ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATIONAL CUSTOMS. NO. I.-HEBREW. TRANSLATED FROM THE MODERN SANSCRIT BY HEZEKIAH From Frazer's Magazine. THE TEMPLE. "It is exactly five years from this day," went on Hophin; "I was coming from the bath, when Ezela met me with her eyes glistening with tears, 'Oh! my lord,' she exclaimed, a child-a poor orphan is at your gate. No home, no friend, no refuge! Bless the first year of our union with a good work, and let the feast we are now celebrating be to your wife a memorial of her husband's generous bounty.' Ezela was so beautiful at this moment, that I promised to adopt the boy. I took him by the hand, seated him at my table, and called him 'son.' I hope I have never had reason to repent my conduct." I hope so, too," replied Assir, mysteri "What mean you? Your voice sounds ominously?" said Hophin, whose usually pale cheek reddened up with a burning flush. Ir was the vigil of the Sabbath day, and the evening star shone brilliantly on the Temple of Solomon, whose hundred portals were now sending forth (the sacred service being over) multitudes of Zion's children. Slowly they vanished away, like clouds over the valley of the Jordan; and the holy temple now appeared tenantless, with the exception of one votary, who, in a pensive and gloomy mood, remained lean-ously. ing against a column, of which, by his deathlike stillness, he seemed to be a part. From the gold-embroidered silks of India, which constituted his dress, his flowing beard partially silvered with age, his stately stature and noble countenance, it was easy to conclude that this man was amongst the loftiest of his tribe. He seemed yet buried in thought when the chief priest Assir, who had just taken off his officiating robes, passed him by, remarking with a smile of masked malignity," Has Hophin, happy Hophin, forgotten that his young and lovely wife is anxiously awaiting his return?” "Ha, Assir!" replied Hophin, startled from his reverie: then adding in a tone of assumed tranquillity," my wife, good Assir, is passing the evening by the bedside of my niece, Rachel, who is dangerously ill." And, doubtless, you are now going to conduct to her home your fair spouse? At least you will not depute that pleasing duty to the orphan whom you adopted five years ago at the FEAST of the HUTS?" "An act of humanity," replied Hophin evasively. "Backed by the moving entreaties of your young wife," furtively sneered the high-priest. How could I do otherwise?" continued Hophin, with gathering gloom. "The 'Feast of the Huts,' as you well know, is celebrated to bless the produce of the earth and to return thanksgiving to the DIVINE DONOR. Huts formed of branches are raised before our doors. In these we eat in common during the festival. It was at this feast that Ammiel came to our hut. How could I refuse hospitality to a famished child? for Ammiel was then but a child.” "But is so no longer," observed Assir, with studied indifference. "Nay, I speak in my wonted tone," replied the priest. "I know thee for my enemy," sharply rejoined Hophin. "Your rival once, but your enemy never! The Lily of Hebron inflamed me with a passion such as few can feel. You were preferred to me; and, in the first moments of my despair, I owed you, perhaps, no very great good will; but now-poh! no more of this. Ezela is about twenty, I believe, and you are fifty, Hophin?" "That is my age this very day," replied the husband of Ezela. "Ezela is beautiful, mild, affectionate, but young and thoughtless." "Assir!" "I have a nephew at home, a fine stripling like your adopted son Ammiel. Now had I a wife so young, so beautiful as Ezela, why-women will make comparisons, and they seldom decide in favor of gray hairs." The priest's words were arrows. His looks poisoned the barbs. "Wretch, be silent!" at length burst forth Hophin. "Ezela is as pure as the snows of Hermon !" "And who has said to the contrary, my good Hophin? As for me, I have not the slightest doubt of it; but other people say that they have seen and heard "What?" roared Hophin, trembling in every, nerve, and perspiring at every pore "what have they heard?-what have they seen?" "Only the gentle conversation and private meetings of Ammiel and Ezela upon the terrace." Serpent or demon!" replied Hophin, hissing with the suppressed fury of both, "if this be false, your life would be but as a drop in the cup of my revenge; but if true -true !