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On the eternal law of Right, a man may stand a disposition to obey, we may gradually acquire a and work with safety, with perfect and unlimited firmer and more complete control over our unruly assurance that what he does will naturally cohere propensities, and so guard and establish the supremand ally itself with the activities of the universe, acy of conscience, as to rise at length to a level and subsist and prevail as they prevail: this is of attainment where inclination and desire shall that practical fidelity on which God looks down, be coincident with duty. By imperceptible deand is well-pleased. But every act or striving grees, a man may thus advance within the circle that is contrary to the right to the tenor and of the perfect law, and unite his efforts with the ordainments of the universe-has the whole power power that sustains and animates the universe. of the universe, and of the all-just Maker, set against it, and can no more withstand so august an opposition, than can the common air sustain a falling object against the influences of gravitation. However specious and flourishing it may look while it lasts, whatever approving recognition it may receive from the conventions and fashions of the hour, the thing being actually at variance with true principles, its triumph, by the nature of it, can be but temporary and evanescent; in the long-run, all delusions are exploded, all falsehoods detected and exposed, all injustices avenged, all insincerities and impieties relentlessly put to shame; and nothing but what is true, and accordant with the Divine arrangements, has any attributes of permanence or steadfastness. To learn the right, to strive after it, and to love it-to win by repeated efforts, and after many failures, the strength and security which it can yield us this is the discipline to which we are appointed in this changeful scene of time-this is the education whereby the soul of man is destined to arrive at last to the fulness of its capabilities, and to ascend, after its difficult probation, to a higher and more perfect state of being.

If a man could rise to the full conception of his nature, and apprehend the largeness of its destiny, the belief would assuredly arise in him, that his existence here and now is a thing of immense concern to him. For our life is not intrinsically a vanity, as certain shallow moralists have represented, but a fact so real and grand as to strike the imagination with amazement. Whatever may be the excellency of the life beyond us, it is certain that the measure of our participation in it must be determined by the character of our conduct here. It is even fearful to reflect how, day by day, we are fixing the condition in which we shall be called to move hereafter; how, perchance, some negligence or folly may throw us back long ages in the march of immortal enterprise, and hinder us from rising to heights of knowledge and moral purity which we otherwise might reach; how, in short, the whole course of our ulterior destination may be cast among lower and less hopeful chances, and bring us no return of the opportunities which in this life were neglected. But, apart from all considerations of a subsequent existence, it is surely a matter of high concernment how we conduct our existence here; for the world has been assigned to us to live in, and, with all its difficulties, and sorrows, and vexations, it actually presents to us a noble field both for work and for enjoyment. We are not aliens or outcasts of the universe, but the scene in which our lot is cast is in all respects adapted to our nature. There is nothing to complain of in any of the material or spiritual conditions with which, as active and moral beings, we are required to comply. We have only to observe and maintain right relations with the world, and even this straitened and imperfect state is capable of affording us many reasonable satisfactions. Perfect obedience may not be possible to our finite nature; but by cultivating

There is a saying of Margaret Fuller's which is well deserving of remembrance. "Very early," said she, “I knew that the only object in life was to grow." Development of mind and character is truly the highest concern of man on earth. That we should become something intellectually and morally superior to what we were at the beginning, seems to have been the design of the Creator in placing us under conditions of probation. The great end of all experience is the perfecting of the soul. It is true that human nature is so constituted as to exact a liberal exercise of the faculties for grosser and more immediate objects. As Jean Paul remarks; "All the conditions of our earthly existence must be complied with, ere the demands of the inward nature can be manifested. Nevertheless, the corporeal needs being once provided for, it is not possible for a man to be content with them; the "eternal hunger" of his soul, the unappeased longing of his heart, demands another and more sufficing solacement. The restlessness, the sense of weariness, that visits every one whose aims and expectations are centred in mere material possessions, is a perpetual admonition that these things are insufficient for his welfare. Nature thus beneficently solicits him to the contemplation of his higher interests, to the august possibilities of spiritual aspiration, to the boundless blessedness that springs from a devotion to truth, righteousness, and beauty. With these before him as the crown and reward of his activity, his life assumes a loftier significance: trials and vexations hurt him not; for, in the reasonable service to which God has called his creatures, it is even a joy to be consumed. Let a man have faith in the perfect fairness and magnanimity of the dispensation under which he lives, and work in the conviction that every rightful thought and act of his is in unison with the Supreme designs, and his life shall not be barren of approvable results, nor be wanting in abundant consolations.

