"What are you looking at, my darling?"
Matilda started. "Have you got through, mamma? did you want me?"
"I have got through; but I do not want you unless you are ready. What have you found that pleases you?"
"Look, mamma. That one – the woman holding a lamp – don't you see?"
It was Holman Hunt's figure of the woman searching for the lost piece of money.
"What is it?" said Mrs. Laval.
"Don't you remember, mamma? the story of the woman who had ten pieces of silver and lost one of them? how she swept the house, and looked until she found it?"
"If I had nine left, I should not take so much trouble," said Mrs. Laval.
"Ah, but, mamma, you know the Lord Jesus does not think so."
"The Lord! What are you talking of, my child?"
"O you do not remember, mamma! It is a parable. The Lord Jesus means us to know how He cares for the lost ones."
Mrs. Laval looked from Matilda to the picture and back again.
"Do you like it so very much?" she said.
"O I do, mamma! it's beautiful. What an odd lamp she has."
"That is the shape lamps used to be," said Mrs. Laval. "Not so good as ours."
"Prettier," said Matilda. "And it seems to give a good light. No, it don't, though; it shines only on a little place. But it's pretty."
"You do love pretty things," said Mrs. Laval laughing. "We will come and look at it again."
Matilda, it shewed how enterprising she was getting to be, had already privately inquired the price of the picture. It was fifteen dollars without a frame. Far up over her little head indeed. She drew a long breath, and came away.
The latter part of the week another engrossment appeared, in the shape of her new dresses from Mme. Fournissons. Mrs. Laval tried them all on; and Matilda's head had almost more than it could stand. So many, so handsome, so elegantly made and trimmed, so very becoming they were; it was like a fairy tale. To these dresses Mrs. Laval had been all the week adding riches of under-clothing; a supply so abundant that Matilda had never dreamed of the like, and so elegant and fine in material and make as she had never until then even seen. Now Matilda had a natural liking for extreme neatness and particularity in all that concerned her little person; and to have such plenty of things to wear, so nice of their kind, and full liberty to put them on clean and fresh as often as she pleased, fulfilled her utmost notions of what was desirable. Her mental confusion arose from the articles furnished by Mme. Fournissons. The lustre of the silk, the colour of the blue, the richness of the green, the ruffles, the costly buttons, the tasteful trimmings, the stylish make, all raised a whirl in Matilda's mind. She was a little intoxicated. Nobody saw it; she was very demure about it all; made no show of what she felt; all the same she felt it. She could not help a deep satisfaction at being dressed to the full as well as Judy; a feeling that was not lessened by a certain sense that the satisfaction was on her part alone. Of the two, that is. Mrs. Laval openly expressed hers. Mrs. Lloyd nodded her dignified head and remarked, "That child will do you no discredit, Zara." Mrs. Bartholomew looked at her, which was much; and Norton declared that from a pink she had bloomed out into a carnation. All these things Matilda felt; and unconsciously in all that concerned dress and equipment she began to set a new standard for herself. One thing must match with another. "Of course, I must have round-toed boots," she said to herself now. She began to doubt whether she must not get at least one pair of gloves more elegant than any she found at Shadywalk, to go with her silk dresses and her new coat. She hesitated still, for the price was a dollar and a quarter.
Upon all this came Mr. Richmond's letter; and Matilda found it did not exactly fit her mood of mind. She was confused already, and this made the confusion worse. Then Saturday came; and Norton was free; and he and Matilda made another round of shop-going. The matter was growing imminent now; Christmas would be in a fortnight. But the difficulty of deciding upon the choice of presents seemed as great as ever. Seeing more things to choose from, only increased the difficulty. They went this morning to Stewart's, to find out what might be displayed upon the variety counter; they went to a place where Swiss carvings were shewn; finally they went to Anthony's; and they could not get away from this last place.
"It's long past one o'clock, Pink," said Norton as they were going down the stairs.
"What shall we do, Norton? I'm very hungry."
"So am I. One can always do something in New York. We'll go and have dinner."
"At home?"
"No indeed. Short of home. We'll jump into an omnibus and be at the place in a minute."
It did not seem much more, and they went into a restaurant and took their places at a little marble table, and Norton ordered what they both liked; oyster pie and coffee.
"But mamma does not like me to drink coffee," said Matilda suddenly.
