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ioetrs*
The Voice of Spring.
I come, 1 come ; ye have called me long ;
1 come o'er mountain with light and song;
Ye may trace my steps o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth ;
By the primrose stems in the shadowy grass;
By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Ye may trace my steps o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's nirth ;
By the primrose stems in the shadowy grass ;
By the green leaves opening as 1 pass.
1 have looked over the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth ;
The fishes are out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bound o'er the pastures free;
. And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my steps hath
been.
From the streams and the founts 1 have loosened
the chain,
They are on to the silvery main ;
They are flashing down from the mountain
brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs ;
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of the
waves.
Our Own Fireside.
T love thee more, my own fireside,
Than lofty hills of stately prkic 1
The smiles J meet there know no change, 1
The hearts around it never range ;
All our hopes are garnered there,
For every joy or every care,
Tho' fortune frown and good betide ;
Are centered round our own fireside—
Our own fireside—our own fireside—
Are centered round our own fireside '.
There, oft, too, solemn dreams will come,
Of those who shared our cheerful home ;
The young, the good, the loved, the dead,
Who round our hearth a blessing shed :
Regrets that wring the heart with pain,
Bright hopes that bid us smile again,
Kind looks more dear than aught beside,
Are centered round our own fireside—
Our own fireside—our own fireside—
Are centered round our own fireside !
31 Select CtUc*
THE FATE OF JERUSALEM.
HY A. H. M.
CHAFTER I.
' MIRIAM, thou hast seen this man, rai
ling himself Christ; canst 'tell me maiden !
if lie worketh miracles as incn do sac of
hint !'
Thus spake Ziara, the daughter of Jo
seph, a counsellor of Aramathea, to her
bond woman, as they stood gazing; from
the house-top on the moonlit towers of
Jerusalem, and on the far off, mellowed
scenes, where the misty mountain tops
wedded the clouds, and where the palm
trees were sway ing to and fro like spirits
in a land of shadows.
•Miriam, 1 ask thcc hast thou seen this
Nazarene ?'
The bond woman clasped her hands
over her bosom, and raising iter dark
eyes to the face of Ziara, she spoke in a
tone so low and musical, that it sounded
like some wild, mournful chaunt of her
own Grecian Isles; then closed them, and
suddenly ceased, as if unwilling to speak,
—and as the moonlight floated down on
her while face and pure neck, she looked
like the perfection of a statuary's dream.
• Miriam !'—and the lady's voice trem
bled with impatience,—' thy tongue is
gitied with beautiful language, and thy
mind, maiden ! hath much store of knowl
edge ; therefore I command thee to tell :
me of this man !' and the bond woman
answered—
' While I tarried in Bethany I was a
drawer of water for the wife of a Centu
rion, called Anthony. One evening being
wearied, I rested my jars on the ground, j
and seeing a great multitude of people j
drawing near, I arose and went forth
from the shade to meet them ; and 1
heard men talking of one who was to
raise the dead ; and a strange desire en
tered my soul to see this one, who, as
some told rue, called himself the Son of
Clod,
• The multitude halted at length, before |
the door of a sepulchre. The great press
of people had lorced me in the midst,
and 1 stood near the Christ—l saw him ! ,
mamnm) a-j (hmheou awnnnrainß, uraimv,
! aye, verily—these sinful eyes did gaze or
him, wondering and much amazed. There
was no crown —no sceptre of jewels and
gold, no purple robes, such as kings wear ;
n but lady ! on the placid brow, the serene
,t majesty of a God teas sealed.'
• But Miriam, tell '
' f j 'I he sun, continued the maiden, un
-1 heeding the interruption—' was slowly
sinking behind the mountains of Judea,
| and the sky looked like a transparent
0 | ocean, over whose bright billows were
3 floating the flowers of Heaven. Every
j cloud seemed a jewelled wave, rolling on
j with glittering surges, and the fragments
3 : scattered by the summer winds, looked
J like golden plumes for some wandering
' angel's pinion. The earth was brilliant,
I and the tall trees, and the high moun
. tains were wrapped in glory, and the
r ; streams and the fountains laughed in the
floating light. The lilies, and rich voung
1 j buds 1 fteii up their pure petals, to bathe in
. the splendor of that hour which Heaven
lends to earth.