-God of Israel, where am I? My reason wanders! Assir! for mercy's sake retract your words. Pluck from my mind these dreadful suspicions! say that Ezela is true, or, by my father's grave—_—__” "Ezela's truth and love can be easily and surely proved," calmly interrupted Assir. "How?" gasped Hophin. "By one of our pious ceremonies now almost obsolete; but which, on this occasion, I would wish to revive." "What ceremony?" "I will explain it to you as we go along. Come," said Assir, familiarly passing his arm under Hophin's. "The night advances, and Ezela is not yet at home." My lord," replied Ezela, the tears clinging to her silken eyelids, "Rachel is much better. The night was growing late, and Ammiel accompanied me home." "Ammiel, Ammiel!" repeated Hophin, using the word as a stimulant to his rage; and what brought Ammiel thither?" Pale and trembling, Ezela answered not : but Ammiel, starting to his feet, replied, " My father! I went to meet you and Ezela; but, not finding you at Rachel's house, we believed that you had returned home in our absence, and therefore we hastened hither to rejoin you." "It is well," coldly observed Hophin, seating himself on the cushions, and concealing under a tranquil air the suspicions gnawing at his heart. Drawing Ezela to his side, and passing his arm around her waist, till his fingers pressed insidiously upon the life-pulse of her spotless breast, he continued,— thou art now eighteen Ammiel, my son, "Since the last moon," replied Ammiel, in perplexity. 66 It was late at night when Hophin, strid-years of age?" ing rapidly through the principal streets of Jerusalem, arrived at his door, which was immediately opened by an old female slave. "Where is Ezela?" demanded he, with a voice so altered, that the old slave raised her lamp to his face, doubting that it was her master who spake. "Where is Ezela?" hoarsely repeated Hophin. 66 My lord, upon the terrace;" and the slave bowed to the dust. "Alone?" muttered Hophin, as if dreading the reply. "No, my lord; the young Ammiel is with her." Ammiel, thou art now a man. It were foul shame for thee to pass thy days in the apartments of women.' "What would my father say? I am an orphan. On earth I have no other friend than you and Ezela," added he, sadly looking at the young woman, who smiled as sadly in return. Hophin pressed so tightly the arm of Ezela, that she uttered a cry of pain. Regardless of this, her husband sternly continued, "The king of Israel now lives in peace; but peace has need of soldiers even as war. "No, no, Ammiel!" suddenly exclaimed Ezela ; "leave not this roof. Choose some other profession than the cruel one of war." "Woman!" thundered Hophin, "give your advice when asked!" In an instant Hophin was on the terrace. One rapid glance drank in the whole scene. The night was oriental in its fairest at- "Now I understand my father," proudly tributes; clear, calm, and beautiful. Myr- replied Ammiel. "Let it be to-morrow,— iads of stars sparkled in the deep blue heav-let it be this hour: I am ready to depart." ens, forming the retinue of the crescent moon slowly rising from the waves of "the Great Sea." At one extremity of the terrace female slaves were seated on straw mats, and spoke in low murmurs; at the other end Ezela, unveiled, and reclining on cushions, sang, in a low soft voice, one of David's canticles. Ammiel was seated at her feet, and their attitudes changed not at the presence of Hophin! Ezela sang. Ammiel gazed on her, and listened; but Hophin, with a voice as from the tomb, slowly articulated, "Why have you left the house of Rachel before I came to conduct you hither?" The silence which suceeded the loud and furious words weighed heavily even on the slaves crouching in whispering groups at the other extremity of the terrace. "Ezekiel, the captain of the king's guards, is my friend and kinsman. He will receive you to-morrow in his corps. Ammiel, you depart to-morrow." "To-morrow?" involuntarily sighed Ezela. "Well! what next? Pray continue. This may be the last opportunity;" and Hophin smiled maliciously. "You hurt me, my lord," said Ezela, in a low voice (his poniard-hilt pressed rudely against her side),-"you hurt me;" and she endeavored to disengage her person from his coil. "Stay!" shouted Hophin; and the adjoining terraces reverberated successively the sound. Ezela seemed petrified to a beautiful statue. A flash of indignation gleamed from the large blue eyes of the orphan; but, suppressing his bitter emotion, he demanded at what hour he should receive his instructions. "At two hours after sunrise," coldly replied Hophin. Without another word, Hophin, Ezela, and the orphan Ammiel, separated for the night; the trembling slaves slowly following. No sound was heard save the step and voice of the warder on the walls, or the distant gurgling of the Kedron. The cloudless stars shone down upon the deserted terrace; gradually they waned away toward the palm-clad shores of Phoenicia; and soon the mountains of Moriah hailed the cheerful day-dawn,-cheerful to all but the wretched, whose sleepless eyes turn away from the blessed beams as from a ghastly mockery. THE BANKS OF THE KEDRON. But long before day-break, Assir, the high-priest, and Hophin, chief of the tribe of Naphthali, were slowly walking on the margin of the Kedron, or "Dark Rivulet," which darns its darkling way through the valley of Hinnom. Pressing almost convulsively his companion's arm, Hophin eagerly asked, "But is the test of the bitter waters' infallible?" "Infallible beyond the shadow of suspicion." "My reason refuses to believe it," demurred the layman. "The power of Jehovah is infinite!" The priest bowed low. at his feet, "Ezela must die! You understand me.' "Justice shall be done on the guilty;" and the priest bowed again. 