sinful inhabitants, cloud darkened on cloud, until the final storm, the doom-storm, came; and the winds blew, and the floods arose, and the house of Israel, that seemed to be founded on a rock, fell with a crash that reverberates in our hearts to this day. Till the storm came, Shallum lingered in the affections and songs of the people. They loved him for his father's sake, and for the patriotic hopes he had quickened, and which he had time neither to fulfil nor to disappoint. They took the counsel of the prophet concerning him, and made elegies in his honour, and sang them year by year. „Ezekiel (xix. 1—4) records one of them, which has a quaint and alien sound to our Western ears, but in which the Oriental races would still find much to delight them.

"O a very lioness is thy mother!

She crouched among lions,

Among young lions she nourished her whelps:
And she brought up one of her whelps;

It became a young lion, and learned to tear the prey,
It devoured men.

But the nations heard of him:

He was taken in their pit,

And they brought him in chains into the land of Egypt." A young lion of royal strain, caught untimely, and chained, and carried away captive-this was how the people of Israel conceived of Shallum; this was the form in which they bewailed him in their annual elegies. And, even to us, few figures are more pathetic than that of the last real King of Israel languishing in an Egyptian dungeon, and perishing perchance on the very spot in which his great ancestor, Joseph, had slept and dreamed. If we read Jeremiah's words as though they were written on the dungeon wall of that poor discrowned king, or inscribed on his tomb, we can hardly fail to be touched and moved by their pathos :

"Weep ye not for the dead,

Neither bemoan him :

But weep ye sore for him that goeth away:
For he shall return no more,
Nor see his native country."

What a tenderness there is in the words! and what an ardent undying patriotism!

But is there nothing more? Is there no present truth,” no eternal truth, in these words? no lesson, no consolation for us? Surely there is, and it lies on the very surface of the words. Do not we weep for our dead? We need, then, to hear the injunction, "Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan them." Are not those whom we love sometimes carried away by divers lusts, and bound by them, carried away by them as into "a far country," where only too surely they "come to want?" And do we always lament their sins as much as we should lament their death, and more? If not, we too need to lay to heart the injunction, "Weep ye for them, rather than for the dead, for

them who 'go away,' away from God, away from virtue, away from peace, into that land of darkness from which it is so hard to return."

We none of us believe that death is the greatest of evils. We know that it is not an evil at all, but a blessing, for the good; not a loss, but a 66 great gain." We know, we believe that, of all the evils that can befall a man, the very worst is that he himself should do and become evil, that he should forget God, that he should refuse to let God reign over him; that his life should be ruled by no Divine law, but be driven hither and thither of divers lusts, by uncontrolled passions which, lawlessly indulged, degrade and imbrute him. And yet who would infer our creed from our conduct? Who would infer that we dread sin more than death, and lament it far more bitterly? When a close friend dies, how we weep and mourn, long refusing to be comforted; how we break from our accustomed round of thought and labour; to what trouble and expense we willingly put ourselves : what sacrifices would we not gladly make could we thereby avert the fatal stroke, or bring back the beloved dead to life!

You would almost laugh at me if I were to ask, Do you weep and lament with equal passion when a friend-a child or parent, a husband or wifefalls into sin? Does that come upon you with a shock which drives you from your usual round of thought and duty? Are you willing to go to any cost, to make any sacrifice, in order to recover your friend from the fatal effects of his guilt? Do you mourn for him as for one dead? And yet, must I not ask these questions of you, ask them seriously, urgently? Should there even be any need or room to ask them? If sin is more terrible

to you than death, how is it that you are not more terrified by it? how is it that you are not more zealous to avert it, to save men from it, to do your part towards stamping it out of the world?

Call men to a crusade against death, in which there was even the faintest hope of victory, and who would not join it? But call them to a crusade against sin, in which there is not only the hope, but the assurance, of ultimate victory, and of victory over death as well as over sin; and who offers himself for this war? Do you? do I? I think we may begin to have some hope of ourselves when we find that we really fear sin more than death, not for ourselves alone, but for others, and are more hurt to see them do a wrong action than to see them expire, and are even more prone to weep and lament over the guilty than over the dead.

