Delilah.

UNHAPPY name! Will her sex pardon me, that I am obliged to write it among others that are so fragrant and pure? Here all is shadow. There appears no redeeming feature. It is true, we may suspect her to have been attractive in person, for a strong man bowed before her. But what is a comely exterior, where it covers naught save deformity? What of the glowing colors of the poisonous serpent? Or what the variegated brilliancy of the hateful leopard? The heavenly pen sketched nothing good of Delilah. She was a woman in the valley of Sorek." No ancestor or child of hers is named-her nation is unknownher "valley," no one can point it out. "His roots shall be dried up beneath, and above shall his branch be cut off;-his remembrance shall perish from the earth, and he shall have no name in the street."

And a man

Delilah was a shameless seducer. void of understanding, passing through the street near her corner, went the way to her house in the twilight-in the evening-in the black and dark night; and there met him a woman, and with her much fair speech she caused him to yield-with the flattering of her lips she forced him. He goeth after her straightway as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the

stocks, till a dart strike through his liver,-as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life."

She was a heartless deceiver. Feigning affection for her lover, she, with unyielding pertinacity, sought his desolation and ruin. Her mouth was smoother than oil, but her end bitter as wormwood-sharp as a two-edged sword. The deceived one-strangers were filled with his wealth, and his labors were in the house of a stranger, and he mourned at the last.

She was disgustingly covetous. For money, she could readily dispense with every principle of righteousness or honor. Her own emolument and aggrandizement were instead of all goodness, purity, and love. "Entice him, and we will give thee silver," was a note sufficient for her ear, and to induce her, like the faithless reptile, to sting the bosom that cherished her.

She was a foul traitress. She, like a certain other, betrayed with a kiss. She fondled the victim she designed to immolate. Her eyes were as full of murder as of adultery. Like a certain horrid idol of heathenism, she pretended to embrace most affectionately, yet, as her arms enfolded the hapless object, he was pierced by a hundred concealed and deadly blades. She cast down the wounded-a strong man was slain by her. Her house was the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.

Such was Delilah, the infamous. Furnished

she not a portion of the materials, when the wise man drew his picture of “The Strange Woman?"

Let us weep for the frightfulness of the serpent. Sin, alas, how mournful and sickening is its aspect! With what horror we contemplate the near approach to which it advances us toward the character of the utterly wicked and lost! O! how it has defaced and spoiled the fair image of angelic goodness and beauty! Be there eternal praises to Him whose "grace much more abounds!"

Laumi.

We emerge again, suddenly, into fairer regions, where, away from scenes of darkness and deceit— of impurity and death, more graceful forms come forth to greet us, and lovelier airs breathe over the landscape, and heavenly Virtue, as the presiding genius, waves her golden sceptre.

Naomi was the wife of Elimelech, a citizen of Bethlehem, and who lived in the time of the Judges. There being a famine in Judea, he, with his family, consisting of his wife, Naomi, and their two sons, emigrated to the country of Moab. Elimelech died shortly after his removal; and within about ten years, the sons, who had married in Moab, both of them also died. Thus Naomi the mother, and the two daughters-in-law, named Orpah and Ruth, became widows. Under these melancholy circumstances, Naomi, having learned

that abundance had succeeded to famine in her native country, determined to return thither, and spend her remaining days with her kindred. The family commenced the journey accordingly. Before proceeding far, however, Naomi, addressing her daughters-in-law, very affectingly advised, and even entreated them both to return to their former homes-explaining to them, in the most. faithful manner, how discouraging were their prospects by remaining with her, and accompanying her to a foreign land. Orpah-though with great reluctance and with many tears-gave to her mother the kiss of adieu, and returned home. Ruth, however, could not be persuaded to leave her widowed and aged relative, and attended her to Bethlehem, where a peaceful evening closed up the stormy day of life that had passed over the bereaved and desolate Naomi.

The history impresses us with deep and affecting interest. Viewing her, as her husband and sons are buried, and herself alone in that distant and gentile land, there rises a fit picture for all bereaved spirits to contemplate. And let them recall to mind, meanwhile, that their own is not the first, and probably not the deepest sorrow that has struck and broken the human heart. How true to nature are the sighings of this lone widow to tread, once more, her native soil! The dearest objects of her love are removed from her sight;—she would fain go home, that she may die with their kindred and hers. Though the record

is silent here, yet is it too much to imagine, that ere she “went forth out of the place where she was," she lingered long and sadly over those three graves; and as she remembered other and happier years, and forms that were beauty and glory to her eye, she knew, in that dark hour, all the bitterness of grief? Tearing herself away at last, and turning her face toward her fatherland, and journeying wearily and heavily, and pondering-as she went-her present desolation, and all the hopelessness shadowing the future-she pauses in the way; and now opens a scene which, in mournful tenderness-in deep and touching pathos, has been surpassed by few that have ever appealed to human sympathies. Why should she involve others in her own hard and cheerless destiny? Since joy might yet remain to her daughters, though none to her, why should she wish their desolation to be added to hers, and lead them away from their kindred, to die with her in widowhood and tears? Here generosity and grief become beautifully blended. Here rises a spectacle of profoundest sorrow, accompanied, however, with the coolest and tenderest consideration. Desolate grief, and prudent and disinterested counsel, here form a union as charming to contemplation, as it is honorable to humanity. "Go," said Naomi to her daughters, "return each to her mother's house; and the Lord deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with the dead and with me!" She submits-nay, desires to be left alone. Her