consent to lose those who have apostatized from virtue. He will not rest content with raising goodness to a higher standard in those who are good already, nor with making it easier for others to be good in future. He will go in search of those who have already fallen; no matter how deep their degradation, he will not willingly lose one. Besides the title of King, or Son of Man, he assumes that of Saviour or Redeemer, and in this work he seems to have his heart even more than in the other. The shepherd, he says, leaves without hesitation the ninety-nine sheep to seek the hundredth that is lost. A woman that has lost a single piece of money will sweep the whole house and search diligently till she find it. And what pleasure when such a search is successful! In heaven, among God's angels, there is more joy over one sinner that returns than over ninety and nine that never wandered. 243 CHAPTER XX. THE LAW OF MERCY-continued. CHRIST then undertakes the conversion of sinners. Of his success in this enterprise our biographies, particularly that of St. Luke, contain many examples. Christianity, by giving men a greater interest in each other than they had before, and by weakening the influence of artificial distinctions, and, at the same time, by its intense seriousness, gave those who were influenced by it a keen eye for character and an insight into human nature such as is very rarely found in antiquity. The stories of conversion recorded in the Gospels have a liveliness and truth which everyone can in some measure feel, but which are felt ten times as strongly by those who know and consider how perfectly new to literature such sketches were when they appeared. It was by them that the depth and complexity and mystery of the human heart were first brought to light, and their appearance involved a revolution in literature, the results of which are to be traced not so much in the writers of the long barbaric period which followed their diffusion as in Dante and Shakspeare. Of these stories we will find room here for two, the one containing the repentance of a man, the other of a woman. Zaccheus held a high office under the farmers-general, and had become rich. His wealth, however, had not availed to relax the social excommunication under which, with all his fraternity, he lay. Either the Jews of that time were less dazzled by wealth than the Gentiles of the present, or they reflected with indignation that the riches he had amassed had been plundered from themselves. By some means he had heard of Christ, and conceived an intense curiosity to see him. That it was no vulgar curiosity, but that overpowering attraction towards greatness and goodness-that faith, which is the germ of all that is good in human character-may be gathered from the sequel of the story. He may have heard it reported that Christ did not, like other religious men, disdain the company of publicans, and that he had condescended to be entertained at their houses. He was rich; he also was able, if only such an honour could be granted him, to entertain Christ. It is for this that riches are enviable, that while the poor must be content with glimpses of the hero or the saint as he passes in the street, the rich can bring him within their doors and contemplate him at their leisure. But Zacchæus had not the courage to use this privilege of his wealth. His conscience was ill at ease, the stigma of his infamous occupation had entered into his heart. He was afraid to show his wealth to Christ, lest the question should be asked him how it had been gained. He submitted therefore to look on among the poor, and to be satisfied with what he could see as the procession passed. But the crowd was dense, and, it may be, found a pleasure in elbowing aside the social tyrant who had thus put himself on a level with them. He was short, and saw himself in danger of losing even the ing glimpse of Christ's countenance with which he had resolved to be content. Determined to secure at least so pass much, he ran forward and climbed into a tree which overshadowed the road by which the train was to pass. By this means he saw Christ, and not only so but Christ saw him. Zaccheus was not one of the most pitiable of his excommunicated class. He might be hated, but he was successful; he was one of those who might say, 'Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo.' In a word, he was a prosperous plunderer, living in abundance among the victims of his rapacity. But Christ was touched by the enthusiasm he displayed, and may have divined and understood the shame which, as we have conjectured, caused him to shrink from a personal interview. Such enthusiasm and shame seemed to Christ the first stirrings of humanity in the publican's heart, and by a single stroke he completed the change he perceived to be beginning, and ripened a half-hopeless yearning into a settled purpose of moral amendment. Without delay, or reserve, or conditions, or rebuke, he gave himself up to the publican. Adopting the royal style which was familiar to him, and which commends the loyalty of a vassal in the most delicate manner by freely exacting his services, he informed Zacchæus of his intention to visit him, and signified his pleasure that a banquet should be instantly prepared. Such generous confidence put a new soul into Zacchæus; it snapped in a moment the spell of wickedness under which all his better instincts had remained in dull abeyance; and while the crowd murmured at the exceptional honour done to a public enemy, Zacchæus stood forth, and solemnly devoted half his property to the poor, and vowed fourfold restoration to all whom he had wronged. This is the repentance of a man. Zacchæus shows no remarkable sensibility; he sheds no tears, he utters no striking reflections. The movement in his mind is strong, but not in the least peculiar or difficult to follow. It is a conflict between common honesty and the instincts of the thief, a conflict in which the former, fighting at great odds, gains a signal victory. Against all the might of inveterate habit, and bad society, and a crushing public prejudice, this man makes head, and by one great effort forces his way back into the class of good citizens and honest men. And this great but simple achievement he gained power to perform, not through reflection and reasoning, not through the eloquence of a preacher, not through supernatural terrors, but through the cordial, restoring influence of Mercy. It was Mercy, which is not Pity-a thing comparatively weak and vulgar-but Pity and Resentment blended at the highest power of each, the most powerful restorative agent known in the medicine of the soul; it was Mercy that revealed itself in Christ's words, the Pity slightly veiled under royal grace, the Resentment altogether unexpressed and yet not concealed because already too surely divined and anticipated by the roused conscience of the criminal. And Mercy, more powerful than Justice, redeemed the criminal while it judged him, increased his shame tenfold, but increased in the same proportion the wish and courage to amend. The second story describes the repentance of a woman. It is a fragment. A woman fallen from virtue, we know not who, entered a room in the house of a Pharisee who was entertaining Christ. We know not particularly what Christ had done for her, but we can conclude generally that he had roused her conscience as he did that of Zacchæus, that he had restored her to virtue by giving |