Now let it be remembered that at present the custom for the Egyptian women, as well as those of other eastern countries, is to veil their faces somewhat in the manner here represented. Why then should Abram have been so anxious because the princes of Pharaoh’s house saw his wife Sarai? How indeed could they see her face, and discover that she was handsome, if she had been veiled according to the custom of the country now? The question is answered by the monuments, for here is a representation of the manner in which a woman was dressed in Egypt in ancient times.
It seems therefore that they exposed their faces; and thus the scripture story is shown to be agreeable to the manners and customs of the country at the date to which the story refers. It is impossible to bring a more striking and conclusive proof of the antiquity and minute accuracy of the Bible record than this.
The period at which the custom of veiling the faces of women was introduced into Egypt, was probably about 500 years before Christ, when Cambyses, king of Persia, conquered that country. It was but natural that the conquered country should adopt the fashions of the conquering one, particularly as at this period Persia was an empire of great wealth and power, and likely not only to give laws in respect to government, but in respect to manners also. The probability, therefore, that the Bible record was made previous to this event, even had we not other testimony, is very strong, from the fact that it relates, in the story of Abraham and his wife, a tale which implies a fashion which probably never existed in Egypt after the conquests of Cambyses. How wonderful it is, that these mute monuments, after slumbering in silence for ages, should now be able to add their indubitable testimony to the truth of that book, which we hold to be the Word of God!
A Drunkard’s Home.
It was a clear morning in April. The ground, bushes, and fences sparkled with their frosty covering. The bare hills and leafless trees looked as if they could not long remain bare and leafless beneath a sky so bright. A robin here and there ventured a short and sweet note, and earth and sky seemed to rejoice in the scene. The path that led to the village school was trod by happy children, whose glowing cheeks and merry voices testified that they partook of the general gladness.
In the same path, at a distance from a group of neatly-dressed and smiling children, was a little girl, whose pale, soiled face, tattered dress, and bare feet, bespoke her the child of poverty and vice. She looked upon the laughing band before her with a wistful countenance, and hiding behind her shawl the small tin pail she carried, lingered by the fence till the children were out of sight, and then, turning into another road, proceeded to perform her usual errand to a grocery called the Yellow Shop. The bright, calm morning had no charm for her. Her little heart felt none of the lightness and gayety the hearts of children feel when nature is beautiful around them. She could not laugh as they laughed; and as the sound of their merry voices seemed still to linger on her ear, she wondered that she could not be as happy as they.
And then she thought of the dreariness and poverty of her home, of the cruelty of her father, of the neglect and unkindness of her mother, of the misery of the long, cold winter through which she had just passed, of the hunger which her little brothers and herself often felt; she thought of the neat appearance of the children she had just seen, and then looked upon her own dress, torn and dirty as it was, till the tears filled her eyes, and her heart became sadder than ever.
Mary, for that was the name of the girl, possessed a degree of intelligence above what her years seemed to warrant; she knew what made those happy children so different from herself. She well knew that they would spend that day in school, learning something useful, while she would spend it in idleness at home, or in trying to quiet the hungry baby, and please the other children, while her mother was picking cranberries in the meadow. Mary knew she was that very morning to carry home something that would make her mother cross and wholly unmindful of her destitute children.