i Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/parablesoffreder01krum 1 THE PARABLES OF FREDERIC ADOLPHUS KRUMMACHER. •£l;r ilnsr nn& tlu I Htj. 194. THE PARABLES OF FREDERIC ADOLPHUS KRUMMACHER. FROM THE SEVENTH GERMAN EDITION. PHILADELPHIA: LINDSAY & BLAKISTON. 1857. CONTENTS. PAGE The Robin 13 Nathan < 14 The Blooming Vine 16 The Brook 18 The Little Benefactress 19 Socrates and Critias 20 The Man on Mount Carmel. . . 21 The Rhine 23 The Moss-Rose 25 Salome 26 John and Peter 27 The Corn-Field 28 The Crocodile 30 The Cat . . 32 The Imitators. . 33 The Herdsman of Tekoa 34 The Nightingale 36 The Morning Dream 39 David and Saul 40 The Roses of Earth 41 The Elder-Staff 42 The Cuckoo 43 The Bitter Floweret 45 The Canary-Bird 48 Polycarp ; or, the Kingdom of Truth 49 The Peaches 50 The Wine 51 Death and Sleep 54 Life and Death 56 iEsop 58 Anna and Shulamith 60 Samuel and Eli ; or, the First Blush 62 The Shepherd of the People . . 63 The Light of Home 65 The Jewel 67 The Bee and the Butterfly ... 68 Lazarus 70 Hagar 71 The Tulip-Tree 71 Job 73 The Pinks 74 The Lambs 76 VI CONTENTS The Favourite Flowers The Kosebud. The Rose Patience The Bee-Hive Friendship Diogenes ... The Butterfly The Melancholy Son Solomon and Nathan The Flower-Gathering Repentance The First and the Last Smile. The Seven Children The Gold Piece Saul and Jonathan The Blind Man The Spider The Death of Abraham The Painter and his Master. . The Primitive People Dushmanta ... The Journey The Sheep-Shearing. ....... The Death of Eglon The Little Tree The Three Graces of Socrates The Two Tubs Solomon The Fountain of Health The Apple PAOE PAOK 78 141 81 The Unfruitful Tree 144 O A 84 The Names of God 147 Of 00 149 00 mi x _ 1- 145 QO 00 mi 1 1 151 oa o9 mi m i n ir i • 153 ■J — TVio TTinn- 104 93 156 95 mi ^ "iTT „ j _ „ 157 y/ loo 1 AA The Prophet and the King. . . lOo 102 Alcibiades and Socrates J.by 105 Ihe Combat with the Lion. . . 171 106 173 107 Adam and the Cherub of Pa- 109 IT A 174 1 / 112 177 119 113 The Cedars of Lebanon.. ... 1 QA 114 182 120 184 122 mu A m _ _ "\T7 _ __ _ 187 124 189 125 ihe Catching of the Butterfly 192 1 A A iy4 129 195 132 197 133 The Valley of the Brahmins.. 198 134 204 140 The Stork's Nest 207 CONTENTS. Vll PAGE The Lesson 209 Poor Lazarus 211 The Seed of Liberty 213 The Dream of Cain 214 Cephas 218 The Young Tree 219 The Violet 222 The Pilgrims 224 The Lime-Trees 227 The Vesture of Earth 232 Paul and Luke 234 The Way 235 The Prayer 237 The Invisible Prince 239 The Dream of Socrates 241 Adam and the Seraph 244 The Imbecile Child 246 The Creation of the Caterpillar 247 The Beautiful 252 The Moorish Slave and the Greek 254 The School 256 The Angry Father 257 The Forget-me-not 260 The Sign of Noah 263 The Present 265 The Caged Nightingale 266 The Grains of Seed ... 268 Ossian 270 The Flame 272 Night and Morning 274 I'AOE The Lily 276 The Rough Jewel 277 The Shepherd-Girl of Bethle- hem 278 The Persian, the Jew, and the Christian 279 The Countryman and his Son 281 Man and the Sun 282 The Shells..... 283 Nehemiah and Elimah 285 The Ascent of Tabor 286 David's Harp 288 Winfrid 289 The Transgression 290 The Golden Calf. 294 Hazael 296 Tobias 298 The Deadly Nightshade 300 The Steersman 301 Matathias 302 The Old Man and the Youth . 306 The Hero 307 The Fruit-Tree and its Root.. 309 Asaph and Heman 310 Attalus and Meno 311 The Magnetic Needle 314 Placidus 315 Selka 316 Mount Lebanon 318 Self-Examination 320 The Cowherd 322 CONTENTS. viii PAGE Old Age 323 The Oracle 325 Alfred ; or, the Twisted Tree . 327 The Guide 329 The Wood-Gathering 331 Jonathan and David 333 The Representatives 335 Adam and the Cherub 336 The Teaching of Nature 337 j The Dream of Uri 339 j The Word in the Heart 341 j The Husbandry of God 342 The Astronomer and his Child 343 The Grain of Seed 345 The Voice of Judgment 346 The Leprosy 348 Perfection 349 TAKE The Day of Rest 350 The Tears 352 The Corn-ear and the Thistle. 353 The Blossom 354 The Course of the Brook 355 The Progress of Sin 356 The Surety 357 The New Creation 358 The First Sabbath 359 Hillel and Maimon 361 Polycarp and his Enemies. . . 363 The Altar of Incense 364 The Sacred Pictures 364 The Expiation 366 The Fidelity of Uri 368 The Poor-Box 369 The Blade of Wheat 371 list nf 3UnatrathttB. THE ROBIN Page 13 THE LITTLE BENEFACTRESS 19 JOHN AND PETER 27 THE CANARY BIRD 48 LIFE AND DEATH 56 THE LAMBS 76 THE ROSE 84 THE BUTTERFLY 92 THE PAINTER AND HIS MASTER 113 THE SHEEP-SHEARING 124 THE LARK 149 THE ROSE AND THE LILY 194 THE LESSON 209 THE VIOLET 222 THE PRAYER 237 THE IMBECILE CHILD 246 THE ANGRY FATHER „ 257 THE GRAINS OF SEED 268 THE SHEPHERD-GIRL OF BETHLEHEM 278 TOBIAS 298 THE OLD MAN AND THE YOUTH 306 PLACIDUS 315 OLD AGE 323 THE GUIDE 329 THE REPRESENTATIVES 335 THE SURETY 357 ix PEBFACE. Once more these productions of an earlier period of my life are to go forth in a new edition. They have survived, with myself, nearly half a century ; they have enjoyed the honour of translation into various languages ; and have been frequently reprinted, besides figuring in many a read- ing-book and class-book. How, then, should I value them lightly, as has been asserted? The majority of them took their origin from the inner life of their author, or were called forth by particular events in his career. Therefore I consider that they have a claim alike to respect and in- dulgent consideration ; and trust that in this new edition they will obtain both at the hands of my worthy readers. The Dissertation on the Nature of the Poetry of Para- bles, prefixed to the first and second editions, has been omitted here. To what purpose, indeed, is a long preface on the construction of Parables, when they themselves stand marshalled in array? It were better to conclude with an axiom from the golden ABC of dear Claudius — " The Parables are fair and good ; But then — they must be understood." F. A. KEIBOIACHEK. xi THE ROBIN. A kobin came in the depth of winter to the window of a pious peasant, as if it would like to come in. Then the peasant opened his window, and took the confiding little creature kindly into his house. So it picked up the crumbs which fell from his table, and his children loved and che- rished the little bird. But when spring returned, and the bushes and trees put forth leaves, the peasant opened his window; and the little guest flew into the neighbouring wood, built its nest, and sang merrily. And behold, at the (13) 14 NATHAN. return of winter, the robin came back to the house of the peasant, and its mate came with it. The man and his children were very glad when they saw the two little birds, which looked at them so confidingly with their bright eyes. And the children said : " The little birds look at us as if they were going to say something." Then their father answered : " If they could speak, they would say, Kind confidence awakens confidence, and love begets love." NATHAN. Nathan, a prophet and wise teacher at Salem, sat among his disciples, and the words of wisdom flowed like honey from his lips. Then said one of his disciples, named Gamaliel : " Mas- ter, how is it that we love so well to receive thy instruc- tions, and to listen to the words of thy mouth ?" The modest teacher smiled, and said : "Is not my name interpreted ' to give V Man receives with pleasure, if you know how to give." ""What dost thou give ?" asked Hillel, another of those who sat at his feet. And Nathan answered : "I offer you a golden apple in a silver rind. You receive the rind, but you find the apple." Another time Gamaliel asked the wise Nathan, and said : "Master, why dost thou teach us in parables ?" Nathan answered, and said : " Listen, my son ! When NATHAN. 15 I became a man, the word of the Lord came to me, saying : Become a teacher of the people, and testify of the truth. — And the Spirit of God came upon me. Then I let my beard grow, and clothed myself in coarse garments, and went among the people, to admonish them with hard and vehement words. But men fled from me; neither did they receive my sayings, or they applied them to others. " Then I was vexed in my spirit, and went out in the night to Mount Hermon, and said in my heart : If they refuse light, may they wander in night and gloom, and perish in the darkness ! — Thus I cried, and wandered in anger through the dark night. "And, behold, it was twilight; the first beams of the sun gilded the sky, and the dew of morning dropped downward on Mount Hermon. The night vanished, and Hermon exhaled sweet odours ; for the beams of the morn- ing sun were soft and gentle, and misty clouds hovered over the summits of the mountains, and bedewed the earth. And men wandered forth joyfully, and looked up to the rosy morning sky. Then day descended from heaven ; the sun went forth on his course, and darted his rays on the dewy herbs. "And I stood and beheld, and strange feelings came into my heart. The whispering breeze of morning arose, and I heard the voice of the Lord, saying: Behold, Nathan, thus Heaven sends to the children of earth the most pre- cious gift, the sweet light of day. "When I descended from the mountain," continued the prophet, " the Spirit of the Lord led me to a pomegranate- tree. The tree was shady and beautiful, and bore flowers 1G THE BLOOMING VINE. and fruit at the same time. I stood in its shade looking at the blossoms, and said : How lovely and rosy they are, like the delicate flush of innocence on the blooming cheeks of the daughters of Israel ! — And when I approached nearer, I found the delicious fruit concealed among the leaves. " Then the word of the Lord came to me from the pomegranate-tree, saying: Behold, Nathan, thus Nature promises the delicious fruit by the simple flower, and offers it from the shade of the leaves, concealing her hand. " And now," continued the wise Nathan, " I returned to Salem joyful in heart; I put off my coarse garments, anointed my head, and taught truth in cheerful form and in parables. "For Truth is serious, and has few friends; therefore she loves to appear in simple, cheerful guise, in humau form among human kind, that she may win friends and disciples." THE BLOOMING VINE. Samuel, the judge and high priest of Israel, one day visited the school of the prophets at Giboah, which he had founded ; and rejoiced at the progress which the pupils of the prophets made in various kinds of knowledge, and in the art of playing the lute, and in songs. Among them was a youth, named Adoniah, the son of Miicha, who found favour in the eyes of Samuel ; for his countenance was fair to look upon, and the sound of his voice was full of strength and sweetness. But his heart THE BLOOMING VINE. 17 was filled with pride and empty delusion, because he was superior to others in knowledge and understanding. He fancied himself wiser than seven sages, and behaved haughtily towards his teachers, and his lips were full of empty words, and of conceit. Then the judge of Israel had compassion on the boy Adoniah, for he loved him more than the rest, because he was full of wisdom, and fair to look upon. Therefore Samuel said : The Spirit of the Lord has chosen this boy to be a prophet in Israel; but he strives against him, and will mar his work. Then Samuel led forth the youth into the mountains, to a vineyard which lay towards Ramah. And behold, it was the time that the vine was in bloom. Then Samuel lifted up his voice, and said: "Adoniah, what seest thou?" Adoniah answered, "I see a vineyard, and I inhale the sweet odour of the blossoms." And Samuel said : " Approach and examine the flower of the vine. " The youth obeyed, and answered : " It is a tender little flower, simple and humble." Then Samuel entered, and said : " And yet it produces God's fruit, to gladden man's heart, and to strengthen his body, and make it fair. Ado- niah, thus is the pleasant vine in the time of its bloom, before it brings forth the delicious fruit. Remember the vine in the days of thy blooming youth !" And Adoniah, the son of Milcha, kept all these words of Samuel in his heart, and henceforth he walked with humble and gentle spirit. Then all men loved Adoniah, and said : The Spirit of God is come upon the youth. And Adoniah increased in wisdom and beauty, and became a man like the herdman of Tekoa, and Isaiah the son of Araoz, and his name was praised in Israel. 2 IS THE BROOK. THE BROOK. A peasant sat one day by a brook that flowed past his meadow, surveying his grazing cattle. But his heart was not glad, for he saw that the grass grew but scantily, and would not supply his cattle for half the summer. Then his neighbour came to him, perceiving his gloomy counte- nance, and inquired into the cause of his secret sorrow. The other began to speak of his cares, and of the scanty produce of his meadow. And the neighbour answered: "Do as I have done. My meadow, which lies on this same brook, was formerly barren and unfruitful. Then I led the brook into it ; and the grass now grows thick and high, even to the bellies of my oxen." The countryman rejoiced at the prudent advice; he went out and hired labourers, and set to work with them, and they cut the dike of the brook. But behold, the brook inundated the meadow, so that it became like a lake, and the land was filled with sand and gravel. Then the unhappy peasant tore his hair, and ran to his neighbour, reproaching him angrily for his counsel. But his neighbour answered : " My friend, why art thou angry with me for the counsel I gave thee with a good intent? Be angry with thyself and thy impatient heart. In small channels shouldst thou have led the fertilising brook through thy meadows, and not have inundated it with rushing waters ; for then the brook carries away its fertilising powers, and likewise the soil of thy meadow, leaving nothing behind but sand and gravel." THE LITTLE BENEFACTRESS. 10 THE LITTLE BENEFACTRESS. It was a cold and severe winter. The little Minna, the only daughter of charitable parents, collected the crumbs and small pieces of bread, and kept them carefully. Twice a day she went into the garden, scattering the crumbs ; and the birds came and picked them up ; but the little girl's hands trembled w T ith cold in the bitter air. The parents watched her, and were glad at the lovely sight, and said: "Why are you doing that, Minna?" "All is covered with ice and snow," answered Minna; 20 SOCRATES AND CRITIAS. u the little creatures cannot find anything; they are poor now. Therefore I feed them, as the rich people help and assist the poor." Then the father said : "But you cannot provide for them all." Little Minna answered: "Do not all children in the world do as I do, even as all rich men take care of the poor?" Then the father looked at the mother of the little maiden, and said : " holy innocence f " SOCRATES AND CRITIAS. Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, one of the sages of Greece, who in the night of paganism longed for light, spoke one day as he sat among his disciples of the over- ruling providence of the Deity, which, being omnipresent, did hear and see every thing, taking care of all creatures ; and that we should always feel and recognise this more, the more we honoured and revered the Supreme Being. In the emotion of his heart, the wise man alluded to a parable from the poems of the incomparable Homer, liken- ing Divine Providence to a mother, who, with gentle and unseen hand, fans the flies from her sleeping child. Among his disciples was Critias, the traitor, who after- wards condemned him to death. He laughed at the com- parison, for he thought it ignoble and common. Therefore he laughed and mocked at it in his heart. However, THE MAN ON MOUNT CAR MEL. 21 Socrates observed it, and understood his thoughts. He turned to him, and said : " Dost thou not feel, my dear Critias, how nearly allied the human in its simplicity is to the divine, and how the former must raise us to the latter ?" Thus he spoke. Critias departed with an angry heart ; but Socrates continued to instruct the other disciples. When Socrates was sentenced to death by the malice of Critias, and condemned to drink the poisoned cup, the tyrant remembered the words and the parable of the sage, and he came to him, and said deridingly: "Well, Socrates, will the gods even now protect thee from the flies ?" But Socrates smiled, and said: "The gods, Critias, now lead me to rest after my day's work is done. How could I still think of the flies !" THE MAN ON MOUNT CARMEL. In a little village at the foot of Mount Carmel lived a wise man, to whom the Spirit of God had given the power to comfort and to heal. He went into every dwelling where a sick man was lying, and healed him, or he comforted and strengthened the dying with gentle words, and soothed the complaints of those that wept; for he knew the hidden power of salutary herbs, as he knew the hearts of men, though he had hardly attained to manhood. Therefore he was loved by all men ; each one besought him to come to his dwelling, and his fame was spread far and wide. THE MAN ON MOUNT C A R M E L . But behold, there came from the land of Mizraim a pestilence into the village of Mount Carmel and the adjacent country, and many people fell sick and died, for it was a grievous pestilence. But wheresoever any one was sick of the evil disease, they sent for the wise man, that he might come to heal and to console by day and by night. Then his strength failed him ; and his soul was troubled, because the pestilence was often mightier than the strength of his art and of the medicinal herbs, and he began to fear for his own life. For he wanted humility, the crown of wisdom, so that he trusted in himself and in his knowledge, but not in the Lord. Then the Spirit led him forth to Mount Carmel, and he doubted in himself if he should remain in the mountain and not return, or whether he should gather salutary herbs and plants for the comfort and refreshment of the sick. So he went, and said in his heart : " Nature has been my guide from the days of my youth. Therefore now she shall teach me what to do." He was standing before a flower, more beautiful in its bloom than Solomon in all his glory. Then he said : " This flower, with all her beauty and her fresh young charms, blooms only for herself; she opens her bosom to the rays of the sun and the breeze, which comes from the west over the sea. "What should man do more, but live for himself, without caring for others ? I will remain on Mount Carmel and bloom among the flowers, till, when my race is run, I fade at last like a flower, imperceptibly and gently." THE RHINE. 23 No w a butterfly fluttered over the flower. He beheld it, and said : "No, thou dost teach me another thing. I will return to mankind, to the great and rich cities ; I will go into the palaces, to earn the sweet fruit of joy and pleasure from my knowledge. As the butterfly hovers over the graceful flower, thus my life shall spread itself over my arts." Saying this, he bent over the flower. Behold, there was a dead bee in the calyx. Too heavily laden with the delicate dust, she had breathed forth her little soul, in the midst of her labours. He beheld, and gazed silently on the lifeless form of the insect, while the deep crimson of shame mantled his cheek. " Spirit of the Lord," exclaimed he at last, " I acknowledge thee in Nature; pardon my anger and my folly! From henceforth I will follow thee, and return, a faithful disciple, to thee and my calling." Then he collected the rarest plants and herbs of the mountain, and went humbly and with cheerful countenance back to the village, to the dwellings of the sufferers. THE RHINE. When, in the beginning, nature had laid the foundations of the mountains, and hollowed the depth of the ocean, she went forth from her tabernacle of clouds to the summit of St. Gothard, and said: "It is meet to join goodness to greatness ; a wide sphere of action should be given to the 24 THE RHINE. strong. Thou art firm ; but I will give thee a son, who shall display thy strength, and spread far and wide the blessings which thou receivest from above." She pro- nounced the word, and lo ! the Rhine sprang from the mountain. Wantonly and freely, full of vigour and strength, the youthful stream flowed from the mountain. Playfully he rushed into the Bodenlake, but it did not bind him. The waves of the lake parted ; unimpaired and unchanged, the young river reappeared and continued his course: for he was a son of Nature, born on the mountains from the clouds. Grown a youth in strength, he proceeded on his way. A noble mind never errs in its choice, but chooses what is great and good. He forced his way through rocks and mountains; his labours exercised his vigour and moderated his turbulence, and hills covered with vineyards crowned the path of the youth. Magnificent was his course. Hundreds of streams and numberless rills accompanied him, mingling their silvery waves with his mighty flood: for the divine attracts the noble, and the high strives to join- itself to the highest. Calmer he proceeded on his way in manhood; more composedly he flowed on, but not more feebly. The rigour of winter would bind him with eternal fetters; he tore them, asunder like threads. He had tried the strength of his youth, and rent the rocks. His surface now resembled a smooth mirror. "Not the THE MOSS-ROSE. 25 cheering vine, the produce of the mountains, but rich corn- fields surrounded him ; he carried on his back ships and rafts. Thus peaceful power brings forth the useful, to join the beautiful. He approached the end of his course. Then human industry and art, and the nature of the soil, divided the patient river into many branches, which are called by other names. But wheresoever his strength and his blessings are re- membered, men call him Father Rhine. THE MOSS-ROSE. The angel who tends the flowers, and sprinkles the dew on them in the stillness of night, slumbered one morning in spring under the shade of a rose-bush. When he awoke, he said with friendly countenance: " Loveliest of my children, I thank thee for thy refreshing fragrance and thy cooling shade. Couldst thou ask a favour, how willingly would I grant it !" " Adorn me with a new grace," implored the spirit of the rose-bush. And the angel adorned the queen of flowers with a veil of moss. Lovely she appeared in her simple array, the moss-rose, the most beautiful of her kind. Sweet Lina, bid adieu to finery and glittering jewels, and follow the maternal beckoning of Nature. 26 SALOME. SALOME. Salome, the mother of the affectionate John, stood one evening lost in contemplation on the banks of the Lake of Genesareth. The sun was setting, the roseate hue of even- ing shone on the vault of heaven, and a blue mist hovered over the mountains. Salome looked downwards on the surface of the lake. Then Zebedee, the father, came out, and perceiving Salome his wife, he said: "Why art thou musing thus alone, Salome? and why are thine eyes filled with tears?" And Salome answered : " I gaze on the light of the setting sun in the calm waters." " Why dost thou not rather look up to the radiant sky ?" asked Zebedee. Then Salome answered, and said : " I did before look up to the glorious light of heaven ; but now it appears to me more beautiful in the peaceful flood of the clear lake. Behold, how calmly the waters flow, not knowing that they reflect the radiance and the glory of heaven. Then I thought of our beloved son with maternal tenderness. "Is not John, our affectionate child, as lowly and humble as formerly, and yet he is the friend of the divine Man of Nazareth ? JOHN AND PETER. 27 JOHN AND PETER. John and Peter were once talking of former times when the Lord was yet with them, and they began also to speak of the day when the Lord was anointed at Bethany. Then Peter said: "Dost thon remember, how seriously He looked at Judas, when he said : Why has not this ointment been sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor ? — And at us He looked kindly, though we approved of the saying of Judas." Then John said : " I questioned the Master concerning 28 THE CORN-FIELD. it. Then He said to me : You did not speak rightly ; but in the integrity of your heart you spoke sincerely. How could I be wroth with you, and not reprove you mildly ? But Judas lacked the chief virtue — truthfulness." Thus he said. And John added: "Did he not, a short time after, betray the Master with a kiss ?" Thus said the disciple whom Jesus loved. In the eyes of the grave Peter tears were glistening ; for he remembered that he also had once been a traitor to truth. THE CORN-FIELD. The warm days of summer had ripened the produce of the field ; the full ears rustled in the wind ; and the owner of the field went forth to ?ee whether it was time to send the reapers. He thought of the size of his garners, and calculated the gain which the richness of his field would bring him ; for though he was rich, he was discontented, and his heart was occupied with earthly cares. Then the wise pastor of the village met him on his walk, and said : " The earth produces this year bread in abun- dance. The ears are heavy; and soon the reapers will bind rich sheaves." "Very true," replied the countryman; "man could hardly have expected a more blessed year. The ground will restore the seed manifold." Then the worthy minister answered and said : " Then let the reasonable master of the earth imitate the inanimate THE CORN-FIELD. 