only friends in that strange land are permitted to go their own way. She would mourn apart. A mother's house, with its varied consolations, is theirs; but father and mother have forsaken her, and lover and friend are hidden from her. The widowed three have been as one hitherto,-their interests,—their toils and sorrows were blended. The mother asks now that the union, though af fectionate and cordial, shall be dissolved, and their destinies be henceforth separate. She would be left with the dead-and begs the young to return to the living, and forget the alliance which, though pleasant when in being, yet now has passed forever away. "Deal kindly with you, as you-with the dead and with me!" Interests two-separatedivided! Alas, what was the pang of that bitter moment, as it rent to utter bleeding that poor widow's heart! Will she bear up to add yet another prayer? "The Lord grant you to find rest, each in her husband's house!" For them new alliances and brighter days were probable, wherein the griefs of the past would rise on the eye as distant and flitting shadows, while soft and cheering sunshine should play around the present. Not so with her. No "husband's house "awaited her more. For her no green spot arose in prospectthere would be no smile to light on her no arm would be reached forth to her in her weariness, and when she should "find rest," it would be that of the tomb. As she prints the farewell kiss, "We will return with thee!" respond the weep

ing children. "Turn again, my daughters! Why will ye go with me? With me all is desolationthere are no more husbands-no more pleasant homes. As the fig-tree alone in the desert, scathed of the lightning, and withered and fruitless-so is your sorrowful mother. It grieveth me much, for your sakes, that the hand of the Lord hath gone out against me." Again the voice of bitter weeping bursts upon the ear-the parting kiss of Orpah is given, and the next moment she disappears forever. "Return after thy sister!" The command is vain. Another destiny awaits the devoted Ruth, and the younger and the more aged widow pass, hand in hand, toward Judea.

One day, there is an unusual excitement in Bethlehem. Two lonely women, arriving from another country, in weariness and sadness, enter the quiet city. The name of Naomi is whispered from house to house, and rumors and inquiries pass rapidly from circle to circle. It is long since, with her husband, strong in his ripened manhood, and her sons, sprightly in youthful vigor and hope, she sought a distant and gentile home. Since then, there is no intelligence. Have they, at last, returned? "Is this Naomi ?" She treads the sacred dust where beloved forms once moved in beauty, but are now passed away. Perchance she seeks the very mansion, and reclines mournfully in those same apartments where her departed husband was wont to "bless his house," and whence, in happier years, the morning and even

ing orisons went up to heaven. As she looks, and meditates, and remembers-the wormwood and the gall are renewed-again is the great deep broken up, and the fountains are opened-and the billows pass over the bereaved. "Call me not Naomi! Call me Mara! for very bitterly hath the Almighty dealt with me. I went out full, and he hath returned me empty.'

Yet a peaceful evening awaits the sorrowful Naomi after the storms that, in mournful repetition, were suffered to beat upon her fragile form. There is One that sitteth on high, who rules the tempest. "Call upon me in the day of trouble," he saith, "I will deliver thee!" She sought rest for her daughter, and He who "is able to give abundantly more than we ask," while he provided rest and joy for the child, gave quietness and abundance to the mother.

Somewhere in Bethlehem stood a princely residence, where dwelt "a mighty man of wealth," —and good and noble, as he was rich and powerful. Great festivities were shortly witnessed within that mansion, and smiling groups might have been seen there presenting their congratulations to Naomi, at her resting-place in the house of Boaz, the husband of Ruth the Beautiful.

The moral of this tale appeals to the heart of the widow. Her sorrow is deep-often sublimely deep; and a stranger intermeddles not with it. The hopes she formerly cherished are buried with the form that was once her joy and crown.

This wide world is hung with sackcloth;—and O! how empty show all its promises and joys! Often, too, pale Want is in attendance-and friends seem few-and health grows frail-and every pleasing prospect goes out in darkness. Now, then, is the hour, of all thy life, to reach out the trembling hand and touch the garment of thy God. Thy Maker is thy husband!

Rath.

RUTH has been already introduced. She was a Moabitess, and became wife of Mahlon, one of the sons of Naomi, whose family, as we have seen, emigrated to Moab. After the death of the father and the two sons, and when the widowed mother had determined on returning to Judea, she earnestly entreated her daughters-in-law to return to their former homes, and permit her to return alone to her native country. Orpah sorrowfully acquiesced, and took her leave;—but no persuasions could induce Ruth to forsake her adopted mother. Her reply to the entreaties of that mother is stamped with perfect beauty, as well as propriety, and has been the admiration of all generations since. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest I will go-and where thou lodgest I will lodge;-thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God;-where thou diest will I die,

and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me!"

What entire devotion is here exhibited! What daughter ever did more virtuously than this? How fully-how unreservedly, did she wed herself to all the fallen fortunes of the afflicted Naomi! And, what was better still, how cordially did she embrace the only true God! Whether, having been born and bred a heathen, she had become a proselyte in the house of her husband, does not appear. But in the decisive conversation with her mother-in-law, her adherence to the true religion is fully declared. Nor is there room for the slightest suspicion touching the simplicity and purity of motive by which this lovely daughter was actuated. She obviously loved, with a deep and quenchless love, her bereaved and sorrowful relative. Their sorrows, to some extent, had been one. The streams of their grief had met over the same graves-and over one especially. The soul of the child clave to the mother; and though every worldly prospect faded, yet refused to be separated. To the last day of time, will this devotion of Ruth the Moabitess be admired and praised. Millions of daughters will read and ponder the sweet accents whereby she vowed eternal adherence to her husband's mother; and as they weep with delight, will find their own filial affection and faithfulness confirmed and increased.