a Cross placed upon a globe, and lighted by the rays of a rising sun, and therefore called the red or ROSY CROSS.

This Cross placed upon a dark globe, with the dawn breaking over its darkness, was the emblem of the great purpose of the Order, the Regeneration of the millions of mankind, by three great ideas, Union, Freedom, Brotherhood.

The Globe was a symbol of Union. The Light breaking upon it from the darkness, an emblem of Freedom. The Cross standing alone upon the globe, and blushing into radiance, in the fast coming light, a type of BROTHERHOOD.

The Order was known among men, known only in vague supposition and unaccredited tradition, as the BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSY CROSS.

As the Brother in the peasant garb went on, his harsh voice became melodious; his manner, no longer hesitating, grew firm and bold. traced the history of the Brotherhood from the far-gone ages down to the present hour. In language vivid and eloquent, he pictured the elaborate ceremonial, the giant organization, the fascinating mystery which characterized the Order, and made its power felt over all the world, in all times, like the hand of a God.

"And yet with all the Power, those symbols that form a common language for Brothers of all nations, these rites that elevate with their beauty, and bewilder with their mystery-with all this Power, felt through all ages, and all the world, like the hand of a God, behold the degradation of mankind. In vain our labors, in vain the labors of our fathers. In vain this tremendous organization, in vain the universal language, the rites, the symbols, all in vain. Man still bleeds under the feet of Priest and King-the world is still given up to Satan. Even that holiest name, which we have written upon our banner, embalmed upon our hearts, consecrated with the baptism of our tears-even 'BROTHERHOOD' has fallen prostrate, afraid of the Darkness which broods over all the earth, trampled into dust, by the iron feet of Evil.”

These words thrilled through the cavern, and a breathless stillness fell upon every tongue. Faces, wet with tears, that glittered in the dim light, attested the truth, the power of the speaker's words.

Still resting his knotted hand upon the shoulder of the unknown, the Peasant in the gray garb continued:

"But the contest is not yet over. 'BROTHERHOOD' is clouded by mists of blood-red smoke, but it is Divine, it is Eternal, it will live when the stars have faded from the sky. For it is of God, and therefore cannot die.

“But we must embody this idea of 'Brotherhood,' not only in rites and symbols, but in such a form that the meanest of earth's trodden children may behold it and love it.

"Do you hear me, my brethren?

"This idea of Brotherhood, nay, this Eternal Fact, this deathless manifestation of God, must be embodied in a form, that will speak to the hearts of men, and through their hearts regenerate the world."

"Do this," cried the aged Swede, "and Kings and Priests exist no longer."

Every face was lifted in earnest hope to the visage of the speaker,

and a murmur filled the cavern, a murmur swelled by many tongues, but with only one meaning:

"Let the Divine Truth of Brotherhood be embodied in a form that will speak at once to the hearts of men, and our work is done. Man will indeed be free; there will exist no longer on the face of the globe, either a Lord or a Slave, to blaspheme, by their existence, the goodness of OUR FATHER.”

"But how shall the idea be embodied? In what form shall we personify the holy Truth?"

"Listen, my brothers, and I will tell you. We will embody this idea in the history of some individual life, whose every word shall melt the souls of men into tenderness and love.

"Shall we take the life of some great Philosopher,-one of those weird sages of the ancient time, who surveyed the world from the casement of his cell, and reasoned boldly upon Man, but could not feel for him? Shall we summon Pythagoras, or Plato or even that stoutest and most manful of them all-Socrates? Ah-I see the smile steal over your faces-I hear your murmurs. What have Philosophers to do with the millions of mankind? Have they suffered, any moment of their lives, that stern Martyrdom, which is ever the lot of the Poor Man, from his birth to his death-the martyrdom of Poverty, that has no couch for its tired head, but in the grave; the martyrdom of Toil, that is without a Hope in this world and the next? Have these Philosophers drank of the poor man's cup, have they wept with him, in his desolate home, have they measured his anguish, or sounded the depths of his immeasurable Despair? "Away with the Philosophers. Cold reasoners, shrouding themselves in the mountain cloud of sophistry, they never descend to the plain, and feel the millions who are only born to be trampled and to die.

"The world does not demand abstractions. It calls, even from the kennel of its degradation, it calls for some great Heart to feel for its despair, and win it tenderly into light and love once more.

"Shall we embody this Idea of Brotherhood in the life of some Priest, or tell the world, how lovely it looks, how wonderful and sublime, in the life of some King? As well embody the Idea of Heaven in the image of a Satyr, or personify the angel-tenderness of childhood in the dusk countenance of Satan!

