refrain from speaking to him. Fixing his eye steadily upon him, he said, "Sir, am I not correct in supposing that I am addressing one of the children of Abraham?" "You are," was the reply. "But how is it that I meet a Jew in a Christian assembly?" The substance of his narrative was as follows:-He was a very respectable man, of superior education and handsome fortune; who, with his books, his riches, and an only child, a daughter in her seventeenth year, had found a beautiful retreat on the fertile banks of the Ohio. He had buried the companion of his bosom before he left Europe, and he knew little pleasure except in the society of his beloved child. She was indeed worthy of a parent's love. Her person was beautiful; but her cultivated mind and amiable disposition threw around her a charm superior to any of the tinselled ornaments of the body. No pains had been spared in her education; she could read and speak with fluency several different languages; and her proficiency in other departments of literature was proportionate, while the ease and gracefulness of her manners captivated all who beheld her. No wonder, then, that a tender father, whose head was now sprinkled with grey hairs, should place his whole affections on this only child of his love; especially as he knew of no source of happiness beyond this world. Being himself a strict Jew, he educated her in the strictest principles of his religion, and he thought he had presented that religion with an ornament. "It was but a little while ago that this beloved daaghter was taken ill; the rose faded from her cheek; her eye lost its fire-her strength decayed; and it soon became apparent that an incurable and fatal disease was preying upon her constitution. The father hung over the bed of his child with a heart fraught with the keenest anguish. He often attempted to converse with her, but could not speak, except by the language of tears. He spared no trouble or expense in procuring medical assistance; but no human skill could avert or arrest the arrow of death. "He had retired into a small grove not far from his house, when he was sent for by his dying daughter. He immediately obeyed this summons, and with a heavy heart entered the door of her chamber of death. The parting hour was at hand, when he was to take a last farewell of his endeared child; and his religious views gave him but a feeble hope of meeting her hereafter. She clasped the hand of her parent in her own, now cold with the approach of death, and summoning all the energy which her expiring strength would admit of, she thus addressed him:-"My father, do you love me!" "My child, you know that I love you that you are now more dear to me than all the world beside!" "But, father, do you love me?" "Oh, why my child, will you give me pain so exquisite? Have I then never given you any proofs of my love?" But, my dearest father, do you love me?" The afflicted father was unable to make any reply, and the daughter continued; "I know, my dear father, you have ever loved me; you have been the kindest of parents, and I tenderly love you-will you grant me one request? Oh, my father, it is the dying request of your daughter; will you grant it?" My dearest child, ask what you will-though it take every cent of my property, I will grant it." "My dear father, I beg you never again speak against Jesus of Nazareth!" The father was dumb with astonishment. "I know," continued the dying 66 girl, "I know but little about this Jesus, for I was never taught; but I know that he is a Saviour-for he has manifested himself to me since I have been sick, even for the salvation of my soul. I believe that he will save me, although I never before loved him. I feel that I am going to him, that I shall ever be with him. And now, my father, do not deny me ;-I beg that you will never again speak against this Jesus of Nazareth! I entreat you to obtain a Testament which tells of him; and I pray that you may know him; and when I am no more, that you may bestow on him the love that was formerly mine!" The exertion overcame the weakness of her enfeebled frame. She stopped, and her father's heart was too full even for tears. He left the room in great horror of mind, and before he could compose himself, the spirit of his accomplished daughter had taken its flight, I trust into the bosom of that blessed Saviour, whom, though she scarcely knew, yet she loved and honoured. The first thing the parent did, after committing to the grave all that had been left him of earthly joy, was to procure a New Testament. This he read diligently and devoutly; and taught by the Holy Spirit from above, is now numbered among the meek and humble followers of the once despised Jesus. THE FEAST OF DEDICATION. LET us suppose it to be the Jewish month Chisleu, the time of the Feast of Dedication. Jerusalem is illuminated. The city one blaze of light. Every window glares with its numerous tapers. Each palace has a gorgeous aspect; each window is thronged with Hebrew maidens, whose dark, bewitching eyes, glanced through the embroidered veil, whose merry voices proclaim a holiday. The blaze of light pierces the low arched alley. Wretchedness