20 soil which he cultivates ; for it receives but a little seed, and gives it back multiplied. Man receives so much, and often brings forth so little." This saying cut the avaricious farmer to the heart, and he felt ashamed ; — for he was covetous, and full of cares for the days to come, thinking only how to hoard up treasures. But he concealed his confusion, and said to the minister: "Every man should be industrious, and take proper care of his household, that he may be able some day to assist others. Therefore man is to work in the sweat of his brow, that he may produce for himself in abundance what is useful and good, like the well-cultivated fields, which multiply the seed. Thus nature joins ear to ear in the field, and the whole corn-field seems to be one immense blade." But the minister replied : " The appearance of the corn- field is indeed so, and one ear is close to the other, to supply many with bread ; but the time of seed is short, and the corn grows without human aid of itself, bringing forth the blade and the ear, and the time of harvest is short like- wise. So man may look leisurely on his fields, surveying the blue corn-flower, the crimson poppy, and the purple flowers, which bloom among the blades, and hearing the song of the lark, which rises up to heaven from the furrows. For those flowers bloom not in vain, neither does the little bird warble in vain, as it soars from the uniform blades. They are to remind the master of the ( field, that there is something else beside the dust of the furrow and the ear growing from it ; they are to call to his mind, that striving and labouring for the useful, he is to 30 THE CROCODILE. remember the beautiful and the good, and elevate himself from the low earth to a higher aim." Thus spoke the worthy pastor. But his sajdng vexed the miserly countryman, and he went away with knitted brow : for the good doctrine of a wise man seems mockery to the evil heart, and is to him like a bitter herb. THE CROCODILE. In the hoary times of old, a host of men quitted their dwelling-places, and wandered down to the land through which the river Nile flows. They rejoiced at the sight of the magnificent river, and built huts on its banks. Soon after, the terrible monster called the crocodile came from the floods^ destroying both man and beast in its horrid jaws. Then the people cried with a loud voice to their god Osiris, to free them from the monster. And Osiris answered by the mouth of the wise priests, saying: "Is it not enough that the deity gave you strength and reason? He who implores for help, without using his own power, will call in vain !" Then they seized swords and staves, and besieged the monster in his marshy abode ; they erected walls and dikes, and in a few days they completed works which before they weened not of their power to do. So they became con- scious of that hidden power, by which in later times the mighty pyramids and obelisks were erected; and they THE CROCODILE. 31 invented many tools, and became acquainted with arts which they did not know before. For by the combat against hostile powers the dormant abilities of man are roused. However, the people were in want of proper weapons fully to vanquish the scaly monster of the flood. They were only able to repel its attacks for a short time, and they were contented therewith. By degrees, the zeal to defend themselves grew faint. The monsters increased and multiplied, and their fury became more and more terrible. Then the foolish and degenerating people resolved to worship the crocodile as a god. Voluntarily they offered sacrifices; the monster became more powerful than ever, but the people were sunk in cowardice and stupor. The bow which is forever on the stretch will break at last; and revenge will reach the tyrant. Osiris had compassion on the miserable people, and encouraged them to new exertions by the mouth of the wise priest. Then the banks of the river echoed with the shouts of the warriors, and the waters became red with the blood of the slain. The strength of the combatants began to fail; then the priest and the distressed people called to Osiris for help, and the deity listened in mercy to their cry. A little animal, the ichneumon, appeared on the banks of the Nile. "Behold," exclaimed the priest, " Osiris sends help !" "How, dost thou mock us?" cried the people. Then the priest answered, and said : " "Wait for the issue, and confide in the supreme power. By the hand of the deity 32 THE CAT. great things may be brought to pass by means apparently trifling." The number of the terrible monsters decreased visibly. The people beheld with admiration how the little animal was searching diligently for the eggs and the young of the crocodile. Thus it destroyed in a short time the lives of hundreds of those formidable tyrants of the Nile, and released the land of its plague, — a thing that so many heads and hands had not been able to accomplish. " See !" said the wise priest ; " if you wish to extinguish an evil, attack its germs and roots. Then a trifle may do what afterwards the united efforts of many will be unable to accomplish." THE CAT. Two learned men, who had studied nature all their life, and were daily examining all kinds of creatures, and knew how to speak about each one, sat one day together, talking of beasts and worms, fishes and birds, also of all species of trees and plants, from the cedar on Lebanon to the hyssop which grows on the wall. And both were of one mind, and praised one another. At last they began to speak of the nature and the habits of the cat ; then they disagreed and contended very sharply. For one of them said, " The cat was the most malicious and noisome animal, false and mischievous, a tiger in disposition as well as in outward appearance, though happily not in size and strength, for which latter circum- stance we could not thank and praise Heaven enough." THE IMITATORS. 33 But the other said, " The cat might be compared to the lion ; for she was, like him, noble and generous, resembling him at the same time in her exterior ; she was cleanly and gentle, and therefore naturally at enmity with the dirty and intrusive dog ; in short, the most useful animal, for which man could not thank and praise Heaven enough. Then the other flew into a passion, for he was fond of dogs, and referred to the dog of Tobit, and of Ulysses, and of the great king.* But the other opposed him, by alluding to the cats of that philosopher f who had diffused light over the world, and excelled others in wisdom and knowledge. Without coming to an agreement, they parted at enmity with each other ; the one went to his living birds, some of which the cats had eaten ; the other to his stuffed ones, which the mice were destroying, to his great vexation. Such are the judgments of passion and egotism. THE IMITATORS. Spring had returned, and the first nightingale was sing- ing among the fresh foliage of the hazel-bushes. Leaning against a tree, Menalcas, the good shepherd, stood listening to her melody. Suddenly a host of rude boys surrounded the bush, and listened for a short time ; but soon they said to each other, * Frederick the Great of Prussia. f Baron de Leibnitz, who was very fond of cats. 3 34 THE HERDSMAN OF TEKOA. "Now it is our turn." And they pulled out little vessels of clay made in the shape of a bird, filled with water, and having a whistle to them, to imitate the voice of the nightingale. These they put to their lips, and began to whistle aloud, thinking to rival the melodious bird. Then the nightingale was mute, and flew to the solitary copse by the side of a murmuring brook ; thither Menalcas, the good shepherd, followed, listening again. The lads returned to the town, and the streets rang with their whistling, so that the inhabitants shut their windows, to exclude the noise. Thus pitiful imitation is often found by the side of sublime art. THE HERDSMAN OF TEKOA. Amos, the herdsman and seer of Tekoa, came down from the mountains towards Samaria, and went among the people prophesying. And, though he reproached Israel with their sins and their servility, the people heard him gladly; for he spoke with authority, power, and grace, representing stern and severe truths by lovely images of simple, pastoral life ; and the people kept his sayings in their hearts. Then Amazia, the priest at Bethel, went to Amos the herdsman, for he thought in his heart: "Amos shall teach me the poetry of his psalms, that I may speak like him, and gain the hearts of the people." And the priest THE HERDSMAN OF T E K A . 35 of Bethel thought soon to excel the simple herdsman of Tekoa in the wisdom of the seer. But Amazia was not a priest after the heart of the Lord, but a priest of the golden calves, who flattered the King Jeroboam and deceived the people, that he might fulfil his own lusts. And he resolved to deceive the people still more ; therefore he went to Amos, and said : " Who art thou, that thou speakest thus in wondrous words, and the multitude heareth thee?" Amos answered and said: "I am a herdsman of Tekoa." Then Amazia asked: "How did thy father teach thy heart, or in what school of the prophets hast thou learned the art of the seer?" The herdsman Amos answered and said : "I am neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet. I have spent the days of my youth keeping the flocks of my father, and gather- ing mulberries." Then Amazia was astonished, and asked: "Who was it, then, that gave thee the power to see visions, and taught thee to speak mighty words ?" Amos answered and said: "The Spirit of the Lord." And Amazia asked: "Tell me, in what temple did He appear to thee, and in what sanctuary did He reveal him- self unto thee?" Amos answered and said: "In his sanctuary on the mountains of Tekoa, which reach unto the ends of the world !" Then Amazia was wroth, and said: "Thou speakest dark sayings ; I do not understand thee." Amos answered and said : " The Spirit comprehendeth what is of the Spirit." But Amazia did not understand the words of Amos the 3G THE NIGHTINGALE. herdsman and seer, for the Spirit of God was not in him. And he went to the king, and said : " Amos causeth men to rebel against thee ; his sayings will destroy the land." Thus said Amazia ; for he comprehended not the Spirit which dwelt in Amos. And Amos returned to the mountains. THE NIGHTINGALE. Early on a morning in the beginning of August, Sophron accompanied his father to the field. The lark carolled above their heads. " A sweet bird !" said the father. " She greets with her cheerful song the first dawning of day, and the first waking of spring ; she soars up to the sky, that all the world may hear her song, and ceases only when Nature has completed her work." The youth assented to the words of his father; "But," added he, "why does Nature deprive us so soon of the incomparably beautiful song of the nightingale ? It seems as if she had been singing only a few days !" " Ton are discontented," answered his father, smiling. " But that is the fashion of most men. Must the incom- parable, which Heaven grants us sparingly, only serve to make us indifferent and cold towards the good and agree- able, which he gives us in abundance ?" "Not indifferent, my dear father," replied the youth; "but man has received a higher standard — and should he THE N I G II T I X G A L E . 37 not strive to attain the highest aim ? Should he not esteem the inferior beauty, but honour and prize the highest ? — and should not the appreciation of the beautiful lead him to adore the perfection of beauty ?" ""Well said, my son," answered the father; "I agree with you. I was only speaking of the general way of thinking of mankind, not of human nature as it ought to be." After a little while Sophron began again: "If the highest beauty alone should be the aim of man, why does Nature grant us the enjoyment of the most lovely song for so short a season ?" The father answered : "Do you remember what you felt when you heard the nightingale singing for the first time ?" "Oh," said the son, "how should I ever forget that beauteous evening !" "You were touched," continued the father, "by the lofty and sublime voice which Nature has bestowed upon this delicate creature. The fable of simple antiquity, that the soul of a beloved poet had transmigrated into the little bird, seemed to thee truth ; for every note appeared to thee full of thought and feeling, — each the highest perfection in itself." "0 my father," replied the youth, "the more intimate we are with Nature, the more our heart is ready to receive her promptings, the easier we comprehend the child-like assertion of the simple days of old." "And after you had heard the nightingale sing for several weeks," said the father, " you listened indeed with pleasure, but no longer with emotion; your rapture THE NIGHTINGALE. vanished by degrees, — you became cooler, more indifferent, — was it not so?" The youth answered, "Yes;" and looked at his father with surprise. The father smiled and said: "This question is not superfluous, though it may appear so to you. "We must know ourselves, before we are able to judge about the surrounding objects correctly and justly. Do not you think it possible, that by degrees you might have entirely lost the sense of admiration with which this touching and wonderful melody at first inspired you ?" "But," interrupted the youth, "we enjoy the sweet song of the lark throughout all spring and summer." " True, my son," replied the other. "With man beauty is a necessity ; the kindness of Nature, therefore, supplies us at all times with the beautiful. But the most beautiful, the perfect, — that is sacred ; — it is to lead us to the divine origin from whence it came ; and may not become common or be desecrated. The former we have, therefore, at all times ; the latter is granted more rarely, that we may receive it into our inmost souls. Does not the nightingale's song inspire you at this morning hour with the same feel- ings as when you first heard it?" The youth bent his head in cheerful assent ; and father and son walked on in silence, side by side. THE MORNING DREAM. 39 THE MOMIUG DREAM. A little boy, called Leopold, came down one morning from his bedroom, crying bitterly, with large tears rolling down his cheeks. His father and mother were terrified, because they believed that something had happened to the child, or that he was ill, and suffering great pain in his head or limbs. And they asked the child, "Dear child, what is the matter with you ? Has any one harmed you ?" Then the child answered : " Ah ! I had twelve pretty white lambs, and they skipped around me and licked my hand, and I was sitting in the midst of them with a crook ; but now they are all gone, and I don't know where they are." "When he had said this, he began again to cry bitterly. Now the parents understood the sorrow of the child, that it was but a dream, and they smiled at one another. But the father said : ""We may smile, mother — but our sighs and ill-humours are often like the tears of the child ; and do not our wishes and desires often resemble Leopold's dreams?" However, when Leopold continued to be sorry for his twelve lambs, the parents considered what might be done ; and the father said : " Leopold, I will go and look for your lambs." And he went and bought a lamb, took it home, and placed it so that the boy perceived it. Then the boy was glad, and ran up to it, caressed it, and said : " Yes, that is it! that is it! Just so it looked ! just like this!" 40 DAVID AND SAUL. And he was highly delighted ; but thought no more of the other eleven lambs, nor did he ask for them. Then the father smiled again, and said to the mother : " In dreams and tears we grown-up people are often like little Leopold. Oh, that we resembled him in contentment and lowly joy when small gifts are vouchsafed !" DAVID AND SAUL. A spirit of heaviness and mistrust had come upon Saul the king of Israel, and his heart was greatly troubled. Then his servant said unto him : " Let us seek out a man who is a cunning player on the harp, that he may play before thee, and thou mayest recover/' And Saul answered : " Seek me now a man that can play well, and bring him to me." And they went and brought to him David the son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite. So when the king's heart was heavy and troubled, David took the harp and played with his hand. Then Saul wept, and his heart was relieved, and he became merry and of good cheer. And Saul loved David, and made him his armour-bearer. Jonathan, the friend of David, was astonished at the power of music in the hand of the youth. After a time Saul became evil, the Spirit of God departed from him, and he conceived envy and malice in his heart ; and when the son of Jesse played the harp before him, he cast the javelin which was in his hand at David, intending THE RUSES OF EARTH. 41 to nail him to the wall ; but David turned him about and fled. Then said Jonathan, David's friend: ""Where is now thy art and the power of thy music ?" But David answered and said : "My music is the same as before ; but the heart of my lord the king is changed. Formerly it was heavy and full of sorrow, but now it has become evil. How, theu, could the melody of the harp gladden him?" THE ROSES OF EARTH. Eve, the mother of the human race, walked one day solitarily and mournfully over the desecrated fields of the sinful earth : suddenly she perceived at a distance a rose- bush, covered with blooming roses, which diffused a lustre as of the red morn over the green foliage. " Oh !" ex- claimed she, in rapture, " am I deceived, or do I indeed see the lovely flower of Eden? I scent her odours of paradise from afar ! "Welcome, sweet symbol of innocence and joy ! thou dost reveal that the bliss of Eden will bloom for us even among the thorns of earth. How thy beauty and thy pure balm gladden my heart!" As she spoke thus, contemplating the roses, a gentle breeze moved the bush and the branches. And behold, the leaves of the blooming roses were loosened and scattered on the ground. Then Eve sighed, and said : " Alas ! are you also chil- dren of death ? I read your meaning, ye images of earthly joy." 42 THE ELDER- STAFF. In melancholy silence she looked upon the faded rose- leaves. But soon she lifted up her eyes again, and said : " Be then to me, so long as the bud conceals you, lovely images of innocence." With these words she bent over them. She perceived the thorns, and started ; " Oh !" exclaimed she, " have you also need of defence? Does conscience mar even your pleasures, bringing forth these thorns — and blushes? Nevertheless, be welcome, beautiful children of spring, as an image of the celestial morning light over the thorny earth." THE ELDER-STAFF. A huntsman walked with his son in the fields ; a deep brook separated them. The boy wanted to pass over to his father, but he could not, for the brook was wide. Immediately he cut a branch from the next bush, put the stick into the brook, leant upon it, and gave a great leap. But, behold, it was the branch of an elder-tree ; and as the boy was flinging himself over the brook, the stick broke, the boy fell into the deep water, and the waves splashed and foamed over his head. A shepherd, who saw this from a distance, ran up, rais- ing a loud cry ; the boy, however, blew the water from his mouth, and swam laughing to the other side. Then the shepherd said to the huntsman : " You seem to have taught your son many things ; but one thing you THE CUCKOO. 43 have forgotten. Why did you not accustom him to investi- gate the interior, before he opens his heart to confidence ? If he had examined the soft pith of the tree, he would not have relied on the deceiving bark." "My friend," answered the huntsman, "I have taught him to use his eyes and his strength ; thus I may leave him to experience. Time will teach him suspicion ; but he will manfully withstand temptation, for his eye is keen, and his strength is tried." THE CUCKOO. Old Conrad and his neighbour Paul, two industrious husbandmen, were walking one day, about the time of Pentecost, in their fields, looking at the corn, and convers- ing about many different things. For old Conrad was considered a wise man in all the neighbourhood ; he had been in foreign countries, and knew how to speak on many subjects. Paul was eager to hear and to learn, and put question after question about things he wanted to know. As they were proceeding on their walk, they heard a cuckoo ; and Conrad, as well as Paul, listened with pleas- ure to the familiar voice. Then Paul said : "It is strange ; always the same thing and the same note, neither is there any thing pleasant in the sound, and yet every one hears it with pleasure. As soon as the bird makes himself heard, one man asks the other in the village : 4 Did you hear the 44 THE CUCKOO. cuckoo ?' and the young people in the streets imitate his cry ; even in the clocks he nestles and we hear his voice, and in the fairs one might fain close one's ears to the imitating screams." Thus said Paul, looking at his neigh- bour to hear his opinion on the matter. Then old Conrad answered and said : " The note of the cuckoo is indeed not sweet, and might rather be called a scream ; however, we hear it with pleasure. But this is to be accounted for ; we hear it only when the sun shines, on warm bright days, when the trees thrive aud bloom, and the fields promise fruit. Thus he announces to man the blessings of the year ; thus it is easy to sing to the merry heart ; and the words of great and rich people are always applauded and praised, when spoken at a plentiful table." Then Paul smiled, and said: "Nevertheless the cuckoo is a screamer, and has nothing praiseworthy in himself. He does not even build his own nest, but troubles other birds with his eggs and his young ones. The whole summer he does nothing but fly from one tree to another. I dislike the bird above all others, for his idleness. But when winter approaches, and the cold wind blows, what becomes of him then ? Want will teach him better thrift." But Conrad interrupted him, saying: "Be not afraid. Do not you know that people say he becomes a rapacious kite in winter?" * "Ah!" said Paul, "then he is like young John. His parents let him grow up in idleness, and after his father's death he joined a band of robbers." * It is a common saying, at least in some parts of Westphalia, that the cuckoo is changed into a kite in winter. T II E BITTER FLOWERET. 45 "And in the end," continued Conrad, "he had the same fate as the kite on my harn-door." Conversing in such manner, the two farmers surveyed their blooming and fertile fields. THE BITTER FLOWERET. One morning in spring, a mother went out with her little daughter into the mountains ; on their walk the girl rejoiced at the abundance of flowers and herbs which bloomed by the way-side. One flower she liked better than all the others ; it was small and delicate, of a beautiful rose-colour. Minna — this was the little girl's name — picked the flower and looked at it with delight, kissed it and smelt it and praised it incessantly. But she soon became tired of this ; she wanted to derive more pleasure from the little flower, and put it in her mouth to eat it. And what was the consequence ? Minna came running to her mother, weeping and crying : "0 dear mamma ! the flower was so lovely, and looked so pretty, and I was tempted to eat it ; but it tastes so bitter that it quite draws my mouth ! Oh, fie on the nasty ugly flowers I" Thus spoke the little maiden. But her mother answered and said : " My dear child, why do you abuse the flowers ? They are just as pretty and rosy and odoriferous as before ! Is that not much, and quite enough ? You know flowers are not made to be eaten." 