The idea of living which best consorts with the highest accepted theory of man's relations, is the one which has been already hinted at the idea that the world is subservient to the soul as a place of education. We are here to make the most of our capabilities, to make trial of our strength, to expand and fortify our minds by thought and knowledge, to learn by failure and success what things are calculated to advance us in well-being, and, on the whole, to unfold and perfect our nature to the extent of its possibilities. By work and rest, by passion and suffering, by prosperity and adversity, by all the events and incidents that make up the sum of life, the soul is trained and disciplined to apprehend its needs. As one has said: "The exercise of the will or the lesson of power is taught in every event. From the child's successive possession of his several senses, up to the hour when he saith Thy will be done!' he is learning the secret, that he can reduce under his will, not only particular events, but great classes, Kampaner Thal.

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376 LATE EDITOR OF THE " EDINBURGH REVIEW."-ARTHUR DILLON.

nay, the whole series of events, and so conform all | annual festival; but on the last examination, on learnfacts to his character. Nature is thoroughly me- ing the approaching end of their friend and instructor diate. It is made to serve. It offers all its then suffering from the rupture of a blood-vessel, of kingdoms to man as the raw material which he which in a few days after he died-they spontaneously may mould into what is useful."* Moreover, it is gave up their accustomed festival, as being inconsist observable that "sensible objects conform to the ent with their anxiety and grateful affection for him. Though in a most enpremonitions of reason, and reflect the conscience. And well might they do so. feebled state of health, and fully aware of the risk he All things are moral, and in their boundless ran in the cold college hall, he would not shrink from changes have an unceasing reference to spiritual his duty as examiner, and within less than half an nature. Therefore is nature glorious with form, hour of the close of his functions he was struck with color, and motion; that every globe in the that fearful attack to which in a few days he fell a remotest heaven; every chemical change, from victim. Yet even during this.rapid sinking by decay the rudest crystal up to the laws of life; every of bodily strength he would not neglect the last duty change of vegetation, from the first principle of he could perform to his young friends. He carefully growth in the eye of a leaf, to the tropical forest went through his examination papers, and assigned and antediluvian coal-mine; every animal func- to each student his rank and position. No man ever tion, from the sponge up to Hercules, shall hint fell more truly in the field of duty. In addition to or thunder to man the laws of right and wrong, held another office, which is often a painful preemihis functions of Professor of Law, William Empson

and echo the Ten Commandments. Therefore is

nature always the ally of religion; lends all her pomp and splendor to the religious sentiment."

It is from the resources of the religious sentiment that man must draw his power, if he would adequately fulfil the authentic ends of living. By virtue of this sentiment, he discerns the perfection of the moral law, and voluntarily conforms his will to the will of the Unchangeable-that highest and absolute Volition, to which he is related in the bonds of responsibility. When life is penetrated by this mystical and sacred influence, it is invested with a sublimity which time or change cannot impair. The tranquillity and contentment which it sheds, are more sufficing than the most thrilling and refined delights that partake not of its sanctity; and, being clothed with its strength and steadfastness, the soul is immutably secured against the hurtful impressions of calamity. This is that spirit which "sees to the end of all temptations," and gives quietness of heart under every solicitude. There is no darkness or desolation which it cannot brighten with its hopefulness. It is strong with resignation, and sustains itself with lowliness of mind. It has no fear, or wavering, or despondency; but, like the shining of the stars, it is constant, and ever cheerful; in life and in death it is a never-failing Comforter; and in its hands are the keys of the kingdoms of Immortality.

