"Rabbi," said his pupils to him, "is not this the woman who formerly so much embittered your life?"

"Yes," answered their pious master, "and just for this reason I am bound to afford her assistance; for it is written: 'Hide not thyself from thine own flesh.'"-Is. 58: 7.

Thus Rabbi Jose taught, by his own example, that an inward union which has once existed cannot be forgotten by a good man, even though it has at a later period been sundered; and that unrighteousness once suffered, must not afterwards be revengefully remembered against the unfortunate one in the hour of tribulation.

THOUGHTS ON A LATE VISIT TO LEBANON.

BY WILLIAM HEYSER, ESQ.

"LEBANON!" There's magic in thy name; it
Brings to mind the place where goodly cedars
Grew, where valleys teemed with cereal fruits;
Where wine and oil, in rich abundance
Flowed; and from whose verdant hills and lofty
Peaks, commanding views were had.

"Lebanon!" to me is strange, though there in
Days of yore. Its limits now are large, compared
With what they were before; great change marks all
I saw, in town and country round. The hills
And valleys richer are, with smiling verdare
Crowned. The iron Horse, the iron way, new
Models, all within their iron sway.

With lonely steps, I wandered round through
Many a street and square; at length I reached
A lonely spot, enclosed with pious care;
The ground in squares was dotted o'er; neat
Railing ran around, enclosing every where, its
Many precious gems. Wide open hung the
Iron gate; the sexton with his spade was there,
To dress some new-made grave, where flowers planted are.
Approaching near, with measur'd step I enter'd
In; and passing through its lonely walks, my
Mind with solemn thoughts was press'd!
To tomb I passed along; the dead in simple
Order lay, though falling leaves in wild
Confusion fell; the autumn rose, in clusters
Bloomed, o'er many a sleeper there; as o'er

From tomb

The rustling leaves I trod, how sweet the sleep,
I thought, of those who know no waking here,
But buried are in Christ the Lord; sweet earnest
Of that future bliss, to those who ransom'd are.

From tomb to tomb, I onward mov'ed, but stop'd
To gaze on graves both large and small. As
Near a new made mound I stood, and upward
Cast my eye, a simple stone was there, on
Which I read, "How many hopes lie buried here."
Two little graves, lay side by side-a mother's
Buds! 'Tis true, though broken from the parent
Stem, they bloom in heaven anew! I looked
Beyond this spot; another met my view, on
Which was cut; "Our Mother! How desolate
Our home bereft of thee." Alas! I thought,
A mother's gone, whose watchful care, with links
Of love, her children bouni in holy concord there.
That home's bereft of thee; sweet mother; thou'rt
Parted from thy treasures! But when the glorious
Morning dawns, you'll meet them altogether, where
Pain and sorrow never come, to dwell in

Endless pleasure. I hastened to the house

Of God. The Church Bells called me, where the
Emblems of a Saviour's love were spread for guests
Invited there. I ventured in, and took my
Place around the sacred Board. To me, it
Was a feast-a feast of Christ the Lord.

VARIETIES.

SOME men use words as riflemen do bullets. They say little. The few words used go right to the mark. They let you talk, and guide with their eye and face, on and on, till what you say can be answered in a word or two, and then they launch out a sentence, pierce the matter to the quick, and are done. You never know where you stand with them. Your conversation falls into their mind as rivers fall into deep chasms, and are lost from sight by their depth and darkness. They will sometimes surprise you with a few words, that go right to the mark like a gunshot, and then they are silent again, as if they were reloading.

WISDOM, in spite of her dignity and lofty pretensions, has not always had a clean house to live in. She dwelt with Solomon, who was a voluptuary; with Seneca, who was a miser; with Diogenes, who was a sloven; with Bacon, who was corrupt; with Julian, who was a tyrant; with Marlborough, who was a traitor. It fact, if she were to be judged by the Spanish proverb, and her character estimated by the company the has kept, she is "no better than she should be," and has little reason to treat Folly herself as a weaker sister.

THE

LOST BRACELET.

"JUST one penny, if you please, ma'am."

It was the day before Chrismas, and late in the afternoon, a beautiful and richly dressed lady was walking up Broadway with her arms laden with brown paper parcels. Hundreds of people were hurrying along, jostling each other as they passed up and down the crowded thoroughfare; but her bright, happy face was like a ray of sunlight in the gathering darkness of the.winter afternoon, and the owner of the clattering shoes that had been following her some distance, took courage from its sweet expression, and put up its modest plea for "just one penny."

It was a low, pleading voice, scarcely audible in the noise and bustle around, yet the lady heard it, for she turned and looked an instant at the little creature before her. Her scanty garments were a poor protection from the frosty air, and her gloveless hand and pale face looked blue and pinched with the cold; her miserable hood had fallen on her shoulders, and a pair of eloquent eyes looked up into the lady's face, while, with her stumpy broom, she swept the crossing.

