ing them with the ingenious adumbrations of their learned recorders. But there are some things in the Prophet's life which have given rise to charges too weighty to be dismissed without discussion. He has been accused of cruelty, sensuality, and insincerity; he has been called a bloodthirsty tyrant,' a voluptuary, and an impostor.

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The charge of cruelty scarcely deserves consideration. I have already spoken of the punishment of the Jews, which forms the ground of the accusation. One has but to refer to Moḥammad's conduct to the prisoners after the battle of Bedr, to his patient tolerance towards his enemies at Medina, his gentleness to his people, his love of children and the dumb creatures, and above all, his bloodless entry into Mekka, and the complete amnesty he gave to those who had been his bitter enemies during eighteen years of insult and persecution and finally open war, to show that cruelty was no part of Moḥammad's nature.

To say that Mohammad, or any other Arab, was sensual in a higher degree than an ordinary European is simply to enounce a well-worn axiom : the passions of the men of the sunland are not as those of the chill north. But to say that Moḥammad was a voluptuary is false. The simple austerity of his daily life, to the very last, his hard mat for sleeping on, his plain food, his self-imposed menial work, point him out as an ascetic rather than a voluptuary in most senses of the word. Two things he loved, perfumes and women; the first was harmless enough, and the special case of his wives has its special answer. A great deal too much has been said about these wives. It is a melancholy spectacle to see professedly Christian biographers gloating over the stories and fables of Mohammad's domestic relations like the writers and readers of 'society' journals. It is, of course, a fact that whilst the Prophet allowed his followers only four wives he took more than a dozen himself; but be it remembered that, with his unlimited power, he need not have restricted himself to a

number insignificant compared with the hareems of some of his successors, that he never divorced one of his wives, that all of them save one were widows, and that one of these widows was endowed with so terrific a temper that Aboo-Bekr and 'Othmán had already politely declined the honour of her alliance before the Prophet married her : the gratification of living with a vixen cannot surely be excessive. Several of these marriages must have been entered into from the feeling that those women whose husbands had fallen in battle for the faith, and who had thus been left unprotected, had a claim upon the generosity of him who prompted the fight. Other marriages were contracted from motives of policy, in order to conciliate the heads of rival factions. It was not a high motive, but one does not look for very romantic ideas about love-matches from a man who regarded women as crooked ribs,' and whose system certainly does its best to make marriage from love impossible; yet, on the other hand, it was not a sensual motive. Perhaps the strongest reason-one of which it is impossible to over-estimate the force-that impelled Moḥammad to take wife after wife was his desire for male offspring. It was a natural wish that he should have a son who should follow in his steps and carry on his work; but the wish was never gratified, Mohammad's sons died young. After all, the overwhelming argument is his fidelity to his first wife. When he was little more than a boy he married Khadeejeh, who was fifteen years older than himself, with all the added age that women gain so quickly in the East. For five-and-twenty years Mohammad remained faithful to his elderly wife, and when she was sixty-five, and they might have celebrated their 'silver wedding,' he was as devoted to her as when first he married her. During all those years there was never a breath of scandal. Thus far Moḥammad's life will bear microscopic scrutiny. Then Khadeejeh died; and though he married many women afterwards, some of them rich in youth and beauty, he never forgot his old wife, and loved

her best to the end: 'when I was poor she enriched me, when they called me a liar she alone believed in me, when all the world was against me she alone remained true.' This loving, tender memory of an old wife laid in the grave belongs only to a noble nature; it is not to be looked for in a voluptuary.1

When, however, all has been said, when it has been shown that Mohammad was not the rapacious voluptuary some have taken him for, and that his violation of his own marriage-law may be due to motives reasonable and just from his point of view rather than to common sensuality, there remains the fact that some of the soorahs of the Kurán bear unmistakable marks of self-accommodation and personal convenience; that Moḥammad justified his domestic excesses by words which he gave as from God. And hence the third and gravest charge, the charge of imposture. We must clearly understand what is meant by this accusation. It is meant that the Prophet consciously fabricated speeches, and palmed them off upon the people as the very word of God. The question, it will at