"No harm, just for once," said Norton. "She would let you, if she was here, I know."
"But she isn't here, and I don't like to do it, Norton."
"I have ordered it. You'll have to take it," said Norton. "Judy takes it every night, and her mother does not wish her to have any."
"What then?" said Matilda.
"Nothing; only that you two are not much alike."
"David don't look at me any more, since last week," said Matilda. "Do you suppose he never will again?"
"No hurt if he don't," said Norton. "He has my leave. Well, Pink, what are you going to get?"
"I don't know a bit, Norton – except one or two things. I am certain of nothing else but just one or two."
"I am going to get that ring for mamma; that's fixed. The one with that pale malachite. Grandmamma is disposed of. Then for aunt Judy a box of French bon-bons. I think I'll give Davy a standish – I haven't picked it out yet; but I don't know about Judy. It's hard to please her, I never did but once."
"Then I shall not," said Matilda.
"And it doesn't matter, either. Here's your coffee, Pink; and here's mine."
But after a little struggle with herself, Matilda pushed her cup as far away as she could, and drew the glass of ice-water up to her plate instead. The dinner was good enough, even so; and Norton called for ice-cream and fruit afterward. And all the time they consulted over their Christmas work, which made it wonderfully relishing. It was curious to see how other people too were evidently thinking of Christmas. Here there was a brown paper parcel; there somebody had an armful; crowds came to get their luncheon or dinner, as Norton and Matilda were doing; stowed their packages on the chair or sofa beside them and refitted themselves for more shop-going. All sorts of people, – and all sorts of lunches! Some had soup and steak and tartlets; some had coffee and muffins; some had oysters and ale; some took cups of tea and an omelet. It was as good to see what was going on, as to take her own part in it, almost, to Matilda; and yet her own part was very satisfactory. They went home only to order the horses and go to drive in the Park; Norton and she alone. It was a long afternoon of enchantment. The place, and the people, and the horses and the equipages; and the strange animals; and the lake and its boats; everything was a delight, and Norton had as much pleasure as he expected in seeing Matilda's enjoyment and answering her questions.
"Norton," said the little girl at length, "I don't believe anybody here is having such a good time as we are."
"Why?" said Norton.
"They don't look so."
"You can't tell about people from their looks."
"Can't you? But I am sure you can, Norton, partly. People don't look stupid when they feel bright, do they?"
Norton laughed a good deal at this. "But then, Pink," he remarked, "you must remember people are used to it. You have never seen it before, you know, and it's all fresh and new. It's an old story to them."
"Does everything grow to be an old story?" said Matilda rather thoughtfully.
"I suppose so," said Norton. "That makes people always hunting up new things."
Matilda wondered silently whether it was indeed so with everything. Would her new dresses come to be an old story too, and she lose her pleasure in them? Could the Park? could the flowers?
"Norton," she broke out, "there are some things that never grow to be an old story. Flowers don't."
"Flowers – no, they don't," said Norton; "that's a fact. But then, they're always new, Pink. They don't last. They are always coming up new; that's the beauty of them."
"I do not think that is the beauty of them," Matilda answered slowly.
"Well, you'd get tired of them if they didn't," said Norton.
"Do people get tired of coming here?" Matilda asked again, as her eye roved over the gay procession of carriages which just then they could trace along several turns in the road before them.
"I suppose so," said Norton. "Why not?"
"I do not see how they ever could. Why it's beautiful, Norton! And the air is so sweet."
"I never know how the air is."
"Don't you! But then you lose a great deal that I don't lose. I am smelling it all the while. Are there any flowers here in summer time?"
"Lots."
"It must be lovely then. Norton, it must be nice to come here and walk."
"Walking is stupid," said Norton. "I can't see any use in walking, except to get to a place."
"Norton, do you see a boy yonder, coming towards us, on a black pony?"
"I see him."
"It looks so like David Bartholomew."
"You'll see why, in another minute. It's himself."
"I didn't know he rode in the Park too," said Matilda, as David passed them with a bow.
"Everybody rides in the Park – or drives."
"That is what we are doing?"
"Exactly."
"I should think it was pleasant to ride on horseback."
"This is better," said Norton.
"I wonder whether David will ever look pleasant at me again."
