enlivened it. A
labouring man, digging for some purpose in a field alone, in the
progress of his hard and humble work lays open one side of a glittering
golden store. As soon as the first tumult of emotion has subsided, he
gathers his wits and goes into action. First of all he throws some earth
over the exposed portion of the treasure; then he looks cautiously round
to ascertain whether any witness was near enough to observe his motions.
He proceeds next, probably, to ply his ordinary task on another spot
with an indifferent air, that he may not attract attention. The place
where the treasure lies, the place that he loves best, he carefully
avoids: he comes not once near it again until he has paid the price, and
secured the titles of the property.

Too much has been made of the subordinate circumstances here. A person
in the position of this man could not do otherwise than he did, without
abandoning all hope of obtaining the prize. To blab it out, would have
been to throw it away. If he had talked about it, the fact would have
proved that he did not care for it. The concealment is not an essential
feature, but a subordinate circumstance of the parable. It was resorted
to, not for its own sake, but as an obvious means of obtaining a desired
end. The hiding of the treasure is introduced into the picture simply to
mark the man's estimate of its worth and his determination at all
hazards to obtain it.

In the spiritual department a similar end is pursued, but the adoption
of similar means there would not tend to insure success. In the nature
of the case it is not necessary to conceal the spiritual treasure from
others in order to secure it for yourself. Although the world should
discover it, by an intimation from you, and enrich themselves out of it,
you would not therefore obtain less. It is thus a vain labour to search,
as many do, for something in the spiritual sphere corresponding to the
concealment by the discoverer in the story. The best way of interpreting
that feature is to represent by it a soul's high appreciation of divine
mercy and earnest desire to obtain it, and then allow the feature to
drop out of sight, like the husk after the ripened grain has fallen from
it and been secured. It has been said that one of the rarest kinds of
knowledge is to know when to hold your peace. Many know well how to
speak; few know when to be silent. A similar experience emerges here:
many have an excellent faculty for opening up