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WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
CHAPTER XYI.
Zoe had returned to New Orleans in the early
autumn. She had drooped through the lon^,
hot summer in Havana. Even her brothers
home on Red River, with its malarial dangers,
which she had learned to guard against, seemed
better suited to her health. She did not return
in the Lavaca. Captain Lester had shown his
preference for her in such rough, vehement
fashion on the former trip, and in some atten
tions paid her afterwards in Havana, that she
had uo wish to put herself in his company.
They passed the Dry Tortugas in the day.
She learned that the Alabama prisoners had
been pardoned through intercession of friends
two months before-all but one—the “ring
leader of the mischief," said her informant, and
she knew he spoke of Hirne. .
‘And where is he?’ she asked with forced
calmness. ... ,, A „ , . .
4 Drowned or escaped, it is hard to tell which.
He gave the guard the slip in the night; a sol
dier saw and pursued him, and was close to
him when he took to the water, exclaiming as
he jumped in, ‘Good-bye, I’m gone to Davy a
Locker.’ The man thought he had drowned
himself, but some of the others knew him to be
a good swimmer, and as a schooner was lying
becalmed three miles away, it is possible he
may have got to her. They would have over
hauled the schooner next morning, but a wind
sprang up about daylight and she was out of
sight in no time.’ ,
Zoe stayed a month in New Orleans, where
she had good friends beside the sister and
mother of young West. It had been understood
that she would marry Royal in December, but
she urged her languid health, and other con
siderations of a prudential and financial nature,
as reasons to put off the marriage. Attached as
she w. s to lloval, with no idea of breaking her
engagement to him, she shrank from the thought
of merging their pleasant relation into tne closer
one of marriage.
In November she returned home with her
brother who had made his usual fall visit to the
city It w»s during this trip that the steamboat
accident took place, which Judge Pickenson
had described to Omar Witohell. The boat, a
slow old craft, loaded to her guards, was making
poor headway against the current. The male
passengers, bored with the confinement and the
slow progress, took to gambling and diinking
by way of diversion. Hugh Vincent was drawn
into both—contrary to his usual habits. He
lost money to a long-haired, black-bearded
maQ, who called hiuiselt K-irles a fellow with
the free, devil-me-care manners and reckless
speech of a thorough Westerner, who played
carelessly and seemed to be almost indifferent
whether he lost or won.
Drinking and gaming were both running pret
ty high one night, when the boat struck a snag
that tore a hole in her rotten keel. The pilot
headed her for the shore, but the water was
pouring into her hold, and in the excitement a
lamp was overturned, and a portion of the cabin
was soon in flames. There was a rush for the
two small skiffs belonging to the boat, and in a
very few minutes they were launched and filled
with passengers. Karles was the coolest man
on board, and did good service in getting the
women and children first of all into the boats.
Vincent was in the first one, with his sister (as
he fancied) by hjs side. She had been indis
j .._.1 i... a 1*—... i... ~-a.—.- uor urocner
Bad gone to arouse her at the first alarm; but in
the confusion of iright, and the bccloudinent of
liquor, ha had gone to the wrong state-room and
brought out the wrong woman, so wrapped up
that he did not find oat his mistake. She did
not wake until the last boat was about pushing
off. Karles, the last man to leave, was stepping
into it, when he heard a woman's cry, and hur
rying back into the cabin already filled with
suffocating smoke, he saw Zoe standing in her
white wrapper, her white face, surrounded by
the masses of loosened hair, looming spirit-like
through the glare and gloom. He started in
amazement.
“Miss Vincent!”
‘Mr, Hirne!
Thank God, you are alive.
She knew him in spite of his disguise of
darkened beard and hair. Even in that mo
ment of danger, she was filled with joy to find
that he had escaped. As for him, his face
glowed ; with his arm around her, he hurried
her out of the burning cabin, speaking a few
reassuring and calming words; then he ran
back to bring her shawl, and her watch, and
purse, that she had told him were under her
pillow. He was gone but a minute, but when
he returned, he saw that those in the skill had
pushed off. Nor would they regard his com
mand for them to come back. The skiff was
already too full, they called out, and kept on
their course. Hirne looked at Zoe, and pointed
to the shore, which was quite near. The water
meanwhile had filled the lower part of the boat,
and the flames were also rapidly spreading.
