E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Diane Monico,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net/c/).
Special thanks to Legacy Books II, Louisville, KY,
for generously providing the vignette on pg. 13.

"I HUMMED A GAY LITTLE TUNE FOR HIS BENEFIT."

Fair To Look Upon

BY

MARY BELLE FREELEY

WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY

W. L. DODGE

CHICAGO
MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO.

COPYRIGHT:
MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO.
1892

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

A RIPPLE OF DISSENSION
AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

A RIPPLE OF DISSENSION AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

I was about to be married. My numerous charms and attractions had won the affections of a young man who was equally charming with myself.

We were sitting on a luxurious divan and he held my milk-white hand in his. I do not make that statement as a startling announcement of an unusual occurrence, but simply as a matter of fact.

We had been conversing about the culinary and domestic arrangements of our future home when matrimony had made us "one flesh;" or, to use English, we had been wondering what under the canopy a good cooking stove would cost, when he asked suddenly and irrelevantly,

"And you will love me, always?"

"Of course," said I, a little impatiently; for when one is deep in a mathematical problem such a question is a little annoying.

"And you will honor me always?" he next inquired.

"As long as you deserve to be honored," I replied, with the habitual good sense of my age and sex, mentally wondering if granite-ware stewpans went with a cooking stove.

"And you will obey me?" he queried next, in a tone that plainly indicated that I'd have to. I left the mathematical problem for future solution and said, hesitatingly:

"Yes—if—I—can."

"If you can?" he said, in sternly questioning tones; and a cloud no bigger than a man's hand appeared upon the heaven of our love.

"I don't believe a woman ever lived who ever obeyed any one—God, angels, or men," I cried.

"You are a traitor. You slander your sex," he exclaimed, aghast.

"I deny the charge," I replied, springing to my feet, with all the spirit of the above-mentioned age and sex. "By that assertion I only add glory to their fame." He looked at me for a little while, too surprised to speak, and then said, in sarcastic tones:

"Consider our wedding postponed until you have had a little time to study your Bible. Good night."

"'Study your Bible!' That is what everybody says when they want to prove any theory, creed, ism, or anything. I shall study my Bible diligently. Good night," I replied, thinking it was not such very bad advice after all; and then I hummed a gay little tune for his benefit until I heard the hall door close.

And I have studied my Bible with the following result.

THE STORY OF EVE.

THE STORY OF EVE.

Away back when Adam was a young man—now I know that Adam is rather an ancient subject, but you need not elevate your eyebrows in scorn, for you will be ancient yourself sometime—he found himself in Eden one day; he did not know why, but we do, don't we?

He was there because Eve was to come, and it was a foregone conclusion even in that early age that when she did appear she would want some one to hold her bouquet, open the door for her, button her gloves, tell her she was pretty and sweet and "I never saw a woman like you before," you know.

Her arrival was the greatest event the world has ever known, and the grandest preparations were made for it.

A blue sky arched gloriously over the earth, and sun, moon and stars flashed and circled into space, silvery rivers ran cool and slow through scented valleys, the trees threw cooling shadows on the fresh, damp grass, the birds sang in the rosy dawn, the flowers blushed in odorous silence and yet it was all incomplete, and Adam wandered restlessly around like a man who has lost his collar button.

But suddenly a great hush of expectancy fell upon the world. Not a bird fluttered its feathers, the flowers bowed their heads, the winds and the waters listening ceased their flowing and their blowing, the radiant moonshine mingled its light with the pale pink dawn and a million stars paled their eternal fires, as Eve, the first woman, stood in Eden.

And the world was young and beautiful. The first flush and bloom was on the mountains and the valleys, the birds were thrilled by the sweetness of their own songs, the waves broke into little murmurs of delight at their own liquid beauty, the stars of heaven and the unfading blue were above Adam's head—and yet he wasn't satisfied. Long he stood idly in the brightening dawn wondering why the days were so long and why there were so many of them, when suddenly out from the swinging vines and the swaying foliage Eve came forth.

And though there was a vacant look on her lovely face (for her baby soul had not yet awakened) Adam saw that her lips were red and her arm white and rounded and he whistled a soft, low whistle with a sort of "O-won't-you-stop-a-moment?" cadence in the music, and Eve looked up; and I think at that moment he plucked a flower and offered it to her; and of course she did not understand it all, but Nature, not intelligence, asserted her power, and she reached out her hand and took the rose—and then for the first time in the world a woman blushed and smiled; and I suspect it was at that very moment that "the morning stars first sang together."

Woman has never been obedient. She has always had the germ of the ruler and autocrat in her soul. It was born when Eve first looked with longing eyes at the apple swinging in the sunlight.