' He, as lie stood on a little mound
| which raised him above the multitude,
with that pure sinless face lifted to the
i skies, and the sunlight mellowed like a
halo ol glory around, seemed truly as if
holding communion with the hoiv ones
j who worship around the Eternal throne,
j —Oh, lady ! couldst thou have seen the
- deep bright communings of that cotin
j tenance the radiance which glittered
there, when lifting his calm, holv eves to
Heaven, lie cried, 4 Father I thank thee,
that thou fiast heard me.'
' This was the first sound that had dis
turbed the still air ; and so clear and me
lodious were the tones which uttered the
j words, that they floated out to the ver\
out-skirts of that vast multitude. On
they pressed—closer and closer—vet
trembling and gasping—for there were
many who believed not; when, lo !he
; stretched forth his hands and cried with a
loud voice, 4 Lazarus come forth,' and
j then the bosom of the dead man heated,
and the litis ol his eyes were raised with
wonder, like one awaking from a deep
sleep, and he arose and walked forth in
. our midst !'
4 Miriam ! by all thy hopes of Heaven,
I by the Temple and by the Prophets ! tell
me if thy tongue hath said true—'
4 Lady! wouldst thou hear from the
! lips of Lazarus of Bethany the truth of
wiiat I have told thee I Bethany lieth
\ but fourteen furlongs from Jerusalem !
4 Hod of my Father ! how sayestthou V
—I ron* the lips of him who slept with
die dead ! But tell me, Miriam, how long
this man hail been buried.'
4 Four davs, lady—'
4 And was the sepulchre sealed P
4 It was sealed !' ,
4 Then,' exclaimed the counsellor's
daughter,— 4 ll the dead hear his voice, he
is indeed the .Son of hod !'
CHAPTER H.
J he walls of the lady Ziara's tiring
room were hung round with the most
costly silks from Tarsus ; and purple dra
peries from J hyatira were falling in rich
folds around the gilded couches. Curious
lamps, brought from Lystra, burned with
< lear mellow light before immense silver
initrors which were supported on golden
pedestals ; and so smooth were they, and
j free from flaws, that they reflected every |
I object in the apartment with double splen
dor. In the midst of the Mosaic floor
was a marble laver, front the centre of
w Inch bubbled up a clear fountain, and ii
fell again so lightly down in the clear,
laughing water, that it sounded like the
| tinkling of a stringed instrument, or the
far off tones of silver bells. On a bronze
pedestal, by the margin of the laver, was
a golden censer, which emitted an in
cense of all that was sweet or delicious ol
the eastern gums. It seemed as if this
was a spot consecrated by the daily ori
sons of Ziara, for a lamp of rare and
i curious workmanship, glittering with gold
and precious stones, burned thereon, anil
the most beautiful and glorious flowers
which grew in the gardens of the east,
were hanging around it, in festoons of
In ing beauty ; and a tablet of pure white
marble, on which were inscribed eharac- !
ters in the Hebrew tongue, was supported i
J on the pedestal or altar between the cen
ser and the lamp. Every thing that was
rich oi rare seemed lo be gathered in the
lady s chamber. Gold and gems front Nea
polis—-exquisite paintings from the lonian
isles i\ory wrought most curiously into
cups, and stained with the brightest dyes
, and jars lor water, and ewers for the
cleansing ol the bauds, were carved of
ebony, and bound and decorated with
silver. And there were white doves, and
singing birds that whistled a sweet chorus
to the melody of the falling waters. 'The
j cotincellor's daugter was reclining on a
: couch before a silver mirror in deep and
undisturbed thought. Her embroidered
robes were lying neglected by her, and the
rich gold chains and bright gems with
which the eastern ladies were wont to
decorate themselves, were flashing up
their brilliance before her, unheeded and
uuihought of. Iler sunny hair, which was
yet free from the withes and bands which
: formed the usual head dress, flowered in
rich and glossy waves over her white
dimpled shoulders, and looked like a cloud
FRIDAY EVENING, APRIL !, I
ii of briHiance, swelling and rolling around
e her. Her pure, white tiring robe was
d scarce more fair than her lovely face; and
; had it not been for the soft rose-hue which
e shone 011 her cheek, and blushed in her
full rich lips, it would have been hard to
tell whether life, its blight and sin, had
- ever throbbed within that form of mateh
,• less beauty ; for, she rested so still and
, motionless, that Miriam, the bondwoman,
t who had been standing with her arms
? lolded sadly 011 her bosom, gazing intently
- and lovingly on the noble lady's gentle
1 beauty, knelt at her feet, and laid her
3 ; hand softly and gently on the listless arm
I ; of Ziara.
