they shall
drive thee from among men; and thy dwelling shall be with the beasts of
the field; they shall make thee eat grass as oxen; and seven times shall
pass over thee, until thou knowest that the Most High ruleth in the
kingdom of men."

The voice ceased. The king uttered a loud, hysterical laugh, descended
from his palace, and ran into the park, a raving maniac.

. . . . . . .

Stillness reigns in the home of Joram. No merry voices fall on the ear of
the passer-by. The few that move around the premises tread carefully and
silently, while solemnity settles on each countenance. The voice of song
is hushed; the loud peals of melody are no longer heard; and for many a
day the "Harp of Judah" has remained in its corner, and no delicate hand
has swept its well-tuned strings. Inside of that mansion to-day you
witness not that joy which is wont to pervade it. You perceive cheeks wet
with tears, and bosoms heaving with sighs. The inmates converse together
in whispers, and tread lightly. In an apartment richly furnished, into
which the beams of the sun are not permitted to enter, we find assembled
a large company of relatives and near friends. It is not an occasion of
small import that calls them thus together. There we find Mathias,
Perreeza, and their children. The amiable Jupheena is there, with her
husband and sons and daughters. Venerable men and women are seen here and
there.

But where to-night is Joram? Where is that benign countenance? Hush!
Speak low, tread lightly! Disturb not the last moments of the dying
Israelite! Joram is at the banks of Jordan. Already his feet are touching
the cold waters.

The sick man turns on his pillow and faintly

"Mathias, why comes he not? Shall I not once more see my most excellent
friend?"

"My dear father, he will ere long be here. The messenger is trustworthy,
and will soon return."

"The journey of life is near its close. The holy hill is in sight. I pass
through the vale of death on my way to the better land. Yonder is the
home of the faithful. Sorrow and mourning shall flee away."

"He is here! He is here!" cried Jupheena.

"Has he arrived?" asked the sick man, in faint accents.

"Yea, father," replied Mathias, in soothing tones, "he has arrived."

"Thanks be to Jehovah!"

Presently, a man of venerable appearance, his hair silvered over with
age, apparently a Chaldean, walked into the apartment. Jupheena was the
f