FOOTNOTES:

[8] Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jataka Tales, translated by T. W. Rhys Davids.

[9] I remarked above that fables should be excluded if the moral they inculcate is bad, not if they depict what is bad. In the latter case they often may serve a useful purpose.

VIII.

SUPPLEMENTARY REMARKS ON FABLES.

Apart from the collection which figures under the name of aesop, there are other fables, notably the so-called Jataka tales, which deserve attention. The Jataka tales contain deep truths, and are calculated to impress lessons of great moral beauty. The tale of the Merchant of Seri, who gave up all that he had in exchange for a golden dish, embodies much the same idea as the parable of the Priceless Pearl, in the New Testament. The tale of the Measures of Rice ill.u.s.trates the importance of a true estimate of values. The tale of the Banyan Deer, which offered its life to save a roe and her young, ill.u.s.trates self-sacrifice of the n.o.blest sort. The Kulavaka-Jataka contains the thought that a forgiving spirit toward one's enemies disarms even the evil-minded. The tale of the Partridge, the Monkey, and the Elephant teaches that the best seats belong not to the n.o.bles or the priests, to the rich or the learned, not even to the most pious, but that reverence and service and respect and civility are to be paid according to age, and for the aged the best seat, the best water, the best rice, are to be reserved. The tale of Nanda, or the Buried Gold, is a rebuke to that base insolence which vulgar natures often exhibit when they possess a temporary advantage.

The tale of the Sandy Road is one of the finest in the collection. It pictures to us a caravan wandering through the desert under the starlight. The guide, whose duty it was to pilot them through this sea of sand, has, it appears, fallen asleep at his post from excessive weariness, and at dawn the travelers discover that they have gone astray, and that far and wide no water is in sight wherewith to quench their burning thirst. At this moment, however, the leader espies a small tuft of gra.s.s on the face of the desert, and, reasoning that water must be flowing somewhere underneath, inspires his exhausted followers to new exertions. A hole sixty feet deep is dug under his direction, but at length they come upon hard rock, and can dig no farther. But even then he does not yield to despair. Leaping down, he applies his ear to the rock. Surely, it is water that he hears gurgling underneath! One more effort, he cries, and we are saved! But of all his followers one only had strength or courage enough left to obey. This one strikes a heavy blow, the rock is split open, and lo! the living water gushes upward in a flood. The lesson is that of perseverance and presence of mind in desperate circ.u.mstances. The tale ent.i.tled Holding to the Truth narrates the sad fate of a merchant who suffered himself to be deceived by a mirage into the belief that water was near, and emptied the jars which he carried with him in order to reach the pleasant land the sooner. The Jataka ent.i.tled On True Divinity contains a very beautiful story about three brothers, the Sun prince, the Moon prince, and the future Buddha or Bodisat. The king, their father, expelled the Moon prince and the future Buddha in order to secure the succession to the Sun prince alone.

But the Sun prince could not bear to be separated from his brothers, and secretly followed them into exile. They journeyed together until they came to a certain lake. This lake was inhabited by an evil spirit, to whom power had been given to destroy all who entered his territory unless they could redeem their lives by answering the question, "What is truly divine?" So the Sun prince was asked first, and he answered, "The sun and the moon and the G.o.ds are divine." But that not being the correct answer, the evil spirit seized and imprisoned him in his cave.

Then the Moon prince was asked, and he answered, "The far-spreading sky is called divine." But he, too, was carried away to the same place to be destroyed. Then the future Buddha was asked, and he answered: "Give ear, then, attentively, and hear what divine nature is;" and he uttered the words--

"The pure in heart who fear to sin, The good, kindly in word and deed, These are the beings in the world Whose nature should be called divine."

And when the evil spirit heard these words, he bowed, and said: "I will give up to you one of your brothers." Then the future Buddha said, "Give me the life of my brother, the Sun prince, for it is on his account that we have been driven away from our home and thrust into exile." The evil spirit was overcome by this act of generosity, and said, "Verily, O teacher, thou not only knowest what is divine, but hast acted divinely."

And he gave him the life of both his brothers, the Sun prince as well as the Moon prince.

