last in the same rock-hewn sepulchres in which they had passed a living death. For such a religion I have no sympathy. Such lives are of no benefit to anybody. Self-denial for the sake of doing good to others, is according to the law of Christ. But suffering endured as a penance, self-inflicted torture, is far away from the spirit of the Gospel. I can feel no admiration for that religion which thinks to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
But the day was drawing to a close, and we were in no mood to indulge in criticism even of the false piety of a former age. Rather would we give ourselves up to the tender associations of the place and the hour. To complete the charm of this perfect day, to-night the moon reached the full. The scene was unearthly as she rose above the tops of the mountains, and shone down into the deep, lonely valley. It seemed as if the peace of God were resting on the face of the earth — not
"The peace that sages in meditation found,"
but a peace from the Infinite Presence, which filled the spaces of the silent air; and as if more than one sleeper on the desert might have a vision in his dreams of a ladder whose top touched heaven, with angels ascending and descending upon it. How can we help serious thoughts in the strange scenes in which we are? Here we tarry but a night; to-morrow we resume our march. The wanderings of the Israelites are a type of that pilgrimage which we are all making through the wilderness of this world. If we are only marching in the right direction, we need not fear to move on day by day, glad to know that each day's march brings us nearer to the end:
"Here in the body pent,
Absent from Thee I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent,
A day's march nearer home."
