haps we need more than ordinarily to be reminded that conversion without perseverance is of little worth. He is passing through Samaria, bound for Jerusalem, accompanied by His disciples and the ever-present Pharisees. Hard by a town, He stands a little apart, looking down with mingled joy and sadness on a man who, prone before Him, sobs out his thankfulness and embraces His feet with love and adoration. He is one of the ten poor lepers who an hour ago cried to the passing Saviour: "Jesus, Master, have pity on us." Afflicted with that loathsome disease, driven by law beyond town limits, forbidden to see, except at a distance, even their nearest and dearest, crouching in the sand-pits by night, and by day wandering dolefully among the tombs — ah! what pent-up misery of many weary years found vent in that cry: "Jesus, Master, have pity on us." And Jesus turning said to them: " Go, show yourselves to the priest and offer sacrifice according to the law." And as they went, lo! ere they reached the city gates their hideous deformity disappeared and their flesh became as the flesh of a little child. But were not ten made clean — nine Jews and one Samaritan? Where then are the nine? Alas! there is no one found to return and give glory to God but one, the stranger, the Samaritan.
Brethren, no cup of human joy is without its drain of sorrow. A shadow is on the Saviour's countenance and the Samaritan is presently shamefaced and apologetic. Earth's heroes climb the mount of glory, only to find other peaks towering above