"It don't signify, so far as I see," said Norton. "David Bartholomew has his own way of looking at every thing; the Park and all. He likes to take that all alone by himself, and so he does other things. He paddles his own canoe at school, in class and out of class; he don't want help and he don't give it."
"Don't he play either, in any of your school games?"
"Yes – sometimes; but he keeps himself to himself through it all."
"Norton, do the other boys dislike him because he is a Jew?"
"No!" said Norton vehemently. "He dislikes them because they are not Jews; that is a nearer account of the matter. Pink, you and I are going to have lessons together."
"Does mamma say so?"
"Yes; at last; because if you went to school you would be broken off half way when we go home to Shadywalk. So mamma says we may try, and if I teach well and you learn well, she will let it stand so. How do you like it?"
"O very much, Norton! But when will you have time?"
"I'll find the time. Now Pink, how much do you know?"
"O Norton, you know I don't know any thing."
"That's all in the air," said Norton. "You can read, I suppose, and write?"
"Yes, I can read and write. But then I haven't been to school in ever so long."
"Never mind that. If we go nine miles an hour, how far shall we have gone if we are out three hours and a half?"
Matilda answered this and several more puzzling questions with pretty prompt correctness.
"You'll do," said Norton. "I knew you were sharp. You can always tell whether a person has a head, by the way he takes hold of numbers." A partial judgment, perhaps; for Norton himself was very quick at them.
"Can you read any thing except English, Pink?" he went on.
"No, Norton."
"Never tried?"
"No, Norton. How could I try without being taught?"
"Of course," said Norton. "There's a jolly dog cart – isn't it? Mamma wants you to read a lot of things besides English, I can tell you."
"How many can you read, Norton?"
"Latin, and Greek, and German, and French, I am boring at now."
"Don't you like it? Is it boring?"
"I like figures better. David is great on languages. Well, Pink, you shan't have 'em all at once. Now I want to ask you another question. What do you think was the greatest battle that was ever fought in the world?"
"Battle? O I don't know any thing about battles, Norton."
"Well, who was the greatest hero, then; the greatest man?"
Matilda pondered, and Norton watched her slyly in the intervals of attending to his ponies.
"I think, Norton, the greatest man I ever heard about, was Moses."
Norton's face quivered with amusement, but he kept it a little turned away from Matilda and asked why she thought so?
"I never heard of anybody who did such great things; nor who had such great things?"
"Had? What did he have?" said Norton. "I never knew he had any thing particular."
"Don't you remember? the Lord spoke with him face to face, as we speak to each other; and once he had a sight of that wonderful glory. It must have been something so wonderful, Norton, for it made Moses' face itself shine with light."
"That's a figure of speech, Pink."
"What is a figure of speech?"
"I mean, that isn't to be taken for real and earnest, you know."
"Yes it is, Norton, for the people were frightened when they saw him, and ran away."
"Pink, Pink, Pink!" exclaimed Norton, and stopped.
"What?" said Matilda.
"Nothing. And so Moses is your greatest man! That is all you know!"
"Why, who do you know that is greater?" said Matilda.
"You never read any history but the Bible?"
"Not much. Who do you know that is greater, Norton?"
"Whom do I know. Well, Pink, if I were to tell you, you wouldn't understand, till you have read about them. Why you have got all to read about. I guess you'll have to begin back with Romulus and Remus."
"How far back were they?"
"How far back? Ages; almost before history."
"Before Moses?"
"Before Moses! No, I suppose not. I declare I don't know when that old fellow was about."
"But there is history before Moses, Norton?"
"Not Roman history," said Norton; "and that is what we are talking about."
"Were they great, Norton?"
"Who?"
"Those two men you spoke of."
"Romulus and Remus? O! – Well, Romulus founded Rome."
"And when was that?"
"Well, I don't know, that's a fact. I believe, somewhere about eight or nine centuries before our era."
"I would like to read about it," said Matilda meekly.
"And you shall," said Norton, firing up; "and there's Grecian history too, Pink; and French and English history; and German."
"And American history too?" ventured Matilda.
"Well, yes; but you see we haven't a great deal of history yet, Pink; because we are a young people."
"A young people?" said Matilda, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"
"Why yes; it was only in 1776 that we set up for ourselves."
"Seventeen seventy six," repeated Matilda. "And now it is eighteen" —
"Near a hundred years; that is all."
Matilda pondered a little.
