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THE DIARY 
 
 OP 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW, 
 
LIBRARY 
 OF " HE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 ■ 
 
THE DIARY 
 
 OF 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW, 
 
 ▲ MONK OF THE ABBEY OF MARIENTHAL, IN THE ODENWALD, 
 IN THE TWELFTH CENTUBY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 “THE SCIIONBERG-COTTA FAMILY." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
 
 530 Broadway, 
 
 . 1871 . 
 
u They he not all faithless that are either weak in assenting to the 
 truth, or stiff in maintaining things any way opposite to the truth 
 of Christian doctrine. But as many as hold the foundation which is 
 precious, though they hold it but weakly, and as it were by a slender 
 thread, although they may frame many base and unsuitable things 
 upon it, things that can not abide the trial of the fire ; yet shall they 
 pass the fiery trial and be saved, which, indeed, have builded them- 
 selves upon the rock, which is the foundation of the Church 
 
 But how many millions of them are known so to have ended their 
 mortal lives, that the drawing of their breath hath ceased with the 
 uttering of this faith, ‘ Christ my Saviour, my Redeemer Jesus 
 And shall we say that such did not hold the foundation of the Chris- 
 tian faith?”—- A learned Discourse by Mr. Richard Hooker . 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 The supposed date of this Diary must account 
 for its quain tness. 
 
 The truths stated in it are, the Editor believes, 
 not more evangelical than are to be met with in 
 the letters of Bernard of Clairvaux; and these 
 truths, and the errors which grow up beside them, 
 not more inconsistent with each other than many 
 of the beliefs which, in those confused times, con- 
 trived to find an honest livelihood in the same 
 mind. The mixture of shrewdness and childish- 
 ness in the good monk would be the natural con- 
 sequence of an experience so limited as his, and 
 of the union of the intelligence of manhood with 
 that habitual relinquishment of all manly freedom 
 of thought and action which his rule required. 
 
 Brother Bartholomew’s practical piety must 
 have had many parallels in days when the Bible 
 was daily read in the Benedictine abbeys, and 
 monasteries were the industrial schools and peni- 
 tentiaries of the nations. 
 
 The earnestness of his religion may serve to 
 show the strength of that principle of life which 
 1 * 
 
 680050 
 
6 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 survived the malaria of the monastic system; 
 whilst its deformed and stunted growth, in 
 contrast with the quiet and steady progress of his 
 friend, may illustrate the poisonous nature of the 
 system which could paralyze and distort a life so 
 real and so divine. 
 
 It is happy to think, that, amongst the millions 
 who adhered to the ecclesiastical system of the 
 Middle Ages, there were many who lived so near 
 their Saviour, as to receive from His hands the 
 antidote to all its poisons ; but it is far happier to 
 know, that there were thousands who lived so 
 close to Him as to rise above its errors altogether, 
 and to be content for His sake to be rejected of 
 their generation. 
 
THE DIARY 
 
 OF 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 In the name of our Lord Christ, and all Ilis 
 saints, and especially of our Lady His mother, 
 patroness of this our Abbey of Marienthal, I, 
 Bartholomew, a poor brother in the same vener- 
 able Abbey, governed according to the genuine 
 and original rule of the holy Benedict, have un- 
 dertaken to write a history, from day to day, of 
 the things which mine eyes shall see and mine 
 ears hear. 
 
 The thought of this chronicle lias visited me 
 frequently of late, often intruding on my hours of 
 holy meditation, for which reason I endeavored 
 to scare it away as a presumptuous suggestion 
 from the Enemy ; but seeing that, in spite of all 
 my conjurations, and crossings, and repetitions 
 of the Pater Foster and the Sacred Hours, it 
 hath continued to force itself upon me (being 
 even spoken to me in visions by the holy Benedict 
 himself), I have concluded it to be a good thought, 
 
8 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 well-pleasing to the saints, and have therefore re- 
 solved on executing it, and leaving these my 
 humble memorials as a legacy to the Abbey, 
 knowing that the common incidents of to-day 
 are often as a strange and pleasant tale to those 
 that come after : since which determination, my 
 meditations have been no more disturbed — a fur- 
 ther proof that the project is not from below. 
 
 In order to accomplish this design, parchment 
 being somewhat costly, I have procured from the 
 Prior the copy of an old manuscript, wdiich none 
 of us can read — not even our learned brother 
 Lupacius, who has studied at Paris. The labor 
 of effacing the former characters was great, they 
 being carefully and thickly written, but I was 
 cheered in my toil by the thought that I was 
 destroying some of the works of the Evil One, 
 the letters being of a ver^ hideous and diabolical 
 form, square and three-cornered, and very black, 
 speckled moreover with a countless multitude of 
 dots which skipped around them like wicked 
 imps, making so ugly a confusion as no Christian 
 could look at long without danger of distraction, 
 much less have made. In every page, therefore, 
 however I may fill it, it is a marvellous consola- 
 tion to me to reflect that I am tilling so much 
 ground reclaimed from the infidel. 
 
 I have lived all my life within the walls of the 
 Abbey, and of the world beyond I know even as 
 little as the Israelites did of the Promised Land 
 when they believed the spies. Of my father and 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 9 
 
 mother I know nothing, nor do any of the 
 brethren. I was found one winter morning, a 
 helpless infant, lying on the threshold of the con- 
 vent, wrapped in a few rags, with a label import- 
 ing that my mother and father 'were dead, and 
 entreating the holy brethren, for the love of God, 
 to bring up the orphan, and teach him to offer * 
 masses for the souls of his parents. 
 
 At first, I have heard, the monks were sorely 
 puzzled how to handle or what to do with me. 
 An especial convocation was convened, in which 
 it was determined to feed and cherish me as they 
 would any other young and tender thing, and, 
 after being baptized, I was assigned to the guar- 
 dians of the hospital, with a room for my special 
 use. But, one after another, the patience of the 
 holy men was quite wearied out with my cease- 
 less cries and complainings, until it was resolved 
 to commit me to the keeping of a respectable 
 peasant woman in our village, called Magdalis 
 Schroder. With her I grew to a healthy and 
 merry boy, but the good monks always insist that 
 the suavity of my temper at present is nothing 
 less than a miracle, considering that so unmanage- 
 able and ill-natured a babe was never seen. 
 
 In my youth I had occasionally strong desires 
 to sec something of the world beyond our valley, 
 that before my profession I might know what I 
 waxs renouncing ; but the brotherhood always 
 withheld me, saying, that such a wish was like 
 Eve’s desire to be made wise by eating of the 
 
10 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil — that 
 in the world nothing was to be learned but evil, 
 and in the convent the knowledge of good. Their 
 will was everything to me, and I unresistingly 
 acquiesced; but I have often since thought that 
 the evil lies nearer home, and that if I had to 
 choose, I would not fly for refuge to a monastery. 
 But what am I saying ? The holy Benedict par- 
 don me ! All I mean is, that if, as they say, the 
 earth is the same everywhere, as the heart cer- 
 tainly is, perhaps the heavens are also the same, 
 and as near. I say this to Mother Magdalis 
 sometimes, when she groans under her burdens 
 and cares; yet, for myself, I have no wish to 
 change. Here I have lived, and here, if the 
 Lord and the Abbot will it so, will I die. 
 
 Nevertheless, I .was not always so content. 
 
 At one time, when I was young, my heart felt 
 strong, and fluttered, for freedom, as the Prior’s 
 birds flutter in the spring, or as the young buds 
 throw off their casings in the forest on an April 
 morning, and tremble and open in the sun and 
 the warm winds. 
 
 I used to go often and visit my foster-mother. 
 She is a widow, but she has two children — the best, 
 she says, a poor widow ever had. It is true, Karl 
 is a little wrong-headed and fiery now and then, 
 but Nannerl, certainly every one must agree there 
 are not many like her. It was not because of her 
 large, violet-blue eyes, and her fresh color, like 
 a rose — if a rose could change hue as she does 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 11 
 
 (of such things I am no judge) — she was a strong 
 and healthy maiden, and that is enough — but for 
 truth and goodness, and singleness . of heart, I 
 never saw any like her. She was like a manu- 
 script of a psalm of thanksgiving, illuminated all 
 ’round with holy images in fair colors, so joyous 
 and in harmony. I often thought, when I looked 
 at her, of the blessed words, “ If thine eye be 
 single, thy whole body shall be full of light” — 
 so full of light, pleasant, cheering, fireside light 
 was she within and without. I never passed her 
 mother’s cottage any morning, how early soever 
 — and I passed if often — but she was up before 
 me, getting her brother’s breakfast, or doing her 
 mother’s work, with her bright morning face, 
 and her pleasant words. 
 
 Now it came to pass, when I went one evening 
 to the cottage with a basket of broken meat from 
 the Abbey, I thought they all seemed happier 
 than usual; Nannerl’s face was brighter than 
 ever, but it seemed to be shining with some 
 hidden joy. At length, when she left the room 
 to put aside the contents of the basket, Mother 
 Magdalis told me there was to be a wedding in 
 the family — young Hans Reichardt, the Abbey 
 carpenter, had asked Nannerl’s hand. They had, 
 she said, liked one another long; and before many 
 weeks they would probably be coming to the 
 Abbey church together. 
 
 I could not exactly comprehend why Magdalis 
 should make such a festival of this ; I could not 
 
12 
 
 TIIE DIARY OF 
 
 tell why, but I had never much admired young 
 Reichardt, yet I congratulated them all as 
 honestly as I could. 
 
 j “It is a good providence,” said my foster- 
 mother. “ I am old, and the children have no father, 
 and it is a blessed thing for them to have a home.” 
 
 Nannerl’s face glowed with quiet pleasure 
 when I wished her joy of her new prospects. I 
 did feel glad at their joy, but somehow I was less 
 at home there that evening than I had ever been 
 before — I felt left out of the circle. Hans 
 Reichardt came to see his bride, and I took my 
 departure early. Mother Magdalis’s words rung 
 in my ears, “ It is a blessed thing to have a home.” 
 Home ! — the word came to my heart with a new 
 meaning that evening. It means very much • and 
 for the first time I felt this the convent could 
 never be ; a shelter from wind and rain it might 
 be — a refuge for the weary — a refectory for the 
 hungry — a place to eat and sleep and live in — 
 but home meant something more . 
 
 Who had shut me out from this ? Who had a 
 right to say that this word, this holy thing, might 
 never be mine ? 
 
 For many days these things rankled in my 
 heart, and sad havoc they made there. Till then, 
 I had not a want beyond the convent walls and 
 the society of the brethren ; now, my heart had 
 looked beyond the old walls ; and they girded me 
 in like a prison. I was not then bound by any 
 vows, and it was well. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 13 
 
 I did not venture to tell any of the brethren 
 what I felt ; I did not believe it to be sin, but I 
 knew they would all misunderstand me. 
 
 This lasted until one of our evening Scripture 
 readings — for in our convent we still adhere to 
 the rule of reading through a portion of the 
 Scriptures in the winter evenings. I seated myself 
 among the rest, prepared to be once more a 
 weary listener to the oft-told tale. (Alas ! how 
 little I knew of its blessed meaning !) The reader 
 stood at his desk, intoning the words in his lull- 
 ing sing-song ; the appointed monk went his 
 rounds with the lantern, to see that none of us 
 fell asleep. The monotonous voice of the reader 
 — the uniform tread of the lantern-bearer — the 
 monotonous recurrence of convent duties — all 
 grated like so many instruments of torture on my 
 impatient heart. In health, we do not notice 
 habitual sights and sounds, but in a fever, the 
 slow dropping of water from the eaves seems at 
 each fall to eat into the brain. And this, I 
 thought, is to be for life ! My heart sickened and 
 sank under the intolerable burden of countless to- 
 morrows, all like to-day. And beside this weary 
 circle of fruitless toil arose the haunting thought 
 of home — fresh springs of love, ever fresh — life 
 growing, widening, deepening, day by day around 
 us, and all centering in that inner sanctuary of 
 love, the home . 
 
 I was aroused from my dreams and murmurs 
 by some words from the gospel, which fell on 
 
14 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 my ear suddenly, as if I heard them for the first 
 time : — 
 
 “ For even the Son of man came not to be 
 ministered unto , but to minister , and to give 
 his life a ransom for many.” 
 
 For the first time, the idea of self-sacrifice came 
 to me with all the exalted joy the thought can 
 bring — the thought of laying down myself, my 
 life, for others. I arose from that evening reading 
 strengthened and refreshed, for I had a purpose — 
 and life is never quite barren to us if we have one 
 living purpose to sow in it, to grow and to bring 
 forth fruit. 
 
 The thought of His life took possession of me. 
 I longed, I prayed, I strove to be made like Him 
 — the holy child Jesus — like Him who went about 
 doing good. 
 
 I made a collection in the convent, to furnish 
 NanneiTs house — I labored in the convent gar- 
 den to rear vegetables for the sick — I traveled 
 leagues through the pine forests, in the frost and 
 snow, to visit them — but the more I read of the 
 life of Jesus, the more unattainable the perfect 
 model seemed. Are not the stars as far from the 
 mountains as from the valleys ? The more I heard 
 of the law of God, the more I saw how far it 
 carried its claims upon the heart ; and the heart 
 was precisely the thing which all my efforts could 
 not reach. 
 
 I could labor for the sick, I could toil and plead 
 for Nannerl and her husband, but I could not 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 15 
 
 expel the repining thought from my heart when 
 I came back from her bright fireside to these dull, 
 cold, convent walls. 
 
 But yet again God came to me and completed 
 the work He had begun. The second part of my 
 text healed the wound the first had made. How 
 strange it w^as that I did not see it all at once ! — 
 
 “The Son of man came not to be ministered 
 unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom 
 for many” 
 
 The ransom is needed — for whom ? Surely, 
 for the sentenced criminal — for those who, not 
 being able to fulfill the perfect law, can read in it 
 nothing but their condemnation — that is, for me. 
 The ransom is paid — for whom ? Surely for those 
 who need it. The ransom is paid ; — then the 
 prisoner is free. I am free ! “ There is now no 
 
 condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus.” 
 It is faith in this which gives strength to walk, 
 not in the flesh, but in the Spirit. 
 
 From that time, my whole life lias been 
 changed. Jesus , the Son of God, the Lamb of 
 God, our Ransom, our Pattern, our Friend, He 
 has redeemed me — I am His, and His cause is 
 mine. The self-denial, which had been impossible 
 as a sacrifice of expiation, became the joy of my 
 life as a sacrifice of thanksgiving. With the eye 
 of Him who died for us — and dying, saved us — • 
 watching our lives, what is not possible? I 
 learned that before we can be servants of God, 
 we must be made children of God. 
 
16 
 
 / 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Since then, I have lost those restless yearnings 
 for an earthly home. I have a home in heaven, 
 and my Father has sent me hither, for a little 
 while, to call more of His children to Him, and 
 to minister to all who need: — thus journeying, 
 and singing as I go, I am hastening homeward . 
 I am happy, and can rejoice heartily in the hap- 
 piness of Naunerl and Iteichardt. In the convent, 
 as well as elsewhere, we can bear one another's 
 burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. 
 
 And, perhaps, in this tumultuous world, it is 
 well that there should be some set apart on high, 
 so that the strife and eager chases of the present 
 may sound to them faint as those of the past, 
 with no seasons but the seasons of heaven ; — like 
 church-towers rising above the common homes of 
 men, yet echoing with deep tones their joys and 
 sorrows, and telling them, amidst their toils and 
 pleasures, how the time is passing. 
 
 Yet, if any ask my advice as to leading a re- 
 ligious life, I usually say, u My child, in your 
 home you are sure God has placed you. There 
 He is sure to bless you. Be quite sure that He 
 calls you away before you change. He knows 
 what work to give His servants, and in good 
 time He is sure to let them know.” 
 
 April 9. — S. Gregory Nazianzen , Bishop and 
 Doctor . 
 
 I am just returned from a preaching tour 
 amongst the villages of the forest (anciently called 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 17 
 
 of Odin), with two choristers and a deacon, to 
 celebrate the mass, and preach the Easter sermons. 
 
 Much grieved at discovering in some of the 
 peasants’ houses a superstitious reverence and 
 fear of the old heathen gods (or demons) — the 
 people in many places using pagan charms and 
 incantations against them, and even endeavoring 
 to propitiate them with wheaten cakes and other 
 offerings. I told them that either the old gods 
 and goddesses were nothing , and therefore could 
 do nothing either for or against them ; or they 
 were fiends , and God was stronger than they ; 
 and that, when affrighted at night, or in lonely 
 places, they should have recourse to prayer and 
 to the sign of the holy cross. Some places, 
 where the apparitions and wicked demons seem 
 to have been more than commonly malignant, I 
 purified and exorcised, sprinkling them with 
 holy water. Nevertheless, in my sermons, and 
 at all times, I told the people, that it is only sin 
 which gives the devil power over us, and that 
 none but those whose hearts are turned to God, 
 through hearty repentance and true faith, are 
 safe anywhere. I mourn much that these things 
 are not oftener proclaimed by our brethren ; also, 
 that they have given the peasants images of 
 saints instead of their old gods — which they often 
 confound, in their blindness, in a very profane 
 manner. 
 
 As we went on our way, I and my companions 
 made the woods resound, from time to time, 
 2 * 
 
18 
 
 THU DIAKY OF 
 
 with psalms and holy hymns, thus lightening the 
 way; and thus also, towards nightfall, effect- 
 ually keeping the powers of darkness avaunt, 
 the deacon Theodore being of somewhat a fear- 
 some spirit. At other times, I meditated on 
 some holy text, the theme of my next day’s dis- 
 course, refreshing myself % with the living bread 
 wherewith I afterwards fed the people. At 
 night, we cut down branches from the trees, and 
 made palisades around our beasts of burden, 
 which carried the holy vessels and vestments ; 
 lighting watchfires, also, to scare away wild 
 beasts and other evil things. 
 
 Once I awoke at dead of night, hearing a 
 strange rustling amongst the fir twigs which 
 covered the ground, and a cracking of boughs, 
 mingled with stifled, unearthly cries. Moreover, 
 by the moonlight, which came down in strange 
 and shifting patterns on the bare trunks, and on 
 the ground, I perceived some dark object flitting 
 rapidly away amongst the distant pine-stems 
 Whereat I arose, and, stirring the watchfires, 
 commenced singing the fourth Psalm in a loud 
 voice. When I had concluded the last verse, 
 crossing myself on brow and breast, I laid me 
 down in peace and slept. 
 
 In the morning our best ass was gone. With- 
 out it we could scarcely proceed, the other beasts 
 being slow-paced and old ; yet without it we 
 feared to return, the creature being a favorite 
 with our lord the Abbot. Wherefore, kneeling 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 19 
 
 down, we laid our trouble before God, pleading 
 that it was His errand on which we were jour- 
 neying, and telling Him of our sore need ; our 
 lord the Abbot being withal a man of a ha&ty 
 spirit. How marvelously He heard the prayers 
 of His servants, the sequel will show. 
 
 A few days thereafter, I preached in a certain 
 village, on the commandments, dwelling, amongst 
 the rest, on the sin of theft. Great power was 
 present to smite the consciences of the hearers. 
 Many wept, and before the close of my sermon, 
 one came forth, and before them all cried out, 
 “Lay on me what penance you will. It is I 
 who stole the Abbot’s ass.” 
 
 The whole assembly were greatly moved, and 
 ■would have fallen on the thief, but hastily de- 
 scending from the pulpit, I went to him, and as 
 he knelt before me, I said — 
 
 “ Thou seest, my son, that the eyes of the 
 Lord are in every place, seeing in the darkness 
 of the pine forest at midnight, as in the assembly 
 at midday. Thou canst not fly from Him, for 
 He is everywhere; thru needest not fly from 
 Him, for He is ready to forgive. It is because 
 thou hast not known His grace, that thou hast 
 despised His law. But if now thou repentest, 
 and with thine heart believest, I, although a 
 sinner as thou art, absolve thee from thy sin.” 
 lie had been a very fierce robber, the terror of 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 After the service he brought the ass to the 
 
20 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 door. As I left the place, the people thronged 
 around us to seek my blessing ; and lifting up 
 my hands I blessed them, many weeping and 
 kissing my hands. But I turned and said, 
 “ Mourn not, my brethren, that ye see me no 
 more ; but look, I pray you, to Him whose arms 
 were stretched out on the cross to save you — • 
 whose hands are lifted up always to bless you. 
 Look to Him ! ” 
 
 The robber went forth with us, although the 
 deacon Theodore much misliked his company. 
 He spoke not a word for many miles, walking, 
 with head bowed down, at my ass’s head. 
 
 At last, as it grew dusk, and we were entering 
 on a thick part of the Odenwald, said to be in- 
 fested with plunderers, brother Theodore came 
 to my side and whispered — 
 
 “Were it not better to send this man away? 
 He may have too many friends here.” 
 
 But I answered, in the words of the wise king, 
 “ The hearts of men are as the rivers of water ; 
 He turneth them whithersoever He will. Let us 
 not hinder His work on this poor soul.” 
 
 At length the shadows fell around us, and, 
 coming to a glade of the forest, we alighted for 
 our night’s encampment. The robber continued 
 with us, serving us much in hewing branches and 
 lighting our fires, he being more skilled in such 
 work than we. 
 
 After offering our vesper prayer and hymn, I 
 lay down to sleep, none making me afraid. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 21 
 
 The robber sat watching the fires, whilst 
 brother Theodore lay, with half-closed eyes, 
 watching him. But the peace of God kept my 
 heart, and I slept soundly. 
 
 About midnight I awoke, startled by the 
 crackling of the watchfires. The robber sat close 
 to my head, stirring one of the fires with a huge 
 pine-log. I arose and seated myself opposite to 
 him. 
 
 “ Father,” he said, leaning on the log, his dark 
 strong features glowing in the red light — “ thou 
 art a man of peace, but thou hast courage; know- 
 est thou who I am ?” 
 
 “ I know, my son,” I replied, “ that thou hast 
 been a great sinner ; but I trust one stronger 
 than thou is melting thy heart.” 
 
 “I am he whom the peasants call Otho the 
 Thunderbolt,” he said. “ My name has been a 
 terror to thousands, yet thou fearest me not. I 
 have many bold followers in this forest ; if I were 
 to give one of my gathering-cries, in half-an-hour 
 you would see fifty men around these fires.” 
 
 “The name of the Lord,” I said “is more 
 terrible than yours, my son ; but to those who 
 trust in it, it is a strong tower : the righteous 
 runneth into it and is safe. The voice of the 
 Lord is stronger than yours ; and legions of His 
 angels encamp around those that fear Him. 1 
 have not much courage, but I have faith, which 
 is stronger.” 
 
 “ I know it, father,” he replied ; “ I, too, know 
 
22 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 that the voice of God is strong, for it has made 
 my heart tremble like a reed. He is mighty, and 
 He is against me, for I have sinned.” 
 
 “Nay, He is for you,” I said, “for He came 
 to save the sinner.” 
 
 Then he unfolded to me the terrible story of 
 his life of violence, and I unfolded to him the 
 good tidings. 
 
 It was a strange chapel — the wind roaring in 
 the tops of the pine-trees, and driving the clouds 
 overhead; and a strange audience — the wolves 
 howling around the fires — the chief of a robber 
 band ; but are not all places holy for holy words ? 
 
 And the heart which had never quailed before 
 man, but had quivered in the grasp of the Al- 
 mighty, melted as a child’s at the story of the 
 love and sacrifice of Jesus. 
 
 “ Father,” he said, “ can you admit one like 
 me within your holy walls ? The meanest office 
 would be welcome to me — the meaner the fitter 
 for me, if only I might work for the poor I have 
 robbed.” 
 
 “Nay,” I said, “go and tell thy companions 
 what great things the Lord hath done for thee. 
 Mayhap they too will repent and believe.” 
 
 “ I will return,” he said, bitterly, “ if you will 
 not receive me ; but it is scarcely possible for one 
 like me to lead an honest life amongst those who 
 have known me. They would say, The old wolf 
 has clothed himself in sheepskin, but he shall not 
 deceive us by that.” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 23 
 
 “ Go, then,” I said, “ and seek to restore your 
 comrades, and afterwards repair to Marienthal : 
 there ye shall all find an asylum and a sanctuary.” 
 
 Before the morning broke he was gone. 
 
 The sun arose, throwing slanting rays up across 
 the pinestems, the birds awoke and sang, and the 
 leaves trembled and glittered with the drops of 
 dew— and w r e went on our way rejoicing: for, 
 that night, had not the day-spring from on high 
 arisen on one who sat in darkness and the shadow 
 of death? 
 
 Otho the Thunderbolt, and three of his com- 
 panions, are now inmates of our Abbey. We 
 think it best to employ them as much as possible. 
 They therefore fell our firewood, draw our water, 
 keep our cattle, and help to clear more of the 
 forest for tillage. The rest of their time they 
 spend in learning and reciting psalms and litanies, 
 and in listening to our solemn services. Otho, 
 moreover, contrives to find leisure to weave mats 
 and nets, the price of which he lays up for future 
 restitution. 
 
 This event has greatly strengthened those 
 amongst us who are truly seeking to lead a re- 
 ligious life, and has urged us afresh to prayer. 
 But some, alas ! continue idle and vain, caring 
 for none of these things — for here, as elsewhere, 
 our Lord and the devil have both their disciples. 
 
 June 7. — Vigil of the Nativity of St. John the 
 Baptist. 
 
2 4 
 
 TIIE DIARY OF 
 
 We have entertained an angel since last I 
 wrote. The holy Abbot Bernard, of ClairvAux, 
 has stayed with us a day and a night — ever mem- 
 orable at Marienthal. He came to preach the 
 Crusade. 
 
 It is marvelous into what a ferment his coming 
 has thrown the whole of Germany. People 
 flocked from the towns and villages to meet him, 
 bringing with them the sick on litters, that he 
 might heal them with his touch — those esteeming 
 themselves blessed who could kiss his hands. The 
 churches were filled, and even the churchyards, 
 when he preached, and men have taken the cross 
 by hundreds. At Marienthal the peasants wept 
 and sobbed at his sermon, although they could 
 not understand a word he said — at which I mar- 
 veled greatly. 
 
 Scarcely could they have received the Lord 
 Christ himself with more devoted reverence: in- 
 deed, I wonder much that they should pay such 
 homage to the words of His servant, and so little 
 to His own. I fear for them, lest they be honor- 
 ing the voice more than the words. Yet truly 
 he is a man of a noble presence, and of a very 
 lowly mind. 
 
 In the pulpit his eyes flash like flame, but in 
 the confessional they are soft as any dove’s. His 
 stature is low, but his brow and bearing are so 
 calm, and so full of gentle command, that the 
 proudest bow naturally before him — not thinking 
 of refusing what he never thinks of demanding. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 25 
 
 lie seems worn out by the fervor of his piety 
 and the severity of his life ; yet the ardor which 
 is wasting his frame is mild as the first sunshine 
 of May to all else. At the Abbot’s table, more 
 than once, I heard him laugh joyously as a child. 
 Nevertheless, there is something in him I would 
 shrink from encountering as a foe. 
 