4G OR POLYCARP; OK, THE KINGDOM OF TRUTH. The excellent Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, was obliged to quit the city in consequence of the increasing persecu- tions ; he went with his faithful disciple Crescens to the region in the vicinity of Smyrna. And in the cool of the evening the bishop was walking under the shade of the magnificent trees which stood in front of his rural abode. Here he found Crescens sitting under an oak-tree, leaning his head on his hand and weep- ing. Then the old man said : " My son, why weepest thou?" Crescens lifted up his head, and said: "Shall I not mourn and weep, when I think of the kingdom of truth on earth ? Tempests and storms are gathering round, and will destroy it in its beginning. Many of its adherents have become apostates, and have denied and abused the truth, proving that unworthy men may confess it with their lips, though their heart is far from it. This fills my soul with sorrow, and my eyes with tears." Thus replied Crescens. Then Polycarp smiled, and answered: "My dear son, the kingdom of divine truth is like unto a tree that a countryman reared in his garden. He set the seed secretly and quietly in the ground, and left it ; the seed put forth leaves, and the young tree grew up among weeds and thorns Soon the tree reared itself above them, and the THE KINGDOM OF TRUTH. 47 weeds died, because the shadow of the branches overcame them. The tree grew, and the winds blew on it and shook it; but its roots clung firmer and firmer to the ground, taking hold of the rocks downwards, and its branches reached unto heaven. Thus the tempest served to increase the firmness and strength of the tree. When it grew up higher, and its shadow spread further, then the thorns and the weeds grew again around the tree ; but it heeded them not in its loftiness : there it stood in calm, peaceful gran- deur — a tree of God." Thus said the excellent bishop ; then stretching out his hand to his disciple, he continued, smiling : " When thou art lifting up thy eyes to the summit of the tree, wilt thou regard the weeds that cling about its roots ? Trust in Him who planted it." Then Crescens arose, and his heart was gladdened ; for the venerable father walked by his side. Bent was he with years ; but his spirit and his countenance were as those of a youth. 46 T II E C A XAKV-B1RU. THE CANARY-BIRD. A little girl, called Caroline, had a charming canary- bird. The little creature sang from morning to night, and was very pretty, of a bright yellow colour, with a black crest. Caroline gave it seeds to eat, and nice fresh herbs ; sometimes also a piece of sugar, and fresh clear water every day. But suddenly the little bird began to pine ; and one morning, when Caroline was going to give it water, it lay dead at the bottom of the cage. THE CANARY-BIRD. 40 Then the little girl raised a loud lamentation for her darling bird, and wept bitterly. To console her, her mo- ther bought another bird, one more beautiful than the first, and that could sing just as sweetly, and put it into the cage. But the little girl wept still more when she saw the new bird. Then her mother was surprised, and said: "My dear child, why do you cry still, and mourn ? Your tears will not recall the dead bird to life ; and here is another for you, which is just as pretty." Then the child said : " Alas, my dear mamma, I have done wrong towards the little creature ; I have not done everything for it that I ought to have done." "My dear Caroline," answered the mother, "you always took great care of the bird." "Ah, no!" replied the child; "a short time before its death, I myself ate the piece of sugar which you had given me for the bird." Thus said the little girl, with sorrowful voice. The mother did not smile at the complaints of Caroline, for she knew and respected the holy voice of conscience in the heart of the child. "Ah," said she, "such may be the feelings of the un- grateful child by the grave of his parents I" 4 50 THE PEACHES. THE PEACHES. A countryman brought from town five of the finest peaches that were to be had. His children had never seen this fruit ; therefore they were highly delighted to see the beautiful apples with their red cheeks and delicate bloom. The father divided them among his four boys, and gave one to their mother. In the evening, when the children were going into the little bed-room, he asked them : " Well, how did you like the nice apples ?" " Very much indeed, dear father," said the eldest boy. " It is a delicious fruit, of so luscious and delicate a flavour. I have taken care of the stone, and mean to grow a tree." "Well done!" answered the father; "it is the duty of a countryman to be economical, and to think of the future." "I ate mine up directly," exclaimed the youngest: "and I threw the stone away, and mother gave me half of hers. Oh, how sweet it was — how it melts in one's mouth !" " Well," said the father, " you have not done very wisely; but at all events like a child. You have still time enough in life to become prudent." Then the second son began: "I picked up the stone which my little brother threw away, and opened it. There was a kernel inside, as sweet as an almond ; but I sold my own peach, and received so much money for it, that I may buy a dozen when I go to town." The father shook his head, and said : " That is cleverly done, but not like a child. Heaven preserve thee from THE W IN E. 51 becoming a trader ! And you, Edmund V asked the father. Edmund answered frankly: "I took my peach to the son of our neighbour, sick George, who has the fever, lie would not take it, so I put it down on his bed and went away." "Well," said the father; "who has made the best use of his peach?" Then all the boys exclaimed: "Brother Edmund !" Edmund was silent — and his mother embraced him with tears in her eyes. THE "WINE. On the fertile island of Chios lived in ancient times a noble and generous man, who had come from Asia, and built himself a house not far from the sea-coast. On the sunny hills he had planted grapes, the delicious fruit of his native country. The vines prospered beyond his expecta- tion, and yielded the rich wine called the wine of Chios, the best which Greece and the islands produce. The man, whose name was Philon, was pious, and loved mankind ; and he thought how he might show his grati- tude to the Supreme Being, who fertilises the earth and nourishes man, for the delicious gift of wine, and the blessing of the grape. Then he said : " He has been mer- ciful to me, and gladdened my heart ; I will do good unto men, and make them glad. That is the best way to show my gratitude to the Being who himself lacketh nought." 52 THE WINE. Thus lie spake, and thus he did, showing charity to the sick and the sorrowing round about, and doing good to the strangers who came to him. And the sick and the mourners praised the healing strength of the wine, saying: "It is a gift of God." But still higher they extolled the goodness and benevolence of the man, for they said : " He is a man of God." One day there arose a tempest, and the sea roared and foamed. Far off a ship was seen toiling against the wind and the waves, and the sailors were frightened by the hur- ricane. Philon stood on the beach, and was filled with anxiety and compassion ; for the storm increased, and drove the ship towards the island, to a part where there were many hidden rocks in the sea. Suddenly the ship was thrown on the cliffs, and she split, and was swallowed by the angry waves. The sailors saved themselves on boards, and the billows threw them on the beach. All escaped unhurt except the captain and the steersman, who were wounded and bruised, because the waves had dashed them against the rocks. Then Philon ordered them to be carried to his house, poured wine and oil into their wounds, and refreshed them with the best and oldest wine he had. Then they began to recover, and slept ; for the wine strengthened and re- freshed them. And Philon said to the sailors : " Go ye also to my house, that you may receive refreshments." Then he ordered his servants to set bread and wine before them ; — and they did accordingly. Now Philon led the passengers from the ship, travelling disciples of the wise Pythagoras, into his garden THE WINE. 53 under the shade of the lemon and palm trees, and made a banquet of wine, — and when their hearts were warmed, they began to speak of God, of the high calling of man, and of the immortality of the soul ; they sang hymns, and their souls united in friendship, as the juice of the various grapes unites to form a delicious drink. Thus they sat with the crowned goblets in their hands till the evening- star rose above their heads. Suddenly a great noise was heard from the house, and • the din of many voices. Philon and the learned men ran to see what was amiss, but on entering they were terrified. The strength of the wine had inflamed the rude sailors, and they began a terrible fight. They had damaged the house, and broken the furniture of the benevolent man, and changed the drinking-vessels into deadly weapons. The ground was stained with the blood of the killed and wounded, and the house echoed with the shouts of the combatants. Then Philon was wroth, and said : " You evil-doers, is this your gratitude for my kindness, that you desecrate so infamously the delicious wine ? Go back to the floods of the sea, which you resemble, and which cast you out. You are not worthy to live under my roof, and to enjoy the precious gift of God." Thus he said, and cast them out in the dark night ; but the others he took in, and made a feast for them, and raising the sparkling goblet, he said : " We will not reproach the noble gift of God with the evil consequences brought on by the sinful excess of brutish men. Even the sun, which ripens the grape, and whose 04 DEATH AND SLEEP. lustre beams from its gold, engenders the pernicious miasma when he darts his rays on corruption." Thus also did men misuse the heavenly wisdom which was given them for consolation and enjoyment, making it cause misery and shedding of blood. But to the wise and gentle it is a tree of life. DEATH AND SLEEP. The angel of sleep and the angel of death wandered in fraternal unity over the world. It was evening. They rested on a hill not far from the habitations of man. A placid calmness prevailed everywhere ; even the sound of the curfew ceased in the distant hamlet. Calmly and silently, as is their wont, the two beneficent angels of mankind held each other embraced, until night approached. Then the angel of sleep arose from his mossy seat and strewed with noiseless hand the invisible seeds of slumber. The evening breeze carried them to the quiet dwellings of the tired country people, and sweet sleep descended on the dwellers in their rural huts, from the old man with his DEATH AND SLEEP. 55 crutch to the babe in the cradle. The sick once more forgot their pains, the troubled soul her grief, and poverty her cares ; for every eye was closed. Now, his task being done, the beneficent angel of sleep returned to his graver brother. " When the light of morn- ing arises," he exclaimed with innocent joy, "then man- kind will praise me as their friend and benefactor. What a blessing to do good in secret ! How happy are we, the invisible messengers of the good Spirit! How beautiful our silent calling !" Thus spoke the gentle angel of sleep. The angel of death gazed at him with a look of soft melancholy, and a tear, such as immortal beings shed, glistened in his large dark eye. " Alas I" said he, "would that I could enjoy cheerful gratitude like thee ! The world calls me her enemy and disturber !" "0 my brother," replied the angel of sleep, "will not, at the awakening, the good man acknowledge thee as his friend and benefactor, and gratefully bless thee ? Are we not brethren and messengers of one Father V When he spoke thus, the eye of the angel of death glistened brightly, and the fraternal spirits embraced with renewed tenderness. 56 LIFE AND DEATH. LIFE AND DEATH. Dora was a pious, lovely girl. All who knew her loved her, but particularly her brother Edmund, a little boy, of whom she was equally fond. Suddenly Dora fell sick, and Edmund was extremely sad, because of her sufferings. But it never entered into his head that she might die, for he had never seen a corpse, and knew not yet what death and dying meant. While Dora lay full of pain on her sick-bed, Edmund thought what might afford her pleasure, and he went into LIFE AND DEATH. ' 57 the fields to gather flowers, for he knew that she loved them dearly. But while he was absent Dora died, and they clothed her in a white shroud. Then Edmund entered the chamber where she lay. He showed her the flowers as he entered; but the little maiden did not look up. Then he exclaimed : " Look, Dora, what I have brought for you !" But she did not hear. Now Edmund approached, looked at his sister, and said : " She sleeps. I will put down the flowers on her bosom, that she may rejoice when she wakes. Then she will say : Edmund has done that !" Softly he did so, and smiled. Then he went to his mother, and said: "I have been gathering flowers for Dora such as she loves best. But she sleeps. I have put the flowers on her bosom, that she may rejoice when she wakes." But the mother wept, and said : " Yes, she sleeps, but she will wake no more." Then Edmund said : " If she sleeps, why should she not awake ?" Thus spake the boy. But the mother could not answer him ; for she covered her face to conceal her tears. The boy was astonished, and said : " Mother, why weep- est thou ?" 58 JE SOF. ^ESOP. ^Esop, the incomparable composer of pleasing tales of animals and plants, was severely beaten by his hard master, and driven into the wilderness. " Oh, the unhappy man !" exclaimed one of his fellow-slaves, when he was cast out by his master. "Unhappy!" cried iEsop; "why am I more unhappy than thou?" "What happiness or pleasure canst thou find in the wilderness ?" replied the slave. "Liberty!" answered the man of Phrygia; and they drove him out. A few days after, some people who knew him went to bury his remains, for they believed that he would have ended his miserable existence by a voluntary death. But they found ^Esop sitting cheerfully under a tree. They were surprised, and told him why they had come. Then he smiled, and told them the fable of the woodcutter and Death ; and they asked : " What could induce the poor miserable woodcutter not to follow Death ?" iEsop answered : " The love of life, and the hardness of his horny hand." Then one of them said : " JEsop, we are indeed surprised at thy serenity and gaiety. Nature has denied thee every thing that may gladden man's heart; thy body is frail, thou canst hardly breathe with ease ; thy face is ugly, men M SOP. 59 mock at thee as soon as they see thee, and will not even have thee for their slave ; and now thou art driven to this desert place : what recompense did the gods give thee?" ^Esop answered: "They bestowed on me a part of their divine nature. They taught me to understand the lan- guage of animals, and gave me the power to make them speak." "Thou speakest of thy wisdom," began another, "and seemest to aver that Nature supplies the want of one gift by bestowing another ; if it were so, the fool would fly from himself, or curse Nature as soon as he looks upon his inward soul." ^Esop answered : " He regards only the exterior, and to indemnify him he received the deceiving blossom of fool- ishness — conceit. ' ' They departed from the light-hearted man with admira- tion, but before they left him they asked him : " Dost thou purpose to spend thy life in this wilderness, and thus to bury the treasures of thy wisdom and experience ?" ^Esop answered : " By no means ; I shall go where people are most in want of truth and wisdom." "And where is that?" asked they. He said : " "Where the greatest number of priests, temples, and altars are to be found." And he wandered to Delphi. However, he had not been long in Delphi when the priests raised a persecution against him, because he spoke the truth fearlessly. They accused him of sacrilege, and threw him into a dark dungeon. But even there the little Phrygian man was merry and cheerful, to the great surprise GO ANNA AND SHULAMITH. of the gaoler, who asked him : " How in the world canst thou he so merry-hearted in this dreary prison?" ^Esop answered ; " Because I am contented with my- self." Some time after, the priests fetched him from the dungeon to precipitate him from the rock of Phrgedria. With serene countenance he went on his last way. Then a man from the multitude asked him : " From whence conies thy strength, that thy courage and thy cheerfulness do not forsake thee on the verge of the grave?" ^Esop answered: "From a conscience void of offence, and the purity of my past life." Then they cast him from the rock, and he gave up the ghost. ANNA AND SHULAMITH. In the land of Israel, at the foot of Mount Tabor, lived a widow named Anna, with her only daughter Shulamith. They were very poor and lived in a little hut, but their hearts were cheerful and contented, and their lives passed peaceably, for they were pious and feared God. Anna instructed her child in all that is good, telling Shulamith how God makes all plants to grow out of the ground, sending the dew upon them, and making the sun rise over all living creatures, and how many blessings he gives to A N X A AND S II U L A M I T II . Gl mankind every day; and she taught her from the holy Scriptures many histories and sublime doctrines. When she was speaking thus to her daughter, tears often came into her eyes. Then Shulamith said to her mother Anna : " Mother, why weepest thou ?" And the mother smiled, saying: "0 my child, His love and mercy are too great for man to attain unto them." Thus they were wont to converse, and their doings were like unto their sayings. God blessed them, and their little garden brought forth different kinds of fruit, and the trees also which surrounded their humble dwelling, so that they were able to communicate to others, and give to the sick and poor of their abundance. Then said Anna : " Dost thou see, Shulamith, that it is more blessed to give than to receive ? Happy are we that we may give our mite, and that none turneth away, refus- ing it with disdain." Thus they lived cheerfully and contentedly in their little hut, and they garnished it, cultivating their garden with industrious hand. But behold, an evil plague spread over the land ; Anna caught the infection, and suffered greatly, and Shulamith fell sick from grief and anxiety. When the mother felt the approach of death, she said, with smiling face and gentle voice, " My dear child, my hour is come ; nevertheless, do not despair, but be com- forted. The good Father in Heaven will order all things for the best." When she had spoken thus, she could pro- ceed no further, for her strength failed her. Shulamith wept bitterly, and kneeling down she lifted 62 SAMUEL AND ELI; OR, up her hands, and prayed : " good Father in Heaven, do not take my own dear mother away. What should I do without her?" Thus little Shulamith prayed, and angels carried the prayer of innocence before the throne of the Almighty. Now the day dawned, the sun rose, and the rosy light of a new morning filled the chamber with its gentle rays. Shulamith clung to the bosom of her mother. And behold, the angel of death descended on the golden beams of the morning, and the souls of Anna and Shula- mith took their flight in the glory of morn to the better world. SAMUEL AM) ELI; OK, THE FIKST BLUSH. The boy Samuel ministered unto the Lord at Shiloh before Eli the priest, and found favour with God and men; for he served the Lord in singleness of heart, and was obe- dient, and increased in wisdom. But the sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were wicked lads, who cared not for the Lord, and their sins were very great. One day they stood under a tree before the house of their father Eli, and the boy Samuel was with them, girded with a linen ephod. Then Hophni and Phinehas spoke wicked, shameless words to each other, and Samuel heard them, and blushed deeply, so that his countenance glowed like the setting sun. Thus the boy blushed for the first time, for he had never THE FIRST BLUSH. 63 before heard a wicked word spoken by any one. But the wicked lads scoffed at him, and held him in derision, be- cause he blushed at their words; and Samuel turned himself away and wept. Eli, who had heard all that had happened, came to the boy, and said : " My son, why weepest thou ?" Then answered Samuel : " Thy sons Hophni and Phine- has spoke wickedly before me ; then my heart was moved, and it came like fire over my face, and they derided me." Then Eli embraced the boy Samuel, and lifted up his voice, saying : " Alas ! my son, weep not, and let not their mockery move thee. Thou art the chosen one of the Lord ; but what delights me in thee, fills my soul with grief for my own children, — for if they themselves destroy the flower, how can they ever bring forth fruit ?" And Eli wept for his sons, until his eyes were darkened ; however, they did not cease to grieve his soul. But Samuel gladdened the heart of Eli the priest, and walked uprightly before the Lord. THE SHEPHERD OF THE PEOPLE. Samuel, the judge in Israel, was troubled concerning Saul, whom he had anointed king, — for he did evil and governed the people ill. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying : " How long wilt thou be grieved for Saul ? Behold, his dominion is at an end. Go to the sons of G4 THE SHEPHERD OF THE PEOPLE. Jesse, and choose one who is worthy to be a shepherd of the people." And Samuel went towards Bethlehem, and saw the sons of Jesse, and was about to choose Eliab, for Eliab was fair to look upon and of great stature. But the Spirit of the Lord prevented him, saying: "Man looks upon the form, but the Lord seeth the heart." Then Samuel was troubled, and tried to search the hearts of the sons of Jesse, that he might choose the worthiest. And he asked Jesse : " Are these all thy sons ?" Jesse answered : " There is still the youngest, and behold he keepeth the flocks in the mountains." Then Samuel thought : " I will prove his mind and his heart before he comes here, that I may give a worthy leader to the people." And he went into the mountains and hid himself in a cave, while David kept the sheep. Behold, there came a lion and a bear from the moun- tains, and the lion carried away a sheep from the flock. But the youth sprang forth, seized the lion by the beard, and rescued the sheep from his jaws, and slew him ; and to the bear he did likewise. Then Samuel was astonished at the strength and courage of the youth, and he marvelled ; but he still hesitated and doubted in his heart, saying: "I have indeed seen the courage and strength of the youth, but the Lord seeth the heart." So he still looked on. Behold, the ruddy shepherd sat down by the hill, took his flute from his scrip, and played before the sheep. His dog lay beside him, the breeze played with his locks, and the lambs crowded round their THE LIGHT OF HOME. 65 6hepherd. So he sat in the midst of them, playing his flute, and when he ceased, the sheep came to him licking his hand and his crook, and lay down at his feet. Then Samuel doubted no more, but cried, " The Lord hath blessed me; for I have found a man chosen to be the shepherd of men, — for both strength and mildness are in him." And the word of the Lord came to Samuel, saying : " Go and anoint him ; him have I chosen." THE LIGHT OF HOME. A traveller was hastening from a distant land to his native country. His heart was filled with hope and joy, for he had not seen his parents and brothers for many years ; therefore he hurried greatly. But when he was on the mountains, night overtook him, and it was so dark that he could hardly see the staff in his hand. When he came down into the valley, he lost his way, and wandered a long time to the right and to the left ; then he was very sad, and sighed — " Oh ! would that a human being might meet me to relieve me in this trouble, and bring me on the right way ! how grateful should I be !" Thus he said and stopped, waiting for a guide. As the way-worn pilgrim was standing there full of doubts and anxiety, behold a twinkling light gleamed from afar through the darkness, and its glimmer seemed lovely to him in the dark night. "Welcome," he exclaimed, 5 THE LIGHT OF HOME. " thou messenger of peace, — thou givest me the assurance that a human being is nigh. Thy faint gleam through the darkness of night is sweet to me as the sunrise." He hastened to reach the distant light, fancying that he saw the man who was carrying it. But lo, it was a will-o'- the-wisp rising from a fen and hovering over the stagnant pool ; thus the man drew nigh to the verge of destruction. Suddenly a voice behind him exclaimed ; " Stop ; or thou art a dead man !" He stopped and looked around; it was a fisherman, who called to him from his boat. " Why," asked he, " shall I not follow the kindly guiding light? I have lost my way." " The guiding light !" said the fisherman ; " callest thou thus the deluding glimmer which draws the wanderer into danger and destruction ? Evil subterranean powers create from the noisome bogs the nightly vapour which imitates the glimmer of the friendly light. Behold how restlessly it flutters about, the evil offspring of night and darkness." While he thus spoke, the deceptive light vanished. After it had expired, the weary traveller thanked the fisherman heartily for preserving him ; and the fisherman answered and said: "Should one man leave another in error, and not help him into the right way? We have both reason to thank God : I, that he made me the instru- ment to do the good ; thou, that I was ordained to be at this hour in my boat on the water." Then the good-natured fisherman left his boat, accom- panied the traveller for a while, and brought him on the right way to reach his father's house. Now he walked on cheerily, and soon the light of home gleamed through the THE JEWEL. 