"Never mind," said she to herself, "I can walk home-this poor little thing needs this more than I do ;" and she dropped into the open palm before her the only sixpence left. "There, child, a merry Christmas to you," she said, in a sweet, sympathizing voice, which made the tears come into the dark eyes of the little girl, as she tried to thank her. It was a long walk that the lady had before her, and the omnibuses rattled along with a provoking empty seat or two inside, but her heart was light and happy with the little sacrifice which she had made, and just as the jets of gas began to blaze out of the windows she reached her home. She had been married only a short time, and as she looked around her pretty room which her husband had furnished for her in their boarding house, she felt more than ever grateful that God had given her such a happy home. She had not removed her hat and cloak, when she heard her husband's step in the hall, and with a smile and a kiss she met him at the door.

"Why, Kate, how tired you look-have you done a great deal walking to-day ?"

Kate blushed and smiled, but deception was not a part of her nature, and she replied:

"Yes Henry, I walked all the way home."

"You should not have done that," said he, a little reproachfully, and then he laughed as he continued: "Did you spend all your money, so that you couldn't afford a sixpence to ride home with ?"

"Well, I suppose I must tell," said Kate, with another blush. "I did have just one sixpence left, and was going to ride up, when such a poor little girl”

"Yes that's it, I know what's coming. Why, Kate, you make the very mischief among the poor people and my pennies-they are the most ungrateful set in the world."

"But," said Kate, earnestly, "she was such a delicate, half clothed, and I am afraid half starved little street sweeper-"

"Street sweeper," and her husband held up his hands in mock horror; "why, Kate, they pick up handsfull of money in a day; and did you walk home, and give one a whole sixpence. Oh, oh, what won't your innocent little heart do next ?"

Kate bore this quizzing very well, and was about to reply, when, on passing her hand up her arm, she exclaimed, suddenly: "O! Henry, my bracelet is gone-your gift, last Christmas-what shall I do? Where can I have lost it?"

"That is too bad," said he, thoughtfully, but the next moment he continued shrugging up his shoulders mischievously: "Maybe some honest person has picked it up." Seeing the tears come into his wife's eyes at his speech, he put his arm around her and kissed her, with "Never mind, though, I can replace it some time."

Her husband, who really loved bis little wife tenderly, took her hand and put something in it, closing the slender finger tightly over it saying, "Don't distress yourself and no more about bracelets and street sweepers; here's your Christmas gift, and the next time you go down town, get a pretty set of furs with it." Kate's hand closed over a hundred dollar bill. The day after Christmas she was again in Broadway, and as she was passing by the identical spot where she had given away the sixpence, she felt her dress pulling gently, and, turning around, she encountered the same little, half-clad girl.

"I'm so glad that you've come, ma'am," said the child; "you dropped this the other day, and I've been saving it for you ever since ;" and, pulling something out of her bosom, she put it into the lady's hand. Hastily unrolling the bit of newspaper, Kate Alair saw her bracelet. What a triumph for herself and for Henry. "Thank you, thank you, my child," she exclaimed, taking the little bare hand in hers."

"I tried to find you that day," said the little child, "but you went out of sight so soon that I couldn't," and, with a bright face, she continued "I want to thank you, and my mother wants to thank you, too, for I didn't get a penny all that day until I saw you, and that sixpence bought the medicine which is going to make her well."

66

Kates eyes glistened as she heard this, and thought of the temptation to ride home that God had helped her to resist. Take me with you to your mother," she said, still holding the girl's hand; "such honesty and thankfulness shall not go unrewarded. "

It was a pretty long walk away over near the North River, but they finally reached the tenement house, in the basement of which the little girl lived. A pale, sickly woman was lying on a bed in the single room which they occupied, but she looked up eagerly when she heard the child's voice say, "Here mother, the beautiful lady is come herself." Kate set down by the bedside and lent her ear to a tale of want and privation of which she had never dreamed, and leaving what little pocket money she had with her, she promised to see her again; then she started for her husband's office. Mr Alair was pouring over his account books when Kate rushed in with bright eyes and glowing cheeks, and holding up the bracelet before his eyes, she exclaimed: "See there, Henry, that's what came of giving my sixpence to the street-sweeper."

Her husband looked up, glad and surprised, first at seeing her, and then because the bracelet was found, and he listened while she told him of her interview with the child and her mother. "And now, Henry, I am going to ask you if I may do one thing-I really do not need so nice a set of furs as you have given the money for, and I want to take some of it and buy fuel and lights and provisions for those poor people; they had neither coal nor candles, and nothing but a little cold cabbage for their dinner,"

Henry shook his head, but it was not a very negative shake. "Nobody can resist you, Kate," said he, smiling, "and you may do as you please with the money." Kate thanked him with her moistened eyes more than with her voice, and as the door closed after her, Henry said to himself "There goes an angel; and if ever the text, He that giveth to the poor shall not lack,' was meant for anybody, it was for her."

The little girl's mother did not get well again; but, before she died, Kate told her about Jesus, and won her to love and trust Him, soothing her last moments with comforting, cheering words. Even little Jane she taught to say with faith, "When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."

By-and-by Mrs. Alair went to housekeeping and they took little Jane, now an orphan, to live with them; and if there was one grace more than another that Kate prayed the child might have, it was that of charity-for Jane's growing beauty of character, and her constant gratitude, proved a continual reminder to her generous benefactress of that sweet lesson of our Saviour's-" It is more blessed to give than to receive."