tion among heathen clients as a successful dispenser of mercenary blessings and curses? The legend, however, inclusive of the ass which, as an eminent commentator tells us, 'had more spiritual penetration than his master,' still holds its place in sacred Scripture, dated more than three centuries before the age of Samuel. And as prophetic divination was therefore familiar to the Canaanites long before the Hebrew school of prophets, its adaptation to Judaism from heathen sources stands confessed.

According to 1 Samuel ix., the prophetic calling was originally held in very poor estimation by the Hebrews. We read of Saul and his servant travelling about the country in search of his father's stray donkeys. The weary Saul proposed to return home, but the servant said: 'Behold now, there is in this city a man of God, and he is an honourable man, all that he saith cometh surely to pass. Now let us go thither, peradventure he can show us our way that we should go. Then said Saul to his servant: But, behold, if we go, what shall we bring the man? for the bread is spent in our vessels, and there is not a present to bring to the man of God. What have we? And the servant answered Saul again, and said: Behold I have here at hand the fourth part of a shekel of silver; that will I give to the man of God to tell us our way. Then said Saul to his servant: Well said; come, let us go. So they went unto the city where the man of God was.' Now, as the seer in question was no less eminent a prophet than Samuel, it is obvious that Hebrew views of prophetic divination, even among the class from which the king of Israel was chosen, had not then risen above the superstition of a modern

G

peasant who crosses a gipsy's hand with silver to learn the whereabouts of stolen goods.

All this was, however, changed by the genius of Samuel, who formed much more ambitious views of the prophetic office, and established the political influence of his sacred Caste on a permanent basis by founding schools of prophets at Ramah, Bethel, and other localities for the education of poetic minstrels, trained to evoke the Spirit by artistic harmony, and enrolled among the candidates for active service as impassioned Nâbis, commissioned to thunder at the gates of kings with messages from Jehovah.

An episode in the life of Saul illustrates the imaginary affinity between music and revelation.1 On the occasion of his sending messengers to arrest David at Naioth, "When they saw the company of the prophets prophesying, and Samuel standing as appointed over them, the Spirit of God was upon the messengers of Saul, and they also prophesied. And when it was told Saul, he sent other messengers, and they prophesied likewise. And Saul sent messengers again the third time, and they prophesied also. Then went he also to Ramah

and the Spirit of God was upon him also, and he went on, and prophesied, until he came to Naioth in Ramah. And he stripped off his clothes also, and prophesied before Samuel in like manner, and lay down naked all that day and all that night. Wherefore they say-Is Saul also among the prophets?' In this grotesque parody of divine inspiration, we necessarily detect an epidemic fanaticism, analogous to the illusions of crazy flagellants and dancing maniacs, prevalent during those centuries

1 1 Sam. xix, 20–24,

of medieval darkness when Christianity and barbarism had become convertible terms.

1

A remarkable instance of musical conjuration occurred on the occasion of Jehoram and Jehoshaphat, kings of Israel and Judah, consulting Elisha in his prophetic capacity, when that eminent Nâbi exclaimed: Bring me a minstrel. And it came to pass, when the minstrel played, that the hand of the Lord came upon him.' Is it possible to attain clearer evidence of the affinity between Hebrew and heathen conjuration ?

The artistic minstrelsy which invited Jehovah discomfited Satan.2 Thus, we read of David driving away an evil spirit from Saul by a skilful performance on the harp, which cannot, of course, mean anything more than the soothing influence of music on mental excitement or depression.

Apart from the anonymous band of choral aspirants, the most distinguished prophets were, obviously, men of genius, in whom the poetic fire had kindled an enthusiasm which they accepted, in harmony with the superstition of their age, as divine inspiration. Thus Elijah, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, when pouring forth, with glowing eloquence, the imaginative creations of exuberant fancy, assumed, in their own and popular estimation, the imposing aspect of inspired prophets, authoritatively interpreting the will and purpose of the Deity, with reference to impending events susceptible of forecast through merely human foresight.

The prophetic career of Jeremiah indicates the obvious design of controlling the immediate future of the nation in harmony with the supposed will of Jehovah ;

and when predicting the Babylonian invasion and conquest of Palestine, he simply forecasts probabilities, already foreshadowed by the growing power and menacing ambition of the Chaldean empire. The practice of fancifully adapting the language of prophets to events remote from the era of authorship was the work of later generations, seeking to authenticate the foregone conclusions of current theology by an arbitrary interpretation of the prophets, thus posthumously glorified by a predictive eminence surpassing their own prophetic pretensions.

There is no demand for prophets in modern communities; but, if we stood in need of prescient bards, the predictive sagacity of our age would prove sufficiently fruitful in prospective forecast to establish the reputation of a thousand prophets. Modern journalists occasionally forecast events with an accuracy which subsequently gives to merely conjectural essays the aspect of virtual history. One of the most remarkable prophecies of modern times was uttered by that distinguished but unfortunate Frenchman, Prévost-Paradol, who, when accredited as ambassador to the United States by Napoleon III., committed suicide, in the prescient consciousness of genius that he had accepted service under the Ruler whose policy would tarnish the glory and diminish the greatness of his beloved France.

These are his words, uttered two years before the tragic drama of Sedan: Yes, France will have to expiate, one way or the other-with the blood of her children if she succeeds, with the loss of her greatness, perhaps of her very existence, if she fails-the series of

faults committed in her name by her Government since the day when the dismemberment of Denmark was commenced under her eyes—since the day when France favoured that great disorder in the vain hope of profiting by it.' If this remarkable prediction, subsequently fulfilled in the lamentable results of the Franco-German war, had been uttered in an age of faith in prophecy, would not its author have been placed in the foremost rank of divinely inspired prophets?

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No marvellous foresight is required to forecast the consequences of great political errors; but, if retrieved, the prophecy does not come off. Thus when we first heard of our faithful Egyptian ally, and even our own countrymen, apparently abandoned to the brutality of Arab bandits under the guns of a British fleet, we might have exclaimed, England shall yet expiate with blood, with treasure, and even with territory, the tarnished prestige of centuries.' But, when the thunder of her avenging guns was heard on the shores of the Mediterranean, Cassandra was put to silence, and Englishmen again placed greater faith in admirals than in prophets.

The illusion of prophetic control over the ordinary course of natural events is disclosed in the narrative recording the alliance of the kings of Israel, Judah, and Edom, for the purpose of quelling the rebellious revolt of the tributary King of Moab.1 The allied sovereigns, having found their armies and cattle in danger of perishing through scarcity of water in the wilderness of Edom, decided on consulting a prophet of Jehovah, who was, accordingly, found in the person of Elisha, . 12 Kings iii.