
 and countries, and now apparently itself 
 conquered and driven from them?" 
 
 " It is," replied Oberlin. " What can be 
 more affecting than to think of the once 
 flourishing churches of Jerusalem, and An- 
 tioch, and Ephesus, and Corinth, and Car- 
 thage, and then to reflect what they are 
 now ? But the gates of hell have never pre- 
 vailed against Christ's holy Church universal, 
 and in every age our dear Master has had 
 His faithful witnesses — sometimes few and 
 feeble- — who have borne testimony to the 
 truth, and looked for His promised return. 
 Their hearts have often been faint and 
 weary; but the Church has still held fast 
 to her early creed, ; He shall come again with 
 gkny to judge both the quick and the dead, 
 whose kingdom shall have no end.' But 
 what say you to the messenger's visit to the 
 silver mine among the mountains, and gather- 
 
68 AVEHDAH. 
 
 ing a troop of soldiers from those poor en- 
 slaved miners on the very eve of the Prince's 
 return ? " 
 
 "Grandfather," said Adolphe, "is it not 
 what ministers are doing in our own day, 
 when they call men to overcome this present 
 evil world, and fight the good fight of 
 faith ? " 
 
 " It is, Adolphe, it is," replied Oberlin, 
 with emotion. " For is not the gaining of 
 this world, its pleasures and honors and 
 riches, as the soul's portion, a hard slavery ? 
 Men toil early and late, and heap up treasures, 
 but they cannot tell who shall gather them. 
 Then often they fall a-wrangling over the 
 possessions they have so laboriously won. 
 And many are so weary and worn out, they 
 have no heart left to listen to the voice of 
 Jesus. And others, who have gained the 
 world, seem only bent on grasping it tightly 
 and more tightly, as the time draws nearer 
 when they must go and stand before God. I 
 know this has always been so from the begin- 
 
AVEHDAH. 69 
 
 ning, but it seems to me more and more the 
 character of these last days." 
 
 " Do you think then, grandfather," asked 
 Aim^e, " that these are the very last days, 
 and that the Prince is so very near?" 
 
 " Of the day and hour of His return, my 
 child," answered Oberlin, "knoweth no man. 
 But surely there are signs enough to make 
 us think very often and seriously of the words 
 of Jesus, c When these things begin to come 
 to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads ; 
 for your redemption draweth nigh.' 1 The 
 royal herald's trumpet-call in the depth of 
 the cavern, ' The night is far spent, the day 
 is at hand,' has had its counterpart in the 
 wide-spread preaching of the Second Advent 
 of our Lord in these latter times. And I 
 often think we may expect a great ingather- 
 ing of guests to the King's supper-table from 
 the streets and lanes of the city, and from 
 the highways and hedges of the country, just 
 before the Bridegroom comes, and the door 
 
 1 Luke xxi. 28. 
 
70 AVEHDAH. 
 
 is shut. But what Scriptures do you think 
 bear out the different issues of the herald's 
 invitation ? " 
 
 " I thought of the prophet's cry, ' Who 
 hath believed our report ? ' " 1 said Gustave. 
 
 " And I, of John Baptist's voice," said 
 Aclolphe, " 4 Prepare ye the way of the 
 Lord.'" 2 
 
 " And I," said Roschen, " of the words of 
 Jesus, in my favorite story of the Ten Vir- 
 gins — ' At midnight there was a cry made, 
 Behold the Bridegroom cometh, go ye out 
 to meet him.' " 3 
 
 " That does not answer to the hours at 
 all, Roschen," said Gustave. " One was 
 early morning, the other midnight." 
 
 " Ah, my children," interposed Oberlin, 
 " the world's midnight may be the Church's 
 morning. But who are signified by those 
 miners who obeyed the messenger and 
 ranged themselves on his side ? And what 
 is meant by the white apparel and the 
 
 l Isa. liii. 1. 2 Luke Hi. 4. 3 Matt. xxv. 6. 
 
AVEHDAH. 71 
 
 gleaming armor of proof which they put 
 on?" 
 
 u Surely, grandfather," said Aimee, " they 
 are all who obey the glad tidings of salva- 
 tion, and make the promise of their baptism 
 real and true, ' to fight manfully under 
 Christ's banner against sin, the world, and 
 the devil.' And do not the white robes 
 mean the graces of -the Holy Spirit ? I have 
 never forgotten your telling us of those 
 beautiful garments, mercy, kindness, hu- 
 mility, meekness, long-suffering, all knit to- 
 gether by the golden girdle of love." 1 
 
 " And then," said Gustave, " St. Paul tells 
 us plainly what the armor is, 'Stand, there- 
 fore, having your loins girt about with truth, 
 and having on the breastplate of righteous- 
 ness ; and your feet shod with the prepara- 
 tion of the gospel of peace ; above all, taking 
 the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be 
 able to quench all the fiery darts of the 
 wicked; and take the helmet of salvation, 
 
 i Col. iii. 12-14. 
 
72 AVEHDAH. 
 
 and the sword of the Spirit, which is the 
 the Word of God.' 1 How I wish it was a 
 visible conflict ! There would be something 
 so heart-stirring in actually seeing the enemy 
 and grasping the wonderful armor and deal- 
 ing the blows ! " 
 
 " It is none the less real, my boy," replied 
 Oberlin, " for being invisible. Perhaps if 
 you had one sight of the hosts of darkness, 
 it would be too much for you to bear. Be 
 sure the Captain of our salvation has done 
 wisely in veiling the unseen world till His 
 time is come." 
 
 " I suppose," said Adolphe, "the encamp- 
 ment, which the liberated miners joined, 
 points out some beloved church like our own." 
 
 " Yes," answered Oberlin, " and here we 
 may safely wait till the Prince returns. Only 
 let us heartily welcome every message which 
 he sends us by his couriers. I think you will 
 recognize the three Advent watchwords, — 
 ; Behold, I come quickly.' 2 Oh, that our 
 i Ephes. vi. 14-17. * R ev . xx ii. 7, 12, 20. 
 
AYEHDAH. 73 
 
 very souls may answer ' Amen : even so, 
 come, Lord Jesus,' for no heart can conceive 
 and no tongue can tell either the misery of 
 His enemies on the one side, or on the other 
 the felicity of His own servants when He 
 sits upon the throne of His glory and says 
 to them, ' Come, ye blessed children of my 
 Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you 
 from the beginning of the world.' Then 
 will He reward every one according as his 
 work shall be. No act of loyalty and love 
 shall be forgotten. And then shall take 
 place the marriage of the Lamb and the 
 everlasting reunion of heaven and earth. 
 May not the name of that kingdom be well 
 called Beulah, and of its metropolis Heph- 
 zibah?" 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 bluffs of bare granite. 
 
 HERE was a se- 
 cluded valley lying 
 some twenty miles 
 inland from the 
 coast of the south- 
 ern continent in 
 the New World. 
 Betwixt it and the 
 sea was a range of 
 precipitous hills, 
 partly wooded and 
 partly rugged with 
 The valley itself was 
 
 fruitful and well watered ; though it was 
 liable to the incursions of wild beasts that 
 prowled in the surrounding forests; and, 
 what was a far more serious danger, the 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 75 
 
 region was not seldom exposed to the shocks 
 of severe earthquakes. 
 
 It was in this valley that there was the 
 wasted remnant, about thirty in number, of 
 a gallant band of boys and youths who had 
 been induced to leave their native land and 
 settle in this far-away, sequestered spot. It 
 were long to thread all the mazes of their 
 sad story; but the* main outlines of it were 
 as follows : — 
 
 A crafty and unprincipled colonist ob- 
 tained a grant of the vale from the semi-bar- 
 barous tribes who were the only inhabitants 
 of this zone, in exchange for glass beads and 
 ornaments of trifling value. Having gained 
 their rough signature to a deed of purchase, 
 he left them and sailed away to his mother 
 country, and there described the fertility and 
 resources of the valley in most glowing 
 terms ; and by means of his plausible ad- 
 dress and forged testimonials he persuaded 
 many parents and guardians, some of them 
 people of substance and of sterling excel- 
 
76 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 lence, to commit their children or wards to 
 his care. The ordinary avenues of life were 
 thronged. Some of the lads had failed in 
 passing sundry examinations ; and there 
 were many others who had no taste for the 
 quiet occupations of long-established society, 
 in whose hearts the love of enterprise beat 
 quick, and whose friends were not unwilling 
 to pay a substantial premium that the boys 
 should be taught the art of farming in tropi- 
 cal climes, and become themselves in time 
 the proprietors of extensive lands for a mere 
 nominal sum of money. 
 
 The issue was that the father and founder, 
 as he called himself, of the proposed colony 
 obtained the charge of nearly one hundred 
 youths, ranging between the ages of fourteen 
 and eighteen ; with whom, and in possession 
 of a very considerable capital of ready 
 money, he set sail from their native land. 
 He had consummate address in conversation. 
 The voyage was cheered by his wit and an- 
 ecdotes and the golden prospects he sketched 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD. < 7 
 
 of certain riches in the country, to which 
 they were bound. The ship was forced by 
 stress of weather to land them in a natural 
 haven far to the north of their proposed 
 point of disembarkation, which, to tell the 
 truth, was very rarely visited by ships, as it 
 lay out of the usual route of mercantile traf- 
 fic, and the anchorage was exposed and dan- 
 gerous. The consequence was, that their 
 journey to the valley was long and tedious, 
 encumbered as they were with baggage and 
 provender, and much of it lying through a 
 sandy desert, though they escaped the rug- 
 ged path over and through the hills. 
 
 However, at last their bourn was gained, 
 and for "a few weeks all went well. The 
 founder explored with them the marvels and 
 beauties of the valley, and gave them some 
 easy directions as to the cultivation of the 
 plantains and date-palms and vines and other 
 tiees of the country. But after a while his 
 instructions became less and less frequent ; 
 he was not seen b}~ his pupils for days to- 
 
78 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 gether ; and at last he was nowhere to be 
 found. His tent was empty. His choice 
 portables were all gone. The founder had 
 absconded and left this band of boys and 
 youths to themselves. 
 
 Months passed on. For a long while they 
 expected their president would surely return. 
 But he came not. They had no master. 
 Some continued their light labor in the rich, 
 loamy soil. Others idled away their time in 
 useless pastime. Some wandered into the 
 neighboring woods and became the prey it is 
 supposed of lions and leopards, for their com- 
 panions saw them no more. And now their 
 store of provision was exhausted ; and, 
 though the light food of the country supplied 
 many of their necessities, diseases in various 
 forms set in, — fevers and agues and dys- 
 entery. This valley, beautiful as it was, 
 proved at certain seasons, from the rankness 
 of its vegetation and the malaria arising from 
 some undrained swamps, most perilous for 
 Europeans. They died off like sheep. All 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWAED." 79 
 
 hope of establishing a settlement there was 
 utterly broken up. But how should they 
 return ? Weakened and dispirited, they de- 
 clared that they could not essay the long 
 journey through the desert. The way to 
 the coast over the hills was unknown and 
 beset with dangers — and what should they 
 do if they gained the shore ? However, at 
 last a stray native pilgrim, who chanced to 
 pass through the valley, and commiserated 
 their forlorn estate, offered to carry a letter 
 for them to the distant port at which they 
 had landed, whither he himself was bound, 
 and to place it in the hands of the captain of 
 the first vessel which might touch there. 
 This buoyed up their hopes for a while. 
 But as week after week passed by they 
 feared that it was all in vain. 
 
 And now all the remaining bonds of disci- 
 pline were loosed in their little community. 
 The elder youths violently seized that which 
 belonged to the younger. The vicious en- 
 ticed the weak. There were only three or 
 
80 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 four among them at most who seemed to 
 remember the lessons of their far-off homes. 
 One morning, however, when they had 
 given up all hope of receiving any answer to 
 the letter they had entrusted to the pilgrim 
 (the early dews were scarcely dried from the 
 long luxuriant grass), a stranger suddenly 
 appeared among them. His garb was that 
 of a foreigner, but he spoke their language 
 perfectly. He told them that their letter 
 had been faithfully delivered at the distant 
 port, and had fallen into the' hands of a cap- 
 tain whose heart was deeply touched by 
 their piteous story; that the captain had 
 diverted his vessel from its ordinary course 
 for their sakes, and that the ship was now 
 lying in the open roadstead on the nearest 
 point of the coast over the hills ; that he 
 himself who spoke to them, knowing the 
 country well, had travelled the distance in 
 little more than eight hours, having only set 
 forth long after sunset on the previous even- 
 ing ; but that the captain bade him say he 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 81 
 
 would remain till the same hour on the fol- 
 lowing morning, so that all might reach the 
 ship. The stranger urged them to set forth 
 without delay ; for he said that his own path 
 lay far into the interior of the continent, 
 or he would gladly have returned with 
 them ; but that, if they would follow the 
 mountain defile straight towards the sun-ris- 
 ing, they would findat the end of the ravine 
 a narrow track, which though sometimes 
 faintly marked was still sufficient to guide 
 them by aid of a traveller's map, of which he 
 would give a copy to each. It was a map 
 of the pathway across the hills, on which 
 every rock and dell and wood and swamp 
 and bypath was indicated, and the true track 
 was traced in a deep red line all the way. 
 He said that if they set out at once, they 
 might even hope by strenuous effort to reach 
 the coast before or soon after sunset; but 
 that, in case night should overtake them, he 
 would also give to each one who would re- 
 ceive it a traveller's lamp. He showed them 
 6 
 
82 " OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 how to kindle and feed and trim the lamps, 
 which, he said, small though they were, 
 would by reason of the brightness of the 
 light cast from the silver reflector scare even 
 a wild beast from its attack. And he urged 
 them, if they were in any perplexity, to let 
 the light of the lamp fall upon the map, and 
 they would find their right path marked by 
 arrow-heads all the way to the coast. 
 
 I confess I expected that this kind and 
 good man's words would have been greeted 
 with one shout of gratitude from the group 
 of bo}^s, some twenty in number, who lis- 
 tened to him. All had not obeyed the sum- 
 mons to come and hear his message. But I 
 was grievously and bitterly disappointed. 
 
 One said that he could not think of leav- 
 ing behind what remained of his possessions, 
 — they were sorely dwindled as it was, — 
 and how could he carry them over the hills? 
 
 Another said they should have had longer 
 warning : how could the captain expect them 
 to start at an hour's notice ? 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 83 
 
 A third said he doubted whether they 
 could do the distance, all over those rugged 
 hills, in twenty-four hours ; while a fourth, 
 contradicting his comrade, replied that if the 
 stranger had traversed the route in eight 
 hours, so might they ; and that for himself 
 he should wait for the cool of the evening, 
 for he much preferred travelling by night to 
 the glare of a tropical sun. 
 
 A fifth answered that he would go so far as 
 to see whether there was such a track at the 
 end of the defile, for he had never observed 
 it, and had grave doubts of its existence. 
 
 Another hesitatingly intimated that his de- 
 cision should depend on that of the rest : he 
 would go if all agreed to go. 
 
 While yet another (my heart glowed with 
 indignation as he spoke) asked, with the keen, 
 suspicious air of superior wisdom, how they 
 could be sure they were not being duped and 
 deceived ? Very likely the man wanted to 
 lead them into some ambush, and to seize and 
 sell them as slaves. 
 
84 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 I expected to see the stranger at once turn 
 away in utter disgust. But no : he drew from 
 the folds of his dress a letter in the captain's 
 handwriting, signed with his name, and sealed 
 with his seal, which verified every word he 
 had uttered. The stranger offered to leave 
 the letter in their hands. He even made 
 excuses for their doubts and suspicions, after 
 the cruel deception they had suffered from 
 the duplicity of the man who had brought 
 them to this valley. He invited explanations. 
 He answered every objection. He again and 
 again urged the need of immediate action. 
 And when most of them still looked upon 
 him with a cold and incredulous gaze, he 
 even entreated them with tears, for he said 
 his heart yearned over their pitiable condition. 
 He then brought out from his traveller's scrip 
 a number of fac-simile maps of the mountain 
 track and several little lamps of beautiful and 
 easy construction, which he took round and 
 offered to one another. 
 
 About half the lads accepted the maps, 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 85 
 
 which they could thrust at once into their 
 bosom ; and some five or six of them took 
 the lamps as well. It struck me that more of 
 them wished to do so, but were kept back by 
 false shame, dreading the scorn of one jesting 
 companion, who did not cease from pouring 
 contempt on the stranger's words and turn- 
 ing his gifts into ridicule. However, among 
 those who accepted" both map and lamp, I 
 especially marked two boys, — one of whom I 
 will call Fidelis, for his trustful nature was 
 written on his open brow, and the other, 
 Hilaris, for his joyous spirit made him a 
 favorite with all. Fidelis also, I saw, craved 
 a map and lamp for a bosom friend of his, 
 named Urban, who from indolence had not 
 risen from his couch that morning to listen 
 to the stranger's words. These were freely 
 given ; and a small supply was left for any 
 boys who might be afterwards disposed to 
 make use of them. And so the stranger 
 passed on his way, not without many an ear- 
 nest word of advice to Fidelis and Hilaris and 
 
86 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 the others who had taken the maps and lamps ; 
 and not without many a sorrowful and com- 
 passionate look on those who had refused 
 them. 
 
 When he was gone, Fidelis at once sought 
 out his friend Urban, and told him all the 
 stranger had said, and pleaded his cause so 
 successfully that Urban thanked him with 
 tears in his eyes, sprang from his couch, 
 and hastily dressing himself thrust the map 
 and lamp into the folds of his garment ; and 
 together they joined the large group of lads, 
 amid which Hilaris was standing and talking 
 full of a joyous hope of seeing his fatherland 
 once more. His bright words had evidently 
 quickened the hopes of many. 
 
 However, one boy would stay to change his 
 attire, another to mend his sandals, another 
 to find a jewelled ring which he had lost ; 
 while another insisted, and with more show 
 of reason, that they should at least partake 
 of one hearty meal before their long journey. 
 Hilaris in vain reminded them that the stranger 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 87 
 
 said the track, along which they were to 
 travel, had supplied him and would supply 
 them with all the food they would require 
 for their one day's journey, and that they 
 might fearlessly drink of the crystal streams 
 which would cross their path. But this and 
 other like questions were so long debated, 
 that Fidelis looking up saw to his dismay 
 that the sun was already past midday. 
 
 Then he and Hilaris frankly said they 
 would not stay one minute more ; those 
 might join them who liked ; but that for 
 themselves they were resolved to set out then 
 and there. Urban at once started up, and 
 two or three more, and they set forth, though 
 some implored them to tarry if only half an 
 hour more, and others pointed the finger of 
 scorn at them, and others hurled stones in 
 derision after them. 
 
 The three friends, Fidelis, Hilaris, and 
 Urban, pressed on in front ; for they agreed 
 that so many precious hours had been lost 
 they must now redouble their efforts. But 
 
88 " OVEH THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 as they walked on they exchanged many 
 pleasant thoughts of the stranger's kindness, 
 and of the captain's disinterested goodness, 
 and of the delight it would be to be on board 
 a homeward-bound vessel, and above all to 
 tread the shore of their beloved country. 
 Engrossed with this converse, they had almost 
 forgotten the comrades who set out with 
 them, till looking back they saw them loiter- 
 ing by a flowery bank, upon which one had 
 thrown himself at full length. They shouted 
 to them aloud to come on, but the sultry air 
 only brought the answer, " There is no need 
 for haste, tarry awhile, we are weary." So 
 the three pressed on alone, and at length 
 made their way to the end of the defile. 
 There looking carefully among the bushes 
 they found the narrow foot-track of which 
 the stranger had told them; and having 
 certified themselves by the map that it was 
 the right path, they pushed on bravely and 
 cheerily, and climbed the glen by the side of 
 the torrent. 
 
"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 89 
 
 How glad they were then that they had 
 not put off their journey till nightfall ; for the 
 track, though it always revealed itself to a 
 careful search, and could then be identified 
 with the red arrow-pointed line traced in 
 their chart, was often difficult to distinguish 
 at first from other paths by which it was 
 intersected. 
 
 When they emerged from the brushwood 
 at the head of the glen, they came to an open 
 moorland stretching in far ranges upward ; 
 and here they were even more thankful for 
 their maps, for the waters from the hills 
 had settled in the hollows and turned many a 
 spot, which looked from a distance like a beau- 
 tiful greensward, into a dangerous quagmire. 
 Their pathway often wound round the edge 
 of a treacherous morass ; or they had to 
 spring from one rocky stepping-stone to an- 
 other, through swamps on either side all over- 
 grown by moss and luxuriant rushes. But 
 though they occasionally slipped, and more 
 than once had to retrace their steps when 
 
90 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD," 
 
 they thought they had discovered a short cut 
 to a distant point and found to their cost that 
 way was impassable, — yet they never con- 
 sulted their maps in vain ; and at length the 
 moors were safely passed, and they trod with 
 more" confidence the elastic heather which 
 clothed the ridges of the upper table-land. 
 
 Fidelis, however, often had to point out to 
 Urban, who was disposed to lag behind, how 
 fast the sun was sloping toward the west, 
 and how the purple clouds told that they 
 should have to finish their journey under the 
 wing of night. Thus spurring each other to 
 fresh efforts, they pressed on the more eagerly, 
 and by dint of arduous walking and climbing 
 they reached the crest of the range of hills 
 just as the sun was sinking in the western 
 horizon. Its last rays fell upon the blue, far- 
 off ocean. The boys shouted, £ 4 The sea, the 
 sea ! " and leaped for joy. Here they found a 
 spring of delicious water, and freely partook 
 of the last grapes and maize-corn they had 
 plucked in passing down the valley. They 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 91 
 
 looked back on the way they had trodden 
 with much thankfulness and forward with 
 hopefulness, though Hilaris confessed him- 
 self much disappointed at not seeing the sails 
 or even mast-head of the vessel on the distant 
 sparkling sea. Fidelis answered it was doubt- 
 less moored beneath the lofty cliffs, and that 
 they could not expect to see it till they neared 
 the shore. 
 
 But now — for twilight is very short in the 
 tropics — the darkness soon came clown upon 
 them. So they lit their lamps, and kept 
 carefully along the narrow track, Hilaris 
 first, then Urban, and Fidelis bringing up 
 the rear. But on that high table-land there 
 were no mists. The air was life. The cool 
 of night was most invigorating after that 
 long, sultry afternoon. And the burning 
 stars above them, among which Fidelis 
 pointed out with deep joy the Southern 
 Cross, seemed like angel friends now the 
 sun was gone. 
 
 So they walked on in good cheer, till they 
 
92 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD.". 
 
 came to a sudden dip in the hillside, where 
 was a deep glen forming a little ravine by 
 itself. This glen was filled with a white, 
 silvery mist, that clung around the rocks and 
 furze-bushes. It was an exhalation from a 
 neighboring marsh, but was as impenetrable 
 as a fog-bank. They could not see three feet 
 before them. Here they were in doubt. 
 Urban strongly advised that they should 
 descend the hill on the grassy ridge which 
 hemmed in the glen on every side. But to 
 this Fidelis would by no means consent ; for 
 on consulting their maps they all agreed that 
 the red arrow-pointed line lay through, not 
 round it. So they began to feel their way ; 
 but, oh ! this was weary work. Now they had 
 to hold the lamp close to the map, and now 
 quite low to their feet, to be sure that they 
 were in the right track. Again and again 
 Urban would have had them turn aside, but 
 the hopefulness of Hilaris and the trust of 
 Fidelis held on and held out. More than 
 once they thought they heard the roar of 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 93 
 
 wild beasts, though apparently not very near 
 them ; and shortly after the very ground 
 beneath their feet seemed to shake as with 
 the tremor of an earthquake. Several times 
 they were compelled to stop from sheer 
 exhaustion ; for you must be aware that it 
 was a very different thing breathing that 
 thick oppressive mist from imbibing the free 
 mountain air. Their lungs seemed cloyed, and 
 their heart heaved wearily. Fidelis said that 
 he thought they must have been more than 
 two hours threading their way through that 
 glen, and bitterly lamented the time they 
 had lost on the previous forenoon. Had they 
 started at once, as the stranger urged them, 
 they would have escaped this marsh fog. 
 However, their only comfort was, the map 
 said thejr were in the right track. 
 
 And so it proved. At last they arrived 
 at the lower edge of the glen, and the mist 
 became thinner, and the outline of the rocks 
 clearer, and the furze-bushes and the trunks 
 of trees more discernible ; and soon the beau- 
 tiful stars again gladdened their eyes. 
 
94 " OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 The trees of which I spoke, though few 
 and sparse at first, became thicker and closer 
 continually, until it was evident that their 
 onward path lay through the dense forest. 
 The track now was narrower and more over- 
 grown with brambles than ever, and in the 
 dim light their hands and faces were often 
 torn with the entangling briars. As thus 
 they painfully struggled on, Fidelis, who was 
 behind, heard the stealthy tread of some 
 beast of prey. He told Urban, and Urban 
 Hilaris. Their hearts beat quick ; but stand- 
 ing closely together they held their bright 
 lamps aloft. It was enough ; with a low 
 growl the lion (for such it was) slunk into 
 the thick bushes, and molested them no 
 more. The thought, however, of this raven- 
 ous beast being so near them made them 
 forget their weariness and the sharpness of 
 the thorns. They pressed on with redoubled 
 speed, until they left the forest behind them 
 and stood at the base of a ruggetl ascent. 
 
 And here a greater sorrow befell Fidelis 
 
11 OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 95 
 
 and Hilaris than any they had yet expe- 
 rienced. Urban, who had kept with them 
 so long, refused to accompany them any 
 further. And this was the reason. He had 
 seen from the sunset ridge the line of the 
 country sloping toward the sea, and had 
 counted on a gradual descent from that van- 
 tage-ground. And now, when travel-worn 
 and foot-sore, after passing through the foggy 
 ravine and the briary forest, he found the 
 track again climbing one of the lesser hills 
 which he had. overlooked from the summit, 
 instead of winding along its base, he was 
 altogether discouraged and chagrined. He 
 was sure the track would deceive them. He 
 was certain the map was wrong. Why 
 should they not turn to the right, and then 
 keep straight down toward the sea? They 
 could not be very far off now from the coast. 
 Had they not walked on and on for twelve 
 hours ? Fidelis and Hilaris might climb the 
 steep without him. But as for himself, now 
 that they had gained the open, where there 
 
96 " OYER THE HTLLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 were no mists, and where the beasts of prey 
 came not, he should rest where he was for 
 awhile, and then strike downward in the 
 direction he pointed to the sea-shore. 
 
 It was in vain that Fidelis argued with 
 him, and Hilaris sought to cheer him. They 
 even took him by either arm and began 
 to drag him up the slope. All was of no 
 use ; Urban was doggedly resolute. Perhaps 
 they wasted an hour in persuasion, and 
 then Fidelis sorrowfully said to Hilaris : — 
 " Brother, we must go on; we shall only 
 die with him here, and if we reach the ship 
 we may induce the captain to stay a few 
 hours for liim." Their hearts were torn with 
 anguish. But what could they do more? 
 Twice they returned several hundred yards 
 down the steep to entreat him. But Urban 
 threw himself on the ground, and bade them 
 leave him to himself. 
 
 So the two friends finally addressed them- 
 selves to the remainder of their journey. 
 Their hearts were knit more closely than ever 
 
"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 97 
 
 together ; and many were the earnest prayers 
 they prayed for their companion. Yet their 
 own path had its toils and intricacies, its 
 doubts, and difficulties, and dangers ; up 
 one steep and down the next, climbing many 
 a slippery rock, and footing wearily the 
 stony path with here and there a beautiful 
 meadow of tender grass as they drew nearer 
 and nearer the coast. Here also vines bent 
 over them, of which they plucked the re- 
 freshing clusters of grapes, until at last Hil- 
 aris said to his brother: " Surely the eastern 
 sky is tinged with streaks of pearl ; " and a 
 few minutes afterwards, " See that ruby 
 glow ; " and a few minutes later, " See that 
 golden belt of cloud ; " and a few minutes 
 more, " Oh, joy ! here is the first beam of 
 the morning sun." 
 
 That very moment they came from behind 
 a natural wall of cliff along which the track 
 had wound, and stood upon the bold head- 
 land. And there, a few hundred feet below 
 them, lay the gallant vessel. The boys 
 7 
 
98 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 shouted and threw their caps into the air for 
 joy. The signal was seen by the look-out 
 man at the foremast, and their feeble shout 
 was answered by a hearty cheer from the 
 ship. A boat's crew put off. The boys 
 rapidly descended a rough gully worn by a 
 winter torrent, hurried as fast as they might 
 over the shingly beach, sprang into the boat, 
 and in less than half an hour stepped on 
 board that noble ship, called " Salvator," 
 whose sign was an anchor biting the rock. 
 It was some time before they could speak. 
 But when somewhat revived with food, they 
 told their story to the captain, while the 
 officers and crew clustered round, Hilaris 
 taking up the tale when Fidelis broke down. 
 They both wept when they spoke of Urban. 
 The kind-hearted captain, though he said 
 the mercury was falling in his weather- 
 glass, and he dared not remain on that 
 exposed coast twelve hours more, and, in- 
 deed, himself had little Lope of the boy's 
 finding his way, promised to delay sailing 
 
11 OVEJl THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 99 
 
 till noon. Hour after hour passed by.. The 
 
 twelve o'clock bells were struck. And then 
 
 the captain bid the sailors weigh anchor ; 
 
 and the foresail was set, and the ship swung 
 
 round ; when suddenly Fidelis, who had 
 
 kept his eye ranging the shore, shouted, 
 
 " There he is ; yes, there is Urban." And 
 
 he it was indeed, bemired, and bruised, and 
 
 bleeding, his clothes torn to shreds — yet 
 
 Urban himself. Seeing the vessel set sail, 
 
 he recklessly clashed into the sea, as he was, 
 
 and swam out into the waves. Again the 
 
 boat was lowered, and willing hearts and 
 
 arms pulled towards the lacl, as he wildly 
 
 buffeted the billows. And well it was they 
 
 rowed so hard ; for not only was his strength 
 
 failing, but just as they dragged him into the 
 
 boat a shark turned on its side and opened 
 
 its ravenous jaws to devour him. A few 
 
 seconds more, and he would have been the 
 
 prey of the sea-monster. So nearly was 
 
 Urban lost. 
 
