FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[8]Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jātaka Tales, translated by T. W. Rhys Davids.[9]I remarked above that fables should be excluded if the moral they inculcate is bad, not if they depict what is bad. In the latter case they often may serve a useful purpose.

[8]Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jātaka Tales, translated by T. W. Rhys Davids.

[9]I remarked above that fables should be excluded if the moral they inculcate is bad, not if they depict what is bad. In the latter case they often may serve a useful purpose.

Apart from the collection which figures under the name of Æsop, there are other fables, notably the so-called Jātaka tales, which deserve attention. The Jātaka tales contain deep truths, and are calculated to impress lessons of great moral beauty. The tale of the Merchant of Seri, who gave up all that he had in exchange for a golden dish, embodies much the same idea as the parable of the Priceless Pearl, in the New Testament. The tale of the Measures of Rice illustrates the importance of a true estimate of values. The tale of the Banyan Deer, which offered its life to save a roe and her young, illustrates self-sacrifice of the noblest sort. The Kulāvaka-Jātaka contains the thought that a forgiving spirit toward one's enemies disarms even the evil-minded. The tale of the Partridge, the Monkey, and the Elephant teaches that the best seats belong not to the nobles or the priests, to the rich or the learned, not even to the most pious, but that reverence and service and respect and civility are to be paid according to age, and for the aged the best seat, the best water, the best rice, are to be reserved. The tale of Nanda, or the Buried Gold, is a rebuke to that base insolence which vulgar natures often exhibit when theypossess a temporary advantage. The tale of the Sandy Road is one of the finest in the collection. It pictures to us a caravan wandering through the desert under the starlight. The guide, whose duty it was to pilot them through this sea of sand, has, it appears, fallen asleep at his post from excessive weariness, and at dawn the travelers discover that they have gone astray, and that far and wide no water is in sight wherewith to quench their burning thirst. At this moment, however, the leader espies a small tuft of grass on the face of the desert, and, reasoning that water must be flowing somewhere underneath, inspires his exhausted followers to new exertions. A hole sixty feet deep is dug under his direction, but at length they come upon hard rock, and can dig no farther. But even then he does not yield to despair. Leaping down, he applies his ear to the rock. Surely, it is water that he hears gurgling underneath! One more effort, he cries, and we are saved! But of all his followers one only had strength or courage enough left to obey. This one strikes a heavy blow, the rock is split open, and lo! the living water gushes upward in a flood. The lesson is that of perseverance and presence of mind in desperate circumstances. The tale entitled Holding to the Truth narrates the sad fate of a merchant who suffered himself to be deceived by a mirage into the belief that water was near, and emptied the jars which he carried with him in order to reach the pleasant land the sooner. The Jātaka entitled On True Divinity contains avery beautiful story about three brothers, the Sun prince, the Moon prince, and the future Buddha or Bodisat. The king, their father, expelled the Moon prince and the future Buddha in order to secure the succession to the Sun prince alone. But the Sun prince could not bear to be separated from his brothers, and secretly followed them into exile. They journeyed together until they came to a certain lake. This lake was inhabited by an evil spirit, to whom power had been given to destroy all who entered his territory unless they could redeem their lives by answering the question, "What is truly divine?" So the Sun prince was asked first, and he answered, "The sun and the moon and the gods are divine." But that not being the correct answer, the evil spirit seized and imprisoned him in his cave. Then the Moon prince was asked, and he answered, "The far-spreading sky is called divine." But he, too, was carried away to the same place to be destroyed. Then the future Buddha was asked, and he answered: "Give ear, then, attentively, and hear what divine nature is;" and he uttered the words—

"The pure in heart who fear to sin,The good, kindly in word and deed,These are the beings in the worldWhose nature should be called divine."

"The pure in heart who fear to sin,

The good, kindly in word and deed,

These are the beings in the world

Whose nature should be called divine."

And when the evil spirit heard these words, he bowed, and said: "I will give up to you one of your brothers." Then the future Buddha said, "Give me the life of my brother, the Sun prince, for it is on hisaccount that we have been driven away from our home and thrust into exile." The evil spirit was overcome by this act of generosity, and said, "Verily, O teacher, thou not only knowest what is divine, but hast acted divinely." And he gave him the life of both his brothers, the Sun prince as well as the Moon prince.

I could not resist the temptation of relating a few of these tales. They are, as every one must admit, nobly conceived, lofty in meaning, and many a helpful sermon might be preached from them as texts. But, of course, not all are fit to be used in a primary course. Some of them are, some are not. The teacher will have no difficulty in making the right selection. To the former class belongs also No. 28 of the collection,[10]which is excellently adapted to impress the lesson of kindness to animals. Long ago the Buddha came to life in the shape of a powerful bull. His master, a Brahman, asserted that this bull of his could move a hundred loaded carts ranged in a row and bound together. Being challenged to prove his assertion, he bathed the bull, gave him scented rice, hung a garland of flowers around his neck, and yoked him to the first cart. Then he raised his whip and called out, "Gee up, you brute. Drag them along, you wretch!" The bull said to himself, "He calls me wretch; I am no wretch." And keeping his forelegs as firm as steel, he stood perfectly still. Thereupon the Brahman, hismaster, was compelled to pay a forfeit of a thousand pieces of gold because he had not made good his boast. After a while the bull said to the Brahman, who seemed very much dispirited: "Brahman, I have lived a long time in your house. Have I ever broken any pots, or have I rubbed against the walls, or have I made the walks around the premises unclean?" "Never, my dear," said the Brahman. "Then why did you call me wretch? But if you will never call me wretch again, you shall have two thousand pieces for the one thousand you have lost." The Brahman, hearing this, called his neighbors together, set up one hundred loaded carts as before, then seated himself on the pole, stroked the bull on the back, and called out, "Gee up, my beauty! Drag them along, my beauty!" And the bull, with a mighty effort, dragged along the whole hundred carts, heavily loaded though they were. The bystanders were greatly astonished, and the Brahman received two thousand pieces on account of the wonderful feat performed by the bull.

The 30th Jātaka corresponds to the fable of the Ox and the Calf in the Æsop collection. The 33d, like the fable of the Bundle of Sticks, teaches the lesson of unity, but in a form a little nearer to the understanding of children. Long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the future Buddha came to life as a quail. At that time there was a fowler who used to go to the place where the quails dwelt and imitate their cry; and when they had assembled, he would throw his net over them. But the Buddhasaid to the quails: "In future, as soon as he has thrown the net over us, let each thrust his head through a mesh of the net, then all lift it together, carry it off to some bush, and escape from underneath it." And they did so and were saved. But one day a quail trod unawares on the head of another, and a disgraceful quarrel ensued. The next time the fowler threw his net over them, each of the quails pretended that the others were leaving him to bear the greatest strain, and cried out, "You others begin, and then I will help." The consequence was that no one began, and the net was not raised, and the fowler bagged them all. The 26th Jātaka enforces the truth that evil communications corrupt good manners, and contains more particularly a warning against listening to the conversation of wicked people. Thus much concerning the Jātaka tales.

