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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 wander'd there-but heard no voice
Speaking from heav'n-" What dost thou here, Elijah ?"
From hunger, thirst, and the fierce burning heat
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
Thy head a palm-tree rustles: sev'nty years
Here shalt thou live with them; and they shall die
E'en when thou diest; but all those lonely years
Never shall 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 astonied, 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!-'tis he!
The man whom God hath sent to make my grave."
He met his guest, and welcom'd 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 grey 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 the faith in the persecution under Maximian (A.D.302 and 303), having had his left leg cut off and his right eye plucked out; and in that maimed state being condemned to work in the mines. He was distinguished among (perhaps above) his cotemporaries for moderation, good sense, and good feeling. A pleasing anecdote, illustrative of his judgment and humanity, is related in some ecclesiastical histories. After the persecution had ceased, he had gone to visit St. Anthony, called the Great, the famous Egyptian ascetic, whose example had filled the Thebais with so many solitaries. It happened that one of the monks of Anthony's convent had committed a fault, for which he was reproached by his brethren with the utmost virulence, by way of showing him the magnitude of his transgression, and leading him to repentance. The monk went to complain to Anthony of their undue severity, but they pursued him, and continued their vituperations, even in the presence of Anthony and Paphnutius; and the latter, in order to mark his opinion of their injudicious and injurious conduct, calmly observed, "I once saw a man sinking in a bog: some persons, passing by, ran to help him out, but instead of so doing they plunged him in deeper." Anthony, turning to the good bishop, with a look of approbation, replied," Thou hast said well, Paphnutius; I see thou understandest how souls are to be saved." Paphnutius was at the Council of Nice in 334; and when the assembled ecclesiastics proposed to establish as a rule, that any man who received holy orders, being married, should put away his wife, he prevented the adoption of the resolution, referring the Council to the ancient ecclesiastical law, that a man who received holy orders, being married, should retain his wife; but being single, should remain unmarried.

As pendants to the foregoing legend of Christian origin, we would add two or three more ancient, borrowed from the elder sister of Christianity, Judaism. The Talmud is a great store

house of Jewish traditions, theological, historical, and didactic; some of them, it is true, wild and overstrained allegories; some exaggerated with Oriental extravagance; some puerile; sɔme (the later ones) offensive to our faith as Christians; some absurd, with an absurdity sui generis, peculiar to the Rabbis; but the general tenor is mild, peaceful, humane, and moral, with a rural and pastoral spirit. Buxtorf, though often declaiming against the faults of the Talmud, admits that it contains admirable maxims, acute and excellent proverbs, gentle and instructive tales, and much information in various branches of knowledge. The first legend we shall give is from those divisions of the Talmud, called the Treatise, "Shabbath," and "Aboda Zara:"_

RABBI ELIESER'S REPENTANCE.

Rabbi Elieser was convinced of the great necessity all men continually have of repentance. He used constantly say to those around him, "Repent one day before death." His disciples asked him, "How can any man know upon what day he should die ?" Rabbi Elieser replied," So much the more is it needful that he should repent to-day, lest he should die to-morrow; wherefore, it is expedient that he live in repentance all his days. And Solomon, the king, hath said, in his wisdom, 'Let thy garments be always white; and let thy head lack no ointment." By which he means repentance, and a life fruitful in good works; so as to be always in a state of preparation for death." Notwithstanding the pious convictions of Rabbi Elieser, and his anxious teaching of others, it happened one day that he yielded to a temptation, and fell into grievous sin. But he hardened not his heart. The passing breeze awoke in him a sudden reflection. "As a breath of air returneth no more to the place whence it came, so shall the soul of Rabbi Elieser return not to salvation."

Deeply smitten with the sense of guilt, the afflicted and contrite Rabbi dared not lift up his heart to his offended God; but, in the extremity of his anguish, he called on the mountains and the hills, entreating them to pray for him. But they replied "Nay, but we have need to pray for ourselves: for is it not written, 'The mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed?' "— (Isaiah, liv. 10.) Then stretching forth his hands, Rabbi Elieser invoked the intercession of the heavens and the earth, and besought them to pray for him; but in vain, for they replied 'Nay, but we have need to pray for ourselves: for

VOL. XLI.-NO. CCXLI.

Eccles. ix. 8.

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is it not written, The heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment?" "— (Isaiah, li. 6.) The distressed penitent thus repulsed, sought the mediation of the sun and moon, but unsuccessfully; for they, too, refused, saying, "Nay, but we have need to pray for ourselves: for is it not written, The moon shall be confounded, and the sun ashamed?' ''— (Isaiah, xxiv. 23.) As a last resource, the repentant Rabbi turned to the lesser lights of heaven"O ye stars and planets, pray for me!" they answered him, "Nay, but we have need to pray for ourselves: for is it not written, All the host of heaven shall be dissolved?' -(Isa. xxxiv. 4.)

