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MARY: QUEEN OF HOUSE OF DAVID ***




Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)










[Illustration: By Frederick Goodall.

MARY AND THE INFANT SAVIOUR.]




MARY:
THE
QUEEN OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID
AND
MOTHER OF JESUS.

THE STORY OF HER LIFE.

GABRIEL.—“Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee:
Blessed art thou among women.”

MARY.—“All generations shall call me blessed.”

BY
REV. A. STEWART WALSH, D.D.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.

_ILLUSTRATED._

PUBLISHED EXCLUSIVELY BY
A. S. GRAY & CO.
SUCCESSORS TO
CENTRAL PUBLISHING HOUSE AND KEYSTONE PUBLISHING CO.
PITTSBURGH, PA.
1889.

COPYRIGHT BY H. S. ALLEN,
1886.
COPYRIGHT OWNED BY
A. S. GRAY.
1889.

ARGYLE PRESS,
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING,
265 & 267 CHERRY ST., N. Y.




TO WOMANKIND THROUGHOUT THE WORLD

THIS

STORY OF A LIFE

MOST

BEAUTIFUL, BENEFICENT, AND INSPIRING

Is Dedicated

BY THE AUTHOR.




INTRODUCTION TO THE QUEEN OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID.

BY REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.


I have been asked to open the front door of this book. But I must not
keep you standing too long on the threshold. The picture-gallery, the
banqueting hall and the throne-room are inside. All the fascinations
of romance are, by the able author, thrown around the facts of Mary’s
life. Much-abused tradition is also called in for splendid service. The
pen that the author wields is experienced, graceful, captivating, and
multipotent. As perhaps no other book that was ever written, this one
will show us woman as standing at the head of the world. It demonstrates
in the life of Mary what woman was and what woman may be. Woman’s
position in the world is higher than man’s; and although she has often
been denied the right of suffrage, she always does vote and always will
vote—by her influence; and her chief desire ought to be that she should
have grace rightly to rule in the dominion which she has already won.

She has no equal as a comforter of the sick. What land, what street,
what house has not felt the smitings of disease? Tens of thousands of
sick beds! What shall we do with them? Shall man, with his rough hand,
and heavy foot, and impatient bearing, minister? No; he cannot soothe the
pain. He can not quiet the nerves. He knows not where to set the light.
His hand is not steady enough to pour out the drops. He is not wakeful
enough to be watcher. You have known men who have despised women, but the
moment disease fell upon them, they did not send for their friends at
the bank or their worldly associates. Their first cry was, “Take me to
my wife.” The dissipated young man at the college scoffs at the idea of
being under home influence; but at the first blast of typhoid fever on
his cheek he says, “Where is mother?” I think one of the most pathetic
passages in all the Bible is the description of the lad who went out to
the harvest fields of Shunem and got sunstruck; throwing his hands on his
temples, and crying out, “Oh, my head! my head!” and they said, “Carry
him to his mother.” And the record is “He sat on her knees till noon and
then died.”

In the war men cast the cannon, men fashioned the muskets, men cried to
the hosts “Forward, march!” men hurled their battalions on the sharp
edges of the enemy, crying “Charge! charge!” but woman scraped the lint,
woman administered the cordials, woman watched by the dying couch, woman
wrote the last message to the home circle, woman wept at the solitary
burial, attended by herself and four men with a spade. Men did their work
with shot and shell, and carbine and howitzer; women did their work with
socks and slippers, and bandages, and warm drinks, and scripture texts,
and gentle soothings of the hot temples, and stories of that land where
they never have any pain. Men knelt down over the wounded and said, “On
which side did you fight?” Women knelt down over the wounded and said,
“Where are you hurt? What nice thing can I make for you to eat? What
makes you cry?” To-night, while we men are soundly asleep in our beds,
there will be a light in yonder loft; there will be groaning down that
dark alley; there will be cries of distress in that cellar. Men will
sleep and women will watch.

