uestions as to the ideas of his sect, but he for his part could make
nothing clear to me except the doctrine of self-annihilation in
prayer, by which the devout worshipper was absorbed into the Godhead;
a doctrine from which flowed naturally the abrogation of stated hours
of prayer, since the mood of absorption could not be had at command.
Sometimes, indeed, silence was the better prayer, and this was the
true explanation of the Talmudical saying: "If speech is worth one
piece of silver, silence is worth two." And this, likewise, was the
meaning of the verse in 2 Kings ch. iii. v. 15: "When the minstrel
played, the spirit of God came upon him." That is to say, when the
minstrel became an instrument and uttered music, it was because the
spirit of God played upon him. So long as a man is self-active, he
cannot receive the Holy Ghost.

The text in Kings seemed to me rather wrenched from its context in the
fashion already nauseous to me in the orthodox schools, but as I had
never in my life had such moments of grace as in my mountain-walks, I
expressed so hearty an acquiescence in the doctrine itself--shocking
to the orthodox mind trained in elaborate codification of the
time-limits of the dawn-prayer or the westering-service--that mine
host was more persuaded than ever I meant to become a Chassid.

"There is no rite," said he reassuringly. "That you desire Perfection
suffices to ensure your reception into our order. At the Supper of the
Holy Queen you will not be asked as to your past life, or your sins,
because your heart is to the Saint as an open scroll, as you will
discover when you have the bliss to see him face to face, for though
he will address all the pilgrims in a body, yet you will find
particular references designed only for you."

"But he has never heard of me before!"

"These things would be hard for one who preaches to his own glory. But
he who lets the spirit play upon him is wiser than all the preachers."

With beating heart I entered the Saint's house on the long-expected
Sabbath. I was ushered, with many other men, into a dining-room,
richly carpeted and tapestried, with a large oak table, laid for about
a score. A liveried attendant, treading with hushed footsteps,
imparted to us his own awe, and, scarcely daring to whisper, we
awaited the great man. At last he appeared, tall and majestic, in a
flowing caftan of white satin, cut so as to reveal his bare breast.
His shoes were white, and even the sn