* You will not be frightened to trnst yourself
to me,’ he said. ‘Luckily, you know me to be a
good swimmer, else I would still be on the Tor
tugas. There, that is brave !'
He easily swam with her to the shore, but the
water was cold, the night frosty, and Zoe, not
well before, was seized with a chill that seemed
like death. Hirne worked as hard as he had
ever done in his life, to keep warmth and vital
ity in her body.
Brandy and vigorous rubbing beforo a bright
cypress fire that had been kindled in a wood
cutter’s cabin—the only shelter the gloomy
swamp afforded—at last restored her. Then
Hirne, by the force of his.'own will and his read
iness at resources, constituted himself her nurse.
‘It is only doing as I was done by, and not
that muoh, for what comparison is there be-
accompaniment, an impassioned little love-bal
lad suited to the thrilling quality of her voice.
Once more she marveled at the variety and
brilliance of his mind, as seen in his tafk. sa
tiric, abrupt and erratic as that talk was, it was
yet wonderfully vivid and original. She set
herself to persuading him to put his 8°°d gifts
to use, to quit the vagabond life he owei to
leading, and come into the ranks of useful
work and kindly social intercourse. Half tough
ing;, he had said to her as Festus said to Paul,
‘Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian,
then more earnestly, ‘would you care really
have me become a domestic animal ? If—l
thought that you ’ He broke off short with
a quick gesture of self-scorn, hut meeting her
eye, he leaned suddenly near her and said:
‘When you sang that little song just now, 1
told you it was as though you had felt the passion
with which it was charged, and I asked you it
this was so. You made no answer, yet my
question was not an idle one. I had a reason
for ftskinc* t
‘And I had none for refusing to answer,
Zoe said, while she grew paler with her effort
to conaner a strong temptation. ‘I ought to un ‘
derstand the feeling expressed in that little song,
since it was given me by the gentleman to whom
I am to be married.’ , ,
She did not, she could not look up to see the
effect of her words. He turned off from her
and walked away. Coming back in a few mo
ments, he stood before her, looked at her in
silence, then said abruptly: ....
•I was an idiot to dream it. I might have
known there could be no hope in life for me.
Touched by his look, she said earnestly: ‘Do
not say that; there is hope for you every way.
You will come out from under the cloud of the
past ;you will put up the sword of hate into its
scabbard and use the brighter weapon—mind—
to carve you a worthy place in the world. You
will work, love, marry and be happy.’
He laughed scornfully. ‘Marry ! I shall nev
er do that. I wish any woman a better fate
than to marry me. And as for your civilization,
I’ll have none of its narrow laws and hollow
customs to fetter me. I shall go into the wild
erness —as far from its sounding brass and tink
ling cymbals as I can get. When that palls,
there’s always fighting somewhere to stir the
blood, or-to stop its circulation forever. lean
join the starved handful of red-skins that stand
at bay against the trained West Pointers. Their
savage instinct of hate is at least more honest
thanmost things I can find in the world that
sails itself civilized.’
And with these reckless words he turned
That night the boat reached Vincent’s planta
tion, and while he was superintending the dis
charge of his freight, Hirne came to assist Zoe
off the boat. He almost carried her up the high,
nearly perpendicular banka. At the top, and
withdrawn a little back into the black shadow
cast by a pecan tree, he took her hand3 in his,
pressed them to his breast, to his lips—and left
her—not having spoken a word.
She had not seen nor heard from him since
that silent parting.
This was the man of whom she had to-night
found courage to speak to Royal for the first
time. The impression he had made troubled
her: she could not throw it off. She found it
hard to reason herself into the belief that it
was a mere fleeting interest, born of sympathy
and imagination. It was a relief to her^ that
Royal thought it so. She wished to be faithful
in heart as in deed to her betrothed. She was
sure she loved him ; not indeed with that ab
sorbing devotion that one reads and hears of,
and more rarely sees, but then it was better so
—better that her regard was of a calmer and
u'. p
to-night when she came away—how hollow, how
wistful they were! ‘I must be with her more; I
must go with her to-morrow,’ was Zee's last
thought.
