Naomi

by Mrs. J. B. Webb

CHAPTER XXIV.

The immediate effect of the strict blockade which Titus had established was to carry the horrors of famine to their height. Whole families lay expiring together, and the streets were strewn with the bodies of the dead and dying. None wept over them—none buried them. No cry was heard in the streets, for the wretches had not strength to complain: they lay in a state of mute anguish, waiting unheeded by those whom once they loved, for the last expiring pang. The only sounds that broke the oppressive silence of that city of death, were the bands of robbers forcing open the houses in search of food and plunder, or the blows which they wantonly inflicted on the dead bodies that were scattered on every side. For some time the soldiers made an attempt at burying the corpses, as they feared their exposure might occasion a pestilence; but they soon became too numerous, and then they threw them over the walls into the trenches below. Even this precaution ceased ere long, and the whole city was poisoned with the odour as of a vast charnel-house. The way to the walls was actually choked with dead bodies; yet still the soldiers both of John and Simon went trampling over them to man the fortifications, with a desperate courage and hardened indifference.

At this time another crime was added to the awful catalogue of Zion's sins. The high-priest Matthias was slain on a pretended charge of holding a correspondence with the Romans; and the cruelty of the act was enhanced by the three sons of the venerable old man being first massacred before his eyes. This sacrilegious murder at length excited in the populace a determined resolution to shake off the tyrannical yoke under which they had so long groaned in silence. One of their number, named Judas, conspired with several others to betray one of the towers to the enemy. They made the offer of surrendering it, but the Romans had learned to be suspicious of such overtures, and hesitated to take advantage of it. While they paused the conspiracy was revealed to Simon, and instant vengeance overtook Judas and his accomplices. They were slaughtered, and their bodies cast down to those with whom they had been parleying. This plan being defeated, the wretched people again began to desert in multitudes; but their sufferings did not always end with their reaching the Roman camp, for many of the famished creatures so eagerly devoured the food which was presented to them by the soldiers that they died in agony. Others perished yet more miserably. They were suspected of having swallowed their gold and jewels before they left the city; and to obtain this wealth the Arabian and Syrian allies seized a large party of the deserters, and actually cut them open alive, and searched for the treasure.

When this inhuman proceeding reached the ears of Titus he was filled with indignation, and would have ordered his cavalry to surround and slay the murderers, but that their great numbers deterred him from such an act of justice. He however denounced death against whoever should in future be guilty of such barbarity but the love of gold was in many instances greater than the fear of detection, and the crime was not entirely prevented.

The calamities of Jerusalem were at their height. What a spectacle of God's righteous vengeance did the proud city now display! Within the walls the rival factions dyed their hands in each other's blood, and in that of their helpless countrymen; and without, the Roman camps covered the surrounding hills. The trumpets and shouts of the armed host resounded through the day, and in the darkness of night their watch-fires were seen gleaming on every side. All the pastoral beauty of the scene had departed. The summer dwellings and garden-houses of the Jewish nobles that so lately were seen among the trees, in every variety of architecture, had been levelled to the ground by the troops of Titus, and the vineyards and shady groves were swept away. The gardens had become a sandy waste, cut up in every direction by trenches and military works, in the midst of which was seen the fatal wall of Titus, effectually shutting out all hope of relief or reinforcement from the beleaguered city. Within its sad enclosure all was dark despair. The daily sacrifice had ceased, for no victims remained to offer, and the sword and famine had fearfully reduced the once crowded population. The dogs and vultures shared their dreadful meal undisturbed, for none ventured into the streets except they were compelled to do so; and then they hurried on as swiftly as possible, to avoid the spectacle of horror that surrounded them, and dreading every moment that the hand of violence would lay them by the side of the mangled corpses that strewed the way, to become the food of birds and beasts of prey, or the objects of insult to the yet more ferocious soldiery. In every street numbers of houses which had been partially destroyed by fire, were abandoned to decay, the doors and windows torn away, and in many instances the roofs fallen in, and the once splendid edifices left to be beaten by the storm and become the habitations of owls and bats. From some of the shattered tenements lights might be seen gleaming through the fissures in the walls, and showing that they were yet peopled with miserable human beings.

