summating the injury he had already received, and betraying still further the treacherous spirit they cherished toward him. Whether Samson heard of this fresh dishonour or not, he at least acted as if he knew nothing of it; and returned in the time of wheat-harvest with a kid to the house of his wife, with the intention of going straight into her chamber. But this was disallowed by her father on the ground that he had deserted her, and that she had been given to another man; as a sort of compensation her younger sister was offered in her stead (ch. xv. 1, 2). Samson held this to be a fresh ground of quarrel with the Philistines generally; and retaliated by catching three hundred foxes (shualim, properly jackals, which still abound in Syria), and sending them forth among the fields of corn in pairs with burning torches tied between their tails. Much mischief was consequently done, and when the occasion was ascertained, the people who had suffered came up and burned the offending Timnite and his daughter with fire. Instead of pleasing Samson, however, this act of vengeance on their part only provoked another and a greater from himself. He smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter (ch. xv. 8), and then went and took up his abode on a certain rock called Etam. The Philistines were roused with indignation, and, marching forth in battle array, they pitched in Judah. But when it was ascertained that their object was merely to get hold of Samson, the people of Judah, instead of rallying under him as a captain specially raised up to rescue them from the Philistine yoke, agreed to deliver him into the hands of the Philistines. And Samson, with the view of finding another opportunity against them, agreed to be delivered up, on the express condition that his own countrymen would not fall on him. He was, therefore, led away bound to the camp of the Philistines at Lehi, but just as he approached, and heard their shouts, he burst asunder his cords, and smote the Philistines with the jaw-bone of an ass, leaving a thousand dead on the field. It was a mighty effort, and he was ready to sink exhausted under it, when the Lord directed him to a spring, at which he drank and was refreshed.

It was by the feat last noticed that Samson clearly established his title to the position and calling of a Judge in Israel; hence it is added in connection with it by the historian, " And he judged Israel in the days of the Philistines twenty years" (ch. xv. 20). The expression "in the days of the Philistines" plainly implies that their ascendency was only kept in check, not properly destroyed, by the might and prowess of Samson; they stood in awe of his terrific displays of supernatural power which occasionally burst on them like a volcano, and during the greater part of these twenty years they appear only to have moderated, though never altogether to have abandoned, their dominion over Israel. Samson, unfortunately, was not the better for the elevation he had attained; prosperity with him, as too often with the people he represented, increased the

tendency to carnal indulgence and freaks of self-will; "waxing fat, he kicked;" and the few incidents noticed in his later career are but the several steps in his degeneracy and downfal. Wandering, on one occasion, into Gaza, he yielded to the solicitations of a harlot, and escaped the snares that began to be laid for his destruction, by rising at midnight and carrying off the gates of the city and their posts to the top of the hill before Hebron-God still mercifully continuing to him the gift of supernatural strength notwithstanding the obliquity of his course. Pursuing still the same path of vicious self-indulgence, he became enamoured of a woman named Delilah, in the valley of Sorek (apparently some Philistine valley near Gaza), with whom he seems to have formed an improper connection; for though he is represented as living with her, no mention is made of a marriage, either in fact or in prospect. The Philistines, well understanding where his weak point lay, set upon Delilah with large promises of gain to entice Samson to betray to her the secret of his resistless strength, so that they might accomplish by stratagem what it seemed hopeless to effect by open violence. For a time he made sport of her enticements -pretending that his strength would leave him, first, if he were bound with new withes, then if bound with new ropes, then again if his seven locks were woven into a web; but when, one after another, these conditions proved to be fallacious, and Delilah lay hard upon him for the discovery of the real truth, he told her, it is said, all his heart, by informing her that if his hair were shorn his strength would depart from him, and he should become like another man (Judg. xvi. 18). He himself gave as the reason of this, that he was a Nazarite from his mother's womb, and a razor had never come upon his head; so that to part with his hair, he well knew, was virtually to cast away the symbol of his consecration, and formally to break his vow to God. It was a fatal disclosure; for no sooner was it made than his treacherous paramour lulled him into a profound sleep, and had him stripped of his seven locks; and when he awoke at the wonted cry, "The Philistines upon thee," and said, "I will go forth as at other times," lo he found, not his strength merely, but Jehovah had departed him. He lay now at the mercy of his enemies; they bound him with chains, put out his eyes, and sent him to grind at the mill in the prison-house of Gaza-to do the work of a hireling or a slave.

