When he recovered from his surprise, and had offered thanksgivings to God, he opened his house, and his heart also. He gave alms to the poor, he cheered the heart of the widow, and lightened the destitution of the orphan. His hospitable board was open to the stranger, and his purse was at the service of all who needed to share it. His life was a perpetual act of benevolence; and the blessings showered upon him by all, were returned bountifully upon him by the hand of God. But people wondered, and said, "Is not this the man who was called Rabbi Jochonan the miser? What hath made the change?" And it became a saying in Cairo. When it came to the ears of the Rabbi, he called his friends together, and he avowed his former love of gold, and the danger to which it had exposed him; relating all which has been above told, in the hall of the new palace that he built by the side of the river, on the left hand, as thou goest down by the course of the great stream. And wise men, who were scribes, wrote it down from his mouth, for the memory of mankind, that they might profit thereby. And a venerable man, with a beard of snow, who had read it in these books, and at whose feet I sat, that I might learn the wisdom of the old time, told it to me. And I write it in the tongue of England, the merry and the free, on the tenth day of the month Nisan, in the year, according to the lesser computation, five hundred ninety and seven, that thou may'st learn good thereof. If not, the fault be upon thee. * * * * * STANZAS _Written on seeing Flags and other Ensigns of War, hanging in a Country Church._ BY ALARIC A. WATTS. Oh! why amid this hallowed scene. Should signs of mortal feud be found; Why seek with such vain gauds to wean Our thoughts from holier relics 'round? More fitting emblems here abound Of glory's bright, unfading wreath;-- Conquests, with purer triumphs crowned;-- Proud victories over Sin and Death! Of these how many records rise Before my chastened spirit now; Memorials, pointing to the skies, Of Christian battles fought below. What need of yon stern things to shew That darker deeds have oft been done?-- Is't not enough for Man to know He lives but through the blood of ONE! And thou, mild delegate of God, Whose words of balm, and guiding light. Would lead us, from earth's drear abode, To worlds with bliss for ever bright,-- What have the spoils of mortal fight To do with themes 'tis thine to teach? Faith's saving grace--each sacred rite Thou know'st to practice as to preach! The blessings of the contrite heart, Thy bloodless conquests best proclaim; The tears from sinners' eyes that start, Are meetest records of thy fame. The glory that may grace thy name From loftier triumphs sure must spring;-- The grateful thoughts thy worth may claim, Trophies like these can never bring!