Among the desperate men who passed to and fro through these desolate streets were many who even yet retained that natural vividness of countenance for which their nation ever were distinguished; but it was hardened by ferocity, and the keen black eye scowled darkly, while the compressed lip spoke of desperate thoughts and the firmness of despair. Then there were hurried gatherings of these insurgents, frequently ending in fierce quarrels and murders in the open face of day, or in the sudden attack of some house that was yet deemed worth pillaging.

Men and angels might have wept to behold how deeply this city of God, this sanctuary of holiness, was sunk into misery and desolation. But oh! it was the spiritual degradation of her children that called for the deepest pity; it was the spectacle of human nature in all its own depravity, unrestrained by the fear of God or the laws of man; it was the scourge of the Almighty lighting on this rebellious people, and piercing their inmost souls—a faint representation of that eternal punishment, where those who persist in rebellion will suffer and blaspheme for ever, but repent not.

Amid all the crime and all the horror of that siege, there was one event that seemed to surpass every other, and even moved the hearts of those to whom murder was a pastime. Spies were employed by the officers of both John and Simon's party, to bring them intelligence of any provisions that they might discover in the houses of the famishing people; and one day the artful Reuben came hastily to the temple, and informed Isaac that he had observed the smell of food being cooked in the house of his former mistress. He had long ago deserted her, and only visited the house to commit fresh acts of depredation, or lead others to add to her misery, and take from her and her child the scanty pittance that she was yet able to procure. Isaac summoned a party of his chosen companions in cruelty, and hurried off to the dwelling of Mary, followed by the traitor Reuben. The door was fastened inside, but it soon yielded to the furious blows of the assailants, and they rushed on to the apartment usually occupied by the heiress of Bethezob in the days of her wealth and prosperity, and so well known to Isaac.

It was bereft of all its sumptuous furniture and rich ornaments; the repeated incursions of the robbers had left nothing that was valuable or beautiful. But she who had so often presided in that very chamber, amid a crowd of admiring guests, was there,—yet alas, how changed! Her graceful form reduced to a living skeleton, her lovely features sunk and disfigured, and all that had given a charm to her presence departed. Her eyes burnt with an almost unearthly glare, and on her cheek was a bright hectic spot, the token of fever or delirium.

She sat upon the ground, and when Isaac entered, her head was upon her knees, and her face concealed. She had not heard or heeded the noise of his violent entrance, and moved not until his footsteps on the uncovered marble pavement roused her from her painful reverie. Then she looked wildly up, and starting on her feet, exclaimed, in a hollow and hurried tone,—

"Ah, Isaac, my betrothed husband, are you come at last to claim your bride? I was fairer in those happy days when you first saw me in my pride and my beauty. But hunger and strange thoughts have worn sad ravages upon the form you used to praise."

Isaac did not reply: the memory of other scenes came over his mind, and even he was moved at the sight of the wreck of mind and body before him. Mary continued in the same wandering strain,—

"You see my apartments are not decked for our wedding, Isaac; the spoilers have taken away all my goodly furniture. But, Isaac," she added in a whisper, while she laid her wasted hand upon his arm, "I have a feast prepared—a wedding feast! Do not tell your comrades, for there is not enough for all. I have eaten and am satisfied, and I have reserved the rest for you. See here!"

FAMINE AND MADNESS.

She drew him towards a couch at the end of the room, and raised the corner of the hangings. There he beheld the mangled body of a little child which had been roasted, and from which part of the flesh had been torn and devoured.

The bloodthirsty, the cruel Isaac drew back with a cry of horror, and a shudder passed through his powerful frame, while the blood curdled in the veins of his companions, who had followed closely, in the hope of partaking in the expected meal.

"Why do ye tremble?" cried Mary, fiercely: "his mother has eaten, and will not you? Oh! do ye say that I murdered him? my beautiful, my beloved! Did ye see me give him that last embrace, and did ye behold his sweet blue eyes as they smiled at me through their tears? I held him to my bursting heart, but the demon within me strangled him—it was not I that did it. Oh do not look so loathingly at me—it was the fiend that has so long possessed my soul. It was famine, Isaac, that drove me to it. It was better that his mother's hands should take away his life, than that her eyes should see him pine away and die for want!"

"Let me go, unnatural monster in a human form!" cried Isaac, bursting from her grasp; for she held his arm with the strength of a maniac, and fixed her fiery eyes upon him with a gaze that made his blood run cold. "Let me go, ere I plunge this dagger to thy heart."

"Oh, that would be the kindest deed that you could do for me," answered the wretched mother; "God and man have deserted me, and devils possess my soul. Here, give the fatal stroke, and end the miseries that I have no power to endure."

