u u FREE AS THE WIND, AND AMERICAN TO THE CORE BY E BUCHEK SWOOPE. CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1, 1855: VOL. 2.-U0. 1.-T0TAL, 53. WIAT SIIALL BE TOE END OF THESE TI1INGS1 When another life is added To the heaving turbid mass; When another breath of being Stains creation's tarnished glass ; "When the first cry, weak and piteous, Heralds long enduring pain, "And a soul from non-existence Springs, that never dies again; When the mothers passionate welcome Sorrow-like bursts forth i tears, -And the sire's self gratulation Prophecies of future years It is well we cannot see What the end shall be. WHeU across the infant features - Trembles the taint uawn ot mind ; When the heart looks from the windows Of the eyes that were so blind ; When the incoherent murmers Syllable each swaddled thought; To the fond ear of affection With a boundless promise fraught, Kindles great hope for to-morrow' ' From that dull uncertain ray, As by glimmering of the twilight Is foreshown the perfect day It is well we cannot see What the end shall be. When the boy upon the threshold Of his all comprising home, 1'aHs aside the arm maternal Thatenlocks him ere he roam; When the canvass of his vessel Flatters to the favoring gales, Years of solitary exile Hid behind its sunny sails , When his pulses beat with ardor, And his tinews stretch for toil; And a hundred bold emprises Lure him to that eastean soil It is well we cannot see What the end shall be. When theyouth beside the maiden Looks into her credulous eyes ; When the heart upon the surface JShincs. too happy tobowise; He by speeches less than gestures Uintcth what her hopes expound, Laying out the waste hereafter Like enchanted garden-ground ; Ho may falter so do many ; She must suffer so must all; Both may yet, world disappointed, This lost hour of love recall It is well we cannot see What the end shall be. When the altar of religion Greets the expectant bridal pair; When the vow that lasts till dying Vibrates on the sacred air; When man's lavish protestations Doubt of after-change defy, Comforting the frailer spirit Bound hisscrvitorfor aye ; When beneath loves silver moonbeams Many rocks in shadow sleep, Undiscovered till posession Shows the danger of the deep It is well wo cannot see What the end shall be. Whatsoever is beginning That is wrought by human skill livery daring emanation Of the minds ambitious will ; Every first impulse of passion. Gush of love, or twinge of hate , Every launch upon the water, Wide horizoncd by our fate ; Lvery venture in the chances Of life's sad, oft desperate, game, Whatsoever be our motive. Whatsoever be our aim It is well wc cannot see What the end shall bo TOE HISTORY OF A LIFE Day dawned : Within a curtained room, Filled to faintness with perfume A lady lay at point of doom. Day closed : A child had seen the light; Jiut for the lady, fair and brignt, S.be rested in umdrcaming night. Fpring rose : The lady's grave was seen ; And near it oftentimes was seen A gentle Boy, with thoughtful mein. Tears fled : He wore a manly face, And struggled in the world's rough race, And' won at last, a lofty place. And then he died ! Behold, before ye, Humanity's poor sum and story; Life. Death. and all that is of Glorv.' THE ENCHANTED MULE. At the Feast of Pentecost, Kin 5 Arthur held open court at the royal city of Carduel;t and all the noble ladies, the great barons and knights in his kingdom, were there. On the second day, as they rose from table, they saw far off upon the plain a woman, who appeared to be corning toward the castle,-and who was mounted upon a mule without bit or bridle. This Awakened their curiosity. The king and queen, everybody, ran to th windows j and each one in the endearor to solve th mystery, nrcd a conjecture. When the I'en had arrived at the gate, they saw tiifc she was young and ve ry beautiful. Tb;, kr,ights all flew to meet her ; they isted her to dismount, and notic- th'li her cheeks were wet with tears, and tftt her countenance was full ot sorrow. Having been brought before the king, she .saluted him respectfully, and, drying her eyes prayed him to pardon her for coming to troub le him with her griefs; but the bridle, of her 'mule had been stolen from her; and from that ,iday she had wept, and found herself condemn ed to tears until it was recovered. Only the j bravest of knights could retake and restore it : to her ; and where should she seek such a he- ' The King Arthur of the old French and Eng llieh romances is the came monarch who Mstole three pecks of barley meal To make bag pudding." This exploit is equally veritable with all the oth ers attributed to aim. He is