man's actions, a woman will hardly ever | Madeline. Jacques, it seemed, would not deem him in the wrong, however extrava- be piqued into submission, and she was not gant they may be. Even vice in her sight inclined either for a spinster's life or a assumes the dignity of virtue, if she can | longer silent wooing; so, after some hesiascribe its committal to the power of love. tation on the part of her parents, who still So it was with the gossips at whose self- leaned to their young neighbor, partly from constituted tribunal Jacques was tried, and old association, and still more because of from that time many a sly joke was lev- his reputed wealth, Madeline was betrothed eled at Madeline, till the little damsel's to the stranger. head was almost turned thinking of the— of course much magnified-riches which were hoarded by her admirer for her to spend some day. She felt she was beloved, for it is not hard to divine when one is the dearest of all earthly objects to a pure and honest heart; but in spite of her convictions in this respect, the conduct of Jacques was a sad puzzle to her. "He is never so happy as when by my side," she would often say to her mother; "that any one may see; but I do not think | he cares to gain me for a wife." The mother would bid her be patient, and all would in time turn out well; but Madeline, thought there should be some limit to the expected patience, so she would pout her cherry lips, and give Jacques short answers. Still, though she evidently succeeded in giving him pain, he seemed as far from declaring his sentiments as ever. The crisis, however, came at last. Madeline had a cousin Marie, who was not a near neighbor, but also a sort of rival beauty. There had been no slight jealousy between the girls on the subjects of love and marriage; but Marie had at last triumphed, and, the day for her own wedding being fixed, she openly twitted Madeline about her laggard lover. This was a sad blow to the vanity of the young girl. Marie's fiance came from what was in those days thought a great distance, and neither grudged spending time nor money in visits to his betrothed; while Madeline, with her lover almost at the door, seemed likely enough to remain single. O, it was too much for any maiden's patience. The wedding-day came, and she, of course, was one of the guests, together with Jacques; and the girl, bent on punishing her tardy admirer, coquetted with others by his very side. But she did not stop at coquetry only. The brother of the bridegroom, a gay and handsome fellow, now at Marseille for the first time, was smitten with her charms, and after the wedding, found, or made, many excuses for visiting the town which contained Madame Guyot often sighed, and said in her son's hearing that it was a pity two of the prettiest maidens in Marseille should be carried off by strangers; for she had long since made up her mind, that since Jacques must needs marry soon or late, it would be well to have a daughter-in-law whom she had known from babyhood. All her hints might have been unheard, for any outward effect they produced on her son; but when the marriage-day came, he remained shut up in his little chamber. Neither food nor drink passed his lips; but could he have been seen by any one, a mighty mental conflict would have been revealed to the watcher-it was the last great struggle with human passion. The last bar to his devoting himself to one great object was removed. The gossips who had aforetime interested themselves so liberally in the affairs of Jacques and Madeline, once more twitted Madame Guyot, saying, it plainly was not love that made her son such a miser in his habits; but she answered them more proudly than ever, that Jacques would now look higher for a wife. So, first one great lady and then another was said to be the fair object for whom our hero cherished a secret passion, and whom he was trying to equal in wealth. But though Madame Guyot fostered the idea, she, poor soul, knew better; for only a few days after the marriage of his one love, Jacques had begged her, in a broken voice, to find out whether the little vessel in which Madeline had borne the precious draught of water to his bedside, a dozen long years ago, were still in existence. "O, my son," said Madame Guyot, "since you did so love Madeline, why did you let her go? She would not now be the wife of a stranger, if you had asked her for thyself." "It is better as it is, mother," replied Jacques, though his lip quivered while he spoke, and again begged his mother to procure what he had mentioned, at any cost. Madame Guyot's mission proved successful, though the mother of Madeline marveled greatly at the request; and both the worthy matrons agreed that the conduct of Jacques was a problem beyond their power to solve. Eagerly was the little vessel seized by him, and after bestowing many grateful thanks on his mother, he conveyed it to his own little room. Could the thing of clay have spoken it might have told how, when others slept, Jacques spent many an hour in sighs and even tears. Ay, for every drop of water it had once held the strong man paid in tears a thousandfold. Years sped on, and the father and mother of Jacques passed from the earth. The young man had been called a miser, even during their lifetime, but now, indeed, he merited the title. Ever craving for money, he added to his store by the strictest parsimony. His clothes were patched by himself, again and again, till no trace