66 'Assir, you are a doctor of the law, and even so am I. But you are also a priest, and so am not I. Speak we undisguisedly. Speak not as a high-priest to an ignorant Levite, but as man to man." So saying, he sat down upon the trunk of a storm-uprooted cedar; and, approaching his lips towards the ears of the highpriest, whispered, in a hiss of torture, "Assir, I am betrayed! Ezela loves Ammiel! You see this poniard. Last night it was within a hair-breadth of drinking the life-blood of the wanton and her paramour. You shudder, Assir, and you are right. The deed were brutal, so I checked myself to enjoy a sweeter vengeance. Assir, Ezela must die, yet not in the darkness of night, but in the glare of noon-day,-not assassinated by my slaves, or by my own hand, but by thine, good Assir, by the draught of the "bitter waters" in the midst of the Temple, and before the face of all Israel. Thou understandest ?" "To none but the guilty are the waters terrible," solemnly replied the priest. "And yet, had I been high-priest, good Assir, they should be terrible to whomsoever I pleased," insinuated Hophin. But the hint fell stillborn, apparently, for the priest's eye was imperturbable as the tomb. "The sand which I mix with the waters is collected from the floor of the sanctuary. I mix with the sand certain burnt herbs, and prepare two cups, one for the wife, the other for her husband." "You mark one of these cups good Assir?" A Their eyes met. A flash of demon joy gleamed, for a moment, in the eyes of the high-priest, then left them more lurid than before, as darkness after lightning. fiendish thought seemed to mark, as with a brand, his forehead, piercing through the prophylact, and burning in the brain. "The laborer deserves his hire," mutter "And yet, if Ezela should prove inno-ed Assir. cent?" mused Hophin. Hophin drew from his bosom a gold-em "She would appear more beautiful from broidered purse, and presented it to the the ordeal," complimented the priest. high-priest. "But, before I act, remarked the latter, "But if guilty?" "Her body would soon become swollen," I must previously ascertain whether Ezeand death would instantly succeed.” la deserves the death you doom her to. I "Assir!" said the husband, casting a desire to have an hour's converse with her gloomy glance on the dark waters rolling alone." "Never!" exclaimed Hophin, starting at the thought. my son! From the grave I implore your forgiveness. Let not my memory be brought to "Then seek from some other the ordeal shame, nor your sister to reproach. by revealof the bitter waters,' prepared in the man-heart at this my dying hour. Go to thy sister; ing the secret which weighs heavily on my ner you wish them to be. Peace be with tell her all. May the God of Israel support you!" And the priest arose from the pros- thee and her to keep inviolate the secret of thy trate cedar, as if about to depart. "SHIRAZ." "Hold! Assir," groaned Hophin, struggling with his passions; "you have my secret. When would you wish to speak with Ezela ?" While the machinations of Sathanas were thus concocting by the waters of the Kedron, the rays of the rising sun found Ezela and the young Israelite clasped in each other's arms on the terrace where the scene of the last evening had passed. "My brother, my dear and only brother, all must be revealed to Hophin. Ammiel, you must not be sacrificed!" And Ezela sobbed bitterly. But the dying words of our mother must be obeyed. Ezela, she knew not at first that I lived, that I was saved from the shipwreck where our father perished; otherwise she would not have willed you all the property, half of which was legally mine." Yet, Ammiel, when she knew you were alive, why did she conceal your existence, and rob you of your just patrimony?" "Hush! my sister. A mother's pride, and she was most proud in having Hophin for her son, led her to this error, besides the disgrace of Hophin's refusal, had you only half the dowry proposed. I regret not the loss. Your marriage was celebrated, and you accompanied your husband to Jerusalem." "And you, my poor brother, art cast penniless on the world for my account. Oh! Ammiel, let me read once more the last injunctions of our mother. They may strengthen me in this hour of trial." Ammiel took a scroll of parchment from his