How long Samson continued in this miserable bondage we are not told; it must have been some weeks, perhaps a few months; and to complete their triumph over their fallen adversary, it was resolved to bring him forth on the occasion of the great festival of their god Dagon, that he might make sport to the assembled multitude, which not only filled the spacious house, but also crowded the roof-the house being probably in the form of a modern Turkish kiosk, "consisting of a spacious hall, the roof of which rested in front on four

columns, two of them standing at the ends, and two close together in the centre." Meanwhile, however, Samson's hair had grown again, and, what was more, in the depth of his humiliation his Nazarite heart had returned to him; he felt in his inmost soul that through his unfaithfulness and degradation the name of God had been dishonoured, and that if he could now in a measure retrieve the injury, even at the cost of life, it were no more than he owed to the sacred cause with which he was identified. Therefore, laying his hands on the two pillars which supported the main part of the building, he poured out his soul to God, "O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may be avenged for one of my two eyes upon the Philistines" (so it literally is, one eye only, as if it were now impossible to touch more than one half the evil)—and then, bowing himself with all his might, the house fell with a mighty crash, burying with himself a great mass of Philistines in its ruins. Thus, it is added, "the dead which he slew at his death were more than he slew in his life" (Judg. xvi. 30). It was, indeed, a mournful victory; yet still a victoryand a pledge to Israel that their temporary backslidings and defeats, if sincerely repented of and improved, would lead to ultimate triumph. It is true, Samson himself perished along with the Philistines; but this was in a sense necessary, in order to destroy the memorial of his shame. For, if he could have triumphed over the Philistines without the sacrifice of his own life, he would (as Von Gerlach remarks) "have borne about in the blindness of his eyes a mark of his unfaithfulness as the servant of God, quite as much as of the double triumph of his foes, who had gained a spiritual as well as a corporeal victory over him." He must, therefore, as he himself exclaimed, die with the Philistines.

But the lesson of his fitful and remarkable career reaches farther than this. It showed how little could be accomplished for the deliverance and permanent security of Israel by mere physical strength, or by any qualities apart from unswerving steadfastness and fidelity to the covenant of God. In him they saw a

memorable example, how much more important it was to have the heart of the nation set right with God, than to have a giant's strength in its arms; how, if truly exalted, it could only be by returning to righteousness. And thus the marvellous but mournful story of this Nazarite-judge prepared the way for another, in whom the spiritual element should have the chief place-a Nazarite of higher mould, who should revive the cause of heaven in its proper seat, and by strengthening the people in their God should lead them on to victory and peace. Such a spiritual head was Samuel, through whose prophetic gifts and energetic moral strivings Israel first attained to something of national consolidation and organic unity; and such, too, in still larger measure was David, who though not formally under the Nazarite discipline, was yet a Nazarite in spirit, living in all the better moments of his life for the law and service of Jehovah.

Contemplated in the light now presented, the case of Samson, while marked by strong peculiarities, has its great points of contact and principles of action in common with other servants of God. With all his failings, he too was a man of faith (Heb. xi. 32); for it was not by physical energy, but by faith in God's gift and calling, that he received strength to do the wonders he performed-only, his faith was sadly lacking in discernment, and fitful in its exercise. Hence the palpable imperfection of his work; as was not doubtfully indicated beforehand in the angelic announcement to his mother, that God would through him "begin to deliver Israel" (Judg. xiii. 5)—the consummation being left for some mightier hero. But as regards the rationalistic view of what is called the legend of Samson-a view which has been variously modified, but which finds in it only an Israelitish form of the fabled exploits of Hercules-as it has nothing properly to rest upon but a few formal resemblances, coupled with a desire to get rid of everything supernatural, it is unnecessary to go into detail. When rightly viewed there is no real analogy between the two cases; and it is by light derived from Israelitish not from heathen soil, that the life of Samson is to be interpreted and judged.

