accommodation of the sick who sought benefit from the healing virtues of the water, and upon one of whom our Lord performed the miracle recorded by St. John. (Ch. v. 2–9.)

That which is now, and has long been, pointed out as the Pool of Bethesda, is a dry basin or reservoir, outside the northern wall of the enclosure around the Temple Mount, of which wall its southern side may be said to form a part. The east end of it is close to the present gate of St. Stephen. The pool measures 360 feet in length, 130 feet in breadth, and 75 in depth, exclusive of the rubbish which has accumulated in it for ages. Although it has been dry for above two centuries, it was once evidently used as a reservoir ; for the sides, internally, have been cased over with small stones, and these again covered with plaster; but the workmanship of these additions is coarse, and bears no special mark of antiquity. The west end is built up like the rest, except at the south-west corner, where two lofty arched vaults extended westward, side by side, under the houses that now cover this part.-Kitto.

THE DESERTED DOG. One evening in January, little Charles B. stood between his papa, who was reading in his armchair, and his mamma, who was making a white frilled collar for her little boy. Charles was writing upon a slate, which had been given to him

by his aunt Charlotte the last New Year's day. The door of the parlour which the family occupied was gently opened, and their maid-servant Deborah said, smiling, “Master Charles, there is a poor dog in the kitchen : would you like to see him?"

“O dear, yes! May I go, mamma?” “Yes, my love," said Mrs. B.: “Deborah will take care of you."

Away skipped little Charles to the kitchen, and there he saw, lying on the door-mat, a large brown and white dog. When patted by Deborah, he licked her hand. “ Poor fellow !” said the servant: “he is a sadly neglected creature: a man brought him to this place a long time since, and then went away and left the poor dog behind him; so he has no master now.”

"And how does he get food, Deb?" inquired Charles, very mournfully.

"Why," answered the maid, “he goes about from one door to another, asking, in his way, for somebody to have pity upon him : sometimes he has a bone, and sometimes kicks, for his pains."

"O, I wish I might have him !" sighed Charlie ; and he ran into the parlour, 'and said softly, "Papa, may I speak to you?”

“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. B.: “what is it all about? something sad, I fear.”

“Yes, papa, it is,” said Charles, with tears in his eyes : “ that poor dog in the kitchen, Deb says, has no home, nothing to eat, and nobody to take care of it.”

“What is all this, my dear? What dog is it? where did it come from?” said his papa, who had been too much occupied with his book to take any notice of the entrance of the maid some minutes before. “Call Deborah, and let us hear this history.”

After being made acquainted with what has been already related concerning the poor dog, Mr. B. said, “This is a sad affair, indeed: but if we were to keep the poor animal, I fear he would be of very little use. What is your opinion, my love?” he said, turning to Mrs. B.

“I am glad to find,” answered that lady, “ that Charles has not forgotten a lesson which I was teaching him the other day, that our lives are continued that we may do good, and benefit others, and that by so doing we receive good and happiness to ourselves. Though this referred more particularly to individuals, it is our duty to be kind and to relieve any creature whose suffer. ings we may mitigate: therefore I willingly give my consent that we keep the poor dog."

So it was agreed that an old barrel which was in the yard should be appropriated to Buff; (the name given by Charles to his dog ;) some straw was obtained from a neighbouring stable; and poor Buff became, by good treatment, a capital watch-dog, and Charlie was much pleased that he and Deb had entreated for him. F.M.

AUNT ELIZA'S TRUE STORIES IN VERSE.

STORY THE THIRD.

WIDOW GRAY.
Written for Emma Catharine L.

INTRODUCTION.
The blasts of November are howling around,

The billows beat high on the shore,
And torrents of rain are increasing the sound;
0! may we be thankful at home there is found

Sweet peace, though the elements roar.
Then heed not, dear Emma, the tempest awhile ;

Let the bright cheering blaze of our fire
Reveal to each other affection's sweet smile,
And the voice of affection the eve shall beguile,

Though the storm should rage higher and higher. Mamma has departed, your sister is gone,

And no little playmate is here;
But what if we are left in lodgings alone?
What a comfort it is that all joys are not flown!

We still may be happy, my dear.
One amusement is left, which a long time ago

To romping and toys you preferr'd :
Not a bauble the Brighton bazaar can bestow,
Would afford you more pleasure, dear Emma, I know,

Than a story you never have heard.
I mean a true story ;- perchance of that kind

There may be in my memory's store :
Let me think a few moments; I hope you will find
I can bring from some hidden recess in my mind

Two or three I ne'er told you before.

WIDOW Ğ RAY. 'Tis the duty of Christians to visit distress,

If favour'd with leisure and health ; For kind words and kind looks will make misery less, In a way that a hard-hearted man could not guess,

Who had nought to bestow but his wealth.
And while seeking to comfort another in woe,

There is always a present reward,
If from pure holy motives our benefits flow;
For 'tis better to give than receive, well we know,

'Twas declared so by Jesus our Lord.
One Sabbath morn, early, a pious man went

To a dwelling obscure, low, and mean,
Where an hour in sweet converse he often had spent
With a destitute widow, so happy, content,

He was thankful he ever had been.
His step, always welcome, no sooner drew near,

Than the widow, in haste to impart
Such tidings as must her kind visiter cheer,
With eagerness cried, “You have something to hear

That will warm, I am certain, your heart.” “ And that my heart needs," was his humble reply,

“ Most gladly I'll listen, my friend; Your tale will some promise, no doubt, verify." . So thus she began (her own words I will try

To repeat from beginning to end). “ Last Thursday I found, Sir, my cupboard was bare, • 'Twas breakfast-time, food I had none : I search'd and I search'd every corner with care ; To my no small dismay, not a morsel was there!

Alas! I said, what's to be done?