sign or symbol. The ark was becoming an idol, and therefore the ark was suffered to be taken captive by the unbelievers.

Still the ark was a sacred thing. It was the visible cynosure of a worship which was in its forms symbolical and ritual; and above it, in its place, the clouded radiance which indicated the divine presence visibly abode. Apart, therefore, from the false notions concerning it which had crept in, the loss of it might well be felt to be a national calamity. It was so considered. The right-minded might tremble at the thought of the dishonour brought upon the Lord's great name in the eyes of the heathen, who would not fail to consider that their own gods had at length triumphed over the great and dreadful JEHOVAH of the Israelites.

Many hearts waited with unusual anxiety the tidings from the battle. Among them was the blind old Eli, who caused his seat to be set by the wayside, that he might catch the first tidings that might come from the war; for his heart trembled for the ark of God.' His sons were there; but it was not for them his heart trembled-he trembled for the ark. He was not, however, the first to receive the tidings. It was spread through the town before he heard it; for every one was reluctant to impart it to him. But he heard the stir and the lamentations through the city, and asked what this meant. The messenger, a man of Benjamin (some Jews think it was Saul), a fugitive from the battle, with his clothes rent, and earth strewn upon his head, as the bearer of heavy tidings, then came before him. Eli's blindness spared him the sight of these ominous indications. But let us note what passed. 'The man said to Eli, I am he that came out of the army, and I fled to-day out of the army. And he said, What is there done, my son? And the messenger answered and said, Israel is fled before the Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and THE ARK OF GOD IS TAKEN. And it came to pass, when he made mention of the ark of God, that he fell from his seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died.'

The manner in which this sad tale is told far excels anything of the kind which the wide range of literature can furnish. It is one of those traits of pure and simple grandeur in which the Scriptures are unequalled. The learned Madame Dacier compares these words, 'Thy two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God is taken,' with those of Antilochus, who brings to Achilles the tidings of the death of his friend Patroclus :

'Patroclus is no more. The Grecians fight

For his bare corse, and Hector hath his arms;' and she quotes the gloss of Eustathius upon this passage of Homer. "This speech of Antilochus,' says this critic, 'may be cited as a model of emphatic brevity in announcing tidings so terrible, for in two verses it contains all that really can be told: the death of Patroclus-by whom he was slain-the combat around his corpse-and that his arms were in the hands of the enemy. The tragic poets of Greece have not always imitated this grand simplicity; and Euripides, in particular, has the fault of making long recitals on trifling occasions. But Homer only, in this, ought to be followed. In great distresses, nothing is more absurd than for a messenger to impart his tidings in long discourses and pathetic descriptions. He speaks without being understood, for those to whom he addresses himself have no time or heart to pay attention. The first word which enables them to apprehend the calamity is enough to them, and they are deaf to all besides.' Now, this Homeric rule of fit brevity in messages of grief is still more strongly, and with more exquisite propriety, exemplified in the Scriptures, which abound in passages unapproachable even by Homer for significant brevity and sublime abruptness; and is particularly observable in those very cases in which, according to this sagacious canon of criticism, diffuse narration would have been inappropriate and unseemly. And notwithstanding that, in regard to such a book as the Bible, the literary beauties are of secondary importance, the secondary matters of the Bible surpass in interest the first matters of other things; and although we do not, as the Mohammedans with their Koran, point to

the mere literary composition of the Bible as a standing miracle, and a sufficient evidence of divine authority, it is not the less advantageous and pleasurable to us to be able to show, that the book of God, though its various truths come to us through the necessarily imperfect channel of human language, surpasses in manner, as well as in matter, all other books.

It may be interesting to note the effect which the capture of the ark produced upon the city of Shiloh. It had remained there in the tabernacle for more than three hundred years. Though the disgraceful conduct of Eli's sons had tended largely to dull those feelings of reverence which the Israelites entertained for the holy sanctuary, and for the spot where it was stationed, yet still Shiloh was the most venerated place in the land. The crowds of worshippers which assembled there during the great annual feasts, the multitude of offerings presented, and the numbers of priests and Levites in constant attendance upon the sanctuary, must have made Shiloh prosperous, populous, and rich. But with the loss of the ark it lost all its prosperity. The tabernacle still remained there, the priests were in attendance, and offerings were presented. Even after the ark was restored by the Philistines, and after it was finally removed by king David to Jerusalem, the old sanctuary at Shiloh was still visited. But its glory was gone. The city rapidly declined. A curse fell upon it, because of the sins of its corrupt priesthood. So remarkable was its fall and its desolation, that, just before the captivity, the Lord uttered these words regarding it by the lips of Jeremiah: 'But go ye now to my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at the first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel' (Jer. vii. 12).