 I must not attempt to tell at length the 
 
100 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 tale of his sufferings and hair-breadth escapes, 
 as he told it to Fidelis and Hilaris that day : 
 the sense of utter desolation he experienced, 
 when he found they had indeed gone on their 
 way: the hour of unrest as he lay upon the 
 heather, for he heard more than once the roar 
 of lions in the skirts of the forest through 
 which they had passed, and was afraid to 
 close his wearied eyelids even for a moment : 
 the vexation with which at last he sprang up 
 and hurried along the level moor till he came 
 to broken ground and sharp declivities again : 
 the utter perplexity he felt when he found 
 his progress stopped by an impetuous torrent 
 which had worn a deep channel among the 
 slippery precipitous rocks : the despair with 
 which he remembered his chart was utterly 
 useless now, and his lamp of very little avail 
 without the map : the trouble with which he 
 made his way along the side of the torrent, 
 often falling heavily and bruising himself 
 severely in the darkness : the tearing of his 
 clothes every step by cactuses and other 
 
14 OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 101 
 
 prickly shrubs which baffled him on every 
 side : how his face, his hands, his arms, his 
 legs were lacerated with thorns : how once, 
 springing from a thicket upon what he 
 thought was an open plot of grass, he sank 
 into a deep quag almost up to his armpits, 
 and, hardly grasping a furze-bough, struggled 
 out, but not without the loss of both his shoes 
 in the slough, and the quenching of the lamp 
 which he still held in the other hand: how 
 then he thought he should have laid hhn 
 down and died, if he had not caught a 
 glimpse of the Southern Cross to which 
 Fidelis had directed them at the beginning 
 of the night : how this had encouraged him 
 to struggle on with bleeding feet hour after 
 hour, now floundering through swamps, now 
 on firmer ground, and now again through 
 glens perplexed with briars and thorns : how 
 at last the morn began to break, but his heart 
 sank within him as he thought it would be 
 the signal for the ship setting sail : how still 
 he toiled on, and as the day dawned was 
 
102 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 astonished and grieved beyond measure to 
 find himself, after all his efforts, not far from 
 the spot where he had parted from his friends. 
 But could he be wrong ? There was the 
 long range of hills which they had descended 
 together ; there was the forest ; there was 
 the steep they had climbed, not so very high 
 or hard after all in the daylight. And then 
 he told with what trembling anxietv he felt 
 in the folds of his tattered dress for his long- 
 forgotten map. Yes, there it was, wet and 
 stained, but safe. And now an eager search 
 discovered the track. His tears fell fast upon 
 it, for he feared it was too late. Still it was 
 his only chance. Snatching a few berries as 
 he passed to stay his hunger, and scooping in 
 his hands the water from a wayside burn, he 
 allayed his craving hunger and thirst, and hur- 
 ried on as fast as his poor naked feet would 
 suffer him. Many were the groans the sharp 
 rocks cost him. But he never took his eye 
 from the track, save to look upon his now 
 doubly precious chart and certify himself 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 103 
 
 that lie was right. Oh, the intense relief 
 when he passed from the stony wold to a 
 beautiful meadow, and when without slacken- 
 ing his pace he could pluck the grapes which 
 festooned the trees above him ! Still often a 
 few hundred yards of turf would be succeeded 
 by rocky climbing again. The sun now beat 
 upon his head. But at last he, like his 
 friends, passed from under the shelter of the 
 granite bluff, and stood, almost unawares, 
 upon the edge of the cliff. He said he well- 
 nigh fainted with joy when he saw the vessel 
 still moored below the cliff: but listening 
 intently he heard the measured song of the 
 sailors as they heaved the anchor, and his 
 heart leaped into his mouth as the canvas was 
 sheeted home and the vessel began to move. 
 He sprang from rock to rock down the channel 
 which the torrent had worn in the cliff, and. 
 throwing up his arms wildly into the air, 
 dashed into the waves. 
 
 Fidelis and Hilaris knew the rest. They 
 could only grasp his hands for joy, and the 
 
104 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 three lads knelt clown together on the deck 
 and thanked God for his escape. 
 
 Bat I must not stay to tell all the kindness 
 of the captain and the crew, and all the com- 
 fort of their rapid voyage home, and all the 
 sorrowful memories of the valley and those 
 left behind, and all the joy with which they 
 sighted the shores of their native land, and 
 all the hearty welcome of beloved ones there, 
 and how they found the hymn which they 
 often sang together delightfully verified: — 
 
 " Why these fears 1 behold, 'tis Jesus 
 Holds the helm and guides the ship. 
 
 Spread the sails and catch the breezes 
 Sent to waft us through the deep 
 
 To the regions where the mourners cease to weep. 
 
 " O what pleasures there await us ; 
 
 There the tempests cease to roar ; 
 There it is that those who hate us 
 
 Can molest our peace no more : 
 Trouble ceases on that tranquil, happy shore." 
 
 <&Ko 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 105 
 
 "\T 7TIEN Oberlin stopped there was a 
 pause of some minutes. The hearts of 
 his grandchildren were touched with the story, 
 and their eyes were full of tears. But when 
 at last the old man broke the silence by say- 
 ing that his parable had taken him so long to 
 read they had but a short time to discuss it, 
 Adolphe hesitatingly replied, " Grandfather, 
 I think I saw the meaning of the night jour- 
 ney over the hills; but I could not at all 
 make out what the fraud of that bad man, 
 who drew the boys from their native land to 
 that far-off valley and then went off with the 
 money given him, signified." 
 
 " A parable, Gustave," said Oberlin, "sel- 
 dom stands on four legs. See that solid 
 globe of glass upon yonder polished rosewood 
 table. It rests upon one point not larger than 
 the point of a needle, and yet all its weight 
 presses on the table. So, often many things 
 in a parable go to make up the picture ; and 
 it is the central thought of the picture which 
 
106 "OVER, THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 speaks to our hearts. But, do you know, 
 something very like that bad man's conduct 
 really happened a few years ago, and many 
 young friends of mine were actually enticed 
 away by him. However, it will be enough for 
 us to think to-night of the meaning of the lat- 
 ter part of my story, only reminding ourselves 
 that the world is something like that beautiful 
 sequestered valley, with its rich fruitful soil, 
 but with wild beasts of prey, such as sin and 
 Satan, ranging near, and exposed to sudden 
 earthquakes which may wrap all in ruin; 
 that they who will have their portion in this 
 life are, like those young colonists, doomed to 
 certain disappointment ; that the god of this 
 world, who promises them all kinds of pleas- 
 ure and profit in his service here, will never 
 redeem his pledges ; that blight, like the 
 malaria fevers of that valley, will sooner or 
 later fall on the fondest hopes of those who 
 set their affections here ; and that the voice 
 is heard in the hearts of the children of 
 wisdom, 'Arise ye, and depart; for this is 
 
"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 107 
 
 not your rest : because it is polluted, it shall 
 destroy you, even with a sore destruction.' 1 
 This is our pilgrim call." 
 
 " Then, grandfather," said Aimee, "ivas 
 not the messenger like Evangelist in 4 Pil- 
 grim's Progress,' who pointed Christian to 
 the wicket gate ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Oberlin, " my parable 
 might be called a short c Pilgrim's Progress,' 
 compressed into one day's journey; and I 
 often, when making it, thought of the text, 
 1 Give glory to the Lord your God, before He 
 cause darkness, and before your feet stumble 
 upon the dark mountains, and, while ye look 
 for light, He turn it into the shadow of death, 
 and make it gross darkness. ' " 2 
 
 " O I did so wish," said little Roschen, 
 " that all the boys had started at once, when 
 the stranger entreated them to go, and 
 offered them maps and all they wanted. It 
 was so foolish of them not to go. He said 
 
 l Micah ii. 10. 2 Jer. xiii. 16. 
 
108 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 they might have even reached the ship before 
 nightfall." 
 
 " God grant," said Oberlin, " that all my 
 children may start for home in the early dewy 
 morning ; " and the old man leaned his head 
 on his clasped hands for a few moments in 
 solemn prayer ; and then looking round his 
 circle asked, "Can you explain from your 
 Bibles the excuses they made ? " 
 
 " Was not the lad who would carry his 
 possessions with him," said Gustave, "like 
 the young man who came running to Jesus, 1 
 but would not sell all that he had and follow 
 Him ? " 
 
 " And," said Aim£e, " was not the one who 
 replied they could not be expected to start at 
 an hour's notice like Felix, who answered 
 Paul, 8 Go thy way for this time ; when I 
 have a convenient season, I will call for 
 thee?'" 2 
 
 "Now I thought," interrupted Gustave, 
 " the one who Avould wait for the cool of the 
 
 iMark x. 17. 2 Acts xxiv. 25. 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 109 
 
 evening was like Felix, and the boy who said 
 he would go so far as to look for the track at 
 the end of the defile like Agrippa when he 
 answered Paul, ' Almost thou persuadest me 
 to be a Christian.' x What cowards those 
 were who waited to see what the others 
 would do ! " 
 
 "And yet," replied Oberlin, "it requires 
 no small courage and no little faith to do what 
 Lot did, when he forsook Sodom, though his 
 alarm seemed mockery to his sons-in-law. 
 And there are many would-be wise men, and 
 many doubters, and many infidels, who will 
 throw scorn on the warnings of the Gospel. 
 But I see you quite understand the key to 
 this part of my parable, and we must speak 
 for a few minutes of those who obeyed the 
 stranger's invitation." 
 
 " Why, grandfather," said Adolphe, " Fi- 
 delis I know means c faithful,' and Hilaris 
 'joyful,' for I had them both in my Latin ex- 
 ercise last week. What does Urban mean ? " 
 
 1 Acts xxvi. 28. 
 
110 "OVER THE HILLS HOJIEWAED." 
 
 " Polished and refined," answered Oberlin, 
 "like one who dwells in a city (urbs}, and 
 knows all the courtesies of society. Perhaps 
 to live the pilgrim's life and to march over 
 the hills homeward is the harder for such an 
 one than for those who move in a lower walk 
 of life ; for we read, ' God has chosen the poor 
 of this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the 
 kingdom which He hath promised to them 
 that love Him.' x What do you understand 
 by the map and lamp, Marie ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," answered the old nurse hum- 
 bly, " I thought the map surely meant the 
 Bible ; but I do not know what the lamp can 
 be." 
 
 " I thought at first," said Aimee, " that the 
 lamp was the light of the Holy Spirit — but 
 then they did not want it when the sun shone, 
 and we want the teaching of the Holy Spirit 
 at all times." 
 
 " May not light in itself, whether the light 
 of the sun by day or of the lamp by night," 
 
 1 James ii. 5. 
 
" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." Ill 
 
 asked Oberlin, " well signify the teaching of 
 the blessed Spirit who teaches us by His own 
 written word? What was the prayer one 
 of you repeated to me this morning about 
 light?" 
 
 " That was my verse," little Roschen said : 
 " 4 send out Thy light and Thy truth: let 
 them lead me ; let them bring me unto Thy 
 holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.' 1 I did 
 not think it would come into our parable this 
 evening." 
 
 " And yet," said her grandfather, "in that 
 verse you have both the chart and the light 
 we need to shine upon the chart beautifully 
 expressed. And just as those young travel- 
 lers found the map of no use without the 
 light, and the light of little use without the 
 map, so the Bible is of no use to us without 
 the teaching of the Holy Spirit ; and gener- 
 ally the Holy Spirit, who has given the Bible 
 to be our guide, does not lead us many steps 
 without it. But we must hasten on." 
 
 1 Psalm xliii. 3. 
 
112 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 " Was not the glimpse of the sea, which 
 they got from the crest of the hills," asked 
 Aimee, " a prospect of the rest which remain- 
 eth for the people of God ? 1 And yet they 
 did not see the ship. Does this mean, we 
 do not see the angels who are to carry us to 
 glory till we get to the very end of life ? " 
 
 " And did not the foggy glen mean a time 
 of trial and darkness, like that David passed 
 through when he said, fc Yea, though I walk 
 through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
 will fear no evil: for Thou art with me ' ? " 2 
 asked Adolphe. 
 
 " And I suppose, then," said Gustave, " the 
 tangled forest means the world with its pleas- 
 ures and cares, and the growl of the lion the 
 wrath of the devil." 
 
 " When the lion slunk away," said Roschen, 
 " I thought of the text, c Resist the devil, and 
 he will flee from you.' 3 But why, oh ! why, 
 grandfather, did Urban forsake them when he 
 had come so far ? " 
 
 1 Heb. iv. 9. 2 Psalm xxiii. 4. 3 James iv. 7. 
 
"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 113 
 
 " Do we not read of many pilgrims, my 
 child," answered Oberlin, " who walk stead- 
 ily on for a while, and then have sad grievous 
 backslidings or falls, from which they suffer 
 all their after-life ? Such was Jacob, and 
 such was David ; though these saints had a 
 brighter after-path than poor Urban's was.'' 
 
 " Does Urban's lamp being quenched in the 
 swamp mean that the Holy Spirit ever quite 
 refuses to show those who forsake the narrow 
 path what is their duty ? " asked Adolphe. 
 
 " I think it may set forth," answered Ober- 
 lin, " that they sometimes quite lose the com- 
 fort of His help and the joy of His salvation. 1 
 God's own faithful servants, too, sometimes 
 walk in darkness and have no light. 2 But 
 Urban, you remember, after a while caught a 
 glimpse of the Southern Cross, which may 
 well tell under another figure of the Holy 
 Spirit pointing the sinner's eye to Jesus and 
 Him crucified. But our time is gone. We 
 may speak to-morrow of many other lessons 
 
 i Psalm li. 12. 2 Isa. L 10. 
 8 
 
114 "OVEB- THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 
 
 which this parable suggests. Only now re- 
 member that the three boys, though Urban's 
 lot was very different from that of Fidelis and 
 Hilaris, pressed on till they reached the shore 
 and the ship, and so were safely borne over 
 the waters to their distant fatherland. God 
 grant that not one of us may fail of reaching 
 that better heavenly country, — that region 
 where the mourners cease to weep ! " 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 HERE was a 
 gloom in the mar- 
 ble city, the city 
 of palaces, Genoa 
 la Superba. The 
 dreaded plague, 
 which appeared 
 first in the king- 
 dom of Kathay, 
 had gradually pro- 
 ceeded westward 
 to Constantinople and Egypt : thence it 
 had passed into Greece, and, creeping along 
 the shores of the Mediterranean, had at length, 
 in the autumn of a.d. 1348, enveloped in its 
 disastrous embrace the sunny clime of Italy. 
 In Florence the people were dying by thou- 
 
116 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 sands ; and it is credibly reported, that in that 
 beautiful city and its immediate environs sixty 
 thousand persons fell victims to this scourge 
 of God. Genoa, favored by the freshness of 
 prevailing winds from the north-west and by 
 the salubrity of its encircling hills, was spared 
 to the last. But when the wind veered 
 round to the south and east, and then died 
 away to a mere breath, it was far different. 
 The sultry air had never been known to be 
 so oppressive. A heavy cloud rested over the 
 city by day and night, obscuring the sunshine 
 and blotting out the stars. A boding dread 
 seemed to overshadow all hearts. And this 
 was quickened into lively alarm when one 
 morning it was rumored that several cases of 
 the fatal distemper had certainly appeared 
 in the Lazaretto. 
 
 The Genoese, however, that day tried to con- 
 sole themselves by the thought that the suf- 
 ferers in that hospice were of the lowest order, 
 and already enfeebled by disease. Their com- 
 fort was brief-lived. The next night physicians 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 117 
 
 were hastily summoned not only to the lowly 
 tenements of artisans, but to palaces of the 
 nobles, and mansions of the wealthy mer- 
 chants in every part of the city. The old 
 streets of Genoa, as you know, are built so 
 closely together to shut out the burning rays 
 of the summer sun, that you might almost 
 shake hands with your opposite neighbor 
 from the upper stories across the narrow 
 causeways. It was a strange, unwonted sight 
 to see messengers making their way by torch- 
 light through the intricate passages, not with 
 instruments of music and gaily attired guests, 
 but in silence and haste seeking out those 
 who professed any knowledge of medicine. 
 And all the next day the cases multiplied 
 with fearful rapidity ; and on the third night 
 the physicians, worn out with fatigue, were 
 far too few for those who imploringly de- 
 manded their aid. 
 
 Now was heard the sharp cry or the low 
 groan of pain. The heavy air seemed to sigh 
 and sob with the grief of mourners. And the 
 
118 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 frequent tolling of the great bell in the Cam- 
 panile added to the general consternation. 
 To allay this cause of alarm, a council was 
 hastily summoned very early in the morning, 
 and a decree made that no passing-bell for 
 the dying or the dead should be rung within 
 the city walls. Also, to prevent contagion, 
 it was enacted that on the door of each house 
 containing infected persons or corpses a black 
 cross should be painted, and a black flag hung 
 across the head of those streets which were 
 most severely visited with the plague. But, 
 alas ! it was soon found that the pestilence 
 which walketh in darkness had spread in 
 that one night to almost every quarter of 
 the city. 
 
 As the hours wore on, all faces gathered 
 blackness and all hearts meditated terror. 
 The symptoms of this awful malady greatly 
 varied with the different constitutions of 
 those it attacked. In some cases all the 
 agony was in the throat ; and the very chan- 
 nel of the breath of life was choked with 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 119 
 
 putrefying sores in the course of three or four 
 hours : the unhappy patient died of suffoca- 
 tion. In other cases a strange dizziness 
 seized the brain : the man was struck to the 
 eartli when sitting in his house or walking in 
 the street ; and though there were few signs 
 of suffering, these instances were generally 
 fatal in less than twelve hours. In many 
 more cases the first indication was the break- 
 ing out of burning spots, which in an incredi- 
 bly short space of time became ulcerous sores 
 on the chest or arms or other parts of the 
 body ; while in not a few instances it appeared 
 that, without any visible sign except a hectic 
 flush in the cheek and a strange lustre in the 
 eye, the disease attacked the region of the 
 heart in all its virulence. The corpses of 
 those who died thus turned black very shortly 
 after death. But with one and all the stroke 
 of pestilence seemed accompanied with an 
 insatiable thirst. Water was eagerly swal- 
 lowed, but it did not seem to slake the raging 
 fever within. Some thought that the wells 
 
120 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 of the city must themselves be poisoned by 
 the subtle infection of the plague. Others 
 thought that the meat was the source of clan- 
 ger ; and indeed much cattle died ; so they 
 abstained from all animal food. But, do what 
 men might, death met them at every turn. 
 And when once stricken, despair was written 
 in the face of every sufferer. 
 ~ Hour by hour the deaths multiplied. No 
 one put on mourning apparel for the nearest 
 relatives. Funerals ceased. Few could bury 
 their own dead. But at intervals of six hours 
 what was called " the dead cart " passed 
 through the streets : a hand-bell was rung ; 
 and the driver, as he came near any house 
 with the cross upon it, cried aloud, " Bring 
 out your dead." To this call the answer of 
 the inmates was often a wail of sorrow as they 
 brought their dead to the door, for the most 
 part only wrapped in the winding-sheet of 
 the couch where they had breathed their last. 
 The bodies, thus borne away on this general 
 bier, were thrown indiscriminately into deep 
 
THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 121 
 
 trenches which were dug on the inner side of 
 the quay. 
 
 Genoa had been noted for the vivacity of 
 its society, and for the strength of those ties 
 which bind kindred and neighbors together. 
 But the plague had not brooded one short 
 week over the city before this sympathy of 
 hearts seemed to have almost disappeared. 
 There were some noble exceptions. But for 
 the most part, under the icy touch of a hope- 
 less despondency, parents looked coldly and 
 gloomily on their stricken children, and chil- 
 dren on their stricken parents. Neighbors 
 shrank from neighbors, and friends deserted 
 friends. The physicians in many instances 
 themselves succumbed to the pestilence ; and 
 oftentimes it was only by the offer of very 
 large rewards they could be persuaded to 
 attend at some rich man's bedside. Nor is 
 this to be marvelled at ; for, when they came, 
 their drugs were almost powerless and their 
 skill unavailing. 
 
122 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 Many more of the inhabitants would fain 
 have escaped on board the galleys and 
 merchant vessels, with which a few days 
 before the noble harbor had been crowded. 
 But these had most of them slipped their 
 cables the second night and put out to sea ; 
 and of the few terror-stricken fugitives who 
 reached their decks, several had the seeds in 
 them of the dreadful plague, and so infected 
 the crews that the ships 'were left absolutely 
 without any hands to work them, and drifted 
 helplessly over the waters without captain or 
 helmsman, or any to set or reef the sails. 
 
 The hills, however, surrounding the town 
 on every side but the harbor, afforded some a 
 more accessible shelter. They were dotted 
 with rudely constructed huts, in which 
 hundreds of survivors, leaving sick friends 
 behind them, sought to escape the malaria of 
 the city. But the hill-sides proved no secure 
 asylum : the pestilence followed them there. 
 Yet their flight added to the strange solitude 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 123 
 
 of the streets ; and the ninth day of the 
 plague in Genoa realized the eloquent words 
 of Tacitus, Dies mo do per silentium vastus, 
 modo ploratibus inquies. 1 
 
 It was at this time of Genoa's sorest need 
 that a stranger, clad in mean attire, rowed in 
 a little boat into the harbor. The ship, on 
 board of which he came, hove to three or 
 four miles off shore, dropped this tiny craft 
 astern, and then sailing away was seen no 
 more. 
 
 The stranger's name was Fra Benedict. He 
 seemed scarcely fifty years of age ; but his 
 benevolent brow was worn with deep lines of 
 thought and care. To one who questioned 
 whence he came, he simply answered, " From 
 the sunrising : " to another who demanded 
 how he ventured to set foot on their infected 
 shore, he replied, " For love : " and to a third 
 who asked him whether, if he survived the 
 plague, he intended to settle in Genoa, he 
 
 1 " A day now desolate in its silence, and now perplexed 
 with lamentations. " 
 
124 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 said, with a sweet and tender smile, " No, 
 brother: I am going home." But in truth 
 he came so quietly and unobtrusively, and 
 men's hearts were so preoccupied by their 
 terrible calamities, that few, except those who 
 were listlessly standing on the water's edge, 
 concerned themselves about the landing of 
 this solitary stranger in their harbor. Yet 
 had they known all he was and all the help 
 he could minister to the sick and dying, I 
 think the whole city would have flocked to 
 the marble pier to welcome him. 
 
 One breath may speak volumes. Fra 
 Benedict had discovered a sovereign remedy 
 for the plague ! He made no secret of the 
 healing virtue of the drug he used. It was 
 an inexpensive simple, but needed skilful 
 and careful application ; and then no case 
 had been found too hard for its wonderful 
 properties. When administered in the earli- 
 est stage of the disease, its effects were 
 generally marked and often immediate. 
 And, even when the distemper had taken 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 125 
 
 deeper root, by patient and persevering en- 
 deavors the sufferer usually recovered after 
 a few days. It was only in a very few 
 and rare instances, and these generally far 
 advanced towards the fatal end, when the 
 sick man desperately refused to comply with 
 his directions, that the malignity of the 
 disease seemed to baffle the art of the physi- 
 cian. 
 
 As he said, he came from the East ; and he 
 had tracked this terrible plague from land to 
 land and city to city. It were long to tell 
 all the privations and perils he had endured 
 in ministering to those stricken down by it. 
 And probably fame would have heralded his 
 glory far and wide, but for one thing, which 
 generally in every place set the great and 
 learned against him : he always refused pay- 
 ment. Indeed his only condition of attend- 
 ance was that men should receive his services 
 freely and without price; for he said the 
 work was wages and the hue of returning 
 health in the sick man's face his reward. So 
 
126 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 his ministry had always chiefly lain among 
 the poor. 
 
 So it was in Genoa. On landing at the 
 quay, Fra Benedict at once made his way to 
 the lowest part of the city where the plague 
 was raging most violently. This gave great 
 offence to a few wealthy traders who heard 
 of it, and who affirmed the man's credentials 
 probably would not bear investigation, or he 
 would no doubt have first inquired for the 
 College of Physicians, who were consulting 
 that day for many hours on the best steps to 
 retard the progress of the pestilence. Bene- 
 dict chose his lodging in what was known as 
 a " plague house;" for it was set apart as a 
 hospital to which the poor, if they were so 
 minded, might bring their stricken friends. 
 From thence he sent forth messages and let- 
 ters of invitation, simply stating the fact that 
 he had found a certain cure for the pestilence, 
 and entreating all sufferers to send for him 
 without delay. And forthwith he began his 
 work, and treated many cases among the poor 
 with marvellous success. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 127 
 
 Perhaps more would have applied to him ; 
 but just at that time the priests affirmed that 
 one of their number had been favored with a 
 miraculous vision, revealing to him that if 
 the Genoese would build a chapel or hermit- 
 age in honor of a nun who had died a few 
 years before, the plague would begin to sub- 
 side ; and that those who contributed to its 
 erection would be cured if ill, and protected 
 if whole. It was perfectly marvellous how 
 this fiction obtained credit with the people. 
 But so it was; the nobles showered jewels 
 and gems of priceless value, and the traf- 
 fickers gold and silver, and even the poorest 
 would bring their last copper coins to cast 
 into the votive treasury. Nay, the chief men 
 and women of the city vied with each other 
 who should have the honor of carrying the 
 stones and timber and mortar to the hermit- 
 age, which was being built on a gentle slope 
 without the city walls. 
 
 To give one instance, out of many, of the 
 way in which this foolish superstition thwarted 
 
128 THE PLAGUE-STEICKEN CITY. 
 
 Fra Benedict's ministry of mercy. The third 
 day after his arrival he had been summoned 
 hastily to the glorious palace of Leonard!, 
 whom report said to be the richest merchant 
 prince of Genoa, but who now lay among his 
 crimson silk shuddering with the first chills 
 of the pestilence. Benedict was ascending 
 the marble staircase, when he was met by a 
 procession of several priests and servants, 
 with bags of gold and caskets of jewels, 
 which they were carrying to the site of the 
 hermitage. He with difficulty made his wajr 
 through the throng, and when he came to 
 the sick man's chamber door, was refused 
 admittance. Leonardi was so satisfied with 
 the immense sums he had given, far exceed- 
 ing any offerings the saint had received else- 
 where, that he believed the assurance of a 
 priest who persuaded him that a tribute of 
 such fabulous wealth would certainly pur- 
 chase his recovery, and that now to submit 
 to the treatment of a poor vagrant physician 
 would offend the saintly patron whose aid he 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 129 
 
 was invoking. So Fra Benedict was cour- 
 teously but firmly urged to depart. 
 
 As lie was sadty leaving the beautiful por- 
 tico, where the cool fountain, scattering spray 
 on the orange blossoms, seemed almost a 
 mockery of this death-shadowed home, Bene- 
 dict observed the runner, who had fetched 
 him hither so hastily, lying at the foot of a 
 marble column. His countenance was ashy 
 pale. Going up to him, Benedict took him 
 kindly by the hand and said, " My friend, the 
 plague is awork in your veins : suffer me to 
 help you." The man demurred for a while, 
 saying he had cast his mite into the coffer of 
 the procession as they swept by, and he 
 thought all would be well. But as the good 
 physician reasoned with him, a sharp spasm 
 of pain convulsed his frame, and he murmured, 
 " Do what you can for me." Benedict, hav- 
 ing ministered his remedy to him, left him in 
 the charge of an attached fellow-servant ; and, 
 returning a few hours after, found him already 
 convalescent. But a loud wailing from the 
 
130 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 upper story told that the master had died, 
 just as the procession re-entered the house, 
 having deposited their offerings at the shrine 
 of the saint. 
 
 The record of Fra Benedict's experiences 
 that morning may serve as an example of the 
 treatment he generally met with among the 
 rich and great men of the world. Shortly 
 after he left Leonardi's palace, he passed the 
 stately porch of Rinaldo, the treasurer of 
 the city. Rinaldo himself was there, gazing 
 anxiously down the street, apparently looking 
 for some persons who came not. Seeing 
 Benedict pass, Rinaldo called to him, and 
 begged him if he met a group of servants 
 whom he had sent to summon Lorenzo de' 
 Medici, a learned and celebrated leech, to his 
 wife, to hasten their steps, as she was in 
 great agony, and he did not like to leave her. 
 Benedict entreated that he might be allowed 
 himself to minister to her. But the treasurer 
 replied by asking hurriedly what the nature 
 of his treatment might be, and what his 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 131 
 
 charge for administering' it. And when the 
 other answered that it was a very inexpensive 
 drug, and that his attendance was free to all 
 without money, Rinaldo almost rudely im- 
 plored him to go on his way, assuring him 
 he had discovered long ago that gratuitous 
 remedies were worthless. He would not be 
 reasoned with. 
 
 So Fra Benedict passed on, and scarcely 
 half a mile from Rinaldo's house met the ser- 
 vants, carrying the empty palanquin in which 
 Lorenzo de' Medici was to have been borne 
 by them. Giving them their master's mes- 
 sage, he asked where Lorenzo might be. 
 They shook their heads and answered, " He 
 is himself sick of the plague." This was 
 enough to attract Benedict : he made his way 
 to the great physician's house, and asked 
 permission to see him. This was courteously 
 accorded him. But the dying man firmly 
 refused his offers of help, saying that he had 
 himself lost faith in all means of cure, but was 
 certain that if any could avail, the potent 
 
132 THE RbAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 drug he had just swallowed would carry him 
 through the crisis of this attack. Alas, it 
 proved a mere palliative. Lorenzo de' Medici 
 died that night. 
 
 But from Lorenzo's lips Benedict heard that 
 the noted philosopher and naturalist, Gio- 
 vanni, whose house joined to his own, was 
 likewise stricken down with the plague. 
 As his custom was, Fra Benedict went imme- 
 diately and offered his remedy ; but he was 
 doomed again to meet with repulse. For 
 the philosopher having demanded to see the 
 recipe of his cure, at once pronounced that 
 it was far too simple to touch so terrible a 
 disease, adding that he had the utmost con- 
 fidence in an elaborate concoction of his own 
 devising, which was distilled from more than 
 fifty herbs and aromatic spices. 
 