nence.

been a contributor, to the Edinburgh Review.' His He was editor, as since the year 1823 he had administrator of those functions to which he was genial kindliness of nature rendered him an indulgent officially sworn in the verse of Publius Syrus, Judex damnatur cum nocens absolvitur.' At all times he preferred praise to blame, and would rather have given a wreath of laurel than Luke's iron crown.' William Empson contributed upwards of sixty articles. to the 'Review' between the years 1823 and 1849, on law, the condition of the poorer classes, negro slavery, domestic politics, poetry, and general literature and biography. No questions appeared more congenial to his nature than those which denounced oppression and tyranny, whether political or ecclesiastical, and those which, in reviewing the lives of the in private life he was most happy in his associations. good and the great, excited a train of moral feelings. The friendships which he brought with him from Winchester and Trinity College, Cambridge, and which were extended in the world, and completed among his estimable colleagues at Haleybury, were unbroken except by death. How he was loved and valued by those who knew him most intimately is shown in the delightful letters of Lord Jeffrey. To his intimacy with that most captivating man William Empson owed the completion of his family happiness in marriage. He was unchangeable in all his friendships. Pope concludes his panegyric on the minister Cragg Never was a human being more entitled to Pope's by the emphatic words-And he lost no friend." praise than the subject of the preceding sketch. He died aged sixty-two; and never did a calm and trustTHE LATE EDITOR OF THE "EDInburgh Review."ing death afford more conclusive evidence of a life -A correspondent of the "Times" has furnished a pure, useful, and benevolent." very interesting notice of the late Professor Empson, whose death took place at Hayleybury on the 11th of December.

"Few men of our time have discharged educational duties with greater zeal and conscientiousness. He considered it a high responsibility to form the minds and to direct the studies of young men who might at some future time be called upon to discharge the duties of the magistracy and of the bench of justice in India. Going far beyond commonplace and elementary teaching, his lectures opened large historical views, the principles of moral philosophy and of international law. He not only possessed knowledge, but the art of communicating it, and an art still rarer -that of obtaining and exercising influence over the hearts of his pupils. An interesting proof of his success will appear from the following occurrence, which will not be thought trivial to those who have studied the characters of the young. The students at the East India College have been accustomed to celebrate the close of their term and of their studies by an

* Emerson's Essay on Nature, chap. v. + Ibid.

ARTHUR DILLON was guillotined on the 24th Germi|nal, An II (14th of April 1794), together with seventeen other persons (two of them females), of various stations in life, some of them distinguished by birth, more of them by crime. All were innocent of the particular offence for which they ostensibly suffered death. They were conveyed in common carts from the Conciergerie to the Place de la Révolution, where stood the guillotine en permanence. When they arrived at the fatal spot, they descended from their hideous vehicle, and were mustered at the foot of the scaffold and counted by the executioner, before commencing the slaughter. This preliminary over, he laid his hand upon the shoulder of one of the female victims, and motioned to the steps leading to the scaffold. She shrank from his touch, and turning to Dillon, said, "Oh! M. Dillon, will you go first?"

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Anything to oblige a lady," said the elegant and courteous Dillon, with his usual captivating smile, and ascended the scaffold. His last words, pronounced in a voice that resounded through the Place, were "Vive le Roi!"-Rem. of an Emigrant Milesian.

From the Dublin University Magazine.
A CHAPTER ON LEGENDS.

for instance-a book full of legendary anecdotesin the historical parts there is much that is noble and admirable; but look at his mythic legends (see the chapter De Miraculis), how childish and how aimless! And in the speaking images, who does not perceive the palpable trick of the Pagan priest, and marvel at the state of the popular mind to be so easily cheated?