While Adam was idly, lazily sunning himself in the garden was Eve contented to smell the fragrance of the violets and bask in the starlight of a new world? Oh no! She was quietly wandering around searching for the Serpent, and when she found him she smiled upon him and he thought the world grew brighter; then she laughed and his subjugation was complete; and then the naughty creature, without waiting for an introduction, led him to the famous apple tree, and standing on her tip-toes, reached up her hands and said with a soul-subduing little pout:

"See, I want that apple, but I can't reach it. Won't you please find a club and knock it off for me?" and she looked out of the corner of her eye and blushed divinely.

Now this Serpent represented, so it has always been believed, a very shrewd person. He saw that this woman had no garments, and that after she had eaten this fruit she would know better, and delight in clothes ever after. So he gave her the apple.

Almost instantly after she had eaten some, not because she particularly liked apples, or had any idea of their adaptability in the way of pies, sauce or cider, but because she wanted to "be as gods knowing good and evil," as the Serpent said she would. Discontent with her wardrobe crept into her heart and ambition for something better sprang to life.

"WHILE ADAM WAS IDLY, LAZILY SUNNING HIMSELF IN THE GARDEN."

In the distance stood Adam. With a thrill of rapture she beheld him, her aroused soul flashed from her eyes and love was born, and she ran toward him through the flowers, pausing on the river's brink to rest, for weariness had touched her limbs.

She watched the waters running south out of the garden, and like one coming out of a dim, sweet twilight into a blaze of glory she looked and wondered "why" it ran that way, and lo! Thought blossomed like a rose, and generosity laughed in the sunshine when she put the apple in Adam's hand; and Adam, with the only woman in the world beside him, and the first free lunch before him, forgot all about God and His commands and "did eat," and the results prove that free lunches always did demoralize men—and always will. And modesty blushed rosy red when Adam put the apple to his lips, and invention and ingenuity, new-born, rushed to the rescue, and they gathered the fig leaves.

Then memory like a demon whispered in her ear: "The day that ye eat thereof ye shall surely die." She glanced at Adam and deadly fear chilled the joyous blood in her veins. Then she argued: "He will be less angry with me, a woman, and His vengeance will fall less heavily on me than on the man to whom His command was given;" and lo! Reason rose like a star on the waves of life, and shoulder to shoulder womanly devotion and heroism that fears neither God nor death in defense of its loved ones entered her soul, and she instructed Adam to say: "The woman tempted me," and deception trembled on her lips when she cried: "The serpent did tempt me," and the tears of regret and remorse watered the seeds of deception and they grew so luxuriously that women have always had that same way of getting out of scrapes ever since.

Yet to Eve belongs the honor of never having obeyed any one—when it interfered with progress, advancement and intelligence—neither God, angels nor men.

The women of the nineteenth century make a profound salaam of admiration and respect to Eve, in whom they recognize the first courageous, undaunted pioneer woman of the world.

THE ABRAHAM-HAGAR AFFAIR.

THE ABRAHAM-HAGAR AFFAIR.

"And there was a famine in the land; and Abraham went down to Egypt to sojourn there."

You see Abraham was that charming kind of man—a man with his pockets full of shekels, for "he was very rich in cattle, in silver and in gold." So, as provisions grew short in Canaan, and as in those days when men went on a pleasure trip they took their wives with them, Sarah accompanied him to Egypt.

Up to this time husbands had only been obedient, but in this age they began to be complimentary, and as Sarah and Abraham were about entering Egypt, he said to her, "Behold now, I know that thou art a fair woman to look upon," and even if it is the first compliment on record, we must admit, even at this late day, that Abraham was far advanced in the art of flattery.

Now Sarah was the pioneer, champion, incomparable coquette of the ancient world, and as such deserves our earnest attention.

We gather from the following events that Abraham realized her unequaled proclivities for getting in with kings, landlords and other magnates of the countries through which she was pleasuring, and so he told her to pass herself off as his sister; and because she believed it would enhance her chances of having a good time, and as it was easy, natural and agreeable, she did it, and not because she had any idea of merely obeying her husband.

Abraham wanted their marriage kept secret because, in those days, when a lover-king wished to get rid of an obnoxious husband, he hypnotized him into eternal silence by having him used as a target for a sling, a spear or javelin, instead of causing an appeal to the divorce courts, as they do in this civilized and enlightened generation. And I believe that, after all, the old way is the better one, for when men and women die, they are dead, but when they are only divorced they are awfully alive sometimes.

"AND THE MEN WATCHED TO SEE HER GO BY."

And it came to pass, when they arrived in Egypt, the Egyptians "beheld the woman that she was very fair," and the men watched on the street corners to see her go by; and she passed herself as a giddy maiden with such unrivaled success that she gained a notoriety that would have made the fortune of a modern actress, and the princes of Pharaoh commended her wit, beauty and grace to the king, "and the woman was taken into Pharaoh's house."

The attentive reader will observe that Holy Writ, in speaking of a woman, never deigns to say that she is virtuous, industrious, obedient, or a good cook, but seems to ignore everything but the fact that "she was fair to look upon."