 A shade of mournful pity, not unmingled 
 with disappointment, saddened the counte- 
 nance of Benedict as he left the wealthy 
 quarter of the city and made his way to his 
 lodgings through the squalid dwellings of 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 133 
 
 the poor. As he was passing down a 
 very narrow thoroughfare, in former days 
 thronged, but now almost deserted, he heard 
 the signal-bell of the dead cart: it paused 
 before a house that was tenanted in apart- 
 ments by artisans, and two shrouded forms 
 were cast in. When the cart passed on, 
 Benedict lingered at the threshold, and think- 
 ing that he caught the faint echo of a child's 
 groan, he went in. There he saw, in a large 
 but scantily furnished room, three children, 
 all stricken with the same pestilence, of which 
 their father and mother had died a few 
 hours before. They were the bodies of their 
 parents which had just been borne from the 
 door. The names of the three children were 
 Claude, Guido, and Beatrice. It was the 
 wailing cry of little Beatrice, her mother's 
 darling, which had fallen on Benedict's ear, 
 and arrested his onward footstep. 
 
 The three children, though all ill, were 
 suffering in different ways. Claude, who 
 had been attacked first, was frequently con- 
 
134 THE PLAGUE-STBICKEN CITY. 
 
 vulsed with sharp spasms of pain, and then 
 his eyes seemed as if they would start from 
 their sockets ; and when the paroxysm was 
 over he would lie for a few minutes as if he 
 were dead, only to be roused by a new agony. 
 Benedict drew near and spoke to him in the 
 gentlest voice ; but the poor boy turned away 
 his face in utter hopelessness, saying, " For 
 me you can do nothing, nothing, nothing : see 
 if you can aid poor Guido or little Beatrice." 
 Benedict turned and looked on Guido, 
 but he shook his head doubtfully. The lad 
 seemed overpowered with a heavy slumber. 
 There was a terrible numbness about his 
 heart, and a cold stare in his eye. Once 
 Benedict roused him and put the healing 
 medicine to his lips. Oh, had he swallowed 
 it, all might yet have been well ! But with 
 a sudden and strange energy he cried out 
 aloud, " It is too late : too late ! " and thrust 
 away the x ministering hand, and clenching his 
 teeth firmly, sank down into a state of appar- 
 ent unconsciousness. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 135 
 
 The kind-hearted physician turned to Bea- 
 trice, — the quicksilver little Beatrice, — who 
 at first said, u She had not the plague ; only 
 her cheeks burned ; she should soon be well. 
 Who had taken mother away ? " However, 
 she was soon won by Benedict's loving eye 
 and tender hand. He chafed her limbs with 
 oil ; he administered his wonderful medicine ; 
 he threw open the back casement that looked 
 toward the blue sea far away; he wrapped 
 round her his own traveller's cloak. And 
 in less than an hour the dear child looked 
 up and said, " How I thank you : I am bet- 
 ter ; " and fell into a sweet sleep. 
 
 Scarcely had she uttered the words when 
 a deep groan was heard from the couch of 
 Guido : it was his last. Guido was dead. 
 
 And then Fra Benedict came again to 
 Claude and said, " Your dear sister will 
 recover : your brother is dead. Be per- 
 suaded : let me help you.' 5 And now Claude 
 looked up with tears in his eyes and said, 
 "Dear sir, have I not refused too long?" 
 
136 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 But the good physician answered thought- 
 fully and calmly, " Be of good cheer, yet 
 there is hope." 
 
 Yet had Claude reason dearly to repent 
 the precious time he had lost. He took the 
 medicine indeed ; but it seemed at first only 
 to aggravate his sufferings. The spasms of 
 pain were so severe he could not help groan- 
 ing and crying out in his misery. And some- 
 times delirium seized his brain. But Fra 
 Benedict cooled his brow, and kept his hand 
 upon the weak agitated pulse, until he felt 
 it grow stronger and more regular beneath 
 his touch. Then he knew the remedy was 
 grappling with and mastering the disease. 
 And so it proved. Claude fell into a per- 
 turbed slumber, which was broken with fre- 
 quent starts and cries as of nightmare alarm. 
 Still there were intervals of quiet, and they 
 became longer. 
 
 In one of these, Fra Benedict hearing the 
 bell of the dead cart again, quietly and 
 reverently wrapped the father's best cloak 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 137 
 
 around the lifeless body of Guido, and him- 
 self bore it to the door and laid it on that 
 mournful bier. At another time he minis- 
 tered food to Beatrice, who was now awake. 
 Still he kept his eye on Claude, until at last 
 he had the joy of seeing the beads of dewy 
 perspiration on the boy's open noble brow, 
 and the breathing became more regular : and 
 Claude too sank into delicious and refreshing 
 repose. 
 
 It were too long to tell all the tender care 
 which Benedict bestowed on Beatrice and 
 Claude. Though he had scores of other 
 patients, he seemed especially to regard these 
 two orphans as his own children. For the 
 next three days they were very feeble, but 
 he procured the choicest viands for them and 
 the most cordial wines, until the color of 
 health again flushed their cheeks. And then 
 the good man told them, that while the 
 plague continued in Genoa he would be to 
 them as father and mother, and when he left 
 them would provide that they should never 
 
138 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 want. And indeed they clung to him as if 
 they had been his very own. They felt they 
 owed him a debt which they could never 
 repay; and one day Claude said so. But 
 Benedict replied, " Dear children, would you 
 try to requite me any thing I have done for 
 you ? The plague has yet been scarcely a 
 fortnight in the city. It may have reached 
 its height ; but, if it tarries here as in other 
 places, you cannot expect that it will subside 
 for two months to come. Now I want to 
 make jom my messengers to other sufferers. 
 You shall tell them what my medicine has 
 done for you. They will believe you per- 
 haps rather than myself. But I will never 
 be far off from you, and you shall tell me 
 every day all that you have said and done." 
 The children gratefully promised to do what 
 they could ; and most touching it was to see 
 them moving, like angels of mercy, among 
 the sick and the dying. But I must not 
 attempt here to narrate all that befell them 
 during the next few weeks. Fra Benedict's 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 139 
 
 work and theirs lay chiefly among the poor, 
 though not altogether so. He was sum- 
 moned again to Leonardos house by the ser- 
 vant, whose life he had saved, to attend 
 Lucrece, the merchant's eldest daughter, 
 who fell sick the week after her father died ; 
 and though the attack was a very severe one, 
 and the priests, strange to say, still opposed 
 his attendance, Lucrece insisted on trying his 
 remedy. She did so, and recovered. Her 
 gratitude was intense. Also Giovanni's 
 brother, Agathon, a princely patron of the 
 fine arts, sent for him and was healed. But, 
 as I said, Fra Benedict's chief work lay 
 among the poor. One lone and aged woman, 
 whom most men would have thought beneath 
 their notice, he nursed as tenderly as if she had 
 been a duchess, and gave Beatrice the most 
 careful instructions for her comfort. And 
 then a blind beggar, whose miserable exist- 
 ence seemed a weariness to himself and 
 others, Fra Benedict wooed back to life, and 
 often left under the care of Claude. And 
 
140 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 these also, like the children, he made his mes 
 sengers and attendants upon other sufferers. 
 It was surprising how many the blind man 
 induced to send for his aid, and how tender 
 a nurse the aged grandmother proved. More 
 orphan children, too, were healed. And 
 now the tidings spread from one to another, 
 until every minute of every hour of the day 
 was filled up with healing the sick or minis- 
 tering to the convalescent. 
 
 It was a frequent marvel to others, whence 
 Fra Benedict obtained his supplies of medi- 
 cine and food. He appeared to be quite a 
 poor man himself, and lived on the plainest 
 diet, yet he never seemed at a loss to supply 
 the wants of the sick and the suffering. 
 Whether any wealthy friend of his in Genoa 
 supplied him with large charity funds, as some 
 maintained ; or whether, as others thought, he 
 had a secret store of jewels in his purse, was 
 never known. 
 
 But one day the heavens were black with 
 clouds and tempest. A heavy thunderstorm 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 141 
 
 broke over the city. The rain descended in 
 floods. The stagnant air was purified by in- 
 cessant flashes of lightning. Fra Benedict's 
 face was radiant with joy. He calmed the 
 fears of the children, and assured them that 
 the pestilence would now rapidly abate and 
 soon pass away. 
 
 And he was right. The number of daily 
 deaths, which had before fallen from thou- 
 sands to hundreds, now sank to tens, and soon 
 to threes and twos. The dead cart scarcely 
 gleaned any victims in its long circuit. Those 
 who had fled from the city returned. The 
 deserted houses were reopened. The grass- 
 grown streets were again trodden. The voice 
 of joy and health was heard again in many 
 homes, and the merry laughter of children 
 once more greeted the ear of the passer-by. 
 Ships again ventured from the Gulf of Genoa 
 into the harbor. And after the lapse of 
 another fortnight it was announced, in the 
 market-place and in the churches, that the 
 city was free from the plague. 
 
142 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 Then a day of public thanksgiving was 
 proclaimed ; and it was ordered that all who 
 had deserved well of their city in this its time 
 of sorest calamity should repair to the council 
 hall, and receive a medal of honor. Many a, 
 healed sufferer said Fra Benedict will assur- 
 edly receive the highest honor which Genoa 
 can bestow. On the evening before the day 
 of public rejoicing he stole quietly to the 
 homes of those whom he had made his friends. 
 They vainly urged him to present his claim on 
 the morrow ; but he answered mysteriously, 
 " My presence is needed elsewhere : farewell." 
 Leonardi's daughter Lucrece, at his request, 
 undertook with tears of gratitude the guardi- 
 anship of Beatrice ; and Agathon, with joy, 
 that of Claude. And then Benedict went 
 among his own friends, and bade them adieu, 
 saying, " We shall meet again in a city 
 which no pestilence shall ever shadow, and 
 where never a mourner's tear shall be dropped 
 on the pavement of transparent gold. Till 
 then, farewell." 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 143 
 
 And so it fell out : after midnight no man 
 saw him more. Some thought that he went, 
 as he came, in a little boat to a vessel lying 
 off shore ; others affirmed that a strange 
 chariot was seen waiting after sunset outside 
 the city gates ; while others boldly main- 
 tained their belief that he was translated like 
 Enoch. But as the citizens met in groups on 
 the morrow morning, the question instinc- 
 tively passed from lip to lip, " Was he not 
 rightly named Fra Benedict?" 
 
 o>^o 
 
 "\ T 7HEN Oberlin laid down his manuscript, 
 his grandchildren looked up silently 
 for a few moments into his still speaking 
 countenance, just as if he were in their eyes 
 what Benedict had been to the orphans of 
 Genoa. But the silence was broken by Robin 
 the gardener (for whom Marie had pleaded a 
 seat next herself at their Sunday evening 
 
144 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 readings), saying, " Well, that is the beauti- 
 fullest story that ever I did hear : not that I 
 know the meaning of all the words in it ; still 
 it went to my heart. But pray, sir, why was 
 that kind-hearted doctor rightly called Fra 
 Benedict?" 
 
 " Because," said Oberlin, " Fra means 
 brother, and Benedict means blessed ; and is 
 not one who heals the sick a blessed brother 
 to them ? " 
 
 "Then, sir," eagerly asked Marie, " is not 
 Fra Benedict in your story Jesus Christ ? " 
 
 " Just so far," answered Oberlin, u as the 
 Lord Jesus is the Good Physician of our souls. 
 But we must remember that, while He is the 
 Great and Good Physician, He employs thou- 
 sands and thousands of His servants in the 
 same work in every land ; and they, too, are 
 good physicians : only they derive all their 
 skill and power from Him. But you have 
 begun with the last words of my parable. 
 Let us examine it a little more in order. Our 
 time is very short ; but this matters less, as 
 
THE FLAGTJE-STRICKEN CITY. 145 
 
 the parable almost interprets itself. My little 
 Roschen will tell us what that dreadful plague 
 
 represents? " 
 
 ••Sin, grandfather, is it not?" answered 
 Roschen, " and all the sorrow that sin brings 
 with it. But was there ever such a plague in 
 ItalyV" 
 
 ••Indeed there was." said Oberlin, "in the 
 rear of our Lord 1348. too : nor did I exag- 
 gerate the numbers which Antoninus. Arch- 
 bishop of Florence, said died in that city. 
 But it was not confined to Italy only. In the 
 course of a few years it overspread most of 
 Europe." 
 
 ••I read/ 9 said Adolphe, ;; not long ago, an 
 account of the plague of London in the reign 
 of Charles II. : that is hardly, you know, 
 more than two hundred years ago. and I do 
 not tliink any thing in grandfather's parable 
 was more terrible than that history. I remem- 
 ber there, it was said, many became mad from 
 terror, and threw themselves into the Thames. 
 They had the same kind of " dead-cart ' going 
 
 10 
 
146 THE PLAGXJE-STBICKEN CITY. 
 
 about to collect the bodies, the same kind of 
 hospitals which they called ' pest houses,' the 
 same deep trenches for burying the corpses. 
 The grass grew then in the middle of what 
 had been crowded streets. And the people 
 thought they saw fearful signs in the heav- 
 ens." 
 
 " But, grandfather," said Gustave, " surely 
 people never were really so foolish as to think 
 that building a hermitage outside the city 
 walls would stop the plague. That you put 
 in," he added archly, " did you not, to make 
 up the parable ? " 
 
 " You shall read us aloud, Gustave," replied 
 Oberlin, " just one extract from a history of 
 the plague which desolated Naples A. D. 1656 
 (reach me the sixteenth volume of the ' Ency- 
 clopaedia Britannica ' ), that you may see I 
 have not overdrawn the terrors and super- 
 stitions of a people who have not the Word 
 of God in their hands, in such a visitation as 
 the plague. There — " 
 
 [Gustave reads.] " i The distemper, being 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 147 
 
 neglected, made a most rapid and furious 
 progress, and filled the whole city with con- 
 sternation. The streets were crowded with 
 confused processions, which served to spread 
 the infection through all the quarters. The 
 terror of the people increased their super- 
 stition ; and it being reported that a certain 
 nun had prophesied that the pestilence would 
 cease upon building a hermitage for her sister 
 nuns upon the hill of St. Martin, the edifice 
 was immediately begun with the most ardent 
 zeal. Persons of the highest quality strove 
 who should perform the meanest offices ; some 
 loading themselves with beams, and others 
 carrying baskets full of lime and nails, while 
 persons of all ranks stripped themselves of 
 their most valuable effects, which they threw 
 into empty hogsheads placed in the streets to 
 receive the charitable contributions. Their 
 violent agitation and the increasing heats 
 diffused the malady through the whole city, 
 and the streets and the stairs of the churches 
 were filled with the dead, the number of 
 
148 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 whom for some time of the month of July 
 amounted daily to fifteen thousand. ... A 
 violent and plentiful rain falling about the 
 middle of August, the distemper began to 
 abate ; and on December 8th the physicians 
 made a solemn declaration that the city was 
 entirely free from infection. 5 " 
 
 " Well," continued Oberlin, " there you 
 have the dry facts of history; but I think 
 you will find almost all the points of my 
 story have some counterpart in the ravages 
 of sin and the healing virtue of the Gospel. 
 What does the Bible say about the close con- 
 nection between sin and death ? " 
 
 " Do you mean that text in the Romans, 
 grandfather," said Adolphe, " where St. Paul 
 says : ; By one man sin entered into the world, 
 and death by sin ; and so death passed upon 
 all men, for that all have sinned ; ' 1 or that 
 where St. James says, ' Every man is tempted 
 when he is drawn away of his own lust, and 
 enticed. Then when lust hath conceived it 
 
 i Rom. v. 12. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 149 
 
 bringeth forth sin : and sin, when it is finished, 
 bringeth forth death ? ' " 1 
 
 " And you know," continued Airn£e, " there 
 is a terrible picture of a sinful land as smit- 
 ten by disease, in the beginning of Isaiah : 
 ' The whole head is sick, and the whole heart 
 faint. From the soul of the foot even unto 
 the head there is no soundness in it ; but 
 wounds and bruises and putrefying sores: 
 they have not been closed, neither bound up, 
 neither mollified with ointment.' " 2 
 
 " They would not let them toll the bell 
 lest it should frighten people more. What 
 does that mean, grandfather ? " asked Ros- 
 chen. 
 
 " Well, my child," answered Oberlin, " the 
 world says as little as it can about sin and 
 death ; but its silence does not alter the fact ; 
 the plague is there. Could any of 3^011 see 
 a meaning in the different symptoms of the 
 malady ? " 
 
 The children were silent, and Oberlin con* 
 1 James i. 14, 15. 2 Isa. i. 5, 6. 
 
150 THE PLAGUE -STBICKEN CITY. 
 
 tinued : "You remember the pestilence 
 sometimes attacked the throat, and some- 
 times the brain; in some cases it broke out 
 with burning spots all over the body, and in 
 others, while affecting the heart, was discern- 
 ible only by a flush in the cheek and a wild 
 lustre in the eye ; but in all there was a 
 craving thirst. Well, does not the love of 
 sin seem so to choke some people that they 
 cannot breathe the pure air of life, and makes 
 others dizzy, so that they fall headlong, or 
 cast themselves away ? Does not sin break 
 out in loathsome spots in some lives which 
 all may see ; and in others only appears by 
 a strange excitement and unrest ? But do 
 not all alike thirst for a happiness they have 
 not, and never can have, apart from Jesus 
 Christ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, grandfather," said Gustave, " but 
 one thing puzzled me. I do not think that 
 all bad people are so horribly selfish as those 
 who left their sick friends to suffer and die 
 alone. I am sure wicked people sometimes 
 seem to me very kind to one another." 
 
THE PLAGUE-STK1CKEN CITY. " 151 
 
 Oberlin smiled, and answered: "Thank 
 God, you have not come across the path of 
 many wicked people yet, Gustave. But you 
 may take this for certain : the natural kind- 
 ness of bad people who are kind (and I quite 
 agree with you there are some such) does 
 not come from their badness, but from better 
 instincts not yet crushed in them. And those, 
 who are called to "deal with evil men, must 
 always try and fasten on any of these good 
 feelings, and make the most they can of them, 
 while directing the sinner's eye to Jesus the 
 only Saviour. But this, too, is certain, — that 
 sin, so far as it gets possession of a man, shuts 
 God out of the heart, and so shuts love out, 
 for God is love. But our time is rapidly 
 passing. What did you make, my children, 
 of the helplessness of the Genoese physicians 
 to cure those stricken of the plague ? " 
 
 "I thought," said Marie, wt of that poor 
 woman of whom you read, sir, this morning, 
 who ( had suffered many things of many 
 physicians, and had spent all that she had, 
 
152 THE PLAGUE-STEICKEN CITY. 
 
 and was nothing bettered, but rather grew 
 
 worse.' " 1 
 
 " And I remembered/' said Aimee, " that 
 which always seems to me one of the most 
 tearful texts in the Bible : fc Is there no 
 balm in Gilead ; is there no physician there ? 
 Why then is not the health of the daughter 
 of my people recovered ? ' " 2 
 
 " And see," said Adolphe, " here is a text, 
 also in Jeremiah, which answers exactly: 
 4 Thy bruise is incurable, and thj wound is 
 grievous. There is none to plead thy cause, 
 that thou mayest be bound up : thou hast no 
 healing medicines.' " 3 
 
 " Look on to the 17th verse of that chap- 
 ter, Adolphe," interposed Oberlin, " and 
 you will find the promise, 4 I will restore 
 health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy 
 wounds, saith the Lord.' What corresponds 
 to this in our parable?" 
 
 All answered, "Why, this is just what 
 Fra Benedict did." 
 
 i Mark v. 26. 2 Jer. viii. 22. 3 j er . xxx . 12, 18. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STMCKEN CITY. 153 
 
 "Yes, my children," Oberlin continued, 
 " this is the blessed work of the Gospel, 
 God's remedy for sin ; that Gospel which 
 tells of God our Father's forgiving love, and 
 of God our Saviour dying on the cross for us, 
 and of God the Holy Spirit making our 
 hearts new and holy ; that Gospel which was 
 foreshadowed in the Old Testament, and 
 preached by Jesus Christ Himself, and then 
 committed by Him to His apostles and mes- 
 sengers ; that Gospel which is freely offered 
 to all without money and without price, 
 which is especially welcomed by the poor, 
 but which saves all who receive it. Our 
 time will not suffer us to-night to compare 
 all Fra Benedict's experiences with our 
 Bibles ; but we will talk of them during the 
 week. And you will find how Leonard!, 
 who trusted in his offerings to the hermitage 
 and died miserably, while the poor man at 
 his gate was cured, points out the supersti- 
 tious man ; how Rinaldo, the treasurer, who 
 scorned a remedy which would cost him 
 
154 THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 
 
 nothing, represents the pro ad man ; how 
 Lorenzo de' Medici, who thought his own 
 potent drug would save him if any thing 
 could, signifies the self-righteous man ; and 
 how Giovanni, who thought the remedy far 
 too simple, is a type of the learned world, 
 which in its wisdom esteems the Gospel to 
 be foolishness. Then, further, you will see in 
 the three orphan children a picture of three 
 different classes of character: some, like 
 Guido, have benumbed their powers and 
 hardened their hearts, and perish in their 
 sins : some, like Beatrice, are early and soon 
 convinced of their guilt and need, and yield 
 gratefully to the treatment of the Good Phy- 
 sician : while others, like Claude, for a long 
 while refuse, so that sin gets a stronger 
 grasp of their hearts, but yet, submitting at 
 last to the Gospel, are saved through much 
 suffering and many struggles. Then Claude 
 and Beatrice, becoming messengers to other 
 sick folk, remind us how ail who have found 
 the Lord Jesus themselves must tell others 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 155 
 
 of His love. Also Lucrece and Agathon, 
 being healed, speak of the few rich and noble 
 who embrace the truth of the Gospel ; while 
 the forlorn old woman and the blind beggar, 
 being raised from their misery and disease 
 and employed in ministering to others, bid 
 us not to despise or despair of any, for it is 
 God's good pleasure often to take the poor 
 from the dust and the beggar from the dung- 
 hill, and to set them among princes, and to 
 make them inherit the throne of glory." 1 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and Roschen 
 said, " Grandfather, had Fra Benedict jewels 
 in his purse ? " 
 
 " The parable," answered Oberlin, smiling, 
 " only said that this was never known ; so 
 how can I tell ? This we know, that Jesus 
 Christ never lets His servants want any thing 
 that is really good. I can only suppose that 
 Benedict's secret store was the promise, ' My 
 God shall supply all your need according to 
 His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.'" 2 
 11 Sain. ii. 8. 2 Phil. iv. 19. 
 
156 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 " May I ask one question more ? " said old 
 Robin, humbly. " Why did not the good 
 man wait a few hours more to receive the 
 medal of honor ? To my thinking he would 
 have found it useful in other cities." 
 
 " Ah, my friend," replied Oberlin, " neither 
 does the parable tell us this. This we know, 
 our Master sought not honor of men; nor 
 did His apostles snatch at the glories of this 
 world ; and the best saints of every age have 
 been poor in spirit. The joy of Jesus Christ 
 and of His servants is in the salvation of 
 sinners and the glory of God. But grateful 
 love is the truest wealth ; and every true- 
 hearted disciple is waiting his reward in the 
 holy Jerusalem above, — that city of the 
 living God which no pestilence can ever 
 darken with the shadow of death." 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOK. 
 
 N days of old, before 
 the colossal empire 
 of Rome bestrode the 
 world, there was an 
 extensive and fertile 
 province in Asia, 
 where every city 
 with its surrounding 
 towns and villages 
 formed a little state 
 or principality by 
 itself. Some of these states did not number 
 more than a few thousand inhabitants ; but 
 each had its own king, its own laws, its own 
 usages, and not seldom its own costumes. 
 The throne of royalty was usually the throne 
 of judgment. The monarch not only wielded 
 the sceptre and his sword, but all important 
 
158 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 causes were tried before him in person. His 
 decision was final ; there was no appeal. 
 But the land having been originally colonized 
 by Greek settlers, the names Solon, Lycur- 
 gus, Aristides, and other wise men of Greece 
 overshadowed the minds of all ; public opin- 
 ion held the scales very equally, and injustice 
 was rarely done. 
 
 In one of the largest of these states it was 
 that Andronicus reigned. He was the father 
 of his people. He and his only son Agathos 
 lived not only in their own hospitable palace, 
 but in the hearts of their people. It appeared 
 that they only held power that they might 
 use it for the advantage of others. The 
 goodness of the king was in every one's lips. 
 And yet he was inflexible in the administra- 
 tion of the just and liberal code of laws which 
 he had himself drawn up for the government 
 of his state. He never swerved to the right 
 hand or to the left, for rich or poor. I say 
 rich or poor ; for the mother city of his realm 
 lying on the sea coast, and having a brisk 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 159 
 
 trade with foreign lands, poverty would have 
 been unknown, but — 
 
 There is always a but in human history ; — 
 there was a powerful and designing merchant, 
 called Draco, whose only object, it seemed, 
 was to amass immense wealth, and buy up all 
 the houses and wharves and waste sites for 
 building upon which he could laj^ his hands. 
 For this end it was his wont to lend the un- 
 wary trader or the unsuspecting heir large 
 sums of money at extravagant rates of inter- 
 est ; and then, if the gold were not repaid to 
 the very day, he would come down upon the 
 luckless defaulter like a vulture on a straying 
 lamb, and claim the immediate forfeiture of 
 the bond. There had been already many 
 wrecks of noble families, the unhappj^ victims 
 either languishing in the debtor's prison, or 
 fleeing from justice, self-banished exiles from 
 their native shore. It might have been 
 thought that the sight of so much misery 
 would have deterred others in the same city 
 from falling into the same snares. But the 
 
160 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 headstrong passions of some, or with others 
 the love of display, or the thirst for pleasure, 
 or the fever of money-getting, drew them, as 
 moths are drawn to the burning flame, into the 
 clutches of the sleepless and rapacious Draco. 
 The king was deeply grieved. He did not 
 think it right, for reasons of high state policy, 
 to arrest the exacting money lender at 
 present. The proofs of his injustice were 
 accumulating, but they were not yet com- 
 plete. The reckoning-day would come at 
 last, and then Draco's ruin would be a terri- 
 ble example to generations yet unborn. More- 
 over, his victims were in all cases themselves 
 sorely to blame. Andronicus therefore waited, 
 because he saw further than other men. But 
 meanwhile he issued many royal letters, 
 warning his subjects plainly of the dangers 
 which they might otherwise incur unawares, 
 and announcing the inevitable course of law, 
 namely, that bonds and imprisonment awaited 
 every condemned debtor till his debts should 
 be discharged. These letters proved the 
 salvation of many. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 161 
 
 But there was a young man, named Eugene, 
 of noble birth, who had been brought up at 
 the most eminent school of the city, a school 
 at which the king's son had himself been 
 educated for a while, upon whom all the 
 counsels of his parents and the disastrous 
 falls of others, and even the entreaties of 
 Agathos, seemed thrown away. The love of 
 pleasure and of self-indulgence overmastered 
 him. And yet there were some fine and 
 generous traits in his character ; and the 
 royal prince had already more than once ex- 
 pressed his attachment to the ardent and 
 impetuous Eugene. 
 
 Months and years passed by ; Agathos had 
 long since been called by Anclronicus to share 
 with him the weightier duties of royalty. 
 And Eugene, after the death of his father, 
 had come into the possession of wealth, which, 
 though already impaired by his extravagance, 
 was still amply sufficient to gratify every 
 reasonable desire. But by degrees he threw 
 off one restraint after another. Like the 
 
 11 
 
162 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 prodigal son described in the parable, he 
 wasted his substance with riotous living. 
 And then it was, alas ! that he was open to 
 the dark and insidious designs of Draco, who 
 had long coveted the ancestral domains of 
 his house. In an evil hour the hapless young 
 man signed a ruinous bond, wherein he cov- 
 enanted, for the immediate advance of a few 
 thousand pieces of gold, to make over his 
 mansion and lands to the usurer if the money 
 were not repaid at fixed brief intervals. For 
 a few short weeks he lived again in luxury 
 and splendor, and then, being unable to pay 
 the first instalment that was due, he was 
 seized by Draco's orders in the midst of his 
 indulgences, and dragged before the magis- 
 trates, and cast into prison. 
 
 The object of Draco, however, was the pa- 
 triarchal inheritance of Eugene. For this a 
 trial in the court of assize was necessary. A 
 day was fixed. The king Andronicus sat 
 on the seat of judgment. All who had any 
 claims against the debtor were summoned. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 163 
 
 And in truth the court was thronged with 
 creditors ; for the debts of the unhappy pris- 
 oner extended over a period of ten years and 
 more. 
 
 The confusion depicted on Eugene's counte- 
 nance grew deeper and deeper. There were 
 many debts he had altogether forgotten, and 
 which yet upon a single word being spoken 
 flashed upon his recollection. And there 
 were many things of which he was bitterly 
 ashamed that they should ever be named 
 before his fellow-citizens and his king. But 
 nothing now could be hidden ; claim after 
 claim was substantiated; debt after debt 
 was incontestably proved ; yea, being asked 
 whether he himself admitted the justice of 
 the demands, Eugene could only answer: 
 " It is useless to deny them ; I am verily 
 guilty ; I can only throw myself on the mercy 
 of my king." 
 
 But then Andronicus commanded one of 
 the chief men of the city, who sat near him 
 on the bench of judgment, to read aloud the 
 
164 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 statute which related to criminal debt and its 
 punishment. And the statute was plain and 
 unmistakable, and it ran thus : " Let the 
 house of the debtor who is convicted in open 
 court be sold, together with his wife and 
 children, if he be a husband and father, and 
 let the proceeds go to satisfy, so far as they 
 will, the just claims of his creditors ; and let 
 the debtor himself be put in chains and kept 
 in prison till the uttermost farthing of the 
 debt be paid." 
 