bosom, and Ezela read, with sorrowful agitation, her mother's letter: "To Ammiel. "My son, when you return to the home of your fathers you will find it desolate. Your dying mother confesses she has robbed you, and added to the robbery a lie. Forgive me, mother. "Thus, Ezela," sighed Ammiel, taking back the parchment, our mother's secret must be kept, even to the death." "But, Ammiel, my brother, hear me. Leave not Jerusalem this morning, nor even to-morrow. I implore you to grant me this favor. Some horrible presentiment chills me as with a death-damp. Stay, Ammiel," she repeated, enfolding him in her arms. "Wait till to-morrow eve near the tower of David. I shall either come myself, or send a slave to thee." "Well, I promise thee, Ezela. Trust thy brother!" A shadow crossed the sunshine on the terrace. Ammiel started, and suddenly disengaged himself from his sister's farewell embrace. Hophin stalked forward. "Pardon our tears and our last farewell, my lord. Ezela has been a sister to me; to her I owe the protection you have so nobly granted to a poor orphan. Be not of fended at my grief;" and Ammiel turned aside in sorrow. "Wherefore should I?" coldly responded Hophin. "But enough of this. Take you these three purses of gold, you will find my best horse ready caparisoned in the court-yard. Depart for the army. Farewell!" Ammiel was about to refuse the gifts of Hophin, but a look from Ezela altered his intention. Receiving the purses, and casting one look on Ezela, he uttered,— Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a slave, who, touching the ground with his forehead, announced that a pilgrim requested hospitality. See, then, to his wants," hastily replied Ezela, resuming her gaze towards David's Tower. "The pilgrim requests a private interview," said the slave, returning. "Where is thy master?" inquired Ezela. "At evening prayer," replied the slave. "I receive no persons in his absence. Depart !" The slave departed, but in a few minutes reappeared, and lowly uttered, "The pilgrim requests this interview in the name of humanity." "In vain!" replied Ezela, in a tone of annoyance. "For the sake of your life, which is in danger." "Leave my presence," proudly command the young matron. your husband." "In the name of "I cannot see this man," said Ezela, hesitatingly. "In the name of the orphan Ammiel.” "Bid him enter immediately," rapidly answered Ezela, veiling her flushed features. And Assir entered. "Daughter of Shiraz!" mildly began the priest, "your mother spurned me as your suitor. Hophin, the wealthy and powerful Hophin, was preferred to the poor priest Assir. But that is past. I come not hither to reproach; no, I come to save you." How, Assir! what means this mys "Satanic slanderer!" replied the young wife, her eyes flashing and her bosom heaving with indignant emotion. Seest thou this purse? Dost thou recognize it? It is full of gold; my reward for your death." Ezela instantly recognized the purse which her own hands had wrought and presented to Hophin. The hot tears came gushing through her veil. "But it shall be the reward of his death, if thou willest it," said the priest, insidiously approaching her. Promise, beautiful Ezela, to be my bride, and Hophin shall quaff the poisoned cup, leaving thee a widow to-morrow." "Infamous assassin!" indignantly burst forth Ezela, as she rushed from the terrace. A moment after, and before Assir had recovered from his discomfiture, a slave hurriedly conducted him from the terrace to the court-gate. There the husband of Ezela met the high-priest. Their eyes met, and the meeting of their eyes would have delighted man's enemy to behold. To-morrow!" muttered Hophin. Ay, to-morrow!" and the priest hurried on. THE ORDEAL. It was noon; not a cloud obscured the azure heavens. The sun shown down in all his power and beauty on the domes of Jerusalem, "the vision of peace," (and a vision of peace has it been from its foundation to the present day.) Crowds thronged through the gates of Solomon's Temple, eagerly anxious to witness the ordeal of the bitter waters. The women occupied exclusively the galleries, the men filled nearly to suffocation the body of the temple. Silence seemed to shudder as the high-priest appeared slowly ascending the steps of the tabernacle. As soon as he had stood in front of the holy ark he bowed him to the ground and then stepped back. A few moments elapsed and he was followed by a man and a woman. The former in gloomy abstraction kept his eyes fixed upon the unleavened cake which he carried between his hands. The woman walked upon the left side of the man, her person being entirely covered by a white woollen veil. The swan of the Euphrates never appeared more graceful. A brief pause ensued, when the husband, placing the cake upon the altar, uttered aloud, "The spirit of jealousy possesses |