I could not resist the temptation of relating a few of these tales. They are, as every one must admit, n.o.bly conceived, lofty in meaning, and many a helpful sermon might be preached from them as texts. But, of course, not all are fit to be used in a primary course. Some of them are, some are not. The teacher will have no difficulty in making the right selection. To the former cla.s.s belongs also No. 28 of the collection,[10] which is excellently adapted to impress the lesson of kindness to animals. Long ago the Buddha came to life in the shape of a powerful bull. His master, a Brahman, a.s.serted that this bull of his could move a hundred loaded carts ranged in a row and bound together.

Being challenged to prove his a.s.sertion, he bathed the bull, gave him scented rice, hung a garland of flowers around his neck, and yoked him to the first cart. Then he raised his whip and called out, "Gee up, you brute. Drag them along, you wretch!" The bull said to himself, "He calls me wretch; I am no wretch." And keeping his forelegs as firm as steel, he stood perfectly still. Thereupon the Brahman, his master, was compelled to pay a forfeit of a thousand pieces of gold because he had not made good his boast. After a while the bull said to the Brahman, who seemed very much dispirited: "Brahman, I have lived a long time in your house. Have I ever broken any pots, or have I rubbed against the walls, or have I made the walks around the premises unclean?" "Never, my dear,"

said the Brahman. "Then why did you call me wretch? But if you will never call me wretch again, you shall have two thousand pieces for the one thousand you have lost." The Brahman, hearing this, called his neighbors together, set up one hundred loaded carts as before, then seated himself on the pole, stroked the bull on the back, and called out, "Gee up, my beauty! Drag them along, my beauty!" And the bull, with a mighty effort, dragged along the whole hundred carts, heavily loaded though they were. The bystanders were greatly astonished, and the Brahman received two thousand pieces on account of the wonderful feat performed by the bull.

The 30th Jataka corresponds to the fable of the Ox and the Calf in the aesop collection. The 33d, like the fable of the Bundle of Sticks, teaches the lesson of unity, but in a form a little nearer to the understanding of children. Long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the future Buddha came to life as a quail. At that time there was a fowler who used to go to the place where the quails dwelt and imitate their cry; and when they had a.s.sembled, he would throw his net over them. But the Buddha said to the quails: "In future, as soon as he has thrown the net over us, let each thrust his head through a mesh of the net, then all lift it together, carry it off to some bush, and escape from underneath it." And they did so and were saved. But one day a quail trod unawares on the head of another, and a disgraceful quarrel ensued. The next time the fowler threw his net over them, each of the quails pretended that the others were leaving him to bear the greatest strain, and cried out, "You others begin, and then I will help." The consequence was that no one began, and the net was not raised, and the fowler bagged them all. The 26th Jataka enforces the truth that evil communications corrupt good manners, and contains more particularly a warning against listening to the conversation of wicked people. Thus much concerning the Jataka tales.

There exists also a collection of Hindu fairy tales and fables, gathered from oral tradition by M. Frere, and published under the t.i.tle of Old Deccan Days. A few of these are very charming, and well adapted for our purpose. For example, the fable of King Lion and the Sly Little Jackals.

The story is told with delightful _navete_. Singh-Rajah, the lion-king, is very hungry. He has already devoured all the jackals of the forest, and only a young married couple, who are extremely fond of each other, remain. The little jackal-wife is terribly frightened when she hears in their immediate vicinity the roar of Singh-Rajah. But the young husband tries to comfort her, and to save their lives he hits on the following expedient: He makes her go with him straight to the cave of the terrible lion. Singh-Rajah no sooner sees them than he exclaims: "It is well you have arrived at last. Come here quickly, so that I may eat you." The husband says: "Yes, your Majesty, we are entirely ready to do as you bid us, and, in fact, we should have come long ago, as in duty bound, to satisfy your royal appet.i.te, but there is another Singh-Rajah mightier than you in the forest, who would not let us come." "What!" says the lion, "another Singh-Rajah mightier than I! That is impossible." "Oh!

but it is a fact," say the young couple in a breath; "and he is really much more terrible than you are." "Show him to me, then," says Singh-Rajah, "and I will prove to you that what you say is false--that there is no one to be compared with me in might." So the little jackals ran on together ahead of the lion, until they reached a deep well. "He is in there," they said, pointing to the well. The lion looked down angrily and saw his own image, the image of an angry lion glaring back at him. He shook his mane; the other did the same. Singh-Rajah thereupon, unable to contain himself, leaped down to fight his compet.i.tor, and, of course, was drowned. The fable clothes in childlike language the moral that anger is blind, and that the objects which excite our anger are often merely the outward reflections of our own pa.s.sions. In the fable of the Brahman, the Tiger, and the Six Judges, we have a lesson against ingrat.i.tude, and also against useless destruction of animal life. In the fable of the Camel and the Jackal, the latter does not appear in the same favorable light as above. The jackal and the camel were good friends. One day the jackal said to his companion: "I know of a field of sugar-cane on the other side of the river, and near by there are plenty of crabs and small fishes. The crabs and fishes will do for me, while you can make a fine dinner off the sugar-cane. If there were only a way of getting across!" The camel offered to swim across, taking the jackal on his back, and in this way they reached the opposite bank. The jackal ate greedily, and had soon finished his meal; thereupon he began to run up and down, and to exercise his voice, screaming l.u.s.tily. The camel begged him to desist, but in vain. Presently the cries of the jackal roused the villagers.

They came with sticks and cudgels and cruelly beat the camel, and drove him out of the field before he had had time to eat more than a few mouthfuls. When the men were gone at last, the jackal said, "Let us now go home." "Very well," said the camel, "climb on my back." When they were midway between the two banks, the camel said to the jackal: "Why did you make such a noise and spoil my dinner, bringing on those cruel men, who beat me so that every bone in my body aches? Did I not beg you to stop?" "Oh," said the jackal, "I meant no harm. I was only singing a bit. I always sing after dinner, just for amus.e.m.e.nt." They had by this time reached the place where the water was deepest. "Well," said the camel, "I also like innocent amus.e.m.e.nts. For instance, it is my custom to lie on my back after dinner and to stretch myself a bit." With that he turned over, and the jackal fell into the stream. He swallowed pailfuls of water, and it was only with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the bank. He had received a salutary lesson on the subject of inconsiderate selfishness--a fault very common with children, which such a story as this may help to correct.

As to the modern fables, I fear they will yield us but a scanty harvest.

The fables of La Fontaine, where they depart from aesopian originals, are hardly suitable for children, and those of the German poet Gellert impress me, on the whole, in the same way, though a few of them may be added to our stock. For instance, the fable of the Greenfinch and the Nightingale. These two birds occupy the same cage before the window of Damon's house. Presently the voice of the nightingale is heard, and then ceases. The father leads his little boy before the cage and asks him which of the two he believes to have been the sweet musician, the brightly colored greenfinch or the outwardly unattractive nightingale.

The child immediately points to the former, and is then instructed as to his error. The lesson, of course, is that fine clothes and real worth do not always go together. The fable of the Blind and the Lame Man teaches the advantages of co-operation. The Carriage Horse and the Cart Horse is a fable for the rich. Possibly the fable of the Peasant and his Son, which is directed against lies of exaggeration, may also be utilized, though I realize that there are objections to it.

FOOTNOTE:

[10] Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jataka Tales.

IX.

STORIES FROM THE BIBLE.

_Introduction._--It will have been noticed that in choosing our ill.u.s.trative material we have confined ourselves to what may be called cla.s.sical literature. The German _Marchen_ has lived in the traditions of the German people for centuries, and is as fresh to-day as Snow-white herself when she woke from her trance. The fables, as has been shown, have been adopted into the language and literature of Persia, of Arabia, of the nations of Europe, and are still found in the hands of our own children. Let us continue to pursue the same method of selection.

Instead of relying on juvenile literature just produced, or attempting to write moralizing stories specially adapted for the purpose in hand, let us continue, without excluding invention altogether, to rely mainly on that which has stood the test of time. In the third part of our primary course we shall use selected stories from the cla.s.sical literature of the Hebrews, and later on from that of Greece, particularly the Odyssey and the Iliad. The stories to which I refer possess a perennial vitality, an indestructible charm. I am, I trust, no blind worshiper of antiquity. The mere fact that a thing has existed for a thousand or two thousand years is not always proof that it is worth preserving. But the fact that after having been repeated for two thousand years a story still possesses a perfectly fresh attraction for the child of to-day, does indeed prove that there is in it something of imperishable worth. How is this unique charm of the cla.s.sical literature to be explained? What quality exists in Homer, in the Bible, enabling them, despite the changes of taste and fashion, to hold their own? The novels of the last century are already antiquated; few care to read them. The poetry of the middle ages is enjoyed only by those who cultivate a special taste for it. Historical and scientific works hardly have time to leave an impression before new books appear to crowd them out. But a few great masterpieces have survived, and the truth and beauty of these the lapse of ages, it seems, has left unaltered. Mr.

