“Whosoever does any work on the Sabbath, even though he does not do it for the sake of the work itself, is nevertheless guilty. How so? If, for instance, a man extinguishes a lamp, because he wants the oil or the wick, and wishes that it should not waste, nor be burned, or that the earthenware part of the lamp should not be cracked; inasmuch as the extinguishing is work, and his intention was to extinguish it: although the mere act of extinguishing it was not the ultimate object, but on the contrary, the saving of the oil or the wick, or the earthen lamp, he is, nevertheless, guilty. And in like manner, whosoever, removes thorns a distance of four ells in a public place, or whosoever extinguishes coals to prevent the public from being injured, is guilty: although the ultimate object was not the extinguishing nor the moving, but he simply intended to prevent the injury, he is guilty, and so in all similar cases.” (Ibid.) If this were the law of the land, and the executive were in the hands of Talmudistic zealots, the peace of the world would be at an end. The poor man could not be happy, when he saw his little property wasting; and the humane man would either be made miserable at the thought of being able to prevent much injury, and yet not doing it, or would have to expose himself to the danger of a cruel and ignominious death. We know enough of the general character of the Jewish nation to believe that there are amongst them those who would brave the danger, whose generous hearts would rise above personal considerations, but how dreadful would be the consequences! A man of a tender heart, the father of a family, would be induced, by the best of feelings, to save his fellow-men from injury. He would return to his family, and tell them how God had given him an opportunity of doing good. The family worthy of such a father would rejoice to hear the information, but the sequel of his story would turn their joy into mourning. He would have to tell them that ignominious death would be the consequence, and that because he dared to do an act of charity, and to love his brother as himself, the morrow would see his wife a widow and his children orphans. But suppose, that when he performed the act, he had been attended by two of his sons, now grown up, and zealots for the oral law—that they had warned him, and then became his accusers, as they must, if firm believers in Talmudic religion, he would have the additional pangs of seeing his own flesh and blood as the foremost of his executioners. This one law would clothe the world with mourning, and make the light of the Sabbath sun the curse of mankind. Though men might be found at first to brave the danger, the course of time and the inflexible severity of the law would soon annihilate all generous feeling. Children would be trained up with the idea that humanity is not a Sabbath virtue, and the constant resistance of the tender feelings would harden the heart, and mankind in time