 When one of us remarked on the austerities 
 which had so emaciated him, he said — 
 
 “ The cross of Christ is such a burden as wings 
 are to a bird — bearing it aloft.” * 
 
 To us he spoke as St. Paul might of the inward 
 conflict, and the inward strength, the grace of 
 God and the reconciliation wrought by Christ. 
 “ Blessed,” he says, “ are those to whom God 
 has taught the meaning of the words, c Ye are my 
 friends ; whatsoever I have heard of my Father, I 
 have made known unto you.’ ” 
 
 In the Abbey he left behind him a holy calm. 
 We felt that the place was holy ground, because 
 He who dwelleth in Ilis saints had been there. 
 
 He gave a lamentable account of the world and 
 the Church — bishops and priests buying and 
 selling holy things, Christian princes fighting one 
 another ; and, meantime, the Turk ruling in the 
 Holy Land, and the heretics — Cathari, Paulicians, 
 and Manichees — poisoning the wells of Christian 
 life within the camp. 
 
 There are many of these heretics, he says, on 
 the Rhine, and in Bohemia, and the south of 
 
 * See “ St. Bernard’s Letters.” 
 
 3 
 
26 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 France, who deny the Divine authority of the 
 sacred priesthood, and mock at the holy sacra- 
 ments, mimicking them in their secret assemblies 
 — all the more dangerous, the holy Abbot says, 
 because of the blameless moral lives of many of 
 them, and their upholding their errors from the 
 Holy Scriptures, which they know and pervert in 
 a wonderful manner. Yet is he averse from 
 killing them, having compassion on their lost 
 souls, and dreading the effect of public executions 
 in spreading their madness, and giving notoriety 
 to their errors. 
 
 He is also very earnest against the recent 
 slaughter of the Jews on the banks of tine Rhine, 
 which some have rashly styled a “crusade,” 
 saying, that the true weapons wherewith to con- 
 quer them are the Word of God and prayer. 
 Many have already been converted by these means. 
 
 Note . — Why not the same for the Turks ? They 
 are, however, without question, very wicked and 
 obstinate infidels, and have no right to the Holy 
 Land. 
 
 Two of the companions of Otho the Thunder- 
 bolt were very urgent to be suffered to take the 
 cross, and return with the venerable Abbot, who 
 seemed nowise unwilling to receive them, 
 “ deeming,” he said, “ such an enterprise doubly 
 beneficial, since their departure would be as wel- 
 come to their friends as their presence to those 
 they went to assist.” * But I ventured strenu- 
 
 * See “St. Bernard to the Templars. ” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 27 
 
 ously to oppose their design, fearing that, to 
 minds so recently enlightened, the distinction 
 between spoiling the Turks for Christ’s sake, and 
 plundering the Germans for their own, might not 
 be so clear as could be wished. The holy Bernard 
 deigned to be guided by my remonstrances. 
 
 Note . — It is a pity that the holy Abbot should 
 adhere to the novel rule of the Cistertians; but 
 he is, notwithstanding, doubtless a man of God. 
 Indeed, had it not been for our conviction of his 
 especial sanctity, we certainly could not have 
 received one of that rule at our Abbey .* 
 
 July 29. — SS. Peter and Paul. 
 
 I have done a deed this week, whether good 
 or evil I shall know hereafter, but otherwise I 
 could not do. 
 
 When I went to Magdalis’s cottage this 
 morning, I found her wringing her hands and 
 weeping bitterly, the room unswept and in dis- 
 order, and Karl standing with folded arms before 
 the fire, looking very sullen and determined. 
 
 “What is the matter?” I exclaimed; “what 
 has happened ?” 
 
 “Nothing!” replied Karl, gruffly, “but that 
 
 * The quarrels between rival monastic orders sometimes ran very 
 high. The Cluniac monks refused the rites of hospitality to the 
 Cistertians, and the compliment was returned, although the two 
 heads of the orders seem to have been far more forbearing — the 
 venerable Peter and St. Bernard having been, personally, cordial 
 friends . 
 
2 * 
 
 HIE DIARY OP 
 
 my mother does not want to spare me to be a 
 soldier of the holy Cross.” 
 
 “Nothing!” sobbed poor Magdalis; “will 
 Father Bartholomew call that nothing! — for an 
 only son to leave his widowed mother to the 
 mercy of strangers, that he may go and be killed 
 amongst the heathen Turks and Jews?” 
 
 I could not altogether approve of Mother Mag- 
 dalis’s view of the Holy Wars, but neither did I 
 feel sure of the genuineness of my foster-brother’s 
 vocation to fight in them. He is at best but a 
 willful lad, although sound at the core, and for 
 some months he had been growing weary of the 
 monotonous toil of his peasant life. Wherefore 
 I represented to him that the call must be very 
 strong which could make it a duty for him to 
 desert his mother, and asked him, since the 
 redemption of the Holy Land lay so very near 
 his heart, when this loud call from heaven had 
 been vouchsafed him. 
 
 He looked puzzled for an instant ; then, draw- 
 ing his hand impatiently through his long brown 
 hair, he said — 
 
 “ You know well I am no scholar : about calls 
 and vocations I understand very little ; but this I 
 know — half the next village are going to Pa- 
 lestine, and the lord of Erbach-Erbach has prom- 
 ised to make me his armor-bearer if I will go. 
 And how expect a young fellow like me to toil 
 away his youth in earning a scanty pittance of 
 daily bread, when he has the chance of seeing the 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 29 
 
 world, and coming back rich enough to be head 
 peasant of the district in a few years ?” 
 
 u How many came back from the last crusade ?” 
 moaned Magdalis. “Ask the old men of the 
 village that! — and who would not rather be a 
 serf of the good monks of Marienthal, than a 
 retainer of the proud lords of Erbach? And 
 Nannerl, too, how she will grieve, and poor little 
 Gretchen!” 
 
 “ Gretchen will not care,” said the young man, 
 coloring. “Gretchen’s grandfather was a mer- 
 chant of one of the free imperial cities, and 
 she says she will never wed a serf of the soil.” 
 
 “What does it matter what that silly child 
 says?” said Magdalis, half petulantly; “ you will 
 be killed, and then she will be as sorry as any of 
 us, poor vain wench !” 
 
 Karl’s lip curled, but he did not look altogether 
 displeased. 
 
 “The War of the Cross is a holy war,” he 
 said ; “ and if I die, mother, you will know that 
 I am safe, and Father Rudolph, who preached 
 the crusade on the Rhine, says one wound 
 from the Turk is worth fifty Pater Nosters.” 
 
 Magdalis was too wretched to controvert either 
 his theology or his purpose ; but as I looked at 
 his manly form, and his bold, bright eye, I felt 
 «till more doubtful as to his heavenly vocation to 
 the Cross, and I said, “ Well, I would not inter- 
 fere with a pious vow, Karl, but I came to tell 
 you that the old Abbey huntsman died last week, 
 
so 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 and I thought you might have filled his place, as 
 you are a famous marksman.” 
 
 Karl turned suddenly to me. 
 
 “ Well, Father Bartholomew,” he said, after a 
 short pause, “ I am no scholar, and, as I said, 
 know little of calls and vocations — after all, it 
 might be a mistake ; — could you really get me 
 appointed Abbey huntsman — and made free ?” 
 
 “ I might try, Karl,” I said ; “ but far be it from 
 me to tempt you to resist a call from heaven, or 
 to neglect a sacred vow.” 
 
 Karl rubbed his forehead and looked up and 
 down, half puzzled and half convicted ; at length 
 he stammered — 
 
 “ I am a poor unlettered man ; I do not know 
 that it was exactly a vow, Father Bartholomew; 
 and even if it were, could you not perhaps 
 manage that for me too?” 
 
 I could not help smiling as I shook his hand 
 and took leave. 
 
 In a few weeks Gretchen is to be married to 
 the Abbey huntsman. The saints intercede for 
 me if I have done wrong! After all, Karl will 
 be in the service of the Church. 
 
 And I sometimes Avonder if the Saviour cares 
 as much for His deserted sepulchre as so many 
 iioav do. 
 
 Are not His living habitations far better ? 
 
 u The poor ye have always Avith you.” 
 
 “In that ye did it unto one of the least of 
 these my brethren, ye did it unto me.” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 31 
 
 And St. Paul writes to each one of the faith- 
 ful: “Know ye not that your bodies are the 
 temples of the Holy Ghost?” 
 
 Why, then, travel so far to the site of an over- 
 thrown temple and an empty tomb ? 
 
 “ He is not there — He is risen.” 
 
 He is not there only , for, where two or three 
 are in His name, there is He, 
 
 St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Thomas, St. Bartholomew’, 
 and all the holy Apostles and Evangelists; 
 
 St. Stephen, St. Clement, St. Pothinus with thy 
 companions ; 
 
 St. Irenams with thy companions ; 
 
 St. Sebastian, St. Laurence, and all the holy 
 Martyrs ; 
 
 St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, St. Gregory, and all 
 the holy Doctors ; 
 
 All the holy Pontiffs, 
 
 All the holy Monks and Hermits, 
 
 All the holy Virgins and Widows, 
 
 Omnes sancti and sanctse Dei, 
 
 Orate pro me, 
 if I have erred. 
 
 July 10. 
 
 On the eve of the Feast of the Transfigura- 
 tion, a strange monk begged admittance into our 
 Abbey. He bore letters of recommendation from 
 the venerable Peter, Abbot of Clugni, and we re- 
 ceived him gladly. 
 
 He is a noticeable man, tall, with a complexion 
 
32 
 
 THE DIARY OP 
 
 that tells of a southern sun ; his eyes are very 
 dark and piercing — they seem always still; and 
 yet, whenever you look at him, they are fixed on 
 you. His hearing is more that of a soldier than 
 of a monk — and of a soldier more used to com- 
 mand than to obey ; yet is he wonderfully lowly 
 and submissive, and ready to perform the most 
 servile offices if directed by his superiors. Pie 
 calls himself Conrad. He says little, perhaps 
 because he speaks German with a slight lisp, and 
 with difficulty, nevertheless not as if his throat 
 were sewn up like a Frenchman’s, but with a 
 manly force. He also talks Latin, so that I un- 
 derstand him easily, although brother Lupacius 
 avers that his idiom is not that of the ancient 
 Homans; no reproach, I trow, to a Christian 
 man. 
 
 In no language, however, does he say much, 
 his thoughts seeming for the most part turned in- 
 ward, and not happy, although he has a singular 
 w r ay of seeing everything whilst apparently look- 
 ing at nothing. 
 
 Most of us stand rather in awe of him, but the 
 strange, taciturn man attaches me to him ; also, 
 he seemeth not to mislike my company. 
 
 August 13 . 
 
 A company of Lombard merchants has been 
 here to-day with silks from Greece and Asia, and 
 other curious Eastern wares. 
 
 The Abbot bought some beautiful rare stones, 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 33 
 
 to ornament withal a copy of the missal which 
 brother Theodore, a curious man in all arts and 
 handicrafts, has lately illuminated. 
 
 Also some of the brotherhood purchased several 
 ells of fine stuff for their hoods and scapularies. 
 I marveled to see how curious they were in their 
 choice,* running the cloth through their fingers 
 — holding it up to the light — disposing it around 
 them in cunning folds — and discussing its merits 
 with the dealers and with one another, as eagerly 
 as if it had been an article of the faith. Scarce 
 could any lady at the court of my lord of Er- 
 bach have been more dainty. Methinks, if this 
 had been our object, we might have found a more 
 gallant costume. 
 
 Brother Conrad held himself apart the while, 
 and once or twice I saw a smile pass across his 
 face — but not of mere amusement. 
 
 The merchants spoke of a wonderfully magni- 
 icent Christian kingdom amongst the wilds of 
 Asia. From their description, brother Lupacius, 
 who studied at Paris, concludes it to be some- 
 where near the garden of Eden — but many of us 
 think this a rash and profane speculation, deem- 
 ing that the garden has been taken up into 
 heaven. 
 
 The emperor of this country styles himself 
 Prester, or Priest, John, although he has princes 
 and kings amongst his servitors, himself prefer. 
 
 * See Neander’s “Life of St. Bernard,” p. 81, Miss Wrench’s 
 translation. 
 
34 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 ring the title of Priest, as at onee more lowly and 
 more lofty — a singular mark of enlightenment 
 in a barbarous man. 
 
 Note . — The merchants seem to understand 
 rightly the controversy between us, the old Be- 
 nedictines, and the Cistertians, speaking evil of 
 these last, as sanctimoniously austere, and ill pa- 
 trons of commerce and the arts. 
 
 August 24. — St. Bartholomew. Holy Patron, 
 pray for me ! 
 
 Our bees have prospered well this year, yield- 
 ing a goodly store of honey and meat. 
 
 Monday. 
 
 Brother Conrad is foot-sore and ill from his 
 journey. It was very long, and he seems unused 
 to foot-traveling. Nevertheless, he will not con- 
 sent in anywise to relax the severity of his ab- 
 stinences. 
 
 This evening, I went to his cell with a healing 
 decoction of herbs, which hath proved of mar- 
 velous virtue amongst the peasantry. As he did 
 not answer my signal, I gently opened the door. 
 He was kneeling on the floor, fervently grasping 
 *an iron crucifix to his breast. As I entered, he 
 ^rose, and hastily threw his mantle around his 
 shoulders, but I could see they were bleeding 
 from the use of the discipline. He asked, rather 
 haughtily, what I wanted. I prayed him to let 
 me bathe his feet. Pie refused my assistance 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 35 
 
 courteously, yet so that I could not press it. As 
 I left the cell, he took my hand and pressed it to 
 his lips, saying, “ Brother, thou hast a good and 
 innocent heart — pray for me.” 
 
 I fear he has committed some great sin. 
 
 Thursday . 
 
 All the village is in uproar about the foreign 
 monk. Yesterday, as brother Conrad was walk- 
 ing, he saw a stout peasant carle beating one oi 
 Manuel Reichardt’s boys, for laming his mule by 
 hard riding. Without saying a word, Conrad 
 threw back his cowl, girded up his garments, and 
 beat the man. At this the peasants are enraged, 
 calling him a foreign meddler, but Nannerl takes 
 his part, as also all the children, to whom he is 
 ever gentle. NanneiTs boy was, however, a 
 mischievous and idle rogue (very unlike his 
 mother), and had no right to the mule. More- 
 over, such interference comporteth not with the 
 dignity of the religious habit. 
 
 Our lord the Abbot, taking the matter into his 
 consideration, has condemned our brother to 
 penitence, and the seclusion of his cell. Abstinence 
 beyond what he already practices is scarce pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Saturday . 
 
 Our lord the Abbot, after matins, enjoined on 
 brother Conrad to ask forgiveness from the 
 peasant carle. 
 
36 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 His dark cheek flushed high : “ I from a villain !” 
 he murmured between his teeth. 
 
 “ On the obedience of a monk, I command you !” 
 said the Abbot, rather fierily. 
 
 Conrad bowed in acquiescence, went to the 
 village, sought out the peasant, and made the 
 required apology in my presence. 
 
 The carle would have made him a present in 
 acknowledgment of the condescension, but he 
 would not accept it. 
 
 “ The slave deserved the chastisement,” he said 
 to me, as we returned. 
 
 “ The obedience of a monk includes submission 
 in will as well as in act,” I suggested. 
 
 “I know it,” he replied; “I submit.” 
 
 “ The commandment of our Lord Jesus,” I 
 rejoined, “reaches the heart as well as the will; 
 lie said, c Love your enemies.’ ” 
 
 He looked down, and spoke no more until we 
 reached the convent ; but in the evening, he came 
 to my cell, and said — 
 
 “ You are no hypocrite. Do you mean that it 
 is possible, from the heart, to love those who have 
 hated, wronged, and meanly slandered us — not 
 only to forbear taking vengeance, but to love ?” 
 
 “ Jesus said of His murderers, c Father, forgive 
 them and thousands of them were forgiven, and 
 are now amongst the blessed company of His 
 redeemed.” 
 
 “ He was God,” said Conrad ; “ I am a man 
 and a sinner.” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 37 
 
 u Have you then, yourself, nothing that you 
 need to he forgiven ?” 
 
 He looked at me earnestly and sadly. “I 
 understand you,” he said, bitterly ; “ we must 
 forgive, that we may be forgiven. It is hard to 
 do it, but not to do it is hell.” 
 
 “Nay,” I replied, “ we must forgive, because 
 we are forgiven. We must love, because we have 
 been so loved.” 
 
 But he seemed to have fallen again into his 
 self-enclosed state, and hastily taking his lamp, 
 he left my cell. 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Brother Conrad seems to have been easier in 
 mind lately, having been actively employed. 
 
 He had observed that we had to draw all our 
 water for the household, the cattle, and the 
 garden, from the stream at the bottom of the 
 valley, which is nearly a quarter of a mile off. 
 He asked why we did not dig a well. The Abbot 
 assigned the labor, and the uncertainty of find- 
 ing water, as the reason. 
 
 “If I am permitted,” he replied, “I will 
 engage to accomplish it in a week, with one 
 laborer.” 
 
 Most of us deemed this an idle boast, but Otlio 
 the Thunderbolt had confidence in the stranger, 
 and freely offered to assist him. 
 
 They accordingly set about it at once. In a 
 few days the water came gushing out of the ex- 
 4 
 
38 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 cavation. Otho wondered at the sagacity with 
 which he had fixed on the spot. 
 
 “ I have been many years in the East, where 
 water is scarce,” he said in explanation. I suppose 
 he was with the crusading army. 
 
 He has also shown us some new agricultural 
 implements, used, he says, among the Provenuals, 
 and in Languedoc, a people marvelously skilled 
 in all sorts of arts and handicrafts. 
 
 Friday . 
 
 To-day a horse was brought to the Abbey for 
 sale. The creature was beautiful, but withal so 
 wicked and ill-natured, that several of our best 
 riders (and I grieve to say, there are more among 
 us than befits a company of sober and peaceful 
 world-renouncing men, who are skilled in the 
 manege of chargers) were thrown violently to the 
 ground. 
 
 The horse was about to be sent back, when 
 Conrad, who had been watching us apart, offered 
 to mount him. 
 
 First whispering in the animal’s ear, he sprang 
 on his back, and rode him round the court and 
 whithersoever he would, guiding him like a 
 lady’s palfrey. 
 
 When he dismounted, we all crowded round 
 him, marveling at his skill. But he said care- 
 lessly, “ I learned it from the Arabs. There are 
 many among them who ride far better;” then 
 disengaging himself from us, he ] etired to his celL 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 39 
 
 Brother Conrad puzzles us all sorely. Some of 
 the brethren fear he may have been a follower of 
 Mahound, for he spoke in some heathenish jargon 
 to one of the Italian merchants, of which none of 
 us could understand a syllable. And, as brother 
 Lupacius saith, what could he mean by “ learning 
 from the Arabs? 5 ’ how can one learn anything 
 Christian from an Arab ? 
 
 Yet I feel a strange liking for him ; to me he is 
 always gentle and friendly. Only sometimes I 
 fear he may have mistaken his vocation. Natures 
 energetic as his, and accustomed to action, will 
 scarce find scope or employment in the dead calm 
 of our life. 
 
 December 
 
 The whole Abbey has been in a tumult for 
 some weeks. The sub-prior is dead, and we have 
 been engaged in electing a successor. 
 
 He lay sick for many weeks, being well 
 stricken in years. During his illness, there was 
 much plotting and conferring in the convent; 
 four of the elder monks gathering groups of two 
 or three at a time around them in corners, at our 
 hours of recreation, and talking earnestly in a 
 low voice. 
 
 These monks were very courteous to one 
 another ; yet, if one of them saw another thus 
 engaged in converse, he would join the group, 
 which was sure soon afterwards to disperse. 
 
40 
 
 TIIE DIARY OF 
 
 These same monks were very tender in watch- 
 ing the symptoms of the sub-prior’s malady. 
 
 Also, the office-bearers have been marvelously 
 diligent in their business of late — increasing 
 notably the while in courtesy to all. 
 
 At length the sub-prior died and was buried. 
 
 For some days, the whole brotherhood stepped 
 more softly, and spoke with subdued voices. I 
 mourned the old man from my heart, for to me he 
 had been as a father, and he had many strange 
 tales of the olden times. Yet were his last years 
 so quiet and noiseless — his voice has so gradually 
 become hushed among us — that it scarcely makes 
 a silence, now that it has ceased. May he rest in 
 peace ! many masses will I offer for his soul. 
 
 We met in the chapter-house, and after 
 solemnly chanting the Veni Creator Spiritus , the 
 lots were cast. 
 
 To the surprise of us all, the lot fell on brother 
 Conrad, but he was not to be found. 
 
 Whilst some of the younger brethren went in 
 search of him, the rest began to whisper together. 
 At first, the four elder monks, whom I have men- 
 tioned, seemed relieved to find that neither of the 
 four besides themselves was chosen; but, as 
 brother Conrad’s absence was prolonged, they 
 drew together, and conferred in angry whispers. ' 
 “ An intruder !” — u a foreigner !” — “ a foundling 
 of the gallows !” — “ an Arabian magician !” and 
 many other rash words, dropped from them. 
 
 The good men suffered the heat of argument to 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 41 
 
 carry them away ; and, ere long, the whispered 
 murmurs rose into loud debate, and the debate 
 into a tempest of wrathful words ; and so eager 
 and passionate was the discussion, that brother 
 Conrad stood five minutes amongst them before 
 they perceived him. 
 
 At length, our lord the Abbot arose, and after 
 gesticulating some little time in vain, he succeeded 
 in imposing silence. 
 
 Still, however, there continued a low grumble 
 of discontent, as the echo of thunder among the 
 hills when a storm is gone, and we wonder 
 whether it will return. 
 
 “Brethren,” said the Abbot, “behold him 
 whom you have chosen to succeed our venerable 
 sub-prior. May the choice be blest !” 
 
 But many of the brethren glared angrily on 
 brother Conrad, and the storm was beginning to 
 rise again. 
 
 Brother Conrad stood with his arms folded on 
 his breast, calmly awaiting a pause, with that 
 peculiar smile on his lips which I have observed 
 before, until the Abbot was obliged again to 
 interpose. 
 
 “Brethren,” he said, “are we not a sacred 
 council of priests, guided by the Spirit of 
 the Highest ? Behold the man of your 
 choice.” 
 
 Then there ensued a sullen calm, and Conrad’s 
 voice was heard. 
 
 “ I came not hither,” he said, “holy father, to 
 
 4 * 
 
THE DIARY OF 
 
 42 
 
 rule monks, but to save my soul ; let the holy 
 brotherhood choose some fitter man.” 
 
 We were accustomed to this formula of hu- 
 mility in the newly-elected ; but, to our surprise, 
 brother Conrad persisted in his refusal, and was 
 not by any means to be moved from it. 
 
 We accordingly proceeded again to the elec- 
 tion, and this time the choice fell on one of the 
 four elder monks. 
 
 With this the assembly was obliged to be 
 content. The new sub-prior has been solemnly 
 installed, and brother Conrad is honored in the 
 convent as a model of humility. 
 
 On the next morning, as brother Conrad and I 
 were journeying together to administer the sac- 
 rament to a sick man, I said, “I rejoice to see 
 that your heart is not set on seeking great things 
 for yourself.” 
 
 He laughed, and replied, “ I do not understand 
 the monks, nor they me. If I had desired the 
 greatness of this world, I would not have sought 
 it in an obscure monastery of the north. I have 
 commanded thousands of soldiers, and to me it is 
 no point of ambition to rule a few monks. I came 
 hither to fly the world, not to seek it. I came 
 hither to live in quiet, and to save ray soul.” 
 
 Brother Conrad is right, and I love him for his 
 honest words; nevertheless, I marvel that he 
 should speak so slightingly of our venerable 
 Abbey — chartered as it is by the Emperor, con- 
 taining the sacred relics of a supreme Pontiff— 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 43 
 
 our blessed Lady herself having marked out the 
 site in a vision, our founder being in the calendar, 
 and our Abbot ranking next the mitred Abbots 
 and the episcopal throne. He can scarcely be in- 
 formed of this, or he would never have used 
 words so singularly inappropriate as an “ obscure 
 monastery ,” or “ a few monies” Not that I am 
 proud of these privileges : no ! holy Benedict 
 knows that we are nothing but a company of 
 poor and humble priests — the servants of the 
 servants of God. 
 
 January 26. — St. Poly carp, Bishop and Martyr . 
 
 A post arrived to-day, w 7 ith messages and 
 letters for our lord the Abbot, and a letter, sealed 
 with a noble escutcheon, for brother Conrad. The 
 messenger brings sad tidings of the apostasy of 
 some of Bishop Otlio of Bamberg’s new converts 
 in Pomerania, and the sufferings of others. Hear- 
 ing and reading of such things, how it shames my 
 languid and lukewarm heart ! Thou art the 
 same to us as to them ; oh make us the same to 
 Thee! 
 
 I took the letter to brother Conrad in his cell. 
 On receiving it his hands trembled, and his face 
 turned livid in its paleness. When he had read 
 it, he tore it passionately in twain, murmuring, 
 
 “ The curse of God ¥' then suddenly checking 
 
 himself, he said to me, “ Leave me, brother Bar- 
 tholomew, you can do me no good now.” I had 
 no choice but to leave the cell, for so stern was 
 
44 
 
 THE DIAEY OF 
 
 his countenance, that I deemed it folly to resist 
 his will. 
 
 January 30. 
 
 For these many days none of us have seen 
 brother Conrad. He refuseth meat, and denieth 
 entry to all. 
 
 February 1. — St. Ignatius , Bishop and Martyr. 
 
 To-day, I knocked at the door of brother Con- 
 rad’s cell ; receiving no answer, I at length ven- 
 tured to enter unbidden. 
 
 He sat on his bed, with his eyes bent on the 
 ground. His crucifix lay on his knees ; his face 
 was pale and drawn, as that of a man who had 
 passed through some great agony of bodily pain ; 
 but it was perfectly calm, and so was his voice 
 when he addressed me, saying — 
 
 “ Wherefore do you come here ? you can do me 
 no good.” 
 
 But I seated myself beside him, and said, 
 “ Brother, I came to read you some of the words 
 of peace, fearing that you have suffered.” 
 
 He did not reply, nor did his features relax ; 
 but lie bowed his head, and receiving no further 
 encouragement, I opened the Psalter at the 32d 
 Psalm. 
 
 “ Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, 
 whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man unto 
 whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in 
 whose spirit there is no guile.” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 45 
 
 “ Do you come hither to torment me before 
 the time ?” he exclaimed, looking sternly and 
 abruptly at me : “ in my spirit there is guile. 
 My transgression can never be forgiven, nor my 
 sin covered. The words of peace are very 
 swords to me, for I can not repent. Those who 
 forgive not shall never be forgiven, and I can not 
 forgive !” 
 
