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as in times of joy, was to me not only And the climax is reached in the amazing, but appalling. Not being as dark hour of Gethsemane, the hour of yet aware of their inward fire and in- intense suffering, imploring need, and

, tensity of feeling, held in check by a ultimate triumph in Jesus' surrender strong bulwark of calm calculation, as to the Father's will. How true to that an unreconstructed Syrian I felt prone demonstrative Oriental nature is the to doubt whether they had any emo- scriptural record, 'And being in an tions to speak of.

agony he prayed more earnestly: and It is not my purpose here to under- his sweat was as it were great drops of take a comparative critical study of blood falling down to the ground.' these opposing traits, but to state that, The faithful and touching realism of for good or evil, the Oriental is preëmi- the record here is an example of the nently a man who craves sympathy, childlike responsiveness of the Syrian

, yearns openly and noisily for compan- nature to feelings of sorrow, no less ionship, and seeks help and support striking than the experience itself. It outside himself. Whatever disadvan- seems to me that if an Anglo-Saxon tages this trait may involve, it has been teacher in similar circumstances had the one supreme qualification that has ever allowed himself to agonize and to made the Oriental the religious teacher sweat'as it were great drops of blood,' of the whole world. It was his childlike his chronicler in describing the scene dependence on God that gave birth to would have safeguarded the dignity of the twenty-third and fifty-first Psalms, his race by simply saying that the disand made the Lord's Prayer the univer- tressed teacher was 'visibly affected'! sal petition of Christendom. It was The darkness deepened and the Masalso this dependence on companion- ter 'took with him Peter and the two ship, human and divine, which inspired sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorthe great commandments, 'Thou shalt rowful and very heavy. Then saith he love the Lord thy God with all thy unto them, “My soul is exceedingly sorheart, and thy neighbor as thyself.' rowful, even unto death; tarry ye here,

Now it is in the light of this funda- and watch with me.”' Three times did mental Oriental trait that we must the Great Teacher utter that matchless view Christ's utterances at the Last prayer, whose spirit of fear as well as of Supper and in Gethsemane. The rec- trust vindicates the doctrine of the huord tells us that while at the Supper he manity of God and the divinity of man said to his disciples, 'With desire I have as exemplified in the person of Christ: desired to eat this passover with you ‘O, my Father, if it be possible, let this before I suffer,' - or, as the marginal cup pass from me: nevertheless not as note has it, 'I have heartily desired, I will, but as thou wilt!' and so forth, which brings it nearer the The sharp contrast between the se original text. Again, 'He was troubled mitic and the Anglo-Saxon temperain spirit, and testified and said, “Verily, ment has led some unfriendly critics of verily, I say unto you, that one of you

Christ to state very complacently and shall betray me.' This is my body ... confidently that he simply broke down This is my blood ... Do this in re- when the critical hour came.' In this membrance of me.' We must seek the assertion I find a very pronounced misproper setting for these utterances, not apprehension of the facts. If my knowmerely in the upper room in Zion, but ledge of the traits of my own race is to in the deepest tendencies of the Orien- be relied on, then in trying to meet tal mind.

this assertion I feel that I am entitled

to the consideration of one who speaks not the slightest artificial reserve. How with something resembling authority. much better and happier this world

The simple fact is that while in Geth- would be if we all dealt with one ansemane, as indeed everywhere else other and with God in the warm, simthroughout his ministry, Jesus was not ple, and pure love of Christ! in the position of one trying to “play As the life and words of Christ amthe hero." His companions were his ply testify, the vision of the Oriental intimate earthly friends and his gra- has been to teach mankind not science, cious heavenly Father, and to them he logic, or jurisprudence, but a simple, spoke as an Oriental would speak to loving, childlike faith in God. Therethose dear to him, — just as he felt, fore, before we can fully know our Maswith not a shadow of show or sham. ter as the cosmopolitan Christ, we must His words were not those of weakness first know him as the Syrian Christ. and despair, but of confidence and affection. The love of his friends and the (The title of Mr. Rihbany's next love of his father in heaven were his paper will be 'Bread and Salt.' - THE to draw upon in his hour of trial, with EDITORS.)

