'The words took hold upon me mightily!' wrote Walter Petherick to a friend in 1682. I do not wonder. Quite apart from their singular application to his own case, they are full of nobility and grandeur. When, in 1782--exactly a century later--Benjamin Franklin was appointed American Plenipotentiary at Paris, some of the brilliant French wits of that period twitted him on his admiration for the Bible. He determined to test their knowledge of the Volume they professed to scorn. Entering their company one evening, he told them that he had been reading an ancient poem, and that its stately beauty had greatly impressed him. At their request he took from his pocket a manuscript and proceeded to read it. It was received with exclamations of extravagant admiration. 'Superb!' they cried. 'Who was the author? Where did Franklin discover it? How could copies be obtained?' He informed them, to their astonishment, that it was the third chapter of the prophecy of Habakkuk--the passage to which Mr. Petherick and his children listened that sad but sunny morning at Twickenham. The Petherick incident belongs to the _seventeenth_ century; the Franklin incident belongs to the _eighteenth_; and they remind me of one that belongs to the _nineteenth_. Daniel Webster was one morning discussing with a number of eminent artists the subjects commonly chosen for portrayal upon canvas. 'I have often wondered,' he said, 'that no painter has yet thought it worth his while to draw his inspiration from one of the most sublime passages in any literature.' 'And what is that?' they asked. 'Well,' he replied, 'what finer conception for a masterpiece could any artist desire than the picture of the prophet Habakkuk sitting in the midst of utter ruin and desolation, singing, in spite of everything, faith's joyous and triumphant song?' III _Suppose!_ It is a _Song of Suppositions_! '_Suppose_ the fig tree shall not blossom!' '_Suppose_ the vine shall bear no fruit!' '_Suppose_ the labor of the olive shall fail!' '_Suppose_ the fields shall yield no corn!' '_Suppose_ the flock shall be cut off from the fold!' '_Suppose_ there shall be no herd in the stalls!' '_Suppose! Suppose! Suppose!_' I very well remember a conversation I once had at Mosgiel with old Jeanie McNab. Jeanie subsisted on a mixed diet of smiles and songs. 'But, supposing, Jeanie----' I began one day. 'Now don't you have anything to do with _supposings_,' she exclaimed. 'I know them all. "_Suppose_ I should lose my money!" "_Suppose_ I should lose my health!" And all the rest. When those _supposings_ come knocking at your heart, you just slam the door, and bolt it, and don't let any of them in!' It was excellent advice; yet the prophet acted on a diametrically opposite principle. When the _supposings_ came knocking at his door, he cried 'Come in!' and in they came! '_Suppose_ the figs are barren!' '_Suppose_ the vines wither!' '_Suppose_ the olive fail!' '_Suppose_ the corn perish!'