There exists also a collection of Hindu fairy tales and fables, gathered from oral tradition by M. Frere, and published under the title of Old Deccan Days. A few of these are very charming, and well adapted for our purpose. For example, the fable of King Lion and the Sly Little Jackals. The story is told with delightfulnaïveté. Singh-Rajah, the lion-king, is very hungry. He has already devoured all the jackals of the forest, and only a young married couple, who are extremely fond of each other, remain. The little jackal-wife is terribly frightened when she hears in their immediate vicinity the roar of Singh-Rajah. But the young husband triesto comfort her, and to save their lives he hits on the following expedient: He makes her go with him straight to the cave of the terrible lion. Singh-Rajah no sooner sees them than he exclaims: "It is well you have arrived at last. Come here quickly, so that I may eat you." The husband says: "Yes, your Majesty, we are entirely ready to do as you bid us, and, in fact, we should have come long ago, as in duty bound, to satisfy your royal appetite, but there is another Singh-Rajah mightier than you in the forest, who would not let us come." "What!" says the lion, "another Singh-Rajah mightier than I! That is impossible." "Oh! but it is a fact," say the young couple in a breath; "and he is really much more terrible than you are." "Show him to me, then," says Singh-Rajah, "and I will prove to you that what you say is false—that there is no one to be compared with me in might." So the little jackals ran on together ahead of the lion, until they reached a deep well. "He is in there," they said, pointing to the well. The lion looked down angrily and saw his own image, the image of an angry lion glaring back at him. He shook his mane; the other did the same. Singh-Rajah thereupon, unable to contain himself, leaped down to fight his competitor, and, of course, was drowned. The fable clothes in childlike language the moral that anger is blind, and that the objects which excite our anger are often merely the outward reflections of our own passions. In the fable of the Brahman, the Tiger, and the Six Judges,we have a lesson against ingratitude, and also against useless destruction of animal life. In the fable of the Camel and the Jackal, the latter does not appear in the same favorable light as above. The jackal and the camel were good friends. One day the jackal said to his companion: "I know of a field of sugar-cane on the other side of the river, and near by there are plenty of crabs and small fishes. The crabs and fishes will do for me, while you can make a fine dinner off the sugar-cane. If there were only a way of getting across!" The camel offered to swim across, taking the jackal on his back, and in this way they reached the opposite bank. The jackal ate greedily, and had soon finished his meal; thereupon he began to run up and down, and to exercise his voice, screaming lustily. The camel begged him to desist, but in vain. Presently the cries of the jackal roused the villagers. They came with sticks and cudgels and cruelly beat the camel, and drove him out of the field before he had had time to eat more than a few mouthfuls. When the men were gone at last, the jackal said, "Let us now go home." "Very well," said the camel, "climb on my back." When they were midway between the two banks, the camel said to the jackal: "Why did you make such a noise and spoil my dinner, bringing on those cruel men, who beat me so that every bone in my body aches? Did I not beg you to stop?" "Oh," said the jackal, "I meant no harm. I was only singing a bit. I always sing after dinner, just foramusement." They had by this time reached the place where the water was deepest. "Well," said the camel, "I also like innocent amusements. For instance, it is my custom to lie on my back after dinner and to stretch myself a bit." With that he turned over, and the jackal fell into the stream. He swallowed pailfuls of water, and it was only with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the bank. He had received a salutary lesson on the subject of inconsiderate selfishness—a fault very common with children, which such a story as this may help to correct.

As to the modern fables, I fear they will yield us but a scanty harvest. The fables of La Fontaine, where they depart from Æsopian originals, are hardly suitable for children, and those of the German poet Gellert impress me, on the whole, in the same way, though a few of them may be added to our stock. For instance, the fable of the Greenfinch and the Nightingale. These two birds occupy the same cage before the window of Damon's house. Presently the voice of the nightingale is heard, and then ceases. The father leads his little boy before the cage and asks him which of the two he believes to have been the sweet musician, the brightly colored greenfinch or the outwardly unattractive nightingale. The child immediately points to the former, and is then instructed as to his error. The lesson, of course, is that fine clothes and real worth do not always go together. The fable of the Blind and the Lame Man teaches theadvantages of co-operation. The Carriage Horse and the Cart Horse is a fable for the rich. Possibly the fable of the Peasant and his Son, which is directed against lies of exaggeration, may also be utilized, though I realize that there are objections to it.

FOOTNOTE:[10]Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jātaka Tales.

[10]Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jātaka Tales.

Introduction.—It will have been noticed that in choosing our illustrative material we have confined ourselves to what may be called classical literature. The GermanMärchenhas lived in the traditions of the German people for centuries, and is as fresh to-day as Snow-white herself when she woke from her trance. The fables, as has been shown, have been adopted into the language and literature of Persia, of Arabia, of the nations of Europe, and are still found in the hands of our own children. Let us continue to pursue the same method of selection. Instead of relying on juvenile literature just produced, or attempting to write moralizing stories specially adapted for the purpose in hand, let us continue, without excluding invention altogether, to rely mainly on that which has stood the test of time. In the third part of our primary course we shall use selected stories from the classical literature of the Hebrews, and later on from that of Greece, particularly the Odyssey and the Iliad. The stories to which I refer possess a perennial vitality, an indestructible charm. I am, I trust, no blind worshiper of antiquity. The mere fact that a thing has existed for a thousand or two thousand years is notalways proof that it is worth preserving. But the fact that after having been repeated for two thousand years a story still possesses a perfectly fresh attraction for the child of to-day, does indeed prove that there is in it something of imperishable worth. How is this unique charm of the classical literature to be explained? What quality exists in Homer, in the Bible, enabling them, despite the changes of taste and fashion, to hold their own? The novels of the last century are already antiquated; few care to read them. The poetry of the middle ages is enjoyed only by those who cultivate a special taste for it. Historical and scientific works hardly have time to leave an impression before new books appear to crowd them out. But a few great masterpieces have survived, and the truth and beauty of these the lapse of ages, it seems, has left unaltered. Mr. Jebb remarks[11]that Homer aims at the lucid expression of primary motives, and refrains from multiplying individual traits which might interfere with their effect, and that this typical quality in Homer's portraiture has been one secret of its universal impressiveness. The Homeric outlines are in each case brilliantly distinct, while they leave to the reader a certain liberty of private conception, and he can fill them in so as to satisfy his own ideal. We may add that this is just as true of the Bible as of Homer. The biblical narrative, too, depicts a few essential traits of human nature, and refrains frommultiplying minor traits which might interfere with the main effect. The Bible, too, draws its figures in outline, and leaves every age free to fill them in so as to satisfy its own ideal. Thus the biblical story, as conceived in the mind of Milton, reflects the Puritan ideal; the same story, narrated in a modern pulpit or Sunday-school, will inevitably reflect, to a greater or less degree, the modern humanitarian ideal, and this liberty of interpretation is one cause of the vitality of the Bible. But it may be asked further, How did Homer, how did the biblical writers, succeed in producing such universal types, in drawing their figures so correctly that, however the colors may thenceforth be varied, the outlines remain forever true? He who should attempt at the present day to give expression to the most universal traits of human nature, freed from the complex web of conditions, disengaged from the thousand-fold minor traits which modify the universal in particular instances, would find it difficult to avoid one or the other of two fatal errors. If he keeps his eyes fixed on the universal, he is in danger of producing a set of bloodless abstractions, pale shadows of reality, which will not live for a day, much less for a thousand years. If, on the other hand, he tries to keep close to reality he will probably produce more or less accurate copies of the types that surround him, but the danger will always be that the universal will be lost amid the particulars. By what quality in themselves or fortunate constellation of circumstances did Homer and the biblicalwriters succeed in avoiding both these errors, in creating types of the utmost universality and yet imparting to them the breath of life, the gait and accent of distinctive individuality? I imagine that they succeeded because they lived at a time when life was much less complex than it is at present, when the conversation, the manners, the thoughts, the motives of men were simple. They were enabled to individualize the universal because the most universal, the simplest motives, still formed the mainspring in the conduct of individuals. It was not necessary for them to enter into the barren region of abstraction and generalization to discover the universal. They pictured what they actually saw. The universal and the individual were still blended in that early dawn of human history.