That was all that seemed to be required of the "holy women of old."

And Pharaoh "entreated Abraham well for Sarah's sake" (you notice they did everything to please the ladies in those days), and loaded him with riches, presents and honors; and Pharaoh's wives and sub-wives and cadet wives didn't like it. And the Secretary of the Treasury, the Prime Minister and the High Lord Chamberlain of the Bedchamber didn't like it. The neighbors began to talk openly; the scandal "smelled to heaven;" and the Lord Himself had to interfere to head the fair Sarah off, and He "plagued Pharaoh and his house with great plagues, because of Sarah, Abraham's wife."

And then—after the preliminary amorous clasping of hands, the little caressing attentions, the lingering kisses; after the fiery expectation and the rapture of possession, after all this came—as it always does—the tragedy of satiety and separation.

"And Abraham went up out of Egypt, he, and his wife and all that he had."

"AND THE WOMAN WAS TAKEN INTO PHARAOH'S HOUSE."

Yet Peter, in speaking of the duties of wives, has the temerity to refer to the "holy women of old," and holds Sarah up as a bright and shining example for us to follow, saying, "even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord." But we won't lay this up against Peter, for it is a telling fact (and shows the predicament he was in) that he had to go back nearly two thousand years to find an obedient woman. There were evidently none in his day, but as he wished to make his teaching effective and submit some proof to clinch his argument, he went back to Sarah and said, "even as Sarah obeyed Abraham," which shows he had never gotten at the real facts in the lovely Sarah's career, or else was misrepresenting Sarah to carry his point in favor of the men.

A careful perusal of my Bible convinces me that the "holy women of old," as Peter dubs them, were all afflicted with a chronic determination to have their own way—and they had it.

But the men were always obedient to the women, and each one "hearkened unto the voice of his wife" and also obeyed God and the angels.

At this point in the history of the affable Sarah and the dutiful Abraham we come to the Abraham-Hagar case, and find the hired-girl question already agitating society.

And the historian tells us that Sarah told Abraham that he could have Hagar for his very own, and then the narrator naively remarks, "And Abraham hearkened unto the voice of his wife."

But of course this is a vile slander against Sarah, and, at this late day, I rise to refute the charge.

Probably some of Abraham's political friends, when the disgrace broke forth in all its rosy glory, trumped up this story about Sarah's consent to save his reputation. But Sarah never did anything of the kind, as her subsequent actions prove. It isn't human nature; it isn't wifely nature; and although Sarah was a little gay-hearted herself, she wasn't going to stand any such nonsense—to speak lightly—from Abraham, and when she discovered his intimacy with the hired girl she quietly called him into the tent, and in less than ten seconds she made his life a howling wilderness. I don't know exactly what she said (as I wasn't there), but it ended, as such scenes usually do end, by the dear man repenting. For, since he is found out, what else can a man do? He said he was sorely tempted, no doubt, and so forth and so on to the end of the chapter, and said: "Thy maid is in thy hands; do unto her as it pleaseth thee." And "Sarah dealt hardly with her, and she fled from her face." But she came back, because you remember she met an angel in the wilderness, and he told her to return. Nice advice from an angel, wasn't it?

The next scene in which the lovely Sarah distinguishes herself, and nobly sustains her record for disobedience and a determination to follow the dictates of her own sweet will, was when Abraham entertained the three angels.

Now hobnobbing with angels wasn't an every-day affair, even in that age when angels were more plentiful than they are now.

And Abraham was naturally a little excited, and he "hastened into the tent unto Sarah," and said: "Make ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes upon the hearth;" and he gave orders to a young man to kill a calf, etc. And after a while the supper was served, with all the delicacies the rich and great could afford, and everything appeared that he had ordered—except Sarah's cakes. They were simply and inexplicably non est.

Of course it was a pretty shabby thing for a woman to go back on her husband in his hour of need, and when there were angels in the house too; but she did it, thereby sustaining her reputation for crookedness and general contrariness as a wife.

And yet it has always been preached to us that we should obey our husbands "even as Sarah obeyed Abraham." Well, we're willing, since all she had to do was to look pretty, be agreeable, and do exactly as she pleased.

But the very fact that Sarah has been held up as an example for us to follow proves that the men had not read up her record intelligently, or else in their extremity they were presuming on our ignorance while trying to enforce order and submission.

But that was not the worst of it. When she heard the angel tell Abraham that she should have a son she ridiculed the idea.

She had the germ of the infidel in her heart, and lacked Abraham's credulity, and would not believe anything, even if an angel did say so, unless it was backed up by reason and common sense, and so she laughed behind their backs.

Now it appears that angels object to being ridiculed as well as other folk, and when they heard her giggling they demanded to know the reason of Abraham. It was exceedingly naughty for her to place her husband in such a predicament, and when she found she was getting the whole family into an uproar she denied the charge, which shows that to her other charming and wifely qualities she added the art of equivocating.