Hush ! there comes mother Witchell. Hide that
handkerchief, please.
She insisted on dressing for dinner, though
she could hardly stand tue fatigue of the ope
ration. The fever flush was fading, and she
bade Zoe put rongf on her cheeks, and arrange
her hair so that it should hide the sunken tem
ples. Zoe, wno was clasping her bracelet, no
ticed how she trembled when she heard Witch-
ell’s step in the hall. The next moment, he
came in, greeted Zoe with his usual courtesy,
spoke to Adelle, and tossing off his hat, ran his
fingers wearily through his hair. She went up
to him and put her arms arou.id him, looking
up at him aud smiling.
‘Dont you sea lTow well I am?’ she said.
He looked down into her face, sweet still as
a faded rose. He passed his hand caressingly
over her hair, and kissed her with more than
usual tenderness. In spite of her efforts tears
rushed into her eyes. He frowned with an an
noyed expression.
‘You are such a child,’ he said, ‘do try to have
more self-oontrol, Adelle.’
During dinner she exerted herself to seem
gay and well. Zoe saw how she struggled against
languor and pain, and was not surprised to see
her. after their return to the sitting room, sud
denly turn whi^Jlbd lie back nerveless against
the chair. No «ob saw it bat Zoe, and rising
quickly, she sai«*
‘Dell, don’t you .heed a little rest now ? I have
something to say to you in private. Come.’
She passed he
CHAPTER XVII.
She went to see her next day. She was
met at the door of Adelle’s chamber by Witch-
ell’s mother—a well-preserved, but angular and
rather grim-looking personage, who resumed her
knitting tha instant she sat down, like the
model of industry that she was.
‘What is this Gorgon doing here ?’ thought
Zoe as she looked at the hard face and cold eyes.
Adelle was sitting up, but she seemed unfit to
be out of bed. As she kissed her, Zoe felt her
lips quiver, and the next instant the poor girl
had her friend round the neck and was crying
with suppressed sobs. Mrs. Witchell looked
up disapprovingly. ‘Adelle is very nervous to
day she said. ‘If she would exercise any self-
control it would be better for her and pleasanter
for her friends.. It was a mistake her coming
here in this noisy city; with all this excitement
she cannot be as quiet as she ought.’
Adelle dried her tears and, bidding Zoe sit
down by her, made an evidenteffortto converse
about ordinary pleasant things, but her thoughts
seemed to wander, and she broke off her sen
tences abruptly. Zoe glauoed rather savagely
at the Gorgon. Did she intend to sit by in that
stiff, silent, yet observant way, all the time and
exasperate one by knitting—knittiDg impertur-
bably as did the knitters of the Involution while
the axe of death did its work? The axe was j 0 ouo
at work upon this life, Zoe felt, as she looked would be better out of the city; but when he
r rui around her as if playful
ly, and^half suparted her into her bed room,
and made her lm down.
‘Not a word ift>m you,’ she said, placing her
hand over thW languid eyes. ‘Sleep now,
or at least be qqiat^
She sat by her awhile, and leaving her rest
ing if not asleep, returned to the sitting room.
Witchell wai speaking to his mother as he
walked back and forth in the room. She heard
him say:
‘Yes,’ I have decided upon it. It’s best for
her and for me. I ought to be free to give all
my attention to the work I have here.’
Seeing Zoe, he said—
‘Is Adelle asleep so soon? I think of send
ing her home with my mother, Miss.-Zoe. She
will be so muoh quieter, there.’
‘Will you go with her, sir (’
‘No ; it is impossible for me to leave.’
‘Then do not send her away from you. It
will be bad for her. It will—let me speak
plainly—it will shorten her life.’
‘How absurd's-^ Spoke up Mrs. Witchell
quickly. ‘As if Amelia were really in any dan
ger. Half of her sickness is nervous irritation
and low spirits. Miss Vincsut, you ought not
to humor your friqpd’s childish whims. She
will be much better on the plantation where
there is nothing to excite her. She can have a
good physician at hand and my own attention.
Then my son is to b9 considered. He has busi
ness it will not do for him to neglect ; a sick
wife claims his time and is a burden on his
mind.’
