Then drew his father nigh, with silvery head

Bent low, and bending lower, feebly said,

'I had a son, of Levi's sacred line; Elisha was he hight, but none of mine Is he hight Acher. Woe! I had a son;

But these grey hairs bow to the grave with none

To close my eyes for me, when I am gone.'

And next his mother, with a bitter cry,

Rent out her hair, and strewed it to the sky,

Wailing: 'As these thin locks from me have sprung,

And now

are torn away, and from me flung,

Then halted Meir, and looking in the face

Of his old master, said: 'Do thou retrace

The journey thou hast trod. Why shouldst thou roam

An exile from thy Faith, from thy True Home?

A Rabbi thou, and thou a reprobate! Turn thee, Elisha ben Abuja! Turn again!'

'I cannot,' answered, with a spasm of pain

The apostate Acher. 'It is all too late. As I was riding by the prostrate wall Of Salem, in the moonlight, I heard call

A doleful voice, that to my people cried,

"Return to God ye sinners; but abide Thou Acher in thy sin. Thou knewest well

The way to Me, and witting, from Me fell."

Hearing that voice, I knew that I was lost,

And, in uncertainty no longer tossed, Have burst through all restraints unto the last;

And Hope is dead, my son-dead, like the past.'

Then cried the pupil, with distilling tear,

'O listen but one moment, master dear! Here is a school, come with me

through the door,

And hear the boys repeat the sacred lore

That they have learned; perchance, some word may be

Levelled with hopeful promise, even at thee.'

Then Acher from his saddle leapt, awhile

Stood at the school door, with a mournful smile

Upon his lips. But Meir, he entered in, And elder boys addressing, said, 'Begin

Recite the lessons ye this day have learned,

Each in your order, and in order cease.'

Then to the tallest of the scholars turned,

Who spake, 'Thus saith my God, there is no peace Unto the wicked.'1

So the shadow fell Deeper upon the apostate's soul. 'Ah! well,

'Thou second scholar, said Meir, with his rod

Pointing. He answered, 'Master, thus saith God,

Why dost thou preach my laws, and wherefore take

My statutes in thy mouth, my law to break,

1Is. lvii. 21.

And cast my words behind thee?'2
Then a moan

Escaped him standing on the threshold

stone,

And Meir who heard it, with a faltering hand

Marked out a third. Then answered

him the boy :

'False tongue that speakest lies, God shall destroy

Thee from thy dwelling! from the living land

Shall root thee out!'s

A loud and bitter cry Burst from the apostate, and with haggard eye,

And staggering feet, he turned him feebly round

To leave, and caught the doorpost,— to the ground

Else had he fallen. Then a little child Came bounding up-the youngest boy -and smiled

And said: 'I know my lesson, master; let me run

Forth to the butterflies, the flowers, the sun!'

And so to Acher, in a chanted strain, Repeated timidly, with bated breath: 'He bringeth to destruction. Then He saith,

Children of men, I bid you-TURN AGAIN!'4

Lo! when these words sank down on Acher's ears,

Forth from his heart leaped up a rush of tears,

And stretching forth his hands, as he

That He who is thy kinsman shall for thee

Accomplish what thou wilt, and set thee free,

As the Lord liveth! Lie thee down till dawn." "5

And so, Elisha, with his hands outspread

Towards the ruined .temple, fell. Into the sun

His task accomplished-had the scholar run,

Leaving Elisha on the threshold dead. SABINE BARING-GOULD (1834-).

NOTE. (1) 'Talmud Jerusalem,' Haggada II., Halacha i; Talmud Babylon,' Haggada II., fol. 15; 'Midrash Rabba,' Ruth iii., 13, and other places. I have taken great liberties with this tale. In its original form it is as follows. Meir and the apostate entered the school. Then said Elisha to the nearest lad: 'Repeat your lesson.' The boy replied, in the words of Isaiah lvii. 21. Elisha

asked the second, and he repeated Ps. 1. 16; then he rushed from the school. But Meir went after him with the words, 'Thou leadest men to destruction; again thou sayest, Turn again, ve children of men.' (Ps. xc. 3.) Then Elisha burst into tears, and died. After his burial, an uneasy flame danced on his grave; but Rabbi Meir laid it by repeating over the tomb the words of Ruth iii. 13.

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 them; 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

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 (1816-1887).

THE TWO RABBINS.

The Rabbi Nathan, two-score years and ten,

Walked blameless through the evil world, and then,

Just as the almond blossomed in his hair,

Met a temptation all too strong to bear, And miserably sinned. So, adding not Falsehood to guilt, he left his seat, and taught

No more among the elders, but went out

From the great congregation girt about With sackcloth, and with ashes on his head,

Making his locks grayer. Long he prayed,

Smiting his breast; then, as the Book he laid

Open before him for the Bath-Col's choice,

Pausing to hear that Daughter of a Voice,

Behold the royal preacher's words: “A friend

Loveth at all times, yea, unto the end; And for the evil day thy brother lives." Marvelling, he said: "It is the Lord who

gives

Counsel in need. At Ecbatana dwells Rabbi Ben Isaac, who all men excels In righteousness and wisdom, as the

trees

May purge my soul, and make it white like thine.

Pity me, O Ben Isaac, I have sinned!"

Awestruck, Ben Isaac stood. The desert wind

Blew his long mantle backward, laying bare

The mournful secret of his shirt of hair. "I, too, O friend, if not in act," he said, "In thought have verily sinned. Hast thou not read,

'Better the eye should see than that desire

Should wander?' Burning with a hidden fire

That tears and prayers quench not, I come to thee

For pity and for help, as thou to me. Pray for me, O my friend!" But Nathan cried,

"Pray thou for me, Ben Isaac!"

name;

And, when at last they rose up to embrace,

Each saw God's pardon in his brother's face!

Long after, when his headstone gathered moss,

Traced on the targum-marge of Onkelos

In Rabbi Nathan's hand these words were read:

"Hope not the cure of sin till Self is dead;

Forget it in love's service, and the debt

Thou canst not pay the angels shall forget;

Heaven's gate is shut to him who comes alone;

Save thou a soul, and it shall save thy own!"

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (1807-1892).