THE publication of the "Golden Legend," by Longfellow, seems to have awakened curiosity, and excited interest, for legendary lore-a branch of literature usually considered obsolete in Protestant countries, and which, we think, has never held its due rank, being placed either too high or But it is not of heathen legends we would too low; Roman Catholics too often assigning to speak; our business is with the didactic_legends legends the respect due to articles of religion, and of a more truthful and better faith. In early Protestants too often condemning them in the times, when teachers had but little aid from books, aggregate as a farrago of rubbish. Yet in this they sought to instruct in the mode best suited to case, as in most others, " in medio tutissimus ibis "the understanding and the memory of their hear -the truth lies between the two extremes.ers, and the most likely to attract their attention; While legends do not deserve the authority with and accordingly chose the form of short narrative, which they are invested by one party, they do not of which fable seems to have been the earliest deserve the obloquy cast upon them by the other, species, for this purpose. A characteristic of fable who overlook there original utility, and the good is, that the actors and speakers represented in it intention of their promulgators; and while ob- are of the inferior creation-animals, birds; even serving only the blots in the collection, ignore trees and plants. Later, to fable succeeded paraentirely the many beauties. We speak of Christian, ble-which is of higher rank, because its personreligious, legends. True, there are some legends ages are higher; not animals, or inanimate things, that transgress orthodoxy, common sense, and but human beings; and because the parable beeven delicacy; and some that are irreverent, if came, in the hands of the worshippers of the true not profane, in the manner in which they intro- God, a vehicle for instruction in religious faith duce the Almighty; and are thus critically bad, and moral duties. The fable appears to us to aim violating the Horatian rule of composition:- chiefly at the maxims of worldly wisdom and prudence; even Jotham's fable of the trees electing a king (Judges ix.), the oldest we believe extant, only teaches a lesson of policy. Parable, though using human personages, leaves them anonymous and indefinite, saying only, "A certain householder,' "A certain king," &c.; and this is one mark of distinction between parable and its younger relative, the didactic legend, which assigns special and definite names to its dramatis persona; choosing, of course, some saint or devout person for its hero, either to give a greater appearance of reality, or to invest it with more authority; nay, there can be no reason to doubt that some, at least, are founded on fact. But we think it probable that many legends were not originally intended to be believed literally, but only to be received in the same manner as parables; as true in conveying some sound axiom of faith and morals, but as figurative and imaginative with regard to the action and the actors. So we recognize and embrace the teachings in our Lord's parables; but we are not required to believe that a real vineyard was let to husbandmen, who literally and actually murdered the son of the proprietor; or that a real king made a feast, and literally sent out into the highways to bring in all the wayfarers for guests.

Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus
Inciderit ;

and violating it far more reprehensibly than ever
Horace contemplated, seeing that the Deity,
whose providential interference is so unwarrant-
ably introduced into some Christian legends, is so
ineffably and immeasurably above the fabled gods
of the heathen.

But, notwithstanding the existence of faulty legends, there are very many that enlist themselves in the service of divine faith and social virtues, that have much solemnity and pathos, and much poetic beauty, and that array truth in a becoming and attractive garb. Legends were originally intended to convey instruction in a concise and easily-remembered form; and were thus of great utility at a time when printing was unknown, and manuscripts were scarce and costly. The root of the legend was oral tradition; but as scribes multiplied (especially in the cloister), and subsequently after the invention of printing, the short narrative was transferred from the lip to the parchment or the paper, for its preservation, and thus changed its name to legend, ad legendum. Legends are of two classes; the didactic, for instruction in faith and morals; and the historical. The latter are often exaggerated or distorted, and have much encumbered the historian's path; but there is scarcely an historical legend in which a nucleus of truth is not discovered or discoverable under its adventitious integuments. And to this class of tradition we are indebted for the preservation of many an event and many a character, which now give interest to the historic page. It was the design of this species of legend to inculcate patriotism, valor and fidelity; and herein lies the merit of heathen (especially classic) legendary lore; for, as didactics, the religious or mythic legends signally fail. Mythology is but a chain of Pagan religious legends; but how extravagant! how puerile! how shocking to morals! These legends place their gods below humanity; but the historic heathen legend endeavors to place its heroes above it. Take up Valerius Maximus,

