Rupert(Photo: S. A. Walker, 230, Regent Street, W.)LORD DERBY (14th EARL).(The "Rupert of Debate.")
(Photo: S. A. Walker, 230, Regent Street, W.)LORD DERBY (14th EARL).(The "Rupert of Debate.")
(Photo: S. A. Walker, 230, Regent Street, W.)LORD DERBY (14th EARL).
(The "Rupert of Debate.")
The greatest speech on that occasion was that of the late Archbishop Magee, who had then been recently appointed Bishop of Peterborough. I had, shortly before, heard his powerful sermon in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, at the Church Congress, while the fate of the Irish Church was still trembling in the balance. He had chosen the text, "And they beckoned to their partners, who were in the other ship, to come over and help them." The text was so singularly appropriate that Archdeacon Denison is said to have started up from his seat and almost to have clapped his hands aloud! Great things were expected of the speech, and the recently appointed Bishop fully rose to the occasion. As we went out of the House, one of the peers told me that the late Lord Ellenborough (the famous Viceroy of India) had pronounced Dr. Magee's speech to be the most eloquent he had ever heard, except one (I think) of Lord Erskine's. Yet I could not help fancying at the time that political circumstances had tended to the undue extolment of this speech—eloquent and powerful as it undoubtedly was above its intrinsic merits. I perfectly remember the scene and all the circumstances, and even the manner and accent with which it was delivered; but neither then nor afterwards was I at all impressed by the arguments, nor can I now recall them. This is far from being the case with another speech delivered in the same debate by Dr. Connop Thirlwall, the very able and learned Bishop of St. Davids. He was dealing with the charge of "sacrilege," which was freely brought against the Bill, and he endeavoured to show that there were acts which some might characterise by such a stigma which might, on the contrary, be deeds actuated by the highest justice and mercy.
brathren"MY BRATHREN."(Archbishop Trench addressing the House of Lords.)
"MY BRATHREN."(Archbishop Trench addressing the House of Lords.)
"MY BRATHREN."
(Archbishop Trench addressing the House of Lords.)
I witnessed a humorous little incident in the House of Lords during the debate on the Public Schools Bill. The late Earl of Clarendon was in charge of it, and the Earl of Derby, "the Rupert of debate," was opposed to it. A number of head-masters, whose methods and interests would be affected by the Bill, had been permitted to stand by the throne in the part of the House where members of the House of Commons are allowed to take their place when they want to hear a debate. Lord Clarendonin his speech was gently complaining that Lord Derby, in characterising the Bill, had said of it (as Lord Clarendon misquoted it)—"Sunt bona; sunt quædam mediocria;sunt plŭrŭ māla." This quotation, as the amused head-masters instantly noticed with a smile, involved two very glaring false quantities on the part of the statesman who was introducing the Bill for the improvement of the education of the country. Instantly Lord Derby started up with the words, "Will the noble Lord repeat what he has just attributed to me?" Innocent of the little trap which had been thus laid for him, Lord Clarendon repeated his "Sunt plŭrŭ māla." "I never said anything of the kind!" said Lord Derby with humorous indignation. "I am sure," said Lord Clarendon, "that I shall be in the recollection of all when I repeat that the noble Lord, though he must have forgotten the fact, quoted the line which I have just repeated to the House." "Nothing of the kind!" said Lord Derby, with great emphasis; "whatIsaid was very different. It was" (and the quotation was emphasised by pointed finger and slow enunciation), "'Sunt bona; sunt quædam mediocria;sunt mŭlŭ plūra.'" Lord Clarendon laughed good-humouredly, and apologised for the slip; but he was evidently a little discomfited.
bust(From the Bust by C. Moore.)RICHARD LALOR SHEIL.
(From the Bust by C. Moore.)RICHARD LALOR SHEIL.
(From the Bust by C. Moore.)
RICHARD LALOR SHEIL.
To return for a few moments to the House of Commons, a friend of mine once asked Mr. Gladstone who was the most eloquent speaker whom he had ever heard in the House of Commons. He answered, as he has replied to others, "that he thought he had never heard anyone more eloquent than Richard Lalor Sheil." Anyone who will read Mr. Sheil's published volume of speeches will not be surprised at this remark. The one celebrated outburst which is best remembered, thrilled all who heard it, and sounded like the sudden sweep of a tornado. Lord Lyndhurst, in a recent speech, had unwisely and unfairly spoken of the Irish as "aliens." Alluding to this, Mr. Sheil burst out with the fine passage from which I will only quote a part: "Aliens!" he exclaimed. "Was Arthur Duke of Wellington in the House of Lords, and did he not start up and exclaim, 'Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty!'... On the field of Waterloo the blood of Englishmen and Scotchmen and Irishmen flowed in the same stream, and drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned their dead lay cold and stark together; in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited; the green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust; the dew falls from heaven upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall they not be permitted to participate? And shall we be told as a requital that we are 'aliens' from the noble country for whose salvation our lifeblood was poured out?"
The effect of such a passage delivered as Richard Lalor Sheil delivered it, can better be imagined than described. He was a man of short figure and somewhat insignificant appearance; and his voice was high and shrill, and never well-modulated like the voices of such orators as Lord Chatham or Mr. Bright. But he spoke with genuine feeling and enthusiasm. The impression produced by such earnestness can never be resisted. The tones of passion are very penetrating, and they vibrate in the memory. "But did not Mr. Sheilscreama good deal in his speeches, Mr. Gladstone?" asked his friend. "Sir," was the answer, "he wasall scream!" And yet few Parliamentary debaters have ever produced a deeper impression!
A Complete Story. By Helen Boddington.