"Where must I begin, Norton?"
"O with Romulus and Remus, I guess. And then there's grammar, Pink; did you ever study grammar?"
"A little. I didn't like it."
"No, and I don't like it; but you have to learn it, for all that. And geography, Pink?"
"O I was drawing maps, Norton; but then I had to come away from school, and I was busy at aunt Candy's, and I have forgot nearly all I knew, I am afraid."
"Never mind," said Norton delightedly; "we'll find it again, and a great deal more. I'll get you some nice sheets of paper for your maps, and a box of colours; so that you can make a pretty affair of them. I declare! I don't know whether we can begin, though, before Christmas."
"O yes, Norton. I have more time than I know what to do with. I would like to begin about Romus" —
"Romulus. Yes, you shall. And now, if we turn round here we shall not have too much time to get home, I'm thinking."
CHAPTER X
Matilda hardly knew whether to welcome Sunday. Her mind was in such a whirl, she was half afraid to have leisure to think. There was little chance however for that in the morning; late breakfast and dressing disposed of the time nicely. The whole family went to church to-day, David alone excepted; and Matilda was divided between delight in her new cloak and rich dress, and a certain troubled feeling that all the sweetness which used to belong to her Sundays in church at Shadywalk was here missing. Nothing in the service gave her any help. Her dress, to be sure, was merged in a crowd of just such dresses; silks and laces and velvets and feathers and bright colours were on every side of her and other brilliant colours streamed down from the painted windows of the church. They were altogether distracting. It was impossible not to notice the dash of golden light which lay across her own green silk dress and glorified it, so far; or to help watching the effect of a stream of crimson rays on Judy's blue. What a purple it made! The colouring was not any more splendid or delicious indeed than one may see in a summer sunset sky many a day; but somehow the effect on the feelings was different. And when Matilda looked up again at the minister and tried to get at the thread of what he was saying, she found she had lost the connection; and began instead to marvel how he would look, if the streak of blue which bathed his forehead were to fall a little lower and lie across his mouth and chin. Altogether, when the service was ended and the party walked home, Matilda did not feel as if she had got any good or refreshment out of Sunday yet; more than out of a kaleidoscope.
"I'll go to Mr. Rush's Sunday school this afternoon" – she determined, as she was laying off her cloak.
There was no hindrance to this determination; but as Matilda crossed the lower hall, ready to go out, she was met by Norton.
"Hollo," said he. "What's up now?"
"Nothing is up, Norton."
"Where are you going?"
So Matilda told him.
"Nothing else'll do, hey," said Norton. "Well, – hold on, till I get into my coat."
"Why, are you going?"
"Looks like it," said Norton. "Why Pink, you are not fit to be trusted in New York streets alone."
"I know where to go, Norton. But I am very glad you will go too."
"To take care of you," said Norton. "Why Pink, New York is a big trap; and you would find yourself at the wrong end of a puzzle before you knew it."
"I have only got two blocks more to go, Norton. I could hardly be puzzled. Here, we turn down here."
It was no church, nor near a church, the building before which the two paused. They went up a few steps and entered a little hare vestibule. The doors giving further entrance were closed; a boy stood there as if to guard them; and a placard with a few words on it was hung up on one of them. The words were these
"And the door was shut."
"What sort of a place is this?" said Norton.
"This is the Sunday school," said Matilda. "They are singing; don't you hear them? We are late."
"It seems a queer Sunday school," said Norton. "Don't they let folks in here?"
"In ten minutes" – said the boy who stood by the door.
"Ten minutes!" echoed Norton. "It's quite an idea, to shut the door in people's faces and then hang out a sign to tell them it is shut!"
"O no, Norton; —that door isn't this door."
"That isn't this?" said Norton. "What do you mean, Pink? Of course I know so much; but it seems to me this is this."
"No, Norton; it means the door spoken of in the Bible – in the New Testament; – don't you know? don't you remember?"
"Not a bit," said Norton. "I can't say, Pink, but it seems to me this is not just exactly the place for you to come to Sunday school. Don't look like it."
"Mr. Richmond told me to come here, you know, Norton."
But Norton looked with a disapproving eye upon what he could see of the neighbourhood; and it is true that nobody would have guessed it was near such a region as Blessington avenue. The houses were uncomely and the people were poor; and more than that. There was a look of positive want of respectability. But the little boy who was keeping the door was decent enough; and presently now he opened the door and stood by to let Norton and Matilda pass in.