The oldest legends are generally the simplest and purest, as the rivulet is purest at its spring; as it flows onward it gathers rubbish on its course, though still the stream often runs clear beneath. When the tide of legendary literature has rolled through a dark and corrupt age, then, of necessity, it becomes the more sullied. Of late years, since scriptural light has been more diffused, modern pens have produced some beautiful and edifying legends, either purified from old originals, or written from ideas caught up at the ancient source.

Having said thus much by way of preface, we proceed to offer to the reader a few legends from amongst the limited number to which we have access, trusting to our selection from the grave, the earnest, and the poetically conceived, to prove the truth of what we have ventured to assert of

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Once through a valley desolate, he passed,
Where all around huge stones and crags were scattered;
Thus said the boy, his guide (but more from mirth
Than malice), "Reverend father, here are many,
Assembled, and they wait to hear thy teaching.'

The blind old man drew up his bended form,
Gave forth his text, expounded it, and preached.
He threatened, warned, exhorted, cheered, consoled,
So heartily, that his mild, earnest tears
Flowed down to his gray beard. Then, at the last,
When, with the Lord's Prayer closing, thus he spake:
"For Thine the kingdom, power and glory is,
Forever and forever,"-through the vale
Ten thousand voices cried, "Amen! Amen!"

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It happened once in Padua, that a Minorite friar was appointed to preach the Lent Sermons in the Cathedral of St. Anthony. The subject of his discourses was, the Pains of Hell. One day, however, when in the pulpit, he found himself indisposed, and obliged to discontinue; but he promised the congregation to resume the discourse on the following morning. The morning came, and found the friar so much worse, that the physician of the convent forbade him to leave his bed; and the invalid sent for the brethren, and begged that some one of them would take his place in the pulpit, and resume the interrupted discourse; but they, each and all, excused themselves, alleging the want of time for due preparation. Our sick friar fretted exceedingly at the idea of disappointing the congregation, and was beginning to grow feverish from vexation, when one of the Minorites, on recollection, observed, that a foreign brother, from France, had arrived at the convent the night before, on his way to the shrine of Our Lady of Loretto; and that he had the appearance of an intellectual man; he was tall, had black eyes and beard, and high black eyebrows; doubtless, he would be able to preach extempore. The invalid sent for the stranger, told him his dilemma, and requested his good offices. After some hesitation the foreign friar consented; went to the cathedral, ascended the pulpit, and preached on

*This is not the "Venerable Bede."

the given subject-the Pains of Hell. Never before had such a sermon been heard in Padua. He showed forth, in the most glowing colors, the enormity of sin, and the danger of trampling under foot the holy commandments; but especially, in describing the miseries of hell, he spoke with such a fiery and overpowering eloquence that he seemed to set before the eyes of the astonished and terrified people, not so much a vivid picture, as an awful reality. They felt their hearts pierced, as with a sword, by his intense carnestness, and could not refrain from weeping and sobbing aloud, making mentally a thousand vows of reformation and newness of life. When the preacher descended from the pulpit the people retired in tears, and the Minorite brethren expressed their warmest thanks to the stranger for the manner in which he had exerted his extraordinary talents, and expressed their delight at the great benefit the hearers had evidently received. Then, as he wished to take his leave of the brotherhood, and proceed on his pilgrimage, they all attended him, with proper courtesy, to the outer gate of the convent.