She sank at his feet, exhausted with her wild emotions and the effort she had made. Her eye was fixed on him, as he retreated slowly from that once radiant and joyous being, who now lay crushed beneath a load of misery and guilt. Ere he reached the door he turned again, and saw that the fire of that eye had fled, and the features were fixed in death.

Isaac and his fierce companions retraced their steps to the temple, and though they stepped unheedingly over many a livid corpse that lay in their path, yet they could not recall the dying look of the lonely heiress of Bethezob without a shudder. But the impression soon died away, and they again busily engaged in the strife and violence and ruthless war that filled the city.

For two days the scanty portion of food that Naomi was able to procure and reserve for her little favourite remained untouched; David did not appear, and she became very uneasy. She could not go out to seek him, for her father had strictly prohibited her from venturing beyond the gates of the house; and the alarm she had experienced on the day she went to the garden made her dread to expose herself to a similar danger. She waited anxiously until Zadok came home on the second evening, and then besought him to go to Mary's dwelling with some of his attendants, and ascertain whether she and her child yet lived, or whether either want or violence had put a period to their existence. Zadok was evidently distressed at her inquiries, and at length told her that they had both expired: but his manner bespoke something more than his words declared, and Naomi entreated him to inform her of all that he knew of the wayward Mary and her lovely little boy. Her father had heard the dreadful story of their death, for it had spread through the city, and caused a thrill of horror in every one who heard it; but he wished to avoid shocking the ears of his daughter with such a revolting account. Her inquiries however were so urgent, that he was compelled to own to her that David had expired by the hands of his mother, and that despair and misery had then speedily terminated her existence. More than that he did not disclose to her; but that was sufficient to fill her with grief and horror. She could not but weep at the sad fate of the engaging child in whom she had taken so much delight; and still more at the thought of the frantic state of misery to which his mother must have been reduced ere she could have committed so dreadful a deed. An asylum had been offered to Mary in the house of Zadok, when distress had first begun to be felt in the city; and though she had then rejected it with some contempt, and preferred trusting to her own resources, the offer had been renewed more than once. But Mary was too proud to accept it; she knew that her whole mode of life had ever been opposed to the purity and simplicity that marked the family of Zadok; and in the presence of Salome and her daughter she felt a restraint that was extremely irksome to her spirit. Her mind was weakened by suffering and constant privation; and she sat in her desolate house, brooding over her sorrows and fears until reason forsook her, and she was left a prey to passion and despair—an awful example of the depth of depravity to which the human mind may sink when unsupported by God's preventing grace, and a dreadful fulfilment of the worst of those woes that had been pronounced by the prophets of old on the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

Salome's feeble remains of strength were daily declining, and she blessed the Lord who was so mercifully removing her from scenes of horror that harrowed her soul. The miserable death of her relative Mary and the little David preyed upon her mind, and she passed a restless night. Zadok and Naomi had not retired to rest, though it was past midnight, when they were all startled by a tremendous crash which appeared to come from the wall beyond the temple, where the greatest part of the Roman army was posted, and where they had just completed another set of military engines to replace those which had been destroyed by the bold stratagem of John. They listened in breathless anxiety, and expected every moment to hear the shouts of the Romans and the sounds of a desperate conflict. But nothing reached their ears until the day dawned, when Zadok hastened to discover the cause of their alarm. The noise had been occasioned, as he feared, by a large portion of the wall having fallen. It had been shaken by the blows of the engines during the preceding day, and the subterranean passage which John had dug to undermine the works of the enemy passed beneath that spot. It sunk, and the massy wall fell, leaving a heap of ruins.

The Romans rushed to the breach as soon as daybreak enabled them to perceive it; but they were disappointed in their hopes of an immediate entrance, by finding that John had, with great foresight, caused a second wall to be built within, as a precaution against the event which had just occurred. This new erection was, however, of no great strength, and Titus exhorted his men to make a vigorous effort to scale it. A Syrian, named Sabinus, volunteered to attempt the perilous enterprise, and eleven others followed his example. With their shields held over their heads, they pressed forward in spite of the shower of darts, and arrows, and stones that were hurled upon them from above. Sabinus had actually reached the summit of the wall when his foot slipped, and he fell on the inside. Instantly he was surrounded, and though he rose to his knees, and made a valiant defence, he was soon overpowered and slain. Three of his followers were also killed by stones, and the remainder carried back, all severely wounded, to the camp.