of the original stuff remained. Generally his feet were bare, and even when he wore any covering on them it consisted of old shoes which had been cast away as worthless, and picked up by him in his solitary wanderings through the town. His food was of the coarsest description, and taken simply to sustain life. He no longer occupied the dwelling in which his early days had been spent; his present home was an old and gloomy house, built with a degree of strength which defied any attempt at entrance, unsanctioned by the will of its occupant; at least without a degree of force being used, which must inevitably have led to discovery. Here, then, dwelt Jacques Guyot quite alone. But far worse than alone was he when absent from his house, for the evil repute in which he was held was such that as he walked the little children ran shouting after him: "There goes Guyot. See the wretched miser, how thin he is! He grudges himself food to make himself fat, and clothes to cover his lean old body." Then the mischievous urchins would cast stones at Jacques, and load him with insults, unchecked by their parents. But even this was not the worst. One day he met a friend, or at least he had been such in youth, and whom he had not seen for many a long year. For the moment Jacques forgot his rags and his isolation; it was so long since a kindly word had been bestowed on him, and O! how he yearned to win it. Eagerly he advanced with an indescribable gleam of joy lighting his pinched features; but his former comrade shrank back, holding up his hands, as if to forbid his nearer approach, saying, as he did so: "I will not hold communion with a thing like you. Did you not love your money better than her who ought to be your wife? but you suffered a stranger to carry her away, and now the accursed thing is dearer to you than yourself, though you have neither child nor kin to whom to leave it. Away! touch me not!" Another trial came still later, and it was the hardest of all. A portly dame, elderly, but still fresh and comely-looking, and with a fair daughter by her side, passed leisurely along the streets of Marseille. They seemed to be new arrivals; but the elder one was evidently no stranger, for she pointed out to her daughter various changes which had been made of late. Jacques Guyot looked earnestly at the girl, for her features brought vividly to his mind those of the object of his one love-dream, and as he came near he heard her mother call her Madeline. Another glance, and he recognized the elder female as the Madeline of his youth. Though so many years had gone over his head, his pale face was in a moment flushed. Again he forgot the curses and the stones daily showered around him; the vision of the bright-eyed child, with the little treasured pitcher in her hand, was before him, and he too was for an instant young; but for how brief an instant! Madeline, even in her distant home, had heard of the miser Guyot, who heaped up wealth, though with none to share it, and denied even the smallest aid to the miserable, though surrounded with gold. Even at that moment, too, she heard the taunts of the passers-by; so, gathering her skirts closely around her, as though his very touch would poison, she swept by with such a look of scorn as rooted the miser to the spot, and brought back the sense of his loneliness more terribly than ever. Though no inhabitant of Marseille ever entered the miser's dwelling during his life, yet I am able to tell how he spent his time there. I know he never entered his silent, comfortless home without feeling that his heart would leap with joy to hear a friendly voice, or if he might be per mitted to clasp a child to his bosom. I then, the crowd around the door, the forcknow that, in spite of insults, reproaches, ible entrance, the curious ransacking each and taunts, his heart teemed with loving-room till they at last stood beside all that kindness to his fellow-creatures, and often when suffering from them he would even smile, and murmur: "It is because they know me not; for one day these curses will be turned to blessings." Ay, and that, when seated on his hard bench, to take the food needful to prolong his life until the object should be accomplished for which he had given up all that could tend to its enjoyment, he prayed too for a blessing on his coarse fare; and I know, too, that after each more biting proof of scorn from those around him, he asked, from the same Almighty source, strength to "endure to the end." 66 A very old man was Jacques Guyot when his end came, but he met it with joy and hope, for he had lived long enough to finish his self-imposed task. Stretched upon his wretched pallet, he smiled and talked to himself. Ah, Jacques," said he, "they will never more call thee accursed. The last stone has been cast at thy worthless carcass, for worthless it may well be called, since even the worms will scarcely be able to banquet on the scanty covering of thy old bones. But, O, what joy to think the miser has not lived in vain! And thou, too," said he, taking in his hand Madeline's little pitch er, "well hast thou performed thy part. Though but a thing of clay, the sight of thee has reminded me each day and hour that, having given up her to whom thou didst once belong, no greater sacrifice could be demanded from me; and more than that it ever brought before me the memory of the one pressing want which inspired the resolution God has in his goodness given me strength to