her[1]; and, in pique, if we may believe contemporary Jewish writers, put himself at the head of the nascent body of the Christians.
It is not that St. Paul who, when he was a servant of Gamaliel, had the good Stephen, the patron of deacons and of those who are stoned, slain with stones, and who, while it was done, took care of the cloaks of the murderers—a fitting employment for a priest's valet. It is not he who fell from his horse, blinded in midday by a heavenly light, and to whom God said in the air, as he says every day to so many others: "Why persecutest thou me?" It is not he who wrote to the half-Jewish, half-Christian shopkeepers of Corinth: "Have we not power to eat and to drink . . . and to lead about a sister or a wife? Who goeth to war any time at his own charge?"[2] By those fine words the Reverend Father Menou, Jesuit and apostle of Lorraine, profited so well that they brought him, at Nancy, eighty thousand francs a year, a palace, and more than one handsome woman.
It is not he who wrote to the little flock in Thessalonica that the universe was about to be destroyed, and on that account it was not worth while keeping money about one. As Paul said: "For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; and the dead in Christ shall rise first; then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them."[3]