No one as well as a woman can handle the poor. There are hundreds and
thousands of them in all our cities. There is a kind of work that men
cannot do for the destitute. Man sometimes gives his charity in a rough
way, and it falls like the fruit of a tree in the East, which fruit comes
down so heavily that it breaks the skull of the man who is trying to
gather it. But woman glides so softly into the house of want, and finds
out all the sorrows of the place, and puts so quietly the donation on the
table, that all the family come out on the front steps as she departs,
expecting that from under her shawl she will thrust out two wings and go
right up to Heaven, from whence she seems to have come down. O, Christian
young woman, if you would make yourself happy and win the blessings of
Christ, go out among the poor! A loaf of bread or a bundle of socks may
make a homely load to carry, but the angels of God will come out to
watch, and the Lord Almighty will give His messenger hosts a charge,
saying, “Look after that woman, canopy her with your wings, and shelter
her from all harm.” And while you are seated in the house of destitution
and suffering, the little ones around the room will whisper, “Who is she?
is she not beautiful?” and if you will listen right sharply, you will
hear dripping through the leaky roof, and rolling over the broken stairs,
the angel chant that shook Bethlehem: “Glory to God in the highest, and
on earth peace and good will to man.” Can you tell why a Christian woman,
going down among the haunts of iniquity on a Christian errand, seldom
meets with any indignity?

I stood in the chapel of Helen Chalmers, the daughter of the celebrated
Dr. Chalmers, in the most abandoned part of the city of Edinburg; and I
said to her, as I looked around upon the fearful surroundings of that
place, “Do you come here nights to hold a service?” “Oh, yes,” she said;
“I take my lantern and I go through all these haunts of sin, the darkest
and the worst; and I ask all the men and women to come to the chapel, and
then I sing for them, and I pray for them, and I talk to them.” I said,
“Can it be possible that you never meet with an insult while performing
this Christian errand?” “Never,” she said; “never.” That young woman,
who has her father by her side, walking down the street, and an armed
policeman at each corner is not so well defended as that Christian woman
who goes forth on Gospel work into the haunts of iniquity carrying the
Bible and bread.

Some one said, “I dislike very much to see that Christian woman teaching
these bad boys in the mission school. I am afraid to have her instruct
them.” “So,” said another man, “I am afraid too.” Said the first, “I am
afraid they will use vile language before they leave the place.” “Ah,”
said the other man, “I am not afraid of that; what I am afraid of is,
that if any of those boys should use a bad word in her presence, the
other boys would tear him to pieces—killing him on the spot.”

Woman is especially endowed to soothe disaster She is called the weaker
vessel, but all profane as well as sacred history attests that when the
crisis comes she is better prepared than man to meet the emergency. How
often have you seen a woman who seemed to be a disciple of frivolity and
indolence, who, under one stroke of calamity, changed to be a heroine.
There was a crisis in your affairs, you struggled bravely and long,
but after a while there came a day when you said, “Here I shall have
to stop;” and you called in your partners, and you called in the most
prominent men in your employ, and you said, “We have got to stop.” You
left the store suddenly; you could hardly make up your mind to pass
through the street and over on the ferry-boat; you felt everybody would
be looking at you and blaming you and denouncing you. You hastened home;
you told your wife all about the affair. What did she say? Did she
play the butterfly; did she talk about the silks and the ribbons and
the fashions? No; she came up to the emergency; she quailed not under
the stroke. She helped you to begin to plan right away. She offered to
go out of the comfortable house into a smaller one, and wear the old
cloak another winter. She was one who understood your affairs without
blaming you. You looked upon what you thought was a thin, weak woman’s
arm holding you up; but while you looked at that arm there came into the
feeble muscles of it the strength of the eternal God. No chiding. No
fretting. No telling you about the beautiful house of her father, from
which you brought her, ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. You said, “Well,
this is the happiest day of my life. I am glad I have got from under my
burden. My wife don’t care—I don’t care.” At the moment you were utterly
exhausted, God sent a Deborah to meet the host of the Amalekites and
scatter them like chaff over the plain. There are scores and hundreds of
households to-day where as much bravery and courage are demanded of woman
as was exhibited by Grace Darling or Marie Antoinette or Joan of Arc.