entirely a creation of the English romances, who called him and his peers into being as companions and counterbalan ces to Charlcmango and his paladins, the heroes of France. tThe old romancers assinged four royal cities to King Arthur, Carlisle, Caradigan, Caramalot, where was the famous round table, and Carduel. These were the scenes of most of the adventures re lated of him and his twelve followers. ''Open Court" was held three or four times yearly by the kings of the middle ages, who were at other times shut up in their castles like any other lords of the soil in those days. At these open courts it was the privilege of any one of the monarch's subjects to present himself and be received according to his degree. ro but at the court of so great a king? She then begged King Arthur to allow some of the brave gentlemen who heard her to interest themselves la her sorrow. She assured the knight who consented to become her champion, that he would be conducted to the place of combat by her mule; and for the re ward of his bravery, sho promised publicly to become his mistress. All offered themselves, and contended for the honor of the adventure; but tho seneschal Queux spoke first, iind it was but right to ac cept his services. He swore to bring back the bridle, if it were at the end of the world. But before lie started, lie demanded a kiss from j the majde, as an earnest of bis reepmpense- on account,' as the merchants say and step ped forward to take it. She utterly refused any reward until he returned with tbo bridle ; and promised him then not only what he ask ed, but greater guerdon beside. Queux was obliged to be contented with her word ; and, arming himself, he departed, letting the mule choose its way, as she had advised him. Queux, althoug the foster brother of King Arthur, and his standard-bearer and senechal, was a great braggart, a slanderous-tongued fel low, and though always qnarrelling was always beaten. He was ever ready to undertake that which, as it proved, he had not the .ability to perform; aud was more than suspected of being something of a coward. He had hardly enter ed the forest when troops of half-starved lions, tigers, and leopards rushed, roaring terribly to devour him. Then poor Queux repented sorely of his indiscreet boasting; and would, with all the heart he had left, have renounced all the kisses in the world to be well out of his dauger. But when the ferocious animals recognised the mule, they fell down before it to lick its feet, and then turned back into the wood. At the end of the forest was a valley so dark, so deep, so black, that the bravest man could not venture into it without a shudder. And it was yet far more horrible when the poor sene schal had passed into it, aud when surrounded by serpents, scorpions, and dragons belching flames, he went on only by the lurid light of these infernal fires. Around him tempests bowled, torrents roared with the voice of thun der, and mountains heaved up and down in horrible confusion ; and though the air was was colder, icier than that of a thousand wint ers together, the sweat rolled from his body. He passed safely through the dreadful place, in spite of all its perils, the mule being his all-suflicient protector; and having gone for ward for some distance, he reached, at last, a river, wide and deep, over which there was no bridge, and on whose dark waters he saw no boat; only from side to side stretched a single Dar of iron. Queux, faint-hearted, aud forget ful of the safety secured to him in former dan ger by the animal on which he rode, seeing, as he thought, no means of crossing the river, gave up the adventure and turned back. But, unfortunately, he had to repass the valley aud the forest. The serpents, lions, and monsters rushed again upon him with a seeming frenzy of delight, and would have devoured him ft thousand times, could they have done it M lth out touching the mulo. When the knights and ladies saw him affar off from the castle, they began to laugh. The knights assembled in the court-yard, as if to receive him with great honor: King Arthur came himself, and proposed to conduct him to receive the promised kiss; all, in a word, la dies and gentlemen, ridiculed him without merey; and the imhappy seneschal, not know ing how to answer them, and not daring to raise his eyes, disappeared and hid himself. The maiden was yet more troubled than he, Abandoning herself to despair, she wept bit terly and tore her hair. The brave knight, Guivain, was touched with her grief. He ap proached, and with modest confidence offered her the service of his sword, and promised to dry her tears; but, lifie poor