After that Abraham "sojourned in Gerar," and again the seductive Sarah charmed the great king, and again the Lord had to interfere and settle the affair.

When Isaac was born Sarah was more exacting and jealous than ever of Hagar, and said to Abraham: "Cast out this bond-woman and her son; for the son of this bond-woman shall not be heir with my son."

"And the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight," but he "hearkened unto the voice of his wife," like the dutiful and obedient husband he was, and he sent Hagar and Ishmael out into the wilderness. And even to this day the women who are guilty of Hagar's crime are remorselessly sent out into the wilderness of desertion, despair and disgrace—and it is right and just!

We are told that "fashions change;" but Sarah inaugurated a fashion that wives have followed to this day, and will follow till the ocean of eternity shall sweep the island of Time into oblivion.

And so endeth the chapter of the second prominent woman of "Holy Writ."

And Abraham was always "obedient," and "hearkened unto the voice of his wife;" and Sarah was a lawless, crafty, coquettish—but never obedient woman.

ISAAC'S WIFE.

ISAAC'S WIFE.

And Abraham said unto his servant, "Thou shalt go unto my country and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac."

But the servant, who was evidently a student of female character and knew

"That when a woman will, she will,
You may depend on it;
And when she won't, she won't,
And there's an end on it;"

said: "Peradventure, the woman will not be willing to follow me unto this land."

Then Abraham, who was a connoisseur in feminine ethics (as he naturally would be, having had such able instructors as Sarah and Hagar) and realized the utter futility of attempting to persuade, bribe or induce a woman to do anything she objected to doing, said:

"And if the woman will not be willing to follow thee, then thou shalt be clear from this mine oath."

So the servant departed and "went to Mesopotamia unto the city of Nahor."

Now it seems in those days the girls of Nahor went outside the city gates every evening, according to Oriental custom, to draw water from a well, and the artful servant of Abraham tarried at the well at sunset, for he knew the girls would be along presently.

It was a lovely eventide. The wind touched caressingly the few dainty flowers drooping their heads in sleepy fragrance, the birds twittered soft words of love to their nestling mates, the departing god of day lavished in reckless abandon his wealth of colors; piled crimson mountains red as his ardent love in the western sky, and robed high heaven in golden glory that his sweetheart—the earth—reveling in and remembering the grandeur of his passion and the splendor of his departure, might not love his silver-armored rival of the night.

About this time the maidens tripped down to the well, where the shrewd servant stood as the "daughters of the men of the city came out to draw water," and prayed:

"And let it come to pass that the damsel to whom I shall say, 'Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink;' and she shall say, 'Drink,' may be the one I am looking for;" or words to that effect.

The words had hardly passed his lips ere Rebekah, with the color snatched from the roses in her cheeks and the grace of untrammeled freedom in her step, skipped down to the well.

And Rebekah "was very fair to look upon." Of course. In relating the history of these examples who have been held up since time immemorial for us to follow, the writers of "Holy Writ" never expatiate upon their virtue, industry, domesticity, constancy or love, but we are simply and briefly told they were "fair to look upon," and the natural logical inference is that we shall "go and do likewise."

Belonging to one of the wealthiest and most influential families of Nahor, of course Rebekah's practiced eye saw at a glance that the handsome fellow waiting at the well and looking the girls over was a person of rank and importance; for it is only a logical conclusion that coming from such a master and bound upon such an errand, he was surrounded by all the trappings and signs of wealth and luxury that the times afforded.

And the maidens of Nahor went outside the city gates partly for the same purpose, I suppose, as that for which the girls of other places go to the parks and matinées nowadays, for it seems to have been a notorious fact that had even spread to other countries, that the girls of Nahor came down to the well in the blushing sunset, and that too, without chaperon or duenna. And I suppose the young men went down too, to flirt with the charming damsels, from the fact that the servant of Abraham tarried there.

And Rebekah, stooping gracefully, filled her pitcher, swung it lightly to her shoulder—and as the woman sometimes takes the initiative in an affair of this kind—smiled upon the willing and ready-looking fellow; not exactly at him, but as it were in his direction, you know; and he caught the faint glint of sunshine on her lips, and then—but in the witching hour when the twilight and sunlight kiss and part, after the smile and look of recognition everyone knows what happens.

And he ran to her and said with the pleasing courtesy of a man of the world:

"Let me, I pray thee, drink a little water of thy pitcher."

Then with the tact of a finished coquette, in three little words she conveyed to him the flattering knowledge that she recognized in him an embassador of power, wealth and luxury, by saying:

"Drink, my Lord."

After that they became acquainted in the most easy, off-hand manner, without an introduction, and yet we are told to follow the example of these pioneers of the race who were always "fair to look upon."