 I was silent, and after a few moments he pro- 
 ceeded : — 
 
 “ Listen, if you will, to my wrong. I have 
 told it to none beside. I had broad lands in Ar- 
 ragon, and castles. I loved, and believed myself 
 beloved, and was betrothed. In an evil day, I 
 took the Cross ; she decked me with her colors 
 when I went, and I bore them triumphantly 
 through the thick of many battles. I returned. 
 Came with my retainers to my father’s castle. 
 There was feasting there: she, my bride, was 
 there, and my younger brother, a scribe, a 
 lawyer, a man of smooth words and a comely 
 face, whom I had cherished as my own son, for 
 we were orphans — she was there, his wife ! My 
 lands and castles were my own, and the king was 
 my friend ; but what were they or he to me ? 
 they could not restore her to me, or to the truth 
 and beauty of soul with which I had clothed her. 
 I left my country in disguise, and came hither a 
 monk, resigning my titles and estates to them. 
 They took advantage of my absence to slander 
 me to my king ; lie trusted me, and revealed their 
 
46 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 treachery. There is the letter they have sent 
 me, thanking me for my generosity, and begging 
 me formally to transfer all my hereditary rights 
 — and she has signed it. That is all my story. I 
 have done what I can — I have sent them what 
 they asked for. I will not curse either of them 
 — but God, you say, exacts more. I have tried, 
 but I can not forgive. You can do me no good 
 — I am lost.” 
 
 He said these words with the calm of fixed 
 conviction, as one to Avhom the terrible thought 
 was no strange or doubtful thing, but ascertained 
 and familiar. But I could not withhold my tears. 
 
 When I could speak again composedly, I took 
 the crucifix from his knees, and said, “ Brother, 
 whose image is this ?” 
 
 u I know what you would say,” he answered ; 
 “ but it is in vain. He is God. His heart was 
 tender and compassionate ; mine is hard — it lias 
 been frozen hard in its own tears. He forgave, 
 but I hate. I sin even as I speak, and can not 
 repent. I do not murmur against God. He is 
 just. I am lost — and I deserve it!” 
 
 There was such intense and fixed anguish in 
 the slow calmness with which he uttered these 
 words, that I felt any words of mine were power- 
 less ; and kneeling down, I called, at first in si- 
 lence, and then aloud, on Him who delighteth in 
 mercy. 
 
 What I said, I do not exactly remember ; I re- 
 member only that I poured out my whole heart 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 47 
 
 before God, calling on Him wlio is so near to the 
 broken-hearted to have pity on my brother— - to 
 heal the heart men had broken, and to bind up 
 its wounds. I knew and felt that the Lord was 
 near us — as near as when the sick and fearful 
 touched the hem of His garment, and were 
 healed, and the guilty outcast wept at His feet, 
 and was forgiven — and as gracious. I was sure 
 that He heard, and sure that He would keep His 
 promise, and give what we asked. Before I rose, 
 Conrad had sunk on his knees beside me, and 
 when I rose, he still remained kneeling. 
 
 I waited some time : then placing the crucifix 
 in his hands, I said, “ It was for no light sin that 
 the Son of God left His glory, and became obe- 
 dient to a death such as this : nor did He suffer 
 such things in vain. My brother, you ore lost ; 
 but the Lord Jesus came to seek the lost. You 
 have mistaken the object of His coming alto- 
 gether. He came not to judge, but to save. 
 Look on Him your sins have pierced, and live.” 
 
 There was no tear in his eyes — no sign of emo- 
 tion on his face'; but as I left the cell, he grasped 
 my band, and said, in a scarcely audible voice — 
 
 “ There is hope.” 
 
 February 4 . 
 
 This evening, brother Conrad rejoined, us at 
 the reading of the Scriptures. We are reading 
 through the Book of the prophet Isaiah. The 
 chapters read to-day were from lii. to lvi. 
 
48 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 “ Surely lie Lath borne our griefs, and carried 
 our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, 
 smitten of God, and afflicted. 
 
 “ But he was wounded for our transgressions, 
 he was bruised for our iniquities : the chastise- 
 ment of our peace was upon him ; and with his 
 stripes we are healed. 
 
 “ All we, like sheep, have gone astray ; we 
 have turned every one to his own way ; and the 
 Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” 
 
 And again — 
 
 u Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
 waters, and he that hath no money: come ye, 
 buy and eat ; yea, come, buy wine and milk with- 
 out money, and without price.” 
 
 Methought the living words never brought to 
 my heart such a warm feeling of the unmerited 
 and unutterable love of God before ; and as the 
 lantern-bearer went his rounds, casting the light 
 on one after another, I saw that brother Conrad’s 
 face was wet with tears, and he did not try to 
 hide them — a strange thing for so proud a man. 
 
 February 12. — St. Eulalia , Virgin and Martyr . 
 
 I never saw a man so changed as brother Con- 
 rad. His heart seems opened ; it is as if a hand 
 which knew the secret had touched some hidden 
 spring, and the closed vessel had sprung open in 
 an instant. Instead of his soul being a dark 
 thing folded up in its own gloom, it seems an 
 open house full of peace and Lght, and warming 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 49 
 
 all who come near him. The old smile of con- 
 temptuous pity has given way to one of kindly 
 interest. In place of the dead mechanical sub- 
 mission with which he used to obey the com- 
 mands of the superiors, it seems now his joy and 
 his “meat” to minister to all as the servant of 
 Him who came to minister. 
 
 This evening, as we returned from a visitation 
 in the forest, we passed Nannerl’s cottage; the 
 children (she has three now) were standing at 
 the door waiting to catch the first glimpse of 
 their father as he returned from his day’s work 
 at the Abbey. When he came in sight, they all 
 ran out to meet him. The two eldest clung to 
 his coat, the youngest tottered after them until 
 he caught her in his arms and covered her with 
 kisses. 
 
 “ What is it,” said Conrad, wiien we had 
 passed, u to be able to call God Father! ” 
 
 “ Yes,” I replied, “and heaven home” 
 
 God gives strength by giving peace. 
 
 To Conrad as to St. Paul the Son of God has 
 been revealed ; and the Spirit of God fills every 
 corner of his ruined and desolate heart with the 
 music of “ Abba, Father.” 
 
 February 14. 
 
 The poor people are beginning everywhere to 
 suffer from the scarcity of the late harvest, added 
 to the inclemency of the season. They throng 
 our gates, imploring charity for the love of Christ. 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Our lord the Abbot has emptied the Abbey 
 granaries of all the superfluous corn ; and this 
 week we have sent brother Theodore to Bam- 
 berg, with a trusty escort, to sell some of our 
 most richly illuminated manuscripts, with the 
 gems wherewith they were studded. Brother 
 Theodore almost wept to see his beloved manu- 
 scripts thus stripped ; and scarce could all I said 
 about the living epistles being even more pre- 
 cious than the written ones, assuage his grief. 
 “ The collections and labors of a century,” he 
 says, “ scattered in a week, and betrayed per- 
 chance into the hands of the ignorant and profane, 
 or of some rival order ! ” 
 
 Also we have sold some of the church plate 
 and decorations, and sundry of the more costly 
 vestments, to buy corn withal. Some murmur 
 at this as a desecration of holy things, but brother 
 Conrad saith, “It is but laying them up in a 
 safe place, until we want them, with a sure 
 Keeper.” 
 
 He himself hath been very busy of late copying 
 manuscripts of the Holy Scriptures, a new occu- 
 pation for him until within the last few months, 
 he being more used to handle- the sword than the 
 pen. At the first, his letters were very uncouth 
 and unchristian-like, but he laughed at his mis- 
 takes until he conquered them, and now scarcely 
 can brother Theodore write more rapidly or in 
 more beautiful and legible characters. He labor- 
 eth at it day and nig] it, designing to sell these 
 
BROTH Ell BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 51 
 
 copies for the famishing peasants. Also the 
 copying of the holy words nourisheth his own 
 soul : so that, in watering, “ lie is watered also 
 himself.” 
 
 It is piteous to see the poor starving people 
 thronging the Abbey courts : mothers holding 
 up their crying children, themselves complaining 
 not — old men tottering from feebleness, and 
 stout youths from famine. We are expecting 
 supplies from Bamberg. 
 
 March. 
 
 Brother Conrad seems daily to grow in grace 
 and in the knowledge of the Scriptures. To-day 
 he said to me, after matins — 
 
 “Once, looking on the height from which I 
 had descended, I thought myself a man of mar- 
 velous humility, until looking up I saw how low 
 my Saviour had to stoop to reach me. Now I 
 can never wonder enough at my pride and His 
 grace. Some,” he added, “ paint humility with 
 downcast eyes, looking as if she thought every 
 one was saying, c See how humble she is ! ’ but 
 true humility looks freely up to heaven, knowing 
 what she is, and where ; and then forgetting her- 
 self in thinking what God is.” 
 
 He is like one moving softly in the calm of a 
 royal presence. Yet I sometimes tremble at his 
 questions about our Holy Mother Church and 
 her doctrines. His mind is direct and simple as 
 a child’s; and having caught the thread of a 
 
52 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 truth, he follows it on through the Scripture, 
 without ever heeding what nets he may tread 
 through, or what sacred enclosures he may tram- 
 ple down in his path. I fear whither this may 
 lead him. 
 
 This evening we had been sitting in the dusk, 
 discoursing of the legends of the saints, and their 
 appearing amongst us — of the warrior St. James 
 — of him who was pierced through with many 
 arrows, yet not slain — of the virgin Margaret, 
 daisy and pearl of Paradise — of the lamb-like 
 Agnes, her woes and her triumphs — and of many 
 others, knights and ladies of the court of heaven. 
 
 Afterwards, when we were alone, he asked 
 me — 
 
 “ Why pray to the saints when we may speak 
 directly to God ? ” 
 
 I was somewhat startled at the abruptness of 
 the question, but I said — 
 
 “ In our monastery we may all apply directly 
 to our lord the Abbot, yet many choose rather 
 to prefer any suit through me, knowing that the 
 Abbot has a favor unto me.” 
 
 u That may be/’ lie replied; “but the Abbot 
 is not our father, nor has he expressly commanded 
 us to make known all our requests unto him.” 
 
 The saints, or He who sanctifieth them, pre- 
 serve us from all rash speculations ! nevertheless, 
 the growth and fervor of brother Conrad often 
 shame my cold and slothful heart. I seem not 
 to grow, and sometimes, in looking back to the 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 53 
 
 early clays of my Christian life, I am ready to 
 cry, “Where is the blessedness I spake of then?” 
 It seems to have faded away like a gleam at sun- 
 rise on a gray and rainy day. Can it then be 
 with us as with the Church? Are the early 
 days necessarily those of freshest love and purest 
 zeal ? 
 
 This would seem as if eternal life were doomed, 
 like corruptible things, to decreptitude and de- 
 cay. But no, it is not so. St. Paul speaks of 
 growth — Conrad grows ; the fault is in me — my 
 heart is so dead, my hope at times so feeble, and 
 my prayers so mechanical : can I have mistaken 
 my vocation ? 
 
 tl Rex tremendse Majestatis, 
 
 Qui salvandos salvas gratis. 
 
 Salva me Tons pietatis. 
 
 “ Rccordarc Jesu pie 
 Quod sum causa tuae vise, 
 
 Ne me pcrdas ilia die. 
 
 “ Quserens me sedisti lassus, 
 
 Redemisti, crucem passus ; 
 
 Tantus labor non sit cassas.” 
 
 April 13. — St. Justin the Martyr. 
 
 Our supplies of corn are arrived, and the vil- 
 lagers come daily to the Abbey gates for their 
 portion. It is blessed thus to be stewards of 
 God’s storehouses, to give His people meat 
 in due season, though it be only meat for the 
 body. 
 
54 
 
 THE DIAKY OF 
 
 April 23. — St. George the Martyr. 
 
 Yesterday a young Frenchman visited us from 
 the University of Paris. We gave him a night's 
 lodging, and he repaid us by proving various 
 theological and other theses. 
 
 I marveled at the readiness and skill with 
 which he tossed the ball of argument, and caught 
 it again more deftly than the expertest jongleur ; 
 but brother Conrad sat silent and displeased — he 
 afiecteth not such juggler’s play with truths. 
 
 Many curious questions were, however, started 
 by the learned student — as, “Whether angels 
 could strictly be said to fly, seeing spirits have 
 no place, whereas flying is motion, and motion 
 change of place.” 
 
 “ Why the nose was placed above, instead of 
 below the mouth.” 
 
 “ Yfhat God would have done if Adam had 
 not listened to the seductions of our mother Eve, 
 and eaten of the forbidden fruit.” * 
 
 Whilst he was subtilely debating this last 
 point, brother Conrad suddenly rose, and con- 
 fronting the stranger, said — 
 
 “ When a man is shipwrecked, it is no time to 
 be discussing the conduct of the helmsman, or 
 how the rope was manufactured which is thrown 
 out to save him.” 
 
 The student w^as silenced for a moment, then 
 he said — 
 
 * SeeNeander’s “ St. Bernard.” 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 55 
 
 “That, reverend sir, may admit of argument; 
 permit me to state the matter syllogistically.” 
 
 “ I am no scholar,” rejoined Conrad, “but this 
 I know : when our Lord shall come again, there 
 is one question which will place us among the 
 saved or the lost — ‘Do you know me as the 
 Redeemer of your soul?’ And if we can say Yes, 
 all the wisdom of angels will be opened to us 
 afterwards in His presence.” 
 
 The Frenchman was proceeding to debate the 
 point, when our brother laid his hand gently on 
 his arm, and said — 
 
 “ Young man, I think you are a disciple of 
 Peter Abelard ; he is a great man, but our Lord 
 Jesus Christ is infinitely greater. Read His 
 Word; follow Him; He can save you — Abelard 
 can not.” 
 
 The student colored. 
 
 “ Master Peter has been foully slandered,” he 
 exclaimed ; “ but all admit his wisdom now. Who 
 disputes his orthodoxy here ?” 
 
 None of the brotherhood offered to enter the 
 lists with so fierce and skilled a combatant, but 
 Conradxsaid quietly — 
 
 “ I slander none. I knew Abelard at Clugni ; 
 he was a man of mighty intellectual power, and 
 has, I trow, passed through hard conflicts. To 
 his own Master he standeth or falleth : but I 
 believe his scholars trifle with truth as he would 
 never have dared. There is nothing so far from 
 the childlike heart to which God reveals His 
 
56 
 
 TIIE DIARY OE 
 
 secrets, as the childish vanity of those who play 
 with things before which the angels veil their 
 faces. Beware, as you value your salvation, that 
 whilst you are making confects and dainty dishes 
 with the Bread of Life, your own soul do not 
 starve.” 
 
 “ A worthy man,” whispered the student to 
 brother Lupacius, when Conrad had left, “ but 
 lamentably behind the age.” 
 
 “You were hard on the stranger,” I said to 
 brother Conrad in the evening. 
 
 “Was I?” he said. “ It makes me shudder to 
 hear sentenced malefactors, such as we are, play- 
 ing with the message of pardon and deliverance 
 the Sovereign sends them at the cost of such 
 anguish to the Deliverer. That man can never 
 utter truth who has never himself felt it un- 
 utterable.” 
 
 J une. 
 
 It is long since I have handled the pen, having 
 been laid on my bed by severe sickness. Even 
 now my hand trembleth, yet must I record my 
 thanks to Him who has raised me from the gates 
 of the grave. 
 
 “ The living, the living, he shall praise thee, 
 and declare thy truth.” The famine was followed 
 by a grievous plague. Want and hunger, and 
 irregular feeding, have made fearful ravages 
 amongst the peasantry. I, myself, with brother 
 Conrad, closed the eyes of many who had been 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 57 
 
 abandoned of their kindred ; not without hope for 
 some, that their eyes would open one day to 
 welcome the morning of the resurrection. 
 
 Nannerl’s youngest child died. How she 
 watched and tended it, never heeding herself! 
 
 Brother Conrad sat with me day and night, 
 during my illness ; and when I began to recover, 
 he would read to me for hours together in the 
 
 Sacred Scriptures. We seemed never to weary 
 of the blessed words. To me they were as 
 refreshing draughts. 
 
 When I left my room for the first time, at the 
 door I met Otho the robber. He seized my hands 
 and pressed them to his lips. They say he had 
 watched there morning, noon, and night, waiting 
 to do any little service, and was not to be 
 tempted from his post by entreaties or remon- 
 strances. 
 
 How could I have dreamed that Thou, O Lord, 
 wouldst have called forth such streams for me 
 from the rock ! 
 
 They led me into the convent garden. I sat 
 for an hour or two there in the sunshine. How 
 the birds^saug that day ! 
 
 July 1. 
 
 Brother Conrad has taken my place in the 
 hospital — I his, by the bedside. He is wondrous 
 grateful and patient. 
 
 At times, with the fierceness of the fever, his 
 mind wanders, and then lie seems to dream 
 
58 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 himself engaged in mortal combat, either with 
 the infidels or other fiercer foes, even the spirits 
 which believe and hate ; yet he seems scarcely 
 ever to lose sight of Him who overcame by dying ; 
 at some moments appearing to cling to Him as a 
 drowning man to a plank. 
 
 July 4. 
 
 To-day, as I stood in the sick-room, just as the 
 stars were going out in the gray of the morning, 
 he spoke to me very feebly ; 1 went to his bed- 
 side. 
 
 “I have been lying awake long/’ he said; u I 
 have had a fearful conflict. I sank through an 
 abyss — an abyss of darkness. My sins weighed 
 me down and down through the bottomless 
 depths. Beneath me was nothing : everything I 
 clung to melted away and sank down with me — 
 the earth, the stars, all men, and all they have 
 made. Below the abyss of darkness was an abyss 
 of fire ; slow noiseless flames burned on and 
 languished not ; the smoke of their torment went 
 up for ever and ever. I could not speak; there 
 was no sound in the dead air, and still everything 
 I grasped slipped from my touch, and I and they 
 fell on together, noiselessly. I despaired utterly, 
 yet, from the depths of my sinking heart, I 
 grasped Jesus/’ 
 
 “ Then my hands clasped something which did 
 not give way. It was the root of the tree on 
 which He bore our sins. It went below the 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 59 
 
 depths of the fire, and was not consumed; in the 
 universal dissolution it stood firm, for it had 
 foundations. It rested on God, and I rested on 
 it, arid as I clung to it, one drop of the precious 
 blood fell on me — the blood of the Son of God ! 
 The fever was cooled — the fire was quenched — in 
 the place of hell stood the open sepulchre, and on 
 it sat angels in white ; in the place of the abyss 
 of darkness, above me was an abyss of impene- 
 trable light. The angels floated away into the 
 heavens, singing, c He is not here ; he is risen.’ I 
 looked after them, and when they were lost in 
 the light, other voices joined them ; and in the 
 distance they sounded low and sweet as a voice 
 from the depths of my own soul ; and they 
 sang — 
 
 uc There is joy in heaven and, c Ile seeth of 
 the travail of his soul, and is satificdf 
 
 “ So, with their songs in my ears, and my head 
 on the foot of the cross — below me the empty 
 tomb — I fell asleep. Now, I have been lying awake 
 long, wrapped in a sweet calm. It was a dream, 
 brother Bartholomew ; but hell, and the cross, 
 and the resurrection, are no dreams ; I am awake, 
 but the night is around me no more ; all is day — 
 eternal, unutterably blessed day !” 
 
 I knelt beside my brothers bed, and gave 
 thanks in silence. Then I gave him some fresh 
 fruit ; and, exhausted by the effort he had made, 
 he slept again, and has scarce spoken since for 
 this day. 
 
60 
 
 THE DIARY OP 
 
 July 8. 
 
 This morning, as I watched beside him, he 
 said, as if to himself — 
 
 ( “ Yes ; it is true ! He has gone down to the 
 
 depths for us, and is set on the heights for us. 
 He that believeth hath everlasting Life ! I be- 
 lieve ; therefore I live — live for ever a life of un- 
 speakable, undefiled, unfading joy. ‘They shall 
 never perish.’ ‘He that believeth not is con- 
 demned already.’ There is, then, no middle state 
 between imperishable life and condemnation. 
 Here we may pass from death unto life — there, 
 there is a great gulf fixed which can not be 
 crossed over. The fire of God’s just wrath 
 twice seen — in the cross , forsaking His own Son 
 — and in hell . His blood must be upon us either 
 to cleanse or to condemn. Brother,” he said, 
 turning to me, “ was the work of expiation 
 finished on the cross ?” 
 
 “Unquestionably,” I replied; “having by 
 Himself purged our sins, He is seated as one 
 resting after a completed work, at the right hand 
 of God.” 
 
 “ Then,” he said, deliberately fixing his pene- 
 trating eyes on me, “ there can be no purgatory. 
 The cross is the only purgatory ! For those who 
 believe in it, no second purgatory is needed : for 
 those who reject it, no second is possible — there 
 remaineth no further sacrifice for sins.” 
 
 I feared to engage him in debate just then, 
 dreading recurrence of fever, but I conjured him 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 61 
 
 to leave such dangerous speculations until his 
 soundness of mind and body is restored. 
 
 He smiled, but said no more, desiring me to 
 read to him from the 10th chapter of St. John. 
 When I had closed the book, he said — 
 
 “ He is the Door as well as the Shepherd of 
 the fold : the channel, as well as the source of 
 life. Then, it is the Lord who unites us to the 
 Church, not the Church to the Lord. Where He 
 is, the Church is ; where He is not, there is 
 nothing but death.” 
 
 I said, a The Church is the steward of the 
 manifold grace of God.” 
 
 “ Yes !” he replied ; “ and it is required of 
 stewards that they be found faithful. If, there- 
 fore, the Church, priests, sacraments, saints, seek 
 to come between us and our God, they at once 
 hide the light and cease to shine. In eclipsing 
 they are darkened.” 
 
 Julij 9 . 
 
 To morrow he is to leave the hospital for the 
 first time. 
 
 July 11 . 
 
 Brother Canrad’s first attendance at the offer- 
 ing of the adorable sacrifice since his illness. 
 
 It was a high festival, being the day of the 
 commemoration of the holy Benedict. 
 
 The silver and golden vessels of the altar were 
 all uncovered ; the church glittered and glowed 
 6 
 
62 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 with rich decorations and stained light. The 
 choristers sang with voices like nightingales or 
 angels. 
 
 But in the afternoon, Conrad said — 
 
 “How much of what we call church-music 
 must be mere noise to heavenly beings! — the 
 melody in the heart failing.” 
 
 Again he thinks that the sacrifice of the cross 
 being complete, it is mockery to profess to re- 
 peat it; and being divine, none but God can 
 offer it. 
 
 Also, he deduces from the writings of St. Peter 
 and St. Paul, that there are only two priesthoods 
 in the Christian Church — the unchangeable priest- 
 hood of Him who hath entered into the holy 
 place by His own blood, there to make interces- 
 sion for us ; and the priesthood of the whole liv- 
 ing Church by virtue of her union with Him, set 
 apart to offer spiritual sacrifices. 
 
 July 20. 
 
 Brother Conrad seems to become confirmed in 
 his new convictions. Pie hath a perilous way 
 of tracing things out to their consequences, which* 
 I fear may lead him to consequences I shudder to 
 think of. 
 
 I never have felt tempted to this. 
 
 I also believe in the perfect pardon obtained 
 by the perfect atonement ; but, nevertheless, I 
 thankfully receive the absolution of the ambas- 
 sadors of heaven. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. (fo 
 
 I also believe in the sufficiency of the one Me- 
 diator ; but, nevertheless, I am glad to avail my. 
 self of the intercession of the saints. 
 
 I also believe in the high priesthood of the Son 
 of God ; yet I dare not question the existence of 
 a Levitical order in the Church. 
 
 I conjure him not to speak openly of these 
 things. He promises to do nothing rashly, but, 
 saith he, “ I dare not teach the smallest lie, since 
 the truth is my life.” 
 
 Also he saith, “ Every truth taught me is a 
 talent intrusted me, therewith to trade for the 
 glory of my Lord. In hiding, I waste them.” 
 
 He says he believes some may cling so close to 
 Christ, that ail their errors lie dead and nugatory 
 outside; but, nevertheless, he asserts that all 
 which is not truth is falsehood, and all falsehood 
 is pernicious — tending to lull the slumbering, and 
 to harass the earnest ; that all which is not armor 
 is a weight burdening us and hindering our course ; 
 that if Jesus himself neutralizes the poison for us , 
 it is still poison when we present it to others. 
 
 August 10. — St. Laurence . 
 
 Oth o the robber is dead, having caught the 
 fever from us. 
 
 “ Thou receivest sinners.” i 
 
 \ 
 
 August 20. i 
 
 Woe is me ! to what is my brother fallen ! 
 
 A few weeks since he went to visit a sick 
 man. The man had led a very abandoned life ; 
 
64 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 his heart seemed closed to all brother Conrad’s 
 appeals ; but as he was leaving, the dying man 
 called out to him, “ Father, you are a holy man; 
 when you come to see me again, bring me the 
 last sacraments of the Church, and I will give 
 you all the money I have left, to offer up masses 
 for my soul.” 
 
 Conrad was shocked at the request, and going 
 back to the bed, he said — 
 
 “ The pardons of God are free, They are to be 
 had by those who want them for asking, but not 
 for gold.” 
 
 And he refused to receive any money to 
 pray his soul out of purgatory, even telling him 
 that God offered us no choice besides heaven 
 and hell, conjuring him with tears to accept the 
 pardon so dearly bought and so freely given. 
 
 But the man persisted, asking, with oaths, 
 what priests were for, if not to save the souls of 
 their Hocks. 
 
 And so, unshriven and unanointed, he died. 
 
 At his death, the relations came to the Abbey 
 and complained to our lord the Abbot of Conrad’s 
 conduct. 
 
 At first the Abbot, being a man of an easy 
 temper (although fiery withal), would not believe 
 the report ; but on our brother being called and 
 questioned, he deliberately and unhesitatingly 
 confirmed the conversation in every point. 
 
 They threatened, exhorted, and disputed with 
 him — but in vain. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 65 
 
 The discussion seemed only to confirm brother 
 Conrad, whilst it made our Lord the Abbot very 
 angry, so that at last he swore, if Conrad did 
 not abjure his errors within three days, he would 
 excommunicate him, and hand him over to the 
 secular arm. 
 
 He made no reply, and was sentenced to be 
 imprisoned in his cell. 
 
 The three days elapsed swiftly. 
 
 At length, on the eve of the appointed day, I 
 obtained leave to repair to his cell, and make one 
 more effort to save him. But verily, when I 
 entered therein and saw with what marvelous 
 sweetness and composure he sat awaiting the 
 morrow, all the skillful exhortations I had framed 
 wellnigh died away on my lips. Yet I believe I 
 spoke to him faithfully of the Holy Mother 
 Church, reminding him that she who had born 
 and nourished countless hosts of saints and mar- 
 tyrs was worthy of all reverence, and conjuring 
 him not to suffer himself to be cut off from her 
 communion ; but he said with a smile — 
 
 iC My brother, it is God, and not the Church, 
 who hath begotten and nourished the saints and 
 martyrs; ‘begotten by the resurrection of Jesus 
 Christ from the dead,’ and ‘ nourished and cher- 
 ished by the Lord Himself.’ This outward 
 framework of ordinances and institutions is not 
 the Church. It has cost me much to learn it ; 
 but truth is worth everything.” 
 
 Then I entreated him to remember the holy 
 6 * 
 
66 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 words with which she had sustained him, and 
 her divine offices, gently leading him from infan- 
 cy to manhood. Where martyrs died he might 
 surely be saved ; in leaving her, what security 
 could he have ? “ This/’ he replied: “ c my sheep 
 know my voice, and they follow me, and none 
 shall pluck them from my hand.’ Ilis voice is 
 in the Bible ; anything which seeks to silence 
 that, can not be from Him. The Church can 
 neither give life nor take it.” 
 
