avert the impending calamity. "And
she said unto her servants, Go on before me; behold I come after you.
But she told not her husband," which shows conclusively that although
he was "churlish and evil in his doings" she was not under his
dominion to any great extent, or afraid of his anger, for she took
things in her own hands and ran the government to suit herself, for
the time being at least.

So she met David, made a telling speech, pleaded eloquently, flattered
skillfully, and David, who never could withstand the beauty and
oratory of another man's wife, granted her every request, as he
himself confessed and said (I notice David always got particularly
pious when he was going to do or had done anything particularly mean)
to Abigail:

"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel which sent thee this day to meet
me: and blessed be thy advice."

I don't know what kind of a bargain they had made, but it sounds a
little queer to hear him saying to her, "go up in peace to thine
house; see, I have hearkened to thy voice and have accepted thy
person."

Abigail returned home and found her husband had been having a gay time
while she was away, and "his heart was merry within him, for he was
very drunken," so she waited till the morning "when the wine had gone
out of Nabal," as it is quaintly put, and then she "told him these
things," but as there was nothing but good news in "these things" she
must have told him something else that is not recorded, for "his heart
died within him, and he became as stone."

Now, I wouldn't cast a suspicion on Abigail for any consideration, but
it does seem a little strange that ten days after her memorable
meeting with the handsome and musical David, "the Lord smote Nabal
that he died."

"And David sent and communed with Abigail, to take her to him to
wife."

I simply mention this little romance to prove that there was no
evidence of obedience in Abigail's conjugal relations.

THE FAMOUS WIDOW OF MOAB.

THE FAMOUS WIDOW OF MOAB.

And Naomi, weary of the land of Moab, in the shadows of whose
mountains, guarded by the angel of eternal sleep, lay the graves of
her husband and sons, longed in her loneliness for the friends and
associations of her youth. Her heart turned back to the old house at
home, where there is always more sunshine and starshine, softer
breezes and sweeter bird-songs, more silvery streams and fragrant
flowers, than in any other clime, and she was about to ta