We have thus far spoken of Homer and the Bible jointly. But let us now give our particular attention to the biblical narrative. The narrative of the Bible is fairly saturated with the moral spirit; the moral issues are everywhere in the forefront. Duty, guilt and its punishment, the conflict of conscience with inclination, are the leading themes. The Hebrew people seem to have been endowed with what may be called "a moral genius," and especially did they emphasize the filial and fraternal duties to an extent hardly equaled elsewhere. Now it is precisely these duties that must be impressed on young children, and hence the biblical stories present us with the very material we require. They can not, in this respect, be replaced; there is no otherliterature in the world that offers what is equal to them in value for the particular object we have now in view. Before proceeding, however, to discuss the stories in detail, let me remind you that in studying them a larger tax is made on the attention of children, and a higher development of the moral judgment is presupposed, than in the previous parts of our course; for in them a succession of acts and their consequences are presented to the scholar, on each of which his judgment is to be exercised. Those who teach the biblical stories merely because it has been customary to regard the Bible as the text-book of morals and religion, without, however, being clear as to the place which belongs to it in a scheme of moral education, will always, I doubt not, achieve a certain result. The stories will never entirely fail of their beneficial effect, but I can not help thinking that this effect will be greatly heightened if their precise pedagogic value is distinctly apprehended, and if the preparatory steps have been taken in due course. It seems to me that the moral judgment should first be exercised on a single moral quality as exhibited in a single act before it is applied to a whole series of acts; and hence that the fable should precede the story.

In making our selection from the rich material before us we need only keep in mind the principle already enunciated in the introductory lectures—that the moral teaching at any period should relate to the duties of that period.

Adam and Eve in Paradise.

This is a wonderful story for children. It deserves to be placed at the head of all the others, for it inculcates the cardinal virtue of childhood—obedience. It is also a typical story of the beginning, the progress, and the culmination of temptation. Will you permit me to relate the story as I should tell it to little children? I shall endeavor to keep true to the outlines, and if I depart from the received version in other respects, may I not plead that liberty of interpretation to which I have referred above.

Once upon a time there were two children, Adam and Eve. Adam was a fine and noble-looking lad. He was slender and well built, and fleet of foot as a young deer. Eve was as beautiful as the dawn, with long golden tresses, and blue eyes, and cheeks like the rose. They lived in the loveliest garden that you have ever heard of. There were tall trees in it, and open meadows where the grass was as smooth as on a lawn, and clear, murmuring brooks ran through the woods. And there were dense thickets filled with the perfume of flowers, and the flowers grew in such profusion, and there were so many different kinds, each more beautiful than the rest, that it was a perfect feast for the eyes to look at them. It was so warm that the children never needed to go in-doors, but at night they would just lie down at the foot of some great tree and look at the stars twinkling through the branches until theyfell asleep. And when it rained they would find shelter in some beautiful cavern, spreading leaves and moss upon the ground for a bed. The garden where they lived was called Paradise. And there were ever so many animals in it—all kinds of animals—elephants, and tigers, and leopards, and giraffes, and camels, and sheep, and horses, and cows; but even the wild animals did them no harm. But the children were not alone in that garden: their Father lived with them. And every morning when they woke up their first thought was to go to him and to look up into his mild, kind face for a loving glance, and every evening before they went to sleep he would bend over them. And once, as they lay under the great tree, looking at a star shining through the branches, Adam said to Eve: "Our Father's eye shines just like that star."

One day their Father said to them: "My children, there is one tree in this beautiful garden the fruit of which you must not eat, because it is hurtful to you. You can not understand why, but you know that you must obey your Father even when you do not understand. He loves you and knows best what is for your good." So they promised, and for a time remembered. But one day it happened that Eve was passing near the tree of the fruit of which she knew she must not eat, when what should she hear but a snake talking to her. She did not see it, but she heard its voice quite distinctly. And this is what the snake said: "You poor Eve! you must certainly have a hard time. Your Father is alwaysforbidding you something. How stern he is! I am sure that other children can have all the fruit they want." Eve was frightened at first. She knew that her Father was kind and good, and that the snake was telling a falsehood. He did not always forbid things. But still he had forbidden her to eat of the fruit, and she thought that was a little hard; and she could not understand at all why he had done so. Then the snake spoke again: "Listen, Eve! He forbade you to eat only of it. It can do no harm just to look at it. Go up to it. See how it glistens among the branches! How golden it looks!" And the snake kept on whispering: "How good it must be to the taste! Just take one bite of it. Nobody sees you. Only one bite; that can do no harm." And Eve glanced around, and saw that no one was looking, and presently with a hasty movement she seized the fruit and ate of it. Then she said to herself: "Adam, too, must eat of it. I can never bear to eat it alone." So she ran hastily up to Adam, and said: "See, I have some of the forbidden fruit, and you, too, must eat." And he, too, looked at it and was tempted, and ate. But that evening they were very much afraid. They knew they had done wrong, and their consciences troubled them. So they hurried away into the wood where it was deepest, and hid themselves in the bushes. But soon they heard their Father calling to them; and it was strange, their Father's voice had never sounded so sad before. And in a few moments he found them where they were hiding. And he saidto them: "Why do you hide from me?" And they were very much confused, and stammered forth all sorts of excuses. But he said: "Come hither, children." And he looked into their eyes, and said: "Have you eaten of the fruit of which I told you not to eat?" And Adam, who was thoughtless and somewhat selfish, spoke up, and said: "Yes, but it was Eve who gave me of it; she led me on." And Eve hung her head, and said: "It was the snake that made me eat." Now the snake, you know, was no real snake at all; she never saw it, she only heard its voice. And, you know, when we want to do anything wicked, there is within every one of us something bad, that seems to whisper: "Just look! Mere looking will do no harm"; and then: "Just taste; no one sees you." So the snake was the bad feeling in Eve's heart. And their Father took them by the hand, and said: "Tomorrow, when it is dawn, you will have to leave this place. In this beautiful Paradise no one can stay who has once disobeyed. You, Adam, must learn to labor; and, you, Eve, to be patient and self-denying for others. And, perhaps, after a long, long time, some day, you will come back with me into Paradise again."