But as they were walking on, an aged and very devout friar, whose eyes were often enlightened to see things beyond the perception of ordinary mortals, espied a cloven-foot under the monastic habit of the stranger, and immediately discovered that it was no Minorite brother, but an incarnate fiend of hell. The old man summoned up his courage, and adjured him in the name of the great Creator of all things, to confess was he not a devil. Why, then, had he unworthily assumed that holy habit, and come thither to preach and teach the way of salvation, to which he himself could never attain, and from which it had ever been his aim to turn mankind? The fiend, thus adjured, confessed in the presence of the brotherhood, and of some laymen who were in company, that he was in truth a devil (then the expression of his face became too hideous to look upon, and his eyes blazed forth flames of lurid light); he said that his desire for the perdition of men was as great as ever, and that the sermon he had preached to the people that day would be so far from turning them to the way of salvation, that, on the contrary, it would tend awful truths, and they had owned the force of those to their condemnation, for he had preached to them truths by their tears and their penitence. But those tears were dried when they left the church-door, and that penitence lasted no longer than till they found themselves at home, amid their usual occupations and pleasures, and their acknowledged, but soon stifled conviction, was but an increase of sin. the last day," he continued, "I myself will appear as a witness against these people, and will say to the Judge upon the throne, O thou Mighty One! behold these men! how can they accuse me of tempting them to sin? Have I not warned them in a voice of thunder of the consequence of sin-I, who knew it so well? Have I not described to them-forcibly described

"At

the agonies of hell? And who knows them as I do, or can paint them as I can? Have they not owned for a moment that I preached awful truths, and then turned away, dried their tears, and forgot to repent? How shall they justify their sins by accusing me as their tempter?'"'

Thus saying, he vanished out of their sight, leaving them mute with terror and astonishment. The devout old friar was the first to speak. "Woe !" he said, "woe to those men who will not be persuaded to heaven by the mild and gracious invitations of their God, nor scared from hell by the solemn warnings with which Satan himself admonishes them !"

This tale may have been the origin of the proverb-" The devil rebukes sin." It teaches a fearful and solemn truth, of which the world has daily experience. For what preacher can so powerfully demonstrate the danger of sin, and its

frightful consequences, as sin itself does, when We proceed to a legend, in which the rash walking through the world incarnate in human enthusiasm for the ascetic life, that was so prevaforms, in all their loathsomeness and anguish? lent in the fourth century, is sensibly and feelThis is one of the few legends we have seen, in ingly rebuked. We translate from the German which a fiend makes his appearance in an appro- of the poetic version by Herder:

In most monkish

priate and impressive manner. fegends, the devil is introduced in a ludicrous manner, not as a mighty, implacable and tremendous power, but as a mere blockhead buffoon, easily overreached, filling the same part as "the vice," in the ancient miracle-plays and mysteries, like the Pantaloon of modern pantomime, duped and buffeted by all. Such legends must have been incalculably injurious to the popular mind in olden times, tending to place Satan in a false light, and leading men to estimate too meanly their danger from their great spiritual enemy.

As a relief from this gloomy subject, we will turn to one more gracious, a legend of St. Augustine (the celebrated Bishop of Hippo), referring to him in the early period of his life, before his conversion from the perverted learning and too daring researches of the Manichean heresy, in which he was entangled from A. D. 373 to 384, when struck, probably, by some such thought as is suggested in the following legend, he went to Milan, to hear the preaching of St. Ambrose, by which he was converted. It was at the baptism of his great convert, that St. Ambrose is said to have sung that sublime hymn, commonly styled the Te Deum. The legend has been clad by Aloysius Schreiber in a poetic garb, from which

we translate it:

*

SAINT AUGUSTINE.

Along the shore of summer sea
Walked Saint Augustine thoughtfully:
Too deeply did he seek to scan

The nature of the Lord of man.