67 trees with its quiet modest radiance, appearing to him doubly welcome after the troubles and dangers he had undergone. He knocked; the door was opened, and his father and mother, brothers and sisters came to meet him, and hung on his neck and kissed him, weeping for THE JEWEL. A rough jewel lay for many years hid in the dust among a number of other common stones; many a one passed it by or trod it under foot, without picking it up. Its lustre was concealed from the eye of the wanderer; for the truly beautiful appears not in pride, but in sim- plicity. At last a friend of nature came to that region ; he was in search of flowers and insects, and found the jewel. Smiling, he examined the stone, and said , " How art thou always kind to thy adorer, sweet Nature! Even if he should not find what he sought with zeal and singleness of purpose, he will not fail to discover something well worth the seeking." He took the stone home. "But," said he, " simple child of Nature, what must I do to perfect thee ? How must I take away the coarse covering which hides thy lustre? But what is precious in itself can only be improved by precious elements." He polished the diamond with dia- 68 THE BEE AND THE BUTTERFLY. mond powder ; then it shone with incomparable splendour, and its fame spread throughout all the country The wise friend of Nature took the perfected jewel and brought it to the good and beloved prince of the land, and said : " I found this noblest product of nature, and called forth its lustre ; now I offer it to the chief of the land, that it may adorn his crown ; for it is chosen to be the highest ornament of royal diadems." And the prince asked: "What is the highest ornament of the throne V The wise man answered : " What the diamond is to the crown, that is a circle of the noblest men to the throne which they surround, and to the prince who honours them." THE BEE AND THE BUTTERFLY. A bee-keeper took a young friend to his bee-hives, and called his attention to the wonderful activity of the little nation. In the meantime a splendid butterfly flitted by. The lustre of gold, the pure azure of the sky, and the roseate tints of the evening light, seemed blended in its large wings. It rested for an instant on a flower, and flut- tered on. "What a beautiful creature!" exclaimed the bee-keeper; "and yet it was developed from a creeping caterpillar." Then his friend was surprised, and said : " I thought you THE BEE AND THE BUTTEKFLi'. 69 bee-keepers cared only for your bee-hives, and that you overlooked the other gifts of nature." "Friend," answered the bee-keeper; "it is not merely self-interest, or the gain which the bees yield me, that makes me love them. Mean inclinations alone harden the heart of man, making him narrow-minded and partial. But the more fervently he loves nature, the more his heart will expand, and his eye be opened to every beauty, and every good and perfect gift around him." "But," continued his friend, " the most beautiful butter- fly may not be compared to the busy, useful bee." Then the bee-keeper pointed to the teeming hives, and said to his young friend: "Here you see the image of active life in its narrow limits; the spirit confined by its terrestrial action: there the image of the perfect spirit in its liberation, and in its elevation above the dust. Therefore the imagi- native sculptors and poets of ancient times adorn the enfranchised developed soul with the wings of a butterfly." "Indeed a beautiful image and parallel," replied the other; " but could not Nature combine the beautiful with the useful?" Then the bee-keeper answered with some displeasure: "Must the high and the spiritual be always chained to earth, and the celestial be drawn down to terrestrial aims ? That would be to degrade its divine nature." 70 LAZARUS. LAZARUS. When the Lord had awakened his beloved Lazarus from the sleep of death, the newly-risen man was like unto one who has been roused from a morning dream. He looked around and gazed on the grave-clothes, which had been taken off from him. When they had entered the house, and were rejoicing among themselves, Mary approached her beloved brother with a smile, and asked : " Why gazedst thou so thought- fully on the grave-clothes, before thou didst leave the dark- some cave where thou hadst slept ? The glance of thine eye was peculiar, and full of meaning." Then Lazarus answered: "Mary, I was like one in a dream ; I knew not that my soul had returned to life, but I seemed to quit the earth, and to ascend to another world." "But," said Mary, " how could the grave-clothes and the napkin attract thy gaze?" Lazarus answered: "They seemed to be the earthly garment of my spirit, which in the ardent feeling of a newly awakened life, I imagined to have put off." " How ?" said Mary, " thou didst believe thy resurrection to life to be the dissolution by the hand of death ?" Then the young man smiled, and said : " Thou say est it. Are not both one, Mary?" H AGAR. 71 HAGAR. When Hagar was cast forth from Abraham's dwelling with her boy Ishmael, she wandered to and fro in the wilderness of Beersheba ; — and the pitcher of water which Abraham had given her on the way was empty. Now the child suffered greatly from thirst, and wailed bitterly, and nowhere was a spring or well to be found. Hagar wept, and said : " Alas, will the Lord forget the innocent child ? I will die willingly, if the Lord have but mercy on the boy." Then she laid the boy under a tree, and sat down at a distance; for she said: "I cannot see the child die !" and she lifted up her voice and wept. Then the Lord God heard the voice of the boy, and opened Hagar's eyes that she saw a spring of water ; then she went and filled the bottle, and refreshed the boy. And Hagar was comforted, and said : " The Lord regard- eth the tears of innocence and love ; and when need is sorest, his help is nearest." THE TULIP-TREE. A gardener once visited another man, who was a gardener like himself, and had reared many rare flowers and trees. They began to talk of different plants, natives 72 THE TULIP - TREE. of other lands, which grow and blossom in colder climes ; they called them by their strange, peculiar names, which not every man can pronounce and retain. They went into the garden, contemplating the various plants, and convers- ing. Then the strange gardener related that he had grown a tree, different from all others, called the tulip-tree, because its flower resembled a tulip ; it was indigenous to a far- distant country, and could not be compared to any other tree. Thus he praised the tulip-tree exceedingly. Then there arose in the heart of the other gardener an ardent desire to possess such a tree, and he offered his friend the best trees from his garden if he would send him a tulip-tree. And the first went and sent the tree. Now when the tulip-tree began to bloom and put forth buds, the gardener was filled with joy, and talked every- where of his tree, saying, that it would soon bring forth tulips. Moreover, the gardener and his friend believed that the tree would present a most magnificent sight, bearing flowers of gorgeous colours, with bright yellow and crim- son stripes, and resembling a choice bed of tulips of a thousand hues ; for the other gardener had praised the tree exceedingly. Thus they waited impatiently, and the hours and days passed slowly for them until the buds opened. At length it bloomed ; but the gardener and his friends were not aware of it, because they imagined the form of the flower would be a different one. "When they, however, perceived that it was the blossom indeed, they esteemed its beauty very little, for it was simple and modest ; but they JOB. 73 were offended and very angry, and destroyed secretly all the flowers and buds, that they might not be held in deri- sion by other people for their boasting. Thus this story happened ; and we are to learn from it neither to praise nor exalt the unknown nor our friends beyond measure. For man is by nature discontented, demanding that the good should be the best, and the beauti- ful the perfection of beauty ; and if his expectations are not gratified, he is wroth, and despises the good and the beautiful, because it is not the most beauteous and the best. JOB. In the time of Job there dwelt in the land of Uz a prophet of the Lord named Eliud. Joram, Job's friend, came to him, and said : " The ways of the Lord are unsearchable ; but why must the righteous suffer so much ? Behold Job has lost all that was his; his children have fallen the victims of death, and they who ought to comfort him, weary him with reproaches and bitter words ; more- over, he is smitten with disease, and covered with sores from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head." " The hand of the Lord is upon him," answered the prophet. "And yet," continued Joram, " Job is pious, and feareth 74 JOB. God more than any in the land. Did he not save the oppressed, who cried unto him, and the orphan, who had no helper ? Was he not a father to the poor, as an eye to the blind, and as a foot to the lame ? Righteousness was his garment, and whosoever saw him, praised him and called him blessed." "Blessed is the man whom the Almighty chasteneth," answered the prophet. "Is not the Almighty also the All-merciful? "Why should he be chastened who so lovingly turned the gifts of God into blessings for others, and walked righteously before all the world?" " That he might be found faithful before God," answered the prophet. "What more could Job bring as a sacrifice unto him ?" " The hardest and most precious," answered the prophet, " HIS WILL." THE PINKS. " dear mother, give each of us a flower-bed ; me one, and Gustavus one, and Alvina one, — and each will take care of his own." Thus said little Frederick to his mother, who granted his request, and gave each child a flower-bed, planted with fine pinks. The children were overjoyed, and said : " How splendid it will look when the pinks are in THE PINKS. 75 bloom !" For it was not yet the season for pinks, they had only put forth their little buds. Little Frederick, however, was too impatient to await the time of their blooming ; and he wished that his flower- bed might be in blossom before all others. He took the buds in his hand, looking at their green covers, and rejoicing when he saw a yellow or red petal peeping forth here or there. But he could not wait patiently: Frederick opened the buds and unfolded the petals altogether; then he exclaimed with a loud voice, "Look, my pinks are in bloom !" But when the sun shone on them the flowers drooped their heads, and before noon they all looked mournful, faded, and torn. Then the boy cried about his flowers ; but his mother said, " Impatient child ! may this be the last pleasure of your life that you mar by your own fault ; then you will not have bought too dearly the great and difficult art of WAITING PATIENTLY." 76 THE LAMBS. THE LAMBS. It was a calm, clear, summer evening; a mother was sitting in her bedroom by the side of her sweet babe's cradle, lulling him to sleep with a song. Then the little Adelaide came in from the garden with beaming eyes. " dear mother !" exclaimed she, " come, there is something very beautiful to see." "Well, what is it?" asked her mother. " Oh, something very beautiful indeed," replied the little girl ; " but you must come yourself and see." THE LAMBS. 77 "I should like very much to do so," answered her mother kindly, " but I cannot leave your little brother." Then the little maiden cried coaxingly, saying, "Dear mother, take my little brother with you, that he may see it too, and rejoice at it." And the mother thought of the simplicity of childhood, which loves not to enjoy any thing alone, but would share all with others. "Oh!" said she to herself, "thy soul is yet nigh to the kingdom of heaven ; how could I refuse any longer?" She rose and looked into the cradle ; the little boy slept calmly and soundly. Then she took the hand of her joyful daughter, and said, " I wonder what beautiful things you are going to show me." When they were in the garden the little girl pointed to the sky, and exclaimed: "Now look, dear mother, there are little lambs of heaven, — a whole flock : are they not dear and lovely ?" They were delicate fleecy clouds, scattered on the blue sky like lambs on a green pasture ; and they glanced white and clear in the rays of the bright full moon. The mother of the child lifted up her countenance and gazed on the clouds with chastened delight, for she remem- bered how childish innocence invests terrestrial things with celestial beauty, and knows not of the gulf which separates heaven and earth. Thus Adelaide saw the lambs of earth in the clouds of heaven. " blessed art thou !" thought the mother, and pressed the little girl to her bosom. 73 THE FAVOURITE FLOWERS. THE FAVOURITE FLOWERS. Gustavus, Hermann, and Alvina, the blooming children of a country gentleman, were walking in the fields one fine morning in spring. The nightingales and larks were singing, and the dewy flowers opened amid the dew to the mild rays of the morning sun. The children looked joyfully around, roaming from one hill to the other, weaving wreaths of flowers. They sang hymns to spring, and praised the love of the Almighty Father who decks the earth with grass and flowers ; they sang about the flowers, from the rose that grows on the bush, to the violet which blooms in secret, and the heather whereon the bee sucks. Thus the spring-time of life, and the spring-time of the year, appeared together in sweet harmony. Now the children said among themselves : "Let each of us choose a flower, to be our favourite before all others." And they were delighted with the idea, and ran merrily into the field to search for the favourite flowers. " There, in that arbour, we will meet again I" they exclaimed. Thus the little ones started in unity on their different ways to gather the beautiful children of spring. Soon they appeared on the way to the arbour, each car- rying a rich nosegay of their chosen flowers. When they perceived each other, they held up their treasures, and shouted with joy. Then they met in the arbour, and said : "Now each of us must tell why he has chosen his flower." THE FAVOURITE FLOWERS. 79 Gustavus, the eldest, had selected the violet. "Look," said he, " it blooms in modest simplicity among moss and grass, and sends forth its sweet odours secretly and gently like the silent coming and blessings of spring. But men honour and love it, praising it in beautiful songs ; and every one collects a little nosegay when coming from the field, and calls the violet the first-born child of spring, and the emblem of modesty; therefore I chose it for my favourite." Thus said Gustavus, and offered some of his flowers to Hermann and Alvina, who received them with delight, for they were the chosen favourites of their brother. Now Hermann produced his bouquet, — the delicate lily of the valley, which grows under the cool shade of the forest, her flowers resembling a string of pearls, pure and white as the daylight. "See," said he, "I have chosen this flower ; for it is the emblem of innocence and purity, and reminds me also of the love of Him who adorns the heavens with stars, and the earth with flowers. "Was not the lily deemed worthy before all other flowers of the field to bear witness of the fatherly love of Him in whom we all live and have our being ? Therefore I have chosen the little lily for my favourite." Thus said Hermann, and he offered his flowers; the two others received them with reverent joy, for to them the flower was now sacred. Now Alvina, the gentle, lovely girl, also brought what she had gathered. It was the tender blue forget-me-not. " Look, my dear brothers," said the fair girl, "these flowers I found by the brook. Do they not shine like a bright star THE FAVOURITE FLOWERS. in heaven, reflected in the clear water hy the side of which they grow ? The rivulet seems more beautiful when sur- rounded and enwreathed by these flowers. It is the flower of love and tenderness ; therefore I chose it for my favour- ite, and give it to both of you." Then she offered it to her brothers with a kiss, and her brothers thanked her by a kiss ; and the guardian angels of the children looked smilingly upon the lovely union of innocence. Thus the favourite flowers were chosen. Then Alvina said: "Let us make two wreaths of them, and take them to our dear parents." They bound two wreaths of the beautiful flowers, took them to their parents, and related to them all that they had been doing, and how the flowers had been chosen. Then the parents were pleased with their good children, and said, " A lovely garland ! Love, innocence, and modesty intertwined ! Behold, how one flower heightens the other; so that, united, they form the most beautiful crown." " But one thing is wanting," answered the children ; and crowned their father and mother with gratitude and emotion. Then their parents rejoiced, and embraced them fer- vently, and said, " Such a crown is more noble than a royal diadem !" THE ROSEBUD. 81 THE ROSEBUD. A boy was standing by a rose-bush covered with buds and blooming roses ; blithely and busily he looked now at a rose, now at a petal, now at a bud. His father watched him from a distance, as he stood in a shady bower ; and his eye rested with fervent love and devotion on the darling of his heart. "Is it not," said he to himself, "as though a prophetic voice were speaking to me from the rose-bush, predicting by its buds and flowers, that paternal joys will bloom for me in the child ? Or what makes him so fair and so dear to me, as he stands beside the blooming rose-bush?" Thus said the father, while the son continued to gaze and to examine ; for admiration of the beautiful rouses the desire of knowledge. He wished to discover how the bud is developed into a rose. He folded his arms on his chest, and looked stead- fastly at a bud. The father smiled. Thus higher beings may smile when they perceive a philosopher of this world fixing his eye, aided by a micro- scope, on a star, or the interior construction of a glow- worm. The boy soon found out that his watching was in vain. Now he picked a bud, opened it, and examined the inside with profound attention. Then his father approached. 6 82 THE ROSEBUD. " What are you thinking about so seriously, my child V asked he. a O father," said the little boy, "I should like to know how the bud becomes a rose, therefore I picked and opened it ; but I see nothing but little leaves, shrivelled and full of wrinkles : I wish I had not broken it !" "Never mind, my child," replied the father, "Nature has given abundance. She did not only provide for our wants, but also for our pleasure and our curiosity. Thou hast learned at least, that it is not easy to penetrate into her mysteries." "But I am not wiser now," said the boy. "Perhaps not," answered the father; "but you bad the sincere wish to learn. A good intention is good in itself. The success does not always depend upon man ; and even if he succeeds, the good intention is always the best in whatever he does." After a little while the boy said, modestly : " "Will you tell me, my dear father, how the bud becomes a flower?" Then the father answered : " My dear child, I can merely tell you in three words what happens : the bud increases in size, beauty, and grace, till it reaches its perfec- tion. Beyond that I know no more than you ! Nature gives us the beautiful in perfection, but she hides the hand which produces and offers it." Then the boy took the bud which he had picked again in his hand, and said to his father : " If the bud makes itself so beautiful, more beautiful than any thing that man can make, how is it that it cannot defend itself against the feeble hand of a child ? Why is it able to do so much in the one case, and so little in the other?" THE ROSEBUD. 83 'Do you think that the bud forms and makes itself, "William?" asked the father, looking with serene gravity at the . boy. " Oh, to be sure," answered the boy, " the flowers have like me a mother and a father, who bring them up and take care of them !" " One Father of us all !" replied the father with emotion ; "we do not see Him, but we feel His power and His love in and around us !" Thus he spoke, and the boy's heart was touched, for his father had dropped a jewel into his soul. From henceforth he regarded the rose-bush and the flowers of the field as congenial beings, and he increased in age, wisdom, and grace. The father kept the child's saying in his heart, and related it to the affectionate mother of the boy. " How clearly is the sublimest of truths revealed to an innocent and simple mind !" said the mother. 84 THE ROSE. THE ROSE. "'Tis a pity," said a boy to his father, "that the rose does not bring forth a fruit after having bloomed, to return thanks to Nature in summer for the beauteous days of its bloom in spring, for bestowing so much beauty on her! You called her the flower of innocence and joy ; then she would be also the image of gratitude." Then the father answered : " Does she not give herself entirely to beautify spring ? And for the dew and the rays of light which descend on her from above, she offers up 35 PATIENCE. her sweet odours; created for spring, she dies with it. My dear child, modest, unobtrusive gratitude is certainly the sweetest ; and how could innocence be ungrateful ?" PATIENCE. The wise Hillel was speaking to his disciples of patience. Then they said to him: "Master, give us an image and a sign, as was the custom." Hillel answered and said : "I compare patience to the most precious thing that the earth produces, to a jewel. Pressed by sand and rocks, it reposes in the dark lap of earth. Though no ray of light comes near it, it is radiant with imperishable beauty, a child of the celestial light, which it preserves faithfully. Thus its brightness remains even in the deep night; but when liberated from the dark prison, it forms, united to gold, the distinguishing mark and ornament of glory — the ring, the sceptre, and the crown. " " How dost thou compare the most secret and modest virtue to the highest earthly ornament?" said the disciples. "Her end and reward," said Hillel, "is the crown of life." 86 THE BEE-HIVE. THE BEE-HIVE. In a certain town lived a noble philanthropist, who was very much grieved to see the children of the poor growing up in ignorance, and wasting their days in sloth. Then he said to himself, "I will try to amend this evil." He employed, accordingly, his fortune, and exerted his abilities to execute his noble design. But the multitude was too corrupt, the evil too great, and the exertions of a single individual too inefficient to carry the benevolent intention into execution. The attempt was unsuccessful. Then the people mocked at the generous man, and said : " How well he has done his work ! Now he is poor him- self!" And others said: "He wished for honour and gain, and has found shame and loss." So they said, shrugging their shoulders ; his friends also forsook him, for they were parasites. This grieved the generous man to the heart, and he resolved to separate himself from mankind, and to retire to a solitary place. Accordingly, he built a cottage, and planted a garden in a calm, secluded spot, far from the noise and bustle of the town. He amused himself by ob- serving the plants and shrubs of the mountains, and listen- ing to the songs of the birds of the forest ; but he was not happy. He pondered on the cause, and said : " I need a being which can attach itself to me with that fidelity which is so seldom found among men. For this end heaven gave us the most faithful of all animals." THE BEE - HIVE. 87 So he went, and brought a dog to his cottage, and gave it a name. Now he had a companion and follower in his solitude. When he walked one morning in the adjoining forest, he said to himself : " I spend my days in the lap of Nature, and yet is there a void in my soul. What lack I ?" As he spoke thus, he perceived a bird feeding its young ones in the nest. "Oh," exclaimed he, "a new sign! Man must have something to which he may devote his care and attention." And he put a bee-hive by the side of his cottage. Now he spent hours and days in the shed where his bee- hive stood, gazing with admiration on the industry and skill of the busy little nation, discovering daily new won- ders in their household, and their works ; and his soul was filled with wonder. But he wished to impart his thoughts and feelings to others. His dog looked at him and fawned upon him, but could not understand him. Then he went to the dwellings of the peasantry, where bee-hives were kept. They re- ceived him gladly, listened to him, visited him, and learned of him, for he taught them many things concerning the keeping of bees, of which they had never heard before ; and when he left off" talking about bees, he spoke of the high calling, and the aim of mankind. The peasants be- lieved him in one thing as in the other, and honoured and loved him as their benefactor. Thus nature and truth brought him back to mankind, from whom artfulness and falsity had estranged him. 88 FRIENDSHIP. FKIEND SHIP. One morning in spring, two youths, friends like Damon and Pythias, were walking arm in arm in a wood. " Let us try," said the one to the other, " to find an image of our friendship. For man loves to find the picture of his own life in nature." "Behold," said Damon, "the ivy clinging to the young oak. The tree grows in youthful beauty and vigour, like the column of a temple, which youths and virgins have adorned with the first foliage of spring. The tender ivy clings to the oak, as if it strove to become one with the tree ; but for the oak, it would creep in the dust." The young men looked at each other, and said : " The picture is beautiful, and the fresh verdure of the ivy fitly adorns the dark stem of the oak. Thus the mighty man, ennobled by love, supports and raises the feeble and deli- cate. Thus the heroic Hercules carried infantile innocence on his nervous arm. A beautiful, a lovely union ! But it is not the picture of our friendship." " Behold, the vine-dresser on yonder hill ties the vine to the elm ! A wise combination. The strong supports the useful and flexible, which produces the finest fruit for man, and thus they strive unitedly to fill our cup with gladness. Blessing and praise for your useful endeavours !" "But is not this a union made by the hands of man?" DIOGENES. 