Some of you, since men die daily, have no doubt recently wept for your dead, and bemoaned them, although you know that they have passed through death into life everlasting. Ah! weep no moreat least for them. They are happy now; why

should their happiness bring you tears? If faith were perfect in us, if love were perfect, we should not weep for the dead who die in the Lord, for to die in the Lord is to live in the Lord. Sorrow for the pious dead is selfish sorrow, and shows that we are thinking more of ourselves than of them, more of our loss than of their gain, more of the winter of our loneliness and discontent than of the summer of their joy. If you would weep unselfish tears, the tears of love, weep not for those who have gone away from you to be with God; but weep ye sore for those who have gone away from God, though they are still with you. Weep for the sinful, for the lost, who wander through the "far country," seeking rest, and finding none; seeking food, and finding none. Weep for the weak, guilty souls who have sold themselves into the captivity of evil, who have been conquered and bound by some lust of the flesh or of the mind, who loathe their bonds, but cannot break them; who sigh for deliverance, but sadly forbode that they shall "return no more, nor see their native country;" yea, weep for these. For, if you weep for them, you will soon give them more than tears. You will carry them the tidings of salvation. You will tell them of Him who came to "bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness from the house of bondage." You your

5

selves will labour to help and redeem them, seeking by your kindness to persuade them of His kindness, by your mercy to convince them of His mercy. And in these works of love and compassion you will find a sovereign cordial for your personal sorrows and griefs. Weep for the sinful, and you will no longer idly bemoan the dead. Seek out the lost, and you will no longer bewail your loss. Let love inspire and rule you, and all the selfishness will pass out of your grief, and, with the selfishness, all the pain: you will enter into the sacred and abiding peace of God, who, because He loves all men, has appointed unto all men once to die.

Time is but as the veil in the Temple, which hides "the Holy of Holies" from us. For many of us the veil is already luminous, or half-luminous; we can discern on it the shadows of those who walk within it, in the light of the glory of God. Why should we mourn for them, or for the friends who are called to join them? Soon we too shall pass within the veil, and be transfigured by the Divine glory. Meantime, let us labour, as we wait, till our change comes, seeking to draw others into the outer court of the Temple in which for the present and till we reach "the holiest of all" we are content to worship; and so lose all the pain of waiting, and of parting, in the duties and hopes and joys of a Divine service.

CHAPTER I.

ALTER KAPELL, a right worthy and respected citizen of Dixmuyde, in Flanders, was reading from a large open Bible placed on an oak table before him, in an upper room of his house, in that ancient town. The rays of the morning sun which found their way through the richly-carved framework of a bay window fell on the head of a fair young girl, seated on a highback chair, placed just within its recess. Her light auburn locks, secured round her forehead by a golden band, hung in rich curls over her neck and shoulders. Her large blue eyes were fixed with intense interest on the reader, as if she were drinking in every word he uttered. It was evident from the form of her features and the expression of her countenance that she was Walter Kapell's daughter. She was and his only child. Her mother, whom he loved with the fondest affection, had been taken from him at her birth, and he regarded the infant she had left behind as his richest treasure. She returned his affection with the most devoted and filial love.

said Walter Kapell, looking up for an instant and gazing on his child. "By one offering He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified."" He continued reading. Now where remission of these is, there is no more offering for sin. Having therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way, which He hath consecrated for us, and having a High Priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith. hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; for He is faithful that promised."

Let us

tempted, slain with the sword, wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented."