‘Let us think of her first,’ said Witohell, and
he no doubt thought he was speaking from his
heart. ‘I am sure the change will be to her ad
vantage.’ .
‘ It will kill her,’ Zoe burst out impetuously.
Then fearing she would injure her friend’s
cause by saying too much, she hurried out of
the room.
Next morning, she had visitors and could
only send a note to Adelle, and rev ived a meS'
sage that she wa9 ‘well as usual.’ Rather late
in the afternoon, she went to see her and was
surprised to, find the doors of her apartments
fastened ard kseqpiingly no one inside. Turn-
^7*'‘ Ia ,j>,Ai*fcy*U9treHS of the boarding
, \tchel*i s another.
and she was so opposed to leaving.
Did she seem very unwilling, Mrs. Rose ?'
‘Poor dear; she didn’t seem to be more than
half wav conscious of what was being done to
her. Mrs. Witchell told me herself they had
given her a quantity of morphine to quiet her.
She looked quite dazed-like when they brought
her down! not much more life in her than a
corpse. Aud the driver tells me, they took her
on the boat the same way. Captain Witchell
knows best, of course; but if it had been me, I
could never have sent her off that way; I'd been
afraid I’d never see her again; and she loves
him so, poor child.'
‘ He’s a cold-hearted wretch,’ cried the im
pulsive Zoe.
‘ I think you are unjust, Miss. He thinks it’s
best for her. He looked sorry, but determined.
I saw him holding her in his arms in the car
riage. He looked at her tender-like, but his
mouth was shut together in the way he has, and
I didn’t dare speak to him. He seemed to be
doing something against his heart.’
It was true. The man had had a struggle
with his heart, before his hard, ambitious will
trampled down the softness in his nature.
Greed of money and power had taken utter posl
session of him. He felt he could gain a point
by having all his faculties free to work to his
ends in these last days of the legislative session,
and he determined to remove the obstacle that
his sick, clinging wife, with her exactions on
his time and attention, presented. He had
quieted his conscience by assuring himself that
his wife was not dangerously ill, and that she
You will soon
ing awa.
are not going to die, child,
getting strong.’
Nevertheless, she had shuddered, and that
voice and look went through her with strong
conviction. She read death in those eyes. She
went straight, and wrote a letter to her son, tell
ing him to hasten home, and dispatched it on
a boat that passed down that morning. There
was no telegraph line, and it would take two
days for the letter to reach its destination. She
also sent at once for the mother of Alelle, even
permitting the messenger to ta ke the poor little
half legible line the dying girl had traced with
her feeble hand, as she lay on the pillow.
‘ Mother, father, yon must forgive me now—
tor I am dying. Come to me. Let me see yon
once more.' Adelle.
Col. Holman was not at home when the mes
senger arrived. His wife did not wait for him;
she^came at once, trembling, weeping, praying
it might not be so ill with the daughter whom
she had not ceased to love and yearn over,
though kept away from her by the stern will ot
her husband.
When she entered the room, turned to the
bed and saw there the wan wreck of hej beauti
ful child, she dropped on her knees as if pierc
ed by a ball. Her wild wails, her bitter self-re
proaches, sobbed out with her gray head bowed
on her daughter's hands, were heart-rending
to hear. She forced herself at last into compo
sure; she rose and drew the wasted head to her
bosom. She pressed kisses of passionate tender
ness all overthe faceof thesmiling, weepiug girl;
she began from that moment, by increasing at
tentions, to atone all she couid for the neglect,
that never had dreamed how cruel it had been, nor
how sorely the poor heart had starved for love.
She never left Adelle’s bedside auv more.
When, five days afterwards, at the fading of a
peaceful sunset, the young life passed away,
father, mother and brother were around her
bed, holding her hands, watching with strained
looks of mute agony, the faint smile of love
that shone on them to the last.
She had watched the door ceaselessly that
morning, and they knew she hoped to see her
husband enter; but after awhile she sighed
deeply and turned away her head, resigning
the last hop6 that had power to agitate her
breast. She had only spoken of him once.