There they found a large plain room, airy and roomy and light, filled with children and teachers all in a great breeze of business. Everybody seemed to be quite engrossed with something or other; and Norton and Matilda slowly went up one of the long aisles between rows of classes, waiting and looking for somebody to speak to them. The children seemed to have no eyes to give to strangers; the teachers seemed to have no time. Suddenly a young man stood in front of Norton and greeted the two very cordially.
"Are you coming to join us?" he asked with a keen glance at them. And as they did not deny it, though Norton hardly made an intelligible answer, he led them up the room and at the very top introduced them to a gentleman.
"Mr. Wharncliffe, will you take charge of these new comers? For to-day, perhaps it will be the best thing."
So Norton and Matilda found themselves at one end of a circular seat which was filled with the boys and girls of a large class. Very different from themselves these boys and girls were; belonging to another stratum of what is called society. If their dress was decent, it was as much as could be said of it; no elegance or style was within the aim of any of them; a faded frock was in one place, and a patched pair of trowsers in another place, and not one of the little company but shewed all over poverty of means and ignorance of fashion. Yet the faces testified to no poverty of wits; intelligence and interest were manifest on every one, along with the somewhat spare and pinched look of ill supplied appetites. Norton read the signs, and thought himself much out of place. Matilda read them; and shrank a little from the association. However, she reflected that this was the first day of her being in the school; doubtless when the people saw who and what she was they would put her into a class more suited to her station. Then she looked at the teacher; and she forgot her companions. He was a young man, with a very calm face and very quiet manner, whose least word and motion however was watched by the children, and his least look and gesture obeyed. He sent one of the boys to fetch a couple of Bibles for Matilda and Norton, and then bade them all open their books at the first chapter of Daniel.
The first questions were about Nebuchadnezzar and his kingdom of Babylon. Unknown subjects to most of the members of the class; Mr. Wharncliffe had to tell a great deal about ancient history and geography. He had a map, and he had a clear head of his own, for he made the talk very interesting and very easy to understand; Matilda found herself listening with much enjoyment. A question at last came to her; why the Lord gave Jehoiakim, king of Judah, into the hands of the king of Babylon? Matilda did not know. She was told to find the 25th chapter of Jeremiah and read aloud nine verses.
"Now why was it?" said the teacher.
"Because the people would not mind the Lord's words."
The next question came to Norton. "Could the king of Babylon have taken Jerusalem, if the Lord had not given it into his hands?"
Norton hesitated. "I don't know, sir," he said at length.
"What do you think?"
"I think he could."
"I should like to know why you think so."
"Because the king of Babylon was a strong king, and had plenty of soldiers and everything; and Jehoiakim had only a little kingdom anyhow."
"The Bible says 'there is no king saved by the multitude of an host.' How do you account for the fact that when strong kings and great armies came against Jerusalem at times that she was serving and trusting God, they never could do anything, but were miserably beaten?"
"I did not know it, sir," said Norton flushing a little.
"I thought you probably did not know it," said Mr. Wharncliffe quietly. "You did not know that many a time, when the people of the Jews were following God, one man of them could chase a thousand?"
"No, sir."
"Who remembers such a case?"
Norton pricked up his ears and listened; for the members of the class spoke out and gave instance after instance, till the teacher stopped them for want of time to hear more. The lesson went on. The carrying away of Daniel and his companions was told of, and "the learning and the tongue of the Chaldeans" was explained. Gradually the question came round to Matilda again. Why Daniel and the other three noble young Jews would not eat of the king's meat?
Matilda could not guess.
"You remember that the Jews, as the Lord's people, were required to keep themselves ceremonially clean, as it was called. If they eat certain things or touched certain other things, they were not allowed to go into the temple to worship, until at least that day was ended and they had washed themselves and changed their clothes. Sometimes many more days than one must pass before they could be 'clean' again, in that sense. This was ceremony, but it served to teach and remind them of something that was not ceremony, but deep inward truth. What?"
Mr. Wharncliffe abruptly stopped with the question, and a tall boy at one end of the class answered him.
"People must keep themselves from what is not good."
