downcast looks, walks meekly on, and seems as if she pondered some deep
grief. Will she whisper a word of comfort in the ear of the sorrowful?
Ah, no. A mocking smile is on her lips, which utter taunting words, and
she glances maliciously round, winking to her neighbors to notice how
she can humble the spirit of one who is less favored than herself. "What
would you give now to see a son of yours holding the father's hand, or a
daughter tripping gladly along by his side? Where are your children,
Hannah? You surely could not have left them behind to miss all this
pleasure? Perhaps they have strayed among the company? Would it not be
well to summon them, that they may hear the father's instructions, and
join in the song which we shall all sing as we draw near to Shiloh?"
Cruel words! and they do their work. Like barbed arrows, they stick fast
in the sore heart of this injured one. Her head sinks, but she utters no
reply. She only draws nearer to her husband, and walks more closely in
his footsteps.

* * * * *

The night has passed, and a cloudless sun looks down on the assembled
thousands of Israel. Elkanah has presented his offering at the
Tabernacle, and has now gathered his family to the feast in the tent. As
is his wont, he gives to each a portion, and hilarity presides at the
board. The animated scene around them--the white tents stretching as far
as the eye can reach--the sound of innumerable voices--the meeting with
friends--all conspire to make every heart overflow, and the well-spread
table invites to new expressions of satisfaction and delight. But here,
also, as on the journey, one heart is sad. At Elkanah's right hand sits
Hannah, her plate filled by the hand of love with "a worthy portion;"
but it stands untasted before her. Her husband is troubled. He has
watched her struggles for self-control, and seen her vain endeavors to