But the Romans were not discouraged. Two nights after the falling of the wall, Marcellus resolved to make a second effort to scale the breach and wall. His heart was wrung with agony at the protracted sufferings of the wretched Jews, and it died within him when he thought what might already have been the fate of Naomi. The only chance which seemed to remain of rescuing her, or any of her countrymen, from destruction, was for the besiegers to gain an entrance into the city ere famine and strife had completed the work of death that was going on within the walls. Twenty of the soldiers of the guard consented to follow him, with a standard-bearer and a trumpeter. He was also accompanied by his valiant father, who gloried in his son's intrepidity, and insisted on sharing the enterprise. Soon after midnight they passed silently through the ruins and reached the wall. They mounted it undiscovered by the guard, who had fallen asleep overpowered with fatigue. They were instantly slain, and then Marcellus commanded the trumpeter to sound a loud and stirring blast from the wall which was already gained. The sound aroused the other sentinels, and those appointed to guard the wall. They saw that the enemy had surprised them, but they knew not that the party was so small, and in a momentary panic they fled.

Titus also heard the victorious sound of the trumpet, and the shout of the triumphant band. He hastily summoned his officers and a strong party of soldiers, and hurried to the wall, where by the light of torches he saw his gallant young friend and his veteran father standing on the wall, where they had planted the standard of Rome. Marcellus informed him that the Jews had fled, and Titus with his troops succeeded in surmounting the wall and scaling the tower of Antonia before the affrighted Jews made any attempt to oppose them. They fled to the temple when they saw the enemy entering the tower, while numbers of the Romans gained access to the street below, by means of the opening into the subterranean passages that had been made by John underneath the wall, the entrance to which was now abandoned by the besieged.

The Romans passed through the deserted Antonia, and made a furious attack on the temple; but here they met with a determined resistance from the followers of John, while Simon's party hastened to join them, and both factions united in their efforts to repulse the enemy and drive them back to the tower. Neither party gained any great advantage with their swords and spears, but at length the Jews came out and met their assailants sword in hand. Then the narrow passages were soon crowded with the dead and wounded, and the soldiers climbed over heaps of bodies to rush upon their antagonists. Ten hours did this deadly conflict last; when Titus finding it was impossible to force his way into the temple, withdrew his men, well satisfied with having gained possession of the fortress of Antonia. He loaded Marcellus with grateful praises for his gallant and most successful enterprise, and desired him to name his own reward, when the young Roman immediately demanded that when the city was taken, Zadok and his family should be spared; and requested Titus to give strict orders throughout the army that his house should be respected and left in undisturbed security, until the inhabitants could be removed to a place of safety.

Titus readily acceded to this request, and the situation of the priest's dwelling was carefully described to the troops, who were commanded not to enter it on pain of instant death.

It was early in the month of July when the Antonia was taken. Titus gave orders that the magnificent tower should be razed to the ground, and an easy ascent made for his whole army to march up the hill on which it was built. He then resolved to make one more attempt at persuading the obstinate insurgents to surrender or to meet him in open battle, by appealing to their religious feelings, which he believed yet to exist in undiminished force. He knew that it was a day appointed in the Jewish law for a great sacrifice; but no victims remained to be offered, and the people feared to enter the temple. He therefore sent Josephus to speak with John, and offer him a free egress from the sacred edifice, if he would come forth and fight, and thus save the temple from pollution. Josephus having placed himself in a secure situation, delivered the message to John, and further besought him to spare his country, and not to cause the most holy sanctuary to be destroyed by fire, which the Romans were ready to apply to it. Some of the Jews were moved by his address, which John perceiving, immediately replied to him with many insulting words: and told him that he never entertained the slightest fear of the temple being injured, as it was the dwelling-place of Jehovah, and He would protect it. He then cursed the renegade Jew for his cowardice and treachery, and while Josephus with tears and sobs endeavoured to make an impression on his countrymen, John sent out a party of men to seize upon him, and bring him into the temple. In this he was, however disappointed, for Josephus escaped, and rejoined the Romans in safety.

