Part 17 (2/2)

Vell, von dot man vas troo Yawcup says to me, ”Come, Katrina, ve'll go down to dot ferry und take de boat vot goes to New York!” Ven ve vas on dot boat de fog vas so tick dot you couldn't see your hands pehind your pack. De vistles vas plowing, und dem pells vos ringing, und von man shtepped up mit Yawcup und say ”Vot vor dem pells pe ringing so mooch?”

Und ven I looked around dere shtood dot Villiam R. Shtover mit Leavenworth, Kansas--und I said pooty quick: ”Vot vor dem pells vas ringing? Vy for Simon's vife's mudder, vot must be died, for I hear dree times to-day already dot she vas sick mit ein fever.”

THE RABBI AND THE PRINCE.

BY JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY.

_Versified from the Talmud._

A monarch sat in serious thought, alone, But little reck'd he of his robe and throne; Naught valuing the glory of control, He sought to solve the future of his soul.

”Why should I bow the proud, imperious knee, To mighty powers no mortal eye can see?”

So mused he long and turned this question o'er, Then, with impatient tread, he paced the floor, Till maddened by conflicting trains of thought And speculation vague, which came to naught, With feverish haste he clutched a ta.s.seled cord As desperate hands, in battle, clutch a sword.

”Summon Jehoshua,” the monarch cried.

The white-haired Rabbi soon was at his side.

”I bow no more to powers I cannot see; Thy faith and learning shall be naught to me, Unless, before the setting of the sun, Mine eyes behold the uncreated one.”

The Rabbi led him to the open air.

The oriental sun with furious glare Sent down its rays, like beams of molten gold.

The aged teacher, pointing, said: ”Behold.”

”I cannot,” said the Prince, ”my dazzled eyes Refuse their service, turned upon the skies.”

”Son of the dust,” the Rabbi gently said And bowed, with reverence, his h.o.a.ry head, ”This one creation, thou canst not behold, Though by thy lofty state and pride made bold.

How canst thou then behold the G.o.d of Light, Before whose face the sunbeams are as night?

Thine eyes before this trifling labor fall, Canst gaze on him who hath created all?

Son of the dust, repentance can atone; Return and wors.h.i.+p G.o.d, who rules alone.”

THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

BY J. E. SAGEBEER.

It was just at the dawn of day, when the first rays of morning were breaking over Europe and dispelling the darkness of the Middle Ages. France and England were engaged in a desperate struggle, the one for existence, the other for a throne. All the western part of France had avowed the English cause, and the English king had been proclaimed at Paris, at Rouen and at Bordeaux, while the strongly fortified city of Orleans, the key to the French possessions, was besieged. The thunder and lightning of the battlefield are bad enough, but the starvation and pestilence of a besieged city are infinitely worse. The supplies of Orleans were exhausted; the garrison was reduced to a few desperate men, and the women and children had been abandoned to the English. But far away on the border of Germany, in the little village of Domremy, the Nazareth of France, G.o.d was raising up a deliverer for Orleans, a savior for the nation.

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