HE only person certainly known under this name in Old Testament history is the wife of Heber the Kenite, and she comes into notice simply in connection with a memorable transaction-the murder of Sisera. Her husband was evidently a person of some importance, in modern phrase a sheikh, who belonged to the family of Hobab, the father-in-law of Moses; but who, for some unexplained reason, had separated himself from his brethren. They had an inheritance assigned them, at the period of the conquest, on the south of Canaan, while he

transferred himself, with his flocks and herds, to the extreme north, not far from Kadesh. Here he occupied a sort of intermediate position between the settled possessions of Israel on the one hand, and those of Jabin, king of Hazor, on the other. But being of a peaceable disposition, as the Kenites appear generally to have been, he contrived to keep on friendly terms withi both; and when the fierce war broke out, which ended in the total rout of Sisera, the leader of Jabin's host, the vanquished general on his flight homewards sought a refuge in the tent of Jael, Heber's wife (Judg. iv. 17).

Why Jael's tent, rather than Heber's, should be mentioned as the asylum he sought in this perilous extremity, may possibly have arisen from Heber himself having been absent at the time; or, more probably, from the female tent being regarded among nomade tribes as the more peculiarly safe receptacle, which stood comparatively secure against violence and intrusion. So much indeed was this the case, that Sisera himself could scarcely have ventured, even in the most disastrous circumstances, to press for admission there, unless the privilege was readily conceded to him.

But Jael, it would appear from the narrative, anticipated his wishes, and, descrying his approach, as she had doubtless already heard of the disaster that led to it, she went forth to meet him, and invited him to turn into her tent, and fear not. It was more almost than he could have looked for; and as if still further to throw him off his guard, she cast her mantle over him, and when he asked for a drink of water to quench his thirst, she opened a bottle of milk, and gave him what Deborah called butter, or curdled milk, in a lordly dish (Judg. v. 25). In a word, he was treated with the greatest apparent cordiality and kindness; the usual pledges of Arab hospitality and protection were given; but only to lull him into a fatal security. For, during the profound sleep which presently after stole over him, Jael drew a nail from the tent, and with a hammer drove it into his temples with such a deadly aim, as to pass entirely through the head and fasten it to the floor on which he lay. The pursuers of Sisera, with Barak at their head, were not long in coming up in quest of their prey; them also Jael went out to meet, and having asked them to go in, that they might see the man whom they sought after, they found Sisera lying dead with the nail in his temples.

A good deal perhaps might be said to palliate the conduct of Jael on this occasion, partly on the ground of the much more ancient and intimate alliance which the family of Heber had with Israel, than it could possibly have with Sisera or Jabin; and still more from the danger which she could scarcely fail to apprehend to her own life, if she either refused Sisera the protection he sought, or should afterwards have been discovered by Barak to have afforded an asylum to the so lately dreaded enemy of Israel. At such a moment the neutral position of her tribe brought with it a double peril; and if in the sudden and trying emergency which burst upon Jael, she chose the way of personal safety, rather than of high honour, regard should at least be had to the peculiar difficulties of her position before judgment is pronounced upon her conduct. This, cer