 As these heavy words were slowly read 
 aloud, the face of Draco assumed a settled 
 cast of malignant satisfaction ; but an irrepres- 
 sible sigh of compassion broke from many in 
 the court to see one so young, and born to 
 nobler destiny, so miserably cast away. 
 
 Now, however, the king asked, as he was 
 wont to do, whether the prisoner or his 
 friends had any thing to urge in arrest of judg- 
 ment, and said he would pause half an hour 
 for a reply ; but that, if nothing were alleged 
 in that space, he would proceed to give sen- 
 tence. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 165 
 
 Oh, that terrible interval ! This vision of 
 his home and of his wife and innocent babes 
 (for he had married one who was not unwor- 
 thy of his father's position) flashed upon his 
 mind, and then all the folly of his reckless 
 course, and then the long interminable years 
 of prison life which were before him. He felt 
 faint and sick at heart, and a deadly paleness 
 overspread his countenance. 
 
 But the minutes were slipping by. Half the 
 time had passed. He looked with anxious, 
 agitated glance around the crowded court. 
 But as he did so, he felt that his case was 
 alike helpless and hopeless. His debts were 
 of such magnitude that none of his friends 
 could even dream of discharging them. And 
 the words broke almost unconsciously from 
 his lips, " Woe is me ! I am undone." 
 
 At this moment, when the king must in a 
 few minutes more pronounce the sentence, 
 and the notary-public was preparing to record 
 the judgment in the register of the city, a 
 voice was heard, " Make way for the prince ; 
 
166 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 Agathos is here." It was even so : and he 
 advanced quickly hut calmly through the 
 crowd, which parted to the right hand and 
 the left, until he stood beside his father's 
 throne. A few earnest words passed between 
 Andronicus and his son ; no one heard the 
 whispered sentences ; but some said after- 
 wards that they were narrowly watching the 
 king's countenance the while, and saw a won- 
 derful benevolence light up his eye and a 
 tender smile play over his lip. But after the 
 briefest pause Agathos, now facing the judge 
 and now the prisoner, spoke as follows : — 
 
 " Father, I own that the sentence, which 
 has been read from the statute-book of the 
 city, is just. Eugene has heaped up debts 
 which he can never pay, and has merited 
 bonds and imprisonment. But, father, as thou 
 knowest, I have loved that young man from 
 of old. And thou lovest him, even as I love. 
 His own folly and our common adversary 
 have ruined him. He is undone. But love 
 saves the lost. And, father, though it will 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 167 
 
 cost me one-half of that royal inheritance 
 which thou hast given me, here in thy pres- 
 ence, and with thy approval, — for thou hast 
 assured me it is thy good pleasure even as it- 
 is mine, — I undertake to pay poor Eugene's 
 debts to the very last farthing and mite. 
 Father, the payment is here." 
 
 At the prince's word a train of slaves 
 entered into the court bearing bags of gold 
 and caskets of jewels. Every creditor was 
 summoned. Every claim was investigated. 
 Every debt was paid then and there. 
 
 It were quite impossible to describe what 
 feelings were passing in Eugene's mind, while 
 these words fell from the lips of his prince 
 and were made good before his eyes. He 
 was struck dumb with wonder and gratitude. 
 But when the last receipt was signed, and 
 Agathos stepping up to him said, " Eugene, 
 my friend, my brother, wilt thou accept these 
 certificates which assure thee that thy debts 
 are all paid?" it entirely broke liim down; 
 he threw himself at the feet of his prince, 
 
168 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 he bathed them with tears, and, while he 
 fervently grasped the certificates and thrust 
 them into his bosom, could only answer with 
 a voice broken by sobs, " My prince, I have 
 nothing but my worthless self to offer thee : 
 but such as I am, I am thine for ever." 
 
 This memorable day, however, was not 
 over yet. When the murmur of grateful 
 applause in the court was with difficulty 
 stilled, Agathos again advanced to the side of 
 Andronicus, and said in the audience of all, 
 " Father, the debts of Eugene are paid; but 
 he must not go forth from this court a penni- 
 less pauper. Half of my inheritance still re- 
 mains to me ; and with part of it I here and 
 now, before all, and with thy full sanction, 
 O, my father, buy back all the property and 
 estate which Eugene has from time to time 
 alienated and sold ; and of this and of all the 
 remainder of my wealth I make him joint-heir 
 and joint-possessor with myself. If the title- 
 deeds stood only in his name he might be 
 tempted again to endanger or even forfeit 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 169 
 
 them. I have, therefore, had them drawn in 
 my name and his ; but the free use and enjoy- 
 ment of them shall belong to him as equal 
 owner with myself. Here, Eugene, is the 
 deed which makes thee with me rightful lord 
 of this still magnificent inheritance. Only 
 stretch forth thy hand and take it: all is 
 thine, for I share all mine with thee." 
 
 To seize the parchment, and cast himself 
 again at the prince's feet, and to exclaim, 
 " O, princely Agathos, my life, and not my 
 lips, must speak my love," was the irresistible 
 prompting of the heart of Eugene. Nor was 
 there a tearless eye in that crowded hall of 
 justice (save only Draco's, whose baffled 
 greed and malice were ill concealed by a 
 scowl of defiance), when, to ratify the words 
 which had been spoken and the covenant 
 which had been made, the king took his 
 signet-ring off his finger, and himself placed 
 it on the right hand of Eugene in token of 
 his adoption into the royal family. But they 
 were tears of joy, and soon followed by excla- . 
 
170 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 mations of delight. For now Agathos threw 
 his own purple cloak over his friend, and 
 made him ride by his side in the royal chariot, 
 and the shouts were taken up by the multi- 
 tudes in the streets, as they together drove 
 towards the mansion of Eugene. Only the 
 prince suffered no one to go in with him 
 while Eugene broke the glad tidings to his 
 wife. She had been in an agony of appre- 
 hension. One look at his radiant face was 
 enough. Let it suffice to say that her heart, 
 with her husband's, and the hearts of their 
 children as they grew up, were for ever knit 
 to the prince and his royal father. In the few 
 but deep words of Eugene, " Their life spoke 
 their love." 
 
 IVTO sooner had Oberlin ceased reading than 
 " old Robin," as the children called 
 him, — though in truth he was but little over 
 fifty years of age, and had three young bairns 
 of his own, having married late in life after 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 171 
 
 his honorable discharge from the army, — ex- 
 claimed, " Well, sir, I have seen a good deal 
 of life, and heard more ; but I must say I 
 never saw or heard of a man doing like that 
 young prince. I think men were kinder in 
 those heathen times than they are in ours." 
 
 "No," said Marie, who had never taken 
 her eyes off her master from the first w^ord of 
 the story to the last, " you are wrong there, 
 Robin. Why, there's many and many a one 
 among our French Protestant forefathers (I'm 
 often proud to think their blood runs in my 
 old veins) who laid down their lives for one 
 another." 
 
 "That's true, Marie," answered Oberlin, 
 " an ancestor of mine died, that a shepherd 
 lad on his estate might escape. But we 
 must take our story as it stands. A parable 
 is something like a walnut : you must crack 
 or open the shell, and then pick out the 
 sweet, nutritious meat, here a bit and there 
 a bit, a little fragment at a time. Let us 
 now open our Bible, and see if it does not 
 
172 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 shed light on the eventful life of Eugene the 
 debtor." 
 
 " Well, grandfather," said Gustave, " of 
 course by the city and the state of which it 
 was the capital our world is meant." 
 
 " And by its good laws arid courts of jus- 
 tice," added Adolphe, " the righteous govern- 
 ment of God." 
 
 " Yes," chimed in little Roschen, "I saw 
 at once by Andronicus and Agathos his 
 son we were to understand God our 
 Father and Jesus Christ our Lord ; and, 
 grandfather, would not that psalm which I 
 learned for you last week, the 8th Psalm, 
 tell this, for it begins and ends with the same 
 words, ' O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is 
 Thy name in all the earth ? ' " 
 
 "It would, my child," replied Oberlin; 
 " and then you know the Lord Jesus shares 
 the throne of royalty with His Father, as 
 He says, 4 1 have overcome, and am set down 
 with my Father on His throne ; ' * and so it 
 
 I Rev. iii. 21. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 173 
 
 is called afterwards ' the throne of God and 
 of the Lamb.' " 
 
 " And that, I suppose," continued Aimee, 
 " was what the parable intended by saying 
 the king and his son reigned not only in their 
 palace home, but in the hearts of their people ; 
 as when Jesus said to Mary at the sepulchre, 
 1 1 ascend to my Father and your Father, and 
 to my God and your God.' " 
 
 "And then, of course," added Gustave, 
 " that cruel and crafty trader, Draco, was 
 the devil, who tries to make men sell their 
 souls for the pleasures of sin, which are but 
 for a season. 1 But I do not see, grandfather, 
 how poverty could ever be unknown in this 
 world. Almost all persons seem to me to be 
 wanting something which they have not. I 
 am sure I want a pony." 
 
 " Well, Gustave r " said Oberlin, laughing, 
 
 " you know the proverb, ' If wishes were 
 
 horses, then beggars might ride.' Work 
 
 hard, my boy, and you will very likely be 
 
 1 Heb. xi. 25. 
 
174 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 master of a horse one day. But to return to 
 our parable : I quite admit that in the world 
 as it is there is poverty enough, — I mean 
 heart poverty, lack of the true riches which 
 consist in the enjoyment of God's love and 
 in the delight of serving Him. Only remem- 
 ber, no one need be really poor in these di- 
 vine treasures, for God has blessed us with 
 all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in 
 Christ ; l and as to earthly possessions, we 
 read, ' Godliness with contentment is great 
 gain (or merchandise, as the word might be 
 rendered), for we brought nothing into this 
 world, and it is certain we can carry nothing 
 out ; and having food and raiment, let us be 
 therewith content ' 2 — even without a pony^ 
 Gustave." 
 
 " Why does the devil desire man's inher- 
 itance ? " asked Adolphe. " I have often 
 wondered what use this world would be to 
 a mighty spirit like the devil, even if he got 
 possession of it." 
 
 iEph. i. 3. 2 1 Tim. vi. 6-8. 
 
EUGEXE THE DEBTOR. 175 
 
 " That is a deeper question," answered 
 Oberlin, " than can be answered in five words 
 or five volumes of words. It has exercised 
 the minds of the deepest thinkers. But I 
 believe it is a riddle that no one can fully 
 explain on this side of the judgment-da v. 
 One thing we may safely say, the devil 
 desires this world for his own inheritance, 
 because it is Christ's inheritance. And the 
 devil hates Christ with a fathomless hatred. 
 It was the devil who stirred up the wicked 
 husbandmen to say, when they saw the only 
 and beloved son of the lord of the vineyard 
 coming to claim the tribute of fruits, ' This 
 is the heir: come let us kill him, and the 
 inheritance shall be ours.' 1 However, we 
 have to do with the solemn facts as they are. 
 And this is certain, the devil does try by 
 every means to make men waste their pre- 
 cious life here and lose their immortal life 
 hereafter." 
 
 " Yes," said Roschen, " Marie taught me 
 
 iMark xii. 6, 7. 
 
176 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 that text last week: 'Be sober, be vigilant, 
 because your adversary, the devil, goeth 
 about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he 
 may devour ; ' 1 for we had been talking of 
 the three boys in our story ' Over the Hills 
 Homeward,' and it is the most dreadful text 
 in the Bible. I could hardly get to sleep at 
 night for thinking of it. But why, grand- 
 father, does not God shut up this roaring 
 lion in an iron cage, like those we saw a year 
 ago in the menagerie ? " 
 
 " Because God's time is not yet come, my 
 lamb," replied Oberlin, looking tenderly and 
 fondly on the anxious face upturned to him. 
 " But we are told in Rev. xx. that one day 
 the devil will be seized and bound with a 
 great chain, and cast into the bottomless pit 
 for a thousand years, and then, shortly after 
 that, will be cast into the lake of fire for ever 
 and ever. 4 God,' says Augustine, c is patient, 
 because He is eternal.' But meanwhile, 
 whenever you think of Marie's text, think 
 
 1 1 Peter v. 8. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 1 I i 
 
 also of the promise of the Good Shepherd: 
 4 My sheep shall never perish, neither shall 
 any one pluck them out of my hand.' 1 
 
 " Our parable," said Aimee, "told us the 
 king did not think fit to arrest Draco imme- 
 diately, and this because he saw further 
 than other men. I suppose the royal let- 
 ters he issued meant the warnings of the 
 Bible." 
 
 " What a thousand pities it was," exclaimed 
 Gustave, " that Eugene did not heed them ! 
 Backed as they were by the entreaties of 
 his royal school-fellow, it really was un- 
 pardonable in him to act right in the teeth of 
 them." 
 
 " And yet, Gustave," replied Oberlin, " the 
 parable only etched what every one does who 
 listens to the tempter and lives in sin ; for 
 the Bible tells him plainly, ' The way of 
 transgressors is hard,' 2 and ' The wages of sin 
 is death ' ; 3 and more than all, the Lord Jesus, 
 
 1 John x. 28. 2 Prov. xiii. 15. 3 Rom. vi. 23. 
 12 
 
178 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 the king's son, who designed to learn obedi- 
 ence by the things which He suffered 1 in the 
 same school our Father has appointed for us, 
 entreats all to watch and pray lest they enter 
 into temptation." 
 
 " Yes, grandfather," answered Gustave, 
 " but it would be so different if we could 
 actually see the craft}^ master, and hear the 
 words of the prince, and go in and out before 
 the king. Oh, I do so wish that we were 
 really face to face with all these things ! 
 They seem so airy and dream-like." 
 
 " You want," said Oberlin, u that things 
 unseen should be seen. You would leap into 
 eternity without the education of time. No, 
 my boy, we must now fight the good fight of 
 faith, and faith is the evidence of things not 
 seen." 2 
 
 " Still, grandfather," urged Gustave, u it is 
 so hard, it seems like fighting with shadows, 
 though I know they are all real." 
 
 " They are real," said Oberlin earnestly. 
 I Heb. v. 8/ 2 Heb. xi. 1. 
 
EUGEXE THE DEBTOR. 179 
 
 " Sin and Satan, and death and hell, are no 
 shadows ; nor, thank God, is life a shadow, 
 nor Christ, nor holiness, nor heaven. But I 
 am so glad you named, Gustave, how hard 
 you find it to realize things invisible. For it 
 is what we all find more or less. Some find 
 it harder than others : but the harder the 
 battle the greater the victory. Only remem- 
 ber, we cannot win in our own strength : we 
 need and we have the promise of the Holy 
 Spirit's help. What were the words, Aimee, 
 you repeated this morning from Keble's 
 lovely poem for the fourth Sunday after 
 Easter ? " 
 
 " You mean, grandfather, 
 
 ' Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame 
 Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, 
 And darted to its place of rest, 
 On some meek brow by Jesus bless'd. 
 Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, 
 And still those lambent lightnings stream ; 
 Where'er the Lord is there are they ; 
 
 In every heart that gives them room, 
 They light His altar every day, 
 
 Zeal to inflame and vice consume. 
 
180 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 Soft as the plumes of Jesus' dove, 
 They nurse the soul to heavenly love ; 
 The struggling spark of good within, 
 Just smother'd in the strife of sin, 
 They quicken to a timely glow, 
 The pure flame spreading high and low. 
 Said I, that prayer and faith were o'er ? 
 
 Nay, blessed Spirit ! but by Thee 
 The Church's prayer finds wing to soar, 
 
 The Church's hope finds eyes to see. 
 
 Then, fainting soul, arise and sing ; 
 
 Mount, but be sober on the wing ; — 
 
 Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer ; 
 
 Be sober, for thou art not there. 
 
 Till death the weary spirit free, 
 
 Thy God hath said, 'Tis good for thee 
 
 To walk by faith and not by sight : 
 
 Take it on trust a little while ; 
 Soon shalt thou read the mystery right 
 
 In the full sunshine of His smile.' " 
 
 " Thank you, mj child," said Oberlin, 
 " those words are always fresh. Here is the 
 only hope for us all, old and young, even in 
 the daily baptism of fire with which Jesus 
 baptizes every faithful heart." 
 
 " But how, sir," asked Marie, " can the 
 day of trial in the assize court be said to be 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 181 
 
 now in this life ? I always thought of stand- 
 ing before the judgment-seat after death, 
 when this life's accounts were made up." 
 
 " That's quite true," answered Oberlin. 
 " ' It is appointed unto men once to die, and 
 after this the judgment.'" 1 
 
 " That is the judgment of the whole world 
 after the general resurrection in the last day ; 
 but it is also true, that when God of His 
 infinite mercy awakens a sinner to see his 
 true condition now, He holds, as it were, His 
 assize court in the heart ; the soul is brought 
 before His tribunal ; He Himself sits on the 
 judgment-seat ; His holy law is the standard ; 
 the devil accuses ; conscience and memory 
 are witnesses ; and the poor sinner cannot 
 answer the judge one thing in a thousand, as 
 the patriarch says, 2 ; Nay, in such an hour of 
 solemn retrospect, when our past lies before 
 us, and every hour condemns us, the poor 
 sinner can but cry, I am verily guilty; I 
 throw myself on the mercy of God.' " 
 
 iHeb. ix. 27. 2 j b ix. 2, 3. 
 
182 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 " And yet, dear sir," said Robin, " even 
 that did not avail poor Eugene : he only 
 heard chains and prison by law were the 
 poor debtor's lot." 
 
 " And does the law of God hold out 
 any hope to us, Robin ? " replied Oberlin. 
 " Adolphe, read to us Galatians hi. 10-13." 
 
 " ' For as many as are of the works of the 
 law are under the curse : for it is written, 
 Cursed is every one that continueth not in 
 all things which are written in the book of 
 the law to do them. But that no man is 
 justified by the law in the sight of God, it is 
 evident ; for the just shall live by faith, and 
 the law is not of faith, but the man that 
 doeth them shall live in them. Christ hath 
 redeemed us from the curse of the law, being 
 made a curse for us, for it is written, Cursed 
 is every one that hangeth on a tree.' " 
 
 " Ah ! my children," continued Oberlin, 
 " here we have both the condemnation and 
 the deliverance. But while that terrible curse 
 is shadowing the soul, what peace or comfort 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 183 
 
 can the convicted sinner have ? will lie not, 
 like Eugene, think of all the happiness he 
 has thrown away, and of all the dark sins 
 which have stained his life, and of all the 
 dreary prospect of an everlasting present, that 
 prison from which Jesus says 1 the captive 
 debtor shall never come out till he has paid 
 the uttermost farthing ? Can his friends 
 help him ? Can angels pay his debts for 
 him ? Nay, it costs more to redeem man's 
 precious soul, so that men and angels must 
 let that alone for ever." 
 
 " Oh ! grandfather, I see it all now," cried 
 little Roschen eagerly: "I thought I did 
 before, "tmt now I am sure. Jesus is our 
 Agathos ; He paid our debts by dying upon 
 the cross." 
 
 " Is not this," added Adolphe, " what 
 Elihu meant when he comforted Job ? ' If 
 there be a messenger with him, an inter- 
 preter, one among a thousand, to show unto 
 man his uprightness: then he is gracious 
 1 Matt. v. 26. 
 
184 ETJGEKE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 unto him, and saith, Deliver him from going 
 down to the pit, I have found a ransom. . . . 
 He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have 
 sinned, and perverted that which was right, 
 and it profited me not, he will deliver his 
 soul from going into the pit, and his life shall 
 see the light."' 1 
 
 " And then, brother," said Aimee, " this is 
 made yet more plain in the New Testament, 
 where St. John says : ' If anj man sin, we 
 have an advocate with the Father, Jesus 
 Christ the righteous ; and He is the propitia- 
 tion for our sins.' " 2 
 
 " Those two scriptures," said Oberlin, 
 smiling, " are the warp and woof of my par- 
 able. Yes, the ransom price, even the inesti- 
 mably precious blood of Jesus, satisfies every 
 claim. His blood cleanses from all sin. And 
 then, although we stand before the tribunal 
 of infinite spotless justice, it is a Father's 
 throne ; and He loves us so as Himself to 
 have planned with His only begotten Son 
 
 1 Job xxxiii. 24-8. 2 1 John ii. 2. 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 185 
 
 the way of our escape. I could only speak 
 in the parable of Agathos giving half his 
 inheritance in the payment of Eugene's debts, 
 and the remainder as a joint portion for 
 Eugene and himself. But, in fact, Jesus 
 gave Himself altogether as ransom, and gives 
 Himself altogether as the righteousness of 
 His people, and their portion for ever. He 
 is the Heir of all things, as we read, by His 
 Father's appointment. 1 And, at the same 
 time we know, ' As many as are led by the 
 Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For 
 ye have not received the spirit of bondage 
 again to fear ; but ye have received the Spirit 
 of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. 
 The Spirit itself beareth witness with our 
 spirit, that we are the children of God : and 
 if children, then heirs, heirs of God, and joint- 
 heirs with Christ.' 2 All we have to do is to 
 stretch forth the hand of faith and accept the 
 royal pardon, sealed with the king's seal and 
 signed with the king's name ; and again, to 
 
 1 Heb. i. 2. 2 Rom. viii. 14-16. 
 
186 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 
 
 stretch forth the hand and take the title deeds 
 of acceptance with God and of our heavenly 
 inheritance, which are sealed with the same 
 seal and signed with the same name." 
 
 " Oh ! grandfather," said Adolphe, " I 
 think the parable helps me to see more 
 clearly, than ever I did before, how it is a 
 free pardon on God's part, although the full 
 redemption price is paid. For in this cove- 
 nant between the king and his son all the 
 debts of Eugene were paid to the very last 
 mite, and yet no subject had any thing to do 
 with the royal grace which pardoned and 
 enriched the debtor." 
 
 "Quite so, Adolphe," answered Oberlin; 
 " and in God's covenant of grace with man 
 the freedom of divine mercy is yet more 
 transparent ; for while the Father gives the 
 Son and the Son gives Himself to be the 
 propitiation for our sins, so infinite and won- 
 derful is the unity of essence between the 
 Persons of the ever Blessed Trinity, that 
 Jesus says : — 'I and my Father are one ; ' 
 
EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 187 
 
 and in this great act of redeeming love the 
 Holy Spirit, who proceeds from the Father 
 and the Son, anointed the Lamb of God for 
 His great sacrifice. Salvation comes straight 
 from the heart of God to the heart of man. 
 Man has only to receive it, — I say only to 
 receive it ; but when he has received it, then, 
 like Eugene, his life, and not his lips alone, 
 will prove his love. This great redemption 
 will animate him for the great fight of faith, 
 in which he will be more than conqueror, 
 through Him that loved him, and will enjoy 
 throughout eternity the glorious heritage 
 promised to the victor. ; He that overcometh 
 shall inherit all things, and I will be his 
 Father, and he shall be my son.' " 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 HERE was a 
 
 wealthy Savoyard 
 nobleman, named 
 Gams, who was 
 the owner of ex- 
 tensive lands lying 
 at the foot of the 
 Maritime Alps, 
 some thirty miles 
 inland from the 
 opulent and 
 learned city of Nicea, the modern Nice. He 
 was of Greek extraction, and was the father 
 of two boys, who were sixteen and fourteen 
 years of age. The name of the elder was 
 Phaedrus, of the younger Philemon. 
 
 The lot of that generation was cast in 
 troublous times. There were wars and 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 189 
 
 rumors of wars ; and Nicea, lying on the 
 confines of France and Italy, had been more 
 than once occupied by the conqueror, as the 
 coveted prize of victory. Now, however, 
 for three years there had been a lull in the 
 storm. The city was in the hands of the 
 Duke of Savoy. And Gains, who was a 
 firm supporter of that royal house, and in- 
 deed a personal friend of the reigning duke, 
 thought it a favorable opportunity to send 
 his two beloved sons to Nicea for the benefit 
 of the discipline and education of that noble 
 academy, for which it was celebrated all 
 along the shores of the Mediterranean. 
 
 It was not indeed without much solicitude 
 that he determined on this course ; as, having 
 taken an active part in the political and mili- 
 tary conflicts of the times, Gaius knew that 
 his character was bitterly assailed by a large 
 party in Nicea. His enemies, among whom 
 Antidicus was conspicuous for the rancor of 
 his hatred, were many and unscrupulous. 
 If restrained from open violence, he believed 
 
190 PHAEDBU3 AND PHILEMON. 
 
 they would do every thing in their power 
 to seduce his boys from their filial reverence 
 and loyalty. Moreover, there were not a 
 few facts in his past administration of the 
 affairs of the city — for Gaius had more than 
 once held the office of deputy-governor, and 
 had put down more than one civil outbreak 
 with equal justice and mercy — which he 
 could not fully explain to youths of so tender 
 an age as Phaedrus and Philemon. Indeed, 
 all the reasons of his conduct were only fully 
 known by the duke himself. Gaius could 
 not doubt that these things would be thrown 
 in the teeth of his children. 
 
 On the other hand, he considered that a 
 year's instruction would be of untold advan- 
 tage to his sons, who, in his own retired 
 castle, were almost shut out from intercourse 
 with their comrades in age. He believed be 
 could rely on their trustful allegiance : he 
 knew that if he had many enemies he had 
 also some faithful friends in Nicea, and 
 especially one Philotheus, who had been 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 191 
 
 brought up with him, and with whom, since 
 he withdrew from the city, he kept up as 
 constant a correspondence as the communica- 
 tions of those days allowed. 
 
 He called therefore his two sons, and ad- 
 dressed them as follows : " My beloved chil- 
 dren, in whom your sainted mother, Irene, 
 lives ever before me, and in whose boyhood 
 I live life over again, I have thought it well 
 to make arrangements for sending you to 
 the academy at Nicea. You will there 
 mingle with many hundred youths of your 
 own age : some you will find friendly to our 
 house, others hostile. Be courteous to all. 
 While heartily returning the affection of 
 those who love us, try to win others to our 
 side. Much of your comfort will depend 
 upon the clique of companions among whom 
 you are thrown. But whatever they may 
 prove, be you simple and truthful. Com- 
 municate freely with my friend and yours, 
 Philotheus ; and write me without reserve, 
 whenever messengers come our way. Some 
 
192 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON". 
 
 things you hear may perplex you. I will 
 not fail to answer your inquiries, so far as it 
 is profitable for you to know at present. 
 But for the full knowledge of some things 
 you must be content to wait till you are 
 older. Let trust be your watchword. Fare- 
 well." 
 
 Now these two boys, you must note, 
 though the children of the same parents, 
 and brought up in the same home, were of 
 very different dispositions. Phaedrus, the 
 elder, was grave, thoughtful, inquisitive ; one 
 who, from his very infancy, would always 
 know a reason for every thing. " Why ? " 
 " How ? " " What for ? 9V were words con- 
 stantly on his lips. He never forgot what 
 was told him, but nothing escaped his eye. 
 Philemon, on the other hand, was joyous and 
 confiding almost to a fault, if that be possible. 
 His frank, generous nature, as it never feared 
 fraud, seemed as if it could not harbor suspi- 
 cions of another. If the texture of his mind 
 had not been so pure and upright, this would 
 
PHAEDRTIS AND PHILEMON. 193 
 
 have laid him open to the intrigues of de- 
 signing men. But, as it was, his very sim- 
 plicity seemed his safeguard. 
 
 On their arrival in Nicea, the great master 
 of the academy having examined the boys, 
 assigned them different schools for their daily 
 instruction, and different homes for their 
 lodgment. This was a severe disappoint- 
 ment to the brothers, who, though so diverse 
 in character, were passionately attached to 
 each other. Yet it seemed as if a merciful 
 Providence had overruled their respective 
 places of abode. 
 
 Philemon — the young, confiding, impres- 
 sionable Philemon — found himself in a school 
 and home, where the larger number of the 
 scholars and teachers and servants were well 
 affected towards his father. The name of 
 Gaius was seldom mentioned without honor. 
 Sometimes indeed a slur was cast upon him ; 
 but before Philemon could reply, so many 
 willing lips would defend him, that the slan- 
 derer was silenced and abashed. Philotheus 
 13 
 
194 PHAEDEUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 was a frequent guest at the table of the 
 officer in charge of the home ; and he would 
 often dwell in glowing terms of praise on the 
 services which Gaius had rendered to Nicea 
 and to the house of Savoy. And often was 
 Philemon congratulated on being the son of 
 such a sire. Thus as the boy grew in knowl- 
 edge, he saw more and more to admire in his 
 honored father's character and conduct ; and, 
 as his views expanded, he was increasingly 
 struck with Gaius's firm and temperate ad- 
 ministration when at the helm of the affairs 
 of the city. His letters home naturally 
 reflected all the delight which these things 
 gave him, and those he received in return 
 confirmed every conviction of his father's 
 excellence. 
 
 Far different was the lot of Phaedrus. 
 Every one in his lodgment, and almost every 
 one in his class, seemed to dislike or distrust 
 his father. For a while, whether from 
 respect for the feelings of their new compan- 
 ion or from a deeper subtlety, they did not 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PIITLEMON. 195 
 
 venture on open accusation. But when the 
 name of Gaius was mentioned there would be 
 an ominous silence, and stealthy looks would 
 be exchanged between the scholars and their 
 tutor. If any of the illustrious actions of 
 Gaius were mentioned, there would be a 
 faint ambiguous praise, which to the ears of 
 Phaedrus was far worse than silence or down- 
 right condemnation. And when some diffi- 
 cult parts of his father's conduct of affairs 
 was the topic of conversation, then suspicions 
 would be freely thrown in, and sly innuen- 
 does, or expressions of surprise and ill-sup- 
 pressed ridicule, ending with an apparently 
 honest appeal to the son for an explanation 
 of things to him unknown. 
 
 Phaedrus was deeply grieved. He used 
 often to say to himself, " Let them suspect as 
 they like, and suggest what they will, I know 
 that my father is just and benevolent and 
 good." Yet the hateful suspicions, which he 
 almost seemed to breathe in the air of his 
 present abode, would recur at his quietest 
 
196 PHAEDBUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 moments. If only his father had been at his 
 side, he would not have minded. No doubt, 
 he said to himself, his father would have re- 
 solved every perplexity. The next best thing 
 was to write to him ; and soon after this, hear- 
 ing of a faithful messenger going and returning 
 to his home, he wrote as fully as he could to his 
 father of his difficulties, and prayed for an 
 explanation of those acts which were chiefly 
 maligned. But he was surprised to find how 
 difficult it was to express in writing those 
 harassing doubts, with which the enemies of 
 Gaius plied him. When he would put them 
 down in black and white, they seemed for 
 the most part so cloudy and shapeless and 
 impalpable, — it was like grasping a mist. 
 However, he did his best : and, having con- 
 fided his letter to the messenger, eagerly 
 awaited a reply. 
 