"Truly, dear father, we have great need at the present day of the encouragement which the Lord in His love has given us," observed the young girl. | "How terrible are the persecutions to which the lovers of His Holy Word are subjected in all directions, by that fearful man, Peter Titelmann, and his companions. May he, through God's mercy, be prevented from coming to this town!",

"Amen, my daughter," said her father; "yet should he come we must be prepared, and let us pray for grace that we may adhere to the truth without wavering, as did they of whom we have been reading."

While they were speaking, cries and shouts were heard at the further end of the street. As the sounds drew nearer, the shrill voices of boys could be distinguished. An expression of alarm passed across the countenance of the young girl.

What is it, Marie ?" asked her father.

She opened the lattice and looked out. "Not what my foolish fancy had supposed," she answered. "I see but a mob of youths and boys. They are shouting and jeering after that poor idiot lad, Hans Kopperzoon. See! he stops and waves his club to drive them back. They fly before him, and when he stops they again begin jeering and shouting, and trying to excite him to fury, and amusing themselves with the strange movements he makes when in a rage. Now he moves on again, and they follow, pressing on him as before. They are seizing stones. He has overtaken one, and seems about to strike him, but withholds his weapon, and merely drives him back with his hand, as if with contempt. They seem not to appreciate the poor idiot's forbearance. Oh, cruel! a stone thrown from a distance has struck him! Others follow the example of the first coward; and now whole showers are falling round him."

"That must not be!" exclaimed Walter Kapell; "I must save the poor youth, idiot though he be, at all risks;" and he hurried from the room. followed him down-stairs.

missiles. Still it was evident from the number of his savage foes increasing every instant, and pressing closer and closer round him, that he would ultimately be overcome, and that any moment a stone larger than the rest striking him on the head might prove fatal.

Walter Kapell, regardless of the danger to which he was exposing himself, rushed up to the side of the idiot, shouting to the mob, among whom a number of savage-looking men had mixed.

"Stand back, mad, cruel people! What harm has this poor youth done? Do you wish to kill him by thus casting stones at his head ?"

"He is a sorcerer and wizard: he deserves death!" cried out several voices from among the crowd. “He has bewitched the children and the cows: there is no knowing what mischief he has done."

"Because he has done none," answered Walter Kapell. "He is perfectly harmless, I tell you, and wishes not to injure man, woman, or child, or cattle either. But take yourselves to your homes, and let him go in peace."

Poor Hans, hearing a friendly voice, cast a grateful glance toward Herr Kapell, and ran behind him. "Beware what you are about, Walter Kapell," cried a man from the crowd. "If you take to protecting wizards and sorcerers, you will have enough to do to look after yourself. Stone them both together," continued the same person, one of those who had lately arrived on the scene.

The first assailants of the idiot, only requiring encouragement, again began to cast stones, but at that moment Marie, seeing the danger of her father, hastened up, and threw herself before him. On seeing this, once more the idiot began to whirl round his club, and warded off several of the missiles, which might otherwise have struck the fair girl.

"Oh, people! are you human beings or savage beasts?" exclaimed the citizen, endeavouring to shield his daughter.

"There

"Oh, father! let me accompany you, as surely, brutal as they may be, they will not dare to throw stones at a girl, though they may not respect even you."

The citizen, not hearing her, took his hat from a peg on the wall in the entrance passage, and hurried into the street.

Marie, thinking of her father's danger, and regardless of herself, without stopping even to throw a hood over her head, followed him. The poor idiot, in spite of the numerous blows he was receiving from the stones while slowly retreating, turned round every now and then to face his opponents, whirling round his club with which he warded off some of the

Some of those in front, however, struck by the beauty of Marie, now turned round to stop the rest, and allowed time for Walter Kapell to withdraw her, as well as the idiot, within the shelter of their house, the door of which had been left open. So suddenly had the whole affair occurred that the servants, who had been engaged in the back part of the premises, had not been aware of what was taking place. Happily Marie had escaped without a blow, while Walter Kapell himself had suffered but slightly, though the poor idiot was bruised all over, and his face cut by the stones which had struck him.

While Herr Kapell led Hans into a back room,