 I forebore to argue further, seeing that it was 
 vain, but we knelt once more together and 
 prayed. 
 
 Can the devil give such heavenly composure ? 
 Can any but God inspire such prayers ? Can he 
 be right ? 
 
 Holy Benedict, and Bartholomew, and Mary, 
 mother of God, forgive me, and pray for us 
 both! 
 
 I can not hate the heretic, but a heretic myself 
 I will never be. 
 
 Hi * * * * Hi H« 
 
 It was midnight ; the altar lamps were lighted, 
 the solemn service commenced ; the incense, the 
 lights, the awful music — they float before me 
 like a dream — only, in the midst, one form stands 
 out real, as if I could touch it now — one brought 
 there to be degraded and cursed, and yet with a 
 countenance as calm and radiant as that of the 
 martyr Stephen, when, looking up, he saw the 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 67 
 
 glory of God, and Jesus at the right hand of 
 God. 
 
 The service ceased ; the lights were extin- 
 guished one by one, and in the silence of the 
 awe-stricken assembly, and through the arches 
 of the lofty roof, echoed only from time to time 
 the terrific words, u Anathema! anathema! ana- 
 thema ! ” 
 
 And the excommunicated heretic was led back 
 to his cell. 
 
 My brother — my brother Conrad — thou who 
 wast my companion, mine equal, and mine own 
 familiar friend ; we took sweet counsel together, 
 and walked in the house of God as friends! 
 
 What if, whilst they were pealing anathemas, 
 the Lord Jesus was whispering, “Come, thou 
 blessed of my Father ! ” What if 
 
 [Here occur an erasure and a blank in the 
 manuscript.] 
 
 # 
 
 August 15. 
 
 Brother Conrad’s cell was this morning found 
 empty 
 
 We have searched for him everywhere, but in 
 vain ; we can discover no traces of him. 
 
 In my heart I can not help half rejoicing; and 
 our lord the Abbot is, I trow, not sorry ; yet to 
 have lost thee, my brother, my son ! 
 
68 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Fragments of Letters found amongst the Secret 
 Papers of the Abbey of Marienthal , at its de- 
 struction, during the Thirty Years' War. [ Sup- 
 posed never to have reached their destination .] 
 
 I 
 
 FRAGMENT OF LETTER THE FIRST. 
 
 In the name of Him who has called us from 
 idols to serve Him, the living and true God — and 
 to wait for His Son from heaven — grace and 
 peace ! 
 
 I, Conrad, write these words unto thee, Bar- 
 tholomew, my friend, and my brother, knowing 
 that thou wilt often have wondered at my sudden 
 disappearing — to tell thee of my safety, and of 
 the love and gratitude with which I constantly 
 remember thee ; giving thanks for thee in all my 
 prayers. 
 
 I send this packet to the house of our friend 
 Magdalis, there to be left for thee by a trusty 
 hand. If thou desirest to hold further communi- 
 cation with me, outcast as I am, the same hand 
 will be ready to receive thy missive ; if not, these 
 lines can not endanger thee. 
 
 I made my escape by wrenching out the bars 
 of my prison windows. I believe I do not dread 
 death, having met it often, and having now 
 learned to see through it — yet life is precious 
 when we can lay it out for our Saviour; and I 
 was glad to deliver the Abbot from blood- 
 guiltiness, and thy tender heart from much sorrow. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 69 
 
 I reached the top of the hill which bounds our 
 valley, at the morning twilight. The village lay 
 dim in the mist, the Abbey tower rose up through 
 it, and the voice of the river came to me like the 
 farewell of a friend ; of thee I could take none ! 
 My heart misgave me : I was about to cut the last 
 cable which bound me to the shore of happy 
 days — the birthplace of a new life ; but I turned 
 away. The boat was launched — the little creek, 
 apart from the tides and currents of the main, 
 was left behind, and with it my regrets. 
 
 There are but two calms, the calm of the grave 
 and of heaven — the rest of death and of perfected 
 life. To rest before the voyage is over is to miss 
 the haven. 
 
 I passed through valley after valley, keeping 
 on the skirts of the forest : and at evening, when 
 the long shadows crept down over the meadows, 
 and the herds of goats crept on before them in 
 the sunshine, I stole out to beg a morsel of bread 
 of the goatherd, and to drink of the stream. With 
 one of these poor herdsmen I changed clothes, 
 and in this disguise entered Heidelberg. 
 
 It was a solemn joy to lie awake at night, with 
 nothing between me and the infinite starry 
 heavens — nothing between my soul and God. 
 
 It was a feast to awake in the morning, in the 
 free forest, with the open sky above me — to feel 
 that I might go whithersoever I would ; and yet 
 to know that all my goings had a purpose — the 
 purpose of HiVn who guideth us with His eye. 
 
70 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 I felt I had issued from the dull and smoky 
 lamplight into the daylight ; from a narrow 
 monk’s world into the unbounded God’s world : 
 and the world was a household, and I His child ! 
 
 I prayed earnestly, that if there were yet any 
 in the world who lived simply by the eternal life 
 He had manifested, and the rule He had given, I 
 might find them — that we might not be traveling 
 the same road in the same service, and yet walk 
 as strangers to one another. 
 
 For many weeks it seemed as if I were not 
 heard. 
 
 The life of the cities was as a strange discord 
 to my ears; they seemed like cities of Cain — 
 music was there, and workers with all manner of 
 tools, in all manner of metals ; but God was not 
 there. All the noise was but to drown the voice 
 of the River of Life, which, meanwhile, flowed on 
 beside them, bearing them swiftly to eternity. 
 
 Priests were there, and cathedrals, and they 
 sang truths which might have saved the souls of 
 all who heard them ; but they sang them in a 
 language the people could not understand. Was 
 not this also mere din to drown eternal voices ? 
 
 They made the church windows opaque at 
 f noon, with beautiful colors, that men might see 
 the altar tapers. 
 
 And there were processions, and preachers, 
 preaching pilgrimages to Jerusalem, and recount- 
 ing the merits of sacred images, and dead bones ; 
 but of the journey each man is going, whether he 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 7l 
 
 will or no — of the living God, His love, and His 
 light — of His defaced image in man, and its resto- 
 ration through the Second Man, the Lord from 
 heaven — of the mystery, now a mystery no more, 
 which changes us from homeless and aimless 
 vagabonds into pilgrims journeying home, with- 
 hands and hearts full of blessings — I heard in the 
 high places not a word. 
 
 Oh, if men did but know what Voice they are 
 rejecting — what are its words, and its tones ! 
 
 Some, indeed, were toiling earnestly to reach 
 the heavens, making themselves wretched to 
 please God, as if He had never given His Son to 
 make them happy — toiling, as if the Light of the 
 heaven of heavens had never come down to men, 
 saying, “ Come (not to heaven — that you can not) 
 but to Me : I am the Resurrection and the Life ; 
 in Me you shall live and rise.” 
 
 It was all the old heathendom — with a Chris- 
 tian name. 
 
 And again I prayed earnestly, that, if any still 
 adhered to the simplicity of the faith once 
 delivered to the saints, I might discover them. 
 So I journeyed on, speaking from time to time, 
 to those I met, of the blessed message, if by any 4 
 means its music might strike on a string that * 
 could echo it. Some were careless, and some 
 mocked, and some received the good tidings 
 eagerly, yet as a new thing. None seemed to 
 recognize in them a familiar voice. 
 
 At length, one day, when I was about three 
 
THE DIARY OF 
 
 72 
 
 leagues from one of the free cities, 1 fell in with 
 a pedlar, walking beside his mule. He did not 
 look like a son of the north ; there was something 
 in the grave cheerfulness of his countenance and 
 bearing which interested me, and I accosted him. 
 
 He displayed to me his wares ; some few of 
 them were costly silks and stones, for the castle, 
 but the greater part were woollen and cheap 
 ornaments, for the peasantry. 
 
 Then he asked me my calling, for by this time 
 I had changed my herdsman’s dress for that of a 
 burgher, earning the pric£ by copying manu- 
 scripts. 
 
 “I, too, am a merchant,” I replied; “but all 
 my property is invested in one jewel. Your goods 
 perish in the using, mine multiply.” 
 
 He looked at me with peculiar earnestness. 
 “ Incorruptible things are not bought and sold,” 
 he said, significantly. 
 
 “No!” I rejoined: “ Freely ye have received, 
 freely give.” 
 
 He paused, and fixing his eyes on me with a 
 gaze of eager inquiry, he said in Provengal 
 French — 
 
 “ Blessed are ye when men shall revile you, 
 and shall separate you from their company, and 
 shall reproach you, and cast out your name as 
 evil, for the Son of man’s sake.” 
 
 My father’s castle was near the Pyrenees, and 
 I knew the Provengal dialect well, and replied 
 by continuing the quotation — 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 13 
 
 u Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy ; for 
 behold your reward is great in heaven ; for in the 
 like manner did their fathers unto the prophets.” 
 
 He held out his hand, and we embraced each 
 other as brethren. When He shall come with 
 clouds, there will be many rapturous recogni- 
 tions; but few will surpass the pure joy of that 
 day to me. 
 
 “ I thought,” he observed, “ when first you 
 spoke to me, that you were one of us — and yet I 
 scarcely knew why.” 
 
 “Are there, then, many of you?” I asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 For a moment he glanced at me half suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 “ You must know as well as I do,” he replied, 
 laconically : “ the birds of the air have their 
 nests !” 
 
 Then I related to him my history, at least as 
 much as was needful, and when I had finished, he 
 grasped my hand again, more cordially than be- 
 fore, saying — 
 
 “ Blessed are those who have never been within 
 the walls of Babylon ! — more blessed they who 
 have burst her bonds and come out of her !” * 
 
 And he briefly sketched to me the story of his 
 own life. 
 
 His name was Peter Waldo; his native place 
 
 * It is not to be wondered at, if the Vaudois, and other Christian 
 sects of the Middle Ages, like the early Reformers, concluded the 
 form of Antichristian power predominant in their days to have been 
 the final one. They are constantly spoken of as having done so. 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Lyons. The sudden death of a friend, at a feast, 
 had first turned bis heart to God and His Word. 
 In reading, like myself, he became convinced that 
 the Church of the Pope was not a divine institu- 
 tion — not the true Church, but the dead image of 
 a church, moved not by the breath of life, but 
 by machinery. Because he believed, he spoke, 
 and then he found that many had believed and 
 spoken the same things before. It had not been 
 left for him to disinter the pearl — thousands pos- 
 sessed it already.. The truth, in making him free, 
 had not isolated him, but had, for the first time, 
 brought him into a brotherhood of Christian 
 people. Henceforth, having received the promise 
 of an eternal inheritance, he joyfully confessed 
 himself a stranger on the earth, living not to 
 himself but to Him who died for us. He caused 
 two translations of the Bible to be made into the 
 vulgar dialects of France and Piedmont, spending 
 his whole wealth in multiplying copies of these, 
 and in assisting the poor of the flock. The priests 
 and magistrates cast him out of Lyons, and now 
 they persecute him from city to city ; but every- 
 where he scatters precious seed, selling perish- 
 able goods, that he may be enabled freely to give 
 the imperishable ; preaching the gospel of the 
 kingdom, and gathering together the children ol 
 God that are scattered abroad.* 
 
 The multitudes which follow this way in all 
 
 * For this account of Waldo and the Christian sects of the Middle 
 Agee, see Mosheim, Milner, Host’s History ae VEglise des Freres , 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 75 
 
 places, but more especially in Bohemia, the south 
 of France, and amongst the Alps of northern 
 Italy, are incredible — but I withhold details, 
 from reasons which thou mayest well surmise. 
 
 There are also some wild and fanatical people, 
 led away by their own fleshly minds, or by false 
 teachers, who suffer themselves to be misled by 
 an unchastened zeal, to resist the authorities and 
 pull down the churches; and these the persecutors 
 take pains to confound with the simple Christians, 
 massing them all together as Manichean heretics : 
 but they are no more allied than art thou, my 
 brother, to those that burn them. 
 
 Before I close, I will give thee a brief account 
 of their manner of assembling and wmrshiping^ 
 and my admission amongst them, refraining from 
 indicating the place otherwise than as a city in 
 Swabia. 
 
 It was at the house of a poor weaver. Peter 
 Waldo led me to the door at the dusk of the 
 evening. We were admitted in silence, and the 
 door barred after us. Then passing singly through 
 a dark, narrow passage, the master of the house 
 pressed the floor at the end of it with his foot, 
 and innpediately a trap-door sprang open, re- 
 vealing a stone staircase. We descended into a 
 low damp cellar, where twenty or thirty people, 
 men and women, were already gathered around 
 one whom they seemed to recognize as their 
 teacher and president. He approached us, and 
 embracing my companion, welcomed me amongst 
 
76 
 
 THE DIARY OP 
 
 them. When it was stated that I wished to join 
 them, he said — 
 
 44 Then you have learned the meaning of the 
 peace of God ? — for in the world we have nothing 
 to offer you but tribulation.” 
 
 44 1 have,” I replied ; u to me all things are 
 dross compared with the knowledge of Christ 
 Jesus my Lord.” 
 
 44 It is well, my brother,” he said ; 44 for if we 
 be dead, we believe that we also live with Him 
 — if we suffer , we shall also reign with Him. 
 The kingdom of God shall yet be set on high 
 amongst men, and the high places of the proud 
 shall be cast down. For the day of the Lord 
 shall be to us a day of redemption.” 
 
 Then the whole assembly joined in a circle 
 round me,* whilst I knelt before the president, 
 and he laid the book of the Gospels on my head, 
 repeating, in a low, impressive voice, the Lord’s 
 Prayer, and the first verses of the Gospel of St. 
 John. 
 
 “ Blessed,” he said, in addition, to me, 44 art 
 thou! for flesh and blood hath not revealed it 
 unto thee, but our Father which is in heaven.” 
 
 And as I rose, the brethren greeted* me with 
 the holy kiss of brotherhood. 
 
 I thought, brother Bartholomew, of another* 
 midnight service — of the extinguished lights, the 
 degradation and the curses — and I felt that even 
 here I had been repaid an hundredfold. 
 
 * This account of the form of admission is historical. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 11 
 
 “ For I am persuaded,” as tliou knowest, “that 
 none of these things can separate us from the 
 love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 
 
 The president then read some chapters from 
 the Bible ; and after a short explanation and a 
 prayer — in which they prayed also for the per- 
 secutors, and for all in authority — and the sing- 
 ing of a hymn, we separated, drawn close to one 
 another, and to our Lord, by the Spirit of adop- 
 tion, and the presence of Him whom no splendid 
 offerings nor gorgeous ceremonial can charm 
 amongst us, but who is ever with the two or 
 three gathered in His name. 
 
 Every one who attended that meeting was 
 there on pain of death if discovered, so. that no 
 mere “smooth words” would have been suffi- 
 cient to sustain us. The Word was preached 
 with manifestation of the Spirit and power — for, 
 brother Bartholomew, it is a certain truth that 
 •the Spirit of God is sent forth from on high, and 
 abideth perpetually in the living temple of the 
 living God, as with every quickened soul. 
 
 The Church is not orphaned. 
 
 There is a Vicar of Christ on earth, and an In- 
 fallible Teacher, the other Comforter . 
 
 But it is not the Pope. | 
 
 i' 
 
 FRAGMENT OF LETTER THE SECOND. 
 
 Not receiving any answer from thee, I yet 
 venture to write thee again, believing that thy 
 
78 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 letter may have miscarried, and that mine can 
 bring thee into no trouble. 
 
 I have traveled through many places since last 
 I wrote thee, and everywhere found fragments of 
 this blessed brotherhood, bound together by no 
 secret vows or concerted signals, distinguished 
 by no peculiar garb, yet fitting together as exactly 
 as the fragments of a torn letter ; recognizing one 
 another as the children of one family by the 
 mysterious tie of kindred — loving one another 
 with the natural affection of new-created hearts. 
 
 I have found them among the industrious 
 craftsmen of the trading cities ; in Languedoc, 
 amongst the noble and learned of the land, but 
 chiefly amongst the recesses of the mountains — 
 God’s citadels of old for His oppressed people. 
 Especially amongst the Alps of northern Italy, on 
 the old Roman highroad from Italy to Gaul, they 
 are gathered in great numbers. Elsewhere, they 
 meet and part in secret, or are scattered in 
 families, or one by one; but there they are 
 gathered together in villages, and meet, in the 
 summer, in the open air, pealing their thanks- 
 givings, as loud as they will, to heaven. 
 
 There are no churches so grand as theirs, 
 brother Bartholomew — cathedrals of God’s own 
 building : gigantic rocks, mountains clothed like 
 saints in white, girding them around : for their 
 organ and instruments of music, the voices of 
 many waters; for their sacrifices, the offering of 
 redeemed and thankful hearts. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 79 
 
 An “ old, bad race of men,” their enemies call 
 them; and some of themselves say, that the 
 Apostle Paul himself first planted their Church, 
 and that it has been watered by the constant in- 
 flux of Christian exiles, persecuted first by Im- 
 perial, and since by Ecclesiastical Rome, men 
 who counted the reproach of Christ greater riches 
 than the treasures of Egypt. There is- an apostolic 
 succession, my brother, but it is not continued by 
 the laying on of men’s hands. 
 
 They speak much and reverently of one Claude, 
 Bishop of Turin, who died about three hundred 
 years ago, as a pillar of their Church. They are 
 a brave and industrious people, hardened by toil 
 and danger — for though some of their valleys are 
 fertile, it tasks their strength to the utmost to eke 
 out a subsistence from their mountain fields and 
 pastures ; and though, as yet, no persecution has 
 wasted their valleys, they live in constant perils, 
 and, as it were, with their lives in their hands — 
 or rather, in God’s hands. 
 
 In winter, many of the men will travel fifteen 
 or twenty miles on the Sunday, swimming 
 through rivers, and scaling mountains, to hear 
 the Word of God, and meet their brethren and 
 pastors ; and this, not because they deem such 
 meetings necessary to save their souls, but because 
 of the joy it gives, and the burning of the heart, 
 ■when a few disciples meet together in the name 
 of Jesus — and He in the midst. Many noblemen 
 and women of rank join them; some relinquishing 
 
80 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 wealth, and country, and kindred, to serve their 
 God in peace; and others residing in the castles 
 which crown the heights of their valleys. There 
 is a religious order — God’s clergy, the lot of His 
 inheritance — set apart from the world, not by 
 distinctive vows or habit, but simply by holding 
 forth the truth which the world hates, and living 
 the life of’ holiness which the world despises — 
 separated from the wanderers by going straight 
 forward— marked out from the darkness by shin- 
 ing — cast out by men, and set on high by God. 
 
 There is a holy war, but its weapons are not 
 carnal ; and a taking of the cross, but it is not a 
 sign of glory amongst men. 
 
 I am living now with Henri, a poor weaver of 
 Lyons, the native city of my friend, Peter Waldo. 
 Indeed, so many of the . simple Christians here 
 follow" this craft, that they are commonly called 
 the tisserands , or poor men of Lyons. But long, 
 I believe, I shall not be able to remain here, the 
 Abbot Bernard, of Clairvaux, having excited the 
 city, of late, against us. I remember thy speaking 
 of him as a Christian man — alas ! how many, even 
 of such, know not what they do ! 
 
 Our life is very quiet and simple. I maintain 
 myself, and assist the family of my host, by copy- 
 ing and translating manuscripts of the Scriptures : 
 thus also sowing, whilst I reap. At leisure hours, 
 I take rounds amongst the neighboring villages 
 and towns, sometimes with a pedlar’s wares, 
 sometimes without. The common people for the 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW, 
 
 81 
 
 most part hear us gladly, and not a few believe. 
 Of these, some remain attached outwardly to the 
 old ecclesiastical system, and some openly forsake 
 it ; this we leave to every man’s conscience, our 
 chief aim being to unite souls to Christ, and then 
 to leave them with Him. 
 
 We have had trouble in our family lately, 
 Henri having been laid on his pallet by fever and 
 prostration of strength for many weeks. 
 
 His lying there, so uncomplaining, often even 
 triumphing amidst his pain, seems to hallow the 
 cottage into a temple for all of us. As I sit at my 
 desk in the other corner of the room, I hear him 
 repeating whole psalms and books of the Bible 
 to himself — for thus it is our wont to make up 
 lor the scarcity of the copies of the Sacred Script- 
 ures. 
 
 At times, he calls us all to praise the Lord 
 with him; and then, the children joining us, we 
 sing a hymn around his bed. 
 
 Before meals, it is customary with us either to 
 kneel in silence for the space of twenty or thirty 
 Pater Fosters, giving thanks in the depths of our 
 hearts, or our brother Henri will offer up some 
 simple grace, such as — “ Thou who didst feed the 
 five thousand, feed us” — “ Thou who givest us 
 this bodily nourishment, deign also to feed our 
 souls.” 
 
 Henri’s poor wife is generally almost as patient 
 as lie is, although it is so much sadder to see 
 those we love languish and suffer, than to suffer 
 
82 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 ourselves. But enduring as she usually is, the 
 other day her faith seemed to fail ; — her husband’s 
 recovery so long hoped for and so long deferred, 
 and my manuscripts having failed to sell ; one 
 little sickly child crying fretfully on her knee — 
 the others clinging, hungry and half-clad, around 
 her : she hid her face, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 tc O Henri !” she murmured, “ what have we 
 done, that our prayers can not reach the Lord ?” 
 
 He took her hands in his, and said, “ Alette, 
 they have reached Him. He is only keeping 
 back the help until the best moment comes.” 
 
 “ Our need can scarcely be sorer, Henri !” she 
 said. “ Can He love us, and know it all, and not 
 help ?” 
 
 “ He is helping us, Alette ; He is teaching us 
 now one of His best lessons — the lesson all have 
 had to learn in turn. He is teaching us to trust 
 and wait . He is watching us, to see how we are 
 learning it. Let us look up to Him, Alette, that 
 we may hear His voice in the storm. Let us ask 
 Him to bless us in the trial, and I am sure He 
 will bless us after it.” 
 
 And we knelt together, and prayed, and were 
 heard. 
 
 Ah ! brother Bartholomew, there is no disci- 
 pline like God’s. We seek to discipline the heart 
 by hardening it — He by melting it. And there 
 is no comfort like God’s. Our medicines weaken 
 the constitution in relieving the disease ; His 
 strengthen the heart, while they heal the wound. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 83 
 
 It is a grievous mistake to abstract ourselves 
 from all the bracing air of everyday life, and the 
 softening training of home, to the mechanical 
 routine, and the dull, close atmosphere of a con- 
 vent — to substitute our dead machinery of rules 
 and abstinences for the living school of God. 
 
 It is a blessed thing to be immediately under 
 the guidance of His hand, cost what it may. 
 
 I have taken my revenge on my younger 
 brother, and on her. I have left them a New 
 Testament, copied by my own hand, with the 
 promise that they will read it. 
 
 LETTER THE THIRD — THE PRISON AT COLOGNE. 
 
 The Abbot Bernard has succeeded in scatter- 
 ing our flock at Lyons, aided by the excesses 
 which some, in their untempered zeal, committed. 
 Some of us have fled to the Alps, some to Hun- 
 gary, Bohemia, Austria, and Swabia. I myself 
 went northward once more ; but they have cap- 
 tured me at last, with many others. This must 
 be my last farewell to thee, my brother, for to- 
 morrow we die ! 
 
 This evening, we made of the portion of bread 
 and water which they gave us a holy supper, 
 trusting that He whose word made the water 
 wine would not regard the imperfectness of the 
 symbol. His presence made the prison fare a 
 heavenly feast. 
 
 It was the last meal we shall eat on earth; it 
 
84 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 seemed more like the first in heaven. To-day 
 we have once more shown forth His death ; to- 
 morrow, we shall be with Him for ever, and then 
 the long to-morrow of the day of the resurrec- 
 tion ! For to-morrow we are to die at the 
 stake ! 
 
 This has the Abbot Bernard effected (not that 
 I believe he himself wished to compass our 
 death). If we meet one another, by and by, 
 redeemed and cleansed by the same precious 
 blood, how he will wonder at his own work ! 
 
 But, for us, how is it possible to resent, when 
 so soon we shall stand before Him with whom 
 we have none of us anything to plead but Him- 
 self! 
 
 “ Thou hast redeemed us by thine own blood.” 
 
 We have a sure anchor, reaching to that with- 
 in the veil, even Christ in us, and “ in heaven v — 
 “ the hope of glory.” 
 
 The last storm is coming on me — the vessel 
 tosses — the flesh trembles ; but, my brother, the 
 Anchor is firm ! 
 
 [For many years a blank occurs in brother 
 Bartholomew’s chronicle; then it recommences 
 in a feeble and tremulous hand, and after noting 
 one day, closes abruptly.] 
 
 Marienthal , November 1 . — All Saints. 
 
 It is long since I have written anything. 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 85 
 
 Tilings have changed since brother Conrad left. 
 The whole convent seems to look suspiciously on 
 me, as his friend, and perhaps the accomplice of 
 his flight. In clearing myself from this latter 
 imputation, I have sometimes been led to say 
 more than I meant against him, and afterwards 
 my heart has reproached me bitterly. He was 
 ever with me, as a son with his father; and 
 sometimes I tremble, thinking that I misled him, 
 and that I myself have been rash and presumpt- 
 uous in my belief, taking too much, and too 
 boldly, from the Bible, and looking with too 
 little reverence to the fathers and rulers of the 
 Church. 
 
 And then the seducing thought comes — 
 “ What, after all, if he be right and thou wrong?” 
 And in the tumult and confusion of the many 
 voices in my old brain, I can not always tell 
 which are the devils and which the angels. 
 
 Mother Magdalis died a few weeks after 
 brother Conrad disappeared, and a stranger, 
 whom I mislike and mistrust, occupies her cot- 
 tage. It is singular I should never have heard 
 from brother Conrad ; sometimes I think he may 
 have written, and his letters miscarried, or been 
 withheld , for why else do they watch me so sus- 
 piciously, and never suffer me to visit and 
 preach to the poor peasants around, as I used to 
 do? 
 
 Once, Nannerl told me (she always loved him 
 since he rescued her boy), that amongst other 
 8 
 
86 
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 heretics, Cathari, Pauliciens, Vaudois, and Pic- 
 ards, whom they burnt at Cologne, a few years 
 since, was one of a lofty and commanding pres- 
 ence, said to be a Spanish nobleman — that he 
 touched the people so by his calm and heavenly 
 words, that many wept; and then he prayed 
 them not to weep for him, for he was only going 
 home by a rough way, but for themselves, that 
 Jesus might have pity on them, and forgive 
 them their sins. It might have been him. It 
 may be only Nannerl’s fancy. It was certainly 
 like him. However it be, God rest his soul ! 
 and yet, why do I pray thus ? Surely, if he died 
 so, he must have been at rest these many years. 
 Yet the decrees of the Holy Catholic and Apos- 
 tolic Church, and the Vicar of Christ on earth ! 
 God help me ! I am a poor old man, and my 
 brain is sorely confused at times. Many of the 
 monks point pityingly at me, as at one half- 
 crazed ; but I am not that — only tried, and very 
 tired. 
 