It is a free rendering, I admit. I have filled in the details so as to bring it down to the level of children's minds, but the outlines, I think, are there. The points I have developed are all suggested in the Bible. The temptation begins when the snake says with characteristic exaggeration: "Is it truethat ofallthe fruit you are forbidden to eat?" Exaggerating the hardships of the moral command is the first step on the downward road. The second step is Eve's approach to look at the fruit—"and she saw that it was good for food, and pleasant to the eyes." The third step is the actual enjoyment of what is forbidden. The fourth step is the desire for companionship in guilt, so characteristic of sin—"and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat." The next passage describes the working of conscience, the fear, the shame, the desire to hide, and then comes the moral verdict: You are guilty, both of you. You have lost your paradise. Try to win it back by labor and suffering.

Note.—I would add to what has been said in the text, that the pupils are expected to return to the study of the Bible, to read and re-read these stories, and to receive a progressively higher interpretation of their meaning as they grow older. If in the above I have spoken in a general way of a Father and his two children, it will be easy for the Sunday-school teacher to add later on that the Father in the story was God.

Cain and Abel.

In teaching the story of the two brothers Cain and Abel the following points should be noted. The ancients believed that earthly prosperity and well-being depended on the favor of God, or the gods, and that the favor of the gods could be secured by sacrifice. If any one brought a sacrifice and yet prosperity did not set in, this was supposed to be a sign that his sacrifice had not been accepted. On the other hand, to say of any person that hissacrifice had been accepted, was tantamount to saying that he was happy and prosperous. Applying this to the story of Cain and Abel, we may omit all mention of the bringing of the sacrifices, which presents a great and needless difficulty to children's minds, and simply make the equivalent statement that Abel was prosperous and Cain was not.

Again, Cain is not represented as an intentional murderer. The true interpretation of the story depends on our bearing this in mind. It is erroneous to suppose that a brand was fixed on Cain's forehead. The passage in question, correctly understood, means that God gave Cain a sign to reassure him that he should not be regarded by men as a common murderer. With these prefatory remarks the story may be told somewhat as follows:

Long ago there lived two brothers. The name of the elder was Cain, and of the younger Abel. Cain was a farmer. He toiled in the sweat of his brow, tilling the stubborn ground, taking out stones, building fences. Winter and summer he was up before the sun, and yet, despite all his labor, things did not go well with him. His crops often failed through no fault of his. He never seemed to have an easy time. Moreover, Cain was of a proud disposition. Honest he was, and truthful, but taciturn, not caring much to talk to people whom he met, but rather keeping to himself. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd. He led, or seemed to lead, the most delightfully easy life. He followed his flocks from one pasture to another, watchingthem graze; and at noon he would often lie down in the shade of some leafy tree and play on his flute by the hour. He was a skillful musician, a bright, talkative companion, and universally popular. He was a little selfish too, as happy people sometimes are. He liked to talk about his successes, and, in a perfectly innocent way, which yet stung Cain to the quick, he would rattle on to his brother about the increase of his herds, about his plans and prospects, and the pleasant things that people were saying of him. Cain grew jealous of his brother Abel. He did not like to confess it to himself, but yet it was a fact. He kept comparing his own life of grinding toil with the easy, lazy life of the shepherd—it was not quite so lazy, but so it seemed to Cain—his own poverty with the other's wealth, his own loneliness with Abel's popularity. And a frown would often gather on his brow, and he grew more and more moody and silent. He knew that he was not in the right state of mind. There was a voice within him that said: "Sin is at thy door, but thou canst become master over it." Sin is like a wild beast crouching outside the door of the heart. Open the door ever so little, and it will force its way in, and will have you in its power. Keep the door shut, therefore; do not let the first evil thought enter into your heart. Thus only can you remain master of yourself. But Cain was already too far gone to heed the warning voice. One day he and Abel were walking together in the fields. Abel, no doubt, was chatting in his usual gay andthoughtless manner. The world was full of sunshine to him; and he did not realize in the least what dark shadows were gathering about his brother's soul. Perhaps the conversation ran somewhat as follows: He had just had an addition to his herd, the finest calf one could imagine: would not Cain come to admire it? And then, to-morrow evening he was to play for the dancers on the green, at the village feast: would not Cain join in the merry-making? When the solitary, embittered Cain heard such talk as this the angry feeling in his heart rose up like a flood. Overmastered by his passion, with a few wild, incoherent words of rage he turned upon his brother and struck him one fierce blow. Ah, that was a relief! The pent-up feeling had found vent at last. The braggart had received the chastisement he deserved! And Cain walked on; and for a time continued to enjoy his satisfaction. He had just noticed that Abel, when struck, had staggered and fallen, but he did not mind that. "Let him lie there for a while; he will pick himself up presently. He may be lame for a few days, and his milk-white face may not be so fair at the feast, but that will be all the better for him. It will teach him a lesson." Nevertheless, when he had walked on for some distance he began to feel uneasy. He looked around from time to time to see whether Abel was following him, and the voice of conscience began to be heard, saying, "Cain, where is thy brother?" But he silenced it by saying to himself, "Am I my brother's keeper? Is he such a child that he cannot take care of himself—that he can not stand a blow?" But he kept looking back more and more often, and when he saw no one coming, he came at last to a dead halt. His heart was beating violently by this time; the beads of perspiration were gathered on his brow. He turned back to seek his missing brother. Then, as he did not meet him, he began to run, and faster and faster he ran, until at last, panting and out of breath, with a horrible fear hounding him on, he arrived at the place where he had struck the blow. And there he saw—a pool of blood, and the waxen face of his brother, and the glazed, broken eyes! And then he realized what he had done. And it is this situation which the Bible has in view in the words, "Behold, thy brother's blood cries up from the earth against thee." And then as he surveyed his deed in stony despair, he said to himself, "I am accursed from the face of the earth"—I am unworthy to live. The earth has no resting-place for such as I. But a sign was given him to show him that his life would not be required of him. He had not committed willful murder. He had simply given the reins to his violent passion. He must go into another land, where no one knew him, there through years of penance to try to regain his peace of soul. The moral of the story is: Do not harbor evil thoughts in the mind. If you have once given them entrance, the acts to which they lead are beyond your control. Cain's sin consisted in not crushing the feeling of envy in the beginning; in comparing his own lot with that of his morefavored brother and dwelling on this comparison, until, in a fit of insane passion, he was led on to the unspeakable crime which, indeed, he had never contemplated, to which he had never given an inward assent. The story also illustrates the vain subterfuges with which we still seek to smother the consciousness of guilt after we have done wrong, until the time comes when our eyes are opened and we are compelled to face the consequences of our deeds and to realize them in all their bearings. The story of Cain and Abel is thus a further development of the theme already treated in simpler fashion in the story of Adam and Eve, only that, while in the latter case the filial duty of obedience to parents is in the foreground, attention is here directed to the duty which a brother owes to a brother. It is a striking tale, striking in the vividness with which it conjures up the circumstances before our minds and the clearness with which the principal motives are delineated; and it contains an awful warning for all time.