I never in my life heard priest or people condemning her for forming the acquaintance of a stranger without an introduction; she was called one of the "mothers in Israel," and even St. Paul, who was a regular crank about the girls, classed her with the "holy women of old," which proves he didn't know anything about her history or was playing upon the ignorance of his hearers. She was a leader of the ton in Israel, and if in those days they did not banish her from good society, why should we censure the same conduct when we are so much more civilized, enlightened and liberal in our views?

And in an incredibly short space of time he adorned her with earrings and bracelets, and she invited him home with her, and he actually went and made it all right with her mother and big brother by making a prepossessing exhibition of piety, for you remember how he told them "he bowed down his head and worshipped the Lord."

He told them of Isaac, in whose name he sued for Rebekah's fair hand. He didn't say that Isaac was handsome, virtuous, talented or ambitious, but he said, "the Lord hath blessed my master and he is very great; and he hath given him flocks and herds, and silver and gold, and maid servants and men servants, and camels and asses," and unto his son Isaac "hath he given all that he hath," for this astute man of the world seemed to know that the surest and quickest way to win a woman was to show her a golden pathway strewn with the gems of power, luxury and ambition.

And the big brother did not pull out his watch, look at it in a business-like way and say:

"LET ME, I PRAY THEE, DRINK A LITTLE WATER OF THY PITCHER."

"Rebekah, pack your trunk and be ready to take the 6:40 fast express." And her mother did not smile and say, "we're so delighted and honored, I'm sure. Of course she will go." Not at all. They knew better even in those days than to try and coerce or coax a woman to do anything she didn't want to do, and so they simply said:

"We will call the damsel and inquire at her mouth."

Then the servant brought forth jewels of silver and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah; and he gave also to her brother and to her mother precious things, and then we are naively told that Rebekah said:

"I will go."

Rebekah was a woman of decision and knew a good thing when she saw it, and so she did not wait to prepare a stunning trousseau or get out wedding cards and invitations fine enough to make all the girls of Nahor sigh in envy and admiration, but she departed at once. Now Isaac was of a poetical nature, and sought the solitude of the fields at eventide to meditate. Like most young men who have a love affair on hand he wanted to be alone and dream dreams and see visions.

And, as good luck would have it, just at this sentimental and opportune moment, Rebekah hove in sight.

And Isaac lifted up his eyes and beheld her; a woman with heaven in her eyes, a mouth sweet enough to make a man forget everything but the roses of life, and a form seductive enough to tempt the very gods from on high.

And she beheld a man, young and strong and handsome, the touch of whose hand opened the gates of glory to her soul, "and she became his wife, and he loved her," thereby putting himself on record as the first man in the world we have any sacred official notification of as having loved his wife.

So the days and months, brightened by smiles and tarnished by tears, dropped into the wreck-strewn, motionless ocean of the past, and in the course of human events two little boys played marbles in the tent of Isaac, and Rebekah scored the rather doubtful distinction of going on record as the first woman who ever doubled expectations and presented her husband with twins.

At this period the fair Rebekah begins to get in her work as a disobedient wife, a deceitful, intriguing woman and an-all-round-have-her-own-way variety of her sex.

"Isaac loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob," and we conclude from that, as well as from the actual facts in the case, that there were domestic tornadoes, conjugal cyclones and general unpleasantness all round. About this time there was another famine in the land and Isaac and Rebekah (and others) went into the land of the Philistines to dwell, and of course Rebekah's beauty attracted universal attention, and the men of the place questioned Isaac about her and he replied that she was his sister, as he said, "lest the men of the place should kill me for Rebekah," because she was fair to look upon.

In that age it appears when a man fell in love with a woman he killed her husband, instead of hoodwinking and outwitting him as they do in this progressive era, but I suppose in spite of the awful chance of losing her husband by some sudden and tragic death, Rebekah slyly and seductively smiled upon "the men of the place" from the fact that a little farther on we read that the King issued a mandate, saying:

"He that toucheth this man or his wife shall surely be put to death."

The King knew that Isaac was favored of the Lord, and he was afraid of some swift and condign punishment if Isaac became offended by the amorous attentions of any of his subjects to Rebekah, so he gave the order to the men.

You will readily discern by that command that he was a keen and intelligent student of female character, and knew there was no use or reason in appealing to her sense of justice, her obedience to, or respect for law, or her regard for the "eternal fitness of things" in a case of the affections, and so he appealed to the fear and obedience of the men, for he realized that no man's pleading, no King's command, no threats from heaven or fears of hell can stop a woman's coquetry.

A little farther on Esau went the way of all young men and married, and worse than that he married Judith the daughter of a Hittite, "which was a grief of mind unto Rebekah and Isaac."

We know that one of Rebekah's strongest points was putting herself on record for doing something that no woman ever did before that we have any authorized statement of, and she did it in this case by being the first woman who hated her daughter-in-law.

As we read on we find she was not the meek, submissive and obedient wife we are told women should be.

She systematically and continually had her own way, in spite of husband, sons, kings, men, God or angels.

"AND REBEKAH WAS—A WOMAN."