 The answer was most loving and comfort- 
 ing. His father most tenderly sympathized 
 with the mental sufferings of Phaedrus, and 
 assured him that he valued the unshaken 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 197 
 
 confidence of his son amid such temptations 
 beyond all his other possessions. Also, in 
 answer to his request, some further light was 
 thrown on obscure passages of the past few 
 years. But with regard to other events, 
 Gaius reminded him of his parting words, 
 " For the full knowledge of some things 
 you must be content to w T ait." When, there- 
 fore, his comrades, who knew that he had 
 received despatches from home, demanded 
 what Gaius might say in self-defence, Phae- 
 drus could only answer on many points, " I 
 must take that on trust, and am willing to 
 do so." Their laughter pealed through the 
 vestibule. 
 
 Phaedrus and Philemon did not meet nearly 
 so often as they would have desired, for their 
 prescribed studies and games took up almost 
 the entire day, and their dwelling-places lay 
 apart. When they did meet it was generally 
 in the presence of others ; and even when 
 they two were alone, Phaedrus felt a strange 
 shyness from disclosing all his troubles and 
 
198 PHAEDRUS AXD PHILEMOK. 
 
 distress to Philemon. The brothers lived in 
 different mental worlds. 
 
 One beautiful summer evening, however, 
 having both obtained leave of absence from 
 the officers in charge, they met alone in the 
 cemetery which is situate on the hill overhang- 
 ing Nicea. The eyes of both lads were at- 
 tracted by the words inscribed over the portal, 
 " Hodie mihi, eras tibi," l and the solemn 
 thought of another world, that world in which 
 their beloved mother was awaiting them, 
 drew out their hearts in all fraternal sym- 
 pathies. And then Phaedrus told Philemon 
 far more than he had ever done before of 
 his inmost thoughts and struggles and endur- 
 ances. Into much Philemon heartily entered, 
 and repaid confidence with confidence. But 
 as to any attacks upon their father troubling 
 his peace of mind, he smiled at the idea of it. 
 Suspicions rested on his heart like rain-drops 
 on a cabbage-leaf ; they did not penetrate a 
 hair's-breadth. And Phaedrus soon forbore ; 
 
 1 " My lot to-day will be thine to-morrow." 
 
PHAEDEUS AND PHILEMON. 199 
 
 he envied his brother's sunny faith ; he in- 
 wardly accused himself of base unbelief, and 
 almost experienced what a modern poet has 
 described — 
 
 "Yes, deep within, and deeper yet, 
 
 The rankling shaft of conscience hide ; 
 Quick let the swelling eye forget 
 
 The tears that in the heart abide. 
 Calm be the voice, the aspect bold, 
 
 No shuddering pass o'er lip or brow; 
 For why should innocence be told 
 
 The pangs that guilty spirit bow 1 
 The loving eye that watches thine 
 
 Close as the air that wraps thee round, 
 Why in thy sorrow should it pine, 
 
 Since never of thy sin it found ? " 
 
 However, they turned to other subjects, 
 and then bent their footsteps to their sainted 
 mother's tomb (she died at Xicea), and there, 
 Philemon resting on Phaecirus, they stood 
 silently and long: and as they returned to 
 the city spoke only of their father's home on 
 earth as a type of the one everlasting home 
 in glory. 
 
 About a month after this Phaedrus had an 
 
200 PHAEDKTJS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 opportunity of a quiet hour alone with Philo- 
 theus in his studio ; and, remembering his 
 father's injunctions, he told him, though not 
 without a great effort, of his present griefs. 
 Here, indeed, he found " an understanding 
 friend." A single word was sufficient clue 
 for Philotheus. He entered into every diffi- 
 culty, as one who had himself struggled with 
 the very same. He did not, it is true, explain 
 all remaining obscurities. But his love and 
 intense reverence for Gaius were so trans- 
 parent, that Phaedrus felt all his own filial 
 affection and esteem quickened and strength- 
 ened. And then Philotheus calmly showed 
 how many things once dark were already 
 clear, and advanced such cogent reasons why 
 a veil might be drawn over other things for a 
 while, that Phaedrus left his studio whisper- 
 ing to himself, " What a fool I was ever to 
 let the accusations of foes disturb my peace 
 for a moment ! " 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that 
 his perplexities were ended from this hour. 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 201 
 
 They seemed to multiply as weeks rolled on. 
 Altogether, different points in his father's 
 administration were assailed, now covertly, 
 now openly. And though he neither yielded 
 to the insinuation nor the invective, — for, 
 ever since his conversation with Philotheus, 
 he had gained a vantage-ground which he 
 never wholly lost, — it grieved him sorely 
 that the name of his noble father should be 
 thus traduced, and grieved him yet more 
 that he could not clear it from every cloud. 
 And now he began to be subjected to a thou- 
 sand petty annoyances from his comrades. 
 When the master's eye was off him, he would 
 be vexatiously interrupted in his studies. 
 His partnership would be declined in games, 
 so that he was not seldom left to his own 
 meditations. His rest would be wantonly 
 disturbed at night, and he found it difficult 
 to secure a quiet half hour, day by day, for 
 devotion. 
 
 Haply his spirit would have sunk if it had 
 not been for a young man of the name of 
 
202 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 Ctesiphon, who, observing the ungenerous 
 treatment to which Phaedrus was exposed, 
 and his self-restrained and courteous de- 
 portment under all, began to conceive a 
 strong affection for him. Though Ctesiphon 
 had not the courage to declare himself 
 as the ally of Phaedrus, yet he watched 
 opportunities for intercourse with him, 
 quietly frustrated many plots levelled against 
 him, and befriended him secretly in a thou- 
 sand ways. And truly Phaedrus had need 
 of help. 
 
 One dajr things came to a crisis. It was 
 a festival in the academy, and historic recita- 
 tions were to take place before the chief men 
 of that city. Antidicus, the bitterest enemy 
 of Gaius, was present. And when one of 
 the students had finished an oration on some 
 of the last pages of the history of Nicea, 
 Antidicus arose, and having thanked the 
 young man for his glowing eulogium on their 
 native city, he proceeded to represent the 
 conduct of Gaius in the most sinister aspect ; 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 203 
 
 he impugned his motives, he questioned his 
 capacities, he accused him of serving him- 
 self, and not Nicea ; and, finally, averred that 
 the blood of many citizens lay at his door. 
 Phaedrus could hardly restrain his indig- 
 nation ; his heart was hot and his cheeks 
 burned ; when suddenly Antidicus turned 
 to him, saying, just as if he had been una- 
 ware of his presence before : " Ah ! I see 
 the son of Gaius is here. I rejoice that he 
 is present, for doubtless he will explain, if 
 any explanation be conceivable, the appar- 
 ently crooked and disastrous government of 
 Iris father." 
 
 Phaedrus arose, and as he rose the blood 
 forsook his face ; but, standing with his back 
 to a pillar, he answered before all : ; * I do 
 not know Antidicus, save by report as a bit- 
 ter and unscrupulous enemy of our house. 
 I do know my father as good, and wise, and 
 just. Shall I let my ignorance master my 
 knowledge ? Is such the teaching of this 
 learned academv ? Far, far from it. With 
 
204 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 regard to the charges he now brings against 
 my honored sire, many, as he knows, as you 
 all know, have been answered again and 
 again. For the refutation of the rest time 
 only is needful. Truth is never afraid to 
 wait." 
 
 Antidicus grew livid with rage, As the 
 last sentence fell from the lips of Phaedrus, 
 he muttered between his clenched teeth, 
 " Does that beardless youth accuse me of 
 falsehood? " At these words the hall became 
 a scene of wild confusion. Phaedrus was 
 seized and thrown on the marble pavement, 
 and his gown rent from his shoulders, and 
 many and grievous blows showered upon 
 him. It is impossible to say where this 
 would have stayed, had not Ctesiphon parried 
 many of the thrusts, and Philotheus, coming 
 in that instant, cast himself between the 
 prostrate and bleeding youth and his assail- 
 ants, and reproached them in indignant terms 
 for the cowardly assault of many upon one, 
 and that one only doing that which they 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 205 
 
 ought the rather to honor him for ; namely, 
 defending the reputation of a beloved and 
 absent father. 
 
 The words of Philotheus recalled the 
 young men to some sense of shame, and 
 Phaedrus was allowed to retire, leaning on 
 the arm of Ctesiphon; and when he had 
 washed off some of the traces of the mal- 
 treatment he had endured, he made his way 
 to the lodgement of his brother, who hap- 
 pened to be laid up w r ith sickness that day, 
 or he might have been exposed to the same 
 insults in the common hall. As Philemon 
 listened to the story of Phaedrus, and saw 
 the wounds and bruises he had suffered for 
 their father's sake, his heart was knit closer 
 than ever to his brother. 
 
 From this day direct persecution became 
 less and less. Many of his comrades in age 
 were abashed by his courage and constancy, 
 and a little band of four or five gathered 
 round him. But yet the whole tone and 
 spirit of the house remained unconquerably 
 
206 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 hostile to Gaius and his son. Time would 
 fail me to tell of all the trials he endured, 
 though they were now cheered by the com- 
 panionship of his new associates, the occa- 
 sional sight of his beloved brother, the steady 
 friendship of Philotheus, and not unfrequent 
 letters from his dear and honored father. 
 
 But now the year's probation was drawing 
 to its close. Summer had long since given 
 place to autumn, and the beautiful autumn 
 sunsets had faded away, and the wintry 
 frosts, though always tempered on that 
 delightful coast, were yielding to the love 
 of the early spring, when one day, as Phae- 
 drus and Philemon were walking arm-in-arm 
 through the cloisters of the academy, the 
 well-known figure of Mnason, the old and 
 faithful seneschal of their father's castle, was 
 seen entering the portico. The young men 
 ran to meet him, with the question of Joseph 
 on their lips : " Is our father well ? " Mnason, 
 respectfully saluting them, answered, " He 
 is well," and at the same time presented them 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 207 
 
 with a letter sealed with the familiar signet. 
 The letter was very brief : — 
 
 " My beloved sons, the courses of study, 
 which I had it in my heart for you both to 
 pursue, will come to a close on the evening 
 of the day upon which you receive this mes- 
 sage. I wish you to rise early on the morrow 
 morning, and return home with Mnason in 
 the chariot which I have sent for you. I 
 have had constant reports of your fidelity 
 and diligence. A heartv welcome awaits 
 you from your longing father, Gaius." 
 
 To bound up his own height into the air 
 for joy was the instinctive action of Phile- 
 mon, while Phaedrus heaved a sob of thank- 
 fulness from his inmost bosom, which seemed 
 to roll off the burden of a year's anxieties 
 and toil. However, they both grasped old 
 Mnason's hands, and assured him they would 
 be ready by daybreak. And then they has- 
 tened to bid adieu to Philotheus and their 
 
208 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 teachers and comrades. The parting was 
 very tender between Ctesiphon and Phae- 
 drus. Nor did they relax their embrace, 
 until Ctesiphon had promised to visit the 
 castle of Gams, and learn to know the vener- 
 able man of whom he had heard so much. 
 
 The morning was without clouds. The 
 orange groves and olive trees were dressed 
 in the first verdure of spring. The larks 
 sang a ceaseless matin song. And when the 
 travellers glanced behind them, the Mediter- 
 ranean stretched far away with its countless 
 distances of blue, like an image of the eternal 
 past. But before them was home, blessed 
 home. Occasionally, indeed, a flush of anx- 
 iety might be detected on the countenance 
 of Phaedrus, as he thought of the suspicions 
 which he had allowed, even for an hour, to 
 trouble his faith. But then the words of the 
 letter which Mnason had brought, and of 
 many previous messages from his father, 
 recurred to his mind, and reassured him. 
 
 The horses, however, were fleet, and the 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 209 
 
 road was good ; and as they surmounted 
 the ridge of a wooded declivity, they saw 
 the loved turrets of their castle home. Rapid 
 as the chariot horses were, the young men's 
 desires outstripped them, till, as they drew 
 near the outermost watch-tower on their 
 ancestral estate, they saw the reverend form 
 of Gaius coming towards them, and caught 
 the gleaming of his silvery hair in the sun- 
 light, and recognized his beckoning hand of 
 welcome. The chariot stopped a few paces 
 from him, and the young men, springing out 
 on either side, fell upon their aged father's 
 neck and kissed him. 
 
 I must not linger to tell of all the joys of 
 that happy day. This much I may say, that 
 a few hours after they had arrived at home, 
 and while Philemon was already wandering 
 with inexpressible delight over the haunts of 
 his boyhood, Gaius called his elder son into 
 his own favorite turret chamber, and with- 
 out one word or whisper of reproach for any 
 passing doubt or fear, which might have 
 14 
 
210 PHAEDBTJS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 clouded for a little while poor Phaedrus's 
 peace during the past year, thanked him 
 with all a father's tenderness and thought- 
 fulness for his persistent trust and loyalty 
 and love. Nor was this all ; for Gaius told 
 him that he was now experienced enough 
 to hear the secret reasons which had actuated 
 his government of Nicea, when it seemed 
 most open to censure. That very day many 
 mysteries were cleared up, and Phaedrus was 
 overjoyed to find how those things which 
 looked darkest and most inexplicable were 
 always the result of the ripest wisdom and 
 far-seeing benevolence. Love to Nicea had 
 been the master-key to all the conduct of 
 Gaius, so that now his son began to rejoice 
 in any mysteries that remained ; for he knew 
 that when unfolded they would only the 
 more illustrate his father's providence and 
 goodness. In a few weeks nothing was 
 unsolved ; so that one day, as Philemon was 
 returning from the forest, Phaedrus, coming 
 from the presence of his father, met him with 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 211 
 
 the joyous exclamation, " O my brother, the 
 darker the mystery the deeper the love." 
 
 " f\ GRANDFATHER ! " said Aimee, as 
 Oberlin laid down his paper and his 
 spectacles, " I must add those last words, 
 4 The darker the mystery the deeper the love,' 
 to my book of golden sayings" 
 
 (For you must know that each of the 
 children, by Oberlin's special request, kept 
 a manuscript book, in which they were ac- 
 customed to write down any good proverb 
 or short pithy sentence which struck them 
 in their lessons or at meal-time, when their 
 grandfather w^ould often read the daily jour- 
 nals aloud, or in their visits with him to the 
 cottages of the poor. These books were 
 labelled " Golden Sayings," and were read 
 out from time to time in the happy family 
 circle, affording bright subjects for table- 
 talk.) 
 
 " Is it an old proverb, dear grandfather ? " 
 
212 PHAEDHUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 continued Aiin6e, " or (looking archly at 
 him) did you make it ? " 
 
 " Well, my child," answered Oberlin, " I 
 think the warp of it is as old as the Psal- 
 mist's words, ' Thy way is in the sea, and 
 Thy path in the great waters, and Thy foot- 
 steps are not known,' 1 for God is love, and 
 He works all things after the counsel of 
 His own will ; and yet how many things 
 look very dark for a while which afterwards 
 break into the brightest sunshine ! We have 
 very often now to trust Him when we cannot 
 trace Him, and some things eternity only will 
 explain. But if the warp of the saying you 
 so like, Aimee, is as old as the Bible, perhaps 
 our parable supplied the woof. Let us look 
 at it a little more closely. You must not 
 attempt to press every part of it into service, 
 but its main features, I think, are plain." 
 
 " Of course," said Adolphe, " Phaedrus 
 and Philemon represent different Christians, 
 some of whom are sorely tried by tempta- 
 
 1 Psalm lxxvii. 19. 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 213 
 
 (ion, while others seem to know but little 
 of it." 
 
 " And then, no doubt," said Gustave, 
 11 this life is the school, where Christ's dis- 
 ciples learn their hard lessons and buffet 
 their way." 
 
 " And the world, I suppose," chimed in 
 little Roschen, " answers to the great college 
 at Nicea, where poor Phaedrus suffered so 
 much." 
 
 " Then, of course," exclaimed Gustave, 
 " Antidicus, the bitter enemy of Gaius, sig- 
 nifies the devil, — " 
 
 " And ? — " said Oberlin, inquiringly. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " And," continued Oberlin, " his servants 
 and followers and agents. The devil does 
 not approach us openly, as he did our Master 
 in His great temptation, but he does stir up 
 wicked men to tempt us, and plies his arts in 
 a thousand covert ways." 
 
 " And then," said Aimee, hesitatingly, "I 
 suppose, in the same sense, Philotheus repre- 
 
214 PHAEDKUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 sents all those good men, pastors and teachers 
 and ministers, whom the Holy Spirit teaches, 
 that they may teach us the things of God." 
 
 " Quite so, my child," replied Oberlin ; 
 "but what should you say was the main 
 drift of my parable ? " 
 
 After a little, Adolphe answered, " Would 
 not the words of your text this morning, 
 grandfather, express it better than any other, 
 4 What I do thou knowest not now, but thou 
 shalt know hereafter ' ? Though you dwelt 
 so much on the story of Jesus washing His 
 disciples' feet, and the lesson of lowly love 
 to one another we are to learn from it, some- 
 how I could not help connecting j r our text 
 with the parable all the time you have been 
 reading to us this evening." 
 
 Oberlin looked upon his grandson with 
 beaming delight, and said, " You have indeed 
 caught the spirit of my parable, Adolphe, 
 As Gaius thought it good for his sons to go 
 to the great academy at Nicea, though he 
 well knew they would have to study dili- 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 215 
 
 gently there, and would have to bear their 
 daily cross, and be exposed to many hard- 
 ships and snares and temptations, so our God 
 and Father, who is training us for our heav- 
 enly home, though He knows we must learn 
 many difficult lessons, and be exposed to 
 many dangers, and often suffer much in 
 enduring temptation, yet assigns us each one 
 our lot in this present evil world, saying to 
 us, ; All that will live godly in Christ Jesus 
 shall suffer persecution ; ' 1 but at the same 
 time putting that rich promise into our hands, 
 6 Blessed is the man that endureth tempta- 
 tion ; for, when he is tried, he shall receive 
 the crown of life, which the Lord hath prom- 
 ised to them that love Him.' " 2 
 
 " And yet, sir," said old Robin, " if I may 
 make so bold as to speak, some men, and 
 good men too, seem to go through life with 
 very little trial or persecution. They are 
 strong and hearty. No trouble comes nigh 
 their dwellings. They live to a good old 
 
 1 2 Tim. iii. 12. ■ James i. 12. 
 
216 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 age, and die in peace. Do they miss that 
 blessing yon speak of?" 
 
 "Well, Robin," said Oberlin, "I do not 
 for a moment deny that some soldiers are 
 called to far harder warfare, and will receive 
 a brighter crown. One star will differ from 
 another star in glory. Bnt then we mnst 
 remember, ' the heart knoweth its own bitter- 
 ness,' and I have talked with many a one whose 
 ontward path seemed all that heart could 
 wish, and found there was a secret trouble, 
 sometimes a heart-trouble, sometimes a home- 
 trouble, that the world knew not of; and I 
 have gone from his house repeating to myself 
 the words of our hymn, — 
 
 " There are briars besetting every path 
 That call for patient care ; 
 There is a cross in every lot, 
 
 And an earnest need for prayer ; 
 But a lowly heart that leans on Thee 
 ** happy anywhere." 
 
 "I've seen that, too, sir," said Marie. 
 "But to put it in another way, was that 
 young, trustful lad's a less honorable course 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 217 
 
 than his elder brother's ? My old heart quite 
 went out towards that bright, joyous spirit." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Oberlin, " we should 
 not do quite wisely to compare one with 
 another as to degrees of honor or happiness. 
 God does not make all alike, and does not 
 mean all to run the same course. Both Phae- 
 drus and Philemon were faithful, though one 
 suffered far more than the other, and there- 
 fore was the more qualified to enter into the 
 reasons of his father's conduct. But ' the 
 eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of 
 thee, nor again the head to the feet, I have 
 no need of you.' 1 And we shall never know 
 till glory who shall be first, and who last, 
 among the disciples of the great Master. 
 May God only grant us to be humble, dili- 
 gent, trustful, hopeful scholars in the great 
 school of life ! He is testing us every hour." 
 
 " If life's lesson-books were actually put 
 into our hands, grandfather," said Gustave, 
 "like our Latin grammar and Virgil, and we 
 
 1 1 Cor. xii. 21. 
 
218 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 were told that we had to master them in a 
 given time, say in six or twelve months, and 
 then be examined in them, it would seem so 
 much easier. But it is so hard to feel you 
 are at school all day and every day, especially 
 when j^ou cannot in the least tell when you 
 may have to give an account how you have 
 worked. Why, it may be fifty years or more 
 before we are asked what we have done with 
 our life." 
 
 " This is your old difficulty," said Oberlin, 
 tenderly. " It is, I know, hard to walk by 
 faith and not by sight. But this is God's 
 discipline for us. There seem to me three 
 great departments of that education which 
 He assigns His children, — study, work, and 
 trial. Often His scholars are passing through 
 all at once. But with you, my children, the 
 chief part of every day's duty now consists 
 in study, the patient acquisition of knowledge, 
 both earthly and heavenly knowledge. New 
 I know full well the lessons must sometimes 
 seem hard and irksome. You have to take 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 219 
 
 much on trust. But you will find the wis- 
 dom you are storing up now will stand you 
 in good stead in after days. Then, as life 
 goes on, most of your time will probably be 
 taken up with work. You boys will have to 
 earn your bread in some honest calling, and 
 you girls will have plenty of happy home- 
 work every day. Yet we might soon perplex 
 ourselves with asking why is it needful for a 
 member of Christ, a child of God, and an 
 inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, to be en- 
 gaged often from morning till night in toil of 
 body or brain. If tempted to ask this, let us 
 remember God is trying us by these things 
 of what mind and metal we are, — and those 
 who are faithful in the least will be found 
 faithful in much. And then along with study 
 and work is mingled trial more or less all 
 through life. We all in turn learn to suffer 
 here." 
 
 Roschen colored up, and said, " I hardly 
 know what suffering means, grandfather ; 
 except when I had that terrible toothache." 
 
220 PHAEDRTTS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 "And my little Roschen was then brave 
 and patient," replied Oberlin, laying his hand 
 on her head, " and gave good promise of 
 being able to bear greater things for Jesus 
 one day." 
 
 " Phaedrus's chief trouble," said Aimee, 
 " seemed to be in resisting the cruel calum- 
 nies cast upon his father. But, since our 
 Father is God, we cannot for a moment 
 doubt that all He has done or is doing 
 must be best." 
 
 An involuntary, low-breathed sigh that 
 came from the heart of Adolphe told Oberlin 
 that his parable had touched the secret trouble 
 of one of his grandchildren. But he only re- 
 plied, looking steadily round on all, " Yes, 
 my children, we know that ' God is light, 
 and in Him is no darkness at all.' 1 But it 
 is also true, ' Clouds and darkness are round 
 about Him,' and that He ' hath His way in the 
 whirlwind and storm.' 2 And struggling faith 
 often has to answer with Phaedrus, ' I know 
 
 1 1 John i. 5. 2 Psalm xcvii. 2 ; Nahum i. 3. 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 221 
 
 that my Father is good ; I will never let my 
 ignorance master my knowledge ; for the 
 explanation of many things I will wait, and 
 am content to wait.' 5 ' 
 
 Adolphe was glad to turn the subject then, 
 though he fully resolved that he would pur- 
 sue it some day when alone with his grand- 
 father, and said, " And then, I suppose, we 
 must number among the trials of life's school 
 our being tempted by the devil to do what 
 we know to be wrong, and leave undone 
 what we know to be right ? " 
 
 " And how did our Master meet such 
 trials ? " asked Oberlin, looking towards 
 Marie and Robin. 
 
 " Why, sir. He met every temptation of 
 the devil, as you showed us not long since," 
 said Marie, "by the sword of the Spirit, say- 
 ing, ; It is written/ and ; It is written again.' 
 Ever since you preached that sermon, I've 
 looked to my Bible for some sharp word to 
 say to the tempter." 
 
 ••And then," said Robin, "as to shghting 
 
222 PHAEDBUS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 duty, He answered, ' I must work the works 
 of Him that sent me, while it is day ; the 
 night cometh when no man can work.' 1 O, 
 how often have those words nerved my tired 
 arm and strengthened my failing knees !" 
 
 u Can you think of any other trials of our 
 faith ? " asked Oberlin. 
 
 " Oh, yes, grandfather," replied Aimee. 
 " You mean the loss of those we love. How 
 often you have taught us to plead the prom- 
 ises made to fatherless and motherless chil- 
 dren ! You have been more to us than we 
 can ever tell, dear grandfather. But oh, I 
 do long to see my mother again." And the 
 loving girl's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Yes, my children," said Oberlin, " we are 
 driven back and back to our text, ' What I 
 do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt 
 know hereafter.' We learn to spell out some 
 of the reasons why God chastens us, — for in 
 so chastening us He dealeth with us as with 
 sons. But when the glad summons is sent 
 
 1 John ix. 4. 
 
PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 223 
 
 to come into His presence, when we see 
 Him face to face, and dwell with Him at 
 home, then shall that which is dark now be 
 lighted up with the sunshine of His smile, 
 and we shall joyfully confess He has led us 
 by a right path to the many mansions of His 
 love.*' 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 %Sf|MR 
 
 *WM™ 
 
 JAR off toward the 
 golden sunrising, 
 on the outskirts of 
 the mighty empire 
 of the king of 
 kings, as Hamme- 
 lech, not without 
 reason, was usually 
 styled, — for three- 
 score and ten trib- 
 utary thrones were 
 wont to do him homage and held their sceptres 
 at his pleasure, — was situate the small but 
 most beautiful principality of Eden. It was a 
 secluded vallej^, reaching only some thirty 
 miles in length by ten in breadth, shut in by 
 lofty snow-capped mountains on every side, 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 225 
 
 from whence a thousand rivulets descended, 
 and swelled the crystal river which flowed 
 through its midst and found vent through the 
 one rocky defile which gave access to the great 
 world without. No tongue can describe the 
 verdure of its pastures, the luxuriance of its 
 flowers and fruits, the enchanting labyrinths 
 of its forests and glens, nor the glory of those 
 sunset hues that lingered on the peaks of 
 virgin snow. Some say it was called Eden 
 from its supposed likeness to the sinless para- 
 dise of our first parents ; while others were 
 bold enough to affirm, that this was with- 
 out doubt that garden of delight in which 
 God first walked with man. 
 
 Near the centre of the valley there was a 
 tranquil lake of silver water, the banks of 
 which were festooned with innumerable roses ; 
 and hard beside the lake, on a wooded cliff, 
 arose the roj^al palace of the princes of Eden, 
 who for many generations had reigned over 
 the happy habitants of this vale. But, some 
 fourteen years before my story begins, there 
 
 15 
 
226 UNA THE BKIDE. 
 
 had been gloom and mourning in the marble 
 palace of Eden. Azrael, the angel of death, 
 wrapped in the robe of that pestilence which 
 walketh in darkness, had in one night borne 
 away the queen-mother and her infant son, 
 over whose birth there had been universal 
 rejoicing but three days before. The king 
 mastered his crushing sorrow before the eyes 
 of his household ; but the deep, deep wound 
 bled inwardly, and in less than six months he 
 was laid to rest beside his wife and babe. 
 
 And now the only heiress to this delight- 
 some principality was the orphan Una, at 
 that time a lovely innocent infant of four 
 years old. All the hopes of Eden clustered 
 around her. Dorcas and Deborah, widowed 
 matrons of the highest rank, were appointed 
 nurses of the royal child ; and Perpetua and 
 Felicitas, the twin children of Deborah, were 
 ordered to be her playmates. Faithful 
 soldiers guarded the palace gates and walls. 
 And as she grew in years wise preceptors 
 instructed her. Meanwhile, a reverend 
 
TJX A THE BRIDE. 227 
 
 senate, consisting of four and twenty of the 
 oldest and most trusted counsellors of her 
 father, administered the affairs of the princi- 
 pality. Nor did Una disappoint the pains 
 bestowed upon her, nor the fond hopes which 
 her people cherished of her unfolding j~outh. 
 Many anecdotes of her unselfish love, and 
 many proofs of her ripening wisdom, were 
 eagerly told from lip to lip, and were chroni- 
 cled in the hearts of her future subjects. But 
 it was whispered that she inherited the lofty 
 spirit of her father, and his almost inflexible 
 will. She did not seem to know the meaning 
 of fear. From the age of ten years and up- 
 wards her delight was in threading the mazes 
 of the forests, or climbing the rocky peaks to 
 catch the rosy tints of the rising or the setting 
 sun. In these rambles Felicitas was her 
 chosen companion, and often did the woods 
 echo to their innocent laughter. But not 
 seldom, as she grew older, she entirely 
 refused companionship, and would wander 
 on in quiet thought, or bound like one of her 
 
228 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 own gazelles over the heather. And then it 
 was her delight to visit alone the cottage of 
 the fatherless and the widow, and to cany 
 with her own hands the most delicious fruits 
 of her palace gardens, melons or pomegran- 
 ates or clustering grapes, to the bedside of 
 the sick and suffering poor. It was in vain 
 to argue with her; there was a calm self- 
 possession which was a law unto itself. 
 
 For a long while, nothing of moment hap- 
 pened to break the quiet of the dwellers in 
 the secluded valley of Eden. But shortly 
 after the sixteenth birthday of Una had been 
 celebrated with joyous festivities in every 
 home, tidings were brought that Adonais, 
 the only son of Hammelech, the mighty 
 emperor of the east, of whose dominions 
 Eden formed but the smallest fragment, had 
 gained victory after victory in a terrible Avar 
 with Alp Arslan, the rebel chieftain of a 
 province lying far to the north of their val- 
 ley. It was told how he had been severely 
 wounded, but recovered, and rumor said 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 229 
 
 that now, by his father's pleasure, Adonais 
 had laid aside his military and royal state, 
 and, disguised as a wayfaring man, was mak- 
 ing a tour of inspection through the remoter 
 parts of his vast empire. Many were the 
 stories told of the unexpected visits he paid 
 to the lowly shed of the peasant as well as 
 to the mansions of .the rich and noble. 
 