When Titus saw that he could neither persuade the Jews to take pity on themselves and their families, nor to regard the sanctity of the temple, he was compelled against his will to resume the siege. He resolved on an attack in the darkness of night; and finding the place too narrow for his whole army to act together, he selected thirty men from each century, and informed them that Cerealis should take the command, while he would overlook them from one of the towers of Antonia that yet remained uninjured. His presence always acted as a powerful stimulus to the bravery of his soldiers, and he would have led them himself to the attack had not his officers entreated him to refrain from such an exposure of his person. For their sakes he gave up the command to Cerealis; but he proclaimed that his eye would be upon the combatants, and that he should reward every act of individual courage. Led on by the hope of earning their general's approbation, the troops advanced to the temple walls at the ninth hour of the night. They did not, however, find the sentinels again sunk in sleep as they had expected, but the garrison were all on the alert, and ready to repel their attack, They rushed out in large bodies, and the Romans sustained the shock unmoved. Those who followed in the obscurity of the night mistook their own comrades for the enemy, and multitudes of the Jews fell by the swords of their own fellow-soldiers. When day dawned on the bloody scene, the fight was carried on with greater equality, and was maintained for eight hours. The Romans fought for honour and promotion, and every man strove to distinguish himself above his comrades, and merit the reward promised by the general; but not a foot of ground was gained; and at length the combatants on each side, weary of such continued and fruitless exertions, gave up the contest, and retired to their respective quarters.

A considerable part of the Antonia was levelled, and in seven days the Romans had constructed a broad road up the steep ascent, and fortified it strongly on each side. When they had thus cleared the way to the temple wall, they began to raise mounds; and notwithstanding the great difficulty of procuring timber, and the constant annoyance to which they were exposed from the attacks of the Jews, they succeeded in erecting embankments against four different parts of the outer court.

Day by day the destruction was carried on, while the horror-stricken inhabitants of Jerusalem trembled at the progress of the foe. Many still cherished a vain confidence that the holy temple would never be suffered to fall into the hands of the heathen, but that the Lord of Hosts would yet manifest His power and save the sacred edifice from ruin. Among these Zadok was the most sanguine, and he and Javan still cheered their companions with words of hope and encouragement. They both passed their time within the temple walls, giving all their aid in its defence, while the daily combats were carried on. At night Zadok always returned to his home, and saddened the sinking hearts of his wife and daughter and the terrified Deborah with the account of the operations of the enemy and the slaughter of their own defenders. They anticipated the evils which he believed would never be realized; and amid his many feelings of grief at the evidently approaching death of his wife, one of the strongest was a deep regret that she should be taken away before the glorious appearance of Messiah, and not share with him in all the triumph and prosperity of the promised kingdom. Once he expressed this regret to Salome, who regarded him with an earnest expression of sorrow, while he spoke with ardour of the blessed days that were yet reserved for Zion.

"Oh, Zadok," she replied, "talk not to me of our country's prosperity. Alas! that is yet far distant, and we can hope to see nothing but her woe, even though our days should be prolonged beyond the time allotted to man. I am about to leave you, my beloved Zadok, and all my hopes are fixed on the joys of a better world than this. I know that you will deeply grieve at my departure, and I could not think of our separation with calmness, were it not for the confiding hope I feel, that ere long you will join me where we shall never part again."

"I cannot bid you banish these sad thoughts, my Salome," replied her husband, with much emotion, "for I cannot shut my eyes to the dreadful certainty that I shall soon be left alone. May all your future hopes be realized, and may our souls dwell together in the presence of God. Yet I could have desired a longer continuance of our union on earth, that you with me might have beheld the Messiah coming in the clouds of heaven to redeem Israel, and to sit upon the throne of David in the glory of Jehovah."

"Zadok, I have learnt to know that Messiah will not appear in glory until he stands in the latter day upon the earth. This is the time of Israel's darkness and dispersion, so clearly foretold by all our holy prophets, and her restitution is yet a long way off."

"Who has taught you to adopt this belief, Salome? I fear that Naomi's wild fancies and expectations have tinged your mind also. You were wont to enter into all the views which I, in common with our most learned men, entertain of the coming of Messiah. Our sacred Scriptures plainly declare that it will be as we expect. The time is already past when our nation began to look for his appearing, and though it has been so long delayed, we have evident tokens that we shall not now look for him in vain. Our land is trodden by strangers, and our people are sunk in the lowest misery. Now—now is the time for the archangel's trump to rend the sky, and proclaim to our trembling foes that He who reigns on high is coming to protect his chosen people from their insolent oppressions! Salome, I look for him each day: and at night while I am watching your broken and uneasy slumbers, I listen for the piercing sound, and look out through the dark sky to catch the first beams of that great light that shall tell of his coming. This supports me through the scenes of horror that I daily witness, and this enables me to mark unmoved the progress of our foes. I know that their course will suddenly and swiftly be arrested when our guilty city has received its measure of chastisement."