We discover that by a succession of deceptions, tricks and chicanery she cheated Esau out of his blessing, obtained it for Jacob, and deceived and deluded her dying husband, all at one fell swoop.

It is but just to Jacob to say that he objected to putting himself in his brother's place, but Rebekah said, "only obey my voice," and he obeyed—of course.

The men were always obedient, as the Bible proves conclusively. They obeyed everybody and anybody—kings, mothers, wives, sweethearts and courtesans.

But where can we find any evidence of the vaunted obedience of woman?

Not among the prominent women of the Bible at least.

Rebekah influenced her husband in all matters, advanced one son's interests and balked another's aims, prospects and ambitions. In short she played her cards with such consummate skill that she captured everything she cared to take.

Jacob was obedient, complimentary, submissive and loving and Rebekah was—a woman.

A WOMAN'S MONUMENT.

A WOMAN'S MONUMENT.

"And there came two angels to Sodom, at even."

Now Lot and his wife were residents of Sodom, and they entertained in the most courteous and hospitable manner the angels who were the advance guards of the destruction that was about to sweep the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into oblivion, leaving only a blazing ash-strewn tradition to scare the slumbers of the wicked, and stalk a warning specter down the paths of iniquity through unborn ages.

And the softening twilight fell upon the doomed but unconscious cities. Unpitying Nature smiled joyously. The cruel sun, possibly knowing the secret of the angels, gayly flaunted his myriad colors, and disappeared in a blaze of glory without wasting one regret upon the wicked cities he would see no more forever.

No angelic hand wrote in blazing letters one word of warning across the star-gemmed scroll of heaven; but the song rung out on the evening breezes, laughter rose and fell and the red wine flowed; women danced lightly on the brink of destruction and men jested on the edge of the grave.

And yet some rumor of these angels and their errand must have reached the fated cities, for after Lot had dined and wined them before they retired, "the men of the city, even the men of Sodom, compassed the house round, both old and young, all the people from every quarter."

And Lot went out and tried to pacify them, but his eloquence and his pleading were in vain, and they said, "Stand back." And they said again, "This one fellow came in to sojourn, and he will needs be a judge."

"AND LOT WENT OUT AND TRIED TO PACIFY THEM."

And I imagine there was a great tumult and confusion, angry words, flashing eyes and an ominous surging to and fro, "and they pressed sore upon the man, even Lot," but still he pleaded the defense of the angels, and meanly offered to bring out his two young daughters and give to the howling mob—but the passion that glowed in the eyes and trembled in the voices of the raging throng was not a passion to be allayed by the clasp of a woman's hand, the flash of her azure eye, or the touch of her lips; and besides, that boisterous, angry crowd evidently did not believe in the efficacy of vicarious atonement and they flouted the offer. The uproar increased, curses and maledictions rung out, the demand for the men grew louder and louder, and at this perilous moment the angels "put forth their hand and pulled Lot into the house to them, and shut to the door," and "They smote the men that were at the door of the house with blindness, both small and great: so that they wearied themselves to find the door."

And in that crushing moment when eternal darkness fell upon the multitude the cries of anger and revenge died away, and such a moan of anguish and despair burst upon the affrighted night that the very stars in heaven trembled.

Then the angels confided to Lot their dread secret and told him to warn all his relatives to leave the city with him, and he went out and told his sons-in-law of the impending calamity, and he "seemed as one that mocked unto his sons-in-law."

The morning came blue-eyed and blushing, and the angels hastened Lot and his wife, and hurried them out of the city, saying, "Escape for thy life: look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plains: escape to the mountains, lest thou be consumed."

Now if there were any more disreputable people in the cities than Lot's two young daughters, we don't wonder that the vengeance of a just God sent a blasting storm of bursting flames to lick with their fiery tongues these wicked cities from the face of the earth. What does arouse our wonder is that those fair girls with the devil's instincts smouldering in their hearts should be allowed to escape the general baking. But excuse us; our business is to state facts and not to wonder or surmise.

From subsequent facts we suppose that Lot's wife sadly, perhaps rebelliously, lingered, for we find the angels saying again:

"Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything till thou come thither," and they escaped to the city of Zoar, "and the sun was risen upon the face of the earth when Lot entered into Zoar."

"Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven."

But before the end Lot's "wife looked back from behind him and she became a pillar of salt."

All the information we have of Mrs. Lot is exceedingly meager; only one short sentence and two little clauses in other sentences; and yet no figure of history, no creation of a poet's dream or artist's brush since the world, wrapped in the laces of the twilight and the mists, and rocked in the cradle of the first early morning of life, until the present day, old in experience, wrinkled with care, heart-sick with too much knowledge and laughing without mirth, stands out more clearly before the world than Lot's wife—and why?

Because it has been supposed that she was very naughty.

In this world it is the wicked folks who get the glory and the everlasting fame; the good people get the snubs, the crumbs, the eternal oblivion.