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The Rabbi thus repulsed, sat down upon the earth, and wrapping his head in his mantle, wept sore, lamenting his transgression; till at last, in the bitterness of his sorrow, his soul departed from him—and, at the same instant, a voice from heaven was heard to say, "Rabbi Elieser is pardoned !"

This legend, which greatly partakes of the nature of parable, tells, in a fine imaginative strain, of the insufficiency of any created thing to mediate for the sins of another; of the frailty of all (however glorious to us) in the eyes of their Creator, and of the hope that remains in the mercy of God for the sincere penitent: so far it is good and impressive; but its author, a Jew and a Talmudist, was not able to carry it far enough.

From an old Rabbinical book, we give another figurative tale, short but pithy :

THE INAUGURATION OF THE VINEYARD.

When Noah was occupied in planting the first vineyard, Satan stood by to behold the work. In a short time he comprehended its nature, and foresaw all the evil consequences that would flow from it, with the juice of the vineyard. Delighted at the prospect of all the vice, disease, misery, and degradation about to be introduced into the world, the Evil One exultingly inagurated the first vineyard, by sacrificing, in the midst of it, a sheep, a lion, and a swine.

These three animals typify the three bestial stages of intoxication; the first, maudlin good humour, when man is bland and silly as a sheep, a ready dupe for the designing; next, when he becomes quarrelsome, and is fierce and dangerous as a lion, and ready to stain himself with blood; and last, when he becomes brutal, like the swine, and wallows on the earth in the mire of degradation.

Our last specimens shall be two of a peaceful and pastoral strain :

THE TREASURE TROVE.

When Alexander of Macedon was seeking realms to conquer, he met with a people in Africa, who lived in a very remote and obscure corner, who had never heard of war or conquerors, and who enjoyed their humble cottages in profound peace. They met the Macedonian king, and conducted him to the dwelling of their ruler, who received him hospitably, and set before him, as a feast, dates, figs, and other fruits made of gold. "What!

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do you eat gold here?" asked Alexander. No; but I imagined thou hadst food enough to eat in thine own country, and that it was a desire of gold that led thee forth from it. Why, therefore, has thou come to us from so far a country?" "It was not for your gold I came," replied Alexander; "but I desired to learn your customs." "Even so; then abide among us as long as thou wilt."

While the ruler and the Grecian were conversing, two men of the tribe came in, to appeal to the ruler's judgment. The complainant spoke-"I bought a piece of ground from this man, and when I was digging it, I found a treasure. The treasure is not mine, for I purchased only the ground-I never included in the purchase any hidden treasure; but this man, who sold me the land, refuses to receive the treasure from me." The defendant now replied" I am as conscientious as my neighbour. I sold him the ground, and everything that might be in it; therefore, the treasure is justly his, and I cannot take it."

The ruler took time to understand the case clearly, and then asked one of the parties" Hast thou a son ?""I have." He inquired of the other-" Hast thou a daughter?" "Yea." "So, then the son shall marry the daughter, and the young couple shall have the treasure as a wedding portion."

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Alexander betrayed some emotion. not my judgment just ?" inquired the ruler. "Perfectly just," returned Alexander; "but it surprises me." "How, then, would the case have been decided in thy country?" "Toown the truth," said Alexander, "both the men would have been taken in custody, and the treasure seized for the king." "For the king," said the ruler, full of astonishment; "does the sun shine in that land?"-"Surely." "Does the rain fall?"" Of course." "Wonderful! but are there gentle grazing animals there?"

"There are, and of many kinds." "Then," said the ruler, "it is for the sake of those innocent animals that the all-merciful Creator permits the sun to shine, and the rain to fall upon your land; ye deserve it not."