In the middle of the last night of her life, she
woke suddenly from a disturbed sleep with a
faint scream. As her mother leant over her, she
drew her close to her and whispered:
‘I had a fearful dream. I saw Marshall swim
ming in a bloody sea, with a bloody mist above
and around him. All at once as he swam, both
his arms dropped away, and the cloud shut
him from me. It was terrible! And once—be
fore he married me—an old negro—old Marga
ret Stedman—dreamed the same thing, and
told if to me. Is it not strange?’
‘You remembered it, child—and it came to
you in your sleep. Dreams are idle things.’
‘Old Margaret said this meant evil to him.
God protect him from danger! Margaret told
me things that came true. She said he would
not care for me, that I would only clog him,
and he would tear away from me at last. That
has proved true—yet I loved him. I love him
still. I am glad, though, that he will be free. I
know I was only a hindrance.
While the body of what- had been beautiful
Adelle Holman fay dressed for its burial in
white robes with white flowers on her breast
and a crown of pure blossoms on her brow;
the keen whistle of a steamboat at ‘Starlight
Landing’ told that he whom she had so mute
ly longed to see had come —too late. He sprang
from the boat and hurried into the house; went
past every one without speaking and stood in
the presence of the dead woman, who had lov
ed him so well. Stood looking at her with arms
--ct—— ~= t -At.i —4e.st—**^ V.»Uuu uJJ^w.-'.’T.
in her cold bosom, while a storm of remorseful
agony shook his frame.
(TO BE CONTINUED. )
Tho Time of Job.
BT BET. W. B. FBENCH.
tween my clumsy services and your gentle min
istration ?’ he said, as she sat before the fire
next morning, dressed in the plain, dark clothes
of a lady who had saved her valise as well as
herself, in the boat.
The two brawny wood-cutters, whose hut had
given shelter to the unfortunates, were early
astir,and ransacking their small stores,got ready
a breakfast of hot coffee, bread, bacon and wild
honey, of which the hungry passengers of the
luckless Alethia partook with gratification
and benefit.
It was noon before a boat made its appear
ance fortunately coming uo—and being hailed,
rounded to and took on board the little party
standing forlornly on the bank.
Vincent had lost but little by the catastro
phe to the Alethia. His freight had been ship
ped by his merohant on another boat—the same
which had now taken them up.
Hirne had learned, to his surprise, that the
man whose money he had won was Zoe’s broth
er, and knowing he would not accept it back as
a gift, he induced Vincent to play with him
again, and permit him to win from him more
than he had lost
At Alexandria, Hirne went ashore and came
back in a more civilized dress, and with his
hair and beard trimmed of some of its savage
luxuriance. He sent to ask Zoe if she would
see him, and receiving her answer of ‘yes,’ he
came that evening into the cabin, and talked
.with herin a quiet corner of the dimly lighted see MarshairandTe'll hTi‘you th“nk I am im
(room. Afterwards he heard her sing to piano | proving, and that the city agrees with me.
at her friend. The hectic color on her cheeks
could not hide how they were wasted. Her
respiration came in labored breaths through
her parted, feverishly-red lips, and Zoe’s eyes
detected the blood-stains on a handkerchief
that had been thrust half under the sofa
cushion to hide it. She looked wistfully at
her friend, as if her heart were full of some
grief she could hardly keep back. At last, to
Zoe s relief, the old lady went out of the
room to interview the man who had brought
the coal and tell him what she thought of his
high charges. Then Adelle, stretching out her
arms to her cousin, said: s
•°h ! Zoe, he is going to send me awav from
him. His mother is to take me away with her
This is why he has sent for her. I know if I
heard them talking together. She says I am
in Marshall s way; that he cannot attend to his
affairs here, I weary and trouble him so. Oh '
Zoe won’t you tell him you think I am batter :
that l w!l not trouble him-no, not one bit?
That I will not fret any more about his going
out to night committees? I will be satisfied only
to know he is near me, that I can see him and
he will speak to me sometimes. But up there
away from him—at that lonesome place! Oh !
Zoe, I should die. His mother does not like me.
one is kind, but it is in such a way. She looks
at me as if she thought I was a spoiled ohild and
my siokness was only pretense. Then, not to
see him—when it is my only happiness! He is
my life—my all.’
A fit of coughing cut short the panting whis-
P er ‘ W ^. en ®“ded th ere was blood on the
fresh, white handkerchief.