Woman is further endowed to bring us into the Kingdom of Heaven. It is
easier for a woman to be a Christian than for a man. Why? You say she
is weaker. No. Her heart is more responsive to the pleadings of divine
love. The fact that she can more easily become a Christian, I prove by
the statement that three-fourths of the members of the churches in all
Christendom are women. So God appoints them to be the chief agencies for
bringing this world back to God. The greatest sermons are not preached
on celebrated platforms; they are preached with an audience of two or
three and in private home-life. A patient, loving, Christian demeanor
in the presence of transgression, in the presence of hardness, in the
presence of obduracy and crime, is an argument from the throne of the
Lord Almighty; and blessed is that woman who can wield such an argument.
A sailor came slipping down the ratlin one night as though something
had happened, and the sailors cried, “What’s the matter?” He said, “My
mother’s prayers haunt me like a ghost.”

In what a realm is every mother the queen. The eagles of heaven can not
fly across that dominion. Horses, panting and with lathered flanks, are
not swift enough to run to the outpost of that realm, and death itself
will only be the annexation of heavenly principalities. When you want
your grandest idea of a queen you do not think of Catherine of Russia,
or of Anne of England, or Maria Theresa of Germany: but when you want to
get your grandest idea of a queen you think of the plain woman who sat
opposite your father at the table or walked with him, arm in arm, down
life’s pathway; sometimes to the Thanksgiving banquet, sometimes to the
grave, but always together; soothing your petty griefs, correcting your
childish waywardness, joining in your infantile sports, listening to your
evening prayer, toiling for you with needle or at the spinning wheel, and
on cold nights wrapping you up snug and warm; and then, at last, on that
day when she lay in the back room dying, and you saw her take those thin
hands with which she had toiled for you so long, and put them together
in a dying prayer that commended you to the God whom she had taught you
to trust—oh, she was the queen! The chariots of God came down to fetch
her, and as she went in, all heaven rose up. You can not think of her now
without a rush of tenderness that stirs the deep foundations of your
soul, and you feel as much a child again as when you cried on her lap;
and if you could bring her back to life again to speak, just once more,
your name as tenderly as she used to speak it, you would be willing to
throw yourself on the ground and kiss the sod that covers her, crying,
“Mother! mother!” Ah, she was the queen!

Home influences are the mightiest of all influences upon the soul. There
are men who have maintained their integrity, not because they were any
better naturally than some other people, but because there were home
influences praying for them all the time. They got a good start. They
were launched on the world with the benedictions of a Christian mother.
They may track Siberian snows, they may plunge into African jungles, they
may fly to the earth’s end, they can not go so far and so fast but the
prayer will keep up with them. Oh, what a multitude of women in heaven.
Mary, Christ’s mother, in heaven. Elizabeth Fry in heaven. Charlotte
Elizabeth in heaven. The mother of Augustine in heaven. The Countess of
Huntingdon is in heaven—who sold her splendid jewels to build chapels—in
heaven; while a great many others who have never been heard of on earth,
or known but little of, have gone into the rest and peace of heaven. What
a rest. What a change it was from the small room with no fire and one
window, the glass broken out, and the aching side and worn out eyes, to
the “house of many mansions.” Heaven for aching heads. Heaven for broken
hearts. Heaven for anguish-bitten frames. No more sitting up until
midnight for the coming of staggering steps. No more rough blows on the
temples. No more sharp, keen, bitter curses.

Some of you will have no rest in this world; it will be toil and struggle
all the way up. You will have to stand at your door fighting back the
wolf with your own hand red with carnage. But God has a crown for you.
He is now making it, and whenever you weep a tear, He sets another gem
in that crown; whenever you have a pang of body or soul, He puts another
gem in that crown, until after a while in all the tiara there will be no
room for another splendor; and God will say to his angel, “The crown is
done; let her up that she may wear it.” And as the Lord of righteousness
puts the crown upon your brow, angel will cry to angel, “Who is she?”
and Christ will say, “I will tell you who she is; she is the one that
came up out of great tribulation and had her robe washed and made white
in the blood of the Lamb.” And then God will spread a banquet, and He
will invite all the principalities of heaven to sit at the feast, and
the tables will blush with the best clusters from the vineyards of God
and crimson with the twelve manner of fruits from the tree of life, and
water from the fountains of the rock will flash from the golden tankards;
and the old harpers of heaven will sit there, making music with their
harps, and Christ will point you out amid the celebrities of heaven,
saying, “She suffered with me on earth, now we are going to be glorified
together.” And the banquetters, no longer able to hold their peace,
will break forth with congratulation. “Hail! hail!” And there will be a
handwriting on the wall; not such as struck the Persian noblemen with
horror, but with fire-tipped fingers writing in blazing capitals of light
and love and victory: “God has wiped away all tears from all faces.”

