The Maccabaean

THE noon hour of the ninth day of Tishri introduced unusual tranquility into the Djorat El Enab, the prettiest and most retired portion of the Valley of Tinnom. The droning wheels of the flour mill situated about two hundred yards west of Mrs. Aryele's villa had ceased. The last group of laborers had just departed and the valley. was left to repose under the blaze of the meridian sun. At the miller's cottage, built along the northwestern entrance into the valley, they had been busy all the forenoon, whitewashing the walls and ceilings, scrubbing the floors and courts and repainting the porch and fences. But since noon, not a sign of life issued thence. Since then ,the house with its massive roof of red tile and brilliant facade of limestone had all the appearance of an enchanted castle.

By one o'clock, Mrs. Aryele, too, had finished her preparations, and equipped with a fresh apron and white bonnet, she came out upon the porch to rest herself from several hours of assiduous toil. She sat down upon a low tinctured chair that seemed to have been especially designed for leisure moments and folded her hands as if ready to yield to slumber. Soon, however, a breeze swept through the valley, cooling her brow and raising her drooping eyelids. She appeared restored. Her glance rested joyously upon the red briar-roses, pretty pink geraniums and huge cactus bushes that adorned the court and the pathway leading to the villa. "Is it not lovely here?" she said to me. "I was almost overcome by the suffocating heat in the kitchen."

But Rebecca, who at this moment came out of the kitchen, seemed not in the least affected by the heat, for her face had an expression of remarkable freshness, and

lightly she carried a big basket and a heavy, leather-bound Bible. She went to see her mother and give her the Bible.

Mrs. Aryele examined the contents of the basket which contained a few fowls, evidently remnants of the Ceremony of Kapparath, a huge slice of boiled fish, a jar of preserves, several bottles of wine and an immense cake, profusely set with almonds and raisins. She arranged them orderly and returned the basket to Rebecca. "Put some roses and geraniums," said she, "on top, for no one loves flowers more than poor, blind Deborah, and although she cannot admire their beauty, she likes their fragrance."

"How considerate you are," exclaimed Rebecca, and with this, she went down to the garden, selected some flowers, and having carefully covered them, she placed the basket in a corner of the porch until Simon would come and take it away.

Then she placed herself in the hammock which hung upon polished girths in a corner of the porch, and commenced to read the "Guide to the Duties of the Heart," written by the great Jewish philosopher Bachya Iba Pakuda. The mother was absorbed in those passages of the Bible which had reference to the Day of Atonement. Their countenances displayed the benign influence of their reading and of the calm midday landscape spread out before them. It was as if they had emerged from a sea of unrest to repose on some island of the blest. Occasionally Rebecca read some passages aloud to her mother, from those sections of the book which are styled: "The Gate of Trust," "The Gate of Reflection," "The Gate of Repentance" and "The Gate of the Love of God." They dwelt upon the similes, the arguments and the gems of morality contained in the book.