Jebb remarks[11] that Homer aims at the lucid expression of primary motives, and refrains from multiplying individual traits which might interfere with their effect, and that this typical quality in Homer's portraiture has been one secret of its universal impressiveness. The Homeric outlines are in each case brilliantly distinct, while they leave to the reader a certain liberty of private conception, and he can fill them in so as to satisfy his own ideal. We may add that this is just as true of the Bible as of Homer. The biblical narrative, too, depicts a few essential traits of human nature, and refrains from multiplying minor traits which might interfere with the main effect. The Bible, too, draws its figures in outline, and leaves every age free to fill them in so as to satisfy its own ideal. Thus the biblical story, as conceived in the mind of Milton, reflects the Puritan ideal; the same story, narrated in a modern pulpit or Sunday-school, will inevitably reflect, to a greater or less degree, the modern humanitarian ideal, and this liberty of interpretation is one cause of the vitality of the Bible. But it may be asked further, How did Homer, how did the biblical writers, succeed in producing such universal types, in drawing their figures so correctly that, however the colors may thenceforth be varied, the outlines remain forever true? He who should attempt at the present day to give expression to the most universal traits of human nature, freed from the complex web of conditions, disengaged from the thousand-fold minor traits which modify the universal in particular instances, would find it difficult to avoid one or the other of two fatal errors. If he keeps his eyes fixed on the universal, he is in danger of producing a set of bloodless abstractions, pale shadows of reality, which will not live for a day, much less for a thousand years. If, on the other hand, he tries to keep close to reality he will probably produce more or less accurate copies of the types that surround him, but the danger will always be that the universal will be lost amid the particulars. By what quality in themselves or fortunate constellation of circ.u.mstances did Homer and the biblical writers succeed in avoiding both these errors, in creating types of the utmost universality and yet imparting to them the breath of life, the gait and accent of distinctive individuality? I imagine that they succeeded because they lived at a time when life was much less complex than it is at present, when the conversation, the manners, the thoughts, the motives of men were simple. They were enabled to individualize the universal because the most universal, the simplest motives, still formed the mainspring in the conduct of individuals. It was not necessary for them to enter into the barren region of abstraction and generalization to discover the universal. They pictured what they actually saw. The universal and the individual were still blended in that early dawn of human history.

We have thus far spoken of Homer and the Bible jointly. But let us now give our particular attention to the biblical narrative. The narrative of the Bible is fairly saturated with the moral spirit; the moral issues are everywhere in the forefront. Duty, guilt and its punishment, the conflict of conscience with inclination, are the leading themes. The Hebrew people seem to have been endowed with what may be called "a moral genius," and especially did they emphasize the filial and fraternal duties to an extent hardly equaled elsewhere. Now it is precisely these duties that must be impressed on young children, and hence the biblical stories present us with the very material we require. They can not, in this respect, be replaced; there is no other literature in the world that offers what is equal to them in value for the particular object we have now in view. Before proceeding, however, to discuss the stories in detail, let me remind you that in studying them a larger tax is made on the attention of children, and a higher development of the moral judgment is presupposed, than in the previous parts of our course; for in them a succession of acts and their consequences are presented to the scholar, on each of which his judgment is to be exercised. Those who teach the biblical stories merely because it has been customary to regard the Bible as the text-book of morals and religion, without, however, being clear as to the place which belongs to it in a scheme of moral education, will always, I doubt not, achieve a certain result. The stories will never entirely fail of their beneficial effect, but I can not help thinking that this effect will be greatly heightened if their precise pedagogic value is distinctly apprehended, and if the preparatory steps have been taken in due course. It seems to me that the moral judgment should first be exercised on a single moral quality as exhibited in a single act before it is applied to a whole series of acts; and hence that the fable should precede the story.

In making our selection from the rich material before us we need only keep in mind the principle already enunciated in the introductory lectures--that the moral teaching at any period should relate to the duties of that period.