The whole history of Lot's wife lies in the fact that she was told by the angel of the Lord to do one thing, and she—didn't do it.

But that is characteristic of the women of old; they systematically didn't do it if they were told to, and systematically did do it if they were told not to.

And Madam Lot "became a pillar of salt," because of her disobedience, and has stood through the centuries a warning statue to naughty females; yes, more than that, for she has seemed a criminal whom just vengeance caught in the very act and turned into a pillar of salt, standing in the plain near Sodom, against a background of shame, crime and punishment, that the eyes of the world of women might look upon forever, and be afraid.

But in this day and age we are beginning to see that in Lot's wife it was a case of mistaken identity, and instead of being a criminal she was a great and good woman, and although the "pillar of salt" commemorates an act of dire disobedience, it also extols a loving heart and a brave act.

Just imagine her position. She was leaving her home, around which a woman's heart clings as the vine clings to the oak, her children, her friends; breaking the ties that years of association and friendship had woven about her in chains of gold, and leaving them to a terrible fate. But stronger than all these gossamer, yet almost unbreakable threads, was the love she bore her husband; a love so intense, so deep that it made her obey a command of God's against which every instinct, passion and emotion of her nature rebelled.

He was going and her daughters were going with him, and womanlike she forsook everything to follow him—the man she loved; the man whose frown could make her heart sore as the wounds of death and agony, and her heaven dark with the clouds of desolation and despair; or whose gentle smile or caressing touch could sweep the mists of doubt and uncertainty from her mind, even as June kisses make June roses blossom, her weary eye glow with the light that love alone can kindle, and clothe rough labor in robes of splendor.

Softly the dawn awoke, gayly fell the sunlight on the doomed cities, and joyously the breezes swept the plains round about Sodom and Gomorrah.

And Lot and his wife and daughters obeyed the command: "Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plains; escape to the mountains lest thou be consumed."

And now with frantic haste Lot's wife urges them on; she even leads the way in her mad desire for their escape, encouraging them by word, look and action. And while her heart is a battle-ground where a desperate conflict is raging, there is no hint of disobedience or rebellion in her eyes, no lagging in her footstep, no tears for love, no sighs for friendship, no backward glance of compassion toward the wicked but dear city.

And now they have come a long way—and suddenly the sunshine grows dark, the wind falls, flutters, dies away; then comes the ominous hush that foretells the bursting storm.

And this woman knows that her daughters and her husband, the lover of her youth and the lover of later years, in short the one loved lover of her life, is safe; safe from the tempest of destruction, safe from the wrath of God. A wave of joy floods her heart at the thought. No harm can touch them; she revels in that assurance for a moment—and then she forgets them.

The white-capped breakers of disobedience against the cruel command "look not behind thee" sweep with crushing force across her soul; the unjust command that stifles compassion. All the angels and demons, the joys and sorrows of life, urge her to turn back; love of children, friendship of old neighbors, regret for the joys that have fled, remorse for the wicked deeds she has done, the unkind words she has spoken, a blind unreasoning rebellion against the fate that has overtaken her friends and home, fight against God's command. And in that awful moment when the furious winds strike her like angry hands, when Fear levels his glittering dagger at her heart, Death holds his gleaming sword before her eyes, the heavens disappear, hell sits enthroned in fiery flames upon the clouds; above the deafening roar of the maddened tempest the crashing thunder that made the very dead tremble in the corruption of their graves, and the awful surging of the blazing rain, she heard God's command ringing out "Look not behind thee."

For an instant she paused to cast an ineffable smile of love upon the cherished ones at her side, and then before the eyes of unborn millions, while all the hosts of heaven and even God himself stood appalled at her daring, she slowly and deliberately turned and looked back; and that one glance showed her a sight that froze her into a beautiful statue of disobedience, love and compassion.

She was loving, tender, daring—but disobedient!

Oh, that we might find one woman in the Old Testament meek and humble, to whom we could pin a faith, not born of teaching and preaching and general belief, that such a thing as a submissive, obedient, tractable woman or wife ever did exist.

ANOTHER OF THE WOMEN OF OLD.

ANOTHER OF THE WOMEN OF OLD.

At the command of his mother, let it be remembered, and not because he had any particular desire to do so himself, Jacob left home and departed unto the land of his mother's people, where she told him to seek a wife.

The life of many men of the Old Testament (after they have reached man's estate, I mean) begins with a love affair, and I infer from that, that the Bible means to teach the lesson that to love is the first and best business of life, as well as the most entertaining and pleasant thing that this world ever did or ever will have to offer.

And Jacob reached the land of Laban, his mother's brother, and stopped by a well where the flocks were watered. This is the second well which figures conspicuously in a love story of the Bible, and we imagine they were the trysting places of the ancient young lovers.

While Jacob was loitering and gossiping with the young men he found there, "and while he yet spake with them, Rachel came with her father's sheep; for she kept them."