"Oh that these glorious but vain expectations would vanish from your mind, Zadok! I would to God that your eyes were opened to the real state and future prospects of our race! Guilty indeed we are. A load of guilt rests upon the seed of Abraham that may not be so quickly expiated. O Zadok! I tremble while I speak, but I must declare the truth. I know that nothing but the blood of Christ can atone for the guilt of the land where that blood was shed, and the blind people who cried, 'His blood be on us and on our children!'"

"Salome!" cried Zadok, starting in surprise and horror; "can I have heard aright? What mean you?"

"Do not look so terribly at me, my own Zadok," replied Salome, in a faltering voice. "Do not curse your dying wife, though she confesses to you that all her hopes of immortality are founded on the merits and death of Jesus of Nazareth. In his atoning blood I trust for the pardon of my sins, and into his hands I am ready to commit my spirit, for he has redeemed me."

"And do I live to hear this declaration from the wife of my bosom?" exclaimed Zadok vehemently. "O God of my fathers, the measure of my sorrow is now full. Salome, Salome, this from you!—you who have walked through the path of life by my side, and never till this hour have caused me one pang of disappointment. I believed that the unsullied faith of Abraham was your support in these your last days on earth, and that when I should depart in the same faith we should meet in Abraham's bosom. Now what is my hope? You have forsaken the Lord to worship a human being, and removed your trust from the Ancient of Days to place it on a crucified malefactor!"

Salome trembled violently. She had expected that Zadok would be greatly distressed at the confession of her belief in Jesus, and therefore she had deferred it from day to day; but she had not anticipated such a burst of grief, and it almost robbed her of all courage to proceed. She looked at the agitated countenance of her husband, and inwardly prayed for strength to support her in this trying moment. The prayer was heard, and her sinking heart was stayed and encouraged. She laid her slender wasted hand on that of Zadok, and while she grasped it with all the force that remained to her as if she feared that he would leave her in anger, she again addressed him.

"Zadok, I have loved you with a deep devoted affection that your unutterable kindness has well merited and well repaid. It has been the object of my life to please you—alas! I fear I have often thought of pleasing you more than the Lord my God. Can you then believe that I have lightly adopted opinions in opposition to yours, and which I knew would give you displeasure and grief? I have long struggled against the convictions that entered my mind many many months ago; but the Lord was too strong for me. He would not let me go on in error and unbelief, but gradually He has dispersed the clouds of prejudice that hung over my soul, and has disclosed to me the way of salvation through his Son Jesus Christ. I could not shut my eyes to the dazzling light of the Gospel, when revealed to me by the Spirit of God. As easily might I look up into the unclouded noonday sky and not see the sun shining in his strength, as read and hear the history of Jesus, and not perceive him to be the Son of God, the promised seed of David."

Zadok did not reply. He feared to give utterance to his feelings, and suffered Salome to continue.

"It was the word of God, written by His servants, and left for the conviction and comfort of His children in all ages, that has wrought this change in my mind. And now, Zadok, listen to my request; it is the last that I may ever have to make to you—let it not be the first that you have ever denied me. In the name of our covenant God I entreat you to read the Gospel—to listen to all that our dear Naomi has repeated to me; and, above all, to pray that the Lord will graciously enlighten your mind to understand and receive the truth. Then I know that you will believe—I know that you will see in Jesus of Nazareth the promised Messiah, who was to grow up as a tender plant, and a root out of a dry ground. Did not the prophet rightly describe him as despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief? Zadok, you know the words of Isaiah; and can you read them without feeling how wonderfully they foretell the sufferings and death of Jesus? Oh, if you would but believe that he was wounded for your transgressions and bruised for your iniquities, you would find rest to your soul, and be filled with such joy and peace, and such humble adoring gratitude, as no other belief could ever inspire. Promise me, my own beloved husband—promise me that you will comply with my request. I am too feeble to speak as I would fain speak to you."

Zadok was moved at her earnestness, and astonished at the boldness and energy that seemed to animate her timid sinking spirit.