_Adam and Eve in Paradise._

This is a wonderful story for children. It deserves to be placed at the head of all the others, for it inculcates the cardinal virtue of childhood--obedience. It is also a typical story of the beginning, the progress, and the culmination of temptation. Will you permit me to relate the story as I should tell it to little children? I shall endeavor to keep true to the outlines, and if I depart from the received version in other respects, may I not plead that liberty of interpretation to which I have referred above.

Once upon a time there were two children, Adam and Eve. Adam was a fine and n.o.ble-looking lad. He was slender and well built, and fleet of foot as a young deer. Eve was as beautiful as the dawn, with long golden tresses, and blue eyes, and cheeks like the rose. They lived in the loveliest garden that you have ever heard of. There were tall trees in it, and open meadows where the gra.s.s was as smooth as on a lawn, and clear, murmuring brooks ran through the woods. And there were dense thickets filled with the perfume of flowers, and the flowers grew in such profusion, and there were so many different kinds, each more beautiful than the rest, that it was a perfect feast for the eyes to look at them. It was so warm that the children never needed to go in-doors, but at night they would just lie down at the foot of some great tree and look at the stars twinkling through the branches until they fell asleep. And when it rained they would find shelter in some beautiful cavern, spreading leaves and moss upon the ground for a bed.

The garden where they lived was called Paradise. And there were ever so many animals in it--all kinds of animals--elephants, and tigers, and leopards, and giraffes, and camels, and sheep, and horses, and cows; but even the wild animals did them no harm. But the children were not alone in that garden: their Father lived with them. And every morning when they woke up their first thought was to go to him and to look up into his mild, kind face for a loving glance, and every evening before they went to sleep he would bend over them. And once, as they lay under the great tree, looking at a star shining through the branches, Adam said to Eve: "Our Father's eye shines just like that star."

One day their Father said to them: "My children, there is one tree in this beautiful garden the fruit of which you must not eat, because it is hurtful to you. You can not understand why, but you know that you must obey your Father even when you do not understand. He loves you and knows best what is for your good." So they promised, and for a time remembered. But one day it happened that Eve was pa.s.sing near the tree of the fruit of which she knew she must not eat, when what should she hear but a snake talking to her. She did not see it, but she heard its voice quite distinctly. And this is what the snake said: "You poor Eve!

you must certainly have a hard time. Your Father is always forbidding you something. How stern he is! I am sure that other children can have all the fruit they want." Eve was frightened at first. She knew that her Father was kind and good, and that the snake was telling a falsehood. He did not always forbid things. But still he had forbidden her to eat of the fruit, and she thought that was a little hard; and she could not understand at all why he had done so. Then the snake spoke again: "Listen, Eve! He forbade you to eat only of it. It can do no harm just to look at it. Go up to it. See how it glistens among the branches! How golden it looks!" And the snake kept on whispering: "How good it must be to the taste! Just take one bite of it. n.o.body sees you. Only one bite; that can do no harm." And Eve glanced around, and saw that no one was looking, and presently with a hasty movement she seized the fruit and ate of it. Then she said to herself: "Adam, too, must eat of it. I can never bear to eat it alone." So she ran hastily up to Adam, and said: "See, I have some of the forbidden fruit, and you, too, must eat." And he, too, looked at it and was tempted, and ate. But that evening they were very much afraid. They knew they had done wrong, and their consciences troubled them. So they hurried away into the wood where it was deepest, and hid themselves in the bushes. But soon they heard their Father calling to them; and it was strange, their Father's voice had never sounded so sad before. And in a few moments he found them where they were hiding. And he said to them: "Why do you hide from me?" And they were very much confused, and stammered forth all sorts of excuses.

But he said: "Come hither, children." And he looked into their eyes, and said: "Have you eaten of the fruit of which I told you not to eat?" And Adam, who was thoughtless and somewhat selfish, spoke up, and said: "Yes, but it was Eve who gave me of it; she led me on." And Eve hung her head, and said: "It was the snake that made me eat." Now the snake, you know, was no real snake at all; she never saw it, she only heard its voice. And, you know, when we want to do anything wicked, there is within every one of us something bad, that seems to whisper: "Just look!

