all in vain; the doctor was perfectly mute. The king then tried the stratagem of sending his wife, children, and near relatives to him; at the same time giving orders to his spies to be at a little distance, so as to be able to hear, yet not be seen. His majesty very naturally thought, that when his near relations came to him, and bewailed his situation, they would extort from him his sentiments, and that he would open 'his heart to them. His wife and children were accordingly sent to him, and as soon as they perceived him they wept bitterly; but on a nearer view, when they found that he had lost none of his flesh, and his cheeks were as rosy as ever, and he perfectly calm, they all began of one accord to ask him how it happened, heavily loaded as he was with iron chains, in a dungeon as narrow as the grave, food hardly enough to sustain life, and yet he had lost neither his flesh nor his colour? Then the wise physician began to speak. 66 My dear friends! I put in all my food seven kinds of herbs, that is the reason that neither my colour nor my flesh hath forsaken me." His friends then requested him to tell what those herbs were, so if the stock he took with him to prison were exhausted, they might gather fresh ones and supply him: besides, they might be of use to themselves. The wise man then opened his mouth and said, "My dear friends, listen and I will inform you of the names of the seven herbs. The name of the first is Faith: he that hath faith in the Holy one, blessed be he, need neither care nor grieve; and, 'as I have my faith in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, he will surely preserve me from all wo, and send me help; and I am certain that he will turn the heart of the king that he may be satisfied of my innocence, and that the king will have mercy upon me, and release me from this prison, for he that hath trust in the Lord, mercy will surround him, and he will not be forsaken; so that the verse of the holy prophet may be verified," Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is." The second herb is Hope: every one should have his hope in the Holy One; blessed be he! in the midst of pangs and woes, we should lift up our eyes and hope to be relieved by the most high God. The third herb is called Punishment from the Lord. The Blessed One, no doubt, has punished me on account of my manifold sins, for no mortal is punished without he deserves it; wherefore, then should I murmur, when the Behold Lord has seen fit to punish me? The fourth herb is called How can help it. As the king has commanded my punishment, how can I alter it? it is, therefore, the part of a wise man not to grieve at those things that he cannot alter. The fifth herb is called To rejoice under Affliction it is the will of the Holy One, blessed be he! that I should be punished in this world, in order that I may enter pure and spotless into the world to come, and that the verse of the psalmist, peace be upon him, may be fulfilled. "Blessed be the man whom thou chasteneth, O Lord! therefore I rejoice under thy punishment." And it also accords with what Rabbi Joshuah Ben Levi hath said, "He that rejoiceth under affliction, brings redemption into the world." And he accomplishes the words of the prophet Isaiah, peace be upon him, thou art wroth, for we have sinned, in that consists eternity, for we shall be saved." The sixth herb is called To be satisfied with one's Lot. I am satisfied with the portion that the Holy One, blessed be he! has appointed unto me. I neither crave after wealth, health, pleasures, honours, nor even life, but surrender myself up entirely to the will of him who made me. Besides, I always consider that there are worse misfortunes and worse punishments than mine. The seventh herb is called The Help of the blessed God. I know that my Redeemer liveth, he will help me. For the help of the Lord cometh in the twinkling of an eye; he is a holy, merciful, and just God; he will deliver me from evil, and give due punishment to mine enemies who seek my life, and have enraged the king against me. These, my dear friends, are the seven herbs that I put in my food, and that is the reason that I am as healthy and fresh as you see me. Let me there fore beseech you, my dear friends, to make use of the same ingredients, and not to grieve on my account: on the contrary, rejoice. And when you are under the greatest tribulation, have your trust in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he will surely help you. You will then fulfil the words of King Solomon, peace be upon him, "He that putteth his trust in the Lord, shall be made fat." The emissaries of the king, who listened to the conversation of the doctor, reported it to his majesty. He gave immediately orders that his irons should be taken off, his sackcloth changed into his former costly garments, and his dignity restored unto him. THE FATALIST. The subject of the following true though melancholy tale has long ceased to exist, and there is not in the place of his nativity a being who bears his name. The recital will, therefore, wound the feelings of no one; nor will it disturb the ashes of the dead, to give to the world the story of his madness, rather than his crime. The name of John Mackay appears on