puts on a deceitful smile. Each street is a fair, all excitement. Men hurrying to and fro. Citizen and stranger, Greek and Roman, are talking here and there loudly; all are bent on pleasure. Roman guards, with lordly gait, saunter down the street. Now music breaks on the ear, with mellifluous strains, as though Jubal touched the lyre. And voices join the anthem, swelling in full chorus with thrilling power. Enthusiasm and harmony sweetly blending. The theme, the glorious struggles of their forefathers-or the spirit stirring Psalms of David. Visitors from the country are hastening to their city friends. It is the day of feasting. The stalled ox is killed. Fish from Genesareth; wine from the neighbouring vineyards; each larder teems with provisions for the feast. To-day, heart and house are open. Hospitality bids you enter. A joyful countenance rests on all. Let us go to the temple. Multitudes are ascending Mount Moriah. Yonder, the Pharisee has put on his most costly robes. There is a solemn dignity in all his movements; he meets his friend with many salutations. The learned scribe with neglected dress, and a much soiled scroll underneath his arm, saunters in Solomon's porch, eager to take part in any disputation; solve knotty points; or display his erudition by quoting the traditions of the elders. Let us hear what that youth, with beaming eye and intelligent countenance, is asking his parent. They walk together hand in hand. The son enquires, "Why is this called the Feast of Dedication ?" The father enters on the task with delight. He tells him how 170 years ago Jerusalem was stormed and taken by Antiochus, called by some Epiphanes the illustrious, but properly Epimanes,-the madman. How he slew 40,000 inhabitants in three days, and drove into captivity, like a herd of cattle 40,000 more. Palaces were destroyed-streets were fired-the city walls thrown down. How the temple was profaned, the treasury pillaged, the sacred vessels seized. The golden candlestick, the table of shew-bread, the golden altar of incense, and the exquisitely wrought veil of the holy place; all carried off by bloodstained thievish hands. How Epiphanes insulted the great God of heaven, and defiled his house by sacrificing a sow upon the altar of burnt offering, calling upon their gods. How the Jews were sunk in the depths of degradation and despair; oppressed and trampled upon. The weak apostates-The faithful martyrs-Their religion prohibited--Blood daily flowing the streets a murdered relative or friend in every house. The city one scene of terror; wailing mingling with curses, a daily oblation. When all appeared a wreck, Mattathias, aged as he was, stirred the dying embers of freedom: he raised the spirit of revolt, defying the tyrant's power, and despising with supreme disdain his glittering bribes. How Judas, the Maccabee, and his son, lead on the glorious struggle uniting valour and enthusiasm with prudence and untiring perseverance. He unfurled the banner of liberty, amidst a chosen band. Gorgias and Bacchides, and Nicaner the bravest of Syria's Generals, and their troops were routed. His bleeding prostrate country raised its head again. The Temple was repaired and purified-An altar was raised, the sacred vessels restored. The priests re-installed, and Jehovah's holy name once more sung by the great congregation. Judas, the Maccabee, the patriot, the general, the deliverer, crowned his conquests with thanksgiving, and by appointing a festival of eight days to celebrate the deliverance of the Jewish people. And the Feast of the Dedication, this is the anniversary of that great event, this the moment of that glorious struggle. W. H. R. THE MAN BLIND FROM HIS BIRTH. IN one of the principal streets of the city of Jerusalem, one of those streets which lead to the temple, there sits a man, blind from his birth. Childhood and manhood have crept slowly on without one ray of solar fire stealing through his eyelids. A solitary man-a poor, blind beggar. Methinks when he was a child, he would love to bask in the warm sunlight, and while he rolled his sight-less eyeballs in undistinguishing survey, he would ask with intense desire "What is this sun? Tell me of the sky, the hills of Bashan, the valley fertilized by the flowing brook." While his mother described the waving corn; cattle grazing on the mountain range, or in the wide vale of Esdraelon; the roses blooming in Sharon; the lily of the valley in virgin attire, shaking its bells in the wind. Yea! and of a hundred other wild-born flowers. How the lad would listen to these dream-like tales-these scenes of happy wonderment. Joy would gladden his features, he would smile as he listened to the scenes described by his mother's lips. But he clasps his mother's neck, and knows and feels that he is blind "The portals of light fast barred, He heaves a swelling sigh. God give thee peace, my boy!" But there he sits, a strong young man, begging his bread. Hear him soliloquize:-"There's such a one, the Pharisee, he gives largely and regularly as he walks to the Sanhedrim. But customers are drawing near, I hear a tramp of feet. Certainly it is the feast, and the city is |