died a natural death. The Hijra, or the Flight to Medina, from which event the Mohammedan era dates, took place in July, 622 A.D. On his way to this city of refuge he met an Arab tribe, the Beni-Sahm, and succeeded in converting them to his views. Their chief, as if divining the necessities of the case, took off his turban, bound it to his lance for a standard, and marched with his whole tribe as an escort to the prophet. Mohammed thus entered Medina, not as a lonely fugitive, but with an air of importance and power. Here he built his first mosque and instituted religious forms of worship. With considerable skill he organised rules of fraternity and mutual help amongst his followers, he assiduously fostered their growing enthusiasm for his now advancing cause. During the first year of the Hijra, he proclaimed war as a divinely-appointed means of spreading the faith. His first efforts in this line were of a questionable character; he longed to avenge himself upon his Meccan foes, but, being too weak to engage them in open warfare, he consoled and enriched himself by plundering their caravans. As the prophet shared the spoil with his followers, other motives than those of faith and devotion animated the eager recruits that flocked to his standard. At length he was enabled to take the field against the Meccan army; victory attended his arms. In this, his first battle, he personally had no share; like Moses of old (Exod. xvii. 9-12) he struggled in prayer to God whilst his followers were engaged in the deadly strife. After this, other contests followed with varying results; but the grand crisis came; the prophet, with an army of 10,000 men, suddenly appeared before the walls of Mecca; the inhabitants, finding resistance useless, accepted him as their sovereign and teacher. Forthwith the Kaabà was purged of its 360 idols, and Islam became the creed of the holy city. In the meantime, the Moslem forces spread themselves over the provinces, demolishing idol-temples, and at the point of the sword propagating the victorious faith. Only a little before this, Mohammed issued

mandates to eight foreign potentates, calling upon them to accept his religion and bow before his divine commission. Amongst the sovereigns thus addressed were the Roman Emperor, the Kings of Persia and Abyssinia, and the Governor of Egypt. That these missives provoked, for the most part, the ridicule and contempt of their royal recipients is only what might have been looked for; but this did not alter the stern fact that the standard of the prophet was destined to float over the fairest portions of the countries ruled by those scoffing potentates.

Singularly rapid had been the advance of Islam since the memorable Hijra: at the close of the first twelve years of his mission, Mohammed was a despised fugitive with a handful of followers; at the end of the next ten years, which proved to be the end of his life, he, as a sovereign and a prophet, rejoiced in the homage of myriads of his fellow-men. In the last year of

his life he paid his last visit to Mecca in company with 40,000 pilgrims. Some months later the hand of death was upon him. The closing scenes in the lives of men like Buddha and Mohammed are fraught with interest; in each of these cases the interest is of a touching character. We have seen how the great

carnal force had formed no

founder of Buddhism passed away; feature in his operations, love to his fellows and self-denial had ever marked him; he died in the midst of patient, loving toil; but he knew of neither God nor hope, so the last words which lingered on his lips were, All things are transient!' How died the founder of Islam? But a few days before his end, when he felt the end was approaching, he raised himself from his bed and, supported by a slave, in the dead of night, retired to the burialplace of Medina; standing there, he said the option had been given to him to remain in the world or depart to his Lord; he declared that the latter was his choice. He then offered a prayer for the dead, and returned to his home. During the last day of his life he gave liberty to his slaves, distributed alms to 6 then looked to heaven and cried, God stand with me

the

poor,

ކ

in the agony of death!' A little while after he expired in the arms of Ayesha, his favourite wife, with the words, To the highest companion in heaven!' The Christian mind can hardly help reverting to another death-scene, occurring, chronologically, midway between the two just spoken of, and, as we watch the meek Sufferer's mien, as we listen to his wondrous utterances, as we behold his bowing head and catch his glorious expiring 'It is finished!' can we but exclaim, Thanks be unto God cry, for His unspeakable gift!'

6

We must accord sincerity to Buddha, we may accord it to Mohammed; but neither the one nor the other could in the hour of death rejoice in a finished work. The Arabian Prophet, indeed, in his last illness, seemed to be haunted with an impression of the incompleteness of his work. When dying he felt that emendations and additions were called for in the revelations of which he had been the medium. It is recorded that, in his last moments, he called for writing materials, and essayed in vain to add a new chapter to his former inspired teachings. He predicted, also, coming strifes and divisions; he predicted that his followers would be rent into no fewer than seventy-three differing sects..

