They waited another hour in this pleasant valley, till the great heat of noon was moderated. During this time some youths came to Helon, and said to him, “Though you speak our language you are not a youth of Judah, your turban betrays you.” Helon informed them that he was an Aramæan Jew, a native of Alexandria indeed, but one who had chosen Jerusalem, in preference to Leontopolis. They acknowledged him with joy as one of themselves, and invited him to accompany them in a walk around the encampment. Helon gladly accepted the offer. What a multitude of interesting groups presented themselves on every side, as they wandered from one palm tree to another! Every party as they passed offered them wine, mead, honey, dates and the like, and greeted them with friendly words. Boys had insinuated themselves among the circles of the men, and listened, with fixed eyes and open mouth, to every word which they uttered respecting Jerusalem and the festival. The boy whom Helon had seen weeping so bitterly before the solitary house had found out his father, was lying in his lap and repeating to him the psalms which he had learnt. A group of maidens were listening to a description of the magnificent vestments of the high-priest. They past by a company of men, who were speaking of the heroic deeds of Hyrcanus and the Maccabees, and rejoicing that Edom and Samaria had been made subject by him to Israel. One feeling of joy pervaded all bosoms, but it expressed itself in various ways, according to the age or sex of each. One group rivetted the attention of Helon so long, that he did not leave them till it was near the time of departure. Under almost the furthest palm trees sat seven robust young men, with an equal number of women and several children. “This is Mardochai of Ziph, with his children and children’s children,” said one of the youths who accompanied Helon. They approached him, took him by the hand, and congratulated him upon being able to go up to the feast, with such a train of his descendents. “Yes,” exclaimed the old man, while tears trembled in his dark eyes, “Jehovah hath abundantly blessed me. I see my offspring, like the sand on the seashore—children and children’s children, to the number of fifty souls!” This aged pair had not for several years gone up to the festival: but their children had now persuaded them to appear once more before Jehovah. They had been the last in the procession, and their sons and daughters had been obliged almost to carry them in their arms—a burthen which they had joyfully sustained—for they had refused either to ride or be conveyed in a carriage. “Where could a psalm of degrees be more in its place?” said a lively youth of the company. At the word several of them ran to fetch their musical instruments, and standing around the deeply moved old man, they sung the following psalm: