A LEGEND OF BETHLEHEM. I. It chanced on a Friday of the month of April, in the year of our Lord and Redeemer thirty-three, that an aged man was slowly ascending the hill, on the ridge of which the city of Bethlehem is situated. His worn, dust-soiled raiment indicated that he had been for some time a wayfarer; and it was equally plain, from the fashion of his garb, that he had journeyed from some far-distant land most probably the country of Mesopotamia. It appeared, however, that the scenery around him was by no means beheld for the first time. On the contrary, he surveyed the leading features of the landscape, with the fond interest of one who had been familiar with them in by-gone years; and the tears which began to course down his furrowed cheek, demonstrated that old events and early associations were fast being reproduced from the unfathomable store-house of memory. II. The locality, indeed, exhibited much that was calculated to arrest the attention, and excite the imagination of all who were conversant with the annals of the children of Abraham. Here was the field in which the gentle Moabitess Ruth, humbly gleaned after the reapers of Boaz. Here, likewise, was the fountain, for which David, when he was in an hold, longed, and said: “Oh that one would give me drink of the water of the well of Bethle hem, which is by the gate!" III. With special intensity did the ancient traveller gaze upon a fair green meadow, situated beneath the bold rocky. terraces of the "City of Bread," and in which sundry groups of shepherds were engaged in their quiet and peaceful occupation. And in the expression of the beholder's countenance, one-even though ungifted with strong fancy-might read, that he had once himself wielded a crook in that sequestered and singularly beautiful plain. It was even so. Isaac the Bethlehemite, after an absence of more than thirty long summers in the far East, was returning to the city of the pastoral king, where his first, and freshest, and happiest days had been spent. IV. One thing the pilgrim specially noted, and that was the unusual stillness which pervaded the scene, at least more immediately in his vicinity. Almost deserted were the thoroughfares leading to Bethlehem-small appearance of life being presented, save by the guard at the gate, who stood listlessly leaning on their spears, or sat burnishing their mail in dreamy mood. Another thing arrested the attention of Isaac, equally with the unwonted desertion of the city. From the eminence on which he stood, he could descry vast multitudes of people thronging towards Jerusalem. He knew, indeed, that it was the season of the Passover, when the holy city was wont to receive many visitors, from all quarters of the world, but he never remembered on any former occurrence of the festival, to have seen such hosts of devotees bound for the seat of Jehovah's sacred Temple. V. Standing thus in thoughtful contemplation, the returned Bethlehemite was startled by a deep and sorrowladen groan-expressive of some stern and tragic weight of misery, if not of absolute despair. On looking round to the quarter from whence the sound of woe proceeded, |