No, away with Priests and Kings,-away with all like these, who do not live in the same world, with the millions of mankind.

"But we will give this idea shape, color, voice. We will embody the principle of Brotherhood in the life of a Mechanic."

His words were followed by a breathless stillness, and then the murmur rose- "Where will you find a Mechanic, who has risen from the hut of the poor man, into the light of fame ?"

"In the life of a worker, toiling with the workers of the human race; a Son of the Poor, living and dying for the Poor. Listen, my brother, and do not treat with scorn my crude Legend of other days. But I will tell to you the story of the Mechanic whom you seek, the Son of the Poor whom you desire.

"One day—in the ages long ago—the Son of a Carpenter looked out from the window of his father's workshop, and beheld his brothers and

sisters, the Poor, trodden down under the gathered infamies, of four thousand years. His garments were very rude; clad like a child of the People, he wiped the laborer's sweat from his brow, and from that workshop window, he cast his eyes over a world, in darkness and in chains. A fire that was of God suddenly lighted up his eyes; that forehead, damp with the sweat of toil, became radiant with a Thought. His lips unclosed, and he uttered the travail of his soul in these brief words, Over all the earth one sound swells up to God. It is the groan

of the Poor man, who has no joy in this world, and no hope in the next.'

"Then, as if a voice from God had penetrated his soul, the Son of the Carpenter laid aside the tools of his father's craft, and, clad as he was, in the coarse garb of labor, yet with a Thought shining over his brow, went forth into the world, and said to the Poor, as he met them on the highway, or saw them bending under the hot sun, in the rich man's fields, or beheld their wan faces from the windows of the prison, 'Brother! There is a God in Heaven; he is our Father! He marks the sparrow's fall-think you, then, that He looks unheedingly upon the anguish of his children, the Poor, who bear his image, and have, every one of them, a ray of his Eternity, in their hearts?"

"Such words as these, thrilling from the lips of the Carpenter's son, stirred the hearts of the Poor. They followed the young man by thousands; now by the lake shore, now in the slope of the mountain side, now in the desert woods he talked to them, as much with his radiant forehead, and calm, deep eye, as with his voice, and he always ended his teachings with a word like this- God is our Father, and all men are his children.'

"I might spend the hours of the silent night, in telling you, how this Son of the Carpenter dwelt with the Poor-shared the crust of the Poor -wept with the Poor-lived for the Poor, and died for the Poor. As for the Rich Man, whether he appeared in the form of a Priest, or as a King, the Son of the Carpenter only spoke of him, with pity, with reproach, with scorn. His mission was to the Poor. And without arms, without Priests, clad only in his humble garb, he spoke to the Poor of his native land, and his voice moved the earth, like the pulsation of the Heart of God.

"He died at last, after a brief mission of three years-he died, I need not tell you how? What Death is reserved for those who endeavor with a single heart to do good to Man? Not the death of the pampered Priest, who reclining on silken couches-embosomed in the chambers of a Palace-looks with sorrow too deep for tears, upon the rich viands, and the genial wines, which he cannot take with him to the grave. Nor the death of the Conqueror, who makes himself a couch of the bodies of the slain, and expires most royally, like a tiger, clad in glossy fur, who crouches upon his victims, and tears them with his fangs as he dies.

"No! But the death of the Felon, nailed to an abhorred tree, which towered alone and hideous, upon the height of a craggy steep, with the black sky above it, and the dark mass of countless spectators around and beneath it.

"This was the death of the Son of the Carpenter, who had said to Man, that Religion consisted not in Palaces or Jails, nor in Priests or Kings, nor in Churches, or costly ceremonial, but-mark the simplicity of the Carpenter's Son-in LOVING ONE ANOTHER.

"Oh, that I could paint to you the radiant forehead and earnest eyes of this Carpenter's Son, and show him to you as he lived among men, their Brother, clad like themselves, their Friend, for he said to them, God is OUR Father.'

6

"But he has been dead many centuries-Behold him, not as he walked the sands of his native land, but as he is!"

He swept the cloak aside, which enveloped the limbs of the unknown. The cavern echoed with a cry of amazement and terror.

For there, very near the light, towered the Leaden Image, whose forehead, stamped with Despair, and motionless eyes, full of unutterable anguish and firm, clad in the garments of toil, seemed to imprison a Living Soul.

It was the Image of the Imprisoned Jesus.