Queux, he would have a kiss in aV;arjce. The dangers of the adv-7.iure weie now known, and the grief of the lovely lady increased tenfold, and beside, This Queux, as tho reader will gather from what follows, was the butt of King Arthur's court. He is almost always made by the romancers the first to attempt an offered adventure, in which he never succeeds, and his failure in which acts as a foil to the brilliant achievment ot some mo;; I0r. tunate and deserving and. less-borfui knight. He appears in the 13y and ntle. which will be found in Percy's RcUues, and in which his name is transformed lnt0 Kay. There comes to Carlisle a ;'kia courteous child" who had a mantle which no lady could wear, who, a3 a wife, had "once done amiss." Queen Guenever first assayed to wear it by virtue of her rank, which, according to the test, was theonly virtue she possessed; for "When shee had taken the mantle Shee stood as shee had beene madd ; It was from the top to the toe As sheeres had itt shread. One while it was gule ; another while it was greeno," &c. Consequently the lady, like the mantle, was dread fully cut up and turned all lorts of colors, othmg daunted and not waiting for any other trial "Kay called forth his layde, And bade her come neere ; Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye I pray thee hold the there. Forth came his layde shortlye and anon ; Boldlye to the mantle then is shee gone. When shee had tano the mantle and caste it her about; Then was shee bare. Before all the rout. Then every knight that was in the kinges court, Talked, laughed and show ted fall oft at that sport." Thus Hwss ww.h Quenix; and Queux is not dead yet. how could she refuse so gallant a knight, whose oft-tried bravery inspired such confi dence. The kiss was granted, and Gauvan mounted the mule and left the castle. The same dangers through which poor Queux passed, again presented themselves ; Gauvain only laughed at them. The serpents and the lions came out to fall upon him ; he drew his sword and gave them battle. But there was no need; the monsters, kneeling again before ther mule, went quietly away. At last he arrived at the river, saw tho bar of irou stretching from side to side, and knowing that there 110 other means of passing the dreadful waters, and that his way lay across them, he commen ded himself to God, and tried the perilous uridge. ft was so narrow that the mule could hardly set half its foot upon it. The moment that Gauvain began the passage, the black wa ters broke into foaming waves, which heaved and roared all around him, as if to sweep him away, and swallow him up; but he was immova ble, and arrived safely upon the opposite bank. There he found a strong castle, before which stood a row of four hundred iron stakes, each of which, with one exception, bore upon its point a bloody head; this one, yet bare, seem ed to be waiting for its horrible decoration. The fortress, surrounded by deep moats,which were filled by a foaming torrent, turned round as if upon a pivot, like a gigantic mill-stone. It had, besides, no drawbridge, and seemed to deny to Gauvain any opportunity to display his valor, He, nevertheless, determined to wait, hoping that the castle, in one of its revo lutions, would offer him some sort of entrance; and determined, at all events, to perish on the spot, if it did not; rather than to return with disgrace. And finally, a door did open ; ho spurred his mule, which at one bound cleared the enormous moat, and he found himself within the walls of the castle. Here every thing seemed to indicate a re cent desolation. The courts and passages were empty, no one looked from the gaping win dows, and on all sides was solitude and a death-like silence. A dwarf finally came- out and looked closely at the knight. Gauvain asked him who was his lord or lady; where they might be found, and what they expected him to do. The dwarf disappeared without an answer. The knight went on his way through the vast and fearful solitude of the castle, and soon saw a giant, hideous to look upon, come from a cavern; his hair bristling as if with rage and armed with a nuge battle-axe. Gauvain waited quietly to discover the giant's inten tion, when the latter, instead of attacking, or even berating him, applauded his courage, but pitied him for undertaking an adventure, the issue of which could not but be fatal, and from which the terrible iron palisade outside the castle should have deterred him. Xeverthe lessjhe offered him food, treated him well, and showed him tho chamber where ho was to sleep. But before going out, he ordered tlx hero to strike off hi licad, saying that he shbuld come in the