BBang! bang! went the fist of Toddlelums on the window-pane, as the little hand tried to capture a cunning fly which always managed to escape his grasp. Toddlelums was curled up on the window-seat, with such big, big thoughts coursing through his little brain. Not unspoken thoughts. Oh, no! Toddlelums at six always did his thinking out loud. "Ah! you silly, silly, little fly," he said in his cooing voice; "I wonder what you are made of, and where you go to when you die. Ah!" with another bang and a little chuckle. "I nearly caught you that time."
Bang! bang! went the fist of Toddlelums on the window-pane, as the little hand tried to capture a cunning fly which always managed to escape his grasp. Toddlelums was curled up on the window-seat, with such big, big thoughts coursing through his little brain. Not unspoken thoughts. Oh, no! Toddlelums at six always did his thinking out loud. "Ah! you silly, silly, little fly," he said in his cooing voice; "I wonder what you are made of, and where you go to when you die. Ah!" with another bang and a little chuckle. "I nearly caught you that time."
"Toddlelums, what are you doing?" said his mother, from the other end of the room.
Toddlelums rolled off the window-seat, picked himself up, put his hands in the pockets of his knickers, and finally placed himself with his back to the fire. "I was only trying to catch one little fly, mammie."
"Ah! but, my pet, it is rather cruel to kill the poor flies."
"Oh! I wasn't going to kill it, only catch it and make a tiny cage between my two hands"—putting the palms of his hands together—"then I would let it fly away again, right away."
The mother sat there watching her boy and thinking how like his father he was growing. Presently he edged up to her and leant against her knee, and then she put her arm round him, and bent her head so that her cheek touched his brown curls. "Mother's baby," she said softly; "mother's little Toddlelums," and there was a quaver in her voice.
Toddlelums did not notice it, though, for he turned to her with a merry twinkle in his great brown eyes and twined his arms lovingly round her neck. "Let's play, mammie; let's play bears," he cried, trying to drag her out of her chair with fearless hands which were certain of no repulse.
She stood up, laughing. How tall and graceful she was, and how young! Soft golden hair, brown eyes like Toddlelums', only with a sad, sad look in them even when she smiled. Toddlelums thought his mother was beautiful, and Toddlelums was right. A romp was in full swing when a man's step sounded in the hall. In a flash the boy with his rosy face and rumpled hair made a bolt for the door, as a deep voice called, "Toddlelums!"
"It's dad, it's dad!" he shouted, battling with the knob of the door. Then two little feet scampered down the hall, and Toddlelums was raised up high into the air and smothered with kisses. The mother was cognisant of all this, yet she did not attempt to follow. She merely gave little touches to the disordered hair, took up her work, and seated herself once again. Where was the smile now? Where had the tender look gone? Vanished at the sound of a man's voice—and that man her husband!
"Mammie and me were just playing bears," said the son, as he came in perched on his father's shoulder. "Wasn't it fun, mammie?" looking at his mother with a joyous smile.
"Yes, dear," she answered, without looking up; and her husband, glancing at her, noticed that she bit her under lip and a flush suddenly dyed her cheeks.
They had been married seven years, and during that time never one word of love had passed the lips of either. It had been amariage de convenance, his and her fathers' estates joined, and, as she told him afterwards, she had seen nobody she liked better. It had seemed easy enough at first even without love, butgradually—neither knew exactly how—a coldness sprang up, they drifted apart. There was no actual quarrel, only a few hard, bitter words on both sides, but the barrier grew and grew until there seemed little hope of its being broken down.
At the end of the first year Toddlelums came, and then, if anything, matters became worse, for all the mother's thoughts were centred in her baby, all her love was lavished on him—the father was left to his own devices. As the child grew older, instinct told him to divide his love between father and mother, and then cruel pangs of jealousy visited the mother's breast.
So the years passed, Toddlelums with his sweet baby voice making sunshine in the home where lurked so many shadows. Toddlelums never saw the shadows, though, for mother and father vied with each other in keeping them out of his path.
vanished"Vanished at the sound of a man's voice."—p. 53
"Vanished at the sound of a man's voice."—p. 53
"Vanished at the sound of a man's voice."—p. 53
During the last few months, almost unknown to herself, something had been stirring in Grace Millroe's heart; some strange feeling hitherto quite foreign to it. Perhaps it was the constant vision of a man's grave, patient face with the sad look on it which seemed of late to have grown sadder. That may or may not be; but, in any case, before she was aware, love, which had lain dormant so long, was awakened. Then at last, whenit came upon her with its mighty full force it brought her only sorrow, for, as she cried within herself, "There is so little use in loving when there is no return." And so this day, when her husband came in after her game with Toddlelums, the flush on her cheeks, which he attributed to annoyance at his approach, was in reality caused by the quickened beatings of her heart.
Later, when Toddlelums was fast asleep in his tiny crib and the house was silent, she sat alone in the drawing-room and he in his study, as was invariably the case when there was no visitor before whom to keep up appearances.
She wanted the second volume of the book she was reading, and so presently she rose from her comfortable chair near the fire, slowly crossed the large, old-fashioned hall, and softly opened the study door. How cosy the room looked, with its crimson curtains drawn closely before the great windows, the fire and shaded lamp combined filling it with ruddy light! She stood with the knob of the door in her hand and with her eyes riveted on the figure at the writing-table.
His arms were folded on the table, his head was buried in them, and, surely, that was a low, despairing moan which came to her across the stillness!
"Ah!" she thought, "if he only loved me, I could make him happy." Then she noticed for the first time that the black hair was streaked with grey. Her lips quivered, she made a step forward; then she drew back, passed out of the room, and softly closed the door after her. In the impulse of the moment she had intended saying some comforting word, and then she thought of his usual cold, passionless look, and refrained.