The question here presents itself, whether we should arrange the biblical stories according to subjects—e. g., grouping together all those which treat of duty to parents, all those which deal with the relations of brothers to brothers, etc.—or whether we should adopt the chronological arrangement. On the whole, I am in favor of the latter. It is expected that the pupils, as they grow older, will undertake a more comprehensive study of the Bible, and for this they will be better prepared if they have beenkept to the chronological order from the outset. Another more practical reason is, that children tire of one subject if it is kept before their minds too long. It is better, therefore, to arrange the stories in groups or cycles, each of which will afford opportunity to touch on a variety of moral topics. It will be impossible to continue to relatein extensothe stories which I have selected, and I shall therefore content myself in the main with giving the points of each story upon which the teacher may lay stress.

The Story of Noah and his Sons.

Describe the beauty of the vine, and of the purple grapes hanging in clusters amid the green leaves. How sweet is this fruit to the taste! But the juice of it has a dangerous property. Once there lived a man, Noah, who had three sons. He planted a vine, plucked the grapes, but did not know the dangerous property of the juice. The second son, on seeing his father in a state of intoxication, allowed his sense of the ridiculous to overcome his feeling of reverence. But the eldest and the youngest sons acted differently. They took a garment, covered their father with it, and averted their faces so as not to see his disgrace. The moral is quite important. An intelligent child can not help detecting a fault now and then even in the best of parents. But the right course for him to take is to throw the mantle over the fault, and to turn away his face. He should say to himself: Am I the one to judgemy parents—I who have been the recipient of so many benefits at their hands, and who see in them so many virtues, so much superior wisdom? By such reasoning the feeling of reverence is even deepened. The momentary superiority which the child feels serves only to bring out his general inferiority.

The Abraham Cycle.

There is a whole series of stories belonging to this group, illustrating in turn the virtues of brotherly harmony, generosity toward the weak, hospitality toward strangers, and maternal love. Abraham and Lot are near kinsmen. Their servants quarrel, and to avoid strife the former advises a separation. "If thou wilt go to the left," he says, "I will turn to the right; if thou preferrest the land to the right, I will take the left." Abraham, being the older, was entitled to the first choice, but he waived his claim. Lot chose the fairer portion, and Abraham willingly assented. "Let there be no strife between us, for we be brethren." The lesson is, that the older and wiser of two brothers or kinsmen may well yield a part of his rights for harmony's sake.

Abraham's conduct toward the King of Sodom is an instance of generosity. The story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah may be introduced by describing the Dead Sea and the surrounding scene of desolation. The moral lies in the circumstance that ill treatment of strangers brought down the doom. Hospitality toward strangers isone of the shining virtues of the Old Testament heroes. Even at the present day strangers are still despised and ridiculed by the vulgar, their foreign manners, language, and habits seeming contemptible; the lesson of hospitality is not yet superfluous.

The story ofHagar and her ChildI should recast in such a way as to exclude what in it is repellent, and retain the touching picture of maternal affection. I should relate it somewhat as follows: There was once a little lad whose name was Ishmael. He had lost his father and had only his mother to cling to. She was a tall, beautiful lady, with dark eyes which were often very sad, but they would light up, and there was always a sweet smile on her lips whenever she looked at her darling boy. Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, had never been separated; they were all in all to each other. One day it happened that they walked away from their home, which was near the great, sandy desert. Ishmael's mother was in deep distress, there was something troubling her, and every now and then a tear would steal down her cheeks. Ishmael was sad, too, because his mother was, but he did not dare to ask her what it was that grieved her, fearing to give her pain. So they walked on and on, holding each other's hands in silence. But at last they saw that they had lost their way; and they tried first one direction, and then another, thinking that it would bring them back toward home, but they only got deeper and deeper into the vast, lonely desert. And the sun burned hot andhotter above their heads, and little Ishmael, who had tried to keep up like a brave lad, at last became so parched with thirst, and so faint with want of food, and so tired with walking—for they had wandered about for many, many hours—that he could go on no farther. Then his mother took him up in her arms and laid him under a bush, where there was a little shade. And then, oh then, how her poor heart was wrung, and how she wept to see her darling in such suffering, and how she cried for help! Then she sat down on the glaring sand at some distance away, and turned her face in the direction opposite to where Ishmael was lying; for she said, "I can not bear to see my boy die." But just as she had given up all hope, suddenly she saw a noble-looking man, wearing the dress of the Bedouins, approach her. He had come from behind one of the sand hills, and it seemed to her as if he had come down straight from the sky. He asked her why she was in such grief, and when she told him, and pointed to her little son, he said: "It is fortunate that you have come to this place. There is a beautiful oasis close by." An oasis, children, is a spot of fruitful green earth right in the midst of the desert, like an island in the ocean. And the man took the boy up and carried him in his arms, and Hagar followed after him. And presently, when they came to the oasis, they found a cool, clear spring, full of the most delicious water, and palm-trees with ever so many dates on them, and all the people who lived there gathered around them.And the man who had been so kind proved to be the chief. And he took charge of Ishmael's education, showed him how to shoot with the bow and how to hunt, and was like a real father to him. And when Ishmael grew up he became a great chief of the Bedouins. But he always remained true to his mother, and loved her with all his heart.

I am strongly in favor of omitting the story of theSacrifice of Isaac. I do not think we can afford to tell young children that a father was prepared to draw the knife against his own son, even though he desisted in the end. I should not be willing to inform a child that so horrible an impulse could have been entertained even for a moment in a parent's heart. I regard the story, indeed, as, from an historical point of view, one of the most valuable in the Bible; it has a deep meaning; but it is not food fit for children. A great mistake has been made all along in supposing that whatever is true in religion must be communicated to children; and that if anything be very true and very important we ought to hasten to give it to children as early as possible; but there must be preparatory training. And the greatest truths are often of such a kind as only the mature mind, ripe in thought and experience, is fitted to assimilate.

One of the most charming idyls of patriarchal times is the story ofRebecca at the Well. It illustrates positively, as the story of Sodom does negatively, the duty of hospitality toward strangers. "Drink, lord, and I will give thy camels drinkalso," is a pleasant phrase which is apt to stick in the memory. Moreover, the story shows the high place which the trusted servant occupied in the household of his master, and offers to the teacher an opportunity of dwelling on the respect due to faithful servants.

The Jacob Cycle.

What treatment shall Jacob receive at our hands, he, the sly trickster, who cheats his brother of his birthright and steals a father's blessing? Yet he is one of the patriarchs, and is accorded the honorable title of "champion of God." To hold him up to the admiration of the young is impossible. To gloss over his faults and try to explain them away were a sorry business, and honesty forbids. The Bible itself gives us the right clew. His faults are nowhere disguised. He is represented as a person who makes a bad start in life—a very bad start, indeed—but who pays the penalty of his wrong-doing. His is a story of penitential discipline.