80 said the youths. " His aim is gain. May not the vine, laden with clusters of grapes, break the twigs of the sup- porting tree ? May not its broad foliage choke the leaves of the elm?" " The picture is beautiful ; it represents the combination of human forces into one domestic community, to produce the good and the useful ; but it is not the picture of our friendship." "The spirit-union of friendship may not be compared to any thing in heaven or on earth !" exclaimed the youths. They were standing under the shadow of two young oaks. " Behold what splendid trees !" said they. " Their roots are firmly intertwined, their tops are equally raised to heaven. Both striving upwards, they combine to resist the storm ; and if they should be overcome by the tempest, both will fall together. Is this the image of our friend- ship ?" said the youths. They looked at each other, their eyes beamed, and they embraced under the shade of the lordly oaks. DIOGENES. Alexander, the king and hero of Macedon, left the Greek philosopher Diogenes with these words : " If I were not Alexander, I should like to be Diogenes." Parmenio, one of the king's generals, who had stayed 90 DIOGENES. behind after the king's departure, said: "A strange saying for a king and hero !" "Not so," answered Diogenes; "thou must translate it from the language of a prince into the language of the people. Then it will be ; I cannot but honour self-denial and temperance, but my ambition will forever prevent me from exercising those virtues myself." Then Parmenio asked : " Dost thou not honour our king, or dost thou alone refuse to give him the title of the Great?" Diogenes. I also call him the Great ! Parmenio. To whom dost thou compare him ? Diog. To Mount Etna in Sicily. The general was surprised at this comparison ; however he continued, saying: "Dost thou think that ambition leads him to fight against Persia ?" Diogenes replied : "Ambition is the fire in his veins." Par. But he acts with consideration and reflection; reason and the wish to honour his country guide him. Behold the composure of his countenance ! Diog. Snow and ice on the top of the mountain. Par. By his victories he will spread the wisdom of Greece to the Indus. Diog. First flames and lightning, then clouds of smoke and dust. Par. He will raise Hellas to be the happiest and most glorious country. Diog. Go to the Etna and the Lipares,* they will teach thee. * Volcanic Islands. DIOGENES. 91 Par. But the pupil of the wise Stagirite will know how to moderate himself. Diog. Dost thou know what the Sicilians relate of the Etna? Par. Let me hear it. Diog. The giant Enceladus was about to storm heaven, after he had subdued the earth ; then the gods cast Etna upon him. Whenever he moves, Sicily trembles ; and the flames of the mountain are the outbreaks of his rage. Par. And when will his fury cease ? Diog. When undermined by his own fire, he shrinks and crumbles into himself. " Then thou wouldst not change thy cloak for my general's staff?" asked Parmenio, smiling. Diogenes replied : " Should I roll my tub up the moun- tain with great toil to live on the edge of his crater?" Thus spoke the sage, and Parmenio went his way thoughtfully. 92 THE BUTTERFLY. THE BUTTERFLY. Little Rudolf came running from the garden in wild delight, and exclaimed : " What a beautiful little bird have I caught ! It was perched on a flower, its wings shining like gold and silver, and still more beautiful. Then I ap- proached softly to seize it, and I caught it directly. Now I will take great care of it, it shall not fly away ; and I will give it milk and bread to eat." Thus said little Rudolf. Then his father replied : " Well, Rudolf, show us what you have caught, that we may admire it." The boy put THE BUTTERFLY. 93 his hand hastily into his bosom, and pulled forth a pretty butterfly ; but its wings had lost their splendour, the gay- coloured dust was sticking to the hands of the boy, and the delicate pinions were destroyed. Then the boy sighed, and said : " Oh, how the thing has been disfigured ! It does not look like the pretty little bird on the lily. Fie, why are they so fragile V* Thus said the boy, and threw the butterfly angrily to the ground. The father answered : " Why are you angry ? Is it the fault of the bird that nature formed it so delicately ? You grasped it witb a rough hand, and thus its brightness and its flower-life withered away." THE MELANCHOLY SON". There was once a rich man who possessed many splen- did houses and beautiful gardens, and kept different kinds of animals, some for use, and others for pleasure. He had an only son, whom his soul loved. He had sent him abroad to improve in learning, and to acquire different branches of knowledge. After some years he returned home. Then his father was very glad, and made a great feast ; but the son went about despondingly, troubled in his heart, for he thought in himself: " My father loves me no more, and will neglect me." Then his father was grieved and surprised, and said: 94 THE MELANCHOLY SOX. " My son, be not cast down, but banish sorrow from thy heart ; how could I forget or neglect thee ! Behold, I keep so many servants, and pay for many plants and animals which are of no profit to me ; how could I forsake thee, that art of my own kindred ?" Thus said the kind father ; but the youth turned away from him, cast his eyes to the ground, and walked in melancholy as before. Then his father led him into the garden, to an arbour on an eminence, and said: "Behold, from the days of thy youth thou hast loved the beauties of creation, and the loveliness of the field, therefore I caused this arbour to be built, that thou mightest look around thee, and enjoy the wide prospect. At the foot of the hill the rivulet is mur- muring, the nightingales are singing and building their nests, and the beauty of spring is now T here brighter than here. Be at ease, and of good cheer, my son." Thus said the kind father ; but the brow of the youth was clouded still more, he turned away from the lovely view, and bent his eyes to the ground. Soon after, the friends of his youth came to see him, and rejoiced again ; then his father was glad, and thought : "Now he will be cheerful, and his heart will be merry!" And he said to him : " Behold, my son, here are the friends of thy youth, who wish to see thy face, and to be merry with thee." But the youth averted his countenance more sorrowfully than before, and hid himself from his friends. His father followed him deeply grieved, and said to him : " Alas ! my son, why doest thou thus ? Of what use is SOLOMON AND NATHAN. 95 thy knowledge, and the wisdom which thou learnedst in the strange land, if thou wilt thus despise the enjoyments of thy home? Kejoice in thy youth, in the kindness of thy father, the beautiful gifts of nature, and the agree- able society of friends who love thee." Then the son lifted up his sorrowful countenance, and said: "Alas, my father, I left home with a pure heart, but now I cannot lift up my eyes, — a sin lieth upon my soul!" Thus he said, and bent his eyes upon the ground ; and his father turned away, and wept bitterly. SOLOMON AND NATHAN. Nathan, the wise instructor of the youth Solomon, was greatly grieved and troubled concerning him, for Solomon loved wine inordinately, and was the companion of worth- less youths, drinking till he was drunken, and his lips uttered perverse things. Nathan mourned thereat, for he knew how highly gifted the youth was by nature, and that he was destined to reign over Israel. But Solomon disregarded the instruction of the divine prophet, and spent days and nights in carousing. One morning a messenger came to him, saying: "Behold, I passed the vineyard of my lord the king, and I saw a lad who destroyed the vine ; tearing off the leaves and pulling the vines out of the ground, and treading the precious grapes under foot in the dust." 96 SOLOMON AND NATHAN. Then the youth Solomon was wroth, and took his sword and ran to the king's vineyard, crying, "He shall atone with his blood for his crime, that he hath destroyed the noble fruit !" Thus he exclaimed in the fury of his soul. Then Nathan met him, and asked the youth, "With whom art thou angry, and why is thy sword in thy hand?" Now Solomon told the wise Nathan the message which had come to his ears concerning the destroyer of the vine- yard. Then Nathan said, " And, therefore, thou art wroth, and thy countenance is as that of a young lion." Solomon answered and said: "Shall I not punish the wicked deed that spoileth the noblest gift of nature of its ornaments, and treadeth into the dust the fruit which Heaven gave to gladden man's heart ?" Then Nathan said with emotion : " Ah, Lemuel ! put up thy sword in its place. It was I who sent the messenger. No harm hath befallen the vineyard ; but the people look to Solomon as to a blooming vine, expecting joy and bless- ings from him, — and Solomon himself destroyeth the noble gifts which God hath showered upon him, and perverteth his wisdom by intemperance. Wilt thou still be like one who sleepeth in the midst of the sea, and like a man who slumbereth on the mast-head?" Thus said the wise instructor of the youth, and Solomon communed with his heart; and when he looked at the wine glittering in the cup, he remembered the vine which the spoiler trod under foot, and he forsook his evil ways, and the Lord gave him wisdom and understanding. THE FLOWER-GATHERING. 97 THE FLOWER- GATHERING. Poor delicate Theresa had been compelled to keep to her bed during the finest part of spring. When she recovered, and gained new strength, she began to speak of the flowers, and asked whether they were blooming so prettily as the year before. For she was very fond of flowers, but could not yet go out to gather them. Then Eric, the brother of the sick girl, took a basket, and said secretly to his mother : " I will go and gather the finest flowers of the field for Theresa." He was going out for the first time ; for so long as his dear sister had been suffering, he refused to leave her. Now spring appeared to him more charming than ever; for he beheld its beauties with a pious and loving heart. The cheerful boy roamed up hill and down dale; the nightingales were singing, the bees humming, the butter- flies fluttering, and the finest flowers were blooming in abundance at his feet. Singing, he went from one hill, from one flower to another, his soul was as pure as the blue azure above him, and his eye as bright as a streamlet springing from a rock. At last he had filled his basket with the most beautiful flowers, and on the top of them lay a wreath of ripe wood- 1 strawberries, strung like pearls on a blade of grass. Smiling, the happy boy surveyed his full basket, and sat down to rest on the soft moss under the shadow of an 7 98 THE FLOWER-GATHERING. oak-tree. Calmly he looked upon the beautiful landscape radiant with the glow of spring, and with a thousand blos- soms; and listened to the nightingales which warbled around him. But the boy was weary with joy ; the rejoicing of nature and the song of the birds lulled him to repose. Thus he lay beside his filled basket — a living image of the sensual pleasures, the enjoyment of which had ex- hausted him, and of their fading. The lovely boy slumbered calmly; but, meanwhile, a thunder-storm approached. Darkly and silently the clouds gathered in the sky ; then the lightning flashed, and the voice of thunder was heard nearer and nearer. Suddenly the wind roared in the branches of the oak, the boy was terrified, and awoke. On all sides he saw the sky darkened with threatening clouds, no sunbeam brightened the scene. A violent clap of thunder followed; the poor boy was stupefied by the sudden change. Son of pleasure, art thou safer on thy cheerful road ? Large drops of rain rustled on the foliage of the oak ; then the terrified boy grasped his basket and fled. The tempest was over him. Rain and storm increased, the thunder rolled more terribly, the water was streaming from his locks and down his shoulders. He could hardly proceed on his way. Suddenly a violent blast of wind caught the basket in the boy's hand, and scattered all his carefully gathered flowers over the field. Then his countenance fell, and with angry mien he hurled the empty basket to the ground. Weeping bitterly, THE FLOWER-GATHERING. 99 and drenched with rain, he at length reached the house of his parents. "Wise son of earth, is thy ill-humour or thy anger more excusable, if one of thy wishes is refused, or if a plan miscarries ? The storm soon exhausted its fury, and the sky cleared up. The birds began to sing again, and the peasant resumed his labour. The air was purer and cooler, and a sweet calmness prevailed over hill and valley. The refreshed fields smiled with new strength and fragrance. All things seemed to be strengthened and renewed, as if nature had but just issued from the hands of the loving Creator, and mankind looked up with grateful joy to the distant clouds which had showered blessings on their fields. Storms purify the air, and the blessing of heaven descends from the dark cloud ; — thus struggles and sufferings en- noble the son of earth, and make him to bring forth the fruits of renovation, The brightness of the sky again tempted the boy forth. Ashamed at his ill-humour, he went to look for his basket, and to fill it with fresh flowers. He also felt reanimated. The breeze of the cool air, the odour of the field, the verdant foliage of the trees, the songs of the feathered dwellers of the forest, — every thing appeared to him doubly beautiful after the thunder-storm and the refreshing rain ; and the consciousness of his foolish and unjust temper made him gentler and more modest. The joys of this world require the discipline of hard 100 REPENTANCE. change to sustain and ennoble them: — a proof of their earthly nature. He found the basket at the declivity of a hill. The prickly branch of a bramble had caught it up and secured it from the wind. The boy looked thankfully at the bush, and disengaged the basket. But great was his delight and surprise when he looked around. The field sparkled like the starry sky. The rain had brought forth thousands of fresh flowers, had opened thousands of buds, and dew- drops sparkled on the leaves. Eric went about gathering like a busy bee. The sun was setting when the boy, with filled basket, hastened cheerfully home. How delighted he was with the treasure of his flowers, and the garland of his newly- collected strawberries! The setting sun brightened his countenance on his way homeward ; but his eye was still brighter when he saw the delight and the thankfulness of his tender sister. "Are not the pleasures which we prepare for others the most beautiful?" said his mother affectionately. KEPENTANCE. A countryman had reared with his own hands a number of rare fruit-trees; to his great delight, they bore their first fruits, and he was anxious to know of what kind they might be. REPENTANCE. 101 Then came into the garden the son of a neighbour, a wicked lad, and seduced the son of the countryman, so that they went and robbed all the trees of their fruits before they were fully ripe. When the owner of the garden came and saw the plundered trees, he was much grieved, and cried, "Ah, why have they done me this harm ? Wicked boys havt, marred my joy." These words smote his little son to the heart, and he ran to the son of the neighbour, saying: "Alas, my father is very much grieved by the deed we have done. Now I have no more peace in my mind. My father will love me no more, but will punish me by contempt, according to my deserts." Then the other answered : " You fool, your father knows not, and will never learn, that it was you who did it. You must hide it carefully from him, and be upon your guard." But when Gotthold — that was the boy's name — came home and saw the kind face of his father, he was not able to look kindly at him in return. For he thought, how should I look cheerfully into his face whom I have grieved ? I cannot even look at myself ; it lies like a dark shadow upon my heart. Now the father came and gave to each of his children of the fruits of the autumn, and likewise to Gotthold. Then the children ran to him and were very glad, and began to eat. But Gotthold hid his face, and wept bitterly. The father perceived it, and said : " My child, why do you weep ?" 102 THE FIRST AND THE LAST SMILE. And Gotthold answered : " Alas, I am no more worthy to be called your child. I can bear no longer to be in your eyes other than what I am, and know myself to be. My dear father, show me no further kindness, but punish me, that I may come back to you, and cease to be my own tormentor. Let me suffer heavily for my evil doings ; for behold, it was I that robbed the young trees." Then the father took his hand and embraced him, say- ing : " I forgive you, my son. God grant that this may be the first and the last time that you have need of conceal- ment. Then I shall not be sorry for the trees." THE FIRST AND THE LAST SMILE. Eve, the mother of all living, bare with sorrow her second son. Like the dumb beasts of the field, and without signs of human sense, the new-born babe lay in her bosom ; the voice of his weeping, and his sucking lips, being the only marks of his faint life. "Alas!" said the mother, with a sigh, to the father of the boy, " I must not only in sorrow bear children, but also bring them up in sorrow. No ray of joy brightens the dark nights which I spend watching over him. The look of Cain is dark and gloomy, and he wanders before us like the image of our transgression ; and from this child I hear only the voice of wailing, or see him lying without a mark of human life ; his soul is like an undeveloped leaf, which THE FIRST AND THE LAST SMILE. 103 dies in the bud. Happier than man are the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air. Doth not the lamb skip about its mother, and the young chicken take refuge under the wings of the hen ? Alas ! the beasts of the field re- proach us with our sin when we look on them.' Thus she spoke, and called the boy Abel, that is, when interpreted, "Sorrowful;" and she mourned over him for a month. But Adam said : " "Weep not, mother ; the Lord will do all things well, and have mercy upon us." And J ehovah had mercy on the weeping mother. The angel of Paradise approached invisibly, and touched the lips of the babe on the lap of the sorrowing mother. Then the boy opened his tender lips, a dimple appeared in his cheeks, the ray of the first smile shone on his countenance, and his eyes looked up to his mother. Now the mother arose with tears of joy, and called the father, and gave him the child ; and the babe looked also at his father, smiling the second time. The father lifted up his voice, and said: "Blessed be the name of the Lord ; he hath turned our sorrow into joy. He hath exalted our child above the beasts of the field, which bend their head to the ground, and their counte- nance is void of expression. But the face of the child is become like that of the messenger of the Lord, and like the countenance of Eve when joy and gratitude fill her heart : blessed are we, for our eyes have seen the sign of the Lord, and Abel is a living soul. Hath it not passed over the countenance of the child like as when the breath of spring reneweth the face of the earth ? Blessed be the 104 THE FIRST AND THE LAST SMILE. day when the Lord looked in mercy on our child; His name be blessed for evermore." Thus said Adam, and caressed the child. And Eve tended the child, and said : " I have seen the sign of God on the child, therefore will I watch over him with care." And the boy increased in grace and wisdom, and Adam gave him a flock to keep ; the flock became numerous in his keeping, and the lambs loved the youth, for Abel was kind, and feared God. Then Cain was wroth, and conceived envy and malice in his heart, because that Jehovah was with Abel ; for Cain's heart was evil from his youth, and the Lord was not with him. On the day of his birth, Abel made a sacrifice to the Lord, and brought of the first fruits of his flock; and his heart was full of joy and gratitude. But Cain was wroth with his brother, and his countenance fell, and he smote his brother Abel on the head, that he sank to the ground ; then Cain laughed him to scorn, and left him in his blood. Now the father and the mother of the youth came and found him slain ; and Eve bent over him, and wept sore. But Abel raised his bleeding head, turned his eyes towards his weeping parents, and a sweet smile played on his lips. Then he bowed his head and gave up the ghost, and the countenance of the dead was placid and calm. Then Eve lifted up her voice, and said : " Oh, such was his look when for the first time he smiled on my lap. If such is death, Adam, oh, then the death of the righteous is only the passing away to a new and better life." THE SEVEN CHILDREN. 