 Now some averred that Adonais had been 
 seen to pass early one morning in the dusky 
 twilight through the defile which guarded 
 the entrance of the valley of Eden. But if 
 it were so, he preserved his incognito most 
 strictly the whole time of his sojourn there, 
 for after the glimpses of that early dawn 
 none of the inhabitants saw him again ; and 
 when some months had elapsed, certain in- 
 formation was brought that Adonais had 
 returned to his father's court, and it was 
 commonly reported that the emperor was 
 designing an illustrious marriage for his 
 beloved and only son. 
 
 Meanwhile, in Eden Una grew in graceful- 
 
230 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 ness and graciousness. And not a few of 
 the neighboring princes had preferred their 
 suit for her hand to the counsellors of the 
 little kingdom. She was as simple as a 
 child ; but whenever the subject was named 
 to her she would listen with a courteous but 
 apparently incredulous smile, and answer, 
 she valued greatly the friendship of all her 
 royal neighbors and allies, and plighted them 
 her friendship in return, but with that they 
 must be content. It was in vain to persuade 
 her : you might as soon have moved the 
 rock on which her palace was built. 
 
 Two years more had passed away, and 
 Una was now the ripened maiden of eighteen 
 summers, at which age, by the laws of Eden, 
 the crown was placed upon her fair young 
 brow, and she was proclaimed the sovereign 
 of the principality of her father. On the 
 evening of her coronation day tidings were 
 brought to her, that a small but select em- 
 bassy was on its way from the imperial court. 
 Embassies were no unfrequent events, as 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 231 
 
 Hammelech was wont by them to keep up 
 constant communications with the tributary 
 kingdoms of his empire. But there was 
 something about this embassy which, on its 
 arrival at the capital of Eden, threw its 
 inhabitants into anxious thoughts and many 
 whispered deliberations. It consisted, not, 
 as usual, of three counsellors, but of only 
 one grave and thoughtful ambassador, whose 
 name was Evangelist, a man who w r as known 
 to have the emperor's ear as much as any 
 member of his privy council; and he was 
 accompanied by his wife Evangeline, in 
 whose veins ran some of the noblest blood 
 of the empire. Evangelist's only personal 
 attendant was a venerable white-haired ser- 
 vant, whose name was Fid us ; while in the 
 train of Evangeline were three high-born 
 maidens, Grace, Ancora, and Ruth. A com- 
 modious mansion near the palace gates was 
 assigned them for their residence ; and as 
 Evangelist said his message was for the vir- 
 gin queen's ear alone, Una signified her 
 
232 TJKA THE BEIDE. 
 
 pleasure to give him audience on the mor- 
 row in the innermost court of her royal 
 dwelling. 
 
 So on the morrow Evangelist and his little 
 suite came to the palace ; and when they 
 were ushered in, Una, directing the others 
 to remain just within the portal of the hall 
 of audience, seated herself in a retired alcove, 
 and beckoning Evangelist to approach, said 
 that she was ready to hear the wishes of the 
 emperor. 
 
 And upon this Evangelist began to plead 
 the weighty suit entrusted to him. He told 
 how the prince Adonais two years before had 
 seen Una, when she had not the least suspi- 
 cion that his eyes were upon her ; how he 
 had watched her gentle kindness to an orphan 
 child who, but for her, must have perished 
 with sickness and hunger ; how he had 
 traced her tender ministries, and heard her 
 low-breathed songs as she sweetly soothed 
 the broken slumbers of fever; and, further, 
 how he had himself gleaned information 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 233 
 
 regarding her from a thousand sources, and 
 found that she was indeed one whom he 
 could trust to share the administration of 
 his mighty dominions. In a word, he offered 
 her his heart and hand, and pleaded earnestly 
 that she would consent to be his affianced 
 bride. 
 
 Una listened with respectful deference to 
 every word which fell from the lips of Evan- 
 gelist, and after a short pause replied with 
 all the courteous dignity of her race, that 
 she was fully sensible of the high honor 
 which Adonais, the son of Hammelech, the 
 king of kings, designed for her ; but that she 
 was utterly unworthy of such distinguished 
 favor, and utterly unfitted for such an exalted 
 throne ; and although she would take due 
 time to consider her answer, she did not 
 for a moment think that any alliance, how- 
 ever magnificent, would persuade her to 
 leave the quiet seclusion of the palace of her 
 fathers. 
 
 Evangelist thanked her for giving audience 
 
234 UXA THE BRIDE. 
 
 thus far to his petition, and earnestly begged" 
 that he might be allowed ere long to renew 
 his intercession on his lord's behalf, and urge 
 marij pleas which Adonais had commissioned 
 him to employ. To this Una could not but 
 consent, though it was with evident reluc- 
 tance. And now, as glad to throw off an 
 irksome subject, she invited Evangeline and 
 her maidens in waiting to approach, and 
 showed them some of the rarities of her 
 palace home, and especially the almost match- 
 less prospects which it commanded of the 
 snow-clad mountains. For more than an 
 hour they wandered through the costly apart- 
 ments or gazed from the rose-twined bal- 
 conies, and as they lingered, Evangeline, in 
 the most simple, artless way, dropped many 
 a word which seconded her husband's suit, 
 saying how Adonais had often spoken to her 
 in warmest admiration of these same beau- 
 tiful views. Una said nothing in reply, but 
 secretly marvelled when and where he had 
 seen them. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 235 
 
 However^ after two clays she sent again 
 for Evangelist and his company, and told 
 liiin that she had riven his suit the most anx- 
 ious deliberation ; but that, haying weighed 
 it in the scales of a life-long choice, she had 
 come to the conclusion that she must decline 
 the imperial glory. 
 
 In the first place, she said, she could not 
 bear to leave the scenes of her childhood. 
 She knew every nook of the valley and al- 
 most every tree of the forests, every haunt 
 of beauty and of grandeur, and every home 
 of her beloved people. Then she confessed 
 that she shrank from the majesty of Adonais. 
 "I," she said, " compared with your noble 
 prince, am a simple maiden, — the heiress of 
 one of his most insignificant provinces ; and 
 he is the son of the king of kings. But in 
 truth I prefer my lowliness to his magnifi- 
 cence." Nor did she conceal her dread of 
 one who had been engaged in such mighty 
 wars, and had passed through such scenes of 
 bloodshed and alarm. And then, reserving 
 
236 UNA THE BKIDE. 
 
 the reason which perhaps weighed most with 
 her for the last, she affirmed that she was 
 unwilling to surrender her freedom, her heart 
 and person, to another. She knew not that 
 she should ever bestow her hand upon any 
 suitor, certainly not for long years to come. 
 She was my lady Will-be-will, and such it 
 was her pleasure to remain. 
 
 Una added that she had consulted with 
 two or three of her father's counsellors ; and 
 though they were taken with the glory of 
 the proposed alliance, and felt their minds 
 waver as to the advice they should tender 
 her, they all agreed that it was a matter in 
 which their royal princess must commune 
 with her own heart and decide accordingly. 
 She did not reveal that one of them had 
 spoken disparagingly of Adonais, and avowed 
 his conviction that her gentle love would be 
 unsuitably matched with his fame for military 
 exploits. But she said smilingly, though 
 with something of a plaintive sadness in the 
 tone of her voice, " Tell your noble prince 
 
UNA THE BEIDE. 237 
 
 how I thank him for his courtesy and tender 
 thoughts of me : but let him seek some con- 
 sort more fitted than his humble handmaiden 
 to share the splendors of his imperial throne. 
 For in sooth I can never be his bride." 
 
 Then Evangelist drew nearer ; and by 
 Una's permission Evangeline and her maid- 
 ens disposed themselves near the footstool of 
 the throne on which she reclined, whilst the 
 ambassador pleaded his master's cause once 
 more with wonderful skill, turning every 
 objection she had made into a new persua- 
 sive argument for her compliance. 
 
 He began by reminding her that all her 
 ancestral estates were really part of the 
 dominion of the emperor; so that, although 
 they were hers to inherit and enjoy, the 
 suzerainty over them belonged to Hammelech 
 and his house by an earlier and indefeasible 
 right. He admitted the exquisite loveliness 
 of her Eden ; but he went on to describe the 
 surpassing glories of Shushan, the palace, and 
 of the imperial city, in such truthful and 
 
238 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 wonderful words, that the ear of Una was 
 won, and she listened with inquisitive interest. 
 Here Evangeline confirmed and enriched the 
 description which her husband gave of the 
 metropolis ; and Ancora, one of her maidens, 
 ventured to express a desire that the princess 
 could only see it with her own eyes. 
 
 Furthermore, Evangelist urged that Una 
 would not, by becoming the bride of the heir 
 to the imperial throne, cease to be the 
 crowned sovereign of her own peculiar prin- 
 cipality. She would not lose her Eden by 
 sharing the throne of Adonais in Shushan. 
 Nay, doubtless the prince would often de- 
 light to return and wander with her over 
 the haunts she so ardently loved. Only (and 
 Evangelist again dwelt on the splendors of 
 the imperial court) all these likewise would 
 be hers, for it was in his commission to de- 
 clare that all wherewith Hammelech endowed 
 Adonais, with that would Adonais endow his 
 chosen bride. 
 
 " Let the wealth of your noble prince be 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 239 
 
 as boundless as the universe," exclaimed 
 Una, interrupting him; " the human heart 
 was not made to love possessions, but a 
 person. And I know not your Adonais, sav- 
 ing I have heard of him as a mighty con- 
 queror. Magnificence would never attract 
 me; so let us speak no more of it." 
 
 But just as if this reply had given him an 
 opening to dwell on another aspect of the 
 character of his beloved prince, Evangelist 
 proceeded to give proof after proof of the 
 tenderness and grace of Adonais. Evangeline 
 threw in her glowing testimony, and appealed 
 to Ruth to verify her statements, who told 
 how she had seen him with his own hand 
 ministering to his sick and wounded soldiers, 
 and himself relieving the wants of the pris- 
 oner and captive. "It is true," continued 
 the ambassador, "that Adonais has made 
 mighty wars like David, but in his inmost 
 heart he is a man of peace, like Solomon. 
 Indeed, he only fought that his subjects 
 might live every man under his own vine and 
 
240 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 fig-tree, none making them afraid. Had he 
 not fought, illustrious Una, your beautiful 
 valley would have been desolated with fire 
 and sword, and, haply, chains hung around 
 your tender limbs. It was your enemy he 
 vanquished when he broke the power of Alp 
 Arslan. And when himself sorely wounded 
 in the fiercest crisis of that decisive battle, I 
 heard him say that he considered his blood 
 but the price he paid for the salvation of 
 your Eden and of you." 
 
 Evangelist was proceeding to tell further 
 of the goodness and liberality of Adonais to 
 his attendants and ministers, " of which," he 
 said, " I myself am proof," when Una, hastily 
 gathering up her robes, as if she was afraid 
 to listen any more, entreated him to forbear, 
 for she would rather hear no more of one to 
 whom, her heart told her, she could not sur- 
 render herself. So she withdrew, but not 
 before she had granted the clinging request 
 of Evangeline that they might present them- 
 selves before her in three days' time. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 241 
 
 When next audience was given, Una 
 seemed in the interval to have wellnigh 
 steeled herself against further entreaty. She 
 begged it as a favor of Evangelist that he 
 should not urge another word in support of 
 his suit. She loved her native valley, her 
 beautiful home, Deborah and Dorcas, the 
 nurses of her childhood, and Felicitas and 
 Perpetua, the playmates of her youth, and 
 her friends among the poor ; but she did not 
 and could not love one whom she had never 
 seen. Let the embassy leave her, and depart 
 in peace. 
 
 And then Evangelist made answer : " I 
 will not further intercede myself on behalf of 
 my prince, illustrious Una, if such is your 
 pleasure. But Adonais charged me, if other 
 pleas should fail, to give you this parchment 
 written with his own hand. And Hamme- 
 lech, the king of kings, sent you this portrait 
 of his only and beloved son." 
 
 The parchment was closely folded, and 
 sealed with the signet which Adonais always 
 16 
 
242 UXA THE BRIDE. 
 
 wore on his right hand, of which the device 
 was a rescued lamb in the shepherd's arms. 
 And the portrait was the cunning work of 
 the subtlest artist in the kingdom, and was 
 set all in gold and rubies, telling of the burn- 
 ing love of him whose noble countenance it 
 delineated. 
 
 Una took the portrait with a trembling 
 hand (no one had ever seen that hand shake 
 till now), and placed it on the porphyry 
 table before her, and gazed on it at first 
 dreamily, but soon more intently ; and then 
 she took the parchment and held it a long 
 while unopened ; but at last, as one musing 
 or amazed, she broke the seal and began to 
 read, line after line, and sentence after 
 sentence. No one ever knew all that was 
 written there save herself. Only as she 
 caught the meaning of the words her eye was 
 moistened with tenderness, and before she 
 had read one half she could not see clearly 
 for the mist of tears. So she laid the parch- 
 ment down and gazed again upon the portrait. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 243 
 
 And it seemed she was utterly unconscious 
 of the presence of Evangelist and Fidus, and 
 of Evangeline and her maidens. For anon 
 she read another sentence, and then again 
 looked wistfully at the portrait ; and then 
 again she read on and on. But when she 
 came to the closing words, " I sign my letter 
 in my own blood, blood that flowed from a 
 deep wound received in a battle fought, Una, 
 for thy sake, and which may assure thee I 
 love thee unto death, and am for ever and 
 for ever thine own Adonais," Una restrained 
 herself no more ; she leaned her head on 
 the bosom of Grace, who at the moment 
 seemed instinctively to draw near to her side, 
 and wept silently and long. 
 
 Hardly half an hour had passed away, 
 before Evangelist broke the stillness by ask- 
 ing whether Una would now grant him per- 
 mission again to urge his beloved master's 
 suit. But she answered in a low, sweet voice, 
 " Thy master's suit is granted," and gave 
 the ambassador her little snow-white hand in 
 
244 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 token of the royal word having passed her 
 lips. Evangelist respectfully grasped it in 
 both his hands, looking up to heaven in over- 
 flowing thankfulness, and, having pressed it 
 once and again to his lips, he took from the 
 purse in his girdle a ring of priceless value 
 with which Adonais had entrusted him, and 
 placed it on Una's finger as the ring of be- 
 trothal. Then at his beck Fidus approached, 
 bearing a casket of pearls and gems, such as 
 Eden had never known, for the household of 
 the princess. So Una summoned Dorcas and 
 Deborah, with her lovely twin girls, and her- 
 self fastened around their neck and wrists 
 these jewels of dazzling beauty, telling them 
 in broken whispers how she had pledged her 
 heart and hand to Adonais. And meanwhile 
 the three handmaidens of Evangeline at her 
 request touched their silvery lutes, and sung 
 the most exquisite song which Una had ever 
 heard. The words and the music alike were 
 composed by the prince himself, who was a 
 lyrist of no mean order, and the burden of it 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 245 
 
 was, " Rise up, my love, my fair one, and 
 come away ; for, lo, the winter is past, the 
 rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on 
 the earth, the time of the singing of birds is 
 come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
 the land. Arise, my love, my fair one, and 
 come away." And Evangelist and Evan- 
 geline, as if now they were permitted to 
 speak on Una's behalf, sang right nobly 
 in response, " My beloved is mine, and I 
 am his; he feedeth among the lilies. Un- 
 til the day break and the shadows flee 
 away, turn, my beloved : and be thou like 
 a roe or young hart upon the mountains of 
 Bether. " 1 
 
 The sun had not set behind the western 
 hills before Fidus was despatched to bear the 
 glad tidings of Una's consent to the imperial 
 court. At least one moon must wax and 
 wane before with the utmost speed an answer 
 could be received. Now, it is worthy of note 
 that Una was never for doing things by 
 
 1 Bether, which, being interpreted, is " division." 
 
246 UKA THE BKIDE. 
 
 halves. She was like the cloud of the poet, 
 
 " Which moveth altogether if it move at all ; " 
 
 and she therefore joyfully anticipated that 
 the prince would immediately either send his 
 chosen body-guard to escort her to Shushan, 
 or himself come with the quick footsteps of 
 love to claim his bride in Eden. 
 
 But the reply was brought by Fidus to 
 Evangelist. It was in the form of a letter 
 addressed to the ambassador, containing a 
 sealed inclosure for the princess. Both com- 
 munications were in the handwriting of 
 Adonais. Una thrust hers into the folds of 
 her garment, and retired into her innermost 
 chamber to read it. The letter was long. 
 It began with assurances of holy and tender 
 delight (a delight altogether shared by Ham- 
 melech his father) in the pledged affection of 
 his beautiful betrothed princess. It went on 
 to tell of the ardent love with which he had 
 watched over her childhood and early youth, 
 when she had scarcely heard his name. It 
 alluded, though briefly, to the mighty wars 
 
UNA THE BEIDE. 247 
 
 he had waged in defence of her sequestered 
 Eden. And then it narrated with what 
 ardent anxiety he awaited the success of the 
 mission of Evangelist, how he rejoiced with 
 joy unspeakable at the tidings brought by 
 Fidus, and how he embraced her with all his 
 heart, and should esteem their bridal as the 
 crown of his every hope. But it went on to 
 say, that the rebels in the province to the 
 north of Eden were not yet altogether put 
 down. The foe had been indeed utterly routed 
 in that pitched battle wherein Adonais him- 
 self had been so sorely wounded, but the 
 rebellious troops, though scattered, were not 
 destroyed. Alp Arslan had broken prison, 
 and was ranging to and fro with intent to band 
 them in a new confederacy. Hence Adonais 
 wrote that he was unwilling to claim Una as 
 his bride with his military task not wholly 
 accomplished. He could not bear the thought 
 that Alp Arslan in his madness might even 
 attempt to mar their marriage festivities. 
 He therefore proposed (and this was his 
 
248 UNA THE BEIDE. 
 
 father's good pleasure too), first to crush the 
 still smouldering embers of this rebellion, to 
 storm every mountain fastness of the foe, 
 and not to rest till he had taken Alp 
 Arslan captive again, and sent him in chains 
 to the imperial dungeon, from whence escape 
 was hopeless. He could not absolutely fix 
 the term of the war: it should be as short 
 as love could make it. But, meanwhile, he 
 longed that his Una should yet further pre- 
 pare herself for the vast responsibilities that 
 were before her as the future empress of the 
 greatest monarchy in the world. He tenderly 
 intimated that she was still but young, and 
 that one who had so lovingly promised to be 
 his equal partner for life should be able to 
 sympathize with all his interests and pursuits. 
 He said that Evangelist and Evangeline 
 knew his mind, and would glady give their 
 counsel whenever she demanded it. He 
 further said that he was building for her 
 a palatial mansion, adorned with gold and 
 silver and precious stones, within the walls 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 249 
 
 of Shushan. which would eclipse every other 
 in the universe. And he concluded by 
 dwelling on the long happy years they might 
 hope to spend in that mansion, interspersed 
 
 with not unfrequent visits to her native 
 Eden, years of holy union, which should be 
 none the less fruitful in abiding joy for the 
 delay which intervened before the accom- 
 plishment of his heart's desire. 
 
 As Una finished reading this letter she 
 heaved an involuntary sigh from the very 
 bottom of her heart. For though at first she 
 so greatly shrank from leaving her native 
 valley, and entrusting her happiness to the 
 custody of the prince, even as I have nar- 
 rated, yet now that her choice was made and 
 her affections won, she could hardly brook 
 delay. She could not. however, but admit 
 the wisdom of Adonais's resolve. She said 
 to herself, it must cost him even more than 
 it costs me ; for he has seen the one whom 
 he is pleased to love, whereas I have only 
 seen his portrait and read his dear words of 
 
250 UKA THE BRIDE. 
 
 affection ; and yet lie deems it best to post- 
 pone our bridal. Then she rejoiced to think 
 with what confidence Adonais wrote of put- 
 ting all his enemies under his feet. And lastly, 
 she dwelt with peculiar delight on his words, 
 that the interval should be as short as love 
 could make it. So, early on the morrow she 
 sent for Evangelist, and set herself in right 
 earnest to fulfil the good pleasure of the prince. 
 The interval, indeed, proved far longer 
 than she had thought. But the studies 
 which Evangelist suggested, and which she 
 pursued with Evangeline, were in themselves 
 so intensely interesting, and bore so evidently 
 on her future exalted lot, that often the day 
 seemed hardly long enough for its manifold 
 claims. The affairs of her own principality 
 demanded often serious attention ; nor would 
 she altogether forego her favorite rambles 
 through the forests, nor her visits to the poor. 
 Still there were many moments, even in her 
 busiest days, in which her thoughts flew to 
 Adonais like a dove to its nest. And the 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 251 
 
 irrepressible question rose to her lips, why- 
 tarry the wheels of his chariot? 
 
 Many things would set her a longing ; — 
 if she did but hear the prince's name ; if she 
 did but touch the betrothal ring on her 
 finger ; if her eyes did but fall on his por- 
 trait ; if Evangelist discoursed of his wisdom, 
 or Evangeline and her maidens sang, as they 
 were wont to do, of his excellent glory; if, 
 as not seldom, she received some choice token 
 of affection from him, some jewel which he 
 had purchased, or some banner which he had 
 conquered in the war, or haply a letter writ- 
 ten with his own hand telling of his victories 
 and nearer advent, — then, as aforesaid, she 
 felt a longing, and was overheard more than 
 once, even in her dreams, to say, " Come 
 quickly, my beloved, come." 
 
 But at length, when hope deferred had 
 become a strange habitual craving of heart, 
 — for two years had already passed, and the 
 joyous springtide of the third year was glad- 
 dening the eye with beauty and refreshing 
 
252 UNA THE BEIDE. 
 
 the ear with song, — there came a post late 
 one night with a letter from the prince him- 
 self to Una, telling her that after many- 
 wearisome marches he had overtaken and 
 overcome the last troops of the enemy, that 
 Alp Arslan was in chains once more, that 
 the mansion in Shushan was completed, and 
 begging her to come to meet him just beyond 
 the frontier defile of Eden on the morrow. 
 
 As Evangelist had always told her that, 
 from what he knew of the prince's character 
 and purpose, the announcement of his coming 
 would be sudden at last, she was not taken 
 by surprise. It was nothing but joyous 
 delight. All was in readiness. The affairs 
 of Eden were despatched with a few words. 
 The arrangements of her home were com- 
 plete. Her choice jewels, save only her 
 betrothal ring, were soon distributed among 
 her early friends ; for Adonais had begged 
 it as a special favor that she would expect 
 her bridal adornments from the imperial city. 
 So her chariot horses were soon caparisoned, 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 253 
 
 and very early in the morning she was on 
 
 her way. The air was breezy with the bless- 
 ings of her affectionate people. Dorcas and 
 Deborah, with her children, Perpetua and 
 Felicitas. accompanied her to the entrance 
 of the mountain pass, where they resigned 
 her to the care of Evangelist and his suite. 
 
 As she was passing through the defile 
 another embassy from the imperial court met 
 her, bearing bridal gifts from the king of 
 kings, and Evangeline and her maidens 
 arrayed the lovely Una in far more beau- 
 tiful garments and jewels than she had ever 
 dreamed of before. Yet in truth at that hour 
 she scarcely bestowed a passing thought 
 upon them, for she was continually asking 
 herself, where is Adonais ? 
 
 At length, however, she emerged from the 
 shadow of the defile into the spacious plain 
 beyond, and there, far as the eye could reach. 
 stretched the magnificent army of the prince. 
 In the centre was pitched his royal pavilion, 
 and over it the imperial standard, with its 
 
254 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 peace device of lilies interwoven with roses 
 floating on the wind. But now, as messenger 
 after messenger met her chariot, Una drooped 
 her bridal veil to hide the burning blushes of 
 her joy. And at last the cry was heard, 
 " The prince, the prince ! long live Adon- 
 ais ! " And in truth it was he. And the 
 clarions sounded, and the trumpets rang, and 
 the air was rent with military music. 
 
 But who shall rightly describe the beauty 
 and the glory of the prince, the calm majesty 
 of his beaming countenance, the nobility of 
 his brow, the penetrating glance of his eye, 
 and the deep melody of his voice ? He was 
 in truth the idol of his soldiers, and was sur- 
 rounded by a brilliant staff of officers. But 
 as he waved his hand they fell off from him 
 on either side, and his bosom friend alone 
 rode forward and whispered to Evangelist, 
 that it was the prince's desire that Una 
 should alight and meet him alone. With 
 stately grace she descended from her chariot, 
 and fifty paces further on, the royal bride- 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 2bO 
 
 groom met the bride of his heart. His hand 
 lifted her transparent veil. His lips met hers. 
 She would have sunk to the earth, but he 
 caught and clasped her to his bosom, saying, 
 wfc Thou art mine ; " and she answered in the 
 words which she had caught from Evange- 
 line's song, " My beloved is mine, and I am 
 his." 
 
 The nuptials were celebrated that day in 
 the presence of the rejoicing army ; and the 
 prince led his lovely bride to his royal pavil- 
 ion amid shouts of welcome so loud that the 
 earth rang again to the echoes of " Long 
 live Adonais ! long live Una ! " For three 
 days, such was their leader's command, the 
 soldiers celebrated the auspicious spousal in 
 festivities throughout the camp, and then 
 Adonais ordered that the mighty host should 
 turn their standards homewards ; — so 
 
 " Now the soft peace-march beats, Home, brothers, home ; " 
 
 and by easy stages at last they arrived before 
 the walls of Shushan, the palace. There the 
 
256 * UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 prince presented Iris beautiful bride to Ham- 
 melech his father, who was no less delighted 
 with the modesty of her wisdom than with 
 the surpassing loveliness of her countenance. 
 As the three discoursed a long while on vari- 
 ous topics of imperial moment, and Una 
 found herself able to enter intelligently and 
 with graceful ease into every question, how 
 glad was she in her heart of the diligent use 
 to which she had put the weary interval of 
 delay before her bridal ! 
 
 And from his father's palace Adonais led 
 her with joyous expectations to his own, that 
 peerless mansion which he had himself devised 
 and builded for her dwelling-place, and every 
 part of which was furnished by his express 
 directions for her entertainment and delight. 
 And in truth, as she wandered from room to 
 room, or reclined beside the cool fountains in 
 the hanging gardens, which recalled all her 
 dreams of Paradise, she found herself repeat- 
 ing unconsciously the words which fell from 
 the lips of Sheba's queen in the presence of 
 
UNA THE BEIDE. 257 
 
 Solomon : " It was a true report that I heard 
 in mine own land of thy acts and of thy wis- 
 dom ; howbeit I believed not the words until 
 I came and mine eyes had seen it ; and be- 
 hold the half was not told me." 
 
 The city was beautiful, the palace was 
 beautiful, the gardens were beautiful. But 
 far, far beyond all other delights was her 
 communion with Adonais himself. His glory 
 and his grace satisfied every longing of her 
 heart. And when Evangeline ventured to 
 &sk her what now she thought of her spouse, 
 she could only make reply, " My beloved 
 is the chiefest among ten thousand ; yea, he 
 is altogether lovely : and he is mine, and I 
 am his, for ever and for ever." 
 
 I may not pursue the story. But I heard 
 that in after years Una became the joyful 
 mother of children, whom she. made princes 
 in all lands, and that one of her sons reigned 
 as her viceroy, the lord regent of Eden. 
 There was constant and uninterrupted com- 
 munication between her native valley and 
 17 
 
258 UNA THE BRIDE. * 
 
 Shushan the palace ; and it was admitted by 
 universal consent, that the secluded princi- 
 pality of Eden was the favorite retreat of 
 Adonais and his household. 
 
 1VJOW Oberlin, having come to the end of 
 his story, did not wait to be questioned 
 by the eager opening lips of his grandchildren ; 
 but, before they could speak a word, he con- 
 tinued : " I will read you, my "children, 
 the verses of that poem which first gave 
 me the thought of my parable, because I 
 think they explain in very few and very 
 beautiful words the meaning of much of that 
 story which I see has so interested you. The 
 poem is called ' The Soul of Man, and the 
 Immortality Thereof,' and was written by 
 Sir John Davies, an eminent lawyer in Queen 
 Elizabeth's reign. Indeed, the poem was 
 dedicated to her, and first appeared in the 
 year of our Lord 1599. He is proving the 
 divine origin of the soul : — 
 
UNA THE BK1DE. 259 
 
 ■ Which in this earthly mold 
 The Spirit of God doth secretlie infuse, 
 Because at first she doth the earth behould, 
 And onely tins rnateriall world she viewes ; 
 
 * At first our mother-earth shee holdeth dere, 
 
 And doth embrace the world and worldly things ; 
 She flyes close by the ground and houers here, 
 And mounts not vp with her celestiall wings : 
 
 1 Yet vnder heauen shee cannot light on ought 
 That with her heauenly nature doth agree ; 
 She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought, 
 She cannot in this world contented be/ 
 
 And after a few verses of like argument, 
 Sir John Davies goes on. (I do not think 
 there are any old English words which will 
 puzzle you, though perhaps the spelling 
 might.) 
 
 * Sith then her heauenly kind shee doth bewray, 
 
 In that to God she doth directly moue, 
 And on no mortall thing can make her stay, 
 She cannot be from hence, but from aboue. 
 
 ' And yet this first true cause and last good end, 
 
 She cannot heere so well and truly see : 
 For this perfection she must yet attend, 
 Till to her Maker shee espoused bee. 
 
260 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 ' As a king's daughter, being in person sought 
 Of diuerse princes which do neighbour neare, 
 On none of them can fixe a constant thought, 
 Though shee to all doe lend a gentle eare ; 
 
 i Yet can she hue aforraine emperour 
 
 Whom of great worth and powre she Keares to be, 
 If she be woo'd but by ambassadour, 
 r but his letters or his pictures see ; 
 
 ( For well she knows that, when she shal be brought 
 Into the kingdome where her spouse doth raigne, 
 Her eyes shall see what shee concerned in thought, 
 Himselfe, his state, his glorie, and his traine. 
 
