Bathsheba.

"No reproach attaches itself to the name of Abigail." Not so, alas! with her whose name introduces the present chapter. The only pleasant thing that is written of her is, that "the woman was very beautiful to look upon." But how little is this, if it be all! Even this is only melancholy, if, as in the case before us, it prove but the occasion of temptation, diaster, and ruin. No student of the Holy Scriptures ever feels any special love for Bathsheba. In the absence of all allusion to any intellectual or moral excellence, her exterior charms are well-nigh unthought of. Her name is never recalled without dragging along with it associations such as we would fain shut away forever. Apostasy-impurity-conjugal infidelity— deceit-meanness-murder-the curse-such is the frightful category that groups itself inseparably with the name of Bathsheba-spoiling it as with the serpent's slime, and setting it aside, like the leprous garment, from whatever is healthy, innocent, and pure. True, there is pity mingled with our profound disapprobation. In excluding her from the circles of goodness, we are not conscious of those feelings of detestation which arise with all our recollections of Delilah. We fail to discern that settled and deep depravity—that determined and heartless iniquity, so characteristic of

the woman of Sorek. We think of Bathsheba as slender in virtue, rather than as strong in vice. We contemplate her as a negative in respect to true goodness, instead of as a positive in respect to moral deformity. Previous to the fatal evening, we hardly suspect any misconduct in the wife of Uriah. In those days her husband was away in the wars, valiant among the hosts of Israel, and his wife, meanwhile, at her pleasant home on Mount Zion, was innocent; and, in the day of her fall, it may be, she thought of nothing so improbable as her infidelity to the brave man to whom she was lawfully and virtuously joined. This, to be sure, is conjecture; but it is an irresistible impression left upon the writer's mind, from careful meditation of all that is recorded. We are ashamed of her where the royal glance first meets her. In our indignation, we exclaim, with withering emphasis, that that ceremony should have been elsewhere ;-that if, in selecting that situation, she was careless, it was a criminal carelessness-if she was wicked, it was hateful wickedness. Yet, if we assume the milder hypothesis, and charge her that on that evening she cherished no fell intent, but was only guilty of cruel and disgraceful negligence, then the greater sin involved in the catastrophe will be charged to another than to Bathsheba. That was the greater sinner who, after all God's wondrous dealings in his behalf, and being gifted with extraordinary powers of mind and body, and standing, by Di

vine appointment, at the head of a great and mighty people, and attracting to himself the eyes of all his subjects, as well as of many nations around, and of the angels above him, and seeing fairer prospects rising before him than what had ever glowed before fallen beings he was the greater sinner who, embraced by circumstances so sublime, so restraining, should, with one fell swoop, cut so deliberately the golden cords that bound him to the great universe of purity and goodness, and go down to take his place with the filth and offscouring of the race, and join cordial hands with the foul debauchee, the deceiver, the robber, the murderer! I confess that I recollect but few crimes in the bloody history of our race, which, under all the circumstances, were so profoundly black, and disgusting, and frightful, as the great crime of David. It is worse than idle to disguise or palliate it. Let it appear in its whole deformity before an astonished world; and let that world stand more astonished still, as it hears the voice of boundless grace exclaiming to this strange sinner, "I have put away thy sin!"

We trust the preceding suggestions may hint that we feel no disposition to deal unkindly with Bathsheba. When, on the evening of the fatal eclipse, the message reached her that her presence was desired within the royal residence, it is difficult for us to appreciate all the circumstances that weighed upon her too fragile mind. There meets her that night, and in that apartment, a

great and mighty king. He is, withal, noble and beautiful in person; and his fame is great for goodness, as well as for wealth, dignity, bravery, and power. None of all the earth is equal to him. Can such a one do wrong? But enough! Bathsheba falls;-but there are some palliations. Righteousness utters decisive condemnation,—while Pity sits by, and weeps for the desolate.

How sudden, and how great the change! When did ever misery fail to follow close upon the heels of crime? Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death. Yesterday, all was innocence and sunny peace. To-day the sky is overcast, and distant and awful thunders portend fearful tempests and ruin. Either the brave Uriah; or else his guilty wife, with, perhaps, the partner of her sin, must perish. The noble soldier, of course, dies-and Bathsheba passes speedily up to the arms of royalty. She rises thither, but not to be happy. No smiling Providence had invited her coming. It was a frightful passage as she hastened. The shrieks of the murdered were in her ear-and pools of blood were beneath her feet and ghastly spectres were hovering near, and pure angel beings had retired henceand the demon Shame hissed as she entered the royal gates. And treading those splendid apartments, Peace never met her there. The Sword dwelt there-and Death came often-and, now and then, cries of deepest agony echoed through

those halls; and the night when Bathsheba fell was with her the beginning of sorrows.

She survived her husband, the king of Israel, and saw her son established upon the throne of his father. He was a son of promise-virtuous and lovely in his youth, as we may hope his mother was, before yet he had begun to be. Yet he, too, resigned his integrity, and never did so bright a morning go out in so mournful a darkness. The fall of Solomon seemed the sad echo of the disaster of Bathsheba-was permitted, perchance, as one of the judicial visitations of Heaven-and grew, for aught we know, by natural process, from seeds whose springing and whose fruit are far too sure and certain.

The moral of Bathsheba's history urges the young of her sex to cultivate the sternest integrity of moral principle-and the utmost beauty of character-and perfect modesty of movements and manners. It reminds them to beware of doubtful influences breathing upon them from high places-to settle it well that nothing-nothing can supply the loss of goodness-that while the lonely cottage where Christ and innocence abide, is next to heaven-the palace, with all its luxury and gold, if guilt be there, is but the brilliant haunting-place of woe.