105 Thus spake the mother of all living ; and both parents wept sore, and laid the body of Abel in the ground. The lambs mourned for their shepherd, and on his grave bloomed the flowers of the field. THE SEVEN CHILDBED. Early at dawn of day a countryman rose with his wife, and they thanked God for the new day, and the refresh- ment of sleep. The rays of the morning sun brightened the chamber, and fell on their seven children, who lay sleeping in their beds. They looked at the children one after another, and the mother said : " There are seven of them. Alas, we shall have much trouble to provide for them !" Thus the mother sighed, for there was a dearth in the land. But the father smiled, and said : " Behold, are they not seven, and are all asleep ? and all have ruddy cheeks, and the morning sun shines on every one of them, that they look more beautiful than seven young roses ? Mother, this bears us witness that He who made the sun, and sends sleep, is faithful, and changes not." "When they left the chamber, they saw at the door four- teen shoes in a row, always smaller and smaller, two for each child. And the mother saw that they were many, and wept. 100 THE GOLD-PIECE. But the father answered, and said: "Mother, why weep- est thou ? They have all received the quick little feet ; why should we be troubled about the coverings ? The children have confidence in us ; why should we not confide in Him who is able to do more than we can understand or ask ? Behold, his sun is rising ! let us begin our day's work, like the sun, with cheerful countenance." Thus he said, and they worked ; and God blessed their labours, and they earned sufficient for themselves and their children. For faith elevates the heart, and love affords strength. THE GOLD-PIECE. The only son and heir of a very rich man caused a large and splendid medal to be coined on the occasion of his father's death. The gold-piece bore many beautiful em- blems and inscriptions praising the merits of the deceased. The day when the magnificent funeral took place, the rich son and heir distributed a number of these costly coins among his relations and friends. All extolled the genero- sity of the giver, the beauty of the gold-piece, and the merits of the deceased. Soon after, the rich heir assembled all his friends to a splendid entertainment, and on this occasion they heard that a poor relation of the rich man had sold the gold-piece which he had received. SAUL AND JONATHAN. 107 "How shameful," exclaimed the rich son, rising angrily from the sumptuous feast, "to part with such a treasure ! I gave it him from compassion : but now I see that I have lavished my kindness on a man of low mind." The guests at the rich man's table condemned the poor relation unanimously, and each of them was busy to spread the story about the town. Then the poor man presented himself before his rich relation, with pale and haggard looks. "A new mishap," he began, "deprived me of the last remains of my fortune. My wife languished with grief and illness, my poor, innocent children were crying for bread; then I thought of the gold-piece, till then so carefully treasured; I took it, and now the world says — " He could speak no more, — grief deprived him of the power of utterance. But the rich heir turned his back upon him and left him. SAUL AND JONATHAN. One day, on the feast of the new moon, Saul, the king in Israel, spoke friendly words to his son Jonathan. The king said: "Tell me, my son, wilt thou not forsake the son of Jesse, to whom thy heart clings so fondly ?" Jonathan answered : " My father, — how could I forsake 108 SAUL AND JONATHAN. myself and the feelings of my heart ? Thus also I cannot cease to love the son of Jesse." Then the king asked again: "What findest thou so great and so noble in the shepherd of Bethlehem, that thy heart turneth thus towards him ? Is it his ruddy counte- nance, or his music, or the strength wherewith he smote the Philistine ? Behold, there are many in Israel greater than he in beauty and in might." Then Jonathan answered : " Let not my father be wroth with me. I think neither of his countenance nor of his art, nor of his deeds ; I know not why or how, but I know that I love him as my own soul." Then the king was wroth, and said: "Dost thou not know that he will take the kingdom from thee, and make himself king in Israel?" And Jonathan's countenance brightened, and he said to the king his father : "0 my father, let him do this. Is it a great matter which of us two reigneth in Israel ? For behold, we have made a covenant before the Lord ; and I shall always be with him, and be the next to him." When the king heard these words, his spirit was enraged yet more, and he seized his javelin to smite his son. For he knew not what love was, and had no friend in his household. But Jonathan turned and went from his presence, and ate and drank not on the feast of the new moon ; — for he- was grieved in his soul for David his friend, that his father condemned him. THE BLIND MAN. 109 THE BLIND MAN. A blind man lifted up his countenance towards the mild rays of the spring sun ; their warmth streamed through his limbs and animated him, and their radiance fell on the dried-up sources of his eyes, which he turned unceasingly upwards. " thou incomprehensible ocean of light !" exclaimed he ; " thou masterpiece of the Almighty hand, which created thee and guides thee on thy glorious course ! From thee come everlasting blessings, life, and warmth, and thy strength doth never fail! How great must He be who made thee L" Thus spoke the blind man. Another man was standing near to him, and hearing his saying, was surprised at his words, and said: "How canst thou admire the day-star, that seest it not ?" Then the blind man answered, and said : " Even so, my friend. Since the light of my eyes is darkened, and the lustre of the sun is hidden from me, his glory dwells in my soul. When I feel his animating influence, he rises in double splendour before the eyes of my soul ; but you behold him like every thing that you see daily, only with the eye of your body !" 110 THE SPIDER. THE SPIDEK. A boy went with his father into the vineyard. There he found a bee in the web of a spider, which already opened its jaws to devour its prisoner ; but the boy saved the bee, and destroyed the web of the rapacious insect. The boy's father observed it, and said : " How can you, my son, value so little the skill and dexterity of the insect, that you destroy its ingenious and laborious work ? Did you not see how beautifully and regularly the tender threads were interwoven ? how can you be at once so com- passionate and so cruel ?" The boy answered: "Does not the spider employ its skill and dexterity merely to murder and to destroy ? But the bee makes honey and wax. Therefore I liberated the bee, and destroyed the web of the spider." The father approved of the judgment of frank simplicity which condemns even the brilliant talents which, springing from egotism, are bent on destruction and harm. "But," continued the father, "perhaps you have wronged the spider. See, it protects our ripening grapes from the flies and wasps, by spreading its web before them.' "Does the spider do so," asked the boy, "to protect them, or to satiate its own blood-thirsty appetite ?" THE STIDER. Ill "Indeed," answered the father, "I dare say the insect cares little for the grapes." " Oh," said the boy, " then the good which it does invo- luntarily has no value at all. The good motive alone forms the beauty of every good action." "Very true," said the father, "the praise is due to Nature, who knows how to apply even dangerous and hostile things to the preservation of the good and the useful." Then the boy asked, "Why is the spider so solitary in its web, while the bees live and work together in social harmony ? So should the spiders make a large web, and live together." "My dear child," answered the father, "many can join in harmony for a good aim only. Malice and selfishness bear the germ of destruction in themselves. Therefore, wise Nature would not try to effect what men experience so often to be impossible and pernicious." When they returned home, the boy said: "I have learned to-day something from the ugly insect." "Why not?" answered the father. "Nature has placed the hostile by the side of the amiable, and the evil beside the good, that the good may appear clearer and brighter by the contrast. Thus man may learn, even from evil." 112 THE D E A T II OF ABRAHAM. THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM. When the days of Abraham, the godly patriarch, drew towards their close, he lay down, old and weary of life, on his bed, and called to him his children and his children's children, and they stood in a circle around him. Then the patriarch said with a cheerful countenance : " Children, the God in whom I have believed now calls me!" — and he blessed them. But his children wept, and said: "Ah, would that the hour might pass thee by once more I" But he answered: "Not so, my beloved. If I have walked all the days of my life before him in uprightness and love, how should I hesitate to go to him now that he calieth me ?" And when he had said this, he bent his head and ex- pired. And the form of the dead man was as the form of one that sleepeth. THE PAINTER AND HIS MASTER. 113 THE PAINTER AND HIS MASTER. A young painter had finished an excellent picture, the best he had ever produced ; even his master found no fault with it. The young painter was so delighted with it that he contemplated his work incessantly, and gave up his studies, — for he imagined he could never surpass his picture. One morning, when he was about to indulge again in the contemplation of his work, he found that his master 114 THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. had effaced the whole painting. "Weeping with rage, he ran to inquire the cause of this cruel proceeding. The master answered: "I have done it after careful consideration. The painting was well done, a proof of thy progress, but at the same time it was thy ruin." "How so?" asked the young artist. " My friend," answered the master, " thou didst no longer love the art in thy painting, but thyself. Believe me, it was not perfect, even if it appeared so to us ; it was but a study. Now take the pencil again, and try what thou canst create. Do not repent of this sacrifice. The sublime must be in thy soul before thou art able to represent it on the canvas." Boldly and full of confidence in himself and in his master, the young artist set to work again, and painted his most splendid piece: " The sacrifice of Iphigenia." For the name of the artist was Timanthes. THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. In Asia, in a region encircled by mountains on all sides, lived a small tribe of men. Their manner of life was simple, and their wants few and easily supplied. Once a family had taken refuge in this secluded spot from the persecution of tyrants ; the heads of this family died soon after their arrival, and left some children of tender age in this wilderness ; from these the tribe had THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. 115 gradually formed itself. They knew little of language, but they had preserved a saying, that there was a supreme being called God. But of what this being was, of his dwelling-place and agency, they knew nothing. They worshipped the mountain-stream which flowed through the valley as their god, for they drank from its floods, and the river was the only water in the valley, and rushed mightily. Suddenly the snow from the mountain-tops swelled the river; the water inundated the valle}^, and carried away the people and their dwellings. Then they trembled before their god, and said : " He is wroth with us : arise, let us bring him a sacrifice of what is dearest to us, as soon as his fury rages again." Thus they spoke, and resolved to throw their young children into the flood to propitiate the deity, as soon as the water should begin to swell. The parents wept and awaited with fear and trembling the day of the sacrifice. Thus superstition destroyed the tenderest feelings of their hearts. The day of the sacrifice came ; the weeping parents brought their children. But, behold, a stranger appeared among them, whom they called Maho, which signifies, "Son of the sea." He said: "Will you add the worst to what is bad ? Subdue the river !" But the people were astonished, and shrunk back ; some said: " He blasphemes." The stranger had a lyre in his hand; he touched the strings and began to sing ; then the people gathered round him, and followed in a joyous circle the sound of his lyre ; no THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. he led them to the mountains ; here they broke fragments of the rocks, and built a dyke on the banks of the stream. Now when the snow of the mountains melted, the river swelled; but it was restrained, and foamed on without overleaping its boundaries. The people were astonished, and exclaimed : " The son of the sea is god !" But he smiled, and said : "Then you are all gods : for have you not subdued the river by your own exertions ? You did not know your strength. Learn to discern and to exert what is in you, then you will learn to know God !" " Where does he live V asked they among themselves. However, Maho did not answer, but taught them to culti- vate the fields and to plant trees. Then they observed that the rain and dew of the clouds fertilised their fields, showering blessings from above. And they said : " God lives on high ! The clouds are his tabernacle ; he blesses our fields. "We will give him of our fruits, that he may descend." They built an altar on a hill, and kindled the first-fruits of their fields, and caused the smoke to rise as a sweet- smelling savour to their God. For they said : " He dwells on high, heaven is his dwelling-place, and the clouds are his tabernacle." In the meantime, the valley increased in beauty, pro- ducing more and more plants and fruits, though the people knew but little of God, and the tribe was happy in its simplicity. But they longed greatly to see the unknown One ; and they said to the wise man : " Make us an image, that we may think of him when we look upon it ; for he THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. 117 will not come down !" Then Maho smiled, and carved an image in human form, and they put it under a tent, and called the tent the house of God. Now they asked no more who and where God was, for they took the image for God himself, offering up meats before him, and eating and drinking. Thus they degraded the highest, and were degraded themselves. The wise stranger was angry at this, and he came forth and said : " Let us see whether this be the powerful One !" He threw fire on the tent of their god, and it was burnt to ashes together with the image. Then the people exclaimed : " The image is not God I" and they asked again : " Where shall we find him ?" The stranger said : "Behold the flowers and the plants growing and blooming in silent beauty, and the earth bringing forth many different things ; for an invisible breath refreshes and surrounds them by day and by night. You know not the form nor shape of this breath, which fills mountain and valley, man and beast." Then the tribe exclaimed : " Now we know it, his name is Breath ! He soars over the earth, and dwells also in the breast of men and beasts." But the wise man answered : " Seek not to know his name and his face ; but be kind and good one to another, like the breath which pervades all things; then the Invisible will draw nigh unto you." Now there arose among the people a man of proud and envious disposition, and strove against the stranger, for he hated him because the whole tribe honoured his wisdom ; they called this man Zalmi, which signifies "the Gloomy," 118 THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. for he lived isolated from the rest, and his countenance was clouded. Suddenly there appeared in the valley a terrible monster, which had come over the mountains, a shaggy lion, that destroyed both man and beast, and returned to his den with bloody mane. The inhabitants of the valley believed it to be an evil demon, and hid themselves in their huts ; but the wise man said : " "We must meet the monster ;" and he went out at the head of the people. When they approached the dwelling of Zalmi, he came out and mocked at Maho, and said to the people: "He will lead you into the jaws of the monster, that your number may be lessened, and he may govern you more easily. He has made a covenant with the evil spirit I" The wise stranger held his peace, but the people were afraid. In the meantime, the young son of Zalmi, whom he loved dearly, had strayed far from his father's hut. Behold, suddenly the lion rushed roaring from the forest, and the people were terrified, and shrank back. The lion sprang towards the little boy, his terrible jaws opened ; and Zalmi and the mother of the child stood afar off, wringing their hands. Then Maho threw himself upon the furious animal, smote it upon the head that it staggered, and pressed it in his arms, until it gave up the ghost. Then, though faint and wounded, he carried the rescued child to his enemy. The father and mother of the boy fell on their faces weep- ing, and saying: "We are not worthy to lift up our eyes to thee !" THE PRIMITIVE PEOPLE. 110 And the people approached, and would have worshipped the destroyer of the lion, and said : " Art thou a man, or the Invisible in human form, that thou doest good to thy enemy, and regardest not the risk of thy own life ? Who art thou?" Thus cried the people. But the wise stranger answered : " Children, I am a man like you. A still small voice in my heart bade me do as I have done ; in your hearts also this voice is speaking ; therefore you praise my action more than my strength. And likewise in the soul of our brother Zalmi, who hated me, this voice has now spoken loudly, so that he fell on his face and wept ; and see, it dwells even in the heart of the child, for still he clasps my neck with his little arms, caressing me. Behold, my beloved ones, this is the breath and the voice of the Invisible in your hearts. Follow the teachings of this voice, and you will always know him better ; for the Deity is never nearer to us than when he takes up his abode in our hearts." Then the people exclaimed: "Now we see that neither a habitation, an image, nor a name is required !" And henceforth they worshipped the invisible Spirit in faith, and love, and childlike simplicity; and their eyes were opened more and more, and they asked no longer where and of what form God was. 120 DUSHMANT A. DUSHMANTA. Dushmanta was the richest among the Indian kings, and there was no end to his wealth and power. But pride and haughtiness filled his heart in his grandeur, and his ear was closed to the poor and lowly among his subjects, and he inclined his sceptre alone towards the princes and nobles who stood around his throne. An old Brahmin, who had been the tutor of Dushmanta in the days of his youth, was deeply grieved thereat, and he left his solitude, strewed dust and ashes on his head, and stood between the splendid pillars at the king's gate. The king perceived him, and ordered the Brahmin to be brought into his presence. "Why," asked Dushmanta, "appearest thou with these signs of sorrow, and why is thy grey hair covered with ashes ?" The Brahmin answered : " "When I left thee thou wert the richest of the monarchs of India that ever sat on this throne, for Brahma had blessed thee abundantly; and I left the house of my lord and king with feelings of joy. But now I heard in my solitude that thy riches had de- parted from thee, and that the deepest poverty was thy lot." Dushmanta heard these words with surprise, and smiled. " What foolish man," said he, " told thee these false words? DUSHMANTA. 121 Behold this palace, the gardens surrounding it, the servants who obey my voice " — The old man answered: "All this is deception, that seeks in vain to dazzle the eyes of the wise. The sovereign of India has come from plenty to poverty." The king marvelled at the words of the wise Brahmin, and said: "Where is the witness whose testimony shall overbear the sight of my eyes and the feeling of my hands ?" Then the old man lifted up his voice, saying: "The sun, the emblem of truth before Brahma's throne, the rain- cloud over our heads, and the fruit-tree before my hut, testify of thy poverty." Dushmanta was mute; but the old man continued: "That Brahma adorned the queen of heaven with ever- lasting abundance of light and warmth, I know by the rays which from morning to night gild each blade of grass, lighting my hut equally with thy palace, and which sparkle in the dew-drop as well as in the ocean. When the cloud is big with rain, it goes over hill and dale showering bless- ings on the dry clod as well as on the lofty mountain. The fruit-tree bends its laden branches to the ground; thus Nature proclaims how Brahma has blessed her with riches. But thou art like a rock whose spring of water is dried up. If this be not sufficient, Dushmanta, look upon the tears of thy people, and then boast if thou canst of thy riches before the face of Brahma and his creation." After having said this, the hermit returned to his hut ; but Dushmanta kept the words of the Brahmin in his 122 THE JOURNEY. heart, and became again what he was before, the benefactor and the blessing of his people. One day he went to the hermitage of the Brahmin, and calling him from his hut, he said: "I may now appear again in the rays of the sun and before thy laden fruit-trees. But one thing is wanting." "What could be wanting," said the Brahmin, "to the prince who is the blessing of his country and the father of his people ?" "That I should offer up my heartfelt gratitude," answered Dushmanta, " to the wisdom which led me back to the right way, and taught me that the happiness of his people is the only riches of their prince and leader. I had become poor, — thou hast once more enriched me abundantly." Thus said the prince ; and the old man embraced him with tears of joy, and blessed him. THE JOURNEY. A father was going to send his son, a painter, into foreign countries, that he might acquire a further know- ledge of his art, travelling according to the old German custom. "When the day of his departure drew nigh, the father took the youth into the garden, and told him the THE J U K N E Y . 123 names of all the famous towns and countries which he was to visit. The mother, who had accompanied them into the garden, was terrified when she heard this, and said: "Alas, who will guide and protect him on so long a journey ? He might go astray, or misfortune might hefall him !" The father answered and said : " Do not make yourself unhappy about it ; God and his heart will guide him." Then he took the mother and his son to a bee-hive, and said: "Behold the simple form and life of this nation. Their calling is to collect the dust and juice of flowers, to form both into honey and wax. That also is their simple will. They set out to work, mindful of their home and their destiny. And God shows the little creatures the way, that they never lose themselves, and he gives them flowers and blossoms in abundance." Then he turned to his wife, saying : "Is not our son more than many bees ?" So the mother was comforted. 124 THE SHEEP- SHEARING. THE SHEEP-SHEAKINGr. A mother once took her little daughter Ida to see the shearing of the sheep. Then the little girl complained, and said : " Ah, how cruel men are to torment the poor animals !" " Oh, no !" answered the mother ; " God has ordered it so, that men might clothe themselves, for they are born naked." "But," said Ida, " now the poor sheep will be so cold." " Oh, no !" answered the mother. " He gives the warm raiment to man, and tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." THE DEATH OF EGLON. 125 THE DEATH OF EGLOI. In the town of Gaza, that lieth on the sea-shore, lived a man called Eglon, who was a judge in his nation many years, and possessed great riches. The people praised his justice and kindness more than his riches, and the poor called him in their hearts their father Eglon. When he felt the day of his death approaching, he assembled his friends and brethren together with their children in his house, and said : " Behold, I shall die. The angel of death appeared to me this night ; I heard the low rustle of his wings. Therefore, rejoice with me and be glad." Those who surrounded him were amazed; and they looked upon each other and said : " Would that the words of Eglon might be found false this day, for the first time!" But he smiled, and said: "Little children, may mourn- ing and vain hopes be alike far from you. The end of my days is nigh. I see the angel of death approaching for the third time, therefore his aspect is not new to me. But to- day he appears for the first time with a smiling counte- nance; therefore I follow him gladly and joyfully." Then his friends looked at him with surprise, and were silent. But he perceived that they understood him not, and he began : " I will tell you the chief events of my life ; then 126 THE DEATH OF EGLON. you will comprehend my sayings. The days of my youth flowed on in peace, untroubled, and I knew not the serious- ness of life. When I became a man, I was made a judge in Gaza ; and the people had respect unto my sayings in the gates. I was blessed with the love of a wife, whom the voice of the people lauded as the most beautiful and noble of the daughters of the land ; and I was called the happi- est man on earth. Then God sent grievous sickness upon me, so that I lay in affliction for many months, and no wisdom could help me ; for the physicians said : 6 He will die.' Then the angel of death appeared for the first time, and his face was terrible to behold, and I implored that he might pass on. " He passed : I recovered, and life seemed more beautiful to me than ever. My wife bore me two children, fair as two blooming pomegranate-trees, and each day of their unfolding was as a spring-day to me. Then all the people said: 6 What blessing doth Eglon lack, either within his house, or without?' " Behold, then the pestilence of Mizraim came over the sea, and both my children died, the lad and the maiden. And their sickness lay heavy on their mother ; she said : 4 The children are gone. Ah, Eglon, another world will guard them and give them back to us ! My soul yearn eth for them.' " Thus she said, and she too died. Now I was alone upon my costly carpets, and my house seemed to me too large, and yet too narrow. " Then I cried with an anxious voice to the angel of death, calling him the destroyer ; and when he passed me THE DEATH OF EGLON. 