There are Hagars of modern, as well as of ancient days,—­of western as of eastern lands.  She who is wedded from interest and convenience; she who forms a heartless union from pride and ambition; she who awakes from her dreams of bliss to find herself an unloved, and perhaps to become a deserted wife—­all these prove the bitterness of the lot of the Egyptian Hagar.  He who has ordained marriage has graciously implanted the affections which are to make it a source of happiness; and those who form this union under other motives and influences run fearful risks.  There are many Hagars in the highest ranks of life, and even where the artificial distinctions of society are most highly regarded and carefully recognised.

When youth is wedded to age or sacrificed to decrepitude to promote some State policy, though the victims are not clothed in the garb of the Egyptian slave, but arrayed in the pomp of regal vestments, yet the diamond often rests upon an aching brow, and the pearls press a saddened bosom; and when the holiest of earthly institutions is thus violated, each relation of life is profaned; and polluted streams descend from the highest sources and diffuse their poison through all the ranks of life—­through all the gradations of society.

There will still be Hagars—­women who marry for a home, or a support; and especially while woman is educated to be helpless—­unable to provide for her own wants; or while that prejudice is cherished which leads her to deem useful employment a degradation.

* * * * *

Hagar’s exile.

    She fled, with one reproachful look
      On him who bade her go,
    And scarcely could the patriarch brook
      That glance of voiceless wo: 
    In vain her quivering lips essay’d
      His mercy to implore;
    Silent the mandate she obey’d,
      And then was seen no more.

    The burning waste and lonely wild
      Received her as she went;
    Hopeless, she clasp’d her fainting child,
      With thirst and sorrow spent. 
    And in the wilderness so drear,
      She raised her voice on high,
    And sent forth that heart-stricken prayer
      “Let me not see him die!”

    Her beautiful, her only boy,
      Her all of hope below;
    So long his father’s pride and joy,
      And yet—­from him the blow! 
    Alone she must his head sustain,
      And watch his sinking breath,
    And on his bright brow mark the stain
      Of the destroyer, Death.

    “Let me not see him die,” and lo! 
      The messenger of peace! 
    Once more her tears forget to flow,
      Once more her sorrows cease. 
    Life, strength, and freedom now are given
      With mighty power to one
    Who from his father’s roof was driven,
      And he—­the outcast’s son.