The little boy was saved by his aunt, Jehosheba, and when six years had passed and the boy was seven years of age, being twelve months old when he was snatched from impending ruin, Jehoiada called the rulers together and all the chief and mighty men of Israel. He then revealed the secret to them.
Having disposed these dignitaries in military order and with military precision around the person of the young king, Jehoiada brought the crown and put it upon his head, and he gave him the testimony or Book of Leviticus; and, having gone through all this ceremonial process, the young king stood upright by the pillar of inauguration in the Temple, and all that great throng then clapped their hands and shouted: “God save the king!” Louder the shout rang till the queen heard it in her own house, which was not far off.
“The nearer the church, the farther from God,” has been wittily said.
Athaliah hastened to the sacred place to know the reason of this hilarious tumult, and when the case was made clear to her she shrieked and cried:
“Treason! Treason!”
But her voice found no echo in the hearts of men. Not a soul fluttered—not a heart started up in the royal defense. The woman—the evil daughter of an evil mother—was taken out by the way along which the horses came into the king’s house, and the sword which she had thrust into the throats of others drank her own blood.
In an event of this kind there must be some great lessons for all time. These are not merely momentary ebullitions of wrath or malice. They have history in them; they are red with the common blood of the whole race.
Very few men stand out in ancient history with so fair and honorable a fame as good Jehoshaphat. It is like a tonic, intellectual and spiritual, to read his vivid history. He was a grand king—long-headed, good-hearted, honest and healthy in purpose of doing wondrous things for his kingdom and for the chosen of God.
But is there not a weak point in every man? Does not the strongest man stoop? Does not great Homer sometimes nod?