Hezekiah was sick unto death; he prayed for his life; God heard him, and added fifteen years to that lifetime. The prayer saved him, the lump of figs applied being merely the God-appointed human instrumentality.
JEHOIAKIM.
We look in upon a room in Jerusalem. Two men are there.
At the table sits Baruch, the scribe, with a roll of parchment and an iron pen in his hand. The other man is walking the floor, as if strangely agitated.
There is an unearthly appearance about his countenance, and his whole frame quakes as if pressed upon by something unseen and supernal.
This is Jeremiah, in the spirit of prophecy. Being too much excited to write with his own hands the words that the Almighty pours upon his mind about the coming destruction of Jerusalem, he dictates to Baruch, the scribe. It is a seething, scalding, burning denunciation of Jehoiakim, the king, and a prophecy of approaching disasters.
Of course, King Jehoiakim hears of the occurrence, and he sends Jehudi to obtain the parchment and read its contents.
It is winter. Jehoiakim is sitting in his comfortable winter house, by a fire that glows upon the hearth and lights up the faces of the lords, princes and senators who have gathered to hear the reading of the strange document.
Silence is ordered. The royal circle bend forward to listen. Every eye is fixed.