In telling the story, all reference to the duplicity of Rebecca should be omitted, for the same reason that malicious step-mothers and cruel fathers have been excluded from the fairy tales.

The points to be discussed may be summarized as follows:

Taking advantage of a brother in distress.—Jacob purchases the birthright for a mess of pottage.

Tender attachment to a helpless old father.—Esau goes out hunting to supply a special delicacy for his father's table. This is a point which children will appreciate. Unable to confer material benefits on their parents, they can only show their love by slight attentions.

Deceit.—Jacob simulates the appearance of his older brother and steals the blessing. In this connection it will be necessary to say that a special power was supposed to attach to a father's blessing, and that the words once spoken were deemed irrevocable.

Jacob's penitential discipline begins.—The deceiver is deceived, and made to feel in his own person the pain and disappointment which deceit causes. He is repeatedly cheated by his master Laban, especially in the matter which is nearest to him, his love for Rachel.

The forgiveness of injuries.—Esau's magnanimous conduct toward his brother.

The evil consequences of tale-bearing and conceit.—It is a significant fact that Joseph is not a mere coxcomb. He is a man of genius, as his later career proves, and the stirrings of his genius manifest themselves in his early dreams of future greatness. Persons of this description are not always pleasant companions, especially in their youth. They have not yet accomplished anything to warrant distinction, and yet they feel within themselves the presentiment of a destiny and of achievements above the ordinary. Their faults, their arrogance, their seemingly preposterous claims, are not to be excused, butneither is the envy they excite excusable. One of the hardest things to learn is to recognize without envy the superiority of a brother.

Moral cowardice.—Reuben is guilty of moral cowardice. He was an opportunist, who sought to accomplish his ends by diplomacy. If he, as the oldest brother, had used his authority and boldly denounced the contemplated crime, he might have averted the long train of miseries that followed.

Strength and depth of paternal love.—"Joseph is no more: an evil beast has devoured him. I will go mourning for my son Joseph into the grave." It is a piece of poetic justice that Jacob, who deceived his father in the matter of the blessing by covering himself with the skin of a kid, is himself deceived by the blood of a kid of the goats with which the coat of Joseph had been stained.

In speaking of the temptation of Joseph in the house of Potiphar, it is enough to say that the wife conspired against her husband, and endeavored to induce Joseph to betray his master. A pretty addition to the story is to be found in the Talmud, to the effect that Joseph saw in imagination the face of his father before him in the moment of temptation, and was thereby strengthened to resist.

The light of a superior mind can not be hidden even in a prison.—Joseph wins the favor of his fellow-prisoners, and an opportunity is thus opened to him to exercise his talents on the largest scale.

Affliction chastens.—The famine had in the mean time spread to Palestine. The shadow of thegrief for Joseph still lay heavily on the household of the patriarch. Joseph is lost; shall Benjamin, too, perish? It is pleasant to observe that the character of the brothers in the mean time has been changed for the better. There is evidently a lurking sense of guilt and a desire to atone for it in the manner in which Judah pledges himself for the safety of the youngest child. And the same marked change is visible in the conduct of all the brothers on the journey. The stratagem of the cup was cunningly devised to test their feelings. They might have escaped by throwing the blame on Benjamin. Instead of that, they dread nothing so much as that he may have to suffer, and are willing to sacrifice everything to save him. When this new spirit has become thoroughly apparent, the end to which the whole group of Jacob stories pointed all along is reached; the work of moral regeneration is complete. Jacob himself has been purified by affliction, and the brothers and Joseph have been developed by the same hard taskmaster into true men. The scene of recognition which follows, when the great vice-regent orders his attendants from the apartment and embraces those who once attempted his life, with the words, "I am Joseph, your brother: does my father still live?" is touching in the extreme, and the whole ends happily in a blaze of royal pomp, like a true Eastern tale.

A word as to themethodwhich should be used in teaching these stories. If the fairy tale holds the moral element in solution, if the fable drills thepupil in distinguishing one moral trait at a time, the biblical stories exhibit a combination of moral qualities, or, more precisely, the interaction of moral causes and effects; and it is important for the teacher to give expression to this difference in the manner in which he handles the stories. Thus, in the fables we have simply one trait, like ingratitude, and its immediate consequences. The snake bites the countryman, and is cast out; there the matter ends. In the story of Joseph we have, first, the partiality of the father, which produces or encourages self-conceit in the son; Joseph's conceit produces envy in the brothers. This envy reacts on all concerned—on Joseph, who in consequence is sold into slavery; on the father, who is plunged into inconsolable grief; on the brothers, who nearly become murderers. The servitude of Joseph destroys his conceit and develops his nobler nature. Industry, fidelity, and sagacity raise him to high power. The sight of the constant affliction of their father on account of Joseph's loss mellows the heart of the brothers, etc. It is this interweaving of moral causes and effects that gives to the stories their peculiar value. They are true moral pictures; and, like the pictures used in ordinary object lessons, they serve to train the power of observation. Trained observation, however, is the indispensable preliminary of correct moral judgment.

The Moses Cycle.

The figures of the patriarchs and the prophets appeal to us with a fresh interest the moment we regard them as human beings like ourselves, who were tempted as we are, who struggled as we are bound to do, and who acted, howsoever the divine economy might supervene, on their own responsibility. Looked at from this point of view, the figure of Moses, the Liberator, approaches our sympathies at the same time that he towers in imposing proportions above our level. Let us briefly review his career. Like Arminius at a later day, he is educated at the court of the enemies of his people. In dress, in manners, in speech, he doubtless resembles the grandees of Pharaoh's court. When he approaches the well in Midian, the daughter of Jethro exclaims, "Behold, an Egyptian is coming!" But at heart he remains a Hebrew, and is deeply touched by the cruel sufferings of his race. His first public intervention on their behalf takes place when he strikes down and kills a native overseer whom he detects in the act of maltreating a Hebrew slave. This is characteristic of the manner in which reformers begin. They direct their first efforts against the particular consequences of some great general wrong. Later on they perceive the uselessness of such a procedure and take heart to attack the evil at its source. Moses flees into the desert. The lonely life he leads there is necessary to the development of his ideas. Solitude is essential to thegrowth of genius. The burning bush is the outward symbol of an inward fact. The fire which can not be quenched is in his own breast, and out of that inward burning he hears more and more distinctly the voice which bids him go back and free his people. But when he considers the means at his disposal, when in fancy he sees his people, a miserable horde of slaves, pitted against the armed hosts of Pharaoh, he is ready to despair; until he hears the comforting voice, which says, "The Eternal is with thee; the unchangeable power of right is on thy side: it will prevail!" Like Jeremiah, like Isaiah, like all great reformers, Moses is profoundly imbued with the sense of his unfitness for the task laid upon him. He pleads that he is heavy of speech. He can only stammer forth the message of freedom. But he is reassured by the thought that a brother will be found, that helpers will arise, that the thought which he can barely formulate will be translated by other lesser men into a form suitable for the popular understanding. He returns to Egypt to find that the greatest obstacle in his way is the lethargy and unbelief of the very people whom he wishes to help. This again is a typical feature of his career. The greatest trials of the reformer are due not to the open enmity of the oppressor, but to the meanness, the distrust and jealousy, of those whom oppression has degraded. At last, however, the miracle of salvation is wrought, the weak prevail over the mighty, the cause of justice triumphs against all apparentodds to the contrary. The slaves rise against their masters, the flower of Egyptian chivalry is destroyed. Pharaoh rallies his army and sets out in pursuit. But the Hebrews, under Moses's guidance, have gained the start, and escape into the wilderness in safety.

