The Jews are in the hands of God. He has dealt
with them in judgment, but they are still the children of promise. The
day of their long exile shall end, and they will return to Zion with
songs and everlasting joy upon their heads!"
The words were something like these, but who could picture Baker's
oratory? As well try to paint a storm in the tropics. Real thunder and
lightning cannot be put on canvas.
The Rabbi made a speech, and it was the speech of a man who had come
from his books and prayers. He made a tender appeal for the mother and
father of the abducted Jewish boy, and argued the question as calmly,
and in as sweet a spirit, as if he had been talking over an abstract
question in his study. The vast crowd looked upon that strange figure
with a sort of pleased wonder, and the Rabbi seemed almost unconscious
of their presence. He was as free from self-consciousness as a little
child, and many a Gentile heart warmed that night to the simple-hearted
sage who stood before them pleading for the rights of human nature.
The old man was often very sad. In such moods he would come round to our
cottage on Post street, and sit with us until late at night, unburdening
his aching heart, and relaxing by degrees into a playfulness that was
charming from its very awkwardness.
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