fulfill. will indulge just one weakness, and having taken my last draught from thee, no other lip shall touch thee." So saying, he drank the water it contained, and gathering all his remaining strength, shivered it to atoms. One hour after, and the miser lay dead. Only lifeless clay, senseless as that shivered by his last act, now remained of Jacques Guyot. I As soon as he was missed from his daily haunts the propriety of examining his dwelling suggested itself to the townspeople, for there were many who would not touch him while living who would gladly have acted as his executors. Fancy, remained of the object of their bitter loathing. The authorities of the town, who led the way, took possession of a sealed paper, which Jacques, ere he lay down to die, had placed in a conspicuous position. It was his will, duly executed, and contained these words: "Having observed from my youth that the poor of Marseille are ill supplied with water, which can be procured for them only at a great cost, I have cheerfully labored all my life to gain them this great blessing, and I bequeath all I possess to be spent in building an aqueduct for their use." Jacques had told the truth. The curses turned into blessings, and his death made a city full of self-reproaching mourners. Many a man has won the name of hero by one gallant deed; but he who made a conquest of a city by the continued heroism of a long life methinks deserves the name indeed. And thus I have told you to whom the inhabitants of Marseille owe their aqueduct. HYMN OF THE HARVEST. Hath a ring as of destiny, Of the yellow and bearded grain, From the shrub, the vine, the tree, And each has a juicy treasure stored All 'neath its tinted rind, When we leave our cares behind. We gather them in-in this goodly store, And our work of death is but for life, And a shout at the harvest home. THE BIOGRAPHY OF THE BIBLE. course of biographical sketches will be seen in answering the questions, Who was Job? Where, and in what age of the world did he live? By whom was the book written that bears his name, and what are its distinguishing characteristics? Some have contended that Job was a mere creature of imagination, and that the whole book which bears his name is a creation of poetic fancy. The contrary is proved by the fact that he is mentioned as an actual personage both in the Old and in the New Testament. Ye have heard, says Saint James, of the patience of Job; and, in the prophecy of Ezekiel, it is written, Though these three men, Noah, Daniel, and Job, were in it, they should deliver but their own souls by their righteousness, saith the Lord God. That Daniel and Noah were living men there is no question, and the inference is fair that he who is thus associated with them by the prophet, or rather by the Holy Spirit, under whose influence the prophet wrote, was not a mere creature of the imagination. Nor is it likely that the apostle would refer to one who had no real existence as an illustration of patience, or as an example of the tender mercy of the Most High. Then, again, the concurrent testimony of profane writers confirms the same fact. Job is frequently alluded to by Arabian writers, and it is said that " many of the noblest families among the Arabs are still distinguished by his name, and boast of being descended from him." Where did he live? In the land of Uz. But where was Uz? This is a question not easily answered, and one upon which there are various opinions. We have, in the Bible, two different persons who bear the name Uz. The first is the grandson of Shem, the son of Noah, spoken of in the 23d verse of the 10th chapter of Genesis. In the 36th chapter of the same book we find, among the descendants of Esau, a man bearing the same name. By some the land of Uz is supposed to have been in Arabia Deserta; by others in the valley of Damascus, which city is said to have been founded by the grandson of Shem; and by others in Idumèa. The latter supposition seems to be confirmed by incidental allusions of the sacred writers. Thus Jeremiah says: Rejoice and be glad, O daughter of Edom, that dwellest in the land of Uz. The same writer, in another diate connection with that region of country. In effect, says an able writer, nothing is clearer than that the history of an inhabitant of Id-u-mè-a is the subject of the book of Job, and that all the persons introduced in it were Id-u-mè-ans; in other words, Edomite Arabs. As to the time in which Job lived, although nothing definite on that point is said in the book itself, several circumstances conspire to fix it somewhere between the days of Noah and those of Abraham. To those who have given the subject but little attention, or who have fixed the time in which he lived merely from the location given to his history in the Bible, this may seem strange, yet a few facts will serve to make it, to say the least, very probable; and the first that I shall mention is the length of his life. He lived, we are told, one hundred and forty years, after passing through the 'severe afflictions and trials which form the subject of his history. At their commencement he had been long settled in life; his seven sons had grown up to man's estate, and were settled in their own dwellings. When young men saw him, as he says himself, they hid themselves, and the aged arose and stood up. Satisfactory evidence that he himself was not at that time a young man. He complains that they who were younger than he, had him in derision, and