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134 rowful night in Gethsemane ; ot the whip ping, of the spitting upon Him; of the crown of thorns; of His fainting under the cross, and then of the terrible cruci fixion. Then she hastened on to the Sunday morning when the women came through the blooming garden walks without noti cing the flowers, but went straight to the tomb of Jesus, weeping, and there they saw two angels, but not the body of Jesus, and after they turned back one ot the wo men met Jesus, and He said to her, “Mary!” “ Just think of it,” said the little girl; “He called my name, ‘Mary,’ as if He spoke to me now. Then the poor woman was so glad she did not know what to do with herself, and she ran and told all the other disciples.” She told her how He appeared to two of His disciples on their way to Emmaus, and how their “hearts burned” while He talked with them, although they did not know who He was. She told her how lie stood by the sea of Galilee, when the morning breezes were curling the water into blue waves; and how lie sat down with the disciples to their breakfast of broiled fish ; and how sweetly He talked to Peter, just as if Pe ter had never denied Him ; and how at last He led His disciples to the Mount of Olives, and after raising His hands and blessing them, floated up among the an gels to heaven ; and how He now sits up on the right hand of the Father to plead for us—“for all of us, Ester,” the child said; “for you and for me.” The little Jewess listened to her, not without tears, and when she had finished Ester said : “That sounds as if it were all true.” “It is all true,” said Mary earnestly. "When the children were parting, Mary said: “My name is Mary Mason, and we live on the piazza d’Espagna. Now tell me all your name, and where you live.” “My name is Ester Beniamino. I live in the Ghetto. It is an ugly, dirty place,” the child added in a tone of mortification. “Never mind that,” said Mary kindly, “you must come and see me. I have a nice room, where we can play all by our selves.” “Yes,” said Ester, “I have a nice room, too, but outside of the house all is filthy, so filthy. I know nohody; I have no playmates.” Mr. and Mrs. Mason seemed as much impressed with the grandfather as Mary was with Ester. They invited him to visit them. He thanked them gravely and politely. BURKE’S WEEKLY. When the Jew and his granddaughter had reached their home in the Ghetto, the little girl said: “ Grandfather, Mary says the Christ has already come; do you think so ? The old man shook his head sadly and replied: “I cannot say, my child- It may be even so. It is a question that has per plexed me much. Our people have wait ed for Him long in vain.” Mr. and Mrs. Mason spent the winter in Kome. The old Jew often brought his granddaughter to see Mary. He brought her and called again at the appointed hour to take her home. Only twice could he be prevailed upon to stop and make a short visit. One night in the early spring, Mr. Ma son was aroused in the middle of the night. Signor Beniamino had sent for him. He followed the messenger through the dark streets. At length they came to the Jews’ quarter —dirty, squalid, mis erable. Stumbling over some broken pieces of columns, scattered amidst hay and dirt, they reached a low door-way. The guide lighted a little coiled wax ta per, produced a key, unlocked the door, and entered a gloomy passage. Thence, they ascended to the second story, or, as they say in Rome, to the first piano. At a tap from the guide, the second door was then unbarred, and after passing through an ante-room, a damask curtain was drawn aside, which revealed a chamber luxuriously fitted up. On a low couch lay the old man breath ing laboriously. The fine white linen and lace trimmings of the pillow cases made his face look more swarthy and death like. The hair, like silver, brushed back from the brow, fell in half curls upon the pillows. The dark eyes were burning like lamps, in the stillness. On the floor beside the couch Ester was prostrate. With brow pressed upon the cold marble, she lay in agony, in the still agony of a woman. As Mr. Mason approached, the old man looked up with satisfaction, and said with difficulty: “ I am sorry to disturb you at this in convenient hour, but it was unavoidable. I am about to be gathered to my fathers. My last earthly concern, that poor child, I wish to consign to your care, because I desire that she shall be educated in your faith. I would save her from the doubts and uncertainty that have tormented me. I leave her money enough,—more than enough. I entrust that, with her, to you. In the memorandum book that lies upon that little stand you will find full direc tions. My strength fails me—” The sorrow of the child here burst into passionate and irrepressible sobs. Mr. Mason, with a broken voice, assured him that the charge should be consider ed sacred, and that he should consider Ester even as his own daughter. The old man replied : “It is well; you are honorable and just.” Then, looking down at the sobbing child, his own bosom heaved convulsively. For a few moments he was silent. A film passed over the bright eyes—“the windows were darkened,” —his lips mur mured, “Though Thou slay me, yet will I trust in Thee,” —and all was hushed, all but the sobs of the child. Struck at length by the silence, Ester sprang to her feet, and looking into the face of the dead, exclaimed, passionately: “No, no! bring him to life!” and fell fainting into the arms of the nurse. Mr. Mason took her gently from the nurse, and bore her into another room. % >jc It was an evening in the first of June. The purple mountains leaned against the golden sky. The Eternal City was bath ed in an atmosphere of rose. Two little girls—the one in white, the other in deep mourning—knelt beside a grave, and laid upon it a cross and a crown of flowers. As they arose, the child in black burst into a passion of tears, and exclaimed: “I shall never see his grave again—not even his grave.” The other responded in a soft and ear nest voice : “T>, yes, Ester, you and I will come back from Virginia when we are grown; we will come back and put flowers on his grave again, and while we are gone, God will take care of it.” My “ Good for Nothing.” What are you good for, my brave little man ’■ Answer that question for me, if you can— You with your fingers as white as a nun. You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun. All the day long with your busy contriving, Into all mischief and fun you are driving; See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for—now ponder it well. Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter to climb on my scat; Two merry eyes, full of frolic and glee, Under their lashes looked up unto me; Two little hands pressing soft on my face, Drew me down close in a loving embrace; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true— “ Good to love you, mamma! good to love you. ♦♦♦ There is nothing purer than hon est} r ; nothing sweeter than charity; no thing warmer than love; nothing richer than wisdom; nothing brighter than vir tue ; and nothing more steadfast than faith. These, united in one mind, foim the purest, sweetest, warmest, brightest and most steadfast happiness. — iV/hs.