Freedom is a precious opportunity—no more. Its value depends on the use to which it is put. And therefore, no sooner was the act of liberation accomplished, than the great leader turned to the task of positive legislation, the task of developing a higher moral life among his people. But here a new and keener disappointment awaited him. When he descended from the mount, the glow of inspiration still upon his face, the tablets of the law in his hand, he saw the people dancing about the golden calf. It is at this moment that Michel Angelo, deeply realizing the human element in the biblical story, has represented the form of the liberator in the colossal figure which was destined for Pope Julius's tomb. "The right foot is slightly advanced; the long beard trembles with the emotion which quivers through the whole frame; the eyes flash indignant wrath; the right hand grasps the tablets of the law; in another moment, we see it plainly, he will leap from his sitting posture and shatter the work which he has made upon the rocks." This trait, too, is typical. Many a leader of a noble cause has felt, in moments of deep disappointment, as if he could shatter the whole work of his life. Many a man, in like situation, has said to himself:The people are willing enough to hail the message of the higher law to-day, but to-morrow they sink back into their dull, degraded condition, as if the vision from the mount had never been reported to them. Let me, then, leave them to their dreary ways, to dance about their golden calf. But a better and stronger mood prevailed in Moses. He ascended once more to the summit, and there prostrated himself in utter self-renunciation and self-effacement. He asked nothing for himself, only that the people whom he loved might be benefited ever so little, be raised ever so slowly above their low condition. And again the questioning spirit came upon him, and he said, as many another has said: The paths of progress are dark and twisted; the course of history seems so often to be in the wrong direction. How can I be sure that there is such a thing as eternal truth—that the right will prevail in the end? And then there came to him that grand revelation, the greatest, as I think, and the most sublime in the Old Testament, when the eternal voice answered his doubt, and said: "Thou wouldst know my ways, but canst not. No living being can see my face; only from the rearward canst thou know me." As a ship sails through the waters and leaves its wake behind, so the divine Power passes through the world and leaves behind the traces by which it can be known. And what are those traces? Justice and mercy. Cherish, therefore, the divine element in thine own nature, and thou wilt see it reflected in the world about thee. Wouldst thou be sure that there is sucha thing as a divine Power? be thyself just and merciful. And so Moses descended again to his people, and became exceeding charitable in spirit. The Bible says: "The man Moses was exceeding humble; there was no one more humble than he on the face of the earth." He bore with resignation their complaints, their murmurings, their alternate cowardice and foolhardiness. He was made to feel, like many another in his place, that his foes were they of his own household. He had an only brother and an only sister. His brother and sister rose up against him. His kinsmen, too, revolted from him. He endured all their weakness, all their follies; he sought to lift them by slow degrees to the height of his own aims. He set the paths of life and death before them, and told them that the divine word can not be found by crossing the seas or by searching the heavens, but must be found in the human heart; and if men find it not there they will find it nowhere else. And so, at last, his pilgrimage drew to a close. He had reached the confines of Palestine. Once more he sought the mountain-top, and there beheld the promised land stretching far away—the land which his eyes were to see but which he was never to enter. Few great reformers, indeed few men who have started a great movement in history, and have been the means of producing deep and permanent changes in the ideas and institutions of society, have lived to see those changes consummated. The course of evolution is slow, and the reformer can hope at best to see thepromised land from afar—as in a dream. Happy he if, like Moses, he retains the force of his convictions unabated, if his spiritual sight remains undimmed, if the splendid vision which attended him in the beginning inspires and consoles him to the end.

The narrative which has thus been sketched touches on some of the weightiest problems of human existence, and deals with motives both complex and lofty. I have entered into the interpretation of these motives for the purpose of showing that they are too complex and too lofty to be within the comprehension of children, and that it is an error, though unfortunately a common one, to attempt to use the grand career of a reformer and liberator as a text for the moral edification of the very young. They are wholly unprepared to understand, and that which is not understood, if forced on the attention, awakens repugnance and disgust. Few of those who have been compelled to study the life of Moses in their childhood have ever succeeded in conquering this repugnance, or have drawn from it, even in later life, the inspiration and instruction which it might otherwise have afforded them. For our primary course, however, we can extract a few points interesting even to children, thus making them familiar with the name of Moses, and preparing the way for a deeper interest later on. The incidents of the story which I should select are these: The child Moses exposed on the Nile; the good sister watching over his safety; the kind princess adopting him asher son; the sympathy manifested by him for his enslaved brethren despite his exemption from their misfortunes. The killing of the Egyptian should be represented as a crime, palliated but not excused by the cruelty of the overseer. Special stress may be laid upon the chivalric conduct of Moses toward the young girls at the well of Midian. The teacher may then go on to say that Moses, having succeeded in freeing his people from the power of the Egyptian king, became their chief, that many wise laws are ascribed to him, etc. The story of the spies, and of the end of Moses, may also be briefly told.

The mention of the laws of Moses leads me to offer a suggestion. I have remarked above that children should be taught to observe moral pictures before any attempt is made to deduce moral principles; but certainsimple rulesshould be given even to the very young—must, indeed, be given them for their guidance. Now, in the legislation ascribed to Moses we find a number of rules fit for children, and a collection of these rules might be made for the use of schools. They should be committed to memory by the pupils, and perhaps occasionally recited in chorus. I have in mind such rules as these:[12]

1. Ye shall not lie. (Many persons who pay attention only to the Decalogue, and forget the legislation of which it forms a part, seem not to be awarethat there is in the Pentateuch [Lev. xix, 11] a distinct commandment against lying.)

2. Ye shall not deceive one another.

3. Ye shall take no bribe.

4. Honor thy father and thy mother.

5. Every one shall reverence his mother and his father. (Note that the father is placed first in the one passage and the mother first in the other, to indicate the equal title of both to their children's reverence.)

6. Thou shalt not speak disrespectfully of those in authority.

7. Before the hoary head thou shalt rise and pay honor to the aged.

10. Thou shalt not spread false reports.

11. Thou shalt not go about as a tale-bearer among thy fellows.

12. Thou shalt not hate thy neighbor in thy heart, but shalt warn him of his evil-doing.

13. Thou shalt not bear a grudge against any, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.

8. Thou shalt not speak evil of the deaf (thinking that he can not hear thee), nor put an obstacle in the way of the blind.