How could she know that if she had made an advance the man would have gladly, most gladly, responded? A few minutes after he lifted his head, and, had she been there, she would have seen that the face was full of passion, and on it were deeply drawn lines of pain.
In the meanwhile she bent over her little one's cot, and, kissing the tiny face, which was flushed with sleep, she whispered, "Ah, my little Toddlelums! if daddy only loved me as he loves his boy, I would be content to die this minute, even if I had to leave you, my baby, behind."
avertedShe stood with her eyes riveted on the figure at the table.
She stood with her eyes riveted on the figure at the table.
She stood with her eyes riveted on the figure at the table.
And yet, after all the passionatefeeling of the night, when morning came they met—outwardly, at least—with the usual cool indifference in their bearing towards each other. At breakfast Toddlelums was with them in his white pinafore, seated on a high chair which was drawn up very close to the table.
"Mammie," he said, "may nurse take me down to the river to play with Frankie Darrel this afternoon? We want to swim our boats."
"Yes, dear, but you must swim them in the shallow part."
"And don't get too near the edge, old chap. Remember, if you roll in, daddy won't be there to fetch you out, and you'll be gobbled up by the little fishes."
Toddlelums was looking at his father with great, round eyes. "Gobbled up by the little fishes?" he echoed; but his father did not hear, for he was saying in an undertone to his wife, "Tell nurse to be careful; the river is swollen after the rain."
Afternoon came, and off went Toddlelums, carrying in his arms a boat with big, white sails, while the young mother threw kisses to him as she drove away in the carriage.
Ah, little Toddlelums, go your way, sail your small craft! Unconsciously, you will guide it through the deep waters, but the land will be reached at last!
It was evening, and Grace Millroe, entering the hall on her return from her drive, found her husband standing at the foot of the stairs apparently waiting for her, with a look on his face which she had never seen there before. He made no movement, one hand clutched the balustrade with a tight grip, and twice his drawn lips opened to say words which refused to come. She rushed to his side—she clung to his arm, while the fair face, working with some wild, fearful emotion, looked imploringly into his. "Edgar, what is it? What is the matter?"
mammie"Daddy, you do love mammie, don't you?"
"Daddy, you do love mammie, don't you?"
"Daddy, you do love mammie, don't you?"
"It is——"
"It is Toddlelums. Oh, Edgar! for mercy's sake, don't say it is Toddlelums!" and her hold tightened on his arm.
He turned his head away, for hecould not bear to see the agony on her face.
"Yes, Grace, it is Toddlelums. He fell into the water, but—ah! don't look like that—he may live yet, the doctors are doing their best for him."
Together, mother and father ascended the stairs, she faltering on every step, while hard, dry sobs shook her frame. Ah! what a wan, white Toddlelums lay on his little bed, and, but for the faint breathing, the mother must have known herself childless. The doctors were doing their work, while the agonised parents stood watching and waiting. She would have clasped him in her arms—she would have pressed his little cold body to her breast—but first the doctors had their part to do; the mother must wait.
"Edgar," and she turned to him with great, dry eyes, "will my baby die? No, no, it cannot be!" she moaned plaintively. "It would kill me to lose my little Toddlelums."
"Dear," he said, and somehow she felt comfort in knowing that his arms were round her; "if I could, I would give my life for his."
"No, no," she said, and then she sprang to the bedside; for the doctors had moved away, and Toddlelums was calling "Mammie."
"Mother's darling, mother's precious baby!" she cried, twining her arms round him.
"And daddy's too," said the weak little voice, for Toddlelums was a very shadowy Toddlelums still.
"Yes, and daddy's too," she said, as the man bent over his son and held one tiny hand.
"Daddy, you do love mammie, don't you? He said, that horrid Frankie said, that you hated each other"—looking at the two faces. "He said he knew it was true because he heard his mother and father say so. And I told him it was a big, big story, and I fighted him hard—very hard—and then he gave me a push, and I went down, down into the cold water. It isn't true, daddy, is it?" looking at his father with great, earnest eyes; "you do love my mammie?" and he stroked her face tenderly.
The man hesitated, looked across at the woman; then he said, "Yes, darling, I love her more than my life."
A few seconds of silence, a sigh of content from Toddlelums. Then the mother's voice saying, "And I love my little child, but I love his father more."
Eyes meet eyes, hands clasp hands, and the two hearts severed so long are united at last.
Blessed little Toddlelums, with your sweet baby face and your manly little heart!—gallantly you fought your first battle, and the victory is yours. The deep waters encompassed you, and the Valley of the Shadow was very near; but the Captain of the Host has yet a greater battle for you to fight, and that is the Battle of Life.
"From every portion, from every department, of Nature comes the same voice. Everywhere we hear Thy name, O God; everywhere we see Thy love. Creation in all its length and breadth, in all its depth and height, is the manifestation of Thy Spirit; and without Thee the world were dark and dead."
"From every portion, from every department, of Nature comes the same voice. Everywhere we hear Thy name, O God; everywhere we see Thy love. Creation in all its length and breadth, in all its depth and height, is the manifestation of Thy Spirit; and without Thee the world were dark and dead."
Through all the flowers, I love Thee,Through all the joys around, above me—Through tree and brook, and sea before me,Through bird-songs—I adore Thee.For these a debt I owe Thee:Poor words are all I have to show TheeHow much Thy glorious work doth move me,And how my soul doth love Thee.Louis H. Victory.
Through all the flowers, I love Thee,Through all the joys around, above me—Through tree and brook, and sea before me,Through bird-songs—I adore Thee.