"The people of God must keep themselves from every thing that is not pure, in word, thought, and deed. And how if they fail sometimes, Joanna, and get soiled by falling into some temptation? what must they do?"
"Get washed."
"What shall they wash in, when it is the heart and conscience that must be made clean?"
"The blood of Christ."
"How will that make us clean?"
There was hesitation in the class; then as Mr. Wharncliffe's eye came to her and rested slightly, Matilda could not help speaking.
"Because it was shed for our sins, and it takes them all away."
"How shall we wash in it then?" the teacher asked, still looking at Matilda.
"If we trust him?" – she began.
"To do what?"
"To forgive, – and to take away our wrong feelings."
"For his blood's sake!" said the teacher. "'They have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' And as the sacrifices of old time were a sort of picture and token of the pouring out of that blood; so the outward cleanness about which the Jews had to be so particular was a sort of sign and token of the pure heart-cleanness which every one must have who follows the Lord Jesus.
"And so we come back to Daniel. If he eat the food sent from the king's table he would be certain to touch and eat now and then something which would be, for him, ceremonially unclean. More than that. Often the king's meat was prepared from part of an animal which had been sacrificed to an idol; to eat of the sacrifice was part of the worship of the idol; and so Daniel and his fellows might have been thought to share in that worship."
"But it wouldn't have been true," said a boy in the class.
"What would not have been true?"
"He would not have been worshipping the idol. He didn't mean it."
"So you think he might just as well have eaten the idol's meat? not meaning any thing."
"It wouldn't have been service of the idol."
"What would it have been?"
"Why, nothing at all. I don't see as he would have done no harm."
"What harm would it have been, or what harm would it have done, if Daniel had really joined in the worship of Nebuchadnezzar's idol?"
"He would have displeased God," said one.
"I guess God would have punished him," said another.
"He would not have been God's child any longer," said Matilda.
"All true. But is no other harm done when a child of God forgets his Father's commands?"
"He helps others to do wrong," said Matilda softly.
"He makes them think 'tain't no odds about the commands," a girl remarked.
"How's they to know what the commands is?" a second boy asked, "if he don't shew 'em?"
"Very true, Robert," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "I have heard it said, that Christians are the only Bible some folks ever read."
"'Cause they hain't got none?" asked one of the class.
"Perhaps. Or if they have got one, they do not study it. But a true, beautiful life they cannot help reading; and it tells them what they ought to be."
"Daniel gave a good example," said the slim lad at the end of the class.
"That we can all do, if we have a mind, Peter. But in that case we must not seem to do what we ought not to do really. We help the devil that way. Now read the 9th and 10th verses. What was Daniel's friend afraid of?"
"Afraid the king would not like it."
"If Daniel and his friends did not eat like the others. Do our friends sometimes object to our doing right, on the ground that we shall not be like other people if we do?"
There was a general chorus of assent.
"Well, we don't want to be unlike other people, do we?"
Some said yes, and some said no; conflicting opinions.
"You say no, Heath; give us your reasons."
"They make fun of you" – said the boy, a little under breath.
"They fight you" – said another more boldly.
"They don't want to have nothing to do with you," a girl said.
"Laugh, and quarrel, and separate you from their company," repeated the teacher. "Not very pleasant things. But some of you said yes. Give us your reasons, if you please."
"We can't be like Christ and like the world," Peter answered.
"'Ye are not of the world, even as I am not of the world,'" said Mr. Wharncliffe. "Most true! And some of us do want to be like our Master. Well? who else has a reason?"
"I think it is very hard," said Matilda, "to do right and not be unlike other people."
"So hard, my dear, that it is impossible," said the teacher, looking somewhat steadily at his new scholar. "And are you one of those who want to do right?"
Matilda answered; but as she did so something made her voice tremble and her eyes fill.
"For the sake of doing right, then, and for the sake of being like Jesus, some of us are willing to be unlike other people; though the consequences of that are not always pleasant. Is there nothing more to be said on the subject?"
"The people that have the Lord's name in their foreheads, will be with him by and by," remarked a girl who had not yet spoken.
"And he is with them now," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "Yes, Sarah."
"And then there will be a great gulf between," said a boy.
"Well, I think we have got reason enough," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "To be on the right side of the dividing gulf then, we must be content to be on the same side of it now. Daniel judged so, it is clear. On the whole, did he lose anything?"