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There are, of course, preliminary

steps. You have to warm up. But that The science of archæology has als may be cleverly enough done, with no ways been under a cloud. It has been real physical discomfort. Do but keep considered a pastime for the rich, a dropping out, in casual talk, hints of speculative something, offering a field the Triassic period, and monoliths and only to him who can put a simon-pure palæolithic wastes, and you will soon archæologist in either pocket, and start find yourself in shape. If possible see for Mycenæ or the Pyramids. But it is Stonehenge or Avebury, and while you a mistake to look upon it thus, as if browse about there, overturn a lichenit were only a form of relaxation for covered stone or two. You are almost a wholesale druggist who has been or- certain to find the claw-marks of a predered south. There is a kind of archæ historic turkey on the other side of it. ology in which even the humblest may A few such finds will greatly hearten indulge, — no shovels, no dispensa- . you and ripen you for Dartmoor. tions from inimical governments, nei- We caught the fever in a little place ther holes nor sand-fleas; and yet as full called Glastonbury, in the West Counof specimens and speculation as the try. My good Porthos and I were walk. other, and to the full as interesting to ing English bicyles all over that region, readers of the Sunday supplements. now and then hopping on and going on

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a few hundred yards, getting a punc- ‘My dear fellah — really — priceture, stopping, borrowing a basin of less treasure - 55 B.C. - I could n't

water, inflating and submerging the think-!' inner tube for bubbles, and finally clap- Even then I could n't understand ping on a rubber patch. The younger that I had happened on a real archægeneration in America knows nothing ologist. It's one thing to look at a jawof all this, for over here the bicycle is bone in a museum under a dusty glass; not extant any more. An archæologist and quite another to be right in at the would be attracted to it. But it takes resurrection, so to speak. There was more than a generation for anything certainly a hole or excavation there, to become palæolithic in Devon. a black rectangle about twelve feet by

Four miles short of Glastonbury we six, and six deep. I looked into it. A came to a flat rim. We located a thorn, row of men were picking away delipart of a safety-pin, and a bit of broken cately at the black soil with peculiar quartz here and there about the tire; trowels. Everything seemed somehow and while Porthos was blowing into the unusual and special, from the excavatube and listening for expirations, I tion right down to the archæologist went off to borrow a basin of water. In himself. You might have been deaf and pursuit of this basin, I broke through a dumb, or he might have been deaf and blackthorn hedge. And there was the dumb, and yet you would have felt all archæologist.

through you that he was n't digging a He was a short man in gray clothes,

clothes, cistern. The wild light in his eye, or the with a lavender tie, and he radiated an shape of the trowels, might have warnearnestness which would kill skepticism ed you that this was n't the entrance to at a hundred yards. I had faith in him a new subway. I was enchanted; and even before I saw the box. It was a I left Porthos to play in the road all common soap-box with a slit big enough alone with his inflated rubber circle. to insert a bicycle wheel. A sign said But look here,' I said, 'what is this that if you put in sixpence, and breath- -ah- fragment in the basin?' ed a prayer for the Taunton Museum, 'It's the stake-end of a hut-pole,' you could go on to the diggings. said the archæologist. “This was a lake

The archæologist had seen me put in village, you see; the tides flowed clear my sixpence, evidently; for he leaned ra- down here from Bristol in those days; ther guiltily in the door of his new hut. and they could only build their huts on

Sorry, old chap,' he said, 'there is these knolls.' n't much to see, you know; not really. Then these must have been islands, Of course, a little later

I ventured. I looked into the hut.

"They were islands,' said the archæ'What I want,' I said, “is a basin of ologist with rising significance. water. Flat tire. Ah, here's just the ‘Then they must have used boats,' caper.'

I cried, in a wild fever of surmise. There was a basin on the floor, like 'Canoes,' shrieked the archæologist. a special miracle; and nothing but a 'Dugouts. We've traced 'em into that

. rotten piece of wood floating in it. cornfield, and we can't dig there.

'I'll just chuck this out,' I said; and There's tombs there, too; burial urns. I had almost done it, when the archæ- Sure of it. The story of a past age. But ologist gave out a wail which I have the fool will grow corn there.' reason to believe is frequent with him 'Corn!' I gave out a thunderclap in his native haunt.

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The frantic archæologist was drawn something complementary about it. toward me by the heartiness of my My heart thumped at the bare possibilcontempt for corn. He quieted himself ity of a pot. He drew another piece with an effort.

from the heap, and cried aloud with “They were planting corn in the pleasure. Roman amphitheatre at Dorchester till 'A design,' he said. "Could anything a few years back,' he said. “Mr. be more delicate, more perfect?' Hawke finally rooted it up, and got I leaned over his shoulder. I have down to the chalk-bottom of the arena. heard that simplicity is at the heart of He dug two dead gladiators out of the architecture. If it is also at the heart of south side of the parapet. They were design, then this design was perfect. It in a sitting posture, and one of them consisted of two parallel lines, which measured seven inches from jaw-bone had obviously once gone clear round to jaw-bone. The teeth were all there, the pot. except the bicuspids. Come in and 'Shade of Euclid!' I breathed in my talk with Mr. Hawke.'