For these a debt I owe Thee:Poor words are all I have to show TheeHow much Thy glorious work doth move me,And how my soul doth love Thee.
Louis H. Victory.
"Amazing race! deprived of land and laws,A general language and a public cause;With a religion none can now obey,With a reproach that none can take away:A people still whose common ties are gone;Who, mixed with every race, are lost in none."—Crabbe.
"Amazing race! deprived of land and laws,A general language and a public cause;With a religion none can now obey,With a reproach that none can take away:A people still whose common ties are gone;Who, mixed with every race, are lost in none."
—Crabbe.
WWhere are they? Rather, where are they not? Dispersed to the four corners of the earth, this nation of exiles, ever loyal to the Government under which they live, still look for a better country and fix their eyes on Palestine, their ancient home. One of their learned men, Dr. Hertzl, has lately appealed to his fellow-Jews to rise and re-people the land. But nothing can be done, he tells them, without the enthusiasm of the whole nation: "The idea must make its way into the most distant and miserable holes where the people dwell."
Where are they? Rather, where are they not? Dispersed to the four corners of the earth, this nation of exiles, ever loyal to the Government under which they live, still look for a better country and fix their eyes on Palestine, their ancient home. One of their learned men, Dr. Hertzl, has lately appealed to his fellow-Jews to rise and re-people the land. But nothing can be done, he tells them, without the enthusiasm of the whole nation: "The idea must make its way into the most distant and miserable holes where the people dwell."
ChineseA CHINESE ISRAELITE.
A CHINESE ISRAELITE.
A CHINESE ISRAELITE.
It was just at a time when the Philistines said, "Behold the Hebrews come forth out of their holes where they had hid themselves," that Israel's captivity was turned to freedom. It may be that history will repeat itself.
HebrewTHE HEBREW LAW OF THE CHINESE JEWS.(Facsimile of a page from Deuteronomy.)
THE HEBREW LAW OF THE CHINESE JEWS.(Facsimile of a page from Deuteronomy.)
THE HEBREW LAW OF THE CHINESE JEWS.
(Facsimile of a page from Deuteronomy.)
In many unexpected corners of India, China, Africa, and Persia representatives of an indestructible people have been discovered. They wear the dress of thenatives and submit to their laws, but century after century they have remained, proof against absorption. Neither poverty, contempt, nor persecution shakes their belief—the faith that is the heritage of their fathers—that they are the remnant of a chosen people.
Jerusalem will see an amazing sight if it calls upon all the remotest holes and corners to deliver up its children. Jews white, black, and brown from India, dusky from Abyssinia, arrayed in the costume and sporting the pigtail of China, as well as Jews rich and poor, high and humble, from Europe and America—all will bring with them the divers ways, tongues, and customs of their adopted countries, and assemble as one nation.
Persia(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)JEWISH SCHOOL CHILDREN IN PERSIA.(With Mr. Norollah and Native Teachers.)
(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)JEWISH SCHOOL CHILDREN IN PERSIA.(With Mr. Norollah and Native Teachers.)
(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)
JEWISH SCHOOL CHILDREN IN PERSIA.
(With Mr. Norollah and Native Teachers.)
Amongst the most remote colonies are the Jews of China, who have aroused interesting inquiry and been the theme of many French writers. Early in the seventeenth century, and shortly after the Italian missionaries had come to Pekin, one of them, Matthew Ricci, received a morning call. His visitor wore the gorgeous Chinese dress, including the queue; but the figure and face were not Mongolian, and the smiling countenance was not in keeping with the dignified solemnity of a Chinaman. This gentleman's name was Ngai, and he had heard of the arrival of some foreigners who worshipped one Lord of heaven and earth, and who yet were not Mohammedans; he belonged to the same religion, he explained, and had called to make their acquaintance.
Indian(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible and Medical Mission.)A MISSION-SCHOOL GROUP OF INDIAN JEWS.
(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible and Medical Mission.)A MISSION-SCHOOL GROUP OF INDIAN JEWS.
(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible and Medical Mission.)
A MISSION-SCHOOL GROUP OF INDIAN JEWS.
Now Master Ngai made it clear that he was an Israelite, a native of Kae-fung-foo, the capital of Honan. He had come to Pekin to pass an examination for a mandarin degree, and had been led by curiosity and brotherly feeling to call at the mission house. In his native city, he said, there were ten or twelve families of Israelites, and a synagogue which they had recently restored at the expense of 10,000 crowns, and they had a roll of the law four or fivehundred years old. The missionary's letters described this synagogue. It occupied a space of between three and four hundred feet in length by about a hundred and fifty in breadth, and was divided into four courts. It had borrowed some decorative splendour from China. The inscription in Hebrew, "Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God is one Lord, blessed be the name of the glory of His Kingdom for ever and ever," and the Ten Commandments were emblazoned in gold. Silken curtains inclosed the "Bethel" which enshrined the sacred books, and which only the Rabbi might enter during the time of prayer.