tainly, has not always been done; on the contrary, everything that makes against her has often been prominently exhibited, while all that belongs to the other side has been industriously kept in the back-ground. Her conduct has been denounced for its abominable treachery, as if every step had been taken with the most deliberate intent and freest choice. At the same time, while we cannot join in an unqualified condemnation, having regard to the peculiar circumstances in which she was placed, as little can we vindicate the part she acted; it was undoubtedly marked with such deceit and violence, as no external circumstances or apprehended results can justify. How, then, should she have been celebrated in the song of Deborah as blessed above women? (Judg. v. 24.) Not certainly as a pious and upright person is blessed when performing a deed which embodies the noblest principles, and which goes up as a memorial before God; but merely as one who acted a part that accomplished an important purpose of Heaven. In the same sense, though in the opposite direction, Job and Jeremiah cursed the day of their birth—not that they meant to make it the proper subject of blame, but that they wished to mark their deep sense of the evil into which it had ushered them— mark it as the commencement of a life-heritage of sorrow and gloom. In like manner, and with a closer resemblance to the case before us, the psalmist pronounces happy or blessed those who should dash the little ones of Babylon against the stones (Ps. cxxxvii. 9); which no one who understands the spirit of Hebrew poetry would ever dream of construing into a proper benediction upon the ruthless murderers of Babylon's children, as true heroes of righteousness. It merely announces, under a strong individualizing trait, the coming recompense on Babylon for the cruelties she had inflicted on Israel; her own measure should be meted back to her; and they who should be the instruments of effecting it, should execute a purpose of God, whether they might themselves intend it or not. Let the poetical exaltation of Jael be viewed in the light of these cognate passages, and it will be found to contain nothing at variance with the verdict which every impartial mind must be disposed to pronounce upon her conduct. It is in reality the work of God's judgment through her instrumentality that is celebrated, not her mode of carrying it into execution; and it might be as just to regard the heathen Medes and Persians as a truly pious people, because they are called God's "sanctified ones" to do his work of vengeance on Babylon (Isa. xiii. 3), as from what is said in Deborah's song, to consider Jael an example of righteousness.

H, mamma, what a delightful day this has been!" said Lucy Martyn, as she sat down to rest by her mother's side, on returning from a long afternoon walk. "The air was so soft, and yet so fresh; one could almost see the flowers growing and the leaves opening. Look, the lilac below our window has opened since morning; and then the birds-do you hear how the blackbird is singing still? Oh, what a delightful season spring is!"

Mrs. Martyn passed her hand over Lucy's dark hair with a fond smile, and repeated, as if to herself,

"Everything is so beautiful, mamma; and we always think of youth and beauty together."

"But, in our climate, how uncertain and changeable a season is the spring! Though these last days have been so charming, it is quite possible that we may have frosty nights and withering east wind again next week, and the poor lilac blossoms be severely punished for their boldness in opening so soon. And then, the peculiar, tender loveliness of spring passes away so quickly! All this applies but too well to the 'primavera della vita.' Health, and strength, and beauty, always precarious, are often peculiarly so in life's early years. But we will not dwell on this dark shade of the picture. There is another view of the subject of special importance. Spring is the season of hope, of activity,

of preparative work. What is the farmer's principal occupation just now?"

"Preparing the ground, and sowing his seeds."

"Just so; a most important, anxious work. The great autumn question must ever be, What of the fruit? that of spring, What of the seed? To secure good seed, take advantage of favourable weather, prepare and improve the soil, and then sow in hope;' all this costs the husbandman many a toilsome, anxious hour. How does it apply to our comparison between youth and spring?"

"Youth is the time for education, mamma, and preparing for after-life."

"Yes; and the whole of life may be, must be, influenced by the manner in which its early years are improved or neglected; just as a fine or a stormy spring tells on the whole crops of summer and autumn. That is a solemn consideration for parents and teachers, and should be not less so for thoughtful young persons. Oh, my child, think seriously of this! Now is your special sowing time, when you are forming habits and gaining knowledge which will bear fruit through all your future years on earth. And not on earth only; for though, by the grace of God, souls are often converted in later life, yet it were awful presumption to depend upon it; and there is no happiness like that of a heart early given to the Saviour, and no danger greater than that of spending youthful years in thoughtless follies or sins. The roots of bitterness' which are sown then will yield bitter fruits ever after. But I hope I need not say more of this to you."

Lucy took her mother's hand, and said in a low voice, "Mamma, I do hope I know something of that happiness. And I think John is seeking it; but you know he has many more temptations and difficulties than I have-there are so many thoughtless boys at school with him, and he has so little time to himself."

"Let us thank God for the promise that they who seek shall find.' And (though this need not be discouraging to yourself), in regard to John, we may be

comforted by the thought that religion, of the right sort, which has to grow up among trials and temptations, is generally in the end more deep and earnest than in cases where there has been only encouragement at home, and no opposition from without. The old Scotch fir above the waterfall, though its situation looks so dangerous, is more firmly rooted than the apple tree in our garden."

"Mamma, how short while it seems since we sat here and talked about winter, when everything was covered with snow and ice. What a wonderful, delightful difference now!"