127 by, I said : 6 In the depths of the sea will I seek for the cruel spirit, that he may unite me to the lost ones. Of what use is my life to me on earth V " So I wandered forth in the night to the sea-shore. " But on the way I heard wailing and sighing in a hut, and I entered, for I thought to find here a companion in my misery. " A woman lay on the floor tearing her hair, and five children were around her, weeping and begging for bread ; near them stood an old man, bent and trembling with age. I was astonished, and asked: 'Woman, what aileth thee?' " Then the old man said : 6 In the last storm, the sea swallowed the ship of my son, her husband, and he himself perished in the waves. The rich man who lent him money for his ship demanded it back, and as we could not pay him, he took away all that we had ; and to-morrow he will drive us from this hut, if hunger and want have not released us from our sufferings.' "Then I said: 6 Why do ye not go to Eglon, the judge of Gaza?' " But the woman lifted up her voice, and said : ' Eglon lives in a palace, and is the happiest in the land.' " 4 Moreover,' continued the old man, 4 the debt is just, and Eglon has acknowledged it as just.' " 6 God in heaven !" cried I, ' Eglon, is this thy justice ?' and I tarried with them in the hut, and ministered to them ; and the next morning I said: ' Behold, I am Eglon, the judge of Gaza. Come into my house, that I may do justice.' " And lo, from that time forth light arose within me ; I 128 THE LITTLE TREE. acknowledged my poverty in the eyes of God, and knew that I was a far greater debtor than they whom I had re- ceived into my house. I sought his countenance, and found it ; and whatsoever I have imparted to the poor and the needy, hath it not been taken from treasures that were his? Thus hath my life changed its aspect three times, and the aspect of death in like manner. In my joy death appeared to me like a destroyer ; in the anger of my suf- fering, like the jailor who presents the cup of poison to the prisoner ; but I know him for what he is — a messenger of peace, who will lead me to my love." Thus said the old man. Then he bowed his head on his pillow, and died. THE LITTLE TREE. A father was about to travel to a far country across the sea. Before he departed, he assembled his children around him ; he had a little tree in his hand, and they planted it together. Then said the father: "When you look upon this tree, think of your father in the distant land. Ere it shall have bloomed thrice, I hope to be with you again, if God so wills it." Thus he said, and departed ; and the tree blossomed sweetly and fair the first time. But when the father was on the sea, a terrific storm arose, and the ship was cast on the rocks, and he perished in the waves. THE THREE GRACES OF SOCRATES. 129 Then the children wept and mourned for many months; and when the little tree put forth buds and flowers, they stood around and wept afresh. A wise man, a friend of their dead father, came to the children, and said; ''Behold, the tree has lost its meaning, and has become an object of pain to you ; let me, therefore, take it away and plant it elsewhere, that your grief may not be renewed by beholding it." But the children answered, one and all, and said : " Ah, no ! let us have the tree. Though joy blooms not from it, but tears and mourning, are they not tears of love, and the grief of child-like longing, shed for a dear father ? Ah, no, take not the little tree from us !" THE THREE GRACES OF SOCRATES. One day Socrates was walking with some of his disciples in the gardens of Pericles, and they spoke of art and its celestial beauty. Then spake Alcibiades with a wanton smile : " Tell us, Socrates, how earnest thou to sculpture the Graces, and afterwards to forsake the art, when thou hadst made thy masterpiece ? Thou shouldst also have given us the God- dess of wisdom." Socrates replied : " I will tell you the history of my artist-life ; and thou, Alcibiades, mayest decide whether I should do wisely to take the chisel once more. 9 130 THE THREE GRACES OF SOCRATES. " In my youth I loved art with my whole soul, and visited the houses of great masters as well as the temples of the gods; for in the first I hoped to receive human instruction, and in the latter, divine inspiration. "With this intent, I went one day to a little ancient temple on the borders of Attica; it was dedicated to the Graces. The simplicity of its exterior attracted me, and I said to myself : 'Though thou mayest find here nought for thy art, — for how should a marble statue be brought here ? — yet mayest thou nourish and improve a love for simplicity.' For this love, thought I, it is right that an artist should possess. Accordingly I entered. " At the gate of the little temple I met an old man, of kind and venerable mien. < What seekest thou here, my son ?' said he, with a gentle voice and kindly countenance. "I told him that I was a follower of art, visiting the temples to gain knowledge. " 4 Thou hast done well, my son,' replied he, ' in that thou hast begun with thyself, and approachest the divine to feel its power within thee before thou dost venture to represent it. Thy striving shall not lack its reward. I will show thee what thou wouldst seek for in vain through- out all Greece — the first and most ancient images of the Graces.' " Then he showed me three square stones, rudely fashioned, and said: 'Behold, these are they.' * * The Greeks were content at first to indicate the gods by a rough block or square stone ; even Love and the Graces were, according to Pausanias, represented by stones. Winkelmann, History of Ancient Art THE THREE GRACES OF SOCRATES. 131 " I looked at him, and was mute. " He smiled, and said : 4 Dost thou think it strange that the divine was in the heart of man before his mouth or his hand was able to express it ? Then honour thou it, by- representing it more worthily. JSTow my duty calls me ; I am the priest of this temple.' " He went his way, leaving me lost in strange reflections. I returned to Athens and formed the Graces ; ye have seen them. I took them to the priest as a present for his temple. With timid hand I offered them to him. " * It is well, my son,' said the kind old man ; 4 thou hast accomplished thy work with industry and love. But,' continued he gravely, 4 tell me, art thou content with what thou hast done ?' 44 4 Alas, no,' answered I sorrowfully, 4 a higher image is in my soul, and I feel that my hand is not able to attain unto it.' 44 Then the old man laid his hand on my shoulder, and said with unutterable sweetness : 4 Take, then, thy statues to the halls of the rich in Athens, and leave us these stones. 44 4 Behold, my son, we, in our simplicity, have faith, therefore the simple token sufficeth us; they have only knowledge, therefore they want the sculptured work of art. But I counsel thee, acknowledge the divine germ which is in thee and in every human heart, and cherish it ; so wilt thou bring forth the divine within thee and without thee.' Then he left me. 44 1 went my way with my statues, and deeply meditated on the words of the old man, who appeared to me like a 132 THE TWO TUBS. divine being. And thus I stood during a whole night ; — . over my head the starry skies, beneath my feet the veiled earth ; and when the sun arose, there dawned also a light in my soul. I knew the eternal love which is in me and around me. I prayed, hastened home, laid my chisel at the feet of my statues, went forth and searched, — and then I found you, my beloved ones. Are not ye the most glori- ous images of the divine love ? and shall I not live longer in such pictures than in the cold, fragile marble ?" Thus said Socrates, and looked with beaming eyes around the circle of the beloved youths. The profound and delicate-minded Plato took the right hand of his master, and gazed silently upon his countenance. The good- natured Apollodorus held his left hand, weeping. Alcibi- ades stood still, and cast his eyes to the ground, and his countenance glowed. The sun was setting, and they returned home in silence. THE TWO TUBS. One morning, when the philosopher Diogenes came out of his tub to see the sun rise from the sea, he perceived with surprise that the light of the morning fell on two tubs instead of one. A young man of high rank had formed the resolution of becoming a philosopher, like the admired and derided Diogenes, and had in the night taken his tub to Cenchrsea. " Well, my son," said the old man, " I see wisdom has SOLOMON. 133 found a disciple." The youth smiled at the praise of the philosopher. Then Diogenes took his tub, rolled it towards the sea, and pushed it into the water. The tub floated away on the waves. The youth looked surprised. Whereupon Diogenes said : " I have found at length in thee a worthy disciple. Now complete the victory over thyself. Deliver up thy posses- sions to me, and I will go and distribute them among the poor." The youth answering: "I have still some affairs to arrange at home," left his tub, and went his way. Then Diogenes smiled, and said : " These strange men ! they think that to live in a tub is enough. But they deceive themselves ; how can they then be candid towards others ?" But the rich youth tarried at home, and was ashamed, feeling that he had only now taken the first step on the road to wisdom. SOLOMON. Solomon, the wise king in Israel, had sat on the throne of his father David for more than thirty years ; he had collected all the treasures of the world around him, and enjoyed all the pleasures of life. One day the sun was hidden, and darkness prevailed over the land for several hours ; and Solomon sat on the roof of his palace ; his 134 THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. heart was full of sorrow, and his soul troubled. Thus he sat till night, when the stars arose on the high vault of heaven, and he lifted up his face to the starry sky, saying : " The host of heaven above the sun roll in eternal bright- ness and unimpaired beauty on their course, without change of either light or darkness ; but the great light of day, which enlighteneth the world, hath already spots and hours of gloomy darkness ; the moon waxes and wanes without ceasing, and under the moon are the fluttering falling stars and the floating northern lights, creatures of the moment, and nearer to the earth flit the deceptive marsh-fires. "Oh, ye pleasures of earth," sighed the king, "that mortal man should thus pursue ye, though his gaze can reach unto the stars !" Thus he sat for a long time, his eyes fixed on the starry sky; then he descended and preached: "All is vanity under the sun." THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. There dwelt at Damascus, in the land of Aram, a man called Baruch, who was famed throughout all the country for his riches, so that the people said, " He is rightly called Baruch," which signifieth "blessed." For he possessed the treasures of India and Arabia, and lived in a magnifi- cent palace, with floors of shining marble covered with THE FOUNTAIN OF II E A L T II . 135 costly carpets, and there was no end to his riches. More- over, God had given him a virtuous wife, and seven bloom- ing children. But behold, there was neither joy nor peace in his heart; therefore he strove daily to increase the splendour of his house, and to change for the beautiful something more beauteous still. Yet he found no peace in his heart ; he became more and more melancholy, and sleep fled from his eyes. Then he said in his heart : " Of what use is my life to me ? It can afford me nothing higher or better than what I have possessed since the days of my youth, and I know now that all beneath the sun is vanity, and my soul is vexed with all things." Thus Baruch, full of sadness, went about in gloomy meditation, and grieved his wife and his whole house ; so that men said, "He is possessed by an evil spirit." There- fore he resolved to make an end of his life, that he might be delivered from this sorrow. Then Baruch heard that there dwelt in Memphis, in the land of Mizraim, a wise man, a prophet, into whose mind God had poured such wisdom, that he could give counsel in all things. And Baruch resolved to go and seek his advice. So he called his faithful servant Malchi, and said: "Arise, take two camels, and load the one with gold and silver and precious stones, and costly spices of Arabia." And Malchi did as his master had commanded him. Then Baruch blessed his wife and his children, and he arose with his servant, and set out on their journey over the mountains, and through the desert, to the land of Mizraim. Thus 136 THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. they journeyed seven days and again seven days in the desert, but they did not reach Mizrairn. For the angel of the Lord smote them with blindness, so that they lost their way, and knew not whether to turn to the right or to the left ; and they and their beasts were sore athirst, for there was neither spring nor well to be found in the desert ; and at night they gathered the dew on their cloaks to moisten their parched lips. Then Baruch sighed, and said: "I would give all the treasure wherewith the camel is laden, and still more from my storehouses in Damascus, for one cup of the water that spouteth forth in my garden out of marble and porphyry, and all my costly wines would I give for a little spring that might refresh us." Thus Baruch sighed. The day was very sultry, and the heat waxed fierce, their thirst grew more and more, so that their souls fainted within them. Then they killed one of the camels ; but they found no water in him wherewith to refresh themselves. Then Baruch lifted up his voice, and said to his servant : " Alas, Malchi, my faithful servant and companion, have I brought thee hither that thou shouldst die for me ? I was a plague to my house in my anger, and now I am an angel of destruction in the wilderness to thee, my faithful Malchi. And yet thou sufierest like a lamb ; no complaint comes from thy lips, neither murmurest thou against thy destroyer, who brings a curse upon thee for thy fidelity. Alas, Malchi, how shall I recompense thee ?" Thus said Baruch. But Malchi answered and said: "How should I not follow my master willingly even unto death ? I have eaten THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. 137 of thy bread and drunk of thy wine to this day. I have enjoyed the good days, and shall I murmur at the evil ones ? that the Lord would but rescue thee from death, and take my soul as a ransom ! I am a lonely man ; but a wife and seven children will mourn for thee." And when Malchi had said these words, he could speak no more; for his soul was faint, and he sunk to the ground. Then Baruch's heart was nigh to break, and he fell on his face, weeping in his sorrow, and saying : " Lord, Lord, God of heaven and earth, destroy me, for I am not worthy of the mercy which thou hast shown me, and the burden of my sins oppresses my soul grievously ; therefore destroy me according to mine iniquity !" And when Baruch had said these words, he held his peace and wept bitterly. Behold, there came a rustling from the rocks like the rushing of a brook. Baruch lifted up his face and listened, and the camel likewise stretched out its neck and inclined its ear towards the sound, and approached the rocks. But Baruch said : " Will the Lord work a miracle, and open the rock in the midst of the desert, that he may save us from destruction?" Thus said Baruch, and hastened to the place ; and, behold, a fountain of clear water gushed from the rock ; its waters flowed cool and abundant, and its form was pleasant to the eyes. Then Baruch fell once more on his face weeping, and cried : " Lord God, now I know of a truth that thou art merciful and of great goodness, and that thou doest wonders, though I am not worthy of thy loving-kindness." 138 THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. Yet Barucli drank not of the fountain, but hastily took a vessel and filled it, and ran to his servant Malchi to bathe his temples and wet his lips. Then Malchi opened his eyes and looked at his master. Baruch fell on his neck and wept for joy, saying : " Malchi, thou friend of my heart — my servant no longer ! Oh, joy that I have found thee ! Behold, the angel of the Lord has showed us a fountain ; drink now, and refresh thy soul, that thou may- est live, and I may live too !" And after Malchi had drunk, his soul was refreshed ; and Baruch led him to the spring, and they took food from the camel they had bronght with them, and sat down by the cool water, and ate and drank and were strengthened. They also gave drink to the camel, and rested from their labours. Then they were of good cheer, and stopped there the night. When the sun rose, Malchi said to Baruch his master : "Behold, the sun is rising; if thou wilt, I will fill the bottles, that we may journey towards the west, to the prophet in Mizraim. Perchance we are not far from the land." Then Baruch smiled upon Malchi his servant, and took his hand, saying: "Not so, brother Malchi ! Behold, the Lord hath given me that wisdom which I sought. Why should I go to the prophet in Mizraim ? Let us return towards the east, from whence we came." Then they filled their bottles, gave water to the camel, and drank themselves ; they blessed the spring which had saved them from destruction, and set forth cheerfully on their way. THE FOUNTAIN OF HEALTH. 139 "When they arrived at their city, at Damascus, Tirza, the wife of Baruch, was sitting with her seven children under the palm-trees before the doors of the house, and she was astonished when she saw Baruch and his servant Malchi. But Baruch embraced his wife and his children, and wept for joy. Then Tirza lifted up her voice, and said : " Blessed be the wise man of Mizraim, who sends you home so soon, and blessed be Baruch my beloved. For, behold, thou art changed, and thy face gloweth like that of an angel of peace. Who is the man of God that gave peace to thy soul? Tell me his name, that I may bless him." Then Baruch looked upon his wife and smiled, and he told her all that had befallen him and Malchi from begin- ning to end. And he said: " Behold, not a man and a prophet, but the Lord himself has instructed me. In the desert I learned humility ; in the spring of water I acknow- ledged the grace of the All-merciful and his goodness ; in my servant I have found a good man and a friend. Now I return to you a new man, and in my heart dwelleth that peace which is more precious than gold and silver, and which all my riches could not yield me." Thus said Baruch; and from henceforth he walked meekly and humbly and cheerfully to the end of his days. His riches he employed to do good in the whole country, and there was no poor and needy man to be found far and wide whom he did not help in his poverty. Then the poor whom he comforted said : " Of a truth he may be called Baruch ; for he is a man blessed of the Lord, and he him- self deals blessings to others." 140 THE APPLE. But he said : "Behold, this also have I learned from the spring of water." And when a year had passed by, Baruch went with his wife and children, and with Malchi his friend, to the spring, and built a house there to shelter the wanderer of the desert. But the fountain he called Beor Befah, signifying the Spring of Health. And thus it is called to this day. THE APPLE. There lived at the court of King Herod a rich man, who was the king's chamberlain. He clothed himself in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. Once a friend of his youth, whom he had not seen for many years, came from a distant land to visit him. Then the chamber- lain invited all his friends, and made a great feast in honour of the stranger. The tables were covered with rich viands in dishes of gold and silver, and many costly vessels with spices and wines of all kinds. And the rich man sat at the head of the table rejoicing in his heart, and at his right hand sat his friend who had come from the distant land. And they ate and drank, and were merry. Then the stranger said to the chamberlain of King Herod, " Riches and splendour like thine are nowhere to be found in my country." And he praised his greatness, and called him happy above all men on earth. MAN AND WOMAN. 141 Now the rich man, the chamberlain of the king, took an apple from a golden vessel. The apple was large, red, and pleasant to the eye. And he took the apple, and said : "Behold, this apple hath rested on gold, and its form is very beautiful !" and he offered it to the stranger, the friend of his youth. The stranger cut the apple in two ; and, behold, in the midst of it there was a worm ! Then the stranger looked at the chamberlain ; and the chamberlain bent his eyes to the ground and sighed. MAN AND WOMAN. When the father of the human race, and his wife the mother of mortals, had left the lovely garden of Eden, they mourned many days, and said : " Whither shall we wander on the earth, and who will direct our steps ?" Then they went to the cherub with the flaming sword, who guarded the gate of Paradise ; and Eve leant upon her husband, and hid herself behind him, when they came before the celestial messenger. But Adam entreated the cherub, and said : " Alas, the inhabitants of Heaven will henceforth walk no more with us, for we have become unholy, because we have sinned ! Pray to the Creator of the world for us, that he may send down one of the angels, his ministers, who lead the stars in their course, to direct our paths." 142 MAN AND WOMAN. Then the solemn cherub answered : " Man hath a star within himself, which exalteth him, though he have tres- passed, over the stars and the suns which move in the skies. Follow this star !" Then Adam implored again, saying: "0 thou thought- ful minister of Jehovah, give us an image upon which we may look, and which we may follow, lest we turn aside again from the right way. For having failed once, our eyes are blinded to the light, and our ears dull of hearing the voice of the heart; show us an emblem of our life on earth." Then the thoughtful cherub said to the man Adam: "When the Lord had made thee from the dust of the earth, and had breathed the breath of life into thee, then thou didst lift up thy countenance to heaven, and thy first look was fixed on the sun. May he be the image of thy life ! With cheerful countenance he sets out on his course to begin the labour of the day ; he turns neither to the right nor to the left, but goes onward, spreading light and blessing. He smiles at the storm that roars beneath, and issues from the clouds more beautiful than before, closing an heroic course, fraught with blessing, in the full splen- dour of his glory. Earnest man, may the sun be the image of thy life on earth !" Thus spake the cherub ; and the son of dust bowed his face to the ground, and was silent. Now the lovely mother of all living stepped forward, blushing, to the heavenly messenger, imploring with gentle voice : " Also to me, thou holy one, speak a word of con- solation and instruction. How could the feeble woman MAN AND WOMAN. 