Every detail of this place, with its incense, its furniture, and all its types of good things yet to come, is interesting. There in the last century the children of Israel at Kae-fung-foo worshipped the God of their fathers with the rites that pointed to the Messiah of whose advent, as far as it can be ascertained, they never heard until the arrival of the Italian missionaries. Learned men have entered into discussions as to whether these people were Jews or Israelites, whether they came to China from the Assyrian captivity or the Roman dispersion. They themselves say that their forefathers came from the West; and it is probable that the settlers arrived by way of Khorassan and Samerkand. They must have been numerous in the ninth century, for two Mohammedan travellers of that period describe a rebel, named Bae-choo, taking Canton by storm inA.D.877 and slaughtering 120,000 Jews, Mohammedans, Christians, and Parsees. More than one Jew of Kae-fung-foo is known to have gained the right to wear the little round button on the top of his cap so dear to the ambition of a Chinaman. The Tai-ping Rebellion dispersed the settlement, and the remnant who remain faithful to the memory of old traditions are chiefly poor and distressed. The Chinamen distinguish them by the name of "T'iao chiao" (the sect which pulls out the sinew), for these "children of Israel eat not of the sinew which shrank, which is upon the hollow of the thigh, unto this day." They are said to often repeat the words of the dying Jacob, "I have waited for Thy salvation, O Lord." This is to them like the cry of an infant in the night. They have waited so long that it is little wonder if the words have lost their triumphant ring and their ancient accompaniment of faith in future blessings.
LawREADING THE LAW ON THE SABBATH DAY.(From an Original Drawing by a Persian Jew.)
READING THE LAW ON THE SABBATH DAY.(From an Original Drawing by a Persian Jew.)
READING THE LAW ON THE SABBATH DAY.
(From an Original Drawing by a Persian Jew.)
The Persian Jews, from whom the colony in China sprang, are interspersed over the Shah's country. The missionaries of the London Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews make long tours to seek them out and shepherd them. A convert from amongst them, the Rev. M. Norollah, found in 1890 that of his own people in Isfahan, numbering 5,000, not more than ten could read or write the language of the country. He started a school for the children in the very heart of this Mohammedan city. This school and others besides have flourished, and been the means of making friends with the parents.
Of all the colonies in Asia, none seems to have preserved their traditions more carefully and lived up to them more worthily than the Jews in India. According to the last census, they number, 17,180.
Privileged travellers in the south-west have been shown a charter much older than the great English pledge of liberty. The first glance is not imposing. It is a copper plate, scratched with letters of such out-of-date character that they bear little resemblance to any that arenow in use. But this is a priceless treasure to the Jews of Malabar. Some authorities believe it was granted about the yearA.D.500; others say that the renowned Ceram Perumal was the donor, and this prince appears to have been in the zenith of his power inA.D.750. All agree that the charter is at least a thousand years old.
According to the native annals of Malabar and the Jews' own traditions, 10,000 emigrants arrived on the coast aboutA.D.70, shortly after the destruction of the Second Temple and the final desolation of Jerusalem. It is supposed that of these 7,000 at once settled on a spot then called Mahodranpatna, but now known as Cranganore.
Unhappily, this flourishing community fell out amongst themselves. After Jewish emigrants from Spain and other countries joined them a dispute arose, and they called an Indian king to settle it. The fable of the quarrel for an oyster was illustrated. The mediator took possession of the place; the fat oyster became his, and death and captivity represented the shells which he divided amongst the disputants. Some fugitives obtained an asylum from the Rajah of Cochin, and built a little town on a piece of ground which he granted to them, close to his palace.
In this lovely native state live their descendants—two classes of Jews, one known as the Jerusalem or White Jews, the other as the Black Jews. The White trace their descent from the first settlers; throughout the centuries they have preserved the fair skin, fine features, and broad, high foreheads that usually belong to Europe, whilst amongst the men blonde or reddish curly beards prevail. The Black Jews are too intensely black to be akin to the Hindoos; they are said to have sprung from Jewish proselytes from amongst the aboriginal races of the district. The Black and White Jews inhabit the same quarter of the town of Cochin; they follow the same customs, join in the same forms of prayer, but never intermarry.
The Jews of Cochin seem to excel all others scattered over India in strict religious observances, but they are apparently quite distinct from the Jews or the Beni Israel of the north and west. Some ladies of the Church of England Zenana Missionary Society were welcomed into the houses of Jewesses in Calcutta. They recognised the noticeably Jewish features, in spite of the clear brunette complexion which belonged to neither the White nor Black Jews of the south. This community availed themselves of day schools and Sunday schools started for the children, which have now become part of the organisation of the Old Church Hebrew Mission, and responded to friendly overtures. One Jewish lady spoke to her visitors of the return of her people to Jerusalem, and she said, "We will go in your arms." "You will probably go in our railway trains," answered the Englishwoman, and this idea satisfied both.
The Beni Israel, or Sons of Israel, of the north and west say that their first ancestors in India were persecuted refugees from Persia, seven men and seven women who escaped from a shipwreck near Chaul, about thirty miles south-east of Bombay, and managed to save a Hebrew copy of the Pentateuch. Some assert that this happened eight hundred, others one thousand six hundred years ago. Their number is now reckoned as upwards of 5,000. They are said to resemble the Arabian Jews in features. They keep strictly the Mosaic fasts and feasts, yet in many houses visited by the ladies of the Zenana Bible and Medical Mission, the New as well as the Old Testament is studied.
For nearly half a century a principal man of the community has been in the service of the Free Church of Scotland at Alibag, about twenty-four miles to the south of the city of Bombay. For in this place, at one time famous as the centre of a small pirate kingdom, handsome, intelligent children, with marked Semitic features, and names familiar in the Book of Genesis, delight in attending school.
In Karachi the Beni Israel are also numerous. One of the missionaries of the Church of England Zenana Missionary Society, who work amongst them, was invited to a wedding in the synagogue. She noticed that, as a part of the ceremony, the bride received a cup, and after raising it to her lips threw it down and broke it. This, some of the guests explained, was a sign that even in the midst of their mirth they remembered Jerusalem with sorrow.
