proclaimed--while, in the innocence of childhood, he wonderingly looked on. But the queen heard the shouts in her palace. For the first time in her life, it is most probable, she came to the house of God--but she came not to worship. "What means this riotous assembly?" she thought. "Can it be, that the vile rabble dare to think of revolt--against _me_? I will go, even alone, and awe them by my presence: it shall never be said that my mother's daughter feared aught in heaven above or the earth beneath." She went, that audacious woman, with all her crimes upon her head, and entered alone into the temple of the Holy One. She went to her death. The people made way for her, although they gazed upon her with loathing; and within the sanctuary she beheld the grandson, whom she had long thought to be numbered with the dead, in royal array, with the crown upon his head. When she saw this, she rent her clothes, and cried loudly, "Treason! treason!" But none joined in the cry: an ominous silence pervaded that vast assembly, and looks of hatred were cast upon her from the crowd. Seeing plainly that all were against her, her insolent pride gave way, and she turned to flee from that mass of stern, relentless eyes, all gazing, as it were, into her black and blood-stained heart. As she passed along, the people shrank back, as if an accursed thing were near them; and when she had passed from the consecrated limits, she was slain. None shed a tear over her grave, but the people enjoyed rest and peace, now that her tyranny was terminated. "And that was the end of her!" said George. "And well she deserved her fate. A good grandmother, indeed! But who was she?" "That's the very thing I want to know," replied Mary. "But perhaps some of you can tell me who her very lovely mother was?" "There is no mistaking her," said Amy. "There is only one Jezebel in the world, I hope. Think of the horrid old thing, painting herself off, and trying to look like a beauty! I wonder if she thought she could possibly captivate the murderer of her son!" "Hardly that, I should think. Perhaps it was on the same principle that Julius Caesar drew his robe around him, before his death--an idea of the proprieties becoming the station they occupied. It reminds me of a passage in Pope, describing 'the ruling passion strong in death:' "'Odious--in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,' (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke;) No, let a charming chintz and Brussels' lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face; One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead: And--Betty--give this cheek a little red.' And now, can you tell me who was that prophet that sent a letter to the husband of 'the good grandmother,' and who predicted the fate of her parents, Ahab and Jezebel?"