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
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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-
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