 * So, while the virgin soule on earth doth stay, 
 
 She woo'd and tempted is ten thousand waves 
 By those great powers, which on the earth beare sway 
 The wisdome of the world, wealth, pleasure, praise : 
 
 " With these sometime she doth her time beguile, 
 These do by fits her phantasie possesse, 
 But she distasts them all within a while, 
 And in the sweetest finds a tediousnesse. 
 
 ' But if vpon the world's Almightie King 
 
 She once doe fixe her humble, louing thought, 
 Who by his picture drawne in euery thing 
 And sacred messages her loue hath sought ; 
 
 1 Of him she thinks she cannot thinke too much ; 
 
 This hony tasted still is euer sweete ; 
 The pleasure of her rauisht thought is such, 
 As almost here she with her blisse doth meete. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 261 
 
 ' But when in heauen she shall his Essence see, 
 
 This is her soueraigne good and perfect blisse ; 
 Her longings, wishings, hopes, all finisht bee, 
 Her ioyes are full, her motions rest in this : 
 
 1 There is she crownd with garlands of content ; 
 
 There doth she manna eate and nectar drinke ; 
 That presence doth such high delights present, 
 As neuer tongue could speake, nor hart could thinke/ " 
 
 As Oberlin laid down the choice antique 
 little volume from which he read this frag- 
 ment, old Robin could contain himself no 
 more, but lifted up his hands in amazement, 
 exclaiming, " Well, sir, that is perfectly de- 
 lightful. It not only takes me back to the 
 days in which I courted my Jean, — and you 
 know, sir, she had to wait five years for me 
 while I was in the Indies, — but someway, I 
 cannot tell how, this parable of yours, sir, 
 seems to make all our life one long love- 
 story." 
 
 " And yet," said Oberlin, "have we not 
 abundant warrant in Scripture for picturing 
 God's love to us under the similitude of a 
 bridegroom's love to the bride ? Cannot my 
 
262 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 children give me proofs of this from their 
 Bibles ? " 
 
 " I thought of the words," answered Aim£e, 
 " ' Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and 
 incline thine ear ; forget also thine own peo- 
 ple and thy father's house ; so shall the King 
 greatly desire thy beauty ; for He is thy Lord, 
 and worship thou Him.' " 2 
 
 " And I," said Gustave, " of the verses we 
 learnt after hearing Avehdah, ' Thou shalt no 
 more be termed forsaken, neither shal] thy 
 land any more be termed desolate. But thou 
 shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beu- 
 lah ; for the Lord delighteth in thee, and thy 
 land shall be married.' 2 And I remember 
 the next verse went on to say, 6 As the bride- 
 groom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy 
 God rejoice over thee.' " 
 
 " I could only think," said Roschen, " of 
 the parable of Jesus ; but you know He said, 
 c The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain 
 king, who made a marriage for his son. ' " 3 
 
 1 Psalm xlv. 10, 11. 2 Isa. lxii. 5. 3 Matt. xxii. 2. 
 

 UNA THE BRIDE. 263 
 
 "Have you a verse, Adolphe ? " asked 
 Oberlin. 
 
 " Well, grandfather," replied Adolplie, " I 
 was turning over in my mind those words you 
 read in church this afternoon. Here they 
 are : — ' Husbands, love your wives, even as 
 Christ also loved the church, and gave Him- 
 self for it, that He might sanctify and cleanse 
 it with the water by the word, that He might 
 present it to Himself a glorious church, not 
 having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing ; 
 but that it should be holy and without blem- 
 ish. So ought men to love their wives as 
 their own bodies. He that loveth his wife 
 loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated 
 his own flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth 
 it, even as the Lord the church.' * But when 
 you read those verses by Sir John Davies 
 I was puzzled, for he seems to speak of the 
 soul, and the Bible to speak of the whole 
 church, being the bride." 
 
 "I do not think," said Oberlin, "that this 
 
 i Eph. v. 25-29. 
 
264 UXA THE BRIDE. 
 
 perplexity need disturb our enjoyment of the 
 figure, nor our interpretation of the parable. 
 Let us remember what St. Paul said to the 
 Corinthian Christians : ' I am jealous over you 
 with godly jealousy, for I have espoused }^ou 
 to one husband, that I may present you as a 
 chaste virgin to Christ.' 1 There he speaks 
 of the believers in Corinth as the bride, yet 
 they were in truth but a very small part of 
 Christ's mystical body. It is so with other 
 figures. Take that of a temple. Sometimes 
 each saint is said to be God's temple, some- 
 times each Christian church, sometimes the 
 holy church universal in heaven and earth. 
 So is every member of the spouse of Christ 
 spoken of as His bride, and each and all may 
 say, in the language of the Song of Solomon, 
 4 1 am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is 
 mine.' 2 Until, at last, the perfect unity of 
 the church shall be seen, when the marriage 
 of the Lamb is come, and His wife shall have 
 made herself ready." 3 
 
 i 2 Cor. xi. 2. 2 Song vi. 3. 3 Rev. xix. 7. 
 
UXA THE BRIDE. 265 
 
 " Then, grandfather," said Aclolphe, " an- 
 other difficulty struck me. Una was so good; 
 a little wayward, perhaps, but oh, so good 
 and gentle and kind before Adonais sought 
 her hand. And you have always taught us 
 from the Bible that the heart is evil, until 
 Jesus makes it His own." 
 
 "Dear boy," answered Oberlin, " yours is 
 a thoughtful difficulty, but I have often told 
 you we must not expect to get the whole 
 round of Gospel teaching from one parable. 
 We must be content if each figure sets forth 
 one aspect of it. Some of our other parables 
 taught us plainly enough the sin and misery 
 of man before the grace of God visits him. I 
 need but remind you of the Reef, or Avehdah, 
 or Oyer the Hills Homeward, or the Plague- 
 stricken City, or Eugene the Debtor. The 
 great object of our story, this evening, is to 
 picture forth the love of Jesus to us at last 
 awakening our love to Him, as in His own 
 gracious words, i Ye have not chosen me, but 
 I have chosen you, and ordained you that ye 
 
266 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 should go and bring forth fruit, and that your 
 fruit should remain, that whatsoever ye shall 
 ask of the Father, He may give it you." ' * 
 
 " Would not my morning text, grand- 
 father," asked little Roschen, " say this too, 
 ' We love Him because he first loved us ' ? " 2 
 
 "It would, my lamb," answered Oberlin. 
 " That is the key to our life's long love-story, 
 as Robin called it just now, and I think you 
 will find with this key that almost every sen- 
 tence of my parable expresses some spiritual 
 truth. Could you make out the meaning of 
 the names, my children ? " 
 
 " Not all, grandfather," said Aim6e, " but 
 I suppose Una means ' only,' and so ' only 
 beloved,' for I observed the other day, when 
 Solomon says, ' I was tender and only beloved 
 in the sight of my mother,' 3 the word beloved 
 is in italics, and that would leave ' only ' by 
 itself. Then, of course, her playmates, Per- 
 petua and Felicitas, mean * constancy and 
 
 joy-' " 
 
 1 John xv. 16. 2 1 John iv. 19. 3 Prov. iv. 3. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 267 
 
 " And," said Adolplie, " Evangelist and 
 Evangeline must signify 8 heralds of the Gos- 
 pel ; ' Fidus must mean ' trusty ; ' Grace tells 
 her own tale ; Ruth, I think, means ' pity ; ' 
 and Ancora, I suppose, stands for 'hope.' 
 Did you mark, Aimee, how it was Ancora 
 who tried to kindle Una's expectations of 
 Shushan, and Ruth who told of the tender 
 compassions of Adonais, and Grace against 
 whom Una leaned when she yielded to the 
 entreaties of Evangelist? Have the names 
 Hammelech and Adonais any meaning, grand- 
 father ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Oberlin. " Hammelech 
 means ' the King,' and Adonais signifies 
 < Lord.' " 
 
 " And does Alp Arslan, the name of the 
 rebel chief, mean any thing ? " asked Gus- 
 tave. 
 
 " Yes," said Oberlin, " Alp Arslan is the 
 Saracen for ' a bold lion.' " 
 
 " Oh! then, of course," said Marie, "that 
 is ' our adversary the devil, who goes about 
 
268 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may 
 devour.' * And I suppose the dreadful 
 wound which Adonais received in battle 
 with the foe is the serpent bruising the heel 
 of the blessed Saviour on the cross." 
 
 " Quite right," said Oberlin ; " and now 
 that you have the right meaning of these 
 names, and Sir John Davies's beautiful poem 
 to help you, I think you hardly want any 
 more aid from me to unlqck every secret 
 drawer of my cabinet, and to make all that 
 is there your own. What I chiefly wanted 
 you to learn from it was, how Jesus Christ 
 wooes and wins the love of our hearts. His 
 Gospel pleads for Him. His Spirit with all 
 His tender graces urges His heavenly suit. 
 He will take no denial. He knocks again 
 and again at the door, till His people are 
 made willing in the day of His power ; and 
 then, when they open the door, He comes 
 in and betroths them to Himself in an ever- 
 lasting covenant of love." 
 
 1 1 Peter v. 8. 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 269 
 
 " And yet, grandfather," said Aim£e, 
 " Una had a long, long time to wait, after 
 she consented to become the bride of Adon- 
 ais, before her marriage day." 
 
 " But the time was not lost, Aimee, was 
 it ? " rejoined Oberlin. " We too have a long 
 while to wait after Jesus wins our hearts, 
 before we see Him as He is and love Him as 
 we ought. Or, if you interpret my parable 
 of the whole church, Jesus betrothed her to 
 Himself when He came the first time in great 
 humility, and sent forth His ambassadors into 
 all the world. Then the betrothal ring was 
 put on her finger, and she was enriched with 
 priceless jewels of His grace. But He went 
 into a far country to receive for Himself a 
 kingdom and to return. He is expecting 
 until His foes are made His footstool. But, 
 meanwhile, His church year by year is learn- 
 ing innumerable lessons, which will make her 
 more fit to enter into His mind and share 
 His throne for ever. She is suffering with 
 Him now that she may reign with Him for 
 
270 UNA THE BRIDE. 
 
 ever. - But, when His time is fully come, He 
 will come again and receive her unto Him- 
 self, that where He is there she may be also." 
 
 " O grandfather," said Gustave, " I was so 
 glad that Una did not altogether lose her 
 native Eden by going to dwell at Shushan. 
 But what does this mean ? We cannot keep 
 our earthly joys when we go to be with Jesus 
 in heaven." 
 
 " Perhaps our next parable may tell us 
 more of this, Gustave," answered Oberlin. 
 " But, meanwhile, please read the first three 
 verses of the twenty-first chapter of Revela- 
 tion." 
 
 Gustave reads : — " And I saw a new 
 heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven 
 and the first earth were passed away, and 
 there was no more sea. And I, John, saw 
 the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down 
 from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride 
 adorned for her husband. And I heard a 
 great voice out of heaven, saying, Behold the 
 tabernacle of God is with men, and He will 
 
UNA THE BRIDE. 271 
 
 dwell with them, and they shall be His peo- 
 ple, and God Himself shall be with them and 
 be their God/' 
 
 "You see," said Oberlin, " there is a new 
 earth as well as a new heaven, and these are 
 for ever united in eternity. And as the par- 
 able tells of Una making her children princes 
 in all lands, herein echoing the promise of 
 the song of loves, 1 so we are assured, regard- 
 ing the kingdom of our Emanuel, ; Of the 
 increase of His government and peace there 
 shall be no end.' 2 Only let us yield our 
 hearts up to the messages of His love now, 
 and when He brings us home to the many 
 mansions of His Father, and makes us to 
 inherit His everlasting kingdom, we, too, each 
 one of us, shall say with the Queen of Sheba, 
 6 The half was not told me.' " 
 
 1 Psalm xlv. 16. 2Isa. j x . 7. 
 
BEYOND THE KIVER 
 
 OT a shadow of a cloud 
 flecked the moun- 
 tains. The sum- 
 mer sun was setting 
 and bathing in its 
 pure amber light 
 the vineyards and 
 groves of arbutus 
 through which the 
 frontier river flowed 
 between France and 
 Switzerland ; espe- 
 cially where, at the furthest extremity of a 
 secluded valley, the river broadened into what 
 were known as Les Basses Terribles, so named 
 from many travellers having lost their lives 
 in attempting to wade through the shallows, 
 the roseate hues of evening were reflected as 
 
BEYOND THE RIVEK. 273 
 
 in a broad mirror to heaven. The valley, 
 which was called at that time Le Vol de 
 Grace, though the name has long since 
 passed away, was one of the most fertile in 
 all France, and from its opening defile to the 
 banks of the river, extended nearly twenty 
 miles in length. But that river then flowed 
 between the land of fiery persecution and the 
 mountain fastnesses of truth and freedom. 
 
 Of that persecution my words here must 
 be very few. Let it suffice to say that the 
 soil of la belle France, from the English Chan- 
 nel to the Jura Alps, from the Rhine to the 
 Pyrenees, was stained with the blood of tens of 
 thousands of her noblest citizens, whose only 
 crime was an invincible love for the pure 
 word of life. The scourge and the sword 
 spared neither men, nor women, nor children. 
 A ferocious and pitiless soldiery was quar- 
 tered in the homes of holy piety and peace. 
 The iron entered into the souls of the suf- 
 ferers. Hard as it was to tear themselves 
 from the homesteads of their childhood and 
 18 
 
274 BEYOXD THE KTVER. 
 
 the graves of their forefathers, their only 
 safety was in flight ; and yet flight was 
 sternly prohibited them under the rigid pen- 
 alties of imprisonment and death. But in- 
 flexible conscience braved all this for the 
 truth's sake. It was found quite impossible 
 to guard so extensive a frontier as France. 
 By unfrequented paths over the hills and 
 through the forests, in the darkness of night, 
 amid the snows of winter, under the cloak of 
 mists, through the howling of the tempests, 
 in rude rafts over the rivers and in open 
 boats by sea, month after month, and year 
 after year, the refugees made their escape 
 from their unhappy and ungrateful father- 
 land. Other countries were as much en- 
 riched as France was drained by this exodus 
 of the best and faithfullest of her children. 
 Le Vol de Grace, lying so sequestered from 
 the main courses of travel and of traffic, was 
 one of the latest spots on which the storms 
 of persecution fell, and hence it had been for 
 many years a secret door of escape by which 
 
BEYOND THE KIVER. 275 
 
 the refugees from other provinces, making 
 their way across Les Basses Terribles, under 
 the guidance of those who knew every shelv- 
 ing ledge of the river fords, had gained the 
 free and friendly shore of Switzerland. Im- 
 mediately on the other side of the river there 
 was a small retired glen of singular beauty 
 and fruitfulness, sheltered by precipitous 
 rocks from every stormy blast, and the nar- 
 row entrance of which — so narrow that two 
 could not walk abreast — was concealed by 
 moss-grown rocks and overhanging trees. 
 Here the refugees were accustomed to stay 
 and refresh themselves for a while, until they 
 had gained strength to go up to the city 
 among the mountains. This city, Villafranca, 
 or " the free city," as it was happily called 
 after its Tuscan namesake by those who had 
 escaped from a worse than Egyptian bondage, 
 was rapidly rising in beauty and importance. 
 Its situation was perfect. Built upon a fertile 
 hill, through the vineyards of which flowed 
 many springs of perennial water, it was itself 
 
276 BEYOXD THE KIVER. 
 
 embosomed by ranges of yet loftier mountains. 
 Its inhabitants were either those who had 
 suffered the loss of all things for the truth's 
 sake, or the free-born natives of the hills, who 
 had welcomed them as brothers to this asy- 
 lum of liberty. Wherever you looked, the 
 graceful skill and untiring industry of the 
 citizens were apparent. There were gardens 
 of delight attached to every home. The 
 noble spires of that beautiful temple, where, 
 Sabbath by Sabbath and day by day, they 
 met to worship God, none making them 
 afraid, pierced the deep blue sky. A mas- 
 sive wall surrounded the city, but the gates 
 stood open night and day, for no foe dared to 
 set his foot on that sacred soil. Switzerland 
 was then, as now, Freedom's fortress. And 
 the voice of song and the merry laughter of 
 children were again heard in a thousand cir- 
 cles, from which innocent mirth had seemed 
 for ever banished. The princely leader un- 
 der whose banner they had fought had his 
 mansion here, and it was open to all who 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 277 
 
 chose to partake of his boundless hospitali- 
 ties. And the unflagging object of interest 
 was, who next of their friends or kindred 
 should join them in this their new but de- 
 lightful home. 
 
 I said that Le Val de Grace was one of 
 the very last retreats on which persecution 
 laid its cruel hands. . But at length the tem- 
 pest fell. And now for six weeks that smil- 
 ing valley had been desolated with fire and 
 sword. The vineyards were trampled down, 
 the modest churches given to the flames, and 
 the fairest homes polluted with bloodshed 
 and violence. Wherever the marauding 
 soldiers reached, when they went on their 
 way it was as if a dreadful avalanche had 
 passed over the loving labors of immemorial 
 years. 
 
 How little nature seemed to reck of the 
 disastrous deeds of man ! The sun, as I said, 
 was sinking in unclouded glory. There was 
 not a shadow of mist upon the hills. The 
 air was crystal. And through a gorge of the 
 
278 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 mountains the spires and turrets of Villa- 
 franca were easily discernible from the fords 
 and far down the valley beyond. For the 
 beauty and calm of the landscape it might 
 have been what one has called " the sinless 
 eve of a sinful world." 
 
 It was upon that lovely summer evening I 
 was gazing upon the mingled topaz and ruby 
 and emerald of the sky reflected in the tran- 
 quil waters of the fords ; and my thoughts 
 had wandered far away to the better land of 
 promise, when I was startled by hearing the 
 anxious and somewhat feeble tread of an old 
 man approaching the river brink. He led 
 by the hand a lovely child, on whose innocent 
 face certainly not more than six summers 
 had imprinted their kisses, and who with 
 unequal paces tripped timidly beside him. 
 When they came to the very edge of the 
 ford, the old man, looking keenly around and 
 seeing no one, took the child in his arms and 
 pressed her to his heart, and said in a low 
 voice, though every accent fell on my ear, 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 279 
 
 " Celeste, my pretty lamb, my blossom, I 
 have shielded thee from a thousand dangers 
 these last three weeks. The spoiler has not 
 touched one of thy golden hairs. But, per- 
 haps, the worst peril remains. I must bear 
 thee, as best I may, over these treacherous 
 shallows. I have never passed this way here- 
 tofore. Oh, would that the prince who knows 
 every step of the river-bed were but here 
 himself to bear his little foster-sister to his 
 beautiful city garden ! But we must not 
 linger. May God protect us !" 
 
 As the old man spoke, he dipped the soles 
 of his feet in the shallow water, and was 
 about to wade into the stream, when a noble 
 figure, muffled in a warrior's scarlet cloak, 
 approached from behind, and laying a hand 
 upon his shoulder said, " Stay, Pascal, I am 
 here. Give me thy precious burden. It is 
 not thy time to cross over yet. I have yet 
 work for thee to do on this side the river. 
 The two brothers of this innocent babe — 
 though they have suffer ed and toiled far 
 
280 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 more than she whom thou hast borne in thine 
 aged arms so many weary leagues — have, I 
 know, hitherto escaped the sword of the foe. 
 They too are making for these fords by many 
 a perilous track. But they cannot now be so 
 very far away. In a day, or two days at the 
 longest, methinks they will be here. Pascal, 
 wilt not thou for my sake and for the sake 
 of Celeste, tarry on this side a little longer, 
 and «eek out Hilaire and Victor, and en- 
 courage them for this last trial of their faith ? 
 I will return and meet them at this spot, and 
 when I have placed them in safety with this 
 lamb, will conduct thee, their faithful and 
 tender shepherd, over to our happy fold yon- 
 der. Be of good comfort. There are no 
 troubles there." 
 
 The old man did not wait for the prince to 
 finish his entreaty ; but resigned his priceless 
 charge to her foster-brother's clasp, and him- 
 self regained the shore. But whether it was 
 that the chill of the waters that had flowed 
 around his ankles produced a dizziness of 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 281 
 
 brain, or whether the gorgeous sunset light 
 upon the shallows into which the prince im- 
 mediately waded dazzled him, or whether an 
 intense craving to go with his little ewe lamb 
 unnerved him for a few minutes, I know not. 
 Certain it was, Pascal very soon lost sight 
 both of the child and of the prince. But he 
 thought he heard a voice which sounded far 
 away over the waters, and it seemed to come 
 from that radiant track they had trod- 
 den, " Good by — soon, very soon to meet 
 again." 
 
 Then Pascal remembered the flask, con- 
 taining a restorative cordial, which the prince 
 had slipped into the bosom of his dress when 
 they parted; and he drank of it, and was 
 refreshed, and turned with new strength to 
 seek for Hilaire and Victor. 
 
 Meanwhile, the prince, with Celeste in his 
 arms, had waded two-thirds of the way across 
 Les Basses Terribles. Even in the calmest 
 weather, as that evening, the shallows were 
 perilous, except to one who knew them well, 
 
282 BEYOXD THE RIVER. 
 
 by reason of the extreme uneveimess of the 
 river-bed. Now they would only reach to 
 the knees, and a few feet further on the un- 
 wary traveller would find himself up to his 
 armpits in water, or even out of his depth 
 altogether. But so deftly did the prince 
 pick his way through the mazes of the ford, 
 that thus far he had not dipped even the 
 skirt of Celeste's garment in the river. 
 There remained, however, the deepest chan- 
 nel of the passage. The waters now washed 
 his loins, and the rock still shelved down- 
 wards. Only saying to Celeste, " Throw your 
 arms around my neck, darling, and fear noth- 
 ing," he pressed on. For a few moments the 
 gently rippling waves flowed over the slender 
 form of the child as she clung to the prince, 
 though he rather held her than she him ; but 
 the rays of the setting sun shone so brightly 
 upon her clear blue eyes, not even a shudder 
 passed through, her tender limbs, nor did a 
 §ob rise to her lips. She only looked up into 
 the prince's face and smiled. And now, for 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 283 
 
 the water shoaled rapidly, he bore her quickly 
 to the further brink of the river, and fer- 
 vently exclaiming, " Here my lamb is safe," 
 he carried her in his arms to the little glen 
 of which I spoke before. Passing rapidly 
 through the narrow entrance, three lovely 
 maidens met him, robed in white, to one of 
 whom he gave his little nursling, and she 
 took Celeste and stripped her of her dripping 
 garments and put on her shining apparel as 
 pure as the driven snow, and led her among 
 some playmates of her own age, who were 
 singing in the purple twilight. But I could 
 see no more by reason of the overhanging 
 moss-grown rock and the bowering trees. 
 
 That night the storm clouds, which had 
 been gathering unseen behind the mountains, 
 broke in a tempest on the nearer hills. The 
 blue lightnings seemed to open a pathway 
 into the unutterable glory of the heavens. 
 These were followed by drifts of impetuous 
 rains. The water-courses were soon filled to 
 their very brim. A thousand wayside brook- 
 
284 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 lets filled the river, and the next morning 
 Les Basses Terribles was one roaring, seeth- 
 ing torrent from shore to shore. " Thank 
 God," I said to myself, " Celeste is safe 
 across the fords. How I wish I knew where 
 Pascal was, and the two boys he went to 
 seek ! " I had not long to wait for tidings 
 of them, for as I retraced my footsteps along 
 Le Vol de Grace, I saw Hilaire in the midst 
 of a group of insolent and exultant soldiers. 
 He was nearly twice the age of Celeste, and 
 for precaution's sake, to avoid observation, he 
 had travelled an altogether different track 
 from that pursued by the aged Pascal and 
 his little sister. He had chosen to thread 
 the labyrinths of the vineyard paths ; while 
 Victor, who was two years older than him- 
 self, had taken the yet more difficult goat- 
 tracks on the upper edge of the valley. 
 Hilaire had escaped innumerable perils, which 
 it were far too long here to narrate, and was 
 pleasing himself with the thought that he 
 was approaching the fords, for through the 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. . 285 
 
 crystal atmosphere of yesterday, on every 
 vantage-ground which the vineyards gave 
 him, he had caught many a glimpse of Villa- 
 franca's walls and spires. But that stormful 
 night had drenched him to the skin, and very 
 early in the morning, observing a watch-fire 
 burning in a forest, he had incautiously 
 drawn near ; and hearing a voice which he 
 mistook for that of a friend, he approached 
 the group which was gathered round the 
 ruddy flame. In a moment he was seen and 
 seized. Alas ! his supposed friend had proved 
 a traitor to the sacred cause of truth, and 
 a guide to the cruel persecutors. Finding 
 some leaves of the Gospel of St. John se- 
 creted in the bosom of the boy's dress, they 
 sought no further witness against him, but 
 loaded him with hard words and harder 
 blows ; and w^hen the sun was up they 
 placed him in their midst, and compelled him 
 to march on with them, bruised and footsore 
 as he was, goading him on with the points 
 of their swords. My heart was sore within 
 
286 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 me to think of the poor lad's fate. But now 
 the soldiers, having reached their mid-day 
 halt, tied the hapless Hilaire hand and foot, 
 with cords that lacerated his wrists and 
 ankles, to the stump of a mountain ash, and 
 having thrown their cloaks on the turf lay 
 down to rest. 
 
 Then it was that I observed the aged Pas- 
 cal, disguised as a shepherd, with his crook 
 in hand and a skin bottle of wine slung over 
 his shoulders, approaching them. Courte- 
 ously saluting the soldiers, he offered them 
 of the refreshing juice of the grape, and 
 partook thereof himself, and afterwards cast 
 himself on the ground beside them, appar- 
 ently to rest. But no sooner were the men 
 drenched in sleep than Pascal, noiselessly 
 rising, stole to the side of Hilaire ; and, 
 touching the tort cords that bound him with 
 the keen edge of his shepherd's knife, set 
 him in a moment free. The poor lad would 
 have fallen to the earth ; but Pascal grasped 
 him with a strength beyond his years, and 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 287 
 
 half dragged, half carried him, for many 
 hundred, yards, np the channel of a noisy 
 mountain stream which flowed hard by. 
 Then, springing into a thicket, by a thousand 
 intricate turns and windings he made his pain- 
 ful and perilous way towards the fords. 
 
 The soldiers soon woke, and, missing their 
 prize, shouted and hissed for rage ; but see- 
 ing no footprints save those on the path by 
 which the shepherd had approached, they 
 pursued the fugitives in vain ; until at last, 
 concluding the boy would certainly make for 
 the fords, they bent their footsteps thither, if 
 possible to intercept his flight. But when 
 they reached a rising knoll which commanded 
 a view of Les Basses Terribles, and saw the 
 foaming waters which went eddying down 
 the shallows, they did not care to approach 
 nearer, arguing that no one could possibly 
 cross that day. 
 
 Now Pascal and Hilaire had reached the 
 river brink but a little before them, and had 
 concluded to lie concealed among the osiers 
 
288 BEYOXD THE KIVER. 
 
 until the sudden flood had subsided. This, 
 therefore, they did ; and in truth the waters 
 began to sink almost as rapidly as they had 
 risen. And now the sun set fiery red, and 
 the saffron twilight faded into darkness, till 
 the crescent moon arose, and then Pascal 
 ventured to sing in a low voice a few words 
 of a hymn, which was the signal agreed 
 upon. They were immediately answered 
 from some clustering shrubs on the left, and 
 the well-known and majestic form of the 
 prince appeared quietly moving along the 
 bank of the river. 
 
 Pressing his fingers upon his own lips in 
 token of silence, the prince produced bread 
 and wine from a wallet which he carried, by 
 which, when the exhausted Pascal and Hil- 
 aire had partaken, they were greatly re- 
 vived. But the time was short ; and when 
 the prince had whispered a few words in the 
 ear of Pascal, the old man, silently wringing 
 the hand of Hilaire, glided like a shadow 
 himself away among the shadows of a rho- 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 289 
 
 dodendron copse. He was soon lost from 
 sight. And then the prince, taking Hilaire 
 tenderly and firmly by the hand, said, " We 
 must venture now ; " and at the word they 
 waded into the stream, which even a few 
 j-ards from the shore was up to the prince's 
 loins. Could they have waited six hours 
 more, the fords would have regained their 
 usual level. But it might not be. There 
 was not a moment to be lost, for one of the 
 soldiers, happening to look through the misty 
 moonlight, saw one or more figures against 
 the sheen of the water, and instantly gave 
 the alarm to his comrades. They rushed 
 down the declivity to the river's side, but by 
 this time the prince and Hilaire had gained a 
 tiny furze-grown islet, whose bushes, still 
 dripping from the recent flood, afforded them 
 for a few minutes a scant shelter from obser- 
 vation. But, the moon shining out from 
 behind a cloud, the gleaming point of the 
 prince's spear, which he used as a fording 
 pole, revealed their retreat. And the soldiers, 
 19 
 
290 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 with a jell of vengeance, dashed into the 
 ford in pursuit. Not knowing the track, the 
 two foremost floundered unawares into a 
 deep pit, called " the dead man's grave," 
 and, weighed down with their armor, sank, 
 with a cry of despair, to rise no more. This 
 brought the others to a standstill ; till at 
 length some of them again took heart, and 
 painfully groping their way every step, with 
 many a curse on their lips, reached the islet. 
 The rest regained the shore. 
 