[ 4 1 la ! how long Miriam hast thou been
, there ? Why dost thou kneel as a slave ?
- Shame on thee, lair maiden ? thou art 110
slave, for of a truth I love thee most kindly !'
1 am a slave, dear ladv and kind f—
aye, verily, a bond slave, and vilely fet- <
1 teretl—
-1 ' Bitterness is on tbv tongue, maiden,
or thou wouldst not revile those who have
kindly treated thee !'
• Nay—nay—dear ladv !' said the girl
impatiently— 4 1 meant not that. Life is i
the master who holdeth me in bondage.
This world is a barren spot to me—a wild,
barren spot. None to love—parents—
brothers—sisters'—murmured she, droop
ing her head 011 her hand, and speaking
rapidly hut indistinctly.
4 Poor maiden !' said Ziara, 4 thou shalt
return to thy sunny islands, where the
blue watersglimmer forever—and where the
sun leaped)—Nvhere the palms wave their
cool shadows over the bright waves, and }
where the rose and the lily grow bv the
side of the clear fountain.'
Miriam had raised her head as the lady
spoke ol die beauties ol her native isle ;
and a glow passed over her while cheeks
—such a glow as the sun doth cast 011 the
pale hiics when he blusheth through the
roses of Heaven : but it faded away as
quickly, and leit once more the twilight of
sorrow on die stricken maiden's brow ;
and she pressed her hands cioselv over
her heart, and exclaimed.—
4 Lady ! lady ! it is no longer a sunny
isle, I tell thee ! 1 would not go there
tor all the gold which shines 011 the altars
of thy Temple !'
4 And why not go to the home of thy
lather's, Miriam ?'
4 There are graves—graves, ladv ! 'neath
the palms, and there is a ruined home, a
bloody lie r h and a broken altar—armed
men rushed down from die mountain like
a mighty whirlwind, and roared around
our dwelling; and when they passed i
away they left ruin and graves !'
4 And did all thy kin fall beneath the
' slayer's sword ?'
4 All—all lady !—save the stripling Or
noz, and myself. Jf'c were on the lulls
with our father's flocks; and when, at
night fall we skipped along with the voting
lambs to the fold, lo ! what was there ?
ruin—graves—and the darkness of death
I wept not. 1 could not weep—the
fountain of tears was dried at its source
by tbe hot breath of vengeance the
young, glad heart, was seared, and the
glow of joy everlastingly stilled, and I am
here alone—alone—seared—blasted and
broken.