•That is nothing’ she said, as Zoe, who stood
over her, with her friend’s head leaning against
her took up the handkerchief and looked^ it
sadly. I have been having these little hemor
rhages a long time. Give me that little glass of salt
th* d n I vnn°H J a w e; that will stop it; I am stronger
than yon think. I am determined to do with
out any more nursing. I am going to go oat
every day, aad you mast go with me, dear. Vel-
vmc is altering my blue silk. It has got too
large for me ; I always do lose flesh in the win-
ter. Zo«, you must stay to dinner. Yon will
carried her into her state room, and shutting
the door behind, stood looking at her as she
lay, so pitiful iu her youth, her faded loveli
ness, her death-like whiteness and frailness
the battle iu his heart had to be fought over
again. She was only half consoious of what was
going on, so powerful had been the quieting
potion given her. She hardly knew she was
going anywhere, and she had no idea she was
leaving her husband. She was soothingly con
scious of his presence; her eyes had opened
and lighted on seeing him bending over her.
She stretohed out her arms and clasped his
neck. He feared she had roused to a sense of
what was going to be, but she only whispered,
‘You wouldn’t seud me away without you]
would you dear Marshall?’ He spoke soothingly
to her, and presently she drifted away into
sleep. The boat-bell rang; he gently undid the
wasted arms, kissed her softly, and crept out,
with a guilty feeling at his heart.
He never saw her living face again. When
she recovered from the effects of the epiate, and
knew that she had been betrayed, that her hus
band had sent her away from him—to die, as she
bitterly said to her heart—she sank into a list
less, hopeless state. She never complained, she
never spoke about her husband; she seemed to
be convinced • at last that she filled no part
of his life, and she strove to put the thought of
him away from her. She grew weaker daily,
and still her strong, stirring mother-in-law, who
nnrsed her energetically, but with a sad want of
that tender, forbearing sympathy that only
comes from love, refased to believe she was ill
unto death, and insisted she would grow strong
if only she would eat more and try to brighten
np and take execcise.
Omar was away npon business, else his gentle
affectionate attention would have soothed that
sad pillow, and he wonld not have been prevent
ed from sending at once for his brother.
One morning, Mrs. Witohell came into Adelle’s
room, and as she stopped by the bed, the girl
laid her white ghost of a hand npon her mother-
in-law’s, and looking up at her with her hollow,
mournful eyes, said:
‘Won't yon send for mother? I want to nee
her before I die.’
‘ Staff and nonsense 1’ the old lady said ; ‘yon
The opinion has prevailed that Job lived in
the time of the patriarchs, or even before; or
that the book which bears his name was writteu
at a very early period. The evidence in favor
of a very early date is drawn from its silence
respecting the passage of the Dead Sea, the de
struction of the Egyptians, the manna in the
desert, and other remarkable events in the jour
ney to the promised land which might furnish
illustrations to the doctrinal statements of the
several speakers. It may be inferred that it was
written before the time of Abraham, from its si
lence respecting the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorrah, and other cities of the plain, which
were near to Idumea, where the scene of the
poem is laid. But evidence of this kind is out
weighed by that presented by a modern writer
who graphically describes the hero and the il
lustrations employed :
“Toe hero of the poem is of strange land and
parentage—a Gentile certainly, not a Jew. Tho
life, the manners, the customs, are of all varie
ties and places. Eg^pt, with its rivers and its
pyramids, is there; the description of mining
points to Phceuica; the settled life in cities, the
nomad Arabs, the wandering caravans, the heat
of the tropics, and the ice of the North are all
foreign to Canaan, speaking of foreign things
and foreign people. No mention, or limit of
mention, is there throughout the poem of Jew
ish traditions or Jewish oertainties. We look
to find the three friends vindicate themselves
as they so well might have done, by appeals to
the fertile annals of Israel, to the iflood, to the
cities of the plain; to the plagues of Egypt, or
the thunders of Sanai; but of all this there is
not a word. They are passed by as if they had
no existence, and instead of tnem, when wit
nesses are required for the power, of God, we
have strange, nn-Hebrew stories of the Eastern
astronomic mythology, the old wars of the gi-
ants, the imprisoned Orion, the wounded drag-
on, the sweet influences, of the seven stars, and
the guttering fragments of the sea-snake, Ra-
hab, trailing across the Northern sky. A-»ain.