morning to do the samo thing for his guest in turn. Gauvain immedi ately drew his sword, struck, and tho giant's head rolled at his feet. What was his surprise at seeing the monster pick it up, put it upon his shoulders, and stalk ofl"! Nevertheless, as he knew that he should need all his wits and all Lis strength on the morrow, he went to bed and slept tranquilly, undisturbed by fear of coming danger. At break of day the giant came with the axe to fulfiil his promise. Ho awoke the knight, and according to the con ditions stated to him on the day before, order ed him to present his head. Gauvin, sure that nothing could be gained by refusal hesitation, instantly bent his neck. It was but a trial of his courage. The giant, instead of striking off Gauvain's head, praised and embraced him. The knight asked whither he should go to find tho bridle, and what he must do to obtain it. (l You will know before the day is over," was the answer, "but summon all your cour age; you never iieeded it more." .. At mid-day, Gauvain presented b'mself a the place of combat, and found there a enor mous' lion, foaming, gnawing nis chain, and tearing up the earth ;ih his claws. At the sight of adversary, the savage beast broke 'Hto a fearful roar, bristling his enormons mane ; his chain fell from him and he threw himself upon Gauvain, whose coat of mail he tore open at the first bound. They fought long and furiously, but the lion was killed. Anoth er, yet larger and more savage, was let loose; but he perished like tho first. Gauvain, see ing no other enemy appear, demanded the bridle ; but the giant, without answering, led him to his chamber. There he made him eat to recover his strength, and soon afterward led him belore another opponent. This was a formidable knight; the same who had set up the iron pales outside the castle, and with his own hands had placed upon them the heads of the four hundred vanquished champions. A horse and a strong lance were given to each; they rode away to take distance for their career, and hurled themselves against each other. At the first shock, their lances flew into splinters, and their saddle-girths burst. Both sprang up to renew the fight on foot. Their arms rang under their formidable blows, their shields flashed fire, and for two whole hours the victory was doubtful. But Gauvain redoubled Ihb energy, and let fall up on the head of his adversary such a terrible blow, that, cleaving his helmet to the visor, it brought him reeling to the ground. This was the end of him: for he must have expected in instant death if he had not confessed himself vanquished, and alraady the attendants began to unlace his helmet. But he surrendered his sword, and asked for life. From this moment all opposition was over. The victor had a right to the bridle ; it could not bo refused. There remained only tho iope of enticing him to give it up willingly; and this was tho manner in which they trusted to succeed. The dwarf presented himself, and saluting tba victorious knight respectfully, invited him on the part of his mistress, to sup wiili her. She received him, adorned with all the attrac tions which art can add to beauty, and sitting upon a sumptuous Couch, whose silver pillars sustained a pavilion decorated with embroide ry and precious stones. The lady placed him at her side, and during tho supper used the same plate with him. After some flattering reproaches of the bravery which had succeed ed in depriving her of all means of resistance, she confessed to him that she was the sister of the maiden with the mule, and that she herself had taken the bridle, "But," she said, "if you will renounce your rights as victor, if you will remain with me, and devoto to my service that invincible arm whose prowess I have just proved, this castle, and thirty-nine others yet more magnificent, 6hall be yours, with all their wealth ; and she who begs you to accept them will feel honored by becoming herself the prize of the victor." ! Gauvain was nothing moved by theso seduc tive offers. He persisted in exacting the bri dle which he had undertaken to obtain ; and when he had received it, he departed on his mulo amid the joyful shouts of a crowd of people, who, to his great surprise, crowded around him. Theso were the inhabitants of the castle, who confined till now in their apartments by tyranny of their mistress, could not leave them without being instantly devoured by her lions, and who, freed at last, came to kiss the hand of their liberator. Upon his return to Carduol, the knight was received by the maiden with thoso transports of joy and gratitudo which were due to such a service. She embraced him a