ic opinion which one is scarcely
prepared for. And yet it may well be questioned whether it was a more
ominous state of public sentiment than that in the midst of which we are
living, when scenes, in _character_ if not in appearance similar to
this, are constantly reproduced by our novelists and play-writers, who
harp upon this one vile string, professing, like these Pharisees, that
they drag such things before the public gaze for the sake of exposing
vice and making it hateful, but really because they know that there is a
large constituency to whom they can best appeal by what is sensational,
and prurient, and immoral, though to the masculine and healthy mind
disgusting. Many of our modern writers might take a hint from our German
forefathers, who, in their barbarian days, held that some vices were to
be punished in public, but others buried quickly in oblivion, and who,
therefore, punished crime of this sort by binding it in a wicker crate,
and sinking it in a pit of mud out of sight for ever. We certainly
cannot congratulate ourselves on our advancement in moral perception so
long as we pardon to persons of genius and rank what would be loathed in
persons of no brilliant parts and in our own circles. When such things
are thrust upon us, either in literature or elsewhere, we have always
the resource of our Lord; we can turn away, as though we heard not; we
can refuse to inquire further into such matters, and turn away our eyes
from them.

Few positions could be more painful to a pure-minded man than that in
which our Lord was placed. What hope could there be for a world where
the religious and righteous had become even more detestable than the
coarse sin they proposed to punish? No wonder our Lord was silent,
silent in sheer disturbance of mind and sympathetic shame. He stooped
down and wrote on the ground, as one who does not wish to answer a
question will begin drawing lines on the ground with his foot or his
stick. His silence was a broad hint to the accusers; but they take it
for mere embarrassment, and all the more eagerly press their question.
They think Him at a loss when they see Him with hanging head tracing
figures on the ground; they fancy their plot is successful, and, flushed
with expected victory, they close in and lay their hands on his shoulder
as He stoops, and demand an answer. And so He lifts Himself up, and they
have their answer: "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast
a stone at her