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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.'