hundred times, aud conf essed that a hero who had done so much v. for her, deserved far more than such a trifling recompense. But she prepared instantly for het departure. In vain did King Arthur and tho queen beg her to stay until the festival was over; nothing could retain her. She took leave of all, mounted her mule, and disappeared. . It will bo remarked that the lady receives Gauvain upon a couch, and, placing him by her side, sups with him. sharing his plate. This cus- j torn, a relic of the manners in Rome, and which is alluded to in one of the most solemn and interest- ing passages in the New Testameut, is frequently named in the older romances. Washington's Texts. The following ac count, with which the venerable George Wash ington Park Curtis furnishes tho Washington Intelligencer, of tho two tents of General Washington, will interest our readers. We learn it is the purpose of Mr. Curtis, in whose possession, at Arlington house, theso venerated relics have been for half a century, to bequeath them to the nation, to be preserved among the military archives at tho seat of government There were two tents, or rather marquees, at tached to the baggage of the commander-in-Chief during the revolutionary war. The lar ger, can dine about forty persons, formed the banqueting hall for tho grand banquet given by "Washington to the officers of tho three ar mies immediately after the surrender of York town, when the victor made the feast, and the vanquished were his guests. Tho smaller or the sleeping tent has a history of touching po- culiar interest attached to it, as related by Col-I onelJohn Nicholas, of Virginia, an officer, Of 1 the Life Guard. He eaid, that although the head quarters were generally "m a house, yet we always pitched th$ smaller tent in the yard, or imbued iati'y adjacent to the quarters, and to th'.s tent the chief was in the constant habit of retiring to write his dispatches. His orders to the officer of the guard were: Let mo not be disturbed ; when I have completed my de spatches I will come out myself. Let the ex presses bo mounted and in waiting. Often would a courier arrive, "bloody with spurring' and shouting, despatches from General to the commander-in-Chief. Often the travel soiled courier would have time to breathe a little after a desperate ride, till, parting the doorfolds of the tent, would appear the man of mighty labors, the despatches ready 6ealed in his hand. From within theso venerable canvass walls emanated the momentous des patches that guided the destines of our conn try in the most awful periods of the struggle for independence, ine iema were urigwiiij made in Philadelphia, in August, 1775, under the direction of Captain Moulder, of the revo lution. They were first pitched on the heights of Cambridge, in 1775, and are now preserved in the portmanteaus in which they were carri ed during the whole of the war for indepen dence." ' A Singular Forgivkhess. Sir Walter Scott, in his article in the Quarterly Review, on the Cul loden papers mentioned a characteristic instance of an old Highlond warrior's mode of pardon. "Toa must forgive even your bitterest enemy. Kenmuir, now," said tho confessor to him, as he loy gasping on his death-bed. "Well, if I must I must," Teplied the cheiftain; ,;bntmy curse be on you Donald," turning towards bis son.,'jf you forgive him." Burial op Tnu Youso. Tho following touching description, which for graphic pow er, simplicity and pathos, is hardly equalled in the English language, describes the Inter ment of a young and beautiful child, whose sweetness of disposition and purity of charac ter are calculated to interest deeply the heart of every reader. Along the crowded path they bore her rrowj pure as the newly-fallen snow that covered it; whoso day on earth had been as fleeting. Un der that porch where she bad sat when Heaven in its mercy brought her to tho peaceful spot, she passed again, and the old church received her in its quiet shade. They carried her to one old nook, where she had many a time sat musing, and laid their burden softly on the pavement. The light streamed on it through tho colored window a window where the boughs of trees were ever rustling in tho sum mer, and where tho birds sang sweetly all day long. With every breath of air that stirred among those branches in the sunshine, some trembling, changeing light, would fall upon her grave.- Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 3fany a young hand dropped in its little wreath, many a stilled sob was heard. Some aud there were not a fuw knelt down. All were sincere and truthful In their sorrow. The service done, tho mourners stood apart, and the villagers closed around to lock into the grave before the pavement stone sho aid be replaced. One called to mind bow he had seen her sitting on that very spot, and bow her book had fallen on her lap, as she was ga zing with a pensive face upon the eky. An other told how ho had wondered much that one so delicate as she, should be so bold; bow 6he had never feared to enter the church alone at night, but had loved to linger there when all was quiet; and even to climb the tower stair, with no more light than that of tho moon rays stealing through the loop-hole in tho thick old wall. A whisper went about among the oldest there, that sho had seen and talked with angels; and when they called to mind how she had looked, and spoken, and her ear ly death, some thought it might be so, indeed. Thus, coming to the grave, in little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to others, and falling olf in whispering groups pf three or four, the church was cleared in time of all but the sexton and tho mourning friends. They saw tho vault covered and the stono fixed down. Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a soitnd disturbed the sacred still ness of the place when the bright moon ponr ed in her light on tho tomb and monument, on pillar, wall and arch, and most of all (it soomod to them) upon her quiet grave in that calm time, when all outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurance of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them then, with tranqnil and submissive hearts they turned away, and left the child with God. Ohl it is hard to take to heart tho lessons that such deaths will teach; but let no man reject it, for it is one that all mnst learn, and is a mighty, universal truth. When death strikes down the Innocent and young, for every fragile form from which be lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtnes rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk the world, and bless it. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green craves, some good is born, some gentler na- tnro comes. In the destrover's steps, there Rnrin'r un bricht creations that defy his rower. l o r o - onrl l,;a orlr nath Kft(ftml A WAV OF lltrhf f rt 1' " ..j,... 1 neaven. Dickens. Devotion. Devotion is nothing else but kppreben80nSj and right affections toward God. All practices therefore, that heighten a !mnnrtrnnnrChenSionsol God-all ways of life that tend to nourish, raise, and fix our auecuirm " a..ir... .... TI m iinitnhArslC()nM en I many helps and means to fill us with devotion. I J "wl I ripNever marry for a fortune. We overheard a r 1 poor unfortunate got the following sockdolager the other day from his better half: "You good for-nothing fellow," said she, "what would you have been if I had not married you? hose was tho baking kivor, whose the pig trough, whose the frying pan, and the iron hooped bucket, but mine when you married me? OThe antipathy of the Scotch people to writ ten sermons is well known. At Kircudbright at an "inauguration," an old woman on the pulpit stair asked one of her companions if the new min ister was a reader. And how can he read, woman was the reply' ''the man's blin,", To which the first made answer, "I'm glad to hear t I wish they were a' blin'." IST'Shon,' eaid a Dutchman, 'yon may say what you please 'bout pad neighbors; I had te vorst neighbors 'as neber vas. Mine pigs and mine hens come home mit dere ear split and todder day two of dem come home msssing t' ZW Lorenzo Dow once said of a grasping avari cious old farmer, that if he had the whole world enclosed in a single field, he would not bo content :n t ..tol, r.e rrmnnA nn the outside for po- KllUUUk yuivu V fc, J tatoes. E?"A wife eannot make home comfortable, who "dears" and " my loves'' and "pets her husband, and don't sew the buttons on his shirts, or the tapes on his drawers. rr?-Men were furnished with two eyes and two ears, in order that they might see and bear twice as mncb as they said. . nhhailj Ittabing. AN ANGEL IN TOE WAY. This very chaste effusion originally appeared tn Frasor'S Magaiine of last January. It is one of those my pure classical productions which now and then, and without any great intervening in terval, appear In that able and distinguisned pe rodioal. The author of it is manifestly a man of extraordinary talent. The lesson it imparts would, if generally adopted, impose on the world a system of morals which would tend to its advan tage, its happiness and its glory. Fair the downward path is spread. Love and Light thy coming greet. Fruit is blushing o'er thy head, Flowers are growing 'neath thy feet. Mirth