their spirit ofttimes sharply contrasts with the narrow bigotry, the self- glory, and the

unspiritual externalism of their successors. We may not unreasonably infer, that the

Tsaddiq in the quiet home of the hill-country was quite other than the self-asserting

Rabbi, whose dress and gait, voice and manner, words and even prayers, were those of

the religious parvenu, pushing his claims to distinction before angels and men. Such a

household as that of Zacharias and Elisabeth would have all that was beautiful in the

religion of the time: devotion towards God; a home of affection and purity; reverence

towards all that was sacred in things Divine and human; ungrudging, self-denying, loving

charity to the poor; the tenderest rega rd for the feelings of others, so as not to raise a

blush, nor to wound their hearts;17 above all, intense faith and hope in the higher and

better future of Israel. Of such, indeed, there must have been not a few in the land - the

quiet, the prayerful, the pious, who, though certainly not Sadducees nor Essenes, but

reckoned with the Pharisaic party, waited for the consolation of Israel, and received it

with joy when manifested. Nor could aught more certainly have marked the difference

between the one and the other section than on a matter, which must almost daily, and

most painfully have forced itself on Zacharias and Elisabeth. There were among the

Rabbis those who, remembering the words of the prophet,18 spoke in most pathetic

language of the wrong of parting from the wife of youth,19 and there were those to whom

the bare fact of childlessness rendered separation a religious duty.  20 Elisabeth was

childless. For many a year this must have been the burden of Zacharias' prayer; the

burden also of reproach, which Elisabeth seemed always to carry with her. They had

waited together these many years, till in the evening of life the flower of hope had closed

its fragrant cup; and still the two sat together in the twilight, content to wait in loneliness,

till night would close around them.

But on that bright autumn morning in the Temple no such thoughts would come to

Zacharias. For the first, and for the last time in life the lot had marked him for incensing,

and every thought must have centred on what was before him. Even outwardly, all

attention would be requisite for the proper performance of his office. First, he had to

choose two of his special friends or relatives, to assist in his sacred service. Their duties

were comparatively simple. One reverently removed what had been left on the altar from

the previous evening's service; then, worshipping, retired backwards. The second

assistant now advanced, and, having spread to the utmost verge of the golden altar the

live coals taken from that of burnt-offering, worshipped and retired. Meanwhile the sound

of the 'organ' (the Magrephah), heard to the most distant parts of the Temple, and,

according to tradition, far beyond its precincts, had summoned priests, Levites, and

people to prepare for whatever service or duty was before them. Fo r, this was the

innermost part of the worship of the day. But the celebrant Priest, bearing the golden

censer, stood alone within the Holy Place, lit by the sheen of the seven-branched