To many, such words and symbols arevery real. During the present year a rich Jew of Karachi has left his adopted home to build a synagogue in Jerusalem, where the Sultan has shown the Jews great toleration.
converts(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible Mission.)INDIAN JEWISH CONVERTS AT BOMBAY.
(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible Mission.)INDIAN JEWISH CONVERTS AT BOMBAY.
(Photo supplied by the Zenana Bible Mission.)
INDIAN JEWISH CONVERTS AT BOMBAY.
But though the Turkish Empire has been a refuge for them, none can exceed the Mohammedans in cruelty and intolerance when they are roused to fanatical zeal for their Prophet. This has been specially manifest in Africa. Abyssinia, perhaps, has the oldest colony of Jews. They go by the name of Falashas, which means exiles or emigrants, and claim an ambitious origin. King Solomon, they believe, added the Queen of Sheba to his many wives, and their son Menelek was educated in Jerusalem. On his growing to manhood, the Jewish nobles foresaw political disturbances, and begged the king to send him to his mother. King Solomon consented on condition that each Jew should send his first-born son with Menelek to Abyssinia. There he became king of Abyssinia, and his Israelite companions married native women, so a new nation sprang into existence.
Traditions of noble descent are of less value than nobility of character in the descendants. The church amongst the Falashas has been sown in the blood of martyrs. When the followers of the Mahdi became masters of Western Abyssinia, they massacred or made captives all the inhabitants who had not secured safety by flight. Jews and Christians, whether men or women, had to choose between Mohammed and death. A Falasha family, converts of the London Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews, were overtaken by the Mahdists. They were told to say the Mohammedan creed, "Allah ilahu ill Allah wa Mohammed e rasah Allah." These few words would save their lives, but these words would deny their Master.
"Never will we deny Him Who died for us on the cross," they answered. "We are born Falashas, but have been converted to Christ. He is our Saviour, and not Mohammed."
ArabianARABIAN JEWS.
ARABIAN JEWS.
ARABIAN JEWS.
The parents were strong to endure, but could they bear to see their five children put to a cruel death? They not only lived through this ordeal, but the father encouraged the younger martyrs. "It is only a short suffering," he cried, "and you will gain the crown of everlasting life." Then came the mother's turn. Only let her deny Christ and she might live. Her heart and her voice were broken, but she managed to answer clearly, "I love Him, I do not fear death." Her husband saw her butchered. His courage rose higher when his tormentors offered him not only life but riches—anything that he chose to ask—if he would become a Mohammedan. "You may torture me, you may cut me in pieces, I will not deny Him Who died for me." He too joined the white-robed army of martyrs—a spectacle to other captives, one of whom afterwards escaped and described the scene.
Six years ago the Falashas themselves became persecutors. They brought a prisoner in chains before the Governor of the province. They could find no charge against this ex-Falasha priest except that he had become a Christian; and therefore they declared that it would be a God-pleasing work to kill him. The Governor warned the Falashas that they would be punished if they attempted to take his life. Then he asked his prisoner if he would again become a Falasha, or if he chose to risk being robbed or beheaded. "I go to my Lord and to my Father," answered the dignified old man. "I would rather die than continue in life as an apostate."
EgyptianAN EGYPTIAN JEW.
AN EGYPTIAN JEW.
AN EGYPTIAN JEW.
The situation was suddenly reversed. Instead of passing sentence, the Governor said, "Honoured father, give me your blessing." Faith and meekness had gained the victory over violence.
maidTHE CAPTIVE MAID.By M. L. Gow, R.I.
THE CAPTIVE MAID.By M. L. Gow, R.I.
THE CAPTIVE MAID.
By M. L. Gow, R.I.
In North Africa the Jews have adopted many Mohammedan customs. Child marriage, for instance, has become a curse amongst them. Sometimes men of forty wed little wives of eight or ten. At thesame time, in Morocco, an independent Moslem empire, the purity of their lives is in noticeable contrast to their neighbours. Algeria, where the Jews number 50,000, as well as Tunisia, is under French protection. It is little wonder if the anti-Jewish feeling of the French in Algiers should rouse an anti-Christian feeling in the Jews, and that here their opposition should be added to the many difficulties that meet Christian missions in Moslem lands. But many Jews rise superior to prejudices, and missionaries of the North Africa Mission find refreshment in studying the Scriptures with Hebrew scholars and Hebrew seekers after more light. In 1897, on the fast of Gedaliah, a missionary attended the synagogue. His friend, the Rabbi, mentioned his presence, and the worshippers, all of them pure Arabs and dressed accordingly, pronounced a benediction on him and commended him to God's grace.
village(Photo: Bonfils)JEWISH VILLAGE GIRLS OF PALESTINE.
(Photo: Bonfils)JEWISH VILLAGE GIRLS OF PALESTINE.
(Photo: Bonfils)
JEWISH VILLAGE GIRLS OF PALESTINE.
AlgerianAN ALGERIAN JEWISH GIRL.(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)
AN ALGERIAN JEWISH GIRL.(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)
AN ALGERIAN JEWISH GIRL.
(Photo supplied by the Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews.)
Tyranny and dispersion have failed to exterminate the Jews. In the name of patriotism, the king of Egypt made their life a burden. In the name of religion and reverence for the Holy Sepulchre, the Crusaders brought horrible calamities upon them. In the name of uniformity, but with special reference to the Jews, the machinery of the Inquisition was set at work in Spain. Yet the 3,000,000 slaves who came out of Egypt have increased, as far as it can be calculated, to four times the number. Their affliction has been a refining furnace. From the day when Moses, himself a Hebrew fugitive, turned aside to see why an insignificant mimosa bush was not consumed by a devouring fire, the history of the chosen people has been a witness of the unchangeableness of God's Word: "I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed."