Now "Rachel was beauteous and well favored," and of course Jacob saw all this at a glance, for a man never yet needed a telescope and a week's time to decide whether a woman possessed the elements which constituted beauty in his mind or not, and so Jacob gallantly rolled the stone away from the well and watered the flock of Laban, and then, with all the boldness which characterized his future notorious career, he "kissed Rachel, and lifted up his voice and wept."

As there could hardly be anything but pleasure in kissing a lovely maiden, we naturally infer that Jacob was very emotional and was crying for effect, and that Rachel, with the consummate tact that all the women of the Bible displayed when managing the men, perfectly understood this, and had as little respect for him at the moment as most women have for a tearful man. A man like Jacob cries easily, and when he thus "lifted up his voice and wept," it is to be hoped the girl entirely understood him.

And Jacob's kiss is the first one that love ever pressed upon the lips of a blushing maid—at least it is the first one that is authoritatively recorded.

At that time Jacob started a fashion that "custom cannot stale," a fashion that while time lasts shall be as cheap as roses, laughter and sunshine, as thrilling as wine, as sweet as innocence and as new as love, a fashion that wealth, time or country cannot monopolize, and one that is as sweet to the beggar, and sweeter too, than to the king.

At the end of one short month we find him so desperately enamored that he said to Laban, Rachel's father: "I will serve thee seven years for thy younger daughter;" and the old gentleman, seeing an opportunity to get a hired man cheap, consented.

"And Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed unto him but a few days for the love he had to her."

What a world of devotion that one sentence reveals. As we read that we forget all about the prosaic age in which we live; forget the modern I'll-give-you-a-brown-stone-front-and-diamonds-in-exchange-for-your-youth-and-beauty-love, and believe in the kind that makes a man a god and a woman an angel, and we imagine that an affection so intense and deep that it could make seven weary years of labor "seem but a few days" must be as constant as the flowing tide, as steadfast as the stars—and then after a while we are desperately, despairingly sorry that we have read any further than that verse because we are so sadly disillusioned.

"AND JACOB SERVED SEVEN YEARS FOR RACHEL."

For a little further on we find that Jacob wasn't as shrewd about getting married as he was about breeding cattle that were ring-streaked and grizzled, and so Laban, with the cunning of a modern politician, palmed off his daughter Leah on Jacob as a bride. But the next morning, when he discovered the trick, there were probably matinees, side-shows and circuses in the tent of Laban, and finally the upshot of the whole affair was that he agreed to serve seven years more for Rachel, and then married her also. Far be it from me to disparage Jacob's love, but we cannot help but notice that we have no inspired statement saying that the seven years he served for Rachel, after he had married her, "seemed but a few days for the love he had to her."

But we can't censure him for that, for as we read we discover that in his earnest and constant endeavor to save his precious person he had no time to nurture his love. For the two wives, the two sisters, were madly jealous of each other of course (and we can't blame them either, for there never was a man so great that he could be divided between two wives, several handmaids and more concubines, and be enough of him to go around satisfactorily) and they made his life a howling wilderness.

Leah, poor thing, longed for her fraudulent husband's love, and he hated her. Rachel "envied her sister," and "Jacob's anger was kindled against Rachel," and altogether the picture of their home is not very enticing, and having gotten thus far we are more than ever convinced that we do not want to follow the example of the "holy women" of old, as Peter complimentarily, but ignorantly, calls them.

And Rachel and Leah, in order to spite and humble each other, each gave her maid "to Jacob to wife" and strange as it may seem, he accepted them both. It was like him.

Now about this time Leah's son "found mandrakes in the field" and brought them to his mother. We suppose Rachel had a sweet tooth from the fact that a little further on we find her offering to sell her husband for one night to Leah, for some mandrakes, whatever they were; and we notice that women held their husbands rather cheap in those good old days.

You see Rachel and Leah made Jacob a thing of barter and sale and (without consulting his desires) Leah consummated the bargain, and she went out toward the field when the harvest was progressing, and met Jacob as he came from his work tired and dusty, and informed him he must come with her, "For surely I have hired thee with my son's mandrakes," and he did not resent the insulting idea that he had been "hired," but like all the other distractingly obedient men of the Bible—he went.

Rachel next distinguishes herself as a disobedient daughter and headstrong wife by "stealing her father's gods" without consulting or confiding in her husband, for we read that "Jacob knew not that Rachel had stolen them."

And Laban, Rachel's father, and Jacob had a lively altercation, and they said exceedingly naughty things to each other in loud voices, but at last they came to an agreement, and Laban said he would give up his children, grandchildren and cattle, but he was bound to have his "gods" or know the reason why. The entire story is a curious mixture of heathenism and belief in one God.

Then Jacob rose in all the confidence of perfect innocence and told him he might search the whole camp for all he cared, and he added in his outraged dignity, "with whomsoever thou findest thy gods, let him not live."