And now I leave you in the hands of Dr. Walsh, the author of this book.
He will show you Mary, the model of all womanly, wifely, motherly
excellence—the Madonna hanging in the Louvre of admiration for all
Christendom, and for many millions in the higher Vatican of their worship.

T. DE WITT TALMAGE.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.—THE QUEEN’S PORTRAIT.

“A form beloved comes again”—Inspired painters in a voyage of
discovery—Tributes to Mary, honoring all womankind—Guido’s
wish—Madonnas of many climes. Raphael’s “Transfigured
Woman”—Savonarola’s bonfire—St. Luke’s picture of the
Virgin—The Vandal spirit. Page 29

CHAPTER II.—THE PILGRIM, CRUSADER AND VIRGIN.

Life a pilgrimage—Pilgrims of many faiths—A struggle for holy
places between the Pilgrim-Crusaders and Moslem—The harem and
the home—The rise of Chivalry—The Knights and “Our Lady”—The
results of the Crusades. Page 36

CHAPTER III.—ARMAGEDDON! “THE KEY AND SICKLE.”

“The wandering hermit wakes the storms of war”—Acre and
Esdrælon, the “Armageddon” or “Mountain of the Gospel” of the
Scriptures—The battle-field of nations—The City of Jeanne
d’Arc. The jewel in the sickle-haft—Prince Edward, the Crusade
leader—Sultan Kha-tel—The sacking of Acre—Actors introduced. Page 48

CHAPTER IV.—SIR CHARLEROY; THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE AND KNIGHT
OF SAINT MARY.

The flight from Acre to Nazareth—The born-leader—Life estimates
with Death holding the scales—A prince honors, a bishop
blesses, and a mother loves—An epitome of paradoxes. Page 53

CHAPTER V.—NAZARETH.

Nazareth, the place of Mary’s nativity—The choice of a
leader—The coward king—The Virgin’s Fount—English songsters—The
Knights’ mountain Litany—Longings for home and mother—Nain and
Endor’s lessons. Page 61

CHAPTER VI.—THE FUGITIVES.

A night bivouac amid sacred scenes—The “Knight of the
Holy-Sepulcher” who fled on “a white charger with black
wings”—The funeral at dawn—Mary’s palm-bearing angel-guard—The
twelve knights separate into two parties—Will-makings and
farewells—By Endor to oblivion. Page 74

CHAPTER VII.—ICHABOD.

Sir Charleroy’s band approach Shunem, the City of Elijah—The
surprise—Sir Charleroy the captive of Azrael the Mameluke—The
Mohammedan heaven depicted—“A hair, the bridge over hell”—The
odoriferous houris—A gorgeous charnel-house blasted—The
prodigal becomes the herald of purity—The Knight of Saint
Mary and the Jewish Spy—Adversity makes the Knight and the
Jew friends—The Knight instructing Ichabod—“’Till Shiloh
comes”—“The true, refined and final Judaism”—“The east and
the west embracing; truth leading.”—An honest doubt is a real
prayer. Page 82

CHAPTER VIII.—FROM JERICHO TO JORDAN.

The radiant proselyte—Climbing to glory—The ghostly forms
hovering over submerged Sodom—Jordan’s sweetening—Siddim-angels
among the willows and oleanders by the Dead Sea—Summonsed
to fight for the Crescent or go to the slave mart—Nourahmal
“The light of the harem” becomes the disciple and friend of
Ichabod—A debate concerning women—A rarity and a wonder—“I told
her women had souls; she laughed like a monkey”—The flight from
Jericho by night—The lightning—God’s torch—“Canst thou dance
rocks into camels?”—A mummy’s flight, and the burial of a live
man—“Unclean”—The solemn passage of Jordan. Page 93

CHAPTER IX.—THE FEAST OF THE ROSE.