 Also, the new Abbot is a jovial man, who 
 lovetli hunting, and wine, and pleasure, so that 
 the convent echoeth oftener with the voice of 
 mirth than with that of prayer; and for such 
 things my old ears are out of tune. 
 
 My flesh faileth — my heart faileth ; I am 
 very lonely and desolate ; I seem to be as a 
 wrecked vessel, rotting, useless, on the shore. 
 And yet, at times, I have gleams of a better 
 hope. Have I not clung to the cross of my 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 87 
 
 Lord ? and is He not living — and His promise 
 very sure ? 
 
 O blessed Lord Jesus, I am a weary old man, 
 sorely tired with this burden of life ; wilt Thou 
 not soon say, “ Come to Me ? n for Thou knowest 
 I need rest. 
 

 
SKETCHES 
 
 OP THE 
 
 UNITED BRETHREN OF BOHEMIA 
 AND MORAVIA. 
 
SKETCHES OF THE 
 
 UNITED BRETHREN OF BOHEMIA AND 
 MORAVIA. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 I. 
 
 John Huss had been dead for eight years; and 
 during the greater part of that time Bohemia 
 had been blazing with the fire kindled at his stake. 
 The words he had spoken under the roof had in- 
 deed, as he foretold, been pealed forth from the 
 house-top, though not in the sense or with the 
 effect he could have wished. 
 
 The eternal truths he taught had doubtless 
 been working their way, like most heavenly 
 agencies, in silence, purifying the hearts which 
 received them, to see further than their teacher ; 
 but of these, historians have, in general, spoken 
 
92 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 only parenthetically, like indiscriminating alms- 
 givers, bestowing the largest share of their at- 
 tention on the most clamorous. Of the true suc- 
 cessors of Huss, preacher of the gospel in Beth- 
 lehem Chapel, we know very little ; whilst of 
 Ziska and his Taborites — their intrepidity and 
 ferocity, their victories and slaughters, their vio- 
 lent dissolution of five hundred convents, and 
 their torturing a poor priest to death for denying 
 transubstantiation — we hear far more than we 
 could wish. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1423, the Hussite 
 army was encamped before Prague, to chastise 
 an attempt of the citizens to elect a king. 
 
 “Twice,” said Ziska, “have I saved Prague 
 from the Emperor — now I come to destroy it !” 
 
 At first the soldiers murmured. The old royal 
 city, enthroned on its twin hills, the crown of 
 Bohemian nationality, the shrine of Calixtine 
 faith, had a sacredness in their eyes. Was it not 
 the holy city of Huss ? Had not they themselves 
 defended it with their life-blood ? 
 
 But loyalty to the blind old chief who had led 
 them through so many perils to so many vic- 
 tories, whose blindness had on them the double 
 claim of suffering, and the transcendent energy 
 which vanquished it — the habit of obedience, 
 and the enthusiasm of personal devotion to their 
 general, overcame the spell of association ; they 
 invested Prague, and prepared for the assault. 
 
 For a brief space, the then contending parties 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 93 
 
 — Calixtines, Taborites, and Roman Catholics — 
 whose strife had been deluging the city with 
 blood, were frightened into agreement by the 
 presence of one stronger than they. 
 
 The gates were thrown open, and a peaceful 
 procession issued slowly from them. 
 
 At its head was John Rockyzan, the cathedral" 
 preacher, and virtual leader of the Calixtine or 
 “Moderate” party. 
 
 He came to intercede for Prague. He pleaded 
 the services Ziska himself had rendered her, and 
 the love he had borne her. His eloquent voice 
 on Ziska’s heart prevailed. The city was spared ; 
 and, as in the days of the old Hebrew combat- 
 ants, whose wars the Hussites imagined them- 
 selves commissioned to imitate, a pile of stones 
 was reared on the camp, as a memorial of the 
 covenant ; whoever first broke the covenant be- 
 ing doomed to be crushed beneath the memorial. 
 But the election of a king was prudently waived, 
 and Ziska, with his troops, made a triumphant 
 entry into Prague. 
 
94 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 II. 
 
 Another thirty years had elasped. Ziska, Ins 
 successor Prosopius, the scourge of Saxony, and 
 their army of Taborites, had passed out of hear- 
 ing. That mighty creation of human will and 
 force had been crushed and utterly dissolved; but 
 the truth, and the hearts it had regenerated, re- 
 mained, stronger than all storms. All that was 
 combustible had blazed and been consumed; 
 what was not combustible “burned, and was 
 consumed not” — the starlight outliving the fire- 
 works, to glorify God by its quiet shining. 
 
 From the ruins of the armies of Tabor had 
 arisen the Church of the United Brethren. 
 
 One winter’s day, in the year 1456, two foot- 
 travelers were ascending one of the lower hills 
 of the northern mountain-range of Bohemia. 
 They walked fast, for the air was buoyant and 
 frosty, and they were conversing eagerly ; their 
 steps keeping pace with their words. Both were 
 clad in the clerical garb; one in the monastic 
 habit, the other in that of a secular priest. They 
 were uncle and nephew ; anct there was in them 
 that mixture of resemblance and contrast which 
 so often causes us to make involuntary com- 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MOEAVIA. 
 
 95 
 
 p aria on s between members of the same family. 
 Neither was young, and there Was little apparent 
 difference in their ages. Both were genuine Scla- 
 vonians ; both were tall and dark, with muscular 
 limbs, and the firm tread of mountaineers ; both 
 had straight features and broad, massive fore- 
 heads. But in the expression, in all which 
 thought and life stamp upon the features, there 
 was a stricldng contrast. On the brow of the 
 monk time had ploughed long furrows, but from 
 beneath, the large eyes looked forth serene and 
 trustful as those of a thoughtful child ; but from 
 amidst the countless petty and anxious lines 
 which wrinkled the face of the priest, gleamed a 
 pair of eyes restless and distrustful as those of 
 some small animal perpetually on the watch 
 against attacks it had no strength to resist. The 
 soul of the one was as a harvestfield on which 
 time had drawn broad furrows, the depositories 
 of precious seed ; whilst that of the other was as 
 a highway cut up and kept barren by the daily 
 trampling of a thousand cares. 
 
 The uncle was John Rockyzan, he whose elo- 
 quent intercession had saved Prague thirty years 
 before, now acknowledged chief of the Calix- 
 tines, and Archbishop of Prague, by the choice 
 of the States, though unconfirmed by the Pope. 
 The nephew was Gregory, of the Abbey of Ra- 
 serherz, leader and provisional Elder of the 
 United Brethren of Bohemia : although, had you 
 addressed him by that title, he would probably 
 
96 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 not have recognized himself ; for if he led the 
 infant Church, it was by no official staff, but 
 simply because he pointed out to her the straight 
 path, and she desired to walk in it. 
 
 “The Brethren are unreasonable with me,” 
 said Rockyzan, impatiently, in answer to a re- 
 mark of Gregory's. “ I am, after all, their best 
 friend ; but because I w^ork by a slow and safe 
 process to effect their object, like impatient chil- 
 dren, they are always fretting and teasing me. 
 Has any man denounced more boldly than I have 
 the corruptions of the Roman Church ? Have I 
 not declared her to be the Western Babylon, and 
 the Pope the enemy who sowed the tares among 
 the wheat? Have I not said publicly, in the 
 hearing of priests and courtiers, that we Calix- 
 tines do not go far enough, cleansing only the 
 outside of the cup ? And even in that for which 
 you most bitterly reproach me, the compact 
 which I negotiated between the Calixtines and 
 Rome, have I not most effectually served your 
 cause ? — for has not the civil war which ensued, 
 disastrous as it was, been the means of sifting 
 from amongst you the turbulent men who would 
 have renewed the barbarities of Ziska, of the 
 chalice, and the Taborites, and thus left you, in 
 the midst of defeat, really strengthened, because 
 purified ?” 
 
 “ It is true,” replied Gregory, gently ; “ the 
 hand of the great Husbandman has turned the 
 sword into a pruninghook.” 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MOEAVIA. 
 
 97 
 
 44 And who,” pursued Rockyzan, u has toiled 
 more than I for the triumph of the gospel? When 
 I found that the Pope was only trifling with us in 
 his pretended compact, refusing to confirm me in 
 she arch-episcopate, did I not labor, and scheme, 
 and negotiate for years, to re-knit the old ties 
 which once bound our Bohemian Church to that 
 of the Greek empire ? And I should have suc- 
 ceeded, if the Turks had not taken Constanti- 
 nople whilst the negotiations were pending; — 
 was that the fault of my double-mindedness, as 
 they call it ?” 
 
 44 It was proof that our strength lies elsewhere 
 than in political machinations,” remarked Gre- 
 gory. 44 You have indeed schemed and toiled 
 enough : all that I desire for you now is, that you 
 should cast from you all those subtle webs of po- 
 licy, and go forth in the strength of dependent 
 loyalty.” 
 
 44 It is well,” resumed Rockyzan, 44 for men like 
 you to speak thus ; your path is straight, and you 
 may thank God for it. You have none but your- 
 selves to consider; I have all Bohemia in my 
 heart. The peasant may go to his work singing 
 nder his load, but he who is gifted with the 
 power, or set in the place of the ruler, must not 
 shrink from burdens though he sink beneath 
 them.” 
 
 u My kinsmen,” interposed Gregory, 44 you mis- 
 take your calling. Christ rules His Church, not 
 you; you are the minister, not the master; as 
 9 
 
98 SKETCHES OP THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 servants, we have ho course but to do His bid- 
 ding, leaving the responsibility and the result 
 with Him. We do not uphold the truth ; it up- 
 holds us.” 
 
 Rockyzan was silent for a few moments before 
 he rejoined : — 
 
 “Had I done as you say, declared rnysell 
 openly one of you, what voice would have filled 
 the cathedral of Prague with gospels and denun- 
 ciations? Who would have fed the deserted 
 flock ? Who would have pleaded for you with 
 our noble sovereign, George Podiebrad, and ob- 
 tained the district of Litiz as a Goshen for you, 
 as I have done ?” 
 
 “ Is not the living God on our side?” said Gre- 
 gory. “ If He is not , let our cause perish ; if He 
 iSj who can hinder it ?” 
 
 “ You are so one-sided with your solitary 
 monastic habits,” replied Rockyzan ; “ St. Paul 
 was not above that tact and management, that 
 politic accommodation, which you abhor ; was 
 he not all things to all men, if by any means he 
 might gain some ? I would gain all Bohemia for 
 the gospel.” 
 
 “ That was precisely what St. Paul gained by 
 his distinct and decided position,” Gregory 
 quietly remarked ; “ those who do not compro- 
 mise can afford to conciliate.” 
 
 “But what would you have me do ?” demanded 
 Rockyzan, impatiently, after a few moments’ he- 
 sitation. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 99 
 
 “ What your conscience dictates,” said Gre- 
 gory, looking steadily in his Dice ; then laying his 
 hand on Rockyzan’s arm, he continued, with 
 appealing earnestness — “ John Rockyzan, w^e 
 know one another well; you have power, but 
 you have not peace ; I want you to sacrifice 
 much, that you may gain all. You see before 
 you honor, power, the favor of your king — a po- 
 sition from which you might rule your country ; 
 but they lie one step out of your path. You in- 
 tend to turn aside to gather them, and then to 
 return and use them for your Master. You are 
 mistaken. Talents gained in disobedience to 
 Him can hardly be used in obedience ; there is a 
 tendency in motion in any direction to perpetuate 
 itself ; you will either toil on with your burden 
 of earth until, weary and dispirited, you are com- 
 pelled to cast it from you, and return, after the 
 loss of precious years, to the point from which 
 you started; or you will not return; you will 
 never return ; you will labor with your restless 
 heart and your burden of cares, and the end of 
 all your travail will be to be lost . O my kins- 
 man, bear with me, and listen to my words : you 
 are come to a cross-road in your life ; you know 
 the way ; walk in it. 4 If any man serve me, let 
 him follow me.’ There is no serving Christ but 
 in following Him with a single heart.” 
 
 Again Rockyzan asked, 44 What would you 
 have me do ?” 
 
 44 Ask your God that question.” replied Gre- 
 
100 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 gory, with increasing earnestness. “He will 
 show you — not, indeed, the whole scheme of your 
 life — but the next step ; if any man will do His 
 will, he shall know of the doctrine. I can onl) 
 tell you what I will do. We believe that the 
 system of the Church of Rome keeps men afar off 
 from God, instead of bringing them nigh to Him ; 
 tossing the hearts of the faithful with doubts, and 
 lulling the consciences of the careless with dreams. 
 We believe that she has hidden the cross on 
 which our sins were blotted out, and closed the 
 sepulchre which our risen Lord opened for us, by 
 the dead doctrines and hollow ceremonies which 
 she has built over them; her refusal of the sacra- 
 mental cup to the laity being but a type of the 
 cup of salvation which she withholds from them. 
 With her false doctrines and ceremonies we have 
 nothing to do ; but the cross, the riven tomb, and 
 the tree cup of life, are our all. She conceals and 
 withholds them, but God has revealed and freely 
 given them to us ; therefore we must offer them 
 freely to one another. This is the sole object of 
 our little community at Litiz. For some time, as 
 you know, we have accepted teachers from the 
 Calixtines ; but, in spite of our earnest remon- 
 strances, they send us men who only pull down 
 what we seek to build up. We have, therefore, 
 no resource but to recognize those amongst us 
 . whom God has endowed with gifts of governing 
 and teaching, and to trust Him for the result. 
 Our high priest, our master, our bishop, our chief 
 
OP BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 101 
 
 pastor, is none else than the living Son of God ; 
 our canons, His Word ; our guide and counselor, 
 the Eternal Spirit, whom He has sent forth to 
 abide in His Church, and build it up. Our prayer 
 for our Church is, that if she ceases to minister to 
 the world as a living body, she may never pollute 
 it as a corpse; that if she ceases to live , she may 
 cease to be. We are'now about to enter on the 
 serious work of seeking and appointing our 
 pastors ; if you like to join us, you can.” 
 
 All this while they had been toiling up steep 
 after steep, until at length they reached the height 
 of the Donnersberg, the highest of the group of 
 volcanic mountains, which they say once arose as 
 islands out of the lake of Bohemia, and through 
 which the Elbe has cut itself a stormy passage. 
 
 Around them lay mountains, upheaved, wave 
 on wave, by the tossings of a fiery sea, girding 
 in their fatherland on all sides, and guarding it, 
 the fruit of such convulsions now reposing in 
 calm strength beneath the heavens. Snow covered 
 the heights, glowing in the warm light of the low 
 sun. Over the sunny upland pastures the white 
 frost was steaming up in soft transparent clouds ; 
 from the dim white fog below arose hills of dark 
 pine woods, and red masses of leafless oaks. 
 
 Beyond spread the broad plain, teeming with 
 life ; valleys nestling in the heart of the lower 
 hills ; spires glittering through the thin mist ; 
 rivers linking together the cities with silver chains : 
 and. over all floated the still, clear sunlight. They 
 
102 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 paused and looked, and listened to the silence. 
 At length Rockyzan exclaimed — 
 
 u See how our country lies before us, guarded 
 by her mountain walls from all the world without, 
 linked together within by life-giving waters ! My 
 hand shall never be the one to break her sacred 
 unity ! Let us have a Bohemian Church, or 
 none !” 
 
 But Gregory replied, sadly — 
 
 “ My kinsman, there is another mountain, from 
 whose holy calm God looks down on the whole 
 earth, and throughout it the Father’s eye watches 
 our scattered family, unknown to men, yet the 
 only thing amongst men on which the heart of 
 God can rest. Before Him that scattered family 
 is one ; the living stream which unites them is 
 the truth. There is no unity in God’s sight, no 
 unity which will stand the test of lire, but unity 
 in the truth. All other unions are mere congeal- 
 ings, freezings together, of heterogeneous ele- 
 ments, which the day will dissolve. In forming 
 any spiritual confederation on any but God’s 
 principle, you are marring God’s unity, uniting 
 what He has sundered, and sundering what He 
 has joined together. The only schism in His sight 
 is, I believe, to make anything but Jesus the 
 centre and the bond of union — to reject those 
 whom He receives, and to receive those whom 
 He rejects. From this may He preserve us !” 
 
 But Rockyzan’s eyes were riveted on the fair 
 scene before him. He “ lifted up his eyes, and 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 103 
 
 belield all the plain, that it was well watered 
 everywhere, as the garden of the Lord, as the 
 land of Egypt ; and he chose him all the plain.” 
 He also, like One we know, was taken up to the 
 top of a high mountain, and shown a kingdom 
 and its glory. But, unlike Him, he did not repel 
 the tempter with lowly dependence on Divine 
 words. The thousand dewdrops in his eyes 
 outshone the one sun, and he said — 
 
 “ I can not join you yet : Bohemia needs me. 
 1 must be Archbishop of Prague, and from my 
 throne on the mountains in the centre of my 
 country, I will send forth messengers of the gospel 
 to every corner of the land ; and then, when all 
 Bohemia is penetrated with the truth, as one man 
 we will arise, and throw off the yoke of Rome ! 
 The eye of the politician sees further than that of 
 common men. He who guides men must move 
 slowly.” And taking a hurried leave of Gregory, 
 Rockyzan went back to Prague. Gregory visited 
 his brethren among the mountains, and then 
 returned to Litiz. Their paths parted, only 
 crossing once afterwards. The eye of the politi- 
 cian saw far, but the eye of the Christian saw 
 further, for it saw through the clouds to the 
 heavens. Few men consciously choose the service 
 of Mammon ; none unconsciously serve God. 
 
104 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 III. 
 
 Things followed the course foretold of the dis- 
 ciples in the last conversation our Lord held with 
 them before His death. In the world the little 
 faithful flock of Bohemian Brethren had tribula- 
 tion ; but in Him they had peace. 
 
 The little church at Litiz grew in stature and 
 in numbers, and many similar bodies sprang up 
 in different parts of Bohemia — quiet, peaceable 
 communities, whose sole bond was union with 
 their Saviour, whose sole object was to minister 
 to all men for His sake. Why, then, did all men 
 speak evil of them, and all parties unite in 
 persecuting them? We only know that they did 
 so, and men had done the same before to Him in 
 whom no fault could be found. 
 
 Rockyzan retained his power and place, and 
 his influence with the King of Bohemia increased. 
 For some time he used this influence cautiously, 
 but constantly, in favor of the, truth and its 
 calumniated confessors. But at length the United 
 Brethren were summoned before the Consistory 
 at Prague. 
 
 The moment came when Rockyzan could no 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 105 
 
 longer unite the two services. The choice which 
 had been so long unconsciously made had now to 
 be decisively acted on. It was no longer prudent 
 or safe for him to assist the Brethren ; he there- 
 fore abandoned them. To excuse his own vacilla- 
 tion, he accused them of precipitation and tur- 
 bulence ; to prove his sincerity, he persecuted 
 them. The king, it is said, wavered. The earlier 
 teaching of Rockyzan himself, the convictions of 
 his own conscience, the blameless lives of those 
 he was called upon to attack, weighed heavily 
 upon him. But Rockyzan was at his sovereign’s 
 elbow, to remind him of his coronation oath to 
 extirpate heresy ; to urge him to save himself, 
 the more “ moderate,” and the “ truth,” by sac- 
 rificing the “ extreme party.” None can tempt 
 like the fallen, and George Podiebrad yielded. 
 
 Thus Rockyzan began with waiving his con 
 victions, in order to gain influence to promote 
 them. He ended in turning the influence thus 
 gained against the cause for which he had per- 
 suaded himself he sought it. The process in his 
 mind was perfectly natural. The first act of un- 
 belief, by which he virtually said, “I will uphold 
 God’s truth by disobeying Him,” led logically to 
 all the rest. The same question is being daily 
 proposed, in divers manners, to some amongst us 
 now. How are we answering it ? Love is our 
 surest logic. Whom are we loving best ? 
 
 The Church of Bohemia was called to pass 
 through one of those periods which will fill 
 
106 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 eternity with deathless memories, echoing in 
 “ songs of deliverance,” and in wailings of un- 
 purifying remorse. 
 
 In the depth of winter the sick were dragged 
 from their homes, and cast out into the fields to 
 die. Some were seized, and sent back to their 
 friends without hands or feet, maimed and 
 wounded, as living tokens of the fate which 
 awaited those who persevered. Some were 
 tortured, and sent to heaven with strange tidings 
 of the welcome which those whom the Son of 
 God is not ashamed to call “ brethren” met with 
 on earth, dragged to death, burnt alive, even 
 little children burnt at the stake. And the Breth- 
 ren of Bohemia endured the fiery trial, and multi- 
 plied. They met together as usual to read the 
 Word of their God; (how living and significant 
 was every page read by the firelight of persecu- 
 tion !) to pray, as those pray who have no de- 
 fender but God ; and to show forth their Lord’s 
 death, as those do who have no hope but His 
 coming again. 
 
 One evening, a body of them had assembled in 
 a private house in Prague, to pray, and to cele- 
 brate the communion of the body of Christ. 
 f Amongst them was a venerable man, whom they 
 revered as a patriarch. His hair had grown gray, 
 his manly form had acquired a slight stoop, and 
 the voice which pronounced the fatherly benedic- 
 tion was the tremulous voice of an old 
 man; but his eyes were still bright with 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 107 
 
 an expression of childlike trust and love. It 
 was Gregory of Raserherz. 
 
 They were preparing for the distribution of 
 the sacred elements, when an interruption was 
 caused by the sudden appearance of a messenger, 
 who whispered something to Gregory, and then 
 as suddenly disappeared. 
 
 When he had left, Gregory calmly addressed 
 the congregation. The messenger, he said, was 
 sent from one of the judges, who was a secret 
 friend of theirs, to entreat them to disperse 
 instantly, or he himself would be compelled to 
 come within a short space of time to arrest them. 
 Gregory expressed his own conviction that they 
 should best fulfill the wish of Him who had said, 
 “ Let these go their way,” by accepting the 
 friendly warning, and quietly dispersing. 
 
 But there were amongst the assembly many 
 enthusiastic young men, students of the Univer- 
 sity of Prague, who had embraced the oppressed 
 cause with all the chivalrous ardor of youth — 
 men who, like St. Peter, had not counted the cost, 
 and therefore deemed their resources of endurance 
 and fidelity inexhaustible — and many of these 
 murmured openly against Gregory’s counsel, 
 declaring that they were ready to die for the 
 truth, but would never consent to such a denial 
 of it as this cowardly flight. 
 
 To their untempered zeal, stakes, racks, and 
 scaffolds were as “ trifles.” Gregory knew they 
 were not trifles; but the assembly was partly 
 
108 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 borne away, and partly silenced, by their en- 
 thusiasm, and he resolved to cast in his lot with 
 them. 
 
 Whilst they were proceeding to the celebration 
 of the communion, the door opened, and the judge 
 appeared, followed by a band of armed men. 
 
 The assembly was mute, until the voice of the 
 judge broke the silence with the remarkable 
 words — “It is written that they who will live 
 godly in Christ J esus shall suffer persecution.” 
 Then, with a strange inconsistency,* suffering 
 himself to become the instrument of a cruelty 
 which he abhorred, against men whom he revered 
 and had sought to rescue, he added — 
 
 “ Follow me to prison.” 
 
 And giving the word to his followers, the 
 leaders of the assembly were forthwith bound 
 and led away. 
 
 It is said, that of those who had so confidently 
 invited persecution, not one had the courage to 
 endure it. 
 
 * * * * ❖ 
 
 An assembly of priests and magistrates, minis- 
 ters of Christianity and of justice, were gathered 
 in a room in the city of Prague, to try whether 
 
 * This is not the only example of such conscious inconsistency 
 during this struggle. Lupacius, a friend of Rockyzan’s, after desert- 
 ing the United Brethren, wrote them a letter full of earnest exhorta- 
 tions to persevere in their course, and wise advice as to the best 
 method of doing so. 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MORAVIA. 
 
 109 
 
 by laying an old man on the rack they could 
 induce him to renounce the convictions of his 
 whole life, and betray his fellow-believers. 
 
 Gregory of Kaserherz and John Rockyzan 
 met once more ; the nephew on the rack, the 
 uncle watching to see whether torture would 
 do for Gregory what prosperity had done for 
 him. 
 
 Rut the high and holy One who inhabiteth 
 eternity dwelt with that gentle and lowly spirit; 
 and the sorer his enemies pressed upon him, only 
 so much the closer did they drive him into the 
 sanctuary of that Blessed Presence. 
 
 They could, not succeed in wringing from Gre- 
 gory one murmur or one word of recantation ; 
 but they did succeed in subduing his enfeebled 
 frame with the extremity of pain. 
 
 He feinted, and lay for some time uuconeious. 
 
 But He who spoke of old to His people in 
 visions came near to Gregory in the cloud. 
 
 As he lay there, insensible to all around, he 
 saw, as in a trance, a tree spreading its roots 
 over the earth, and its branches to the heavens. 
 It was covered with delicious fruit, and the birds 
 found shelter under its branches, and ate of its 
 fruit — filling the air with their sweet and happy 
 songs. Three men guarded this tree. 
 
 The dream was significant, and time interpreted 
 it. 
 
 The torturers believed their work was done — 
 they thought him dead ; and for a moment 
 
 10 
 
110 SKETCHES OF y THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 Rockyzan’s conscience awoke, and in an agony he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 “ O my poor Gregory ! — would to God I were 
 where thou art ! ” 
 
 But the old man recovered, and after procuring 
 his release, Rockyzan,in spite of a solemn remon- 
 strance from the Brethren, relapsed into his old 
 course of action. 
 
 They concluded their last letter to him with 
 the words, “ Thou art of the world, and thou 
 wilt perish with the world and he revenged 
 himself by deliberately exciting a fresh persecu- 
 tion against them. 
 
 I only know of two subsequent events in the 
 lives of Gregory and Rockyzan ; both were con- 
 sistent. 
 
 The United Brethren wished to give a more 
 systematic organization to their community ; and 
 true to their faith that the Lord Jesus had not 
 grown weary of guarding His Church, they met 
 together in His presence, to seek His direction 
 in the choice of their pastors. 
 
 Seventy of them met in a house in the town 
 of Lotha ; men of the higher and lower aristoc- 
 racy, burghers and ministers of the gospel. 
 
 This was in 1467, fifty-two years after the 
 burning of John Huss at Constance, and fifty-two 
 years before Luther’s burning of the Papal bull 
 at Wittenberg. 
 
 After fasting, and reverently addressing God 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 in prayer, and listening to Him through His 
 Word, they chose twenty men, and out of these 
 nine as candidates for the sacred office. Gregory 
 of Raserlierz, hitherto the Provisional Elder, had 
 been the most earnest in counseling a measure 
 which was to deprive him of all his official 
 authority; and he now offered up a solemn 
 petition that God would choose their pastors for 
 them. 
 