D. L. Woolmer.
Henry
THE STORY OF A CATHEDRAL TOWN.
By E. S. Curry, Author of "One of the Greatest," "Closely Veiled," Etc.
TThe afternoon's summer sun shone in on the chestnut head of a girl, bent sedulously over a book. She was Marjorie Bethune, only daughter of one of the minor canons of Norham. She was hard at work constructing a sonnet, to the accompaniment of the great organ in the cathedral, where her father was taking the service. The words of the psalms and anthem were almost audible, as well as their music, through the open windows, stimulating the girl's reluctant fancy. There were other helps, too, to her imagination—the twitter of birds in the flowering trees near the further window, the hum of the bees in the lime-trees, the scents of syringa and lilies.
The afternoon's summer sun shone in on the chestnut head of a girl, bent sedulously over a book. She was Marjorie Bethune, only daughter of one of the minor canons of Norham. She was hard at work constructing a sonnet, to the accompaniment of the great organ in the cathedral, where her father was taking the service. The words of the psalms and anthem were almost audible, as well as their music, through the open windows, stimulating the girl's reluctant fancy. There were other helps, too, to her imagination—the twitter of birds in the flowering trees near the further window, the hum of the bees in the lime-trees, the scents of syringa and lilies.
The room in which she sat had a much-lived-in air and a pleasant old-fashioned shabbiness of aspect. There was a large round table covered with papers and books, calf-bound and large for the greater part—the books and litter of a scholar. Books also were heaped on the quaint spindle-legged side-table with deep drawers, ornamented with carving and brass Tudor roses; and wherever in the room was any wall-space low bookshelves of a peculiar pattern filled it. The wall-colouring above was a rich tan and red, the whole making a harmonious background to the girl's burnished head and brilliantly fair complexion.
A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She lifted her eyes to the further end of the room, where on a sofa near the pretty window lay a fragile-looking woman. The extreme youthfulness of her appearance was not contradicted by the brilliancy of the beautiful dark eyes she turned now on Marjorie.
"Mother, I wish you would tell me exactly what father said when he proposed to you. I suppose he did propose?" questioningly, gazing in doubtful sympathy at the colour flooding her mother's face at her question.
"You will know for yourself some day, Marjorie," Mrs. Bethune said softly.
"I? But I want to know now. Just the facts. You can't make up things on nothing," disconsolately. "Our literary guild next month wants a poem—a sonnet by preference—on Love. Such a subject! I could imagine a lot. But I don't know."
Mrs. Bethune's eyes were full of laughter, but her face was grave as she looked at her discontented young daughter.
"People's experiences vary," she said reminiscently.
"Do they? But yours would do, mother—just to get a fact for a foundation. Love seems such a shimmery, slippery thing."
"It was behind the door—at a party first. He had asked me to look at a picture——"
"Behind the door! Father!" exclaimed Marjorie, breaking in on the reminiscence. "Oh, mother!"
Mrs. Bethune laughed. "You'll understand some day, Marjorie. That was the beginning; after that, I kept out of his way——" She paused.
"Yes?" said Marjorie interestedly. "I don't wonder. Behind the door! I couldn't put that in a sonnet."
"It was difficult to meet alone," went on the mother. "We lived four miles apart, And I was afraid. I didn't want him to speak, and yet——"
"Didn't you love him then? Perhaps I could put that. Or did loving him make you shy?"
"Perhaps. But he was masterful—he found a way."
"Masterful," mused Marjorie, much exercised at this new presentation of her scholarly father. "Then love alters characters, if it made father masterful and you shy. Well, those are at least some facts. Thank you. What else, mother? Tell me exactly, please."
"One day after lunch, when he had come over, I remembered that I had dropped my thimble under the table, and I went back to the dining-room to look for it."
"And he followed?"
"Yes; he followed, and he then and there proposed."
"But, mother," with misgivings, "do you think that was sonnet-sort of love?"
"Sure of it, Margie."
"It sounds so ordinary. However, I wanted facts," in a tone of resigned dejection.
Impatient steps sounded in the hall. Hats and books were flung down outside, and two boys of seven and nine respectively came into the room. Marjorie's glance fell upon her young brothers dispassionately, staying her reflections on love.
"You look as if you had been in mischief," she remarked, as a certain air of agitation conveyed itself to her perception.
"Yes; and found out, too," said Sandy, the seven-year-old, disgustedly.
"You know that new man at 'The Ridges,' mother," burst in the older boy. "He's had the cheek to say we're not to go that way any more."
"But have you been, David, since the General died?"
"Of course we have, mother; why not? I'd got the keys."
"As if keys mattered anyhow!" put in Sandy. "Anyone can climb over that wanted to. It's the nearest way."
"But it's private ground, not a public path. Only the General was kind to you."
"Yes, and this man's a beast," viciously.
Then he went on, with a pretty little lisp between the two lost teeth left on a field of battle: "But we've had some fun all these weeks, mother, dodging the work-people. They couldn't find out how we got in and out," delightedly, "even when we forgot the keys; there's always holes, somewhere. We didn't let 'em know; we just 'peared, and walked past the house, riling them. And if they ran us, didn't we just dodge 'em down the hill!"
"And now he says," put in David, "that he's written to father, and that he'll have no trespassing. Trespassing, indeed!"
"An' Dave called back that he was the trespasser, 'trudin' where he wasn't wanted," said Sandy gleefully, "an' that he'd better go back to Blackton, an' not fink he could come here and be a gentleman, cos no one would look at him!"
"Oh, David," said his mother reproachfully, "how could you? He will think we don't grow gentlemen here."