the criminal records of the town of Belfast, in the north of Ireland. He was the murderer of his own child. It is unnecessary to dwell on the character of this unhappy man, further than to observe that from early education, and deeply rooted habits, he was a fatalist. An enthusiastic turn of mind had been warped into a superstitious dread; and the fabric that might have been great and useful, became a ruin that betokened only death and gloom. Yet in his breast the Creator had infused much of the milk of human kindness, and his disposition peculiarly fitted him to be at peace with all men. The poison had lain dormant in his bosom, but it rankled there. Domestic sorrows contributed to strengthen his gloomy creed; and its effects were darker, as it took a deeper root. Life soon lost all its pleasure for him; his usual employments were neglected; his dress and appearance altered; his once animated countenance bore the traces of shame or guilt; and a sort of suspicious eagerness was in every look and action. He had an only child; one of the loveliest infants that ever blessed a father's heart. It was the melancholy legacy of the woman he had loved; and never did a parent doat with more affection on an earthly hope. This little infant was destined to be the victim of his madness. An intimate friend calling on him one morning, found the child stretched on the flcor, and the father standing over it, his hands reeking with the blood of his babe. "God of heaven!" exclaimed his friend, "what is here?" Mackay approached, and calmly welcomed him, bidding him behold what he had done. His friend beat his bosom, and sunk on a chair, covering his face with his hands. 66 Why do you grieve?" asked the maniac, why are you unhappy? I was the father of that breathless corpse, and 1 do not weep; I am even joyful when I gaze on it. Listen, 1 my friend, listen: I knew I was predestined to murder, and who was so fit to be my victim, as that little innocent to whom gave life, and from whom I have taken it? He had no crime to answer for; besides, how could I leave him in a cold world, which would mock him with my name?" Even before the commission of the crime, he had sent to a magistrate, whose officers shortly entered, and apprehended him. He coolly surrendered himself, and betrayed no emotion; but he took from his bosom a miniature of his wife, dipped in the blood of his babe, and without a sigh or a tear, departed. It was this circumstance that made many loath him, and created against him a sentiment of general abhorance; but when he afterwards, in prison, declared to his friends the storm of passions to which that horrid calm succeeded-that he had torn his hair until the blood trickled down his forehead, whilst his brain seemed bursting his skull; his friend was satisfied and still loved him. In the prison he was with him: though all others deserted him, he pitied and wept. Still, even to the last, he believed he had but fulfilled his duty, in the death of his child; and often when he described the scene, and told how the infant smiled on its father at the moment he was preparing to kill it, lisping his name as the weapon was at its throat, he would start with horror at his own tale, and curse the destiny which had decreed it, but always spoke of it as a necessary deed. The time appointed for his trial approached; he contemplated it without dread; and talked of the fate that awaited him without a shudder. But his friend had exerted himself to procure such testimony of the state of his mind, previous to his committing the dreadful act, as to leave little dread of the result; yet he feared to awaken hopes in the unhappy prisoner which might be destroyed, and never mentioned it to him. The morning of his trial arrived; he was brought to the bar; his hollow eyes glared unconsciously on his judge, and he gave his plea, as if the words not guilty' came from a being without life. But his recollection seemed for a moment to return; he opened his lips and gasped faintly, as if he wished to recal them. The trial commenced, and he listened with the same apathy; but once betraying feeling, when he smiled on his friend beside him. The evidence had been heard; the jury had returned to their box, and were about to record a verdict of insanity, when a groan from the prisoner created a momentary pause, and he dropped lifeless in the dock. He had for some minutes shadowed his countenance with his hand, and no one but his friend percieved its dreadful alteration. He attributed it to the awful suspense of the moment, the agony between hope and despair. Its cause was a more awful one-he had procured poison, had taken it, and with an almost superhuman strength, had struggled with its effects until he fell dead before the court. He was buried in the churchyard of his native village, where a mound of earth marked his grave, but there was neither stone nor inscription to preserve the name of one so wretched. RETROSPECTION. BY THE REV. W. KENNEDY, A.M. T. C. D. Why should I blush that fortune's frown To sink, forgotten, to the dead? "Tis not the good, the wise, the brave, The lord of day, the queen of night! Like me a load of grief appears. Her plaints are heard in every wood, And silent grief and tears are mine. |