and sin, with tossing hands, Wave tho on, a willing prey; Tat an instant pause there standi An angel in the way. Heed the heavenly warning know Fairest flowers thy feet may trip ; : Fruit, that like the sunnet glow. Turns to ashes on the lip. Though the joys be wild and fioe. Even mortal eye can see An angel in the way. Wilt thon drown in Worldly pleasure? Wilt thou have, like him of old, Length of days and store of pleasure, Wisdom, glory power and gold ! Life and limbshall sickless waste. Want shall grind the tiignt and day, Still to win thee, God has planted An angel in the way. - Trusting all on things that perleh, Shall a hopeless faith be thine ! Earthly idol wilt thou cherish? Bow before an earthly shrine? Sloet rebuke to mortal love Yearning for a child of clay, Peath shall cross thy path and prove An angel in the way. When the prophet thought to sin. Tempted by his heathen guide; When a prince's grace to win, ' Prophet lips wouid fain have lied, Even tho brute the man controlled, Found a human voice to say, "Master, smite me not behold An angel in the way." So. when vico to lure her slave, Woos him down tho shining track, Spirit hands are stretched to save, Spirit voices warn him back. Heart of man ! to evil prone. Chafe not at thy sin s delay; Bow thee hnnibly down and own An angel in the way. 4 Story or Habbi Akiba. Compelled by vi olent persecution, to quit bis native land, Rab bi Akiba wandered over barren wastes and drea ry deserts. His whole equipage consisted of a lamp, which ho used to light at n:ght, in order to study the law; a cock, which served him in- stoad of a watch, to announce to him the rising dawn; and an ass, on which he rode. The sun was gradually sinking behind tho horizen, night was fast approaching, and the poor wanderer knew sot where to shelter his head, or where to rest his weary limbs. ' Fa tigued, and almost exhausted, ho cams at last near a village. He was glad to find it inhabi ted, thinking, where human beings dwelt, there dwelt, also, humanity and compassion. But he was mistaken. He asked for a nlght'a lodging. He was refused. Not one of tho inhospitable inhabitants would accomodata him. He was, therefore, obliged to seek shel ter in a neighboring wood. "It is hard, very hard," said he, "not to find a hospitable roof to protect me against the inclemency of tho weather; but God is just, and whatever bo. does t for the best." He seated himself beneath a tree, lighted his lamp, and began to read the law. He had scarcely read a chapter, when a violent itorm extinguished tho light. " What I" exclaimed he, "must I not bo permitted even to pursuo tny favourito study! But God is just, and whatever he does is for the best. . ., , , - , T1- V. 1 II pOSSlDle, lO Iiae a low uuurs Bieoy. 110 uau hardly closed his eyes, when a fierce wolf came and killed the cock. "What new misfortune is this!" ejaculated the astonished Akiba "My vigilant companion is gone! Who, then, will henceforth awaken me to the study of tho law 7 But God is just; ho knows what is good , ,. , v fl;cv-i .v- v.n 1UI US UUUI uiui ia. 0 . , J ' . K a Knn rmA and nvonrd tnrt nan.. a terrible lion came "What is to be done now 7" exclaimed tho j lonely wanderer "My lamp and my cock aro gone my poor ass, too, is gone all are gone ! But, praised be the Lord, whatever he does I for the best." He passed a sleepless night, and, early in the morning, went to the village to 6ee wheth er he could procure a horse, or any other beast of burden, to enable him to pursue his journey. But what was his surprise, not to find a ainglo individual alive! It appears that a band of robberahad enter ed the village during the night, killed Its in- I habitants, and plundered their houses As soon as Akiba had sufficiently recovered from the amazement, into whichhis wonderful oc currence had thrown him, he lifted up bis voice, and exclaimed, "Thon great God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, now I know, by experience, that poor mortal men are short-sighted and blind; often considerinf as evils, what was Intended for their preserva tion. But thou, alone, are just, and kind, and merciful. Had not the hard-hearted people driven me, by their inhospitality, from the Tillage, I nhnnld asanredlv have shared their fate. Had j not tne wjn(i extinguished my lamp, the rob- I feers vou& fcaTe drawn to the spot, and hftve murdered me. I perceive, also, that it I was thy mercy which deprived me of my com- panions, that they might not, by their noise, give not.ee to the bandun wnereiwas. r- ' lDT m.e lvr7.vt.u J.V. ' .1 i! a; Mi I: 1 1 f- Itti If-- ir- n
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