"What is there," he cried, "in this new doctrine, which thus seizes on its votaries with such infatuation? Naomi was ever a wayward, enthusiastic girl, and I might have anticipated that she would readily embrace any visionary ideas that were presented to her. But you, Salome, I thought possessed a calmer spirit. Why did you not apply to me when first these doubts began to trouble you? I would have answered them, and restored you to your former stability and faith in our holy religion."

"I feared your anger, Zadok, for I knew how strongly you were opposed to the doctrines of the gospel. But I consulted the law and the prophets, I examined the Scriptures with fervent prayer, and I saw that they all spoke of a suffering Messiah. The descriptions of his lowliness and rejection, his agonies and death, are as full and as minute as any of those passages that foretell his future glory and triumphant reign. Both are the inspired word of God, and both must be accomplished. Jesus has suffered, and died, and ascended alive to Heaven, thus fulfilling all that was declared of his first coming. Christ will hereafter come again in like manner as he went up to Heaven, with the holy angels, and in the glory of his Father. Then shall he sit on his everlasting throne, and then shall be the day of Israel's triumph. They shall look on him whom they have pierced, and mourn because of him, and he will remember his holy covenant with them, and make them once more his own people. Zadok, let us believe in him now, that when he comes, we may also be in the number of his saints, And reign with him for ever. Will you not believe in his name, that name of power and love that can charm away the fears even of a timid heart like mine?"

"Salome, I must leave you," replied Zadok gently. "You are too weak for such a discussion as this, and I see that just now all arguments would be ineffectual. I lament the change that has been wrought in you, but I cannot look on your dear pallid face and feel an emotion of anger. The Lord has permitted this trial to come upon me, and I will try to bear it with composure, and not embitter your last hours by my unavailing regrets that I have been compelled to leave you so much alone with Naomi, and exposed to the influence of her erroneous opinions. May God bless you, and may he bring you back to the right way before it is too late. Oh, if your name should be wiped away from the book of life!—but it cannot be. Your past life of obedience and piety will be remembered, and the Lord will pardon the errors into which you have fallen through weakness."

"Do not go thus sadly, Zadok; listen to me once more, and give me the promise I so fondly ask, that you will seek the truth. O how I have prayed for you!—and I feel as if my prayers would yet be heard. My God has softened your heart towards me, and you do not look at me in wrath and hatred; surely he will do more, he will give you grace to believe his word. Will you read it?"

"I will, Salome. I will read what you call the word of revelation, but which I regard as a tale of imposture. I know that Naomi possesses a copy; and had I ever imagined it would work such ruin in your faith, I would long ago have destroyed it. Since you have read it, and been deceived by it, I will also peruse it attentively—not to believe its contents, but that I may be better able to remove the errors which it inculcates."

"Thank God, my Zadok! Only read it, and your acute judgment will quickly discern its divine truth. You leave me happier far than I have been for months past, for now I have told you the feelings of my inmost soul, and I have a ray of hope that they may yet be shared by you."

Zadok left the room, and immediately sought his daughter in her own chamber. She was engaged in studying the contents of her highly-valued manuscript when her father entered the room, and she laid it down with a look of anxious fear. What was her joy when Zadok informed her of the confession which he had just heard from her mother, and the promise he had given her that he would read the book which had produced so powerful an impression upon her mind! Though this was followed by a severe reproof for the part which Naomi had had in her mother's conversion, and a strong representation of the sorrow which she had thus occasioned to her father, yet she could not conceal her gratitude and delight at what had occurred. She very meekly asked the forgiveness of Zadok for having in this one instance disobeyed him, and acted contrary to his wishes; but she ventured at the same time to speak of her imperative duty to point out the way of life to others, and especially to one so near and dear to her, and not to neglect the opportunity which had been afforded her of leading her beloved mother to embrace those doctrines which had brought light and joy and peace to her own soul.

Zadok was not angry at her boldness, nor did he charge her to refrain from any further conversation with her mother on the subject of their religion. He saw that the faith of both was unalterably fixed, and his was not a heart that could take pleasure in harsh or oppressive measures, when no good result could be hoped from them. He took the roll of parchment, and Naomi blessed the Lord when she saw him place it in the folds of his robe, and leave the room. She hastened to Salome's apartment to rejoice with her in the happy result of her long-dreaded declaration, and to pray that the Holy Spirit would bless to her father's soul the perusal of the sacred volume.

Burning of the Temple