Nor was the task abstruse, he thought

His mind with Scripture texts was fraught;

He deemed to his presumption given

To learn the mysteries of Heaven.
Then, suddenly descried he there
A boy of aspect wondrous fair,

Who, bending forwards o'er the strand,
Scooped out a hollow in the sand,
And filled it, with a limpet shell,
From out the ocean's briny well.
Augustine spake-" My pretty boy,
What is thy play, or thy employ?"
"Look, sir! within this little hole,
The sea, with all the waves that roll,
For sport I'll put." Augustine smiled--
Thy sport is all for naught, my child;
Thy utmost labor is in vain--

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Thine aim thou never canst attain."
"Let him to whom such power's denied,
Content in his own path abide ;
Much to the loving heart is dear,
That to the brain doth dark appear."
So spake the boy; then to the light

His wings displayed, of glistening white,
And, like an eagle, soared away,
Lost in the sun's resplendent ray.

Long after him Augustine gazed,
And said, with heart and eyes upraised-
"The truth he spake; the human mind
Is still to time and space confined,
And cannot pass beyond; but he
Who lives in faith and righteously,
So much of God shall he discern
As needeth man on earth to learn."

Native of the Grand Duchy of Baden.

ONUPHRIUS IN THE WILDERNESS.

The rose and myrtle form the lover's wreath;
For bard and hero grows the laurel bough;
The palm-tree to the holy victor gives
Its glorious branch-and to the wanderer,
Weary and lone, his God can cause to spring
A palm-tree in the barren wilderness.
Onuphrius, a rash and zealous youth,
Had heard Elijah's life ascetic lauded
With highest praise; to imitation fired,
He girt himself, and to the desert fled.
Seven days he wandered there-but heard no voice
Speaking, from heav'n-" What dost thou here, Eli-
From hunger, thirst, and the fierce burning heat
jah?"
He sank exhausted-"Take, O Lord! my life:
But grant, O grant! one cool refreshing draught."
Then came deep sleep upon his heavy eyes;
His angel stood beside him.- -"Thou presumptuous !
Who tempt'st the Lord thy God-art thou Elijah?
Yet to instruct thee, and console thee, listen!
A stream is rippling at thy side, and o'er
Here shalt thou live with them; and they shall die
Thy head a palm-tree rustles: sev'nty years
E'en when thou diest; but all those lonely years
Never shail the sweet sound of human voice,

Or human footstep, echo in thine ear,

Till one shall come, who comes to make thy grave."
Soothed, though astonished, he awoke and saw
The stream, the tree, e'en as the angel said.
He called the palm his brother, and the stream
His sister from the water and the fruit
Refreshment found, and clad him with the leaves.
But through the long, long years, threescore and ten,
He never heard the welcome voice of man.

At length a footstep-" Now, he comes! 't is he!
The man whom God hath sent to make my grave."
He met his guest, and welcomed him, and told
The story of his palm. Then spake the stranger-
"Thy duty is fulfilled-speed hence! these wilds
Befit thee not; for man was made for man."

Scarce had he spoken, when that gray old hermit
Sank down in death-a sudden wind uprooted
The sighing palm; and the clear stream dried up.
But through the air a joyful hymn was heard-
"Come, brother! come from out thy wilderness—
Come! angel choirs invite thee to enjoy
Beneath the palms of heav'n at length that bliss-
Brotherly love, thy fault had forfeited."

Paphnutius buried there the dead, whose face
With happiness seemed radiant. The rude desert,
With frowning aspect, from its wastes repelled him.
"Ah!" thought he, "for so many men as grieve
And wrong their brethren, e'en so many more
Give to each other pity, aid, and strength,
And consolation-Man was made for man."

There is a beautiful touch of miniature painting in this little piece. It is the yearning after social ties still lurking in the heart of the hermit, as betrayed by his calling the palm his brother, and the stream his sister; soothing himself, in his isolation, by the names of kindred bestowed on his inanimate companions. Paphnutius, mentioned in the legend, was a bishop of the Upper Thebaid, in Egypt. He had been a sufferer for

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