* jjdoue, Miriam,' said the lady
Ziara, wiping the warm tears from her j
cheeks. 4 1 am with thee, and tell thee
once again 1 love thee well. Hut thy
young brother?—dost thou know him not
among the living ?—tell me of him Mi
riam, tliv fair young brother.' , 1
4 1 iviti tell thee, lady, if it doth not
crush my heart. The ripening beauty of
seventeen summers bloomed in his cheeks,
and every succeeding sun had lent a ray
ol light to his dark blue eyes. Graceful
as a young palm, and beautiful as the first
dawning of summer was Ornez.—Float- j ;
ing in our little vessel over the waves, ;
among our bright islands ; gathering in the j 1
vintage ; on the hill side with our flocks ; 1
or around our home, he was still the same 1
joyous, light-hearted boy. Lady ! if the 1
murder of our kin .scared my heart it broke <
his, and planted there an evil spirit, for lie
swore by all tiiat is forbidden, that all men 1
should alike share his fate, and if he
could not take the lives of unjust men, he 1
would slav the Priests of the altars. He I
led me, and then I saw him no more ; t
and my life was as a dark tumultuous 1
vision. I knew not when or where 1
wandered. And this sleep of madness 1
rested 011 nie days, nights, weeks, aye 1
months; and when I awoke I was lying
on a gilded couch, with sweet gums burn- 1
ing around nic, and silken draperies and 1
goiden fringes were hanging over ine ; and
I heard those around me say I was in the 1
dwelling of Joseph, a rich counsellor of 1
Arnmalhea. But I cared not, though they 1
whispered I had been brought there in a j
ship, and sold for a slave. Thou knowesl 1 (
how thy lather did let nie go away to <
Bethania, and tarry until thou didst ask |
for a serving woman for thy dwelling in t
Jerusalem, and how 1 came hither, and t
did find favor in thy eyes.' .
4 But tell me, Miriam, where is thy j
brother Ornez ?'
Where is he ? —he is an outlaw and at
robber! Lady, I swear 1 could have' I
borne all, and kissed the rod of death ( j
which swept away all 1 loved ; but, by j t
the God of our altars ! it curdled up the j a
I last drop ol hope in my heart to know
i ; that he, the youngest, the fairest, and the
; besl ' should bring such a blight— such a
j curse 011 our father's name.'
j The daughter of the counsellor arose
and put her arms around the poor maid
en s neck, and kissed her lips, and wet
her cheeks with tears, while she sat as
j silent and rigid as a figure of marble.
.Miriam ! Miriam ! speak to me once
more ! unseal thy crushed heart, and let
ine enter there and warm it with a sister's
love. 1 will be thy sister, sweet maiden !
and cherish thee fondlv.'
| The girl opened not her lips, but her
j, bosom heaved heavily, and a low, sharp
cry, like that uttered by a wounded dove,
| escaped her lips, and she fell senseless 011
the bosom of Ziara.
CHAPTER 111.
I he roof ol the counsellor's house was
! built after the manner of the east, having
a flat roof, which was flagged with narrow
blocks of marble, hewn with much art.
and wrought with neat workmanship.
Here were marble stands, from which
I waved the dwarf palms, and climbing
along the terrace might he seen vines with
dark green leaves and white or red berries,
i This was a fit time, for it was sun set, and
a tit spot for Festia of Samaria to hold
converse with the counsel.o.'s daugh'er;
for he had sought her in marriage and she
had willingly promised to be his. Sun
sets have often been described, and poetrv
hath found an unceasing theme in the
beauty ol an evening sky ; and however
weary we may grow ol hearing of the
splendor 01 the sun s decline behind the
western hills, our hearts leap forth with a
puie and innocent holiness of delight, to
greet the brilliance which fadelh so softly
and faintly over the shining brow of Heav
en, and if there is one feeling of childhood
iell in our souls, it gushes forth lroin its
deep wellings in the midst of sin and mor
al gloom, and gleams with as beautiful a
glitterance as doth the meteors which shoot
trom the walls of Eternity, ai d die 011 the
clouds of Heaven.
'l'pstia, said the lady Ziara, * let not
th\ 111 i 1 ici be so troubled about the conten
tions ol the counsellors ; forget them all,
and rest thy weary mind 111 this sooihino
hour—see, h'estia ! all things seem to rest
—even iho weary sentinels, as tliev lean
011 iheir spears, and look forth from the
walls of Jerusalem, appear to bless this
quiet, soothing light.'
1 lie young counsellor smiled, and look
ing out 011 the scene, said,
\ erily thou hast a soothing tongue,
sweet maiden ! hut thou hast not looked
beyond ihe walls ol the city at the beauti
ful scenes which lie there."
