that, of all the
texts in the Bible, _that was the best_.

XII

WALTER PETHERICK'S TEXT

I

He was born at Islington on the day on which Sir Walter Raleigh was
executed; and his father named him after the gallant knight whom he
himself was so proud of having served. That was forty-seven years ago.
He is now a prosperous London merchant, living, at ordinary times, over
his warehouse, and delighting in the society of his four motherless
children. At ordinary times! But these are not ordinary times. The
plague is in the city! It appeared for the first time about two months
ago and has gradually increased in virulence ever since. Mr. Petherick
has therefore withdrawn with his two boys and his two girls to
Twickenham. This morning--the morning of July 16, 1665--they all go
together to the Parish Church. The riverside is in all its summer glory.
The brilliant sunshine seems to mock both the wretchedness so near at
hand and the heavy anxiety that weighs upon their hearts. During the
week a solemn fast-day has been observed, and to-day, services of
humiliation and intercession are to be held in all the churches. Several
times, during the past week or two, Mr. Petherick has visited the city.
It was a melancholy experience. Most of the shops were shut; poor
creatures who claimed that they themselves or their relatives were
infected by the pestilence cried for alms at every corner; and he had
passed many houses on whose doors a red cross had been marked, and,
underneath, the words, 'Lord, have mercy upon us!' To-day that pathetic
entreaty is to be offered in every sanctuary. All through the country,
men and women are pleading that the awful visitation may be stayed. At
Twickenham the church soon fills, and the fervently murmured responses
give evidence of the depth and intensity of the universal emotion. Mr.
Petherick never forgot the sermon that was preached in the old church
that July morning. At least, he never forgot the text. '_Although the
fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the
labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the
flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the
stalls; yet I will rejoice in the Lord and I will joy in the God of my
salvation!_'

_The fields barren! The stalls empty! The vineyards bare!_

_I will rejoice! I will joy! I will joy! I will rejoice!_

The text reminded the Pethericks of the dazzling sunshine th