 Meanwhile, the prince and Hilaire, whose 
 joyous courage was raised to the highest pitch 
 by the peril of the hour and the nearness of 
 safety, had already traversed successfully 
 more than half the passage. Little more 
 than their heads now appeared above water, 
 the prince grasping his spear with one hand 
 and holding Hilaire round his waist with the 
 other ; but the soldiers on the islet, catching 
 a glimpse of them by the struggling moon- 
 light, discharged their arquebuses again and 
 again. Those on the shore did likewise. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 291 
 
 The heavy shot ploughed the water all 
 around, but the glancing current deceived 
 the aim of their pursuers, and only one bolt 
 grazed the left hand of Hilaire as he snatched 
 for support at a branch that floated b}^. 
 Instantly the prince whispered in his ear, 
 " Be of good cheer, Hilaire, we shall soon be 
 out of their reach : the deepest channel is 
 now before us ; but trust to me;" and im- 
 mediately grasping the boy with the strength 
 of a giant, now wading, now standing tiptoe, 
 and stemming the current on a narrow ledge 
 of rock, now swimming for a few yards to 
 the next resting-place, though sometimes for 
 a few seconds the waters flowed over Hilaire's 
 head, at last he buffeted his way to the fur- 
 ther side. "All right now," said he; and 
 Hilaire answered, "Yes, thanks to thee, my 
 liege, all right." 
 
 Swiftly the prince bore him to the sheltered 
 glen, whither he had borne Celeste. The 
 warden of the entrance received the boy at 
 his hands and tenderly dressed his wounds, 
 
292 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 and clothed him in beautiful apparel, and, 
 when the morning broke over the mountains, 
 led him to a happy group of children, of 
 whom Celeste was the first to throw her 
 little arms around his neck and sob for joy. 
 
 Now, when the aged Pascal had left 
 Hilaire, he threaded his path through the 
 shrubs and rocks, according to the prince's 
 direction, to a ruined tower, which the enemy 
 had consigned to the flames some little while 
 before. It was built on a wooded ledge, half 
 way up the cliff which formed the first 
 ascent from the valley, but was now a roof- 
 less tenement, whose blackened rafters, as 
 you gazed up at them from the blood-stained 
 floor, intersected the sky like a gridiron. 
 Here, crouching into an arch behind some 
 twisted hinges which alone remained to tell 
 an oaken door had once been there, Pascal 
 lay and rested, half awake, half asleep, for 
 three hours, or more. 
 
 He was roused by the approach of foot- 
 steps and low suppressed voices. Yes, it 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 293 
 
 was Victor, haggard and travel-worn, and 
 weary with three weeks of privation and 
 peril and pain ; but in his eye a dauntless 
 fire which told of what blood he sprang. Nor 
 was he alone. He led by the hand a little 
 orphan boy scarcely so old as Celeste, whose 
 name was Theodore, and whom four days 
 before he had found absolutely starving on 
 the skirts of the forest. His parents, broth- 
 ers, and sisters had been ruthlessly murdered, 
 and he only had escaped the merciless foe in 
 the confusion. Victor, who was himself 
 hiding in the wood, heard a child's voice 
 feebly moaning, "Our Father which art in 
 heaven." He instantly went to the boy's 
 side, and broke into his lips the last crust, 
 which was all that he had for his own food 
 that day. Then, emerging from the wood at 
 the risk of his life, he plucked some grapes 
 that hung over the wall of a neighboring 
 vineyard, and filled his leathern cup from a 
 babbling stream, and brought them wearily 
 to little Theodore. How his heart danced 
 
294 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 for joy to see the color coming back to the 
 child's white lips, and the light to his large 
 black eyes ! And how instinctively he vowed 
 in his heart that he would never leave that 
 innocent babe to perish ! 
 
 Victor kept his vow, but it cost him dear. 
 Things he could have dared and done, and 
 would have dared and done without a second 
 thought when alone, he could not dream of 
 attempting with that little orphan clinging 
 about his feet. They were sorely pinched 
 with hunger: but once, when they were at 
 the worst, a goat suffered Victor to approach 
 her and milk into his leathern cup a draught 
 of milk, in the strength of which they went 
 for hours. Often they were within a hair's- 
 breadth of discovery; and once, when lying 
 beneath some newly mown grass, felt the 
 ground tremble beneath the tread of a file of 
 soldiers who passed within three feet of that 
 ditch in which they lay. But God shielded 
 them. During all that stormy night Theo- 
 dore lay in Victor's bosom, who bent over 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 295 
 
 liim hour after hour like the tenderest nurse, 
 and kept warmth in his drenched limbs. 
 And in the glow of the next evening the 
 prince (it must have been an hour or so 
 before he answered Pascal's signal by the 
 river bank) came to them, when lurking in 
 the hollow of an old yew-tree, and almost 
 strengthless for want of food, and fed them 
 with his own hands and cheered them on, 
 assuring Victor that even with the care of 
 little Theodore, by a rugged upland path of 
 which he told them, they might reach the 
 ruined tower overlooking the fords of which 
 I spoke before daybreak, that there they 
 should find Pascal, and that he himself 
 would meet them by the river side, and con- 
 duct them in safety over the waters. 
 
 These, then, were the footsteps and these 
 the voices which roused the half slumbers of 
 Pascal. As they crept into the ruined tower, 
 they passed his archway lair, and the old 
 man at once recognized Victor and softly 
 called him by his name. In another moment 
 
296 BEYOND THE EIYEH. 
 
 the youth was in his arms, and drew Theo- 
 dore to him for his blessing. But they had 
 no time to lose. There was already the 
 faintest streak of opal light in the eastern 
 sky.' So the old man and the boys silently 
 'stole down the side of the cliff by a goat 
 path known to very few, and when they 
 reached the bottom, now crouching among 
 the ferns, now pressing on through copses 
 and brakes, at length they stood undiscovered 
 under the shadow of the river bank on the 
 very brink of the fords. They had scarcely 
 time to look around, when they saw the 
 prince coming not fifty paces from them 
 through the shallows. He warmly saluted 
 them, and smiled with a smile of delighted 
 majesty as Victor led Theodore to his feet. 
 He laid his hands upon them all, and then 
 calmly said, " The fords have sunk to their 
 summer level. One journey across will suf- 
 fice. You, Pascal, take Theodore in your 
 arms, and I will hold you with my right hand 
 and Victor with my left. The foe will not 
 
BEYOXD THE RIVER. 297 
 
 be astir for another hour. There is no dan- 
 ger in this early twilight." 
 
 And so it came to pass. Without haste or 
 even a shadow of fear they quietly and trust- 
 fully made their way over Les Basses Terri- 
 bles, sweetly conversing in the water of the 
 manifold providences which had attended 
 them, and of the happy reunion with long- 
 parted friends which was before them. As 
 they stepped on the further shore, the first 
 ray of the rosy sun lighted up the snowy 
 locks of the aged Pascal, till they shone like 
 a crown of glory. 
 
 The prince quickly led them to the seques- 
 tered glen, which now sheltered so many 
 rescued ones. Their dripping garments were 
 all exchanged for comely apparel from his 
 royal wardrobe, for he was pleased to keep 
 a supply of vestments always there, and then 
 they went further into the glen. And I 
 heard a shout of glee from the children, and 
 thought I distinguished the soft, clear voices 
 of Celeste and Hilaire, who had only shortly 
 
298 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 before found each other, exclaiming, " And 
 here's Victor! And here's Pascal, and a 
 boy in his arms ! And oh, here's the 
 prince ! " 
 
 As I just glanced up and down that glen, 
 it seemed to me a perfect little paradise, 
 embracing in itself every thing for refresh- 
 ment and repose. There were fruit-trees of 
 all kinds, and mossy banks, and arbors, and 
 streams of crystal water. But I could not 
 see so much as I wished that morning, for 
 my eyes swam so with tears of tenderness 
 and gratitude, it almost seemed to me as if 
 there was a veil over them. 
 
 Seven happy days passed like dreams of 
 delight, during which the children and Pascal 
 lost every sense of fatigue and trace of suffer- 
 ing. And then it was rumored that the 
 prince intended to take them and the other 
 travellers who had gathered there in his 
 royal chariots to the mountain city, the new 
 and beautiful metropolis, Villafranca. So, 
 very early on the morrow morning there was 
 
- 
 
BEYOND THE RIVEK. 299 
 
 a throng of chariots and a brave retinue of 
 attendants, who waited all along the river 
 banks by the entrance of the glen. The 
 prince was now by the side of one, and now 
 bj T the side of another. He had a word and 
 a smile for every one. His presence was 
 sunshine. 
 
 But time would utterly fail me to sketch, 
 however briefly, the past history of all those 
 pilgrims, or their joyous ascent that day 
 through the mountains, which echoed to their 
 mirth and the songs of the charioteers, or 
 their peaceful entrance within the walls of 
 their city. Besides, I kept my eye especially 
 upon Celeste and Hilaire, and Victor and 
 Theodore and Pascal. They filled one char- 
 iot ; and the prince blessed each and all of 
 them as he passed on to the head of the pro- 
 cession, and bade them be sure and follow 
 him, even to his royal palace. 
 
 And now right rapidly they moved onward 
 through the fresh, balmy air. The air was 
 filled with the melody of sweet voices utter- 
 
300 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 ing joy. Most delightful was the converse 
 they held with the royal servants who had 
 come from the city to attend them. With 
 Pascal especially the ministering couriers 
 were graciously familiar, and he communi- 
 cated all he learned to the children. And 
 every thing he told them awoke hallelujahs 
 in their hearts, which often sprang unbidden 
 to their lips. 
 
 When they were within a mile of the city 
 gates a large multitude of the citizens came 
 forth to meet them, with garlands and banners 
 and trumpets, and all instruments of music, 
 and every sign which could testify how joyfully 
 they welcomed them. It is quite impossible 
 to tell the story of the meetings which took 
 place that day of those who had parted from 
 each other in pain and peril. Let it suffice 
 to say, that as the mingled throng entered 
 the open portals, the earth rang again, and 
 again, and yet again, to their loud and per- 
 sistent acclamations. 
 
 Pascal and the little group of those he 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 301 
 
 loved to call his children at length arrived 
 at the mansions of the royal palace. The 
 prince was there to welcome them at the 
 door ; and when they passed into the hall of 
 audience, lo, he was there on the throne. 
 And he gave each one a token of his princely 
 favor; to one a robe curiously inwrought 
 with his name, to another a signet ring, to 
 another a wand of office set with jewels. He 
 himself entwined a garland of pearls among 
 the beautiful ringlets of Celeste, and fastened 
 his likeness with a chain of gold around the 
 neck of Victor. 
 
 And then he led them into his banqueting- 
 hall, and himself assigned them an honorable 
 place at his table, and heaped the board with 
 the choicest viands. So hour after hour 
 passed away ; until, after much precious con- 
 verse with him and with each other, they 
 passed forth to observe the marvels of the 
 city. 
 
 One thing I took especial notice of, namely, 
 that whatever Pascal, or Victor, or Hilaire, 
 
302 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 or even little Celeste or Theodore, had taken 
 chief delight in when they dwelt in their 
 native valley, Le Vol de Grace, they found 
 the same pleasure here in Villafranca, the 
 city of the free, only in a purer form and a 
 far higher degree. But to name a few exam- 
 ples out of many : how they loved their 
 modest home in the valley, their nest, they 
 called it ; now this taste was gratified ; they 
 had a mansion assigned them which was part 
 of the wing of the royal palace, but was yet 
 peculiarly their own. One of Victor's choicest 
 pleasures had always been his garden ; and 
 here there was an Eden in the very heart 
 of the city. Hilaire's passion was music : 
 here it seemed that every one could play 
 well on an instrument, and every one could 
 sing. Celeste's delight had often been in 
 watching the shepherd leading his sheep and 
 lambs through the green pastures of the val- 
 ley ; here it often seemed to her, as the prince 
 led them forth and explained his thoughts 
 and purposes towards his people, that she 
 
BEYOND THE KIVER. 6i)6 
 
 and her brother were the lambs and the 
 prince himself the shepherd. 
 
 But their chiefest joy, as they agreed with 
 common consent, was the Sabbath-day in 
 Villafranca. Here it was a rest indeed, un- 
 broken by any thought of the foe. Here the 
 happy family circles or groups of friends met 
 together to study the pages of truth or sing 
 their hymns, none making them afraid. And 
 here were their holy convocations hi that 
 beautiful temple which was the glory of all 
 that land, and their solemn feasts of love, 
 and those magnificent anthems in which 
 thousands of voices joined in thanking God 
 for their freedom and felicity in the happy 
 city of the free. 
 
 .o^c* — - 
 
 " T^EAR, dear master," exclaimed Marie, 
 
 with her eyes brimming over with 
 
 tears, which coursed one another down her 
 
 wrinkled cheeks, " did not all that really 
 
304 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 happen now ? I feel sure it did. I've heard 
 my old father tell what he heard from his 
 mother's mother, who fled herself with her 
 three little pitiful bairns from beautiful 
 France across the river Doubs into Swit- 
 zerland; and I am sure some of the things 
 you said might have been taken down from 
 his blessed lips." 
 
 " Well, Marie," answered Oberlin, while 
 he brushed an answering tear from his own 
 eye, " my tale was a parable. You must not 
 question its history too closely. And yet you 
 must forgive it, if it roots itself in fact, which 
 is often stranger than fiction. I believe that 
 some of our Divine Master's matchless para- 
 bles, like the Good Samaritan and the Rich 
 Man and Lazarus, were based on things 
 which had recently occurred. But oh, how 
 poor all other parables are to His ! " 
 
 " I feel they are very different, grand- 
 father," said Gustave ; "but in what way 
 are they so much poorer?" 
 
 " In every way," replied Oberlin. " Take 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 305 
 
 one for example. Here have I been reading 
 you thirty closely written pages, and we 
 have perhaps caught some glimpses of the 
 passage over the river which flows betwixt 
 us and the land of perfect freedom ; but our 
 Master, sometimes in a verse or two, as in 
 the parable of the hidden Treasure, or the 
 Pearl of great price, or sometimes in a few 
 verses, as in the Ten Virgins, or the Vine 
 and its branches, makes the whole truth live 
 before you, crystal clear, and speak with you 
 ever after, like a friend or a brother. I often 
 think, when comparing man's words with 
 God's, of what John Newton said about 
 books. Some, he used to say, were all good 
 enough in their way ; but there was so little 
 truth in so many pages ; they were so bulky, 
 it was like filling your pockets with cop- 
 per money, very heavy and of small value. 
 Others, he said, were better ; they had more 
 truth in less space, and they were like silver. 
 And there were a few others better still, very 
 choice books of rare value ; they were like 
 
 20 
 
306 BEYOND THE RIVEB. 
 
 gold. But, he said, there was one book of 
 which every leaf was a bank-note of inesti- 
 mable worth : and that book was the Bible. 
 However, I shall be quite content if my 
 grandchildren can carry away with them in 
 the silken purse of their memory a few silver 
 coins from listening to my parable, ' Beyond 
 the River: " 
 
 " I know, grandfather," said Adolphe, 
 " that when you spoke of persecution making 
 Le Vol de Grace utterly desolate and spoil- 
 ing its loveliest homes with fire and sword, 
 you said nothing but what really happened to 
 our ancestors ; for I have been reading the 
 history of the Huguenots till my cheeks 
 burned and tingled. In those awful dragon- 
 nades, the soldiers seemed to stop at nothing. 
 They were like blood-hounds let loose. And 
 you have taught us that in a parable we must 
 not expect every part to fit into the lesson it 
 teaches. But if, as I suppose, that valley, 
 when the persecution at length reached it and 
 the people had to fly for their lives, signifies 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER, 307 
 
 our pilgrim state here on earth, surely in 
 happy England, and in days of peace like 
 ours, Ave are not exposed to quite such great 
 dangers, are we ? " 
 
 " I grant you, my boy," answered Oberlin, 
 " that as to things seen and temporal, our 
 state now is rather described by St. Luke, 
 when he said, fc Then had the churches rest 
 throughout all Judea, and Galilee, and Sa- 
 maria, and were edified ; and walking in the 
 fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the 
 Holy Ghost, were multiplied.' A Thank God 
 for it ! But looking at things unseen and 
 eternal, we must remember that, taken at the 
 best, this is a sin-stricken, death-stricken 
 world. 4 Sin entered into the world, and 
 death by sin.' 2 And, as we saw with Aveh- 
 dah, the land was as the garden of Eden 
 before them, and behind them a desolate 
 wilderness. No home is too lovely for sin 
 and death to spoil. And there is a true sense 
 in which every Christian pilgrim hears and 
 
 1 Actsix. 31. 2 Eom.y. 12. 
 
808 BEYOXD THE RIVER. 
 
 obeys the command, 4 Arise ye and depart, 
 for this is not your rest : because it is polluted, 
 it shall destroy you, even with a sore destruc- 
 tion.' 1 Those who are most anxious to re- 
 main here find it cannot be. Here we have 
 no continuing city. Our days on the earth 
 are as a shadow, and there is none abiding. 
 But I allow the main drift of my parable 
 pointed to crossing the river, and reaching 
 first the glen, and afterwards going up to the 
 city." 
 
 " Grandfather," exclaimed little Roschen, 
 eagerly, " you said half a text which I found 
 out just now. May I read it all ? ' For here 
 have we no continuing city, but we seek one 
 to come.' 2 When you spoke of that city 
 among the hills, I thought of my favorite 
 hymn, 
 
 'Jerusalem, my happy home, 
 Name ever dear to me.' 
 
 Oh, how I wish we could really see its walls 
 and spires from this valley ! " 
 
 iMicahii. 10. 2 Heb. xiii. 14. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 309 
 
 u Why," chimed in Gustave, " if only we 
 could see Bunyan's Celestial City, I don't 
 think I should trouble about any thing that 
 lay betwixt us and it. But, Roschen, dear, 
 3^ou and I must remember what grandfather 
 said about being willing to walk by faith and 
 not by sight." 
 
 " Yes, my boy," said Oberlin, and his happy 
 smile told how his heart rejoiced that Gus- 
 tave was learning this lesson, " and we do see 
 Jerusalem the Golden by the eye of faith. 
 Faith is the soul's eye. And so we read, 
 shortly before the text Roschen quoted, that 
 the pilgrim fathers, who confessed that they 
 were strangers here, and were seeking a heav- 
 enly fatherland, ; looked for a city which hath 
 foundations, whose builder and maker is God.' x 
 Its glory shines right down the valley of life 
 to the farthest narrow entrance ; even chil- 
 dren may catch many a glimpse of it. But it 
 ought to attract the eye and fill the heart far 
 more as the traveller draws nearer and nearer 
 
 i Heb. xi. 10. 
 
310 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 the brink of the river fords. Those fords, 
 Les Basses Terribles of our parable, must be 
 crossed by all." 
 
 u Little Celeste did not find them terrible, 
 grandfather, did she ? " asked Aimee. " I 
 envied her, led to the very banks of the river 
 by her dear old pastor, who had shielded her 
 from every danger, so that he said no one had 
 touched one of her golden hairs, and then 
 gently placed her in the prince's arms, who 
 carried her over so tenderly that she never 
 even shuddered when the waters flowed over 
 her. O, I should like to cross the river so !" 
 
 u And yet," broke in old Robin, " if I read 
 the meaning right, thousands and thousands 
 of infant children do die, and know noth- 
 ing about it, till they are carried right into 
 heaven by the Good Shepherd." 
 
 " And not babes in years only," replied 
 Oberlin, "but young men and maidens, aye, 
 and old saints too, who have a child's heart 
 and a child's faith, pass over to the better 
 land without a shadow of a cloud of fear, 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 311 
 
 though sometimes, I know, the waters are 
 far deeper than at others." 
 
 " Why did the story make," asked Roschen, 
 " Pascal so soon lose sight of Celeste and 
 the prince ? I think it would have cheered 
 the old man so, if he could have seen them 
 step upon the opposite bank." 
 
 " Ah, my lamb," answered Oberlin, 
 " friends may come with us to the river 
 brink, but they cannot go over themselves 
 till their own time is come ; and often they 
 cannot see to the further side, though a smile 
 on the cheek and a light in the eye tell of 
 the glory which the dying saint is entering. 
 It is the office of the chief shepherd only, 
 who knows every step of the passage, — for 
 He once forded it in the days of His flesh, — 
 to be with us in crossing Les Basses Terri- 
 lles. Can you tell me any Scriptures which 
 speak of this ? " 
 
 " My psalm," replied Roschen, " says, 
 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
 the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for 
 
312 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 Thou art with me.' 1 Only there it is aval- 
 ley, and not a river." 
 
 " But in Isaiah we find the very figure of 
 onr parable," said Aim£e. " 4 When thou 
 passest through the waters I will be with 
 thee, and through the rivers, they shall not 
 overflow thee.' " 2 
 
 " And I thought," said Adolphe, " of the 
 children of Israel passing over Jordan, and of 
 the words of Joshua, 4 Behold the ark of the 
 covenant of the Lord of all the earth pass- 
 eth over before you into Jordan ;' 3 and you 
 remember, when the feet of the priests that 
 bore the ark were dipped in the brim of the 
 water, the river was divided, and the people 
 passed over dry-shod. Only then it was so 
 different from the prince himself wading 
 through the waters, and carrying the pilgrims 
 in his arms, or holding them by their hand 
 while they crossed." 
 
 " But at least," said Oberlin, " the history 
 of Israel may tell us that when we have 
 
 l Psalm xxiii. 4. 2 L>a. xliii. 2. 3 j os h. m 2. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 313 
 
 walked through the weary wilderness, there 
 yet flows the Jordan between us and Canaan, 
 and how blessed they are who have an Incar- 
 nate Saviour, of whom the ark was a type, 
 with them. Terrible, indeed, must be the 
 passage of the river of death for those who 
 have no Almighty Friend to meet them 
 there." 
 
 " May I make so bold, sir, as to ask," said 
 Robin, " what the tempest which broke over 
 the mountains and swelled the fords so terri- 
 bly signifies ? My heart almost misgave me 
 for that poor lad, Hilaire." 
 
 " Many things may make death more fear- 
 ful to some Christians than to others," an- 
 swered Oberlin. " Sometimes their bodily 
 sufferings are very great ; sometimes the 
 memory of past sins, even though they have 
 all been washed away in Christ's blood, seems 
 almost to overwhelm the mind; sometimes 
 Satan is permitted to aim many a fiery dart 
 at the trembling traveller, as he is buffeting 
 his way through the waters. But if the 
 
314 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 Prince is with him, and holds him fast, all 
 is well, for no one has ever yet plucked one 
 of His sheep or lambs out of the arms of the 
 Good Shepherd. Hilaire got over as safely, 
 though not so smoothly, as Celeste." 
 
 44 And then," said Adolphe, " how per- 
 fectly delightful it must have been for Victor 
 to rescue that little Theodore. Oh ! I think 
 of all joj^s in the world, the greatest must 
 be to save a soul from death. Is there any 
 meaning in the goat-tracks on the upper edge 
 of the valley being so dangerous, grand- 
 father?" 
 
 14 Perhaps we might say," answered Ober- 
 lin, " that those who tread the heights of 
 thought are exposed most to rocks and preci- 
 pices, as well as other perils. But we must 
 hasten on to consider their happy lot beyond 
 the river. They all got safely over under 
 the guidance and guardianship of the prince. 
 What do you understand by the sheltered 
 glen on the further side?" 
 
 " Oh, grandfather," said Aim6e, " is it not 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 315 
 
 that paradise of which you so often speak to 
 us, where our dear father and mother, and 
 all who sleep in Jesus, are?" 
 
 " Then I suppose the three maidens who 
 took Celeste were angels," said Roschen. 
 
 " And the fruit-trees and the rivulets of 
 that gien, and the meadows where the chil- 
 dren played, would, I suppose," said Gus- 
 tave, " answer to the heavenly pleasures of 
 those of whom we read that the Lamb which 
 is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, 
 and lead them to living fountains of water. 1 
 How my heart leaped up with them when 
 Celeste and Hilaire sprang to welcome Victor 
 and Pascal and the prince ! I wish the one who 
 spoke of what he saw in the glen that morn- 
 ing had not so dimmed his eyes with tears 
 that he could not see clearly. He seemed to 
 know more about the city than the glen." 
 
 "And the Bible," said Oberlin, "tells 
 us more about the New Jerusalem than it 
 does about the paradise of the blessed dead. 
 
 1 Rev. vii. 17. 
 
316 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 However, it tells us quite enough for us to 
 know that happy as it is to serve Christ here, 
 whom not having seen we love, it will be far 
 happier to go and be with Him whom our 
 soul loveth, and with all those who have 
 crossed over the river before us in His faith 
 and fear. To depart and be with Christ is 
 far better. 1 It is, as He promised to the 
 dying thief, to be with Him in paradise. 2 
 It is that state of which St. Paul wrote, ' We 
 are confident and willing rather to be absent 
 from the body and to be present with the 
 Lord.' 3 It is the felicity of those of whom 
 the voice from heaven spoke to St. John in 
 Patmos, ' Blessed are the dead which die in 
 the Lord,' and of whom the Spirit immedi- 
 ately bore witness, ' Yea, that they may rest 
 from their labors ; and their works do follow 
 them,' 4 so that we may always think of the 
 Christian's course as good, better, best. It is 
 good to serve so dear a Master here : His 
 
 i Phil. i. 21. ^Luke xxiii. 43. 
 
 3 2 Cor. v. 8. 4 Rev xiv. 13. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 317 
 
 work is wages. It will be better, yes, far 
 better, when He summons us to His presence 
 and His rest with all the other holy dead. 
 It will be best of all in the glory of the Res- 
 urrection morning, when we enter into the 
 gates of the celestial city with everlasting 
 joy upon our heads. Our parable did not 
 stop short of this superlative joy." 
 
 " Oh, no, grandfather," said Gustave, 
 "that procession from the glen to the city 
 was so delightful. Of course we all thought 
 of the close of the Pilgrim's Progress. Only 
 there the pilgrims went straight up out of the 
 river to the city which was builded higher 
 than the clouds. I suppose by the chariots 
 with their charioteers you meant angels ; for 
 I remembered the text, ; The chariots of 
 God are twenty thousand, even thousands of 
 angels,' x and how Lazarus was carried by 
 the angels to Abraham's bosom." 2 
 
 " And then," continued Adolphe, " the 
 prince being with them, and having a word 
 1 Psalm lxviii. 17. 2 Luke xvi. 22. 
 
318 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 and a smile for each, reminded me of the 
 promise of Jesus : ' If I go and prepare a place 
 for you, I will come again and receive you 
 unto myself, that where I am there ye may 
 be also.' 1 Surely this will be heaven's joy of 
 
 " And how pleasant it must have been," 
 cried Roschen, " for each of them to have 
 received a gift from the prince's own hands ! 
 I think I should have liked the pearls best, 
 they are so pure and lovely." 
 
 " Nay," said Aimee, "nothing could be so 
 dear as the prince's own likeness. But I sus- 
 pect they each thought their own the best, 
 because it was his choice for them. Do you 
 not think that the wand of office would be 
 given to the beloved old Pascal, and the sig- 
 net ring to Hilaire ? " 
 
 "At all events," answered Oberlin, "the 
 promise, fc Behold I come quickly, and my 
 reward is with me to give every man accord- 
 ing as his work shall be,' 2 assures us that no 
 1 John xiv. 3. 2 Rev. xxii. 12. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 319 
 
 faithful laborer will be forgotten in that day. 
 And then they all sat down to the banquet, 
 and were all served by the prince himself. 
 May not this remind us, that while some of 
 the gifts of God's love in heaven are peculiar 
 to each saint who receives them, many, per- 
 haps most, of the joys of glory will be shared 
 in common by all ? " 
 
 " Oh, grandfather," said Gustave, " I was 
 so very glad they found again in the city all 
 the pleasures they had enjoyed in the valley, 
 only so much more enjoyable than ever. The 
 heaven which some persons describe seems so 
 dull and so very different from that heaven 
 you always lead us to expect." 
 
 " "Well, dear boy," answered Oberlin, " let 
 the Bible always decide these questions : for 
 4 Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither 
 have entered into the heart of man, the things 
 which God hath prepared for them that love 
 Him ; but God hath revealed them to us by 
 His Spirit, for the Spirit searcheth all things, 
 
320 BEYOND THE KIVER. 
 
 even the deep things of God.' 1 Does not 
 the Bible speak of our dwelling hereafter in 
 mansions, which shall be part of the royal 
 palace ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Gustave ; " Jesus said, ; In 
 my Father's house are many mansions ; I go 
 to prepare a place for you.' " 2 
 
 "And of gardens of delight?" continued 
 Oberlin. 
 
 " Yes," replied Adolphe ; " ' He showed 
 me a pure river of water of life, clear as 
 crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God 
 and of the Lamb : in the midst of the street 
 of it, and on either side of the river, was 
 there the tree of life, which bare twelve 
 manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every 
 month.' " 3 
 
 " And of music, Aimee? " asked Oberlin. 
 
 "Yes, grandfather; St. John writes, 'I 
 looked, and lo, a Lamb stood on the Mount 
 Zion, and with Him an hundred forty and 
 four thousand, having his Father's name 
 
 1 1 Cor. ii. 9, 10. 2 John xiv. 2. » Rev. xxii. 1, 2. 
 
BEYOND THE RIVER. 321 
 
 written in their foreheads. And I heard a 
 voice from heaven, as the voice of many 
 waters, and as the voice of a great thunder : 
 and as the voice of harpers harping with 
 their harps : and they sang as it were a new 
 song before the throne.' " * 
 
 " And what did the text you repeated to 
 me this morning tell of the Lord Jesus, shep- 
 herding His flock hereafter, Roschen? " said 
 Oberlin. 
 
 " ' Other sheep I have, which are not of 
 this fold : them also I must bring, and they 
 shall hear my voice ; and there shall be one 
 fold, and one shepherd,'" 2 answered Ros- 
 chen. 
 
 " And lastly, does the Bible say any thing 
 of temple worship ? " asked Oberlin. 
 
 " Yes, grandfather," replied Adolphe, " we 
 read of the white robed multitude, 6 There- 
 fore are they before the throne of God, and 
 serve Him day and night in His temple.'" 3 
 
 " God only grant," said the old man, fer- 
 
 1 Rev. xiv. 1-3. 2 John x. 16. 3 Rev. vi. 15. 
 21 
 
322 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 vently, " that we all, you my grandchildren, 
 and yon Marie, and you Robin, and all we 
 love, may be among that blessed company of 
 all faithful people who swell the tide of hal- 
 lelujah before that throne, singing, 4 Unto 
 Him that loved us and washed us from our 
 sins, and hath made us kings and priests 
 unto God and His Father, to Him be glory 
 and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. 5 " 
 
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