 Then, like the primitive disciples in the choice 
 of a successor to the fallen apostle, (unmindful, 
 perhaps, that this proceeding took place before 
 the day of Pentecost,) they left the matter to the 
 decision of the lot. The billets were drawn 
 from an urn by a little child ; and the three oil 
 which the decisive word est was written, fell to 
 the lot of the three men whom, six years before, 
 Gregory had seen in his vision on the rack 
 guarding the fruitful tree.* 
 
 They were accepted with joy and gratitude, 
 and installed into their office with a hymn of 
 thanksgiving. They subsequently sought and 
 obtained ordination from the bishop of an an- 
 cient Vaudois colony in Austria. 
 
 This was the first definite organization of the 
 Church of the United Brethren of Bohemia and 
 Moravia. Was not this act of joyful renunciation 
 a beautiful close to our glimpses of such a life as 
 Gregory’s ? 
 
 It is remarkable that these Austrian Vaudois, 
 
 * V. Bost’s “Histoire de l’Eglise des Freres.” 
 
112 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 probably descended from the French Christians 
 dispersed by the persecution in the days of St. 
 Bernard, had scarcely thus linked themselves 
 with the young Church of Bohemia, when they 
 themselves were crushed and scattered by an 
 exterminating persecution. They laid their 
 hands on the heads of their successors, and 
 blessed them, and then were taken to their rest. 
 
 The last voice that brings us tidings of John 
 Rockyzan is from his deathbed. 
 
 He died, it is said, without hope. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 113 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 I. 
 
 MAGDALEN. 
 
 History will tell you what kings were reigning, 
 and what armies were fighting, in 1619 — what 
 subtle webs of policy were being spun in French 
 and Austrian cabinets ; how all Germany was 
 quivering with excitement at the clever chess- 
 playing of the Union and the League, and the 
 preparatory agitations of the Thirty Years’ War, 
 the hero around whom all were to group, the 
 mighty and lowly Gustavus Adolphus, not having 
 yet appeared ; she can also tell you of the solemn 
 and joyous confederation which had taken place 
 not long before between Lutherans, Reformed, 
 and Calixtines, in Bohemia, in which even the 
 United Brethren were included — thereby gain- 
 ing quite a respectable position amongst the 
 Bohemian national institutions ; — but of that his- 
 10 * 
 
114 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN. 
 
 tory of u holy and humble men of heart/’ of 
 spiritual conflicts and eternal victories, which is 
 written in heaven, she can tell you very little. 
 
 She will lead you through the steep, narrow 
 streets of Prague, the most picturesque, she 
 says, and romantic of European cities, whose 
 walls and towers are dented with the sign-man- 
 uals of so many wars — and she will show you the 
 mountain throne where the royalty of Bohemia 
 sat for centuries, looking over her broad domain, 
 the Moldau lying as a faithful guardian at her 
 feet, ready to convey her behests whither she 
 would ; she will point out to you church after 
 church, sacred with the relics of Bohemian mar- 
 tyrs — and palace after palace, gorgeous with the 
 pomp of Bohemian nobles ; she may even guide 
 you to the portal of the house of the noble fam- 
 ily Yon Loss, whose young chief has been one 
 of the Directors of the kingdom, and advocates 
 of the United Brethren under the Emperor Ru- 
 dolph ; but she can not admit you within. Never- 
 theless, if you please, we will enter. 
 
 It was a grand old room, high and long, more of 
 a gallery than a hall; in the deepening twilight, 
 with its lofty Gothic windows, its strongly-shad- 
 owed pictures looming from tapestried walls — 
 rich paintings of Titian’s, quaint, hard, symbolic, 
 family portraits of the Middle Ages — it had 
 something of the mystic light of a church ; yet 
 it was apparently the ordinary sitting-room of 
 the family, for it was full of rich, massive fur- 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MOKAYIA. 
 
 115 
 
 niture. A fire blazed on the hearth at one end, 
 to keep off the chill of an evening in early autumn ; 
 and near it sat the young daughter of the house, 
 and an old man in the sober dress of a Protestant 
 minister. 
 
 The maiden was dressed gracefully, but plainly ; 
 you would scarcely have remarked her costume, 
 had she been introduced into your drawing-room 
 now, but for the rich Vandyked collar which has 
 become characteristic of the century of the great 
 portrait-painter. Nor am I sure that you would 
 have remarked her face; it was not striking— 
 its beauty lay deeper: had she been the only 
 specimen of Bohemian beauty Titian had seen, he 
 might probably not have said that he had seen 
 the ideal of a female head at Prague ; yet its 
 poise on the long throat was so firm and grace- 
 ful; the brow, as it lay bared by the throwing 
 back of the long curls, was so innocent and calm ; 
 the eyelids, and dark lashes, threw such a soft 
 shade on the cheek, and the mouth had such a 
 happy smile on it as she sat at her easel, that 
 Magdalen Yon Loss was certainly one of those 
 works of God on Avhich we may still look, and 
 say thankfully, “ It is very good.” 
 
 She laid down her brush among the brillant 
 colors and tinctures which she had been using, 
 and bringing her work to the old man, she knelt 
 before him, and placing the painting on his 
 knee, playfully covered the book he had been 
 reading. 
 
116 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 “Now, father,” she said, (he was not her 
 father, he was a Moravian pastor, called David 
 Jablonsky, hut she and her brother had acquired 
 the habit of calling him so in their infancy, hav- 
 ing been left to his guardianship, and had com 
 tinned it since from reverence to his pastoral 
 office, and his venerable and endearing character,) 
 “now put down that great learned book — it is 
 too large to read anywhere but in a pulpit — and 
 let dear old John Huss enjoy his own thoughts 
 a little, and look at me. I think two hundred 
 and four years is long enough for him to have 
 been talking to our incomparable Czeskan nation : 
 now it is our turn.” 
 
 He placed a mark in the book, and let her lay 
 it on a table beside him ; then taking her drawing 
 to the window, he looked at it for some minutes 
 in silence. 
 
 It was from a hymn-book of the Brethren 
 which she had been illuminating; the subject 
 was from the Te Deum — 
 
 “ The noble army of martyrs : praise thee.” 
 
 At the bottom of the page she had sketched in 
 solid and sombre colors the martyrdom of Huss. 
 Around the stake were gathered soldiers and 
 priests, some with countenances breathing out 
 slaughter, others turning away their heads in 
 compassion ; in the distance were shadowed forth 
 the forms of many Bohemian martyrs ; mothers 
 weeping over the innocent faces of their dead 
 children, widows over their slair husbands, young 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 117 
 
 girls chafing the hands of old men perishing of 
 cold in the snow-fields. The face of Huss was 
 turned heavenwards, illumined as if by some 
 glorious vision. The smoke from the burning 
 fagots arose in blue wreaths around the text, 
 parting at each side to give glimpses of two me- 
 dallions, and at the top melting away amidst 
 sunset clouds. In the medallions, in shadowy 
 purples and grays, she had sketched Huss’s well- 
 known dream — on once side priests and magis- 
 trates laboriously effacing the pictures of Jesus 
 on the walls of his chapel of Bethlehem — on the 
 other, angels restoring them in fairer colors. 
 Above, in aerial transparent tints, such as bathe 
 the clouds at sunset, was a meek, exulting band, 
 bearing palms, and casting chaplets of victory at 
 the feet of one whose form was half shrouded in 
 light, one hand only coming distinctly out from 
 the glory, to crown the martyr — and that hand 
 was pierced. 
 
 “ I like this, Magda,” the old man said, at 
 length ; “ it is the best you have done.” 
 
 Then passing to her drawing-table, he turned 
 over sheet after sheet of brilliant illuminations — • 
 historical sketches, portraits, borders of arabesque, 
 rich branches of brown and golden autumn leaves, 
 ferns and mosses, and delicate garlands of spring 
 flowers. 
 
 “ My child !” he exclaimed, taking her hands in 
 his, “ God has given you many gifts — spend them 
 all for Him.” 
 
118 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 She smiled : cc This is my myrrh and frankin- 
 cense,” she said, “ which I would lay at the feet 
 of Jesus.” 
 
 She knew Him, as yet, more as the Divine 
 child, heralded by angels, than as the crucified 
 Saviour, rejected of men, and dying for them. 
 
 Jablonsky reseated himself in the arm-chair 
 by the fire. Magdalen piled the logs so as to 
 make a cheerful blaze, and then seated herself on 
 a footstool at his feet. 
 
 “ Now, father,” she said, clasping her hands on 
 his knees, “ tell me of our forefathers.” 
 
 A sunbeam crept in through the deep windows, 
 danced amongst the liquid colors, and lit up her 
 happy, eager face, as she looked up and listened 
 eagerly while David Jablonsky went over the 
 oft-told but unwearying tale of the martyrs of 
 Constance, and their prophecies of better times ; 
 of the dove-like messengers sent out over the 
 earth by the isolated Church, east, and west, and 
 south, to see if anywhere they could meet with 
 their kindred — who returned, finding no rest for 
 the soles of their feet ; of the fierce wars of the 
 blind Ziska and his Taborites, their valor and 
 their defeat, God not consecrating such weapons; 
 of the noble band of Christian heroes which 
 arose from the ruins of the old cause ; of Rockv- 
 zan the double-minded, driven with many winds 
 and tossed ; of the single-hearted Rascrherz, 
 resting on the rock, and his dream ; of the old 
 Austrian Vaudois, casting their mantle on the 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 119 
 
 young ministers of Bohemia, and then being 
 borne aloft in chariots of flame ; of the Jamnici, 
 or cavern-dwellers, who followed Jesus into the 
 desert, hiding in dens and caves of the earth, 
 reading His Word by firelight, stealing out at 
 night over the snow in search of food, treading 
 in each other's footsteps, the last brushing out 
 the traces of the rest ; of one who was offered a 
 year's respite, but preferred to die whilst his 
 heart was warm, with five of his condemned 
 brethren ; of these and countless others, beloved 
 of God, whom the world rejected, and now the 
 heavens receive until the time of the restitution 
 of all things. 
 
 The history of the Church of Bohemia was rich 
 in such treasures ; some of the sufferers had been 
 amongst Magdalen’s own ancestors; she had been 
 fed with such stories from her infancy, yet her 
 eye by turns moistened and kindled, and her 
 cheek glowed as she listened. The history was 
 ever fresh to her, for it was trice, and its heroes 
 were those ever-living ones whom she hoped to 
 meet, and whose memories she delighted to gar- 
 land with her fairest offerings. 
 
 “And now,” she observed, when he ceased, 
 “ that rough season of ploughing and sowing is 
 over, and we are reaping the harvest. If John 
 JIuss could see us now, how his heart would 
 glow! The old chapel of Bethlehem restored to 
 us, and wise men and princes filling it with their 
 offerings and thanksgivings; our glorious old 
 
120 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN" 
 
 brethren’s Church, no longer despised, but 
 honored of all men — admitted into the Consis- 
 tory with Calixtines and Lutherans ; all Europe, 
 they say, resounding with praises of our disci- 
 pline, all Bohemia filled with our churches and 
 Bibles: has not our God done great things for 
 us ?” 
 
 “We have certainly sought great things for 
 ourselves,” he replied, thoughtfully; “I have 
 little doubt John Huss would have rejoiced could 
 he have foreseen these things ; but I much doubt 
 if he would rejoice to see them now. They have 
 such different measurements of things in heaven 
 from ours on earth.” 
 
 “ But surely,” she said, “ we must thank God 
 w T hen He gives us rest and honor, and fills our 
 cup with blessings ?” 
 
 “We must eat and drink and give thanks, 
 Magda, and go on our way ; food is given us to 
 strengthen us for action, not that we may take 
 our ease, eat, drink, and be merry.” 
 
 “ But,” she said, “ surely, as our Father loves 
 us, He delights to see us happy ? It would not 
 please Him, when He has spread a feast and 
 furnished a palace for us, that we should take 
 lodgings in a hut beside it, and refuse to eat 
 anything but black bread, because the palace and 
 its fare are too good for us. Would not this bo 
 the mistake which you so often told me the monks 
 made?” 
 
 “We must not throw away God’s gifts, my 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MOlvAVIA. 
 
 121 
 
 child,” said Jablonsky ; u we must reverently 
 gather up the fragments, and use them. But we 
 are stewards, not proprietors ; think what that 
 means ; for a steward to build himself a palace 
 and buy himself jewels with his lord’s money, 
 would be, not only waste, but robbery — robbing 
 both the master and the servants. The monk 
 mortifies himself that he may live to God, and he 
 fails ; but God quickens us that we may die to 
 self. The ascetic renounces the earth that he may 
 approach God ; he is mistaken — God is nearer us 
 than anything we can offer Him, but His presence 
 necessarily extinguishes our brightest glories, as 
 well as glorifies our meanest services. It estranges 
 us from the world far more effectually to be sent 
 into it (as Christ was, and all His are,) from the 
 heavenly places, than to be toiling away from 
 earth to heaven. The sun puts out our torches 
 as well as the storm, but it extinguishes them in 
 light.” 
 
 “ But are we not free, father ?” she asked — 
 “ free both as ransomed captives, and as adopted 
 children ?” 
 
 “ Faith in our redemption sets us free, Mag- 
 dalen,” he replied ; “ love to the Redeemer makes 
 us servants again.” 
 
 “I do not understand you,” she said impa- 
 tiently ; “ do you mean that the Emperor Rudolph 
 did not do us a service when he granted us the 
 Majestats-Briefe ? * that my brother and the nobles 
 
 * Letter of grace. 
 
 11 
 
122 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 are not right in spending all their energies to se* 
 cure the establishment of our brethren ? that we 
 may not rejoice that our Church is honored in- 
 stead of being desjrised ? and that we may wor- 
 ship in our old temples instead of in caves and 
 wildernesses ?” 
 
 “ Dear child,” said the old man, gently taking 
 her hand, “ we shall see. The glory of the 
 Church in this age is not to be clothed in purple 
 and fine linen, but to be bearing the cross after 
 her Lord, the servant of all men for His sake. 
 She is necessarily a paradox amongst men ; her 
 laws are totally distinct from those of the world, 
 as her nature is. When she is weak she is strong, 
 when she is poor she is rich, when she is despised 
 she is glorified, and this not because weakness 
 and poverty and reproach are in themselves good 
 things, but because, being always really weak, 
 she is then only truly strong, when the conscious- 
 ness of weakness leads her to abide close to her 
 Lord.” 
 
 “ But,” pursued Magdalen, rising and stirring 
 the firelogs, then going to her easel and laying 
 her hand on her beloved drawings, “ would you 
 have me renounce these happy, beautiful dreams, 
 my painting and books, and all I delight in, and 
 strip my soul bare to tread the Dolorous Way?” 
 
 “I would have you renounce nothing, my 
 child,” replied Jablonsky; “what will be the end 
 of our heaven-born life in the resurrection, is its 
 tendency now. The new life must overwhelm 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 123 
 
 and rule the old; we must be clothed upon, not 
 unclothed; mortality must be swallowed up of 
 life. I believe, as at the first opening of our 
 Christian life, so ever after, God would have us 
 receive before we renounce. I do not mean that 
 you may not have to renounce much that is dear 
 to you, that you must not have perpetually to re- 
 sist the evil nature which abides within us till 
 death : you may be called upon to pluck off the 
 right hand and to pluck out the right eye — but 
 it is by listening to His voice, and learning to 
 know it well, and follow it, that you will find 
 strength for this. Love is the element of Chris- 
 tian life, and self-sacrifice is on earth the element 
 of love. Simply ask Him to fill your heart with 
 His love, and your life with His presence, and 
 then all that is displeasing to Him will be ex- 
 pelled from both, simply because there is no room 
 for them. You need not pluck off the dead 
 leaves, the young buds will gently push them off 
 when the spring comes.” 
 
 “ I need not, then, seek trial ?” she said. 
 
 “No,” he replied, with a smile, “you need 
 only seek faithfulness.” 
 
 There was a great spring against the door, as 
 of the forefeet of some large animal. Magdalen 
 ran to open it, and was nearly thrown down by 
 the rough embraces of old Rudolph, her brother’s 
 favorite stag-hound. “Down, Rudolph, down!” 
 his master exclaimed ; and kissing his sister, he 
 advanced with his arm round her into the room. 
 
124 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 He ayes many years older than Magdalen, 
 though still young. “ Magda ! Herr Pastor ! ” 
 he exclaimed, shaking Jablonsky’s hand, “ give 
 me joy ; I have the best news for you : we have 
 succeeded at length, the states are unanimous, 
 we have cast off our allegiance to the traitor 
 Ferdinand, and offered the crown of Bohemia to 
 Frederic Count Palatine of the Rhine; he has 
 accepted it, and will be here in a few weeks. 
 Our armies are united with those of Bethlen 
 Gabor from Transylvania and Hungary before 
 Vienna ; Ferdinand and his priests are trembling 
 in his palace, the emperor has not a firm place to 
 set his foot on in all his dominions. Our cause 
 is the cause of heaven ; in a few months our 
 Bohemian Church shall be the Queen of Prot- 
 estant Germany.” 
 
 “ And our Queen, the lady Elizabeth of Eng- 
 land ! ” exclaimed Magdalen, clapping her hands; 
 “they say she is the noblest and most beautiful 
 lady in Europe ! ” 
 
 “We shall see that,” rejoined her brother, 
 laughing, “ when our little Magdalen stands by 
 her side bearing her coronation robes.” 
 
 Magdalen colored, and Henry Otho took up 
 her sketch of Huss’s martyrdom from the table. 
 
 “ This is good, Magda,” he said, “ as far as it 
 goes, but we will have another class of confes- 
 sors of Christ now : men with strong arms and 
 brave hearts, ready to do and dare all for the 
 right. Why have you left old Ziska out of your 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 125 
 
 army of martyrs ? ” he continued, pausing before 
 a portrait of the one-eyed warrior, and gazing on 
 the wild, energetic countenance, the deep furrow 
 down the brow — the stamp, they say, of military 
 genius — the stern features lit up to a fiercer glow 
 by the flickering of the fire-light. 
 
 Jablonsky laid his hand on the youngs man’s 
 shoulder as he stood thus, and said earnestly — 
 
 “ I know you will deem my warning the mere 
 querulous timidity of an old man ; but once more, 
 before you plunge Bohemia in civil war, I entreat 
 you to remember to what Ziska's victories led. 
 God bears with the world, but He judges His 
 Church. He will not suffer her to prosper in 
 disobedience to Him ; and can it be obedience 
 to resist your sovereign, and to return evil for 
 evil ? ” 
 
 “ Father,” said the Count, respectfully but im- 
 patiently, “ the die is cast, we must now await 
 the issue ; to advance may have been rash, to re- 
 treat is impossible.” 
 
 “It is never impossible,” the old man replied, 
 opening the door, “to refuse to do wrong;” and 
 with these words he left the room. 
 
 “Endurance is always beautiful in women,” 
 exclaimed Henry Otho, pushing the fire-logs to- 
 gether with his foot, “ but only the last resource 
 for men. Besides, we are not fighting for our 
 religion, we are simply preventing the emperor 
 from committing a thousand crimes. It may 
 not be lawful to avenge ourselves ; but what law 
 11 * 
 
126 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 can withhold us from binding the arms of a mad- 
 man ?” 
 
 The brother and sister sat up until late, dwell- 
 ing on the glorious future which lay before 
 Bohemia and the truth. 
 
 Jablonsky also watched until a late hour that 
 night, alone, with his Saviour, entreating with 
 tears and agony of heart that, if possible, the 
 cup of retribution might this time pass from his 
 people, that the disciples who took the sword 
 might this once not perish with the sword. 
 
 “ They are blind/’ he pleaded, “ but they mean 
 to serve Thee. Oh, forgive the error, and re- 
 ward the intention ! or, if we must suffer, may 
 our sorrows teach us and glorify Thee ! and 
 sarry Thou Thy lambs in Thy bosom ! n 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 127 
 
 n. 
 
 THE CORONATION. 
 
 Aj,l Prague was full of music and splendor. 
 
 Pastor Jablonsky sat in his study, thinking of 
 his Sunday’s sermon which he was to preach in 
 Huss’s old chapel of Bethlehem, when Henry 
 Otlio entered the room, leading his sister in her 
 court dress. 
 
 A robe of blue velvet with ermine borders 
 fitted tightly around her form and fell in dark 
 massive folds from a girdle clasped with pearls. 
 Her only ornament was her coronet, from which 
 her brown hair fell in rich clusters. 
 
 “ Magda is frightened at the idea of encoun- 
 tering all the strange eyes, Herr Pastor,” said 
 her brother, “ you must reassure her.” 
 
 “It is a solemn thing, is it not, father,” said 
 Magdalen, “the crowning and anointing of our 
 king and queen before God ? ” And, kneeling 
 before him, she added, “Give me your blessing.” 
 
 He laid his hands on her head, and blessed her, 
 and she went out with a glad heart. 
 
 The old man's thoughts went back to the time 
 
128 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BEETIIKEN 
 
 when her mother had come into his study, dressed 
 just as she was, and had begged him to take 
 charge of her little Magda while she was at the 
 Emperor Rudolph’s court ; and he left the house 
 to follow the orphan maiden. 
 
 He saw her step into the family state coach, 
 formed like an open van, but gorgeously painted 
 and embossed with gold — not forgetting, in her 
 pomp and excitement, to thank the attendants for 
 every little service — her brother on horseback 
 beside the carriage, proudly guarding her. 
 
 Every one was in the streets that day in 
 Prague ; the winter sun shone brilliantly in honor 
 of the “winter king;”* and Hags of many col- 
 ors, with triumphant inscriptions, flaunted from 
 house to house. The Moldau was crowded with 
 boats full of peasants in holiday attire ; the Scla- 
 vonian youths and maidens thronged into every 
 gate, singing old Czeskan national songs; regi- 
 ments of Bohemian infantry marched up the 
 streets, with spoils from the suburbs of Vienna, 
 followed by the enthusiastic cheers of the people ; 
 troops of Hungarian and Transylvanian cavalry 
 pranced on with their wild eastern music. The 
 city was full of happy stir and bustle and life, the 
 tramp of infantry and the prancing of horsemen, 
 shouts of joyous voices, thrilling bursts of military 
 music, grand pealings of old church hymns, 
 resounding through the narrow streets, caught up 
 
 * The name commonly given to the Falatine, Freddie, in Bo- 
 
 hernia. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 129 
 
 from hill to hill, from the Vissehrad to the Hrad- 
 shin, and floating down the Moldau to the 
 plain. 
 
 As the old pastor moved through the throng, 
 his pulse beat quick with the common enthusiasm ; 
 and he thought, “If men’s hearts bound so high 
 to greet an earthly sovereign, what will it be 1 
 when the Ancient Nation and the whole earth 
 shall go forth with songs and everlasting joy on 
 their heads, to meet the King of kings, no stranger 
 to His redeemed, singing, ‘Blessed is he who 
 cometh in the name of the Lord ? ’ ” 
 
 In the evening, the brother and sister came to 
 him apart, to tell him of the day’s events. 
 
 Henry Otho related how Magdalen had out- 
 shone the queen herself in beauty and grace ; how 
 many eyes had rested on her, how many lips had 
 murmured praises of her simple grace, and how 
 the queen herself hat addressed gracious words 
 to her, saying that her court must not be without 
 such an ornament; and then he spoke of the 
 enthusiastic reception of the new sovereign. 
 
 “And now,” he added, “ we are a nation again 
 at last ; we have a Bohemian king, a Bohemian 
 court, a Bohemian Diet, a Bohemian people, and 
 a Bohemian Church.” 
 
 And Magdalen came afterwards, and told how 
 in all the assembly there had been none so noble 
 and manly as her own brother, and the queen had 
 mentioned him to her, “ the dear, beautiful, good 
 queen.” 
 
130 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 “Oh, father!” she said, “ she is so gracious 
 and gentle — I could love her as a mother — and 
 yet so noble and queenly, my whole heart bowed 
 before her ; and when the people cried 4 God bless 
 her ! ’ I could not help weeping, and praying 
 that no harm may ever touch that royal heart.” 
 
 u See, Magda,” he replied, “all these sacred 
 and blessed relationships has God given us to 
 bind us in happy subjection to one another. Great 
 is the peace of those with whom all these relation- 
 ships are as links to Him — all centred in Him; 
 great shall be the peace of the earth when this 
 shall be the manifest law of all.” 
 
 She looked earnestly in his face for an instant, 
 then, kissing his forehead, she glided from the 
 room. 
 
 Then returning and holding the door in her 
 hand, she said — 
 
 “ Why was it that the rich, magnificent cho- 
 ruses which filled the old cathedral when they 
 crowned our king and queen seemed to bear me 
 with inexpressible longings to the very gates of 
 heaven, yet left me still longing outside , whilst, 
 when we sing our quiet hymns together in church, 
 all the heavens seem opened, and I lie as nothing 
 beneath and amidst their glory, yet happy 
 as a happy child ?” 
 
 “Is it not ever so?” the old man answered: 
 “the pomp of man’s religion only expands the 
 soul in vague emotions, as if it were the Infinite, 
 and leaves it empty . God’s religion brings down 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORA VIA. 
 
 131 
 
 the Infinite into the soul, and fills it. Let your 
 heart be but as a flower meekly opened to the 
 sky with all its stars, and the heavens shall drop 
 dew into it, and the dead earth shall distil living 
 sap into it. Only keep your soul lifted up, and 
 God will take care that it shall grow.” 
 
132 SKETCHES OP THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 III. 
 
 THE INCORRUPTIBLE INHERITANCE. 
 
 It was a crisp, bright spring morning in 1620. 
 
 David Jablonsky and Magdalen von Loss were 
 prolonging their walk on their return from one of 
 those invigorating early morning services of 
 which the Moravian Brethren were so fond, Henry 
 Otho being absent with the staff of Frederic’s 
 army. 
 
 They had mounted to the top of the Vissehrad. 
 Down its precipitous side they looked on the 
 river, the low golden sunbeams crisping the sides 
 of a hundred masts, sparkling in a thousand rip- 
 ples, glittering capriciously, through the morning 
 mist, on roof and spire and tree along the valley 
 of the Moldau, and in the distance clothing with 
 delicate saffron and violet tints the woods and the 
 tops of the hills ; whilst the clouds were as bird- 
 of-paradise plumes, fresh rose-leaves, pearly shells, 
 scattered at random from God’s treasure-cham- 
 bers, and all — the colors of the clouds, and sky, 
 and hills, the laughter of children from the city, 
 the songs of birds — all fresh, and delicate, and 
 pure, and light, as the soft fragrance of the bud- 
 ding earth which wrapt their senses imperceptibly 
 as in a delicious dream. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 133 
 
 On the other side lay Prague, the city of their 
 fathers ; church, and palace roofs, and gilded pin- 
 nacles, and white walls shining with sharp edges 
 of light; the old* Bohemian cathedral on the 
 Hradsliin crowning all the city. 
 
 “And. all, all,” said Magdalen, softly, “work- 
 ing together for good; all the ministers of life 
 .and love ! Oh, happy earth, with God shining 
 on it, and happy, happy creatures we, to live on 
 it, beloved of Him ! ” 
 
 “ You hath He reconciled,” murmured the old 
 man ; “ all power is given to Him in heaven and in 
 earth, and in the fulness of times all things shall 
 be gathered together in Him.” 
 