"Don't care for his thinks," muttered David. "Heard Charity and Mrs. Lytchett say it."
"No, David," put in Marjorie. "Charity said anyone from Blackton would feel like an intrusion, and all Mrs. Lytchett said was, that if he didn't like it he could always go back."
"That's exactly what I said, too, on'y the words came different."
"If he finks we're goin' all that way round twice a day, he's jolly w'ong," remarked Sandy injuredly. "We'd have to start hours an' hours earlier—not us!"
Again the door opened, and a tall man came in, whose first look of anxious inquiry was directed towards the table where his papers were lying. Sandy's impatient elbow was dug into the middle of them, as he fidgeted about on one leg. Mr. Bethune sat down in the three-cornered chair before the table, and rescued his papers, at the same time keeping Sandy by his side.
"So you two have been in mischief again?" he said gently, looking gravely at his sons.
"I'm afraid David has been rude, too," put in the mother, a little anxiously.
David, with a put-on air of unconcern, looked out of the window, where two more sturdy boys, younger, but made after the same pattern as the two inside, were now visible on the garden path. They were dilatorily obeying a call from Marjorie, and making for the window.
"I have had a letter," went on Mr. Bethune. "It's a nice letter, and what Mr. Pelham says is reasonable."
"Bounder!" muttered David, and Sandy said "Beast!"
The father lifted his eyes from the letter.
"You will have to apologise. Mr. Pelham is quite right. You have no business there. I will write a letter, and you will take it. Marjorie, will you see if tea is ready?" in a fatigued tone. "Mother looks tired out."
"Come, boys," said Marjorie. And the clamour that immediately ensued round the tea-table in the next room showed that rebellion and anarchy were in the air.
When they had gone their father laughed quietly.
"It is a nice letter. I expect they will find he will give them leave, if they behave themselves. But they have been playing tricks on the workmen—and on his servants, as I gather."
"They are always in mischief," said their mother, and her tone was not the tone of one who lamented. "But they are not generally rude. I am afraid they have heard the things that are being said against this man. Perhaps Marjorie had better go with them? He will not be rude to her?"
"No. 'This man,' as you call him, is one of the Pelhams of Lente. Yes, she can take them. Mrs. Lytchett was suggesting to me just now that she was growing up, and that she ought to have some lessons——"
"I wish Mrs. Lytchett would mind her own business!" flashed out the mother. "Marjorie is as well educated as she is, though I should be sorry to see her so meddlesome."
Then her ill-temper vanished, and she smiled serenely.
"Marjorie was writing a sonnet on Love whilst you were at church. She seemed quite equal to the composition, but lacked facts."
"Marjorie's lack of facts doesn't often curb her imagination," her father said. "I do not think it was her education that Mrs. Lytchett thought wanted improving—though it does—but her deportment, whatever that is, and—and manners."
"She carries herself like a queen," asserted her mother, "even though she is thin and awkward yet. And her manners—should you wish them altered, father?"
"She is ours, my dear," he said tenderly; "and I think her simplicity natural and charming. But perhaps she has said something—she does sometimes—to Mrs. Lytchett."
"She does often. Mrs. Lytchett was here yesterday. I know she is good, but she is irritating, John. She condoled with me about your litter, and wondered if I couldn't arrange a room for you up in the attics. And she said she was sure all the boys were behaving badly in church on Sunday afternoon—and why didn't Marjorie sit between them, instead of at the end of the pew, where the corner was a temptation to her to lounge? And then she made a set at the stocking basket, and criticised the darning, and pitied us dreadfully for so many boys, all with knees, as well as red heads. And then Marjorie broke out. She thought the heads were beautiful, also the knees, and that the boys behaved in church like saints; and that you'd be miserable in the attics without me—though she could understand that with a nagging woman always about a man must have somewhere to hide himself."
"I hope Marjorie won't turn into a virago," her father said anxiously, after a pause. "That was rude, even if it were true. She is cramped here—it is a cramping place; and we are to blame—we put too much upon her."
He sighed, and rose to take his wife's cup, and then stretched himself before the fireless grate. "She has a dangerous gift of imagination. Will she ever be satisfied with Warde? I have told him he may speak now. But she is a child still, she has no idea——" he paused.
An inroad of boys, come to be inspected by their mother before starting on their errand, brought their father back to the table and the letter they were to take. Sandy, balancing on the arm of his chair, superintended its composition.
"Father's put 'Dear Sir,' 'stead of 'Horrid Fellow,'" he announced aloud to the others. They were standing round the table; the smallest of them, aged three, could just rest his chin upon it, and was listening in solemn admiration of Sandy's sentiments.
"Are you going to take all this horde with you, Marjorie?" her mother asked, her observant eyes glancing from collar to collar and from boot to boot.
"Yes, mother; I thought it would economise matters. They're all mischievous, and will need apologising for some time; it is such a convenient way to school."
"'My little sons will, I hope, make their 'pologies in person for their rudeness. I am extwemely sorry——'" sang out Sandy, raising himself on his elbows, dug into the table, the better to see what his father was writing.
"Don't put 'little,' father," he pleaded; "he'll think it's Ross or Orme, 'stead of us."
"I suppose you know what an apology is, Sandy?" Mr. Bethune bethought himself to inquire as he finished writing, and looked down at the curly head bobbing across his arm.
"Ought to," grunted Sandy, panting in his efforts to plant his toes between the spokes of his father's chair. "Never do so no more—till next time."
"If it is that, I shall be sorry, Sandy, in this case, because this gentleman's a stranger."
"Oh," said Sandy, dropping to the floor and glancing up into the grave blue eyes, of which his own were an exact reproduction, without the gravity.