God is not the God of Israel, but the Father of
mankind. We hear nothing of chosen people,
nothing of a special revelation, nothing of
peculiar privileges."
The evidence that the poem was composed by
Moses is, that the writer must have been master
ot the simple and sublime in style; that he must
have been minutely acquainted with astronomy,
natural history, and the general science of tiie
age and that he must have been a ‘Hebrew by
? r -, aa< ^ na rTi*u 0 * an 8 tta ge, and Arabian by long
residence. These things all point to Moses, it
is saic, as the author of the poem, ainoe there
the - f man kno,rn . who byjbirth, education
t ^ re “m9tances of his life, was qualified
write it. Yet it may be urged, from similar
considerations, that Solomon wrote it.
£ ai “ evidence has been found that Moses is
e author of Job in the fact that certain views
or tne oreatmn are presented like those taught
n Genesis. One or two must suffice: “And
uoa said. Let there be a firmament in the midst
o the waters, and let it divide the waters from
is -7 j ^ Q d ®°d ma de the firmament, and
divided the waters which were under the firma
ment from the waters which were above the
flrmamont. Gen. i. 6, 7. Job says, “He bind-
eth up the waters in his thick olouds, and the
olond is not sent under them. He hath com
passed the waters with bounds until the day
and night come to an end.” xxvL 8, 10. A strik
ing similarity in the form of expression is fonnd
also in these statements: “And God said Be
light: and light was.” Gen. i. 3. “He saith
to the snow, Be: on earth it falleth, likewise the
small rain, and the rain of his might.” Job
xxxvii. G.
There are manv forms of expression common
to Moses and to Job, which may seem to indi
cate that Moses was the author of the poem.
Space will permit only one example. In the
thirty-second chapter of Deuteronomy, Moses
gives many promises and solemn warnings like
the following: “Remember the days of old, con
sider the years of many generations; ask thy fa
ther and he will shew thee; thy elders and they
will tell thee. He made him to suck honey out
of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock; butter
of kiue, and milk of sheep. Bat Jashurun wax
ed fat and kicked; thou art waxen fat, thou art
grown thick, thou art covered with fatness. I
will heap mischief upon them; I will spend my
arrows upon them. I will make mine arrows
drunk with blood.”
Expressions and figures of speech very simi
lar to these are found in Job: “For inquire, I
pray thee, of the former age, and prepare thy
self for the search of their fathers: shall not
they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter words
out of thy heart?” viii. 8.10. “He shall not
see the rivers, the floods. th9 brooks of honey
and batter.” xx. 17, When I washed my steps
with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers
of oil.” xxix 6. “Because he covereth bis face
with his fatness, and maketh collopa of fat on
his flioks.” xv. 27. “For the arrows of the al
mighty are within me, the poison whereof
Arintieth up my spirit; the terrors of God do
set themselves in array against me.” vi. 4 “His
archers compass me round about; ho cleaveth
my reins assunder, aud doth not spare.’’ xvi,
13.
But an equally strong argument may be made
in favor of Solomon as the author of the book
of Job. Some of the most eminent of the early
Christian writers were of this opinion, as well
as some in modern times. We must certainly
admit that Solomon was as competent to the
work as an ancient Hebrew. For he was a man
of liberal culture; he was skilled in science; his
mind was enriched with the stores of various
learning; he was capable of writing on any sub
ject he might choose, aad he possessed the po
etic gift. The productions of his genius show
conclusively that he was able to write a highly
finished poem, slioul 1 he desire to do so. A
comparison of Job with the writings of Solomon
wili show a multitude of sentiments, doctrines,
and forms of speech common to both, as it might
be expected in the various productions of the
same author. Whoa speaking of wisdom, Job
says: “It cannot be valued with the gold of
Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire.
Tne gold and the crystal cannot equal it, aud
the exchange of it shall not be for jewels or flee
gold.” xxviii 1G. Solomon says: “Wisdom is
better than rubies; and all the things that may
be desired are not to be compared with it.”
Prov. viii. 11.