RABBI ISAAC'S BENEDICTION. The aged Rabbi Isaac had gone to visit his friend, Rabbi Nachman. Many weeks they abode together, conversing of the law of

Moses, and mutually instructing and enlightening each other. At length the hour of parting came. The idea that he might never again behold his aged friend, caused Rabbi Nachman's eyes to fill with tears. At length he said-" Bless me, even me, my dear and honoured friend, ere thou dost depart from me." "I bless thee, O thou excellent of the earth! thou who art so like yon palm-tree." "What palm-tree, Rabbi Isaac?" "Listen, my brother. There was once a wanderer in the wilderness; he was hungry, thirsty, and very faint. Suddenly, he discovered, on the banks of a stream, a thickly foliaged palm-tree, hung with ripe dates. He lay down beneath its shade, satisfied his hunger with the fruit, and quenched his thirst from the stream, and was refreshed. He arose, and leaning on his staff, looked thankfully upon the shadowing tree. Kind and liberal palm, I bless thee; but where

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withal shall I bless thee, that thy fruit may prosper? Lo, they are even now sweet and refreshing. That thy branches may spread around? Yet how lofty is thy crown, and how cool and extended is thy shade. That a rivulet shall water thy roots ? How bright

and pure is the stream that flows beside thee. Yet thus will I bless thee, thou mighty palm; may all thy saplings be like unto thee! Even thus I bless thee, my friend and host. Thou hast great wisdom; and wealth and high station are thine; the joys of a pure conscience, a happy home, and the love of the righteous, are thine in all their fulness. May thy children resemble thee! may their lot be as thine.'"

With these words of peace and benediction, we take our leave (we trust not unaptly) of the reader. M. E. M.

MILTON HUMBLY IMITATED.

I.

How pleasant is thy face, O friendly moon!
How calm, how pensive, how devoid of guile,
How deep, intense, yet tearful in thy smile-
Like a sun struck with sorrow at its noon!
About the paths of earth careering ever,

The garish day thy modest courses shun;
But when the journey-work of man is done,
Thou proffer'st thy clear cup, to cool his fever.
'Tis much from the sad labours of my way,

These withering struggles, thus by night to steal,
And sit where down between dark walls may stray
My silent footfall-and the blessing feel
Of calm repose succeed the toilsome day-
Or in thy mystic presence rapt, to kneel.

II.

WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS.

Cynthia now riding high o'er land and sea,
Immeasurably high, yet calm and mild,
Like the meek mien of some imperial child,
Unconscious of its empire! here to me,

Sunk in the cell of deep despondency,

Yet canst thou be from thy bright realm beguiled,
Content to turn this way thy footsteps wild,

Pale, pitying ministrant to misery!

Low as I lie, I've comfort yet to view,

Thy light step steal about, like hers that bore me;
Fresh from above, and scenting of the dew

That bathes the planet-sown savannahs o'er me,
And think how strange, since man in scorn withdrew,
The queen of heaven herself should wait before me!

SONNETS ON THE THIRTY YEARS' War.

BY B. B. FELTUS.

For the transgression of a land many are the princes thereof; but by a man of understanding and knowledge the state thereof shall be prolonged."-PROVERBS, xxviii. 2.

"But Thy most awful instrument

In working out a pure intent

Is man, arrayed for mutual slaughter;

Yea! carnage is thy daughter."-WORDSWORTH-" Thanksgiving Ode."

I.

GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, ON LEAVING SWEDEN, ADDRESSES THE SENATE.

"Not for myself not for myself, my friends,
I entered in this quarrel. "Twas my aim

To admit a wife's and daughter's tender claim

To my repose. No natural love commends

War to my breast; I waged it for just ends

When duty called, and Sweden bless'd my name

When peace, not wrung from weakness or from shame,

But that fresh laurels with its olive blends,

Came near our hopes at last; Heaven wills not so.
Called by the voice of many states oppressed
By the League's plunder, and the Austrian's thrall,
It may be never to return, I go,

Leaving my Queen, and all our hopes hath blessed-
Christina to succeed me, if I fall.”

ΙΙ.

LANDS IN GERMANY.

"Almighty God!"-'twas thus Gustavus spoke,
Kneeling the first of twenty thousand Swedes
On German soil-"No thirst for conquest leads
Us here. Behind no subterfuge we cloak
Our aims.

Again would Rome impose her yoke
On our freed souls. Brother to brother pleads
For aid; but what avail all mortal deeds

Without Thy aid—the aid we here invoke ?”

Steadfast they rose. No soldier idly chats

To his comrade; but from rank to rank there ran,
From breast to breast, from kindling eye to eye,
A flame, might startle Ferdinand of Gratz,
In the Schonbrun, Wallenstein, a kinglier man
Might scare, as if a meteor crossed his sky.

III.

THE EMPEROR'S RUMINATIONS.

"What! Pomerania in his hands so soon!

All Saxony before him! Tilly far

From the scene of action! Wallenstein's proud star

Lost in Bohemia! Yet another moon,

And France to the Lutheran's will her part attune;
And, 'gainst such odds, what force have I to bar
His way to Ulm? or, if he cross the Aar,

His march on Vienna ?" Amid papers strewn

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