IX. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED "And the king was sorry; nevertheless for the oath's sake, and them which sat with him at meat, he commanded it to be given her."-MATT. xiv. 9. "And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her."-MARK Vi. 26. THERE is a world of sad meaning in the little word that qualifies the intimation of Herod's grief. "The king was exceeding sorry; yet." He "was sorry; nevertheless." The full half of all the sins of men on earth are committed in this very way,-with a feeling of sorrow and an excuse of necessity. One half of the sinners of mankind are in the very predicament of this poor king. They have a great deal of religion, but somehow they are always compelled to compromise it. They cannot help it; they are "exceeding sorry;" but yet—. Alas for this treacherous "But yet!" good resolutions and good feelings does it arrest! many admirable designs does it interrupt! plans for good, how many plans against evil does it stay or stop! How many excellent premises does it bring to a "lame and impotent conclusion!" "But yet, Madam ! I do not like-But yet. It doth allay The good precedent! Fie upon-But yet! How many How How many So the poet complains. And not less indignantly may the Christian moralize over this poor equivocator, “But yet;"-this shuffler between a frank affirmative, Yes, and a bold outspoken negative, No;-this halting, envious busy-body, that is ever coming between a man and his wishes;-paving the way to hell with good intentions, and blasting with the mildew of his hesitancy many a holy and heavenward aspiration. Nevertheless even this same trimming waverer yet"-may demand a hearing. "But He has his reasons. The historian gives Herod all the benefit of them: "For his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." These are surely strong enough reasons;-an oath in heaven and a pledge on earth. Is there not here the entanglement of a double obligation, on which God and man may equally insist? Are the reasons valid? Such a question we need scarcely ask or answer. But are they alleged honestly, and in good faith? That is a more interesting inquiry. And, in dealing with it, we must distinguish between excuses of weakness and apologies for wilfulness. I. Is it a case of weakness? Do you really find yourselves committed unawares? And is it in all sincerity that you pitifully urge the plea-You have gone too far to draw back? You would fain do so; but yet. Certainly you are entitled to sympathy; and none likeminded with the Saviour will treat your sad embarrassment with contempt. Far be it from a Christian coun sellor to make light of the delicacies and difficulties of your position. It may be proper, however, to ask you, in all tenderness, two questions deeply affecting your responsibility. In the first place, How came you into such a position? In the second place, What hinders your escape from it? Thus, in the first place,-How came you into your present position, delicate and difficult as confessedly it may be? Your oath, you say, binds you, and your companions expect you, to sacrifice your godly principles and scruples, at least in this one instance, and to this precise extent. It is painful, and you are "exceeding sorry;" but you are doubly pledged to it,—before God and men. You are pledged before God; there is your oath. Now, this may mean that you really have involved yourselves so deeply that a question of conscience or a scruple of religion is fairly and inevitably raised when you attempt to draw back. In that case the alternative before you is distressing indeed; and in the choice you have to make you are greatly to be pitied. The vow of Jephthah, however we may interpret it—whether as dooming his daughter to a sacrificial death, or as devoting her to a perpetual and sacred virginity-stands out in holy Scripture, written for our learning, as a solemn and awful beacon against all rash tampering with the name of God, or with the sanctity of a covenant with God. It is possible that you may have fallen into a similar snare,- -at least in your own But the far more probable honest opinion of your case. supposition is, that what you mistake for a sacred pledging of yourselves in the sight of God, is really nothing more than your being committed in your own opinion. You have formed a resolution, more or less deliberately; and it is a mortification of your self-esteem to find that you must alter your course. And then you are pledged, not only in your own mind, but in the judgment or opinion of men. The pledge may be either express or virtual; but taking it at its lowest value, and in its loosest form, we must admit that the entanglement is sufficiently serious. Have you experimentally arrived at the discovery, that wickedness makes a tool of weakness? Have you found that novices are always at the mercy of professed and practised proficients in crime? Have you learned that tutors in sin invariably become tyrants? and that they will not let you alone until they have constrained you to do their bidding?-For, thereafter, they may cast you aside as exhausted instruments, or worthless remnants, of their pleasure. Truly you are to be pitied. But the question must be pressed upon you-How came you into a position so embarrassing? And it is not for the mere purpose of vexing you that we press this question, but for reasons of obvious practical importance. The first of these reasons is, that you may apprehend and feel your guilt. For you may rely on it that your case will never be adequately treated so long as you consider yourselves, or are considered by others, to be the objects of pity merely, and not of blame. Certainly pity is not to be withheld; and, in any judgment which your fellow-men pronounce upon your conduct, the circum stances in which you may have been placed are to be taken into account. in the cradle of a spurious, sentimental sympathy, when it would be far better for you to be startled, were it even as by the alarum of judgment and the trump of doom. But there is a risk of your being fondled This, indeed, is one of the peculiar dangers of these times in which we live. It may arise partly out of the influence of a false, infidel philosophy, which would make mind the mere development of matter, and moral character the mere result and product jointly of physical organization and of physical laws. Or, it may be partly owing to a reaction from the sanguinary severity of the old penal code, which assuredly dealt with offenders pitilessly enough. And partly also it may spring from a sort of conscientious feeling of self-condemnation, and the impression that, having done so little to prevent evil, society has but a doubtful right to punish it. One or other of these causes, or all of them combined, may account for the tendency to which we refer. Certain it is, however, that it is fast growing into a mischievous and fatal infatuation in the department of public morals and social order. Criminals are regarded as entitled to sympathy. And so they are ;-no class of the community But practically, is it not coming to this, that to a large extent they are regarded simply as entitled to sympathy, and not as deserving also of blame? And a sickly, sentimental, feminine sensibility,-very far removed from the manly and Christian philanthropy that first groped its way into our jails and bridewells,—would treat the violator of all laws, human and divine, as a vic are more so. |