Can we say from our heart, 'The Lord
is _my_ Comforter?' I take Him my every sorrow, I tell Him my every
trouble. He understands it, and He understands me, and He comforts me as
no other can. The Lord is indeed my Comforter.

So the little Nehemiah had grown up an ever-present reminder in his
parents' home of the comfort of God.

How many children Hachaliah had we are not told, but Nehemiah had
certainly one brother, Hanani. There had been some years before this a
parting in Hachaliah's family. Hanani, Nehemiah's brother, had left
Shushan for a distant land. Twelve years had passed since all the Jews
in Shushan had been roused by the news that Ezra the scribe was going
from Babylon to Jerusalem, and that he was calling upon all who loved
the home of their forefathers to go with him, and to help him in the
work he had undertaken. Bad news had been brought to Babylon of the
state of matters in Palestine; those who had returned with Zerubbabel
were not prospering, either in their souls or their bodies, and Ezra,
shocked by what he had heard, determined to go to Jerusalem that he
might reform the abuses which had arisen there, and do all in his power
to rouse the people to a sense of their duty. A brave company had set
forth with him. Eight thousand Jews had been ready to leave comfort,
luxury, and affluence behind, that they might go to the desolate city,
and endeavour to stir up its people to energy and life.

One of the 8,000 who went with Ezra was Nehemiah's brother, Hanani. It
is possible that Nehemiah himself was at that time too young to go; it
is also probable that Hachaliah, the father, having been born and
brought up in Shushan, was hard to move. So Hanani set forth alone, and
the brothers were parted.

Twelve long years, and in all probability no news had reached the family
in Shushan of the absent Hanani. A journey of five months lay between
them and Jerusalem; and in those days, when all the conveniences we
enjoy were unknown, they would not only never expect to meet again, but
they would also never anticipate the pleasure of even hearing any news
of each other, or of holding the slightest communication.

But as the Rab-shakeh walks to the gate of Shushan, on the day on which
the story opens, he spies a caravan of travellers coming along the
northern road. They have evidently come a long way, for they are tired,
exhausted, and travel-stained. The mules walk slowly and heavily under
their burdens, the skin