4 Ihou dost not know, I'estia, where mv
eyes have been wandering I for 1 see green
vales and green vines; and many shrubs
with summer (lowers hanging thereon ; 1
and I see a stream which is laughing most
cunningly, along through the liilies and
rushes, and the inconstant thing whispers
a talc ol love to every blossom which
looketh down oil its brightness, i see,
100, bey oud iho rallies, yon iiigii blue
mountains which seem to me to be the
bulwarks of the world and the supporters
•d' Heaven.'
Fes ia smiled, ami said— 4 Ziara, thou
dost 'mind nie ol the southern maidens ,
who will lake their harps and sing of every 4
beautiful thing. 1 have seen some of the
southern maids, and comely faces have
they—large black eyes and but'—
continued lie, gazing in the radiant face
before him— 4 they 'mind me, too, of a
mountain which hath a brain of fire and
smoke ; and thou dost seem as bright to
me as those arrows of light which the sun
shooteth from the quivers of his glory.'
4 Look ! look ! Festia ! those purple clouds
are rolling up, and wav ing and shining like
a mighty army with spears and banners ;
and the white clouds do tremble so gently,
that they look like plumes floating from
the caps of armed men. Oh, tell me, for
thou hast seen other lands, is there a fair
er titan this our land of Judea ?'
4 'There is none brighter to me, sweet
lady ! for thou dost well liere.'
He said no more, but casting his eyes
down, relapsed into his former moodiness.
She approached near him and bowing
down her head until her bright curls fauued I
his cheeks, whispered,
4 \\ by is thy heart troubled ? dost doubt
my laith ? Is thy ear closed against me,
Festia ?'
4 Tell me one tiling, lady—thou niayst
think me mad—hut sav ! dost thou love
"iC
•Festia, alas ! hast thou not yet learned
what lam ? My love, young counsellor !
was given thee for aye. I ain not wont to
change.'
' 1 did not doubt thy faith, but my heart
did yearn to hear thee say that thou dost
still love me, for it seeuieth as if all else
had forsaken me. Hast thou heard, Ziara,
ot this Nazarine who ealleth himself King
of the Jews? well:—contentions have
arisen in our council-chambers concerning
him. Herod and Pilate can find 110 evil
in him; but the High Priests and the
Scribes, and the Pharisees, call him a
blasphemer. They say he stirreth up the 1
people to sedition. 'Though he hath healed ;
the sick, the maimed, tiie halt and blind—
aye, he hath even raised the dead and
i teacheth daily of virtue and repentance,
? yet do the people clamor madly for his
1 blood. To-day, thy father left the council
and would not say aught against hiin, for
he believeth that this Christ is the Son of
■ God.'
L ! 4 And dost thou believe this, Fesiia ?'
1 j 4 Nay. verily, maiden ! I believe that he
is a great Prophet, and one sent by God ;
but would our Messiah have come to his
; chosen people in a beggar's garb ?'
4 1 bus hath it been foretold !'
I hou hast heard ol him ; what savest
thou, lady !'
4 1 believe, said Ziara, raising her beauti
ful lace to the skies— 4 I believe that he is
lite Messiah and the Son of God !'
j 4 1 cast 110 evil 011 thee, Ziara, for this ;
; out will tell thee, that all my kin revile
me, because 1 will not join the crv for his
blood. And my father doth swear he will
j cast me front my inheritance ; and my
mother and brothers do inock at me, if 1
give not my judgment against him.'
4 1-esiia, heed them not—heed not their
■anger—nor make thy conscience lie. My
bathers lands are broad, and his llocks
and herds cover many hills. All men
speak of ihe wealth ol Joseph of Arama
thea ; a;.d the one who w ins fiis child
shall be even as a king in riches. But
tell ine more of this great Prophet as thou
dost call him ; though in truth he be the
Son of God.'
4 On the morrow, Ziara, He will die on
an accursed cross. Host thou see von
gloomy, rocky hill, which rises like a frown
ing giant against the sky —well—this mount
the Priests call the 44 Place of .Skulls," or
Golgotha—there, in company with two
vile robbers, will this pure and holv
Prophet suffer death.'