 Then, after some minutes of happy silence, she 
 said, as they descended the hill — 
 
 “ What hinders the world from being Eden 
 still to hearts redeemed and set free, and at peace 
 with God?” 
 
 “ His presence does indeed make a temple and 
 an Eden about the faithful heart here,” he re- 
 plied, “as it will make heaven hereafter; but, 
 dear child, this earth is not all Eden, not Eden 
 for all , for there are on it dead souls turned away 
 from the light of God — thousands who sin with- 
 out repentance and suffer without being chas- 
 tened. For millions on it, Magda, this world is 
 an hospital, and a charnel-house, a place of sin 
 and pain ; there are men to whom the morning for 
 which we watch shall come as a sudden destruc- 
 tion, and a terrific close of life and hope for ever.” 
 
 12 
 
134 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 “ But that can he no cause/’ she said, shudder- 
 ing, “ why those who love God, knowing His 
 great love, should not let some songs of joy 
 ascend to greet Him from His fallen creation ? ” 
 
 “ It can be no cause why we should not be 
 thankful; but it is abundant reason why we 
 should not sit still and dream, painting fairy vis- 
 ions on the darkness,” he rejoined. “ In Him we 
 are indeed commanded to rejoice always. His 
 love to us, and the union of the believing heart 
 to Him, can not be more perfect than at the first 
 moment when, in faith, we touch but the hem of 
 His garment; our life is eternal, and c hidden’ 
 above all storms, and therefore our peace is in 
 its nature absolute and unchangeable as the peace 
 of heaven. To dwell in the. sense of this is our 
 strength ; such holy, reasonable joy is, in itself, 
 service. The very presence of a heart so mani- 
 festly at peace with God and all He sends, is a 
 gospel.” 
 
 “ Then why speak of this beautiful earth so 
 often as a mere wilderness to be passed through ?” 
 she exclaimed: “I feel so at home here; and 
 would not God have us feel so* while we re- 
 main ? ” 
 
 “Magda,” he replied, gently, “ it is most im- 
 portant that our peace should rest on objective 
 realities, not on inward emotions. Truth is 
 always the happiest thing to believe in the end : 
 for the storm comes to all, and truth is the only 
 thing that stands it. Now, when God said, 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 135 
 
 ‘ This is not our rest/ He meant what He said ; 
 yet surely He did not mean this for ill news, but 
 for the gladdest tidings men can hear. We have 
 a ‘ better country,’ — a city that hath foundations; 
 and we are hastening home, not empty-handed, 
 but with hands and heart full of His gifts, to 
 minister to all, as we journey, and with lips over- 
 flowing with His blessed invitations. And ever 
 as we go, the Great Comforter is fashioning in 
 our hearts, through, fire and flood, the graces 
 which are of great price in the sight of our 
 Lord.” 
 
 “You will forgive me,” she resumed; “I am 
 afraid I must be very cold-hearted ; but earth is 
 so warm and familiar to me, with my brother 
 and you, and so many to love, that I can not help 
 weeping sometimes, when I think of leaving it. 
 I am not weary of life, you know, and I do not 
 need sleep or rest ; and the grave is so lonely, 
 and the heavens, with the spirits and their un- 
 wearying harps and songs — we know so little 
 about them/’ 
 
 “ Dear Magda,” he said, “ God will teach you 
 all Ilis lessons in His own time ; but have you 
 forgotten the Resurrection? Look beyond the 
 parting to the gathering, look on beyond the 
 dim, unclothed, spirit-state in which the human 
 heart finds no resting-place but the ‘for ever with 
 theLorcV — to that bright morning when He who 
 once appeared to cheer a weeping woman who loved 
 Him, calling her ‘Mary,’ shall come again to 
 
136 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 breathe on us an eternal peace, and to gather 
 the whole redeemed family into the Father’s 
 house. Then shall the pedestal of His cross be- 
 come the footstool of His throne — then shall the 
 earth, unfettered and impregnated in the new 
 life, ‘give forth her increase,’ an Eden in the 
 keeping of an Adam who has endured tempta- 
 tion, and vanquished the tempter — the second 
 Adam, and His heavenly Eve, created, whilst He 
 slept, from out His pierced side, bone of His 
 bone, flesh of His flesh. This, Magdalen, is the 
 glorious hope for which we wait ; no mere un- 
 clothing of a wearied spirit, that it may lie down 
 and rest, but the outpouring of the fulness of 
 life ; no mere selfish deliverance from conflict and 
 pain, but the redemption of the whole Church 
 from all fetters, the emancipation of the whole 
 creation, the day of the triumph of our Lord, the 
 marriage supper of the Lamb,* This is the over- 
 whelming joy which lies before us — for this the 
 whole family in earth and heaven wait — for this 
 result of the travail of His soul, the Conqueror 
 also waits, sitting at the right hand of God.” 
 
 Much more he said, which I may not now re- 
 peat ; but as he spoke, tears gathered in Magda- 
 len’s eyes, and she said — 
 
 “Father! I am but a child; I have much to 
 
 * I do not at all mean to attribute these definite thoughts as to the 
 future to the whole body of the Moravians. I believe there have 
 always been individuals amongst them who have in some measure 
 rested on them. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 137 
 
 learn ; these things overwhelm me. I seem step* 
 ping into a new and infinite world, and my heart 
 trembles/’ 
 
 44 Fear not, my child,” he answered — “God 
 teaches very patiently. He will take thee by 
 the hand, and lead thee gently on. The Almighty 
 One is also the meek and lowly in heart ; He 
 gives wisdom liberally to all that lack and ask 
 for it, and upbraid eth not.” 
 
 Magdalen read her Bible much that evening, 
 with a new reverence — read of the new creation, 
 commenced in the soul of the feeblest believer, 
 destined to find its completion when we shall 
 awake in perfect likeness to the risen Lord, and 
 its final home in the new birth from dissolution 
 of the new heavens and the new earth ; and she 
 lay down to sleep with the joyful consciousness 
 that she was a learner in a school of inexhaust- 
 ible truth, having for her teacher Him who 
 knows all things because He has made them, 
 knows the heights of God, and the depths of man, 
 by being both. 
 
 And the morning found Him still about her 
 path as He had been about her bed — and the 
 day’s work shone to her with the light of her 
 eternal home 
 
 12 s * 6 
 
138 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BEETHEEN 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 Magdalen had need of something to strengthen 
 her. She had plenty of petty trials to prove 
 whether the new hopes which had arisen on her 
 heart were mere pictures of light — glowing, but 
 opaque — or transparencies letting in real light on 
 the dark corners of life. 
 
 The affairs of Bohemian Protestantism looked 
 more and more gloomy every day. 
 
 Frederic threw away half his advantages by 
 mismanagement, and let the rest slip away by 
 his indolence and indecision. His generals were 
 jealous of each other; his Bohemian subjects were 
 jealous of the Germans ; and there was no strong 
 will, no plastic mind, to mould the discordant 
 elements into harmonious combination. Men 
 who should have supported one another only 
 jostled one another, because there was no one to 
 fix them in their places; and whilst the Prot- 
 estants were hesitating and quarreling about 
 their rank in the procession, the Emperor Ferdi- 
 nand and his Catholics came and stole away the 
 ark. 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MORAVIA. 
 
 139 
 
 Henry Otho von Loss, and other wise and dis- 
 interested men amongst his party, doubtless saw 
 this, but they saw it as the guardian angel is said 
 to see the errors of his charge — with fruitless 
 foresight. 
 
 They labored, and entreated, and contended, 
 but their voices seemed only to serve to increase 
 the clamor, until at last they had no resource but 
 each to do his own duty, and leave things to ar- 
 range themselves as they would. 
 
 All this fretted Henry Otho’s temper intoler- 
 ably ; like a strong wave struggling against an 
 ebbing tide, to spend all his strength, only to find 
 himself at each successive effort further from the 
 goal, it was very bitter; and, in addition to this 
 natural disappointment, he felt all that a Chris- 
 tian feels who has entangled himself in a thousand 
 cares and schemes, and yet fears to look straight 
 up to God, lest one clear glance from Him should 
 pierce through all the laborious fabric, and smite 
 it to pieces in an instant. Not that he was pre- 
 cisely conscious of this, but he felt less at home 
 with himself, and therefore hurried the more im- 
 petuously on in the path he had chosen. 
 
 Magdalen had entered heart and soul into all 
 her brother’s schemes for liberating Bohemia and 
 the truth, but she was less involved in the details 
 of their practical execution ; doubts of their con- 
 sistency with the calling of the Church to lowly 
 patience, and rendering good for evil, occasion- 
 ally crossed her mind, and of late she had not 
 
140 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 sought to banish them, but had simply asked foi 
 more light. 
 
 At first, in the ardor of her new interest in 
 Divine truth, she had sought to communicate it 
 to her brother; but he grew first weary and then 
 impatient, so that she ceased to speak to him on 
 the subject, and endeavored to enter as much as 
 she could into his cares. 
 
 But even this did not always please him : “ What 
 could women understand of such things?” And 
 then, if she took refuge in her painting, he would 
 say, “ These were no times for such child’s play.” 
 
 At first Magdalen was surprised and indignant 
 at this — she for whom his watchful love had al- 
 ways been providing some new pleasure; and 
 often she was sorely perplexed and tried ; but her 
 tact and gentleness seldom failed : not that it was 
 any great merit in her ; she loved her brother 
 literally as herself, and often some burst of re- 
 pentant tenderness would make up to her for a 
 thousand words, harsher than any he had ever 
 spoken; for the kindness, she knew, was meant, 
 the harshness not. 
 
 She was always ready to welcome him with 
 some playful or loving word, or some proof of 
 thought for his comfort ; thus working out the 
 prayers which, with so many tears, she daily of- 
 fered for him. 
 
 So she was daily gaining wisdom in the lore of 
 life, the blessed art of watching and ministering 
 to the sick at heart. 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 141 
 
 God was training her for farther lessons, 
 lie was leading her consciously u with Ilis 
 eye,” teaching her with Ilis own voice the way 
 in which she should go ; and, though with the 
 rougher lessons of external providence, He was 
 as surely training and directing the yet unsub- 
 missive heart of her brother. 
 
 And the old pastor looked on, and helped, 
 and counseled — and where he could do neither, 
 prayed for both his children, thus laboring to- 
 gether with God. 
 
 It was the eve of the 8th of November, 1G20, 
 the eve of one of those decisive days on which 
 centuries of a nation’s destiny are suffered to de- 
 pend. All Prague, the Imperial and Bohemian 
 armies encamped in its neighborhood, all Bohe- 
 mia and Protestant and Catholic Germany, lay 
 awaiting the issue of the battle to be fought on 
 the White Mountains. 
 
 Once more Magdalen von Loss and her brother 
 sat in the old room, with its family portraits and 
 tapestry, its oaken cabinets, and high, deep win- 
 dows — chatting by the blazing hearth. 
 
 Insensibly, as the twilight deepened, their con- 
 versation wandered off from national prospects 
 and dangers, to the old days before care had set 
 in on them — to plots and ambuscades concocted 
 behind the tapestry, to tears shed over difficult 
 
142 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 lessons, through which could be seen no glimpse 
 of hope — bitter griefs, forgotten the next day ; tc 
 Henry Oth o’s gracious condescensions, and Mag- 
 dalen’s unlimited reverence; quarrels cemented 
 into indestructible alliances; blame borne for 
 one another, and pleasures hoarded up ; all the 
 world of love and trust they had been to one an- 
 other — the orphan brother and sister. 
 
 They chatted merrily of it all, not daring to 
 look forward, or to touch any deeper chords. 
 
 Then all the household met in the great hall to 
 commit themselves and one another to the care of 
 God ; and His peace came down on them as they 
 prayed, so that the young Count took a hopeful 
 leave of them all. 
 
 “ Magda,” he whispered, “ forget all my cross 
 words : things have gone wrong sometimes, but 
 one way or another God’s cause must triumph : 
 after to-morrow we will be His happy and trust- 
 ful children again. Good-bye.” 
 
 Magdalen bore up bravely, only after he was 
 gone weeping and praying for him, till she fell 
 asleep from weariness. 
 
 But they were soft, childlike tears, falling 
 through the light of happy hopes. 
 
 Henry Otho von Loss lay by one of the watch- 
 fires in the Protestant encampment, on the White 
 Mountains. The country was glowing with the 
 feverish flicker and glare of many watchfires, 
 gleaming here and there on the forms and arms 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 143 
 
 of men, scattered over the ground in every at- 
 titude of hasty slumber. 
 
 With the exception of the patroles and those 
 Mho had to plan to-morrow’s movements, the two 
 armies were asleep. 
 
 The night was still, yet beneath the stillness 
 there was an undercurrent of stir and preparation ; 
 some groups talking in hushed voices, others 
 stealthily changing their position, the crackling 
 of fires, and the occasional challenge of sentinels. 
 
 Above, the calm was absolute, the moon pass- 
 ing noiselessly in and out amongst white clouds, 
 and all the heavens full of her peaceful light. 
 
 As he lay there, musing, he saw a dark figure 
 approaching the height, which on nearer ap- 
 proach he recognized to be that of Jablonsky. 
 He beckoned the old man to him, and they sat 
 down together by the fire. 
 
 “ What brings you hither at this hour ?” 
 
 “ I came to see w r hat was the character of an 
 army sworn to defend the holy cause.” 
 
 “ And you found little satisfaction ? The camp 
 is a barren field for missionary labor — at least, 
 until after the battle.” 
 
 “ And yet Avhere is there more need of a life 
 hidden beyond the grave ?” 
 
 “ Did they listen to your message?” said Von 
 Loss. 
 
 “ Some listened and some mocked, and some 
 turned away, and some began to tell me of Chris- 
 tian homes and early childish lessons, until they 
 
144 SKETCHES OF TIIE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 wept and made promises for to-morrow. The 
 hearts of men are the same everywhere.” 
 
 “ But did you tind the men generally sanguine 
 about the issue of to-morrow ?” 
 
 u To be candid with you, I did not; your 
 army, they say, is so mixed; the Bohemians 
 seem indignant at having to fight under Ger- 
 mans, and beside foreigners from Hungary and 
 Transylvania, whom they look on as little better 
 than Turks and barbarians.” 
 
 “ Father !” said the soldier, rising and standing 
 before him, “ must not the cause of the Almighty 
 triumph ?” 
 
 “ It must, it shall,” said the old man, firmly, 
 u though not perhaps by the arms of the mighty. 
 Our banner of victory is the cross. The cross, 
 and not the sword ; for we also conquer by sacri- 
 ficing, not by avenging ourselves. The cross, 
 and not the crucifix ; for He who was once nailed 
 to it now rests in triumph, having obtained for 
 Himself, and for us, an eternal victory.” 
 
 “ I understand,” said Henry Otho, in a low 
 voice ; “ but if, perchance, we have chosen wrong 
 ways to His end, must not His end nevertheless 
 be reached, and His cause prevail ?” 
 
 “ His triumph is as certain as His Godhead,” 
 replied Jablonsky, solemnly; “living or dying, 
 vanquished or victorious, we only further His 
 supreme and blessed purposes. He has under- 
 taken, not only to save His people, but to guide 
 them, and He will do it.” 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA 
 
 145 
 
 “ It is well,” replied Yon Loss : “ whether my 
 earthly life serve, by being trampled into soil, to 
 nourish other lives, or, by spreading into a forest, 
 to shelter them, I can trust Him implicitly with 
 it; forme, and for His Church, it is well . My 
 blood may flow in vain, but my Saviour’s can 
 not. Kneel once more, father, and pray for me, 
 for does not His blood cleanse from all sin ?” 
 
 The old man prayed in few and simple words, 
 for his heart was full ; and then embracing Henry 
 Otlio, he hastened back to Prague. 
 
 On the next day, the cause of Bohemian Prot- 
 estantism received its death-blow. The Bohe- 
 mians gave way the last, but to die at their posts 
 was all their valor could achieve. 
 
 As the consequence of that day, the pastors 
 were driven first from Prague, and then from 
 Bohemia ; the churches were closed ; those who 
 could emigrate, did ; those who could not, kept 
 the faith in secret, or betrayed it, or were put to 
 death. 
 
 The Reformation was crushed in Bohemia un- 
 til this day. 
 
146 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN. 
 
 Y. 
 
 THE VICTORY. 
 
 Eight months had passed, bringing round to 
 Magdalen and her brother the eve of another 
 battle. 
 
 But the issue of this conflict was certain, the 
 armor proof. 
 
 It was the 20th of June, 1621. 
 
 On the morrow, Henry Otho von Loss, with 
 twenty-six defenders of the Protestant religion, 
 was to die on the scaffold. 
 
 They allowed Magdalen to enter the cell, in 
 the castle of Prague, in Avhich her brother was 
 imprisoned, and to Cpend an hour with him there. 
 They had been praying together, and now they 
 sat quietly hand in hand, fearing to make those 
 last moments pass more quickly by any move- 
 ment or burst of emotion. The thousand frag- 
 ments and reminiscences and farewells, which 
 that hour could never have contained, were all 
 condensed into the one prayer — 
 
 “ Father, we commit one another to Thee.” 
 
 “Tell Pastor Jablonsky,” he said, “that his 
 
147 
 
 OF BOHEMIA ANB MORAVIA. 
 
 words are with me to the last. I dm sure he 
 has been praying for me, and has been an- 
 swered.” 
 
 They had not suffered any of the pastors of 
 the Bohemian Brethren to visit the prisons. The 
 Jesuits distinguished them with this especial 
 hatred. 
 
 “ After all my mistakes, Magda,” he murmured, 
 “that He should suffer me to die for Him !” 
 
 She did not attempt to speak. 
 
 “ Magda,” he resumed, “ my sister, you will 
 suffer, but trust His love; it is not charity or 
 kindness, Magda, it is love — love deeper than 
 mine. And, sister, do not struggle with sorrow, 
 it is of no use; sink down on Him . He can heal, 
 He will sustain you. And — oh, do not grieve an 
 instant for me ! You are the martyr, not I.” 
 
 She' sank on his shoulder, and they wept to- 
 gether; but the step of the jailer echoed through 
 the narrow passage, and the long embrace had to 
 be unclasped. 
 
 Once more they stood hand in hand, and Henry 
 said, calmly, “By and by, my sister, after the 
 little while, we shall have time to say all we 
 would.” 
 
 “At His feet,” murmured Magdalen — for his 
 sake, with a strong effort, repressing her tears. 
 
 They parted in silence. 
 
 Magdalen went home alone. She entered the 
 house without speaking, and, quietly passing 
 through the hall and up the staircase, she opened 
 
148 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 the door of the family sitting-room, and softly 
 closing it again, she sat down before her drawing- 
 table, and leaned her head upon her hands. 
 
 She was still leaning thus to avoid the pain of 
 seeing, when she heard a soft step in the room, 
 and looking up, she saw pastor Jablonsky stand- 
 ing close before her. 
 
 She was not weeping, but tears ran fast over 
 his cheeks as he looked at her, and she stretched 
 out her hand to him, and said gently — 
 u Life is not so very long, father, after all/’ 
 
 He could not answer, but he sat down beside 
 her ; and folding her hands on her knees, she said 
 no more. 
 
 She sat long without moving, when a rough 
 head was thrust under her hand, and in another 
 moment old Rudolph’s paws were on her lap. 
 
 Then her tears fell fast on his shaggy head; 
 he looked wistfully in her face and moaned, and 
 licked her hands as if to comfort her, until, hiding 
 her face on the old man’s arm, she wept bitterly. 
 And Jablonsky whispered — 
 
 “ Now Jesus loved Mary and her sister and 
 Lazarus 
 
 On that evening the confessors were removed 
 to the Town Hall. The scaffold was already 
 erected before it ; and as they passed, many of 
 their brethren and fellow-prisoners greeted them 
 from the windows with hymns, and the people 
 thronged around them and wept. * 
 
 * The following scene is strictly historical, 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MORAVIA. 
 
 149 
 
 On the morrow, they all dressed as if for a 
 wedding ; and one by one, as they were led out 
 to execution, they cheered one another on to the 
 combat. The farewell would not be long. 
 
 When it came to the turn of Henry Otho von 
 Loss, a Lutheran minister accompanied the 
 guards. Yon Loss had been amongst those who, 
 perhaps, from too fond an attachment to the 
 Church of their fathers, had refused to receive the 
 Lord’s Supper from the hands of a Lutheran : but 
 when he saw the minister, he arose from his seat 
 as if in a kind of ecstasy, and said to him — 
 
 “How I rejoice to see you, man of God, that I 
 may tell you what has happened to me ! I was 
 sitting in this chair, grieving bitterly that I could 
 not receive the Supper, having desired, as you 
 know, a minister of our own Church. I fell asleep 
 in my grief: and lo, in a dream, the Lord ap- 
 peared to me, and said, ‘My grace is sufficient 
 for thee : I cleanse thee in My blood.’ At the 
 same instant, I felt, as it were, Ilis blood flow 
 over my heart; and since I awoke, I have felt 
 singularly strengthened and refreshed.” 
 
 Thereupon he broke into these words of 
 triumph — 
 
 “ Yes ; believe , and thou hast eaten the flesh of 
 the Son of man. I have no more fear of death. 
 My J esus comes to meet me with His angels, to 
 lead me to His marriage supper, where I shall for 
 ever drink with Him the cup of joy and glad- 
 ness.” 
 
 13 * 
 
150 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 He ascended the scaffold full of joy, first pros* 
 trating himself in prayer, then having risen, and 
 laid aside his garments, he again knelt, saying, 
 “Lord Jesus, receive me into Thy glory!” and 
 whilst he was uttering this last word, he received 
 the death-blow. 
 
 Thus did the cause of external Protestantism 
 in Bohemia fail, and thus did the Church of God 
 triumph. 
 
 It was night — a summer’s night ; and under the 
 calm stars a funeral procession bore the body of 
 Henry Otho von Loss to his tomb amongst the 
 recesses of the hills. 
 
 The mourners were a band of outlawed Prot- 
 estants, yet they sang hymns as they went — 
 hymns of hope and victory — and the soft music 
 was peaceful as the songs of angels, transpiercing 
 the calm. 
 
 One woman followed the bier, leaning on the 
 arm of an old man. When they reached the new- 
 made grave, he left her to perform the last rites 
 over the dead, and she stood a little way off alone, 
 her hand resting on the head of an old stag-hound. 
 
 The corpse was lowered into the grave, and the 
 earth fell on the coffin. 
 
 Then arose the beautiful Moravian Funeral 
 Litany, * floating through the silence with its 
 responsive music. 
 
 At first all joined — at least, all who could lor 
 
 * I do not know whether the Litany, from which the following 
 extracts are taken, existed so early as this. It is now used in tho 
 Easter Morning Service, in the Moravian cemeteries, 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MORAVIA. 
 
 151 
 
 weeping, for amongst the mourners were many 
 faithful old servants of the family — in the hymn, 
 
 “ I know that my Redeemer lives — 
 
 the eternal song of triumph of the resurrection. 
 Then Pastor J ablonsky said — 
 
 “ Glory to Him who is the Resurrection and 
 the Life ! He hath been dead, but now He liveth 
 for evermore; and he who belie veth in Him, 
 though lie were dead, yet shall he live. To Him 
 be glory in the Church which awaits His ap- 
 pearing, and in that around His throne.” 
 
 And the assembly responded — 
 u For ever and ever. Amen.” 
 
 Then the minister’s voice arose again, at first 
 feeble and broken, but gradually gathering 
 strength from the power of the words he ut- 
 tered: — 
 
 u Our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 
 By Thy human birth, 
 
 By Thy meritorious tears, 
 
 By all the miseries of Thy life, 
 
 By Thy languor and Thy pains, 
 
 By the distress and anguish of Thy soul, 
 
 By Thine agony and bloody sweat, 
 
 By Thine insults, stripes, and wounds, 
 
 By Thy painful death, 
 
 By Thy return to us, or 
 By our resting in Thy bosom ” — 
 
 And with one voice the people cried — 
 
 “ Comfort us, O Lord our God! 
 
 Then, turning to the mourners, and especially 
 to her who stood apart, he lifted up his hands, 
 and said — 
 
152 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 44 The Lord bless thee and keep thee. 
 
 44 The Lord make His face to shine upon thee, 
 and be gracious unto thee. 
 
 “The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, 
 and give thee peace” 
 
 And all the little band responded — 
 
 44 In the name of Jesus. Amen.” 
 
 Then leaving the grave, Jablonsky went again 
 to Magdalen — for it was she — and led her 
 home. 
 
 44 My child,” he said, trying in vain to check 
 his own tears — 44 My child, God is indeed teach- 
 ing thee the lessons of the wilderness.” 
 
 44 But He is with me,” she replied ; 44 and 
 He teaches me also that it is the way to our 
 rest.” 
 
 And the next morning, like another Magdalen 
 to another sepulchre, whose opening has made 
 all burial-places for us only sleeping-places, she 
 came early, when it was yet dark, unto the 
 tomb. 
 
 And kneeling on the fresh earth, she said with 
 her whole heart, amidst her sobs — 
 
 44 Master ! ” 
 
 And Jesus said by His Spirit to her heart — 
 f 44 Peace be unto thee ! Go unto my breth- 
 ren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my 
 Father and your Father, unto my God and your 
 God.” 
 
 She and her brother were His. His Father 
 *ras their Father. It was enough. She also had 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MOKAVIA. 
 
 153 
 
 learned the meaning of the words Death and 
 Resurrection. 
 
 The Great Hope of t'Ae Church had become 
 the great hope of her heart. 
 
 She also went forth in His strength, to wit- 
 ness by her life that the Lord was risen in- 
 deed. 
 
154 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BKETHEEN 
 
 VL 
 
 THE PEACE. 
 
 Magdalen never married. Without father 01 
 mother, or brother or sister, an exile from her 
 country, cut off from all ties of kindred, she 
 passed the prime and close of her life, which was a 
 long one. Can you conceive anything more 
 desolate ? 
 
 In a little cottage in the suburbs of Dresden, 
 an old paralytic woman lay on a low bed. Every- 
 thing about her was scrupulously clean, and a 
 young girl, having just completed her arrange- 
 ments about the room, was seated by the fire, 
 knitting. 
 
 “Why does not she come?” said the old 
 woman, querulously. “It is long past her time ; 
 but the strong and healthy never think how 
 slowly time passes on the sick-bed.” 
 
 “O grandmother,” said the girl, “I am sure 
 she always thinks ! The snow is lying thick on 
 the ground, and every now and then it beats in 
 heavy drifts against the window. Perhaps the 
 Fraulein may not be able to come to-night.” 
 But the latch was softly raised before she could 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 155 
 
 finish her sentence, and the Fraulein entered, 
 and, after a few preliminary inquiries, took her 
 usual place beside the old woman’s bedside, and 
 began to read to her from the New Testament. 
 
 It had been rather a hopeless task, and if Mag- 
 dalen’s eyes had not been directed rather to 
 Divine promises than to visible results, she would 
 have grown weary of it years before ; for, although 
 the old woman always listened attentively, and 
 was very much aggrieved if the daily visit were 
 omitted, she seldom vouchsafed any more cheer- 
 ing declaration than — 
 
 “Well, all these things are very good; but 
 the comforts of this life are very needful, and the 
 poor body must be cared for.” 
 