excitement. We bolted into the shack, which was 'And we turn up something like this of new unpainted matched boards, every day,' said the second archæoloagainst which these recovered relics gist tumultuously. looked more antiquarian than ever. If 'What a life!' I exclaimed reverently. you put a good old New England grind- 'I sometimes fear the stimulus is too stone down on that floor, and were great,' said Mr. Hawke. 'Once in so specially careful with it, you would in- often I have to steal away to South stantly suggest a period before Adam. Devon to rest. But even there I have There were stones of every description the temptation of Dartmoor.' in there: long flat smooth ones, for rub- He was assailed on every hand. It bing skins; fat round dented ones for was as bad as if these stone men were moulds; and little polished ones for actually at him with their bludgeons. playing games - probably checkers. 'What of Dartmoor?' I inquired. If some one should go and salt down an 'A great palæolithic waste,' he reold checker-board in that hole in the turned. 'Sacred circles, pounds, stone night, it would relieve those fellows avenues, necropolises, I believe, if we mightily. They would know it was could get down to them. Dartmoor. checkers then. Mr. Hawke was in a Ah, it's too much. The treasury is too side room, absorbed in trying to select rich. But the restrictions of the Duchy a pot from a boxful of burnt-clay would drive me frantic. It's owned by shards, which would have made fifty the Duchess of Cornwall.' pots. But now certainly, if Mr. Hawke He did n't want to say that she was could reconstruct a pot, he could do not an excellent lady; no Englishman what all the king's horses and all the would; but he hurried off the topic. king's men could n't do. He washed "See here.' each piece clean, examined the jagged He lifted an urn nearly whole, conedge of it, and then another jagged taining some black matter in the botedge, and then another jagged edge. tom. 'We have every reason to beStill, this was the Mr. Hawke who had lieve,' he announced, that this was bade defiance to the cornfield in the bread.' Roman ring at Dorchester, and as each ‘Baked a little too brown?' I sugedge was washed clean, I kept fancying gested. that his bright blue eye had detected He thwarted my forefinger. VOL. 117 -N0. 3


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"Two thousand years,' he reminded They knew this, it seemed, because

they always found these punctured He hurled time at me in great ruth- skulls just outside the limits of the less clods. I was stunned.

town, where they had fallen when the Or here.'

spears rotted. Indeed, this was how He pointed out two large flat stones. they had discovered the limits of the

A mirror-mould for bronze mirrors,' town. They had, as it were, killed two he said.

birds with one stone. He bent toward me with fever in his I went out, and had another look ineyes. "To-morrow we shall have the to the black pit. mirror,' he said.

'Well, good day,' I said. 'I'm in I supported myself against the jamb rather a hurry to begin.' of the door.

'Begin what?' said the second arSuddenly there was commotion out- chæologist. side, and a man came in bearing a com- 'I'm going to Dartmoor with a pick plete skull in his hands. He was not and shovel,' I said. 'Damn the Duchy! even going to trust himself to wipe the Hang the --- ah – duchess!'

dirt from it. The archæologists gave He clasped my hand. vent to their strangled wail again, and ‘Don't forget the British Museum,' Mr. Hawke took the skull. I had been he implored me. about to say, 'Alas, poor Yorick!' but the ignoble flippancy froze on my lips.

II 'Outside again?' Mr. Hawke shouted to the laborer.

Within a week we were at Dartmoor, 'Outside, sir; yes, sir.'

having come upon it from the south "We can no longer doubt,' said Mr. from Plymouth. Hawke. "You see, Horace?'

In the purple time of night, we deHe showed the first archæologist the scended upon Chagford, where it nestop of the skull, where there was a tled in a clouded hollow under the great jagged hole.

crown of a green hill. Its white stone 'All of them like that,' said Mr. cots twinkled in the long twilight; the Hawke. 'All of them.'

magic stillness of the night countryside He opened a cabinet, and there were and the towering impassivity of the six more skulls, and they one and all giant tor, Nattadown, Chagford's probore this same cruel rent in the very tector, were deepened by a sweet ring middle of the cranium.

of bells, which came up muffled out of ‘Do you see anything peculiar in nowhere; although we might fancy, that hole?' said Horace, turning to me. among the shapes wavering through the

I looked more closely at the hole, and gloom, some weathering belfry, which I said that, now my attention had been should prefigure its old verger swaydrawn to it, there was something pecu- ing among his plush-covered nimble liar about it.

ropes of red and white. The blurred 'It's a spear-hole,' they cried togeth- road ran ahead of us, deep between . er. And Mr. Hawke went on, 'These its hedges; a sweet cold wind followed fellows must have gone to war. When it, bearing on its wings hawthorn, and they killed a man, they cut off his head, the sound

of clumping footsteps. The and ran their spears into it; and then place was like lost Germelshausen, visset up their spears on the walls sur- ible upon this night only in a hundred rounding the town.'


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