143 look up to the high and glorious day-star, and walk in his ways ?" Thus Eve entreated ; and the cherub had compassion on the tender woman, and spoke with smiling countenance : u When the merciful Father had formed thee, and had breathed the breath of life into thy bosom, then thou didst not look up to heaven, but thy eyes rested on the grass and the flowers of Eden, on the balmy shrubs and the fruitful trees of the lovely valley, and on the murmuring brook. Let thy doings be like the silent pilgrimage of the maternal earth. Without noise and dazzling splendour she walks on her peaceful course. Gently and imperceptibly she brings forth in abundance grass, flowers, trees, brooks, and streamlets ; in silence, and unheeded, she makes all the children of her bosom bloom and be fruitful, and her own works praise and adorn her. Tender woman, let this be the image of thy life on earth ! And your union, man and woman," continued the cherub, "be like the undisturbed harmony of the heavenly lights." Thus said the celestial messenger ; and a gentle breeze arose from Eden, and the Spirit of the Lord was in the breeze, bearing witness to the words of the cherub. Adam and his wife Eve fell on their face and wor- shipped ; and Eve trembled greatly, and wept. 144 THE UNFRUITFUL TREE. THE UNFRUITFUL TREE. A countryman had a brother in town who was a gar- dener, and possessed a splendid orchard full of the finest trees, so that his skill and his beautiful trees were com- mended everywhere. Then the countryman went to the town to visit him, and was astonished at the beautiful rows of trees that grew slender and smooth as waxen tapers. Then the gardener said to him : " Look you, my bro- ther ; I will give you a tree, the best from my garden ; you and your children, and your children's grandchildren, shall rejoice in the tree." Then the gardener called his workmen, and ordered them to take the tree out of the ground. The countryman was very glad, and caused the tree to be carried to his house. The next morning there was great doubt in his mind as to where he should plant the tree. For he said to himself: " If I plant it on that hill, the wind might catch it, and shake down the delicious fruit before it is ripe ; if I plant it here, so close to the way-side, the passers-by will see it, and the luscious apples might tempt them to rob me ; but if I plant it too near the door of my house, it is not safe from my own children and servants." Thus he considered, and planted the tree behind his barn, on the north side, saying to himself : " Prying thievishness THE LAMB. will hardly think to find it here;" and he rejoiced secretly at his prudence. But, behold, the tree had no fruit the first year, nor the second year. Then he sent for his brother, the gardener, and re- proached him, saying : " You have deceived me, and given me a barren, miserable tree, instead of a fruitful one. For, behold, this is the third year that it brings forth nothing but leaves." The gardener laughed when he saw the tree, and said : "I am not surprised at it. You have planted the tree where it is exposed to the cold wind, and has neither light nor warmth. From whence should the flower and the fruit come ? Its nature is, and will always be, noble. But you have planted with an evil and suspicious heart ; how could you expect to reap that which is noble and agree- able?" THE LAMB. A father was walking with his little son in the field, and they beheld a ewe, with its young one sporting and frisking about its mother. The boy rejoiced at the lovely sight ; and after having looked for a long time at the sheep and the lamb, he said : " The lamb goes by its mother like a child, but where is its father?" " The lamb does not know a father, and will never know one," was the reply. 10 I4G THE LAMB. The boy asked : " Then will it always stay with its mother?" The father answered: "Only so long as it needs her milk for its support. As soon as it is able to eat grass it leaves its mother, and forgets her, and bends its head to the ground." "But what do the children of men ?" asked the boy. "Behold," said the father, "when you were born, you lay in your mother's lap, and were fed at her breast, and you slumbered without consciousness for some months. Then your countenance brightened, you looked up from her bosom to smile in her face. This the little lamb can- not do. A few months more, and you knew your mother from all others; you uttered half-formed sounds, and stretched out your hands towards her. This also the lamb cannot do. "Again some months elapsed, and you knew your father, and turned your little face from your mother towards him ; and you said : i Father and mother !' Behold, this the lamb cannot do. It bends its head to the ground. But you do not alone look upon the earth ; you can lift your eyes to heaven. "But, behold," continued the father, "the time shall be when even this shall not content thee. Thou wilt demand to look through the heavens, seeking to find the counte- nance of One that dwelleth above their hosts, and thou shalt find it. Then will a third word be born in thy heart, even the word of life." Thus spake the father. Then the boy grasped his hand, and looked up to him with an earnest but cheerful gaze. THE NAMES OF GOD. 147 THE NAMES OF GOD. When Alexander, the son of Philip, was at Babylon, he sent for a priest from every country and nation which he had vanquished, and assembled them together in his palace. Then he sat down on his throne, and asked them (and there was a great number of them), saying: "Tell me, do you acknowledge and worship a supreme invisible Being?" Then all the priests bowed their heads, and answered : "Yea, king!" And the king asked again : " By what name do you call this being?" Then the priest from India answered : " We call it Brahma, which signifieth the Great." The priest from Persia said: "We call it Ormus, that is, the Light." The priest from Judaea said : " We call it Jehovah Adonai, the Lord which is, which was, and is to come." Thus each priest had a peculiar word and particular name by which he designated the Supreme Being. Then the king was wroth in his heart, and said : " You have only one lord and king, henceforth you shall have only one God ; Zeus is his name." Then the priests were grieved at the saying of the king, and spake : " Our people always called him by the name 118 THE NAMES OF GOD. we have proclaimed from their youth up ; how then may we change it?" Bat the king was yet more wroth. Then an old sage stood forth, a Brahmin, who had accompanied him to Babylon, and said : " Will it please my lord the king that I speak unto this assembly ?" Then he turned to the priests and said : " Doth not the celestial day-star, the source of earthly light, shine upon every one of you ?" Then all the priests bowed their heads, and answered : "Yea!" Then the Brahmin asked them one by one : " How do you call it?" And each priest told him a different word and a peculiar name, according to his own country and nation. Then the Brahmin said to the king : " Shall they not henceforth call the day-star by one name ? Helios is his name." At these words the king was ashamed, and said : " Let them use each their own word; for I perceive that the name and the image constitute not the being." THE LARK. 149 THE LAKK. A countryman walked with his son into the fields during the fresh and balmy hour of a summer's morning. The cool breeze played with the silvery hair of the old man, and wafted the dust of the flowers like a light cloud over the waving grain. Then said the old man: " Behold, how busy Mature is in our behalf! The same breeze which cools our brow produces the fertility of the field, that our garners may be filled. Eighty times have I seen this, and yet it is as lovely THE LARK. to me as if I saw it to-day for the first time. Perhaps it may be the last time ; for have I not reached the fullness of human life ?" Thus the old man said ; then his son took his hand, and looked sorrowful. But the father said : "Why wilt thou mourn ? Behold, my day is far spent, and my evening is come. Night must pass before a new day can rise. But it will be to me like a cool and lovely summer night, where the dawn of morn- ing meets the close of the evening twilight." "Alas, my father," said the son, "how canst thou talk of that so calmly which will be the greatest sorrow to us ? Thou gavest me an image of thy death ; give me now also an image of thy life, my father." Then the old man replied: "I can easily do that; for the life of a countryman is simple, like "Nature which sur- rounds him. Dost thou behold the lark, how it rises war- bling from the corn-field ? Not in vain does she soar so near to the countryman, for she is the image of his life. Behold, born in the lap of the motherly earth, she keeps to the nourishing furrow. She builds her nest between the waving blades, and hatches and brings up her young ones there, and the animating odour of the green field gives strength to her wing, and to the voice of her bosom. Now she soars up to heaven, looking down from above on the blades and ears, and on the fostering earth, and looking upwards to the light which makes the blades grow, and to the clouds which send down rain and dew. When the morning scarce begins to dawn, she is already on the wing to greet the first messenger of coming day ; and when the THE CORN-FIELD. 151 sun sets, she rises once more, to inhale the last ray of the celestial day-star. Thus she lives a double life : the one a life of calm and silent work under the shade of the nour- ishing furrow and the verdant blades ; the other a life of singing and fluttering in the purer regions of a higher world of light. But both these lives are one, and closely united. The inferior gives her the desire to elevate herself, and the superior inspires her with courage to labour silently and cheerfully." Thus said the old man. The son pressed the hand of his father fervently, and said: "Yes, my father, thus was thy life ! that we may yet enjoy it long !" Then the old man answered : " Earth is too heavy for me now ! "Why will you grudge me the higher life of fulfilment and of unchangeable endless light ? The day is growing sultry. Come let us return home." THE COKN-FIELD. A' pestilence had ravaged the dwelling of a pious countryman, and had laid him, his wife, and four children, on a bed of anguish. Two children fell a prey to the angry plague, — his eldest son and a maiden, the support and joy of the mother. The labour in the field had been neglected, and their last hoarded farthing was spent. At length the countryman recovered, and he resolved to \o2 THE CORN-FIELD. go out for the first time to the field which he had not seen for so long. But as he went out with his wife, a thunder- storm arose ; it lightened and thundered grievously, and a heavy rain fell ; so they waited till it was past. After the thunder had ceased to roar and the rain to fall, the countryman said : " Let us go now. The odour of the field will be the sweeter after the long drought." When they came to the corn-field, which had already put forth ears, the fragrance of the field blew fresh and sweet upon them, the dark clouds were scattered in the blue sky, and the beams of the sun poured from between the dark masses in long glowing streaks. The young ears and blades bent their heads heavy with the pearly drops, and the grass appeared in renewed freshness. Then the countryman took the hand of his wife, and looked up to heaven, to the gleaming clouds and the flood of light, and said : " Lord ! to us also thou hast sent a storm ; oh, let us be like this corn-field ! We were laid low, and wept ; oh, may we too bear good fruit, that we may gather our sheaves with joy !" Thus the countryman prayed, and his wife wept, and said : " Amen, so be it 1" And both returned comforted to their home. THE TEMPLE OF MEMPHIS. 153 THE TEMPLE OF MEMPHIS. When Pythagoras, the sage of Samos, sojourned in Egypt, to drink knowledge from the ancient sacred foun- tain, the priests took him to the Temple of Memphis. Silent and grand, like a mountain, the wonderful structure rose in the morning dawn. "How have human hands piled up these rocky masses ?" exclaimed the Greek, in amazement. "United power," answered the priest, "can achieve all things when guided and governed by one spirit." Now the massive folding-gates of the temple opened, like the gates of the land of shadows. They entered, and stood silently among the magnificent pillars, and a breeze mur- mured through the vast halls, like the whispering voices of spirits. Then a shuddering awe seized the young philosopher of Samos, and he trembled, and leant against the wall and wept. Then came a priest to him, saying: "Why weepest thou?" But Pythagoras was speechless; after a while he an- swered : " Ah, let me weep ! Do I not feel that I am fearfully nigh to that Being whose name I dare not pro- nounce?" Then the priest said : "Blessed be thou in thy humility, my son. May it bring thee nearer to the Invisible, to whom 154 THE KING. this sanctuary was raised. But quit, now, the lofty pre- cincts of the silent temple, and return to them that speak — to humanity. Remember that this temple was in the heart of a man before it rose from the rock. Dry thy tears, and be comforted." THE KING. "Mother," said the little William, "I should like to be a king." The mother replied : "Do you know what a king is, and did you ever see one ?" The boy answered, "No." Then his father took him by the hand, with a smile, and said : " Come, I will show you a king." And he went with him into the snow-covered courtyard ; for it was winter, and very cold. Now his father showed him a little bird, asking him : " Do you know this bird, and his ways and habits ?" The boy answered : "No ; will you tell me about him?" The father said : " See, this bird is the smallest of all of his kind, and of sober hue ; yet it is highly favoured. Though the day brings cold, storm, and snow, and every thing be covered with ice and snow, it is always of good cheer. Look, now it flies to the top of the roof, looking around so cheerfully, as if the whole world were its own. And so it is, indeed, for the bird knows how to enjoy it. "Listen, now it begins to sing; and its twittering sounds THE KING. 155 so gaily over the fields, as if it were saying, 4 How con- tented I am !' It does not care if the trough at the well, and even the oak-tree, should split with the frost ; it sings cheerily in the storm. " See, now it comes down to the trees of the orchard. It is looking carefully for the eggs of the caterpillars, which in spring gnaw the blossoms of the trees ; now the little bird destroys them, that spring may appear with beautiful flowers, and autumn with fruitful branches. " Do you see how it flies up to the weathercock of the house, beginning its song again, to gladden all those who hear it during the cold winter-time, and to be to them a pattern and example in cheerful contentedness and pious courage ?" Then the boy said : " What do you call the dear little bird?" The father answered : " On account of its frank and noble disposition, men have given it a high name and dignity ; for though it is small, they call it, from of old, the Winter King, and place it next to the proud eagle. " May you have, like him, as long as you are young, a noble and royal disposition ! When you are grown-up, the dominion will not be wanting." Then the boy said : " Father, can the kings fly too ?" "No," said the father; "the bird has in this case an advantage over them ; they are men, as we are." " Oh," said the little boy; and when they were again by their fire-side, he asked his father to tell him more about the bird. 156 NATHAN AND SOLOMON. The father complied willingly with his child's wish, inculcating a grave doctrine by cheerful words. For kind nature sometimes does the same. NATHAN AND SOLOMON. When Solomon was a boy, he read in the book of Moses the history of the creation of man. Then he went to Nathan his tutor, and asked : " How can the body of man be formed out of dust?" Nathan answered: "How may a tree grow out of the earth with leaves, flowers, and fruit ? And knowest thou not, that thy body will return to the dust, from whence it was taken ? How cometh this to pass ?" "But why," asked the young prince, "doth the sacred history so fully relate the creation of men ?" "That man may not be puffed up," answered Nathan, "nor be proud of outward things; from the earth he is created, from her bosom groweth the bread that nourisheth him, and the crown also that adorneth the king's head is of the dust. The law of earth is eternal circulation ; therefore it taketh back man's body and the king's crown. Jedidia, forget not that thou art dust, and learn humility." " But," asked Solomon, " he breathed also the breath of life into man's nostrils?" "Behold," continued the prophet, "the breath of God which streameth through his bosom telleth him, every THE WONDER. 157 instant, that he must have continual bounty from above, for thereon hang his being and his life. Ah, forget not, Jedidia, in whom thou livest and hast thy being, and pre- serve a humble childlike mind !" Then Solomon asked again : " What advantage hath man over the beasts of the field?" " This," replied the man of God; "that it is given him to know on whose earth and in whose breath he walketh. But, behold, to man was given a countenance to look down on the perishable dust, which is subject to him, and to look upward to the dwelling-place of eternal right. Thus he standeth with raised head in humility and in childlike faith, knowing himself to be the son and the image of the most high. J edidia, may the crown not bow thee to the dust, but be as a wreath of light about thy head !" THE WONDER. One day in spring, the youth Solomon was sitting under the palm-trees in the gardens of his father the king, and he looked to the earth in profound meditation. Then came to him Nathan, his tutor, saying: "Why musest thou so earnestly under the palm-trees ?" The youth lifted up his head, and answered: "Nathan, I would see a wonder." The prophet smiled, and answered : " The same wish had I also in the days of my youth." 158 THE "WONDER. "And was it fulfilled?" asked the king's son hastily. "A man of God," continued Nathan, "came to me, having a pomegranate-seed in his hand. ' Behold,' said he, ' what will come from this seed.' Then with his finger he made a hole in the earth, planted the seed, and covered it. When he withdrew his hand, the clods parted one from another, and I saw two small leaves coming forth. But scarcely had I beheld them, when they joined together and became a round stem wrapped in bark, and the stem increased before my eyes, and grew higher and thicker. " Then the man of God said to me : 6 Give heed !' And as I looked, I saw seven branches spread forth from the stem like the seven arms of the candlestick on the altar. " I marvelled ; but the man of God motioned me to keep silence and give heed. 6 Behold,' said he, < new creations will begin.' " Then he took water in the hollow of his hand from the rivulet by the wayside, and sprinkled the branches three times, and, lo, now the branches were covered with green leaves, so that a cool shade surrounded us and sweet odours. 4 From whence,' cried I, ' come this perfume and this reviving shade ?' " ' Dost thou not see,' said the man of God, ' the crimson flower bursting from among the green leaves, and hanging in clusters ?' " I was about to speak, but a gentle breeze moved the leaves, scattering the flowers around us, like as when snow descendeth from the clouds. Scarcely had the falling flowers reached the ground, when I saw the ruddy pome- THE "WONDER. 159 granates hanging between the leaves like the almonds on Aaron's rod. " Then the man of God left me lost in amazement." Nathan was silent, and Solomon asked hastily : " Where is he? What is the name of the man of God? Is he yet alive ?" Then Nathan replied: " Son of David, I have spoken to thee of a vision." When Solomon heard these words he was grieved in his heart, and said : " How canst thou deceive me thus ?" But Nathan replied : "I have not deceived thee, off- spring of Jesse. Behold, in the garden of thy father thou mayest see in reality what I told thee. Does not the same happen to the pomegranate-trees and all other trees ?" "Yes," said Solomon, "but imperceptibly, and through- out a long time." Then Nathan answered: "Is it less by divine influence because it cometh to pass in silence and unheeded? It seemeth to me all the more divine. Learn to know Nature and her workings ; then wilt thou gladly believe in a higher power, and long no more for a wonder performed by the hand of man." The kingly youth stood for awhile in thought, and held his peace. Then he turned to the prophet, and said : "I thought upon the wonder whereof the book of the law beareth witness — the budding and blooming almond-staff of Aaron. Behold, it was of such a wonder that I spoke. It was a dry stick, like unto the staves of the other tribes of Israel ; and yet it bloomed and budded in a single night, and bore almonds in the tabernacle. 160 THE WONDER. "Doth it still bloom!" asked Solomon. And Nathan answered and said : " Of a truth, in the priesthood of Aaron and his tribe, and in due season it will bloom and bud yet more beauteously. For is it not an immortal and a heavenly thing, ordained of Jehovah, — a token of his mercy and of his covenant, whereunto the almond-staff bore witness ?" "I understand thy saying, man of God," said the youth, blushing. "If the heavenly, the immortal, is to be manifested, then — then the dead almond-branch, though it have neither root nor sap, must bloom as in the days of spring." " And I too understand thee, Jedidia," answered Nathan; and he smiled kindly upon the king's son, and grasped his hand. THE LAMENT OF CAIN. When Cain dwelt in the land of Nod, towards the east, beyond Eden, he sat one day beneath a sycamore-tree, with his head supported on his hands, and sighed. But his wife had gone forth to seek him, with the child Enoch in her arms. And when she had found him, she stood for a long time by his side under the sycamore-tree, and heard the sighing of Cain. Then she said to him : " Cain, why dost thou sigh ? Shall there be no end to thy mourning?" THE LAMENT OF CAIN. 101 And he was terrified, lifted up Lis face, and said: "Ah, is it thou, Zilla ? Behold, my sin is greater than that it can be forgiven." And when he had said this, he bowed his head once again, and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then his wife said with gentle voice : " Cain, the Lord is merciful, and of great goodness !" When Cain heard these words, he was terrified, and again said : " Shall thy tongue also be a thorn to pierce my heart?" But she answered : " Far be it from me. Listen, Cain, and look around thee. Do not our fields bloom, and have we not twice gathered abundantly ? Is not the Lord mer- ciful, showering benefits upon us?" Cain answered: "Yes, to thee, Zilla, to thee and thy Enoch : not to me. His goodness only teacheth me how far I was from him, when I — slew Abel." Then Zilla interrupted him, saying : " Dost thou not till the land, Cain, and puttest thou not the grain into the fur- row, and does not the morning dawn upon thee as in Eden, and the dew sparkleth on the fiowers and the grass?" "Alas, Zilla, my poor wife," replied Cain. " In the hue of the morning I see only the bleeding head of Abel, and for me the dew hangs on each blade a tear, and on each flower a drop of blood. And when the sun rises, I see behind me, in my shadow, Abel, whom I have slain ; and before me, myself, who slew him. Hath not the murmur of the brook a voice that lamenteth for Abel, and is not his breath borne towards me in the breeze of the cool wind ? Oh, more dreadful than the wrathful voice which 11 162 THE LAMENT OF CAIN. spake in the thunder : ' Where is thy brother Abel ?' is the still small voice whispering every where around me. And when night comes, alas, it surroundeth me like a darksome grave, and around me lies a region of the dead, wherein I dwell alone. Only at noon I have my hour of peace, when the sun scorcheth my brow, and my sweat trickleth down to the furrow, and no shade is upon me." Then Zilla said : " Cain, my beloved ; behold where our ewes are coming. "White as the lilies of the field, their udders heavy with milk, they return by the light of the setting sun cheerfully to their fold." Cain gazed on them with a heavy eye, and cried : " Alas, they are the sheep of Abel ! Are they not red with the blood of Abel ? Their bleating lamenteth for Abel. Is not this the voice of mourning ? What could belong to Cain?" Then Zilla wept, and said: "Am I not Zilla, thy wife, that love thee?" But he replied : " How couldst thou love Cain, who loveth not himself? What can I give thee but tears and sighs ? How couldst thou love Cain, who slew Abel ?" Then she held up Enoch, her son, in her arms ; and the child smiled upon his father. But Cain fell on his face under the sycamore-tree, and wept, and cried: "Alas, must I see the smile of inno- cence? It is not the smile of Cain's son. It is Abel's smile — it is Abel's smile, whom Cain slew." Thus he cried, and lay mute, with his face to the ground. But Zilla leaned against the s}