THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

 

The Hebrew Mother and her Child.

Bs the sun was sinking to
rest, it cast its beams into
the dwelling of the He-
brew woman. Long had
she been musing; and
the past, present, and unexplored future,
lay mapped in her mind. The days of
her childhood, when she sported, full of
gleeful mirth, in her father’s fields, came
up before her, and with them came
thoughts of those who had begun life
with her, and now were scattered. She
recalled her happy betrothment, and
heard again the songs of rejoicing which
commemorated the virtues of her future
lord. Ske lived over again every circum-
stance that transpired, as the company
of her kinsfolk and acquaintance con-
veyed her to the house of her husband.
How like yesterday it seemed, that she
was welcomed, a bride, to her new home.
With recollections of her early hopes thus
blighted—her premature widowhood—
came vivid memories. Every kind word,
every expression of tenderness, every
delicate token of his love, came up be-
fore her ; and a gush of tears relieved her
agony—for now she was desolate and
afflicted. But her boy—no, she did not
forget the new sentiment awakened in her
breast when she clasped, for the first time,
in her arms, her first-born and only son.
He was yet spared; and she rose, and
with firm step paced her narrow apart-
ment, and said aloud, “ In the Lord Je-
hovah is my strength. He was my
father’s God, I will trust him—yea,
though he slay me, I will trust in him.

 

He heareth the young ravens, when they
ery ; and if he could give to our fathers
water from the rock, and send them man-
na in the desert, give honey to Samson
out of the lion’s carcass, he can help
now, and he will help those who call
upon him in truth.”

While thus she struggled with her
inner self, hoping against hope, and
strengthened herself in the Lord, a low,
wailing sound came from the corner of
the apartment; and on a bed formed by
the few remaining garments, and spread
by maternal tenderness, lay the emaciat-
ed form of her once bright and beautiful
boy. ‘ Mother, dear mother, Iam very,
very hungry.” ‘ Hush, Naasson, hush,
my son! [ cannot help you. I think
the Mighty One* will help us, but I
know not how.” “Dear mother, I had
a dream. I thought my father lived,
and I ate plentifully, and rich, ripe
grapes cooled my lips, and I heard the
lowing of the cattle, as we used to hear
them, and the breeze fanned me; and
when I turned to find you, I awoke.”
“And I too had a dream last night,”
said his mother. “I know not what it
means, but it gives me inward strength,
even while I tell it. An aged seer came
to us; I can see his very features, his
glance, and even his dress. My whole
soul revived, when I saw him, and it
seemed to me that he was an angel, J
too awoke, and awoke to remember that
the heavens above us are as brass, and
the stones iron, and that famine is abroad
everywhere, and that we must die. Yet,
Naasson, I hope; and whether I live or
die, do you remember always, that he

* Nasson,