A breakfast of lentils and barley in the wilderness—The gloom
of the Knight and the joy of the Jew—Sermons on fate and
songs in flowers—The poetry of Ichabod—Celibacy a reward at
Rome—Kneph “The father of his mother”—The heathen and the
Christian “Feast of the Rose”—The summary of the events in
Mary’s life and in the life of Jesus—The Egyptian Rosary—Neb-ta
the maiden sister—The egg and the cross, ancient signs of
immortality—The Copt priest—The insights of the Egyptians
symbolized by the Sphinx. Page 113

CHAPTER X.—AFTER EVE, ESTHER OR MARY?

By Jabbock, in the native place of Ichabod—Israelitish
maidens keeping the feast of Esther—Religious love, filial
love and lover’s love—The poetic Jew’s rhapsody concerning
affection—God’s voice in the Garden—The ideal women of the Old
Testament and of the New—The Jew’s cry for mother—Vacillating
Sir Charleroy—“Echo’s Magic”—Jewish customs. Page 135

CHAPTER XI.—THE FEAST OF PURIM.

A night-scene by Jabbock—Harrimai the priest, and his daughter
Rizpah—The religious ceremonial and the revel—Sir Charleroy
and Rizpah as “Ahasuerus and Esther”—The Knight’s secret
discovered—Conquest of a woman’s heart through pity—“Of what
metals Jewish maidens are.” Page 152

CHAPTER XII.—ASTARTE OR MARY?

The Knight of Saint Mary enslaved by a Hebrew beauty—The
journey toward Bozrah—The Mameluke attack—The hand to hand
fight—Sir Charleroy wounded and Ichabod slain—Rizpah’s heroism
in peril—Espousal in the face of death—A wonderful vision. Page 170

CHAPTER XIII.—FROM RAMOTH GILEAD TO DAMASCUS.

Teacher and pupil become patient and nurse—Perilous
relations—Delights, assurances, fears and clouds—Harrimai’s
discovery and his malediction—Love’s debate and
decision—Elopement by night—the Knight and the Jewess wedded at
Damascus. Page 182

CHAPTER XIV.—THE THEATER OF THE GIANTS.

The death of Harrimai—A honey-moon in the “Eye of the
East”—To Bashan with the Mecca chaplet-seekers—Nature,
art and desolation—Lejah’s black lava-sea—The frenzies of
Gerash’s passion-flower—Reaction after exaltation—“A camel
voyage in-sea”—Rizpah’s challenge—Jealous of Sir Charleroy’s
love for Mary—“Illusion”—The church of Saint George at
Edrei—Recrimination—Ridicule costly to pride—Neither Christian,
Jew nor Pagan—A woman with unsettled faith—A babe poisoned by
its mother’s passion—The lamp and the palm-trees—The Knight’s
appeals—Omens—A beacon needed—Fleeing the Lejah—To Bozrah. Page 195

CHAPTER XV.—THE REVELS OF MEN AND THE RITES OF THEIR GODDESSES.

Kunawat at the City of Job—The Shrine of Astarte—The Cyclopean
image—Questioning the Soul, Time and God—Hugeness, greatness;
littleness, caricature—The naked worshipers of the golden
calf—Sins exposed—Purity’s vision—Phallic mysteries—Khem—Female
deities—Dualism—Immortality by progeny and by regeneration—The
fire-worshiper’s mystic number eight, and the Jewish covenant
number seven. Page 212

CHAPTER XVI.—A BATTLE OF GIANTS AT BOZRAH.

Houses forty centuries old—The old stone-house of an
ancient giant becomes the home of the knight and his
wife—How circumstances change people—Recriminations and
reconciliation—“The gall taken from animals offered to Juno,
goddess of marriage”—Rizpah’s temper that seemed brilliant
before wedlock, afterward seems to Sir Charleroy very like
that of a virago—The charming nonsense of those for the
first time parents—Shall she be named Davidah, Angela, Marah
or Mary?—The Christian and Jewish faith battle about the
cradle—The separation of husband and wife, in anger—The sick
child and the desolated, deserted wife—Rizpah longs for a
mother, such as Mary of Bethlehem. Page 224



Online LibraryA. Stewart (Alexander Stewart) WalshMary: The Queen of the House of David and Mother of Jesus → online text (page 1 of 40)