 But to-night, when she had laid aside the book, 
 and had arisen from her prayer, and had pre- 
 sented the sickly creature with a warm shawl ot 
 her own knitting, the old woman’s heart seemed 
 touched at last, and grasping Magdalen’s hand 
 tight for some moments in her own, she said — 
 
 “Well the comforts of this life are very need- 
 ful; but the Great Gift of God, and Ilis grace in 
 the heart are above all.” 
 
 It was reward enough for labors a thousand 
 times more irksome. Tears gathered in Magda- 
 len’s eyes, and she went home with a glad heart, 
 too happy to heed the cold, but not too full ta 
 notice how the pure, moonlight lay in silvery 
 streaks on the pure, smooth snow, roofing com- 
 mon houses with alabaster, fretting the bare 
 
156 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 trees with fairy tracery, and to thank God from 
 her heart for all the changing beauty of this fair 
 earth. Magdalen’s religion was no mere inward 
 emotion : it was a reception into her inmost soul 
 of the truth, which is the u incorruptible seed” 
 of the new life ; it was the living relationship of 
 a redeemed sinner to the living God. Being re- 
 ceived into the family, and taught the freedom 
 of the child, she had also been taught the “ per- 
 fect freedom ” of those who, having no object in 
 life but Ilis service who guides every step of 
 their lives, labor under no cares, and can meet 
 with no hindrances. 
 
 Two little faces were peeping out of the door 
 of a house in Dresden. 
 
 “ Why would she go out this bitter weather ?” 
 said one. 
 
 “We will go to meet her if she does not come 
 soon,” said another. 
 
 But in a few minutes they caught a glimpse of 
 her coming quickly up the street. 
 
 Joyous welcomes were on every lip, laughing 
 reproaches, and tender, loving words, and in a 
 few moments the children had “ Sister Magdalen” 
 in by a blazing Christmas fire ; one chafing her 
 hands, another taking off her snow shoes, a third 
 removing her wet cloak, a fourth bringing a 
 warm shaAvi, and a fifth busy little fairy prepar- 
 ing a basin of hot pottage. 
 
 These Avere all orphans of Bohemian martyrs, 
 to Avhose maintenance and education Magdalen 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 157 
 
 von Loss lmd devoted the remains of her brother’s 
 confiscated fortune and her life. 
 
 Then, when she had rested, there were narra- 
 tives of the day’s doings and learnings to be 
 given, and counsel to be sought ; and in reward 
 for lessons well learnt, and tasks well done, came 
 the general plea for a story of old Bohemia. 
 
 The firelight shone cheerfully on the eager 
 child-like faces, and on the gray hair and quiet 
 happy eyes of the story-teller. Then were the 
 old heroic tales she had listened to by the fire- 
 side at Prague poured forth afresh into the young 
 fresh hearts ; — for when will the harvest end, to 
 be reaped from the seed of one holy life, laid 
 down for the brethren, and laid up in the book of 
 Church History written in heaven ? 
 
 “ Oh !” said one of the children, “ we will be 
 more useful than ever, and more like our fathers, 
 when this bitter frost is passed, and we can go 
 out again. I wish there were no such thing as 
 frost.” 
 
 “ Do not murmur at the frost and snow, dear 
 child,” said Magdalen, smoothing back the eager 
 little girl’s hair ; “ the fire never burns so brightly 
 as in the frosty weather : and the snow, you know, 
 is God’s mantle, under which the flowers are kept 
 warm against the spring.” 
 
 “ That is one of Sister Magdalen’s parables,” 
 the children whispered thoughtfully to one an- 
 other. 
 
 The spring came. One of Magdalen’s orphans 
 14 
 
158 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 was betrothed to the pastor of Lohmen ; she had 
 given the children a holiday amongst the wild 
 beautiful gorges of the Saxon Switzerland ; and 
 now she and the young betrothed stood alone on 
 the rough bridge which connected the heights of 
 the Bastei with those on which are the ruins of 
 the castle of the robber knight of Thuba. 
 
 On one side of the narrow bridge they could 
 look down into the deep hollow of the Grunbacli- 
 thal, tall firs seeming like rock-plants in the crev- 
 ices of the gigantic perpendicular walls of rock, 
 and the deep green fields resting peacefully be- 
 low. 
 
 But they were turning in the other direction, 
 where, on the left, the Elbe wound beneath the 
 heights of Konigstein and Lilienstein, flattened 
 as if for the pedestals of fortresses ; and on the 
 right, through wooded hills, to the broad plains 
 of Dresden; whilst beyond, the setting sun 
 glowed on the mountains which girded in Bohe- 
 mia. The soft air was full of light and of the 
 fragrance of the flowers it had opened ; snow- 
 drops and blades of grass trembled and shone in 
 the interstices of the natural masonry. 
 
 “ How glorious and wonderful all this is!” said 
 Magdalen ; “ think, my child, what it will be 
 when every city shall be a holy city, every cot- 
 tage a temple of God ; when the grace of God 
 shall rest on all hearts as it now does on all 
 nature ; when the Church, from her heavenly 
 dwelling-place, with its ever-open gates, shall 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 159 
 
 minister to men as even angels never can ; — help- 
 ing as those help who have been tried ; comfort- 
 ing as those comfort who have suffered !” 
 
 “ Did you always love nature,” asked the 
 maiden, “ as you do now V 9 
 
 “ I always loved her,” Magdalen replied, “ but 
 I think never so much as now ; the love of years 
 of familiar kindness is stronger, my child, than 
 the glow of early feeling. In my youth my 
 thoughts danced like fairies in the sunbeams, 
 often with the glancing of their bright wings 
 hiding the deeper beauty of God’s works. Now 
 I can look and listen, and never tire of being still, 
 and letting the beautiful pictures lie upon my 
 heart.” 
 
 “ But, Sister Magdalen, you did not glide all 
 at once into this calm ?” 
 
 “ No. Thirty years ago all my life was laid 
 waste and rent asunder. It was by the grave of 
 my only brother that I learnt the calling of the 
 stranger traveling to the heavenly home ; and the 
 lesson has been worth the cost ” 
 
 “ But is there no way of learning these lessons 
 but through suffering such as that ? ” asked the 
 bethrothed bride, shuddering. 
 
 “ God has a thousand ways of teaching us, my 
 child,” she answered. “ He can teach by giving 
 as well as by withholding. It is her blessedness 
 that best keeps the bride apart — the unchange- 
 able love of her Lord, and her waiting for Him. 
 There is another way of reaching the power of His 
 
160 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 resuirection than through the grave of our hopes. 
 The Lord Jesus is Himself the resurrection and 
 the life ; as in union with Him all things are ours 
 to possess , so in communion with Him all things 
 are ours to use. By sitting at His feet we may 
 learn a thousand lessons, else to be taught by 
 rougher voices. May He keep us there !” 
 
 “ But Bohemia?” said the girl, as she looked 
 towards the southern hills ; “ do you believe our 
 country is lost to the gospel for ever.” 
 
 “We do not know, my child, what seeds are 
 ripening under the soil. Perhaps our old Church 
 may yet arise with a purified heart to teach Chris- 
 tendom the great lesson, that with us it is not to 
 be as amongst the Gentiles, c for he that is great 
 amongst you, let him be your minister it is my 
 constant prayer.” 
 
 Thus sitting at His feet, and ministering to 
 Him in His brethren, her peaceful being shedding 
 balm around her, her whole womanly nature devel- 
 oped and satisfied by the interchange of child- 
 like dependence and motherly care, she passed on 
 to her rest. Can any life be desolate with such 
 companionship and such service? 
 
 Need any Christian life be without them? 
 
 “ Fear not, little flock.” 
 
 “ The Father himself loveth you.” 
 
 “ For the Lord redeemeth the souls of his ser- 
 vants, and none of them that trust in him shall 
 be desolate.” 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 161 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE OLD MAN’S PROPHECY. 
 
 The Reformation, as to external establishment, 
 was crushed in Bohemia, but the living streams 
 were still oozing through the land, and secretly 
 nourishing the roots of many plants of our 
 heavenly Father’s planting. 
 
 Throughout the seventeenth century we catch 
 accidental glimpses of secret meetings, for receiv- 
 ing the Lord’s Supper, of Christian families; of 
 one dying without desire of extreme unction, 
 being, he said, already anointed and sealed of the 
 Holy Spirit, and as sure of his salvation as of the 
 existence of the sun, yet in whose life the priest 
 could find no fault, and in his death only oc- 
 casion for the prayer that he also might die the 
 death of the righteous. Indeed, so many of these 
 “ hidden ones ” were there, that when, in 1716, 
 Charles XII. of Sweden wrung from the emperor 
 14 * 
 
162 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 toleration for a stated number of Protestant 
 churches, 70,000 were found ready to attach 
 themselves to one of them. 
 
 One evening, in the year 1707, five young men 
 were gathered around the deathbed of an aged 
 Christian, a descendant in spirit, as well as by 
 the ties of natural kindred, of the ancient Brethren 
 of Bohemia. 
 
 These were the five Neissers, nephews of 
 George Joeshke. The calm of death in the peace 
 of God pervaded the room. No one spoke. A 
 little boy stood by the bedside, his hands clasped 
 in those of the dying man. It was the son of his 
 old age. Jceschke was about to rest from a life 
 of many labors — faithful preaching of gratuitous 
 salvation — faithful living in the peace of the re- 
 conciliation of Jesus — labors which might have 
 seemed to be worse than fruitless, for the band of 
 the old Christians was constantly diminished by 
 death, whilst the numbers of the compromising 
 constantly increased. But the old man did not 
 despair; he rested on the promises, which rise 
 eternally above the storms. Like the Alpine 
 hunter, through the clefts of the clouds he looked 
 down on the world. * He conjured the young 
 men to be faithful to the truth which had made 
 them free. 
 
 “ It is true,” he said, “ that our liberty is de- 
 stroyed ; that the greater part of our children are 
 more and more entangled in the love of the world, 
 
 * Vide “ Schiller’s Wilhe'jn Tell.” 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 163 
 
 and fall off to the Papacy; that, from all ap- 
 pearances, one might say the cause of the Brethren 
 was lost. But, my children, a great deliverance 
 will come for those who remain. You will see 
 it. Whether it will take place in Moravia, or 
 you will have to leave this Babel, I know not. 
 I think, however, you will have to quit this 
 country, in order to find a place where you may 
 serve God according to Ilis Word. When the 
 hour comes, be ready. Beware of being amongst 
 the last, or of being left entirely behind. And 
 now, I commend to you this little one, my only 
 child. I commend him especially to thee, Augus- 
 tine ISTeisser. He also must belong to Jesus. 
 Lose not sight of him, and it you leave the country 
 take him with you / 5 
 
 Then, with tears, he blessed the child and his 
 nephews, and not long after, he rested in peace. 
 
 I know not whether we should call this confi- 
 dence, prophecy, or simply faith. At any rate, 
 it was abundantly fulfilled. 
 
164 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 II. 
 
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUINS. 
 
 It was the 15th May 1725. A company of about 
 thirty persons were gathered in a marshy spot, 
 on a declivity by the highroad from Loban to 
 Zittau in Saxony. 
 
 All around them arose an uncleared forest — 
 tall pines looking old and sombre amidst the fresh 
 green of the budding forest trees. On a leveled 
 space amongst the bushes they were laying the 
 foundation of a house. 
 
 It was a strangely assorted company. A Saxon 
 nobleman and his bride, a young Swiss baron, 
 with their friends ; and on the other side, nine or 
 ten mechanics and peasants, with their families. 
 But the bond which united them was far more 
 real then the distinctions which separated them. 
 The noblemen were the Count von Zinzendorf 
 and the Baron de Watteville, to whom all their 
 property and influence were as nothing, except 
 as a trust for their Master ; and the mechanics 
 were men who had suffered imprisonment and 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 165 
 
 loss of all tilings, and had left country and kindred 
 for the sake of Christ and His gospel. 
 
 Amongst them were the brothers Neisser and 
 old George Joeschke’s son. The Count spoke 
 earnestly and affectionately to those present on 
 the object of the building they were about to 
 erect, of the faith which had once made them 
 exiles and provided them an asylum. 
 
 “ Rather/’ he said, “ than that this building 
 should not tend to promote the glory of Him in 
 whose name it was founded, might fire from 
 heaven consume it !” 
 
 Before he began to speak, five travelers came 
 along the highroad, way-worn, and poorly clad. 
 They stood apart, and listened in reverent si- 
 lence. 
 
 Then the Baron de Watteville drew off a ring, 
 the last jewel he had retained, and laying it on 
 the foundation-stone, knelt there, and prayed 
 aloud. 
 
 The power of the Holy Ghost overwhelmed 
 every heart as he prayed. When he ceased, the 
 whole of the little band were in tears. And the 
 five strangers came forward, and said — 
 
 “ Surely this is the house of God : here shall 
 our feet rest.” 
 
 That house was the first in the settlement at 
 Herrnhut. The travelers were also exiles from 
 Moravia for the sake of the faith. They had es- 
 caped from prisons, and across mountains, by de- 
 liverances which would have seemed miraculous, 
 
166 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 were not answers to prayer the “ daily bread*’ 
 of the disciples. Amongst them was that David 
 IsTitschmann, who was afterwards the first mis- 
 sionary to the West Indian slaves, and the first 
 bishop of the restored Church of the Brethren of 
 Bohemia and Moravia, 
 
OF BOHEMIA. AND MORAVIA. 
 
 167 
 
 III. 
 
 SEEDS BORNE BY THE WINDS. 
 
 In a room in the island of St. Thomas, in the 
 TV est Indies, some years after the foundation of 
 Herrnhut, Count Zinzendorf was awaiting the ar- 
 rival of some prisoners whose release he had pro- 
 cured with difficulty from the tyrannical planters. 
 When they arrived, harassed and emaciated by 
 three months of imprisonment, he saluted them 
 — as they used to salute the early martyrs — by 
 reverently kissing their hands in the presence of 
 their oppressors. 
 
 These were some of the exiles of Herrnhut, 
 men of the old martyr-race of Bohemia. 
 
 A few days after, you might have seen the 
 Count conducting a service amongst some hun- 
 dreds of slaves, “ the Lord’s freedmen 7 ’ — men in 
 whom love to their Saviour, and faith in His love, 
 were strong enough to overbalance the infliction 
 of bodily sufferings such as we shudder to hear of. 
 
 After a prayer from one of the slaves, he was 
 commencing his address with the words of one 
 
168 SKETCHES OF THE UlNiTED BRETHREN 
 
 of his favorite hymns, when suddenly the whole 
 assembly broke out, in their own language, into 
 the triumphant hymn — 
 
 “My Lord, my L^rd, Thou hast redeemed me?” 
 
 Accustomed as he was to uncontrollable man- 
 ifestations of feeling in the Moravian assemblies, 
 the scene entirely over powered him. 
 
 These w r ere some of the converts of the im- 
 prisoned missionaries. 
 
 * ❖ * * * 
 
 On one of the Christmas holidays, about thirty 
 years ago, amidst the snowy rocks and glitter- 
 ing icebergs of the north, a company of Green- 
 landers were gathered around the Mission-house 
 at Lichtenfels, singing Christian hymns, and ac- 
 companying themselves with instruments. 
 
 They were too happy in the presence of their 
 Saviour to heed the cold. “ It was to them,” as 
 they afterwards said, “ as if they already stood 
 before the throne of the Lamb, singing the new 
 song of the redeemed.” And those who listened 
 could not refrain from tears. 
 
 And within the houses grouped around them, 
 you might have witnessed the sober and peaceful 
 lives of Christian families, or deathbeds illumined 
 by the “ sure and certain hope” of those who de- 
 part in Christ — and all knit together in the im- 
 perishable love of Christian brotherhood. Yet 
 not many years before, these very men had been 
 savages, wandering from place to place, without 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MOIIAYIA. 
 
 169 
 
 thought of God or duty, with no social bond but 
 the necessities of selfishness — no hope beyond 
 the deathbed. 
 
 Patiently had the missionaries labored for this 
 end, enduring hunger and cold, and worse trials 
 from cold and hardened hearts ; through fifteen 
 years trusting to the promise that they should 
 reap, when not a sign of the harvest appeared. 
 But at length, after the long polar winter, spring 
 and summer had burst on them as it were in a 
 night. 
 
 These were more of the fruits of the seed 
 which had so long been buried and trampled 
 under the soil in Bohemia. 
 
 If there was need of “long patience,” was 
 there not reward for it? 
 
 But it would take far too long even to name 
 the blessings which were showered on the colony 
 of Herrnhut, and flowed from it, in those days 
 of fresh love and life, when “the multitude of 
 those that believed were of one heart and one 
 soul, neither said any of them that aught of the 
 things which they possessed was his own, but 
 they had all things in common.” We, in our 
 “ majestic sobriety,” may reprehend such excesses 
 of zeal and love; but they, in their “gladness 
 and singleness of heart,” would have been far too 
 happy to care about our reproaches: for “with 
 great power” did many amongst them bear wit- 
 ness unto the resurrection of tie Lord, “and 
 great grace was upon them all.” 
 
 15 
 
170 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 But one thing which happened amongst them 
 is, unhappily, so singular in the history of relig- 
 ious controversies, that I can not refrain from 
 mentioning it : — 
 
 The infant community at Herrnhut had been 
 much disturbed by a certain controversy (I be- 
 lieve it was about the human nature of our 
 Lord) : there seemed danger of a violent rupture 
 — but they prayed together , and read the First 
 Epistle of St. John; and such a sense of their 
 blessed and eternal oneness in the Lord Jesus, 
 and such a glow of brotherly love, were diffused 
 amongst them, that the schism was healed so per- 
 fectly as not even to leave a scar behind. All 
 causes of division literally melted away, like a 
 cloud or a snow-drift, in the light of Him whose 
 manifest presence shall by and by dissolve all 
 ice-bonds and ice-barriers amongst us for ever. 
 
 The Moravian Brethren have done little to- 
 wards expanding before us new worlds of science 
 or art — towards cutting new vistas into the depths 
 of astronomic space, or geologic time — but who 
 can count the souls to which they have opened 
 that eternal kingdom where all shall know even 
 as they are known ? 
 
 They have done little for symbolic architecture 
 and the glory of beautiful temples — but of the 
 habitations of God which they have built through 
 the Spirit, He only knows the glory and the 
 number. 
 
 Their sole theology was JESUS — the eternal 
 
OF BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 m 
 
 Son of God, the crucified and lisen Son of man, 
 the Sacrifice, the High Priest, the Universal 
 Bishop of His Church ; the Way, the Truth, and 
 the Life. 
 
 The foundation of their community, and their 
 bond of fellowship, was no system of doctrines 
 or Church government: it was “ Christ Jesus 
 the Lord ” — “ the same yesterday, and to-day, 
 and for ever.” For any mistakes they may have 
 made in carrying out a church principle so catholic 
 and so divine, our weak nature is responsible. 
 
 It is possible that, fixing their eyes too exclu- 
 sively on the dying, rather than on the risen, 
 Son of man — on the intense but finished agony, 
 rather than on the eternal and actual joy it has 
 purchased, dwelling on His bodily sufferings with 
 a prolonged excitement of feeling which seems 
 hardly scriptural; their piety may occasionally 
 have lost itself in religious sentimentalism ; but 
 the love they bore Him was no mere barren 
 emotion ; and the crosses they bore after Him 
 were neither self-imposed burdens nor mere de- 
 votional ornaments — and we may surely pardon 
 — as He who is touched with the feeling of our 
 infirmities doubtless has — the extravagances of a 
 love which braved polar winters, and equinoctial 
 summers, and long years of seemingly fruitless 
 toil, for His sake. 
 
 With their failures we have nothing to do, 
 except to warn us how unwise we all are when 
 we abandon ourselves to any teaching but that; 
 
172 SKETCHES OF THE UNITED BRETHREN 
 
 of the Word of God — or to blend with our con- 
 fessions when, as members of the one family, we 
 say — “ All we like sheep have gone astray;” but 
 the example of their single-hearted devotion and 
 brotherly love is ours to rejoice in, with thanks- 
 giving for ever ; and the best part of it is, that 
 these things are existing amongst us still. 
 
 Now, whilst I write, two Moravian brethren 
 are laboring within the infected Avails of a lazar- 
 house / in Southern Africa, having deliberately 
 suffered themselves to be immured there for life, 
 in order to reveal to the wretched inmates “ the 
 unsearchable riches of Christ.” What they are 
 noAV suffering, we know not — but Ave do know 
 that Avhen they die there are others ready to fill 
 their places. 
 
 With such a golden cloud of witnesses, linking 
 the very air we breathe Avith the depths of the 
 inmost hea\ T ens where the first Martyr rests in 
 the light which shone on his dying eyes, A\ T ho 
 shall say that the ages of faith and love are past, 
 and that the heart of the Church is palsied and 
 groAvn chill? 
 
 Are not fresh springs of life ever gushing forth 
 in our midst? Is not the very existence of the 
 Church of God on earth a perpetual miracle ? Is 
 not a new creation commenced in eA r ery soul to 
 which God says, “ Let there be light ? ” Does 
 not the morning gloAV around every awakened 
 heart ? 
 
 Is not their Father our Father? Is not the 
 
OP BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA. 
 
 173 
 
 Lord Jesus Christ the same to-day as when yes- 
 terday He said to them, “Follow thou Me,” and, 
 “ My grace is sufficient for thee ? ” Is not the 
 Holy Spirit still with patient love and undimin- 
 ished might gathering and chiselling the living 
 stones for the living temple ? May we also go 
 forth every morning refreshed and strengthened 
 by draughts from the Well of Life? May not 
 we also Avalk all day u in the light ” — thus having 
 fellowship one with another? May not we also 
 lie down every evening with hearts and con- 
 sciences “ white and clean ” as the robes of the 
 Blessed before the throne — washed in the same 
 “ precious blood? ” 
 
 And, oh, if our hearts thrill at the recital of 
 holy deeds done ages since, must they not throb 
 with redoubled life at the thought of such lives 
 flowing parallel with our own day by day ? 
 
 The love wherewith we are loved is as great, 
 the arm on which we are invited to lean is as 
 strong, the time in which we have to labor is as 
 short, the eternity to which we are hastening — 
 and which is hastening to us — is as long, the 
 position in which we are placed is the very best 
 in all the battle-field our God would choose for 
 us. There is not a difficulty in our path which 
 shall not be compelled to work for us, if we meet 
 it in communion with our Lord. Are we also 
 overcoming ? 
 
 15 * 
 

 
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 Rescued from Kgypt. By A. L. 0. E. . $1.50 
 
 A pleasant story of the fortunes and misfortunes of a young sister 
 and brother is here made the means of teaching the history of 
 Moses, and the lessons to be drawn from it. The characters that 
 figure in the “Exiles from Babylon,” and the “ Shepherd of Beth- 
 lehem,” are some of them here again introduced. 
 
 & Nutshell of Knowledge. By A. L. 0. E. 90 
 
 A great deal of valuable information is here condensed in small 
 compass, and presented in this accomplished author’s fascinating 
 way, through the medium of a story. 
 
 The Old Tic tu?' e Tible. With 18 fine full- page 
 Engravings. $1.25 
 
 “ An entertaining and instructive book, adapted to the capacity of 
 
 E children. It consists of a series of pleasant houselmld dia- 
 between a Christian mother and her two little children, sug- 
 gested by the pictures of an old Bible, illustrating the principal 
 scenes in the life of Jesus— his childhood, miracles, parables, suffer- 
 ings and death. It would be an admirable book for Sunday-school 
 libraries, far more profitable than many of our story books.”— 
 j A r . W. Presbyterian . 
 
 i 
 

 IST JEW 3STO TCS. 
 
 LITTLF ATTTl’S LIFFAFT. 
 
 Six vols., in a neat box. .... $3.60 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 Kitty’s Victory, Lo*t Spectacles, 
 
 Hubert’s Rooster, IIaffy Charlie, 
 
 Annie Pp;ce, What Ejjbr Loved. 
 
 A lery beautiful series of books for children, >>& large type and 
 fully illustrated — well adapted for children from seven to twelve 
 years old. 
 
 Teace with God . By Wm. Adams, D. D. . . 25 
 
 Mcllvaine’s Directions to Inquiring Souls . 
 
 2H 
 
 HEW EDITIONS. 
 
 Father Clement . By Grace Kennedy. Wi h new 
 Frontispiece. 1 6mo. 
 
 The School Girl in France . By Miss McOrindeP 
 With new Frontispiece. 16mo. 
 
 The Wickliffites ; or, England in the 15th Century, 
 by Mrs. Mackay. New Frontispiece. . . $1.25 
 
 A Fay of Light . By the Author of “ A Trap to 
 Catch a Sunbeam.” l6mo. New Frontispiece. 
 
 NEW BOOKS OF 12mo SIZE. 
 
 Heaven Opened . Being a Selection from thd Corres- 
 pondence of Mrs. Winslow. Tinted paper. . $2.00 
 
 lacobus on Genesis . 2 vols. . • 2 50 ^ 
 
 D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation in | 
 
 the Time of Calvin. Yol. 4 ... $2.00 
 
 Th ? set in 4 vols. . $8.( 0 , 
 
 The Omnipotence of Loving Kindness. $1.25 « 
 
 
 
IR,. CARTER BBO’S 
 
 n T H £ 
 
 
 Ity the Author of 
 
 SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILV.‘ 
 
 /. Wanderings over 'jJib/e Zands. $1.25 
 
 The popular author of this volume has eminent qualifications for 
 writing a book of travels, and especially of travels in Bible lands. 
 Bhe has a quick eye, a clear, vigorous style, and a glowing Christian 
 spirit. These “Wanderings” form one of the most interesting popu- 
 lar works on Palestine in our language. It is just such a book as is 
 needed in all our families and Saobath Schools. 
 
 2 . The Two Vocations . A Tale, . . $1.25 
 
 It traces the religious history of two bright little girls from child- 
 hood to maturity; girls differing widely in tastes and talents, yet 
 each led by the discipline of events to a beneficent vocation. The 
 book is an earnest one, of deep religious interest. 
 
 3. Tales of Christian Tife . 16mo . $1.25 
 
 “ The tales are painted in such an inimitable manner that while 
 they interest and attract, they impart much historical information and 
 are prevaded by the heroic spirit of Christianity. They should 
 be in all Sabbath-schools.” 
 
 4. The Martyrs of Spain, . . . $1.25 
 
 The author who has thrown so much fascination over the history of 
 Luther, in the great work of Reformation, has adopted the same plan 
 in illustrating anew the fierce and relentless persecution in Spain 
 and the Netherlands against the Protestants. 
 
 5 . The Cripple of &?itioch, . . . $1.25 
 
 These sketches present vivid pictures of life among the early Chris- 
 tians in the generation immediately following the apostolic days. 
 
 6\ Voice of Ch? % islian Tife in Song. $1.25 
 
 The Story of the Songs of Christ’s Church through all ages is here 
 briefly, tenderly, lovingly told. We have here delightful pictnres ot 
 such hymn writers as Augustine. Ambrose, Bede, Bernard, and many 
 \ others. 
 
 7. The Three Wakings, and other Poems. $1.25 
 
 8. The Tlack Ship, and )ther Allegories, .90 
 


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