Both use similar language when speaking of
the creation, showing that their conceptions of
it are the same.: “Where wast thou wh8n I laid
the foundations of the earth ? Who shut up the
seas with doora, when it brake forth as if it had
issued forth out of the womb?” Job xxxviii.
4, 8.
Solomon says of wisdom: “The Lord pos
sessed me in the beginning;—when he gave to
the sea his decree, that the waters should not
pass his commandment; when he appointed the
foundations ot'the earth.” Prov. viii 22, 29.
Very similar views are expressed in those
productions respecting the state of the dead
Job says: “Man lieth down, and riseth not; till
the heavens be no more they shall not awake,
Jior raised out of their sleep.” xiv. 12. Solomon
*avs: “The deal know not anything. There
' teT’ix.^- 10? tha
1 ue n«nce of God is illustrated by sim-
llar figures. Jobsiysof God: “Hell is naked
before them, and destruction hath no covering.”
xxvi. Solomon says: “Hell and destruction
are before the Lord; how muoh more, then, the
hearts of the children of men ? Prov. xv. 11.
a^?i^° C ^ nne * ka ^ God brings upon men good
and ill, without regard to their merits, is taught
by Job and Solomon. The former says. “He
destroyeih the perfect and the wicked. If the
scourge slay suddenly, he will laugh at the trial
of the innocent. Job ix. 23. The other says:
“There be just men to whom it happeneth ac
cording to the work of the wicked; again, there
be wicked men to whom it happeneth accord
ing to the righteous.” Eccl. viii. 14. “All
things come aline to all.” Eccl. ix. 2.
(To be continued.)
Mr. Boecher’s Black-Eyed Friend,
A LADY WHO WANTS TO BEPOBM HIM
AND HEB FBIKXDS.
-HER HOME
[From tha New York Herald.]
Captain Lennon, of the Fourth precinct po
lice Station, Jersey City, was visited recently
by a female veiled and dressed in black, and
apparently forty-five years of age. Sue desired
to know whether it would be necessary to ob
tain a permit to hold a prayer meeting' at her
residence. Tho Captain told her that it would
not, and asked what the object of the proposed
prayer meeting was, and she answered some
what excitedly, ‘For Beecher’s reformation.’
She went ou to say that she was the veiled wo
man who on Friday night disturbed the solem
nity of Mr. Beecher’s prayer meeting in Ply
mouth Church. Finding that she could not
pray with Mr. Beecher, she determined to pray
for him, and-she invited the Captain to attend
the services at her house on Linden avenue
yesterday, at 10 a.m. and 2 p.m.
A Herald reporter visited the house yesterday
morning to attend the first service. It is a two
story and basement frame building, with Man
sard roof, at the head of Linden avenue, and
stands on the western brow of Bergen Hill, in
one of the prettiest locations in Jersey City. A
female, arrayed in calioo skirt and apron, was
busily engaged in washing the sidewalk with a
broom. An American flag floated from a pole
ih the lawn in front of the house. The reporter
inquired whether the service was going on, and
the female introduced herself at once as the
preacher, but said no one had arrived and the
service had not yet begun. She invited the
visitor inside to wait, and while there told him
her history. She said that her name was Mrs.
Mary Elizabeth Horth, and that she had devoted
herself for weeks to prayer and fasting, so that
she might devise some means of reforming Ply
mouth’s pastor. On Thursday,she said the Lord
bade her go to Beecher and commune with him,
and acting under this inspiration she went on
Friday evening to Plymouth Church. She
gained admittance to Mr. Beecher’s room before
the prayer meeting opened, but he refused to
hear her. She then went to the church and ap
pealed to him from her seat in the congregation.
She claimed that Beecher’s friends had prevent?
ed any one from coming to hear her, but she
would preach in spite of them. After waiting
nearly two hours, and finding that the service
was not likely to take place, to visitor rose to go
and as he was leaving, Mrs. Horth said: ‘I
would not curse the old mau; he has done some
good, but the Lord tells me his black marks far
outnumber his white ones.’
At the gate the reporter met a young woman,
wko . wka ^ do yom think of my
Hs not daring to venture an opinion,
hedged by inquiring what the young woman
thought, and she answered: ‘Why she is orozy,
of coarse.'