"Yes; it is like a new world. If we had never seen the change of seasons before, it would appear miraculous. Let us try to imagine such a thing as gazing on the winter landscape without having ever beheld any other, and then being told that in a few weeks all these dry, withered, dead branches were to be covered with leaves and blossoms, this hard frozen earth with flowers and verdure, would not our natural exclamation be, It is impossible! Can these dry bones live Lucy, what may that thought teach us?"

"To believe and hope for the resurrection of the dead."

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'Oh, that sure and certain hope must surely often rise in every Christian mind, while enjoying the resurrection of all nature which we now see around us. The same divine power and faithfulness which is now bringing new life and beauty on every side, has engaged to awaken ourselves at last from our sleep in the tomb. We do not doubt or fear, while we walk among the trees in winter, that they are never to bud and blossom again; why should we doubt and tremble among the graves!"

"But we have often seen the trees come to life again, and we have never seen any one rise from the dead!"

"We have not, indeed; but many competent witnesses, men like ourselves, have seen it. Did not our risen Lord show himself to above five hundred brethren at once,' most of whom were still alive when Paul wrote that grand chapter of the Epistle to the Corinthians, in which the fact is mentioned? Do not we read of many who saw Lazarus raised from the grave, and who afterwards bare record?' besides other cases. Or, even without these, would not the word of the living and true God have been enough to remove our fears and comfort our hearts ?"

Mrs. Martyn was silent for a little, and then said : "Though the change from winter seems very sudden in looking back to-day, yet in general, in our climate, it comes on gradually. You will recollect my reading to you a passage from one of John Foster's discourses on the subject of winter. Listen to what he says on the first advances of spring:

"How welcome are the early signs and precursory appearances of the spring!--the earlier dawn of day-a certain cheerful cast in the light; even though still

shining over an expanse of desolation, it has the appearance of a smile-a softer breathing of the air, at intervals-the bursting of the buds-the vivacity of the animal tribes-the first flowers of the season-and, by degrees, a delicate, dubious tint of green. It needs not that a man should be a poet, or a worshipper of nature, to be delighted with all this.

"May we suggest one analogy? The operation of the Divine Spirit in renovating the human soul, effecting its conversion from the natural state, is sometimes displayed in this gentle and gradual manner, especially in youth. In many cases, certainly, it seems violent and sudden (resembling the transition from winter to spring in the northern climates); but, in the more gradual instances, whether in youth or further on in life, it is most gratifying to perceive the first indications: serious thoughts and emotions-growing sensibility of conscience-distaste for vanity and folly-deep solicitude for the welfare of the soul-a disposition to exercises of piety-a progressively clearer, more grateful, and more believing apprehension of the necessity and sufficiency of the work and sacrifice of Christ for human redemption. To a pious friend, or parent, this is more delightful than if he could have a vision of Eden, as it bloomed on the first day that Adam beheld it.'"

"That is very comforting, mamma. But I have sometimes envied those who get suddenly converted. They must feel so sure of being Christians."

"Yes, if they have grace to go on steadily and consistently. But progress is quite as sure and safe a test as sudden transition. It is progress you must pray and strive for, my dear child, in overcoming your besetting faults of temper and conduct, in fulfilling all daily duties, and growing in the fruits of the Spirit.' So, by the grace of God, you will feel more and more able to say, with humble faith, My Saviour is mine, and I am his.'"

"I think every person should feel happy in the spring, it is such a joyful season. It makes me feel so light and happy to walk out just now."

"I am glad of that, my dear."

There was something in the tone of her mother's voice which made Lucy look up inquiringly. "Do you not feel joyful in spring, mamma?"

"Not always. My associations with this season have sometimes been very sad. I have seen those most dear to my heart fading hopelessly away from earth, at the very time when all nature was reviving and rejoicing. And such times of sorrow leave impressions not easily forgotten. For years after your father's death, I could never hear the first early notes of the blackbird without a gush of weeping. How often have I been, as it were, haunted by the beautiful lines of Mrs. Hemans, in her Breathings of Spring."

"I know that poem, mamma,

"I come, I come, ye have called me long-'"

"No; I allude to another of her poems, not so generally