For centuries Shiloh has been ruined and deserted. The shattered walls of a mosque or church, the foundations of some houses, and a number of shapeless mounds of stones and rubbish scattered over a rocky hill-side, are all that remain to mark the site of Shiloh. 'An air of oppressive stillness hangs now over all the scene, and adds force to the reflection, that truly the "oracles" so long consulted there are dumb: they had fulfilled their purpose, and given place to a more sure word of prophecy.'

Twenty-ninth Weck-First Day.

ICHABOD. -I SAMUEL IV. 21.

THE deep concern evinced at the loss of the symbol of Jehovah's presence, which constituted the highest distinction and most sacred treasure of Israel, is very affecting, and affords a most impressive and gratifying indication of the exalted and just views and feelings by which the hearts of some among the Israelites were animated. We have seen Eli fall to the ground and die, when he heard that the ark of God was taken; it being doubtful, as Bishop Hall quaintly remarks, whether his heart or his neck were first broken.

The same tidings wrought in the same family another death. The wife of one of the doomed priests, Phinehas, herself unnamed, although worthy of being held in lasting remembrance, was with child, and near to be delivered, when the doleful tidings of Israel's overthrow and the capture of God's ark came to Shiloh. Her husband's death-her father-in-law's death-the ruin of Israel—the capture of God's ark, threw her into such distress of mind, that her pains came suddenly upon her, and terminated her life. She appears to have been a woman of great tenderness of spirit, and of still greater piety. She felt deeply -how deeply, we may judge from the effects—the successive calamities that had taken place; but, like Eli himself, she felt most of all the one the messenger had last mentioned-the capture of the ark. Her father-in-law was dead. True; but his death was to be expected soon in the course of nature,, and the loss could be repaired; for there would not be wanting a high priest in the house of God. Her husband lay dead on the battlefield, his priestly raiment defiled in dust and stained with blood. And his offence was rank: his sins, some of them, had not only been public wrongs, but private wrongs to her. Yet still, in the deep caverns of her womanly heart, there lingered much love to the husband of her youth, the father of her children; and the loss of him his life quenched in blood-would, under any ordi

nary circumstances, have been a devouring grief. As it was, it no doubt hastened the time of her travail. Still it is clear from her dying words, that a concern for the interests of religion, occasioned by the loss of the ark, lay nearest to her soul. This was the master grief, in whose presence the others were dumb.

The women around her bed sought to rouse her from her dying lethargy, by the most gladdening tidings a Hebrew woman could learn: Fear not; for thou hast born a son !' 'But,' it is emphatically added, she answered not, neither did she regard it.' As her last moment came, however, she roused herself so far as to indicate the name the child was to bear— by that name making him a living memorial of her despairing grief. She called his name I-CHABOD—which means without glory-saying, "The glory is departed from Israel!' And with these words upon her lips, she died. That glory having departed, there was nothing of joy or hope for life to offer to her it only remained for her to die.

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This is a noble and refreshing example of deep concern, manifested even unto death, for the glory of God, and the wellbeing of his church. It is refreshing, because any experience of the sort has become rare in these latter days, in which the supreme anxiety of men is to get on, to do well in the world, to thrive; and concern for the glory of God is a subordinate and tempered feeling, calling forth very little of that burning ardour, that restlessness of zeal and labour, with which the matters belonging, more or less, to this life, are studied and pursued. No doubt there is abroad in the Christian world a certain kind of zeal for the glory of God. But how few are there in whom that zeal reigns paramount above all the interests that belong to earth-in whom that zeal is as a burning fire shut up in their bones, which makes them weary with forbearing-which allows them no rest so long as their Lord's great name is unglorified, or his cause does not prosper!

Look at this woman; and if an instance of real patriotism, of true public spirit, be wanted, behold it here! and let the just admiration which it excites, teach us that it is not proper, far less is it godly, that the chief of our care should be given