Mere looking will do no harm"; and then: "Just taste; no one sees you."

So the snake was the bad feeling in Eve's heart. And their Father took them by the hand, and said: "Tomorrow, when it is dawn, you will have to leave this place. In this beautiful Paradise no one can stay who has once disobeyed. You, Adam, must learn to labor; and, you, Eve, to be patient and self-denying for others. And, perhaps, after a long, long time, some day, you will come back with me into Paradise again."

It is a free rendering, I admit. I have filled in the details so as to bring it down to the level of children's minds, but the outlines, I think, are there. The points I have developed are all suggested in the Bible. The temptation begins when the snake says with characteristic exaggeration: "Is it true that of _all_ the fruit you are forbidden to eat?" Exaggerating the hardships of the moral command is the first step on the downward road. The second step is Eve's approach to look at the fruit--"and she saw that it was good for food, and pleasant to the eyes." The third step is the actual enjoyment of what is forbidden. The fourth step is the desire for companionship in guilt, so characteristic of sin--"and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."

The next pa.s.sage describes the working of conscience, the fear, the shame, the desire to hide, and then comes the moral verdict: You are guilty, both of you. You have lost your paradise. Try to win it back by labor and suffering.

NOTE.--I would add to what has been said in the text, that the pupils are expected to return to the study of the Bible, to read and re-read these stories, and to receive a progressively higher interpretation of their meaning as they grow older. If in the above I have spoken in a general way of a Father and his two children, it will be easy for the Sunday-school teacher to add later on that the Father in the story was G.o.d.

_Cain and Abel._

In teaching the story of the two brothers Cain and Abel the following points should be noted. The ancients believed that earthly prosperity and well-being depended on the favor of G.o.d, or the G.o.ds, and that the favor of the G.o.ds could be secured by sacrifice. If any one brought a sacrifice and yet prosperity did not set in, this was supposed to be a sign that his sacrifice had not been accepted. On the other hand, to say of any person that his sacrifice had been accepted, was tantamount to saying that he was happy and prosperous. Applying this to the story of Cain and Abel, we may omit all mention of the bringing of the sacrifices, which presents a great and needless difficulty to children's minds, and simply make the equivalent statement that Abel was prosperous and Cain was not.

Again, Cain is not represented as an intentional murderer. The true interpretation of the story depends on our bearing this in mind. It is erroneous to suppose that a brand was fixed on Cain's forehead. The pa.s.sage in question, correctly understood, means that G.o.d gave Cain a sign to rea.s.sure him that he should not be regarded by men as a common murderer. With these prefatory remarks the story may be told somewhat as follows:

Long ago there lived two brothers. The name of the elder was Cain, and of the younger Abel. Cain was a farmer. He toiled in the sweat of his brow, tilling the stubborn ground, taking out stones, building fences.

Winter and summer he was up before the sun, and yet, despite all his labor, things did not go well with him. His crops often failed through no fault of his. He never seemed to have an easy time. Moreover, Cain was of a proud disposition. Honest he was, and truthful, but taciturn, not caring much to talk to people whom he met, but rather keeping to himself. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd. He led, or seemed to lead, the most delightfully easy life. He followed his flocks from one pasture to another, watching them graze; and at noon he would often lie down in the shade of some leafy tree and play on his flute by the hour.

He was a skillful musician, a bright, talkative companion, and universally popular. He was a little selfish too, as happy people sometimes are. He liked to talk about his successes, and, in a perfectly innocent way, which yet stung Cain to the quick, he would rattle on to his brother about the increase of his herds, about his plans and prospects, and the pleasant things that people were saying of him. Cain grew jealous of his brother Abel. He did not like to confess it to himself, but yet it was a fact. He kept comparing his own life of grinding toil with the easy, lazy life of the shepherd--it was not quite so lazy, but so it seemed to Cain--his own poverty with the other's wealth, his own loneliness with Abel's popularity. And a frown would often gather on his brow, and he grew more and more moody and silent. He knew that he was not in the right state of mind. There was a voice within him that said: "Sin is at thy door, but thou canst become master over it." Sin is like a wild beast crouching outside the door of the heart. Open the door ever so little, and it will force its way in, and will have you in its power. Keep the door shut, therefore; do not let the first evil thought enter into your heart. Thus only can you remain master of yourself. But Cain was already too far gone to heed the warning voice. One day he and Abel were walking together in the fields.

