miseries and enhance their misfortunes, he again offered the most humane conditions to the besieged if they would surrender: but all was in vain: the Jews had determined to conquer their foes, and to repel their efforts, or make their city a common tomb for its inhabitants. Finding their obstinacy uncontrollable by threats, dangers and persuasions, Titus determined to force his conquest by every method that could be suggested, and in pursuance of that object he prosecuted his plans with all the energies and severities that his means afforded, seizing the Jews as they came within his power, beating, scourging and even crucifying them in prodigious numbers, thinking thereby to terrify the others, and make them sue for mercy rather than hazard the endurance of such cruel tortures. But, appalling as these spectacles of barbarity undoubtedly were, such was the enthusiasm of the Jews in behalf of their religion and laws, that nothing seemed capable of overcoming them: nor would they yield up the city of their fathers and the temple of their God to a pagan race, while one Israelite remained capable of defending the hallowed place.

At last Titus began the usual course of casting up mounds equal to the walls, and placing his battering-rams, two near the castle of Antonia, and two near the monument of John the High Priest, with the view of forcing his way into the upper city, by beating down the walls of those edifices. He was in this attempt frustrated by the besieged, who broke into the camp of the Romans, destroyed their tents, burnt their battering-engines, and broke down the mounds that had been raised against them, thus retarding the operations of the siege, and encouraging the people to hope for deliverance-a hope that, however much nourished by the multitude, was vain and chimerical, as it was a hope indulged contrary to a command of Divine authority, that had been recorded by their own prophets, and especially announced by that Holy One whom, thirty-seven years previously to this event, they had crucified.

Titus called a council of war, in which it was determined to surround the city with a wall, to stop all supplies, and to secure the people within, that they should not escape. This work was carried on with such great rapidity, that it was finished in a few days; yet the besieged still continued to maintain the same determined obstinacy, and only seemed to grow more resolute as the danger increased. Famine

soon began to add its torture to the other afflictions of the miserable inhabitants; and so great were its ravages, that in a little more than a fortnight 115,000 of the poorer people perished by hunger: and reports soon reached the Roman camp that 600,000 dead bodies had been cast out at the gates!—the number of deaths being so great that they knew not how to dispose of them. The great multitude of strangers that had come to Jerusalem to sacrifice at the passover greatly increased the numbers included in this mortality. A bushel of corn sold for 600 crowns; and so violently did famine prevail, that the people ate all sorts of vermin and the most disgusting food. Raging with hunger, they snatched the food from each other's mouths: the soldiers were seen gnawing their belts, shoes, skins, and even hay, which they had no use for, their cattle having been devoured a short time previously. One act of savage cannibalism has been recorded, it is to be hoped without clear proof,—that of a woman boiling and eating her own child. One cannot conceive the possibility of so unnatural a deed being perpetrated even by a heathen parent; yet Titus countenanced the report, and made it the pretext for more severities, by issuing a proclamation, declaring that he would bury the abominable crime in the ruins of the city, and that the sun should not shine on a place so polluted by more than beastly brutality. In a future chapter we shall conclude the account of the destruction of this once famous city.

Text-MATTHEW Xxiii. 37, 38.

THE CITRON AND POMEGRANATE.

THE citron-tree grows high, and spreads out its branches widely, affording plenty of shade, so much required in sultry climes. The leaves are beautiful to the sight, and the fruit grateful to the smell. It is said in the Proverbs of Solomon, "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver." Now the first fruits were carried by God's chosen people, the Jews, to the temple in silver baskets; in such baskets the gold-coloured citron must have appeared very beautiful; so we see then how it was calculated to illustrate the value of well-timed counsel. We should give to God the first fruits of our lives,-the obedience of our earliest youth.

The pomegranate-tree grows in the East, and reaches a height of eighteen or twenty feet. Its appearance is very imposing, armed, as it is, with thorns, and bearing a large and beautiful scarlet flower. The leaf of this tree is deep green, small in size and shaped like a lance; and the fruit, as large as an orange, is tawny and full of seeds, each of which is inclosed in a crimson-coloured juicy covering. Fancy to yourselves large thickets of these trees, flourishing in all their beauty, adorned with glowing fruit, and melodious with the song of birds, which pour from them their delightful warblings. The fruit of the pomegranate, which is of three kinds, is very grateful, assuaging the thirst with its delicious juice. One kind is sweet, another sour, and a third blending the two together. To have fruit at all in hot climates is a great comfort; but to be supplied with such an abundant variety is an unspeakable blessing. The allusions to the fruit of the pomegranate-tree are very frequent in the Holy Scriptures.