Miriam, the bond woman, who had
been stand.ng in the sh dwof a palm
a few short moments, unseen by them,
walked rapidly forward and cried,
b cstia, ol Samaria ! 1 charge thee,
tell ine what country the malefactor is of.'
4 lu sooth, good maiden, 1 know not—
but 1 know that the twain on the morrow
die.'
4 Oil, didst lhou not hear, kind sir ! that
one, the youngest, was called Ornez, that
he was ol the Southern islands, and
4 1 hey, bond woman, hath been dealing
in unlawful arts,' said the voung counsellor
to Ziara—lor now, I bethink myself of it
—1 did hear this from the lips of the poor
robber, though none other heard the talk.'
* Then,' said Miriam— 4 the last blow
will be given. On the morrow the last of l
my kin is to die, and on the morrow this ,
heart will be crushed and coid and still.
Lady, dost thou see yon star—look well
and tell me, it links ol brightness are not
i weaving—weaving—Irom heaven to earth
—thai star is to be my home on the mor
row's eve.'
She lilted Iter hands to her brqw, and
pressed it 1 nig and closely, and continued,
4 1 know not why, gentle lady, but the
wandering and dizziness which fell on me
once, steal over me at times, and 1 utter
empty words—forgive my wayward hu
mor.'
4 Miriam,' said the kind voice of Ziara,
4 thy heart dwelleth too much on the sor
row ol other days. Come near me, Miri
am, and let ine place a sister's kiss once
more 011 thy lips.'
'The bond woman wept. When the
emotion passed away, she murmured, —
4 Even as thy father Moses did strike the
rock in the wilderness, and it sent forth
cool waters, so thy love hath opened the
hard sealed fountains of my heart.'
She rose and glided past them as noise
lessly as a spirit. 'There was a gloom 011
the spirit ot both, and when they parted,
there was a sad foreboding of ill on their
souls, and Festia of Samaria clasped Ziara
to his bosom as it the parting was forever.
——
CHAPTER IV.
'There was a trampling of many feet,
and a sound of great multitudes rose up
from Jerusalem ; and the people were
rushing forth from the gates of the city 1
like an ocean torrent towards Golgotha.
There was a sound of many voiets and
the appalling malediction of "Let his blood
he on our heads and the heads of our
children," pierced the skies. There was
a sound ol many voices, and men thirsted ;
lor the life ol the Son ol God—of Hiin
who came lo redeem and save lost crea
tion.
The counsellor's daughter was alone
m her chamber. All her household had
gone forth with the multitude, even Miri
am had left her couch ere the sunlight
dawned 011 a troubled world, and gone up
to the Mount—and her father, and Festia of
Samaria had also gone thither. She sat
alone, and as the yells of a furious crowd
would sometimes be wafted past Iter dwel
ling, a shudder passed over her, and she 1
would bury her faee in the pillows of her
couch—pale, trembling and afraid—then
arise and kneel before her altar, and prav
incoherent petitions—some according to
the Laws of the Old dispensation, and
some addressed to Hiin who had raised
the dead—then arising from her devotions
would walk rapidly to and fro, wondering
\v hat evil had visited her. She left her
chamber, and ascended to the house-top,
and looked forth 011 the thousands who
were marching up to Golgotha. She saw ■ (
the preparations for death, and could look ;
j\cw Series—Vol. —]\ 0 . 2t>.
. no more, but turned avvav, sick with ter
* ror, and sal 'neath the shadow of a palm,
I whose broad green leaves hung listiesslv
aiul unmoved in the summer air; but still
those furious yells told her of what was
passing beyond the city, and she pressed
her hands closely over her ears, and bowed
' Iter head on her breast.
It was about ihe sixth hour, when Zia
ra was aroused from her stupor of fear bv
a sound like the crushing of worlds. She
started up, almost frantic with dismay ;
but darkness covered the world and the
sky, save when flashes of angry light shot
athwart the gloom profound, and revealed
the temple like a mighty giant, falling,
with its pillars and arches and spires and
altars, to the earth. Darkness again reigned,
| for the gleams of light darted back affright
ed and confounded to the gloomy skiers
but finding no resting place there, shot
again athwart the reeling earth—and the
maiden saw the firm mountains nodding
like drunken men, and huge rocks were
torn from their places in which creation
had planted them. Then theie were sounds
along the sky like moaning and sorrowful
weeping, and shadowy forms giided past,
and gibbering ghosts were peering their
fleshless faces and hollow eyes in the
, aw tul scene, and the dead, w ho had slum
bered lor ages arose and walked the earth.
