kindred: he was deceived in the most tender object of his life, he was grieved with the crimes and quarrels of his children; and he said near the end of his life, with bitter retrospection, "few and evil have been the days of my pilgrimage." Nor did Isaac and Esau escape their penalty for the exclusive preference which the father designed for Esau, and which the son encouraged. The benediction of the Patriarch was the word of a prophet, which he could not recall. Isaac trembled very exceedingly when he found that the lordship and the rule which he intended for Esau he had conferred upon Jacob; and in this exceeding sorrow he admitted that the injustice which he had conceived had fallen where he least desired it. And Esau cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry.

Rebekah saw no more of the son of her heart, after he left her to go to her kindred. How, in the loneliness of her last hours, must she have felt the fearful imprecation which she invoked upon herself: "The curse be upon me, my son!" Could Isaac draw again to his heart the wife who had so cruelly deceived him? Could Esau look with the affection of a son upon her who had defrauded him of his birth-right? And he to whom she might have looked for companionship and comfort, was an exile from her bosom for ever. We are not informed when or where she died; but before Jacob's return she had departed. What a return was Jacob's! We can imagine him looking with an aching heart for all that had been dear to his mother- for such is the inference from a striking fact, which appears upon the sacred page: "Deborah, Rebekah's nurse died, and she was buried beneath Bethel, under an oak, and the name of it was called the oak of mourning." Thus the faithful attendant of the mother found a home-shall we not suspect a more genial home than in Isaac's household?

F

in the tent of the favourite son. Her place was in the family of Isaac-she preferred to that the household of Jacob. How significant is the fact; and how plainly does it point to the manner in which the woman once welcomed by Isaac as the joy of his heart, must have passed the evening of her days!

As the life of Rebekah opening in hope closed in disappointment and darkness—so may those look to find retribution, who would put the clothes of Esau upon Jacob, and admit favouritism and duplicity, where impartial love and singleness of heart should unite the household in the bonds of peace.

ESTHER.

MARIE ROSEAU.

MOURNING within her palace, in her room
The young queen sits alone. A soft perfume
Mingles its odours with the evening breeze,
As steals it through the garden's fragrant trees,
Ere fanning her white brow. Soft music floats
Upon the air-the wild bird's joyous notes
Are gushing forth. A jewelled coronet
Is gleaming close beside her. Not as yet
Have tears bedimmed its lustre, nor has care
Made that light crown too wearisome to bear.
The skies wear twilight's dimness-here and there
A few faint stars seem struggling to maintain
Their seats till all of day-light fades away,
And darker hours give them an easy reign.
Within, no other light gives out its ray

Save that which flashes from those brilliants rare,

Or gleams from her drooped lids. So young and fair,
A queen and well beloved; and yet her brow

Is sad, and in calm, motionless despair,

Her small white hands are clasped: Why mourns she now?

Not always dwelt she thus in regal state:
Once, years ago, when in her infancy,
She was a captive orphan, desolate
And unprotected: yet Heaven's sympathy
Bestowed an earthly friend to be her guide,
To give her purest counsel, truest love—
No more: for he was poor in all beside.
How oft with tearful eve, upturned above,
She sat beside him, listening to some tale
Of captive suffering, when from father-land,
Its holy hills and gently sloping vale,

Their people had been forced by stern command
And hostile forces of a foreign foe:

And how e'en now they bow in spirit low
Subject to bondage — quailing as in fear

Of other, newer suffering. Then the tear
Would leave her eye, and in its place would ourn

A brighter ray, lit by some purpose stern,
Reflected from her soul. Time fled apace-

The captive won a monarch's heart-a queenly place
Within the realm. Affectionate and mild,

She loved her guardian and obeyed him still;

Recalled his precepts, strove to do his will,

And rendered reverence as a little child.

Her kinsman gained

And this is why she mourns.
The malice of a man who had attained

A place of confidence within the state,
And won high honours from her regal lord.
He, with a spirit full of deadly hate,
Besought the king in favour to afford

This boon: the lives of all that race. intent
To have revenge, his scorn was not content
With less. The boon was granted: edicts sent
Through all the kingdom, told the fearful news
Of sudden death awaiting all the Jews.
'Twas her own nation. Heaven's peculiar trust,
In years long past; now bowing to the dust,
Condemned to die to gratify the pride

Of one weak man. And she, the monarch's bride,
Was of the number, though he knew it not.
She thought he loved her, and her gentle tone
Might plead prevailingly before the throne,

If leave were given; but to approach that spot
Unbidden, none not even she might dare

On risk of death; unless the king, perchance,
Extend his sceptre to the suppliant there,
In silent token that he might advance,
And offer his petition. Yet can she
Thus venture in his presence tremblingly?
A thousand doubts and fears pass through her mind
Not lately has she seen him-would she find
His heart unchanged to her? How can she go
Perhaps to meet his anger? In deep woe
Her head is bowed. Better it is to die-
To have the shining weapon pierce the heart,
Away from him, than see his deep, dark eye
Fixed coldly on her, as he says, "Depart,

Rash one, to death!" Then comes another thought
Of sterner, deeper purpose. It is fraught

With early teachings: not herself alone

Must perish thus. All selfish feelings gone,