Abel, no doubt, was chatting in his usual gay and thoughtless manner.

The world was full of sunshine to him; and he did not realize in the least what dark shadows were gathering about his brother's soul. Perhaps the conversation ran somewhat as follows: He had just had an addition to his herd, the finest calf one could imagine: would not Cain come to admire it? And then, to-morrow evening he was to play for the dancers on the green, at the village feast: would not Cain join in the merry-making? When the solitary, embittered Cain heard such talk as this the angry feeling in his heart rose up like a flood. Overmastered by his pa.s.sion, with a few wild, incoherent words of rage he turned upon his brother and struck him one fierce blow. Ah, that was a relief! The pent-up feeling had found vent at last. The braggart had received the chastis.e.m.e.nt he deserved! And Cain walked on; and for a time continued to enjoy his satisfaction. He had just noticed that Abel, when struck, had staggered and fallen, but he did not mind that. "Let him lie there for a while; he will pick himself up presently. He may be lame for a few days, and his milk-white face may not be so fair at the feast, but that will be all the better for him. It will teach him a lesson."

Nevertheless, when he had walked on for some distance he began to feel uneasy. He looked around from time to time to see whether Abel was following him, and the voice of conscience began to be heard, saying, "Cain, where is thy brother?" But he silenced it by saying to himself, "Am I my brother's keeper? Is he such a child that he can not take care of himself--that he can not stand a blow?" But he kept looking back more and more often, and when he saw no one coming, he came at last to a dead halt. His heart was beating violently by this time; the beads of perspiration were gathered on his brow. He turned back to seek his missing brother. Then, as he did not meet him, he began to run, and faster and faster he ran, until at last, panting and out of breath, with a horrible fear hounding him on, he arrived at the place where he had struck the blow. And there he saw--a pool of blood, and the waxen face of his brother, and the glazed, broken eyes! And then he realized what he had done. And it is this situation which the Bible has in view in the words, "Behold, thy brother's blood cries up from the earth against thee." And then as he surveyed his deed in stony despair, he said to himself, "I am accursed from the face of the earth"--I am unworthy to live. The earth has no resting-place for such as I. But a sign was given him to show him that his life would not be required of him. He had not committed willful murder. He had simply given the reins to his violent pa.s.sion. He must go into another land, where no one knew him, there through years of penance to try to regain his peace of soul. The moral of the story is: Do not harbor evil thoughts in the mind. If you have once given them entrance, the acts to which they lead are beyond your control. Cain's sin consisted in not crushing the feeling of envy in the beginning; in comparing his own lot with that of his more favored brother and dwelling on this comparison, until, in a fit of insane pa.s.sion, he was led on to the unspeakable crime which, indeed, he had never contemplated, to which he had never given an inward a.s.sent. The story also ill.u.s.trates the vain subterfuges with which we still seek to smother the consciousness of guilt after we have done wrong, until the time comes when our eyes are opened and we are compelled to face the consequences of our deeds and to realize them in all their bearings. The story of Cain and Abel is thus a further development of the theme already treated in simpler fashion in the story of Adam and Eve, only that, while in the latter case the filial duty of obedience to parents is in the foreground, attention is here directed to the duty which a brother owes to a brother. It is a striking tale, striking in the vividness with which it conjures up the circ.u.mstances before our minds and the clearness with which the princ.i.p.al motives are delineated; and it contains an awful warning for all time.

The question here presents itself, whether we should arrange the biblical stories according to subjects--e. g., grouping together all those which treat of duty to parents, all those which deal with the relations of brothers to brothers, etc.--or whether we should adopt the chronological arrangement. On the whole, I am in favor of the latter. It is expected that the pupils, as they grow older, will undertake a more comprehensive study of the Bible, and for this they will be better prepared if they have been kept to the chronological order from the outset. Another more practical reason is, that children tire of one subject if it is kept before their minds too long. It is better, therefore, to arrange the stories in groups or cycles, each of which will afford opportunity to touch on a variety of moral topics. It will be impossible to continue to relate _in extenso_ the stories which I have selected, and I shall therefore content myself in the main with giving the points of each story upon which the teacher may lay stress.

_The Story of Noah and his Sons._