9. If there be among you a poor man, thou shalt not harden thy heart, nor shut thy hand from thy poor brother, but thou shalt open thy hand wide unto him, and shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need.

14. If thou seest the property of thine enemy threatened with destruction, thou shalt do thy utmost to save it.

15. If thou findest what is not thine own, and the owner is not known to thee, guard it carefully, that thou mayest restore it to its rightful owner.

16. Thou shalt not do evil because many others are doing the same evil.

Bearing grudges, lying, mocking those who (like the deaf and blind) are afflicted with personal defects, appropriating what is found without attempting to discover the owner, seeking to excuse wrong on the plea that many others are guilty of it—all these are forms of moral evil with which children are perfectly familiar, and against which they need to be warned. It is more than strange that such commandments as the sixth and eighth of the Decalogue (the commandment against murder and against adultery, forsooth), which are inapplicable to little children, should be made so much of in primary moral instruction, while those other commandments which do come home to them are often overlooked. The theory here expounded, that moral teaching should keep pace with the experience and intelligence of the child, should save us from such mistakes.

To proceed with the stories, the book of Joshua offers nothing that we can turn to account, nor do the stories of Jael, Deborah, and Gideon contain moral lessons fit for the young. Sour milk is not proper food for children, nor do those stories afford the proper moral food in which, so to speak, the milk of human kindness has turned sour. The labors of Samson, the Hebrew Hercules, are likewiseunfit to be used at this stage, at least for the purpose of moral instruction. The story of the daughter of Jephtha, the Hebrew Iphigenia, is exquisitely pathetic, but it involves the horrible idea of human sacrifice, and therefore had better be omitted. The acts and speeches of Samuel mark an epoch in the history of the Hebrew religion, and are of profound interest to the scholar. But there are certain features, such as the killing of Agag, which would have to be eliminated in any case; then the theological and moral elements are so blended that it would be difficult if not impossible to separate them; and altogether the character of this mighty ancient seer, this Hebrew Warwick, this king-maker and enemy of kings, is above the comprehension of primary scholars. We shall therefore omit the whole intervening period, and pass at once from the Moses cycle to

The David Cycle.

The first story of this group is that ofNaomi and Ruth, the ancestress of David. Upon the matchless beauty of this tale it is unnecessary to expatiate. I wish to remark, however, in passing that it illustrates as well as any other—better perhaps than any other—the peculiar art of the biblical narrative to which we have referred above. If any one at the present day were asked to decide whether a woman placed in Ruth's situation would act rightly in leaving her home and following an aged mother-in-law to a distant country, how many pros and cons would he have to weigh before he would be able to say yesor no? Are her own parents still living, and are they so situated that she is justified in leaving them? Are there other blood relations who have a prior claim on her? Has she raised expectations at home which she ought not to disappoint, or undertaken duties which ought not to be set aside in deference to a sentiment no matter how noble? Of all such side issues and complications of duty which would render a decision like hers difficult in modern times, the story as we have it before us is cleared. All minor traits are suppressed. It is assumed that she has a right to go if she pleases, and the mind is left free to dwell, unimpeded by any counter-considerations, upon the beauty of her choice. This choice derives its excellence from the fact that it was perfectly free. There was no tie of consanguinity between Naomi and her. The two women were related in such a way that the bond might either be drawn more tightly or severed without blame. Orpah, too, pitied her mother-in-law. She wept, but she returned to her home. We can not, on that account, condemn her. It was not her bounden duty to go. Ruth, on the other hand, might perhaps have satisfied her more sensitive conscience by accompanying her mother-in-law as far as Bethlehem, and then returning to Moab. But she preferred instead exile and the hardships of a life among strangers. Not being a daughter, she freely took upon herself the duties of a daughter; and it is this that constitutes the singular merit of her action. In telling the story it is best to follow the original as closelyas possible. "Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to desist from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people: where thou diest will I die and there will I be buried." Where in universal literature shall we find words more eloquent of tender devotion than these? It will be noticed that I have left out the phrase "and thy God shall be my God" for two reasons. No matter how much we may love another person, religious convictions ought to be held sacred. We have no right to give up our convictions even for affection's sake. Moreover, the words correctly understood are really nothing but an amplification of what has preceded. The language of Ruth refers throughout to the proposed change of country. "Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy folk shall be my folk; where thou diest, I will die." And the phrase "Thy God shall be my God" has the same meaning. The ancients believed that every country has its God, and to say "Thy God shall be my God" was tantamount to saying "Thy country shall be my country." It is better, therefore, to omit these words. Were we to retain them, the impression might be created that Ruth contemplated a change of religion merely to please the aged Naomi, and such a step from a moral point of view would be unwarrantable. It was this Gentile woman Ruth who became the ancestress of the royal house of David.

The story ofDavid's lifeis replete withdramatic interest. It may be arranged in a series of pictures. First picture: David and Goliath—i. e., skill pitted against brute strength, or the deserved punishment of a bully. Every boy takes comfort in this story. Second picture: David and Jonathan, their arms twined about each other's neck, a beautiful example of youthful friendship. Especially should the unselfishness of Jonathan be noted. He, the Hebrew crown prince, so far from being jealous of his rival, recognized the superior qualities of the latter and served him with the most generous fidelity. Third picture: David the harper, playing before the gloomy, moody king, whom an evil spirit has possessed. It should be noted how difficult is the task incumbent upon Jonathan of combining his duty to his father and his affection for his friend. Yet he fails in neither. Fourth picture: David's loyalty manifest. He has the monarch in his power in the camp, in the cave, and proves that there is no evil intention in his mind. The words of Saul are very touching, "Is it thy voice I hear, my son David?" Fifth picture: the battle, the tragical end of Saul and Jonathan. The dirge of David floats above the field: "The beauty of Israel is slain upon the high places. How are the mighty fallen!" etc. A second series of pictures now begins. David is crowned king, first by his clansmen, then by the united tribes. David, while besieging Bethlehem, is athirst and there is no water. Three of his soldiers cut their way to the well near the gate, which is guarded by the enemy, and bring back acup of water. He refuses it, saying: "It is not water, but the blood of the men who have risked their lives for me." Omitting the story of Bathsheba, we come next to the rebellion of Absalom. The incidents of this rebellion may be depicted as follows: First, Absalom in his radiant beauty at the feast of the sheep-shearer. Next, Absalom at the gate playing the demagogue, secretly inciting the people to revolt. Next, David ascending Mount Olivet weeping, the base Shimei, going along a parallel ridge, flinging stones at the king and reviling him. David remarks: "If my own son seek my life, how shall I be angry with this Benjamite?" Next, the death of Absalom in the wood. Finally, David at the gate receiving the news of Absalom's death, and breaking forth into the piercing cry: "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee! O Absalom, my son, my son!" It is the story of a rebellious and undutiful child, and illustrates by contrast the unfathomable depth of a father's love, of a love that yearns even over the wicked, over the lost.

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