He kissed her upon the brow,
And spake to her gently: "How
Are the lads today?

Tell me, Beruriah, pray."

There glittered on her cheek

Two jewels, ere she could speak

And answer, "They are well,

Sit you and eat your supper, whilst I tell What to me befell;

And assure me in what way

You think it had been best

That I had acted." Thus addressed,

He sat him at his meal,

And began to eat: "Reveal

Thy case,' he said. "Yet tell me, I pray, First where are my boys today?"

Then suddenly she said,

With an averted head:

"Many years are flown

Since one a precious loan

Entrusted to my care, until he came

That treasure to reclaim."

The Rabbi spoke: "Of old

Tobit confided his gold

To Raguel

At Ecbatane.

Well,

What further?-But say,

Where are my lads, I pray?"

"For many years that store

I jealously watched o'er,

Do you think, my lord, that loan

In fourteen years would become my own?"

Then, with a glance of blame,

He answered, as he shook his head:

"For shame.

Wife of my bosom! It were not thine

Should forty years upon thee shine,

And the owner not return

To demand it. Beruriah, learn
Not to covet."

Then he paused, and said,

Moving the lamp: "Thine eyes are red,
Beruriah: wherefore?"

But she broke

In on his question, and thus spoke:
"To-day there came

To the door the same

One who had lent the treasure,
And he said, 'It is my pleasure
To have the loan restored.'
What do you think, my lord?
Should I have withheld it, Meir?"
At his wife with astonished stare
Looked the Rabbi. “O my wife!
Light of my eyes, and glory of my life!
Why ask this question?"

Then he said,

As his eyes wandered towards the bed:
"Why is the sheet,

Usually smooth and neat,

Lifted into many a fold and pleat?"

But she asked: "Should I repine

At surrendering what was not mine

To him who claimed it?"

"It was a trust,

Wife of my bosom! What do you ask?-Repine

What! do you lust

To keep what is not thine?"

And once again:

"Where are my boys?"

She took him by the hand,

Whilst o'er her features ran a thrill of pain,
And brought him to the bed, and bid him stand
There, as she touched the sheet, and said:

"The Lord who gave hath taken. They are dead.” Softly she raised

The sheet; and with awe

The Rabbi his children saw
In the soft twilight

Lying silent, and still and white;
And he said, "Praised

Be the Name of the Lord.

My wife and I are content

That the goodly loan to us lent

Should be restored."

SABINE BARING-GOULD.

The Two Friends

A Rabbinical Tale

GOOD Rabbi Nathan had rejoiced to spend
A social se'nnight with his ancient friend,
The Rabbi Isaac. In devout accord

They read the Sacred Books, and praised the Lord
For all His mercies unto them and theirs;

Until, one day, remembering some affairs That asked his instant presence, Nathan said, "Too long, my friend (so close my soul is wed

To thy soul), has the silent lapse of days

Kept me thy guest; although with prayer and praise
The hours were fragrant. Now the time has come
When, all-reluctant, I must hasten home,
To other duties than the dear delights

To which thy gracious friendship still invites."
"Well, be it so, if so it needs must be."
The host made answer; "be it far from me
To hinder thee in aught that Duty lays
Upon thy pious conscience. Go thy ways
And take my blessing!-but, O friend of mine,
In His name, whom thou servest, give me thine!"
"Already," Nathan answered, "had I sought
Some fitting words to bless thee; and I thought

About the palm-tree, giving fruit and shade;
And in my grateful heart, O friend, I prayed
That Heaven be pleased to make thee even so!
O idle benediction! Well I know

Thou lackest nothing of all perfect fruit
Of generous souls, or pious deeds that suit
With pious worship. Well I know thine alms
In hospitable shade exceed the palm's;
And, for rich fruitage, can that noble tree,
With all her opulence, compare with thee?
Since, then, O friend, I cannot wish thee more,
In thine own person, than thy present store
Of Heaven's best bounty, I will even pray
That, as the palm-tree, though it pass away,
By others, of its seed, is still replaced,

So thine own stock may evermore be graced
With happy sons and daughters, who shall be,
In wisdom, strength, and goodness, like to thee!"

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

The Rabbi's Vision

EN LEVI sat with his books alone

BEN

At the midnight's solemn chime,

And the full-orb'd moon through his lattice shone In the power of autumn's prime;

It shone on the darkly learned page,

And the snowy locks of the lonely Sage

But he sat and mark'd not its silvery light,

For his thoughts were on other themes that night.

Wide was the learn'd Ben Levi's fame

As the wanderings of his race

And many a seeker of wisdom came
To his lonely dwelling place;

For he made the darkest symbols clear,
Of ancient doctor and early seer.

Yet a question ask'd by a simple maid
He met that eve in the linden's shade,
Had puzzled his matchless wisdom more
Than all that ever it found before;
And this it was: "What path of crime
Is darkest traced on the map of time?"

The Rabbi ponder'd the question o'er
With a calm and thoughtful mind,
And search'd the depths of the Talmud's lore-
But an answer he could not find;—
Yet a maiden's question might not foil
A Sage inured to Wisdom's toil-

And he leant on his hand his aged brow,
For the current of thought ran deeper now:

When, lo! by his side, Ben Levi heard
A sound of rustling leaves-

But not like those of the forest stirr'd
By the breath of summer eves,

That comes through the dim and dewy shades
As the golden glow of the sunset fades,

Bringing the odors of hidden flowers

That bloom in the greenwood's secret bowers—

But the leaves of a luckless volume turn'd
By the swift impatient hand
Of student young, or of critics learn'd
In the lore of the Muse's land.
The Rabbi raised his wondering eyes-
Well might he gaze in mute surprise-
For, open'd wide to the moon's cold ray,
A ponderous volume before him lay!

Old were the characters, and black

As the soil when sear'd by the lightning's track,
But broad and full that the dimmest sight
Might clearly read by the moon's pale light;