And Naomi, weary of the land of Moab, in the shadows of whose mountains, guarded by the angel of eternal sleep, lay the graves of her husband and sons, longed in her loneliness for the friends and associations of her youth. Her heart turned back to the old house at home, where there is always more sunshine and starshine, softer breezes and sweeter bird-songs, more silvery streams and fragrant flowers, than in any other clime, and she was about to take her departure for the “land of Judah.”

Now it seems that Naomi was a very loveable elderly lady, since her daughter-in-law seemed to like her very much, though I haven’t the slightest idea that Ruth was really so madly in love with her as we have been taught to believe.

It appears that back in the “land of Judah,” Naomi had a kinsman of her husband’s, “a mighty man of wealth of the family of Elimelech; and his name was Boaz.”

You know it is true that when we go to live in a strange country, we tell our new acquaintances, incidentally and casually, perhaps, but we tell them just the same, about our wealthy and famous relatives, while the names of those who were hanged because they may have loved horse flesh “not wisely but too well,” were arrested for gambling, eloped with some other woman’s husband, or made garden on shares for the neighbors, are kept locked in our hearts as too sacred to mention to curious ears. Of course Naomi was no exception, and so Ruth had often listened, spellbound, to Naomi’s description of this “mighty man of wealth;” of his fields undulating in golden waves, far and near; of the springs that gushed and sparkled and flowed down the hillsides; of the shining streams idly wandering in his verdant valleys, whose blue waves rose to caress the flowers on the bank that dipped to be kissed; of his costly array, his men servants and maid servants and all the show and grandeur that was his.

So Ruth went down to the river one day and gazed at her own reflection in the liquid depths, took an honest inventory of her charms, and the pride and confidence of the embryo conqueror thrilled her veins, the rose hue of triumph dyed her dark cheek, and knowing that Boaz was, according to the law of the Jews, her future husband if she could please him she went back and said to Naomi with the inherent eloquence of a brilliant widow bent on conquest:

“Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:

“Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”

And Naomi, the dear old lady, was very much flattered and had perfect confidence in her daughter-in-law’s professions, and so do we also believe her words that is, moderately.

When she says, “thy people shall be my people,” we believe she meant it as far as Boaz was concerned at least; but when she adds “thy God shall be my God” well, we have known many people who were quite pious when they were about to do something they wished to cover up, and their prayers were a little more fervent at that time, just to throw people off the track, so to speak. And Ruth had decided to capture Boaz’s heart with her midnight eyes, wear his gems upon her breast, and plunge both hands deep down in his golden shekels. But of course she didn’t intend to confide this dead secret to a garrulous old lady, and have it reach the ears of the mighty man of wealth perhaps, for the cunning, witty, pretty widow knew that a man never likes to be caught.

So one day she (with Naomi) arrived at Bethlehem with a half a dozen things in her favor, any one of which would have made her noted, at least.

She had youth (she was not more than twenty-eight perhaps) the divine gift of beauty, the luck of being a stranger, the advantage of being a widow, the prestige of a convert, and the novel notoriety of being the first woman in the world who ever was in love with her mother-in-law.

Is it any wonder “that all the city was moved about them?”

Well, no doubt Ruth found out all she wanted to know about Boaz, learned his habits and characteristics, made all the inquiries she wished in a way that “was childlike and bland,” and at last having her arsenal well armored with the big guns of wit and beauty and garrisoned by facts and observations and the experience of an ex-wife, she was ready for Love’s war, where the bullets are soft glances, the sword thrusts kisses and the dungeon of the captive is the bridal chamber, and she went to her mamma-in-law and said sweetly, “let me go now to the field and glean ears of corn after him (you see she admitted she was after him) in whose sight I shall find grace.”

“And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers; and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz.” Wonderful, wasn’t it, that it was her “hap” to light on a part of the field belonging to Boaz?

And lo, in the morning ere the sun was half way up the blue sky, Boaz came into the barley field and his eyes fell upon the beauteous Ruth gleaning with the reapers, and delighted at the sight, he called the general manager and said:

“Whose damsel is this?” And he answered and said: “It is the Moabitish maiden that came back with Naomi out of the country of Moab.”

It seems Boaz had never seen her before, although her fame had reached his ears, and he spoke to her softly and kindly, praised her for her devotion to her mother-in-law (you see that captured his fancy and admiration, as it has every one’s since), and then she smiled and thanked him very ardently, and then the wily widow turned her pretty head aside and blushed. And Boaz, who had never heard the advice to “beware of the vidders,” was taken in and done for in that one short interview. He hung around the fields, deserted the city, cared naught for its pleasures, forgot the dames of high degree, and lingered for hours among the reapers to catch a glance from her dark eye, or a smile from her ruby lips, and I suppose they sometimes rested in the shade and talked sweet nonsense, or sat in the intoxicating silence when love speaks unutterable things to the heart alone, and the “old sweet story was told again” in the harvest field near Bethlehem.

“Boaz commanded his young men saying, Let her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her not: And let fall also some of the handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them, and rebuke her not.”

Having alighted upon an easy task, Ruth knew it. “So she kept fast by the maidens of Boaz to glean unto the end of barley harvest and of wheat harvest: and dwelt with her mother-in-law.”

And yet it seems the gentleman did not propose. So Naomi and Ruth talked it over together, for by this time his infatuation was the talk of the city, and sentimental, romantic old Naomi, who must have been a charming woman in her day, was interested in this love affair. For no matter how old a woman or man may be, the perennial stream of love and sentiment flows on in the heart, although hid ’neath white hairs and wrinkles, and bound by the wintry shackles of age and custom; still it is there, and often breaks the icy barriers of the years and betrays itself by a late marriage, or in the matchmaking proclivities of all elderly women.

And Naomi gave Ruth some instructions which we blush to think of, but she followed them implicitly. And the middle-aged Boaz was caught. We suppose he was forty-five or fifty from the fact that he called Ruth “my daughter,” and commended her because she didn’t run after the gilded youths of society, but preferred him above them all. And Boaz and Ruth were married, and like most marriages between widows and old bachelors it proved a happy one.

But Ruth’s shrewd scheming and successful venture as related in the inspired records confirms our belief that it was Boaz the “mighty man of wealth,” and not Naomi’s love or Naomi’s God that induced Ruth to emigrate to the city of Bethlehem.

We are told that Jezebel, unknown to her husband, “wrote letters in her husband’s name and sealed them with his seals,” and had a man stoned to death without his knowledge, not the man’s, but her husband’s.

That doesn’t look as if she were ruled over much, does it?

The sacred history says, speaking of Hagar and Ishmael, “and his mother took him a wife out of Egypt” which means that she selected the girl and told him to marry her and he obeyed. And we find that Solomon gave to the queen of Sheba “whatsoever she asked,” which is an example of generosity we would recommend to the men of to-day.