1 An attempt has been made to explain away Moḥammad's fidelity to Khadeejeh, by adducing the motive of pecuniary prudence. Mohammad, they say, was a poor man, Khadeejeh rich and powerfully connected; any affaire de cœur on the husband's part would have been followed by a divorce and the simultaneous loss of property and position. It is hardly necessary to point out that the fear of poverty -a matter of little consequence in Arabia and at that time-would not restrain a really sensual man for fiveand-twenty years; especially when it is by no means certain that Khadeejeh, who loved him with all her heart in a motherly sort of way, would have procured a divorce for any cause soever. And this explanation leaves Mohammad's loving remembrance of

his old wife unaccounted for. If her money alone had curbed him for twenty-five years, one would expect him at her death to throw off the cloak, thank Heaven for the deliverance, and enter at once upon the rake's progress. He does none of those things. The story of Zeyneb, the divorced wife of Zeyd, is a favourite weapon with Mohammad's accusers. It is not one to enter upon here; but I may say that the lady's own share in the transaction has never been sufficiently considered. In all probability Zeyd, the freed slave, was glad enough to get rid of his too well-born wife, and certainly he bore no rancour against Moḥammad. The real point of the story is the question of forged revelations, which is discussed below.

once be perceived, has nothing whatever to do with the truth or untruth of the revelations. Many an earnest enthusiast has uttered prophecies and exhortations which he firmly believed to be the promptings of the Spirit, and no man can charge such an one with imposture. He thoroughly believes what he says, and the fault is in the judgment, not the conscience. The question is clearly narrowed to this: Did Mohammad believe he was speaking the words of God equally when he declared that permission was given him to take unto him more wives, as when he proclaimed There is no god but God'? It is a question that concerns the conscience of man; and each must answer it for himself. How far a man may be deluded into believing everything he says is inspired it is impossible to define. There are men to-day who would seem to claim infallibility; and in Moḥammad's time it was so much easier to believe in one's self. Now, one never wants a friend to remind him of his weakness; then, there were hundreds who would fain have made the man think himself God. It is wonderful, with his temptations, how great a humility was ever his, how little he assumed of all the god-like attributes men forced upon him. His whole life is one long argument for his loyalty to truth. He had but one answer for his worshippers, 'I am no more than a man, I am only human.' 'Do none enter Paradise save by the mercy of God?' asked 'Áïsheh. 'None, none, none,' he answered. 'Not even thou by thy own merits?' "Neither shall I enter Paradise unless God cover me with His mercy.' He was a man like unto his brethren in all things save one, and that one difference served only to increase his humbleness, and render him the more sensitive to his shortcomings. He was sublimely confident of this single attribute, that he was the messenger of the Lord of the Daybreak, and that the words he spake came verily from Him. He was fully persuaded-and no man dare dispute his right to the belief that God had sent him to do a

great work among his people in Arabia. Nervous to the verge of madness, subject to hysteria, given to wild dreamings in solitary places, his was a temperament that easily leads itself to religious enthusiasm. He felt a subtle influence within him which he believed to be the movings of the Spirit: he thought he heard a voice; it became real and audible to him, awed and terrified him, so that he fell into frantic fits. Then he would arise and utter some noble saying; and what wonder if he thought it came straight from highest heaven? It was not without a sore struggle that he convinced himself of his own inspiration; but once admitted, the conviction grew with his years and his widening influence for good, and nothing then could shake his belief that he was the literal mouthpiece of the All-Merciful. When a man has come to this point, he cannot be expected to discriminate between this saying and that. As the instrument of God he has lost his individuality; he believes God is ever speaking through his lips; he dare not question the inspiration of the speech lest he should seem to doubt the Giver.

Yet there must surely be a limit to this delusion. There are some passages in the Kurán which it is difficult to think Moḥammad truly believed to be the voice of the Lord of the Worlds. Mohammad's was a sensitive conscience in the early years of his teaching, and it is hard to think that it could have been so obscured in later times that he could really believe in the inspired source of some of his revelations. He may have thought the commands they conveyed necessary, but he could hardly have deemed them divine. In some cases he could scarcely fail to be aware that the object of the 'revelation' was his own comfort or pleasure or reputation, and not the major Dei gloria, nor the good of the people.

The truth would seem to be that in the latter part of his life Mohammad was forced to enlarge the limits of his revelations as the sphere of his influence increased. From a private citizen of Mekka he had become the Emeer, the