says of them: I would have disdained to have set their fathers with the dogs of my flock. If, then, we suppose that he had reached the meridian of his life at the beginning of his trials, we shall have two hundred and eighty years as his age at his death, which is a longer life than that of any one born after the deluge, and nearly double that of Abraham. Somewhere, then, between Noah and the father of the faithful must be fixed upon as the time in which Job lived. As corroborating this opinion, it may be observed, that in all the conversations between himself and his friends no mention is made of the departure of the Israelites from Egypt, of the passage of the Red Sea, of the pillar and cloud, of the manna that fell in the wilderness, or of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities of the plain. From these events many arguments and illustrations, relative to the providence of God, might have been drawn by the speakers, and doubtless would have been, had they then taken place, for the providence of God is a topic on which they dwell largely. Nor is it at all likely that no allusion would have been made to the virtual offering up of Isaac, in which was so strikingly prefigured the sacrificial death of Christ, had that event occurred previously to the time of Job. I think, then, as already intimated, we are safe in assigning as the era of his existence, his sufferings, and his patience, the period between the deluge and the time of Abraham, i. e., between the year from the creation 1656 and 2000. The celebrated chronologer, Dr. Hales, thus sums up an ingenious astronomical and historical calculation on this point: "Such a combination," he says, " of various rays of evidence, all converging to the same focus, tend strongly to establish the time of Job's trial, as rightly assigned to the year B.C. 2337, or eight hundred and eighteen years after the deluge, and one hundred and eighty-four years before the birth of Abraham." But by whom was the book written? On this question learned men have speculated largely. It has been attributed to Moses, and fancied resemblances to his style and mode of expression have been pointed out. Others have argued with equal plausibility that Solomon was the author; and yet others have credited it to David; while as many contend that it was written by Job himself. I rather incline to this opinion, or, at any rate, that it was written by some one of Job's cotemporaries. If so, the book that bears his name is the oldest part of the Bible; for Moses was not born until seven hundred and fifty years after the time in which we have supposed Job lived. I state this, however, merely as an opinion, for the question will probably never be settled in this world, and it is, in fact, of very little importance. When I receive a letter from a friend, it matters not from whom he borrowed the pen with which it is written. Enough for me that it bears his signature, and that it is his handwriting. So with the history of Job. That it was written under the immediate inspiration of the Most High is unquestionable. It is God who here speaks to us. Who was His amanuensis is of little consequence. As to the book itself, it is a poem. With the exception of the first and second chapters, and the ten concluding verses, it is all poetry in the original; and, as the best scholars tell us, loses much of its beauty in a translation. The characters presented in this dramatic poem, in addition to Job himself, are his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, and Elihu. The wife of Job, Satan, and the great God himself are also introduced, but the main part of the poem is made up of a conversation between Job and his friends. The first is Eliphaz, called the Temanite, probably because he was a native of a city of Edom, spoken of by the prophet Jeremiah Hear, says he, the counsel of the Lord that he hath purposed against the inhabitants of Teman. In the lips of Eliphaz are found many beautiful sentiments. He first gives utterance to the thought dwelt upon afterward so frequently by the sacred writers: Happy is the man whom God correcteth, therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty, quoted almost verbatim by the Apostle Paul: My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord; and by St. James: Blessed is the man that endureth temptation. A lesson that man, even in this day of light, with the whole record of God's revelation before him, is slow to learn. Who believes that he is blessed whom God correcteth; and who thanks Him for affliction? To the Temanite also belongs that beautiful illustration of a good man's death: Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season. As the grain has passed through its successive stages, and at length, fully ripe, is gathered into the garner, so the good man, ripening for the harvest, ready to depart, welcomes the hour when the great husbandman shall call him to his everlasting home on high. Like as a shock of corn cometh in his season! One of the sayings of Eliphaz, relative to the afflictions of this life, has passed into a proverb: Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground, yet man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. The most striking passage in the speeches of the Temanite, a passage unsurpassed in ancient or modern poetry, one which, if it had been found in the pages of Homer or Virgil, had been quoted as a master-piece, is that in which he intro |