Text-DEUTERONOMY viii. 7, 8.

THE EMIGRANT.

THEY told him tales of the far-off West,
With its glorious summer skies,
Where birds, with the rarest plumage drest,
Would greet his youthful eyes;

And the towering palm and cedar tree
Looked up to Heaven triumphantly.

Soon, soon, he sprung on a foreign shore,
And gazed o'er the strange wild scene;
But a restless sea, with its endless roar,
Roll'd his early home between :

Then, he felt on that glittering, boundless strand,
As an exile far from his native land.

Now, forest flowers flash'd on his sight,

Pencilled with rainbow hues;

And fire-flies shot a meteor light

'Mid the murky, vapoury

dews.

No more, no more, shall he ever roam

O'er the daisied meadows of childhood's home.

Sad thoughts o'ershadowed his troubled mind,
As the wanderer mused alone;

The boy's yearning heart could never find
Love's fondly treasured tone.

In the hush of night, in the morning's toil,
He pined like a plant for its native soil.

Years passed away—he gathered gold,
But his cheek had lost its bloom;
The sum of his gains was sadly told,
He was hastening to the tomb;

Faint sounds from his parted lips there came―
'Twas prayer, with his mother's whispered name!

VIVIA PERPETUA.

THE following is a short account of one of the early female martyrs, a Christian woman named Vivia Perpetua. She was a young lady belonging to a noble family, and was but little more than twenty years old when she was put into prison for being a Christian. I do not know what her husband was; her father was a heathen, but her mother was a Christian: she was very much beloved by all her relations, and at the time of her imprisonment she had a little infant. Before she was imprisoned she was kept for some days under a guard; and during this time her poor old father visited her, and as he loved her very much, he most earnestly entreated of her to give up her religion and save her life. There was a jar, or vessel to hold water, in the room; she pointed to it and said, "Father, can you give any other name than jar to that vessel?" He answered, No. more can I call myself by any other name than that of Christian," said she. The poor old father, half distracted, threw himself upon her, and would have done her some serious injury in his rage, had he not been prevented.

"No

For some days she saw no more of her father. When they put her into the prison, she said that at first she was very much terrified, for she had never before seen such a place of horrible darkness. She had always lived in great comfort, for her family was rich: besides, the crowd of prisoners was very great, and the weather was warm; and she was very anxious about her baby, which she had with her.

Her friends, however, by paying money, got her removed to a more comfortable part of the prison; and then, for several days, Perpetua said she was as happy as she ever was: for God comforted her, so that the prison became a palace to her. At length a day was fixed for her trial, and her aged and heart-broken father visited her in the prison the night before, and again tried to persuade her to renounce Christianity. "If I have brought you up," said he, "to this age, if I have loved you more than I ever did your brothers, do not take away from me my respectability." The old man thought that if his daughter was publicly put to death, his family would be disgraced; so he went on talking to her: "Think of your mother, and your aunt, and your little son, who must die if you are taken away. Oh! give up your pride and obstinacy, or you will kill us all."

And then the sorrowful old man took her hands, and kissing them again and again, he at last fell on his knees at her feet, and wept as if his heart was broken. He called his daughter the mistress of his happiness, and of all that was dear to him. All this, as you may well suppose, distressed Perpetua very much, but she could not deny her God; so she could only say to her father, that when she was brought before the court, God would order everything as he thought best.

The next day Perpetua was carried before the judge; and after several other prisoners had been examined, just as it came to her turn, her poor old father suddenly stood before her with her child in his arms, and once more began to entreat her. Even the judge was moved when he saw this, and spoke to Perpetua. 'Spare the old age of your father, and the helplessness of your babe," said he. "Sacrifice to

our gods." Perpetua answered, "I will do nothing of that kind." "Are you a Christian?" said the judge. "I am," was the reply of this noble woman. When she said this,' her father tried to drag her by force out of the court; and the judge ordered him to be driven away. One of the officers struck him a violent blow with his staff. "Oh!" said Perpetua, "I felt that blow as if it had fallen on myself, to see my father so treated in his old age."

The prisoners were all sentenced to be thrown to the wild beasts, and were ordered back to the prison until the time came. Perpetua sent to her father to ask for her child, that