“Pardon my earnestness; it made me forget thy inexperience!
“Well, God rewarded their constancy, and they became the parents of my Mary. The father had a noble ancestry; but, what is better, within himself a royal heart. He bore by right the priestly office; but that was not much to such a man, in respect to worldly gain. Honest priests in his time were generally poor; the priestly preferments went, most richly laden, to those who dealt corruptly, and truckled to the ruling powers. Mary’s father was above sordidness and simony. He had little to give or to leave to his beloved, but he left his child a good name and the remembrance of the blessed. So while God chose the humble to confound the mighty, and serenely exalted those of low estate, He was mindful to choose His elect from the ranks of the morally great. Such are found in all places and times, and when surrounded, as were these pious parents, by the gross, low and selfish, they shine with transcendent splendor. In Tisri, the first month of the Jewish civic year, while the smoke of the holocausts were ascending, to invite heaven’s pardon, Mary, who was to bring forth the world’s greatest offering for sin, was born at Nazareth. Her career was fore-ordained, and she was soon walking her course of piety and sorrow. Though inexperienced and tender-hearted, sorrows in heaviest, grimmest forms fell upon her. Her father died when she was, it is said, only nine years of age; not long after, the girl knelt, a mourner, by the bier of her mother; the golden hairs of youth mingling, in the disheveling of utter grief, with the gray, which crowned the queen and guide of her heart, her mother. On the threshold of her life Mary’s parents were called away from her, leaving her no heritage but their precepts and example. They say that Jehoikim’s hands were stretched out, as in benediction, when he died, and so remained until his burial, reminding all that his last act was a commendation of his little daughter to Him who carries the lambs in his bosom! The picture of these outstretched hands, and of the girl embracing the aged dead mother, are often in my mind; they never fail to deeply move me. Poor orphaned lamb!”
Miriamne brushed away a tear, a sort of self-pitying tear. She ran forward in mind, to the day when she, herself, would be orphaned, without a benediction, or, perhaps, a cheering memory. Then she questioned:
“Did your Mary have other friends?”
“Yea, her Heavenly Father. It is said, also, that she was cared for by the elders of the people, and religiously trained under the very shadows of the Temple. We may readily believe this; for, in her after life, she evinced a self-possession in adversity that witnessed of a thorough religious culture. If there was no other evidence, her splendid poem, the ‘Magnificat,’ would convince any seeking proof, that Mary had had surpassing benefits and privileges in the study of God’s words, as well as in the best learning of her people, the Jews. But, Miriamne, I’ll weary thee; let us turn toward thy home.” Presently they stood not far from the old stone house of Rizpah; then Von Gombard drew from under his mantle a roll of writings. “Here, take and read. After its perusal I’ll see thee again.” So saying, the old priest lifted a hand in blessing, and then moved away toward his abode.
CHAPTER XX.
THE WEDDING, THE BIRTH AND THE FLIGHT.
“Seraph of heaven; too gentle to be human,