An apology is needed to such of our readers as may deem the preceding sketch of Mohammedanism superfluous and irrelevant. We almost doubt ourselves whether we have not been guilty of an unwarrantable digression. Should, however, a portion of our readers feel that it has helped them the better to understand the conditions of that religious struggle which the Moslem invasion forced upon India, we shall not altogether regret the seeming irregularity.

1 He seems to have had an odd notion of an analogical necessity for this; he argued, with what historical accuracy does not appear, that, as the Jewish Church had been divided into seventy-one sects, and the Christian Church into seventy-two, the professors of Islam must in their divisions add one to the last number. The prophet's foresight, however, fell short of the reality, for it appears there are no fewer than 150 sects in the Mohammedan community. See Hughes's 'Notes on Mohammedanism,' p. 43.

Of the predicted sects of Islam, only four have prominently figured in the history of India; these are the Sunnis, the Shiahs, the Sufis, and the Wahabees. The Sunnis pride themselves on their orthodoxy; they comprise among themselves four sections, each of these being founded by one of the four great doctors of Islam-Shafii, Hanifa, Malik, and Hambal. They have good ground for their claim of superior orthodoxy, for they yield implicit allegiance, not only to the teaching of the Koran, but to the whole body of tradition as set forth and expounded by those four distinguished authorities. Their position in relation to the other sects is pretty much the same as that of the Roman Church with regard to the Protestant communities. Their name, Sunni, is derived from Sunnah' (tradition), and denotes their religious subjection to traditional teaching.

The Shiahs bow before the Koran and such of the traditions as trace their origin to the inspired prophet, but they reject all the rest. The chief ground of contention, however, between the Shiahs and the Sunnis relates to the Khaliphs, the successors in office to the prophet. The Sunnis acknowledge Abubakr, Omar, and Othman-the first two being Mohammed's fathers-in-law, the third his son-in-law-as the legitimate vicegerents. The Shiahs, on the other hand, reject these as usurpers, and accept Ali, husband of Fatima, the prophet's daughter, and the fourth in the Sunni order of succession, as the first of the true Imams (Khaliphs). Some of the Shiahs attribute to Ali divine characteristics; they say that Allah (God) was in some mysterious way united with him. He and his two sons, Hassan and Hussain, are said to have been assassinated; the Shiahs commemorate this event by the fast of the Mohurram, a period of wailing and lamentation extending over ten days. In other respects also this body of dissenters differs from the orthodox Sunnis; the most interesting feature of this difference relates to the last of the

The term Shiah, implying party or sect, was evidently given to them by their opponents; they call themselves, Adliyah, 'the rig tful society.'

Imams and the consummation of all things. The Shias, beginning with Ali, count twelve successors to the prophet, the last of these was Abu Kasim. The Shiahs maintain that he did not actually die, they believe that he is still alive, but kept in concealment until the great day of his manifestation, as fixed by the Almighty, shall arrive; his appearance will take place in the last age of the world, and the result of his return will be the conversion of all nations to the worship of the true God. The Sunnis agree with the Shiahs in looking for the universal triumph of the faith before the end comes; but in two important particulars their expectations differ from those of the Shiahs; they deny the return of Abu Kasim as the Imam Mahdi, and their idea of the conversion of the world involves the total subjugation of all tribes and creeds to the faith of the prophet of Arabia. The views of the Shiahs are more catholic and charitable-they believe that the final triumph of truth will be brought about by an amalgamation of Mohammedanism and Christianity. The Sunnis, in point of numbers, vastly preponderate over the Shiahs; it is estimated that in India not more than one-tenth of the Moslem population belongs to this latter division.

The Shiah type of Islam has been for many centuries the national faith of Persia. Six hundred years ago the Sufi sect had its origin in that country. It was an outcome of Shiahism, but diverged much more widely from orthodox tenets than did its dissenting parent. Very special interest attaches to the views of the Sufis, inasmuch as we behold in them a reflection of the Vedanta philosophy of India. The history of their contact with this philosophy would seem to be thus: Zoroaster, the great Persian sage, who flourished somewhere about the era of Buddha, undoubtedly borrowed largely from the Vedantist school of thought; the Sufis in turn caught their peculiar tinge of doctrine from the religion which he founded. The reader has only to recall to mind what, in a previous chapter, was said of