song that he was chanting; or your marmozet continued chattering and jumping about, or your lamp twinkling. The Gemara, perhaps, may induce its believers to prefer a song or a dance to existence; but to the less enlightened, life is dear; and I would not have felt the whirl of a sabre on my neck for the best quaver or tumble under Heaven. Now, begone!" Nachaman in humility rose, acknowledged his misconception, and with thanks for his safety tottered to the door: but he tried the lock with his feeble fingers in vain. The Stranger angrily bade him hasten. The lock was more stubborn than ever. As if to perplex him, he heard too, a variety of sounds; a female voice of the most touching sweetness was mingled with the melody of birds and a low and indistinct murmur, which seemed familiar to his ear, yet of which he could make nothing. In strong emotion he glanced round to the Stranger, who was still observing his process; but the eye that returned his glance glittered with such keenness from under a brow so frowning, that he dared look no more. With a violent effort he now threw himself against the door, which at last gave way, and the suddenness of the shock flung him head-foremost over the threshold. But, had he mistaken the entrance? He saw no forest. He was lying on the floor of a small richly furnished chamber, with a female figure pouring water and perfumes on his temples, who raised him up, and exclaiming, "My father!" sprang into his arms. The casements had been thrown open, and the morning sun was pouring a flood of crimson light through the flowers that shaded it; the Rabbi gazed upon the being before him in fear, wonder, and delight. The fear passed away, the delight remained. It was Thamar, his beauteous, his beloved, that he held to his reviving bosom. Her tears fell on his feverish countenance, like the drops of a shower at dawn, falling from the loveliness of heaven to refresh the earth. The wonder still remained. How had he come? He was in Judea, nay, in his own house. The pictures, the tissues, the books, all were the same as when, three years before, he had taken his sorrowful departure, and, on this very spot, sent up his prayer for the protection of his child. For the explanation of all, he turned to the Stranger, who was sitting calmly in his chair, and turning over the huge leaves of the Talmud. Nachaman rejoiced in the sight; however elated by his extraordinary escape, he was still more elated by seeing the study of his companion. Had he for once triumphed? Had he compelled this most scoffing of sceptics, to give up his opinion? In his transport he gently disengaged himself from his daughter's ivory arms and rosy cheeks, and taking the Mishna and Gemara from their embroidered cases, approached him with a load of wisdom that almost crushed his exhausted frame to the ground. The Stranger took no notice of the Rabbi as he stood panting under the weight of his theology; but continued reading, uttering from time to time, such words as "partly true-nonsense surprising stu pidity-folly inconceivable-good sense in cloudstotal insanity-mountain of lies !" At last the Rabbi could restrain himself no longer; he laid the sacred books with a feeling of assured conquest beside the student, and with some difficulty succeeded in inducing him to turn his eyes upon them." "Have you no more than those?" said the Stranger. "A hundred," exclaimed the delighted Rabbi; "or I should be no Doctor of Laws." He opened his chests, and poured upon the table volume on volume, inscribed, "Medrash Rabbah"-"Shabbath" -"Rabbi Huna,”- 66 Taanith," - —“Mendelsohn,” and a heap of others. "And you have read all those?" asked the Stranger; yet dare to stand up in the presence of Heaven, that gave every man's time for some useful purpose. Where is the little book that you were reading last night by the lamp?" "That book," answered the Rabbi, our doctors honour from the bottom of their souls; but they never read it when they can get these. If the Law is good, the tradition is better. Such is the decree of the illustrious Sanhedrin." "Master of Israel!" pronounced the Stranger in a stern tone; "I did not want you to tell me, that the illustrious Sanhedrin are a parcel of blind blockheads, and that they insist upon every one's being as blind as themselves. But as you are an honest man in spite of your education, you shall have a lesson in contempt of the Sanhedrin. Thank your daughter's prayers for having brought you home; but thank me for giving you the chance of being less a fool than your doctors. Give me the Book of the Law." The Stranger took it in his hand, bowed his forehead over it in the most solemn reverence, and laid it on the summit of the pile of volumes. It had scarcely touched them before a thick smoke rose up; flame followed; the whole wisdom of the Rabbi was in a blaze. Nachaman rushed forward to seize the destroyer of so much holiness; but astonishment stopped him. Through the blaze the Stranger's eyes flashed like two stars; his countenance was sudden loftiness and beauty combined; he looked upon the trembling Rabbi with an intense yet benign vision that seemed to penetrate his soul. The smoke of the volumes rose to the roof of the chamber; a solemn sound was heard, like the waving of trees in the blast, or the rushing of a mighty wind. The flame at length grew dim. The volumes sank in ashes. The Rabbi took from them one surviving book; it was the Law and the Prophets, totally untouched. He laid it to his bosom, and kneeling made a vow, which it would not have been safe to utter under any other roof in Jerusalem. When he looked up, the Stranger was gone, but Thamar was at his side; even the little animals that he had seen perish, came playing round him. He fell on his knees, and never from that hour argued, doubted, or was wiser than the word of God again. SONNET TO THE NIGHTINGALE. WHEN the faint daylight waneth from the west And pleasant is the sound of stirred leaves, R. H. |