them, they carry the people with them, producing a lasting impression,
and growing broader and more dignified every day. When they seek
novelties, and appeal purely to the intellect, or attempt to be
philosophical or learned, they fail, whatever their talents. It is the
divine truth which saves, not genius and learning,--especially the
masses, and even the learned and rich, when their eyes are opened to the
delusions of life.

For twelve years Chrysostom preached at Antioch, the oracle and the
friend of all classes whether high or low, rich or poor, so that he
became a great moral force, and his fame extended to all parts of the
Empire. Senators and generals and governors came to hear his eloquence.
And when, to his vast gifts, he added the graces and virtues of the
humblest of his flock,--parting with a splendid patrimony to feed the
hungry and clothe the naked, utterly despising riches except as a means
of usefulness, living most abstemiously, shunning the society of
idolaters, indefatigable in labor, accessible to those who needed
spiritual consolation, healing dissensions, calming mobs, befriending
the persecuted, rebuking sin in high places; a man acquainted with grief
in the midst of intoxicating intellectual triumphs,--reverence and love
were added to admiration, and no limits could be fixed to the moral
influence he exerted.

There are few incidents in his troubled age more impressive than when
this great preacher sheltered Antioch from the vengeance of Theodosius.
That thoughtless and turbulent city had been disgraced by an outrageous
insult to the emperor. A mob, a very common thing in that age, had
rebelled against the majesty of the law, and murdered the officers of
the Government. The anger of Theodosius knew no bounds, but was
fortunately averted by the entreaties of the bishop, and the emperor
abstained from inflicting on the guilty city the punishment he
afterwards sent upon Thessalonica for a less crime. Moreover the
repentance of the people was open and profound. Chrysostom had moved and
melted them. It was the season of Lent. Every day the vast church was
crowded. The shops were closed; the Forum was deserted; the theatre was
shut; the entire day was consumed with public prayers; all pleasures
were forsaken; fear and anguish sat on every countenance, as in a
Mediaeval city after an excommunication. Chrysostom improved the
occasion; and perhaps the most remarkable Lenten sermons ever preached,
subdu