She could look no longer, but raised her
arms aloft with one wild cry, rushed down
from ilie house top to the court, from
thence into the street, am! would have run
whithersoever her maddened and affrighted
beatt led her, but a strong arm encircled
her; she looked not, she saw not, but fell
insensible on the breast of Festia of Sa
maria.
W hen she awoke from her swoon, her
bond woman was bending over her, but
Iter face was so white and unearthly pale,
that /iara shrunk back, shivering,
j ' Do, oh, go from me ! Festia they have
come again with their paie faces !—Father,
Festia, save me—'
4 Lady ! said the low musical voice of
Miriam, 4 fear not, it is thy slave—'
'Ha ! Miriam! oh, Miriam! put thine
arms around me and hold me fast, or mv
heart will throb until it breaks ! Such a
—the dead walking and earth shaking, the
very sun, oh Miriam ! 1 tell thee—'
She could not continue, for fear had so
stricken her, that nature shrunk from the
conflict, and she once more lost conscious
ness.
Miriam threw her arms around her in
' sensible form, and uttered a wild cry of
sorrow, and kissed her pale lips most fond
ly, then arose and kneeling before the al
tar, bowed her head to the cold floor, and
when Joseph of Aramathea visited his
daughter s couch, he iound the dead bond
woman kneeling, rigid and cold, before his
daughter's place of prayer ; and the good
man raised Iter tenderly, and placed her on
a couch, and so placid and happy was the
smile on her lip and brow, that the Coun
sellor felt an assurance that her soul was
dwelling with the holy angels of Heaven.
Many days and weeks had passed to
eternity, and in that space of time, desola
tion seemed to have made her home in Je
rusalem. Not that ruin immediately fell
upon the proud city; but there was a
gloom, a dread of impending ruin, which
seemed to quail the stoutest heart. The
counsellor of Aramathea, and Festia, witti
the lady /iara, whose mind had not yet re
covered the shock of the aw ful scenes she
witnessed, left Jerusalem, and took up
their abode in Tarsus, where tliev were
continually hearing ol ihe mysterious re
surrection of 11 im who was crucified—
ol his ascension to the glorious inheritance
of Heaven; and the household of Joseph
of Aramathea were shunned by the rulers
and the great and mighty counsellors, be
cause they were the professed disciples of
Him whom they scorned Festia of Sa
maria received the counsellor's daughter
in marriage, and the'v lived according to
the rules of the new Revelations, practic
ing virtue atui good deeds—humble, char
itable, and given to good works. Thev
heeded not the persecution which raged
against the followers of Christ, and the
good Joseph of Aramathea, who had given
the Saviour of the world a tomb, was
blessed abundantly in every desire his
heart framed ; for the prayer of the right
eous man returneth on his head with much
j°y
'■ - 1 1 LJL
JOHN CLARK & CO.
Boot and Shoe. Manufacturers, 4 doors
west oj Eisenbise' a Hotel.
fiWjn ALL KINDS OF COOTS & SHOES
fil ntade of the best materials and in the
manner cheap for cash.
Levvistown, Sept. 12, 1851.
Mm, F|l 31111)13,
Ac. 1 ftb. \.c.
undersigned continues to manufacture
-1- celebrated Quilted and French calf Boots,
together with u!l articles connected with his
business. MOSES MONTGOMERY.
Levvistown, August 8, 1851-tf
Astonishing Itediiction in
THE PRICE OF
112. CD
* MERICAN lloilcd liar Iron 3 cts.
d\. Horse Shoe Bar 31 •'
Nail Rods 4" "
warranted good, and v\ ill be sold for cash at
the above i&tec, by
no7 ■ F. G. FRANCISC US.