"This is what Priest and King have made of the pure and beautiful spirit of the Carpenter's Son! They have robbed man of his Brother, his friend; they have coffined the soul of the Mechanic in the creed and ritual of their Church; they have taken to themselves that Man of Nazareth, who never spake of Priest or King, but with pity, reproach,

or scorn.

"Brothers! Be it our task to take the Son of the Carpenter, to separate his loving spirit, from church and creed, and lift him once more before the eyes of millions, not as the Incarnation of a Church, or the Imprisoned Christ of a ferocious superstition, but as the Carpenter's Son, who first embodied the truth of Brotherhood, and made it blossom in the hearts of men.

"With these three words-The Carpenter's Son-we can regenerate the world. We will go to the Poor. We will ask them not to believe in a Trinity, or in Unity, nor in Catholic, or in Protestant, nor in Buddhu. or in Mohammed-we will not waste time in comparing speculations, or analyzing creeds. Armed with this Christ of the Poor, we will say to the Poor, he was a Poor Man such as you are. Like you he toiled. Like you he hungered. At the graves of poor men like you he wept. He lived for you-for you he died. Then listen to his voice, which utters all truth, in these simple words 'Love ONE ANOTHER.'"

The Peasant, whose animated features contrasted with the motionless lineaments of the Image by his side, now glanced around from face to face, speaking by turns to every one of the brothers. As he spoke, his voice became tremulous; his sunburnt features were wet with tears. "And can we not accomplish this great work for man? Is there a Brother here, who can say, No! who has the heart to say it? are, men of all nations, colors and creeds. Can we not join our hands around this rock, as though it was an altar, and sacrifice our prejudices, our creeds at the feet of the Carpenter's Son ?

Here we

"Mohammedan! I speak to you. In your traditions you have read of Jesus the Prophet. Do you object to Jesus the Carpenter's Son? Hindoo! Your traditions speak of a mysterious incarnation-of a sub

VOL. II.-11

lime manifestation of God enshrined in the flesh-can you refuse to acknowledge and love the Spirit of God, enshrined in the form of á Carpenter's Son?

"Protestant, it is your boast to read the written word of God. Can you refuse the Carpenter's Son? Catholic-your traditions speak of Church, of Authority, of Popes invested with God-like power, and men sunk beneath the degradation of the brute creation, and yet amid this horrible mass of error, there is here and there a word-a true word of the Carpenter's Son. Are you willing to sacrifice Church-Authority— Pope and Council, at the altar of Brotherhood, at the feet of the Car penter's Son? Deist! It is to you I appeal. It is your delight to cherish the idea of One supreme God, only revealed to man by the forms of external nature. Do you see God in the leaf and flower, and yet refuse to behold him, in the radiant forehead, the peasant garb, the deathless words of the Carpenter's Son?

"Atheist! Yes, there is one in this band who cannot believe in the existence of a God. Let me have a word with you, my brother-let us talk with each other, in kindness. You are, perchance, so constituted that the power to believe is not in your nature. All reason and no faith.

And yet your heart beats warmly for the good of man; it is your earnest desire that all men may indeed be brothers. Can you find in the page of any history-in the record of any age or country-a Spirit at once so loving and so actual, so like a God, and yet full of sympathy for man, as the Carpenter's Son? Point me to the page-produce the record—and I will love you all the better!"

His eye gleaming, his forehead radiant, the impassioned Peasant glanced around, and paused, as if to note the effect of his words.

There was stillness, and then the air was full of sobs and groans. They were not altogether sobs of anguish, groans of sorrow. They rose from their seats, they gathered round the sunburnt Peasant, and rent the air with incoherent cries.

Strange words were audible amid these cries

"It is the truth which our fathers sought for ages-it is the great Secret which will regenerate the World! Not the Christ of Theology, not the Catholic Christ, nor the Protestant Christ, the Unitarian or Trinitarian Christ, but the Jesus of the Heart! The Carpenter's Son, separate from all creeds, and only known as the Incarnation of Brotherhood!"

The Peasant took in his hand the veil which he had lifted from the dumb Face of the Image-his form was raised to its full stature-his eye beamed as with fire from Heaven.

"Hold! Do I understand you, my brethren-are you willing to bury your creeds at the feet of the Carpenter's Son, and believe only in the Brotherhood which shines from his face? Is it so? Then let us look for the day after the long night of hopeless Evil. And I, too, am willing to offer up my creed, at the feet of the Carpenter's Son!

"Listen, for I have a confession to make. I have been educated to believe that Christ was in truth the very God. That the Awful Being who made the stars, and dwelt in Eternity, was present-living, throbbing-in the heart of the Nazarene; was enshrined in the Carpen