The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 288, Supplementary Number

"Follow me," said the prince of the Mazikin; and Jochonan did so, into an inner chamber.

It was of gold, as the other was of silver. Its golden roof was supported by pillars and pilasters of gold, resting upon a golden floor. The treasures of the kings of the earth would not purchase one of the four-and-twenty vessels of golden coins, which were disposed in six rows along the room. No wonder! for they were filled by the constant labours of the Demons of the mine. The heart of Jochonan was moved by avarice, when he saw them shining in yellow light, like the autumnal sun, as they reflected the beams of the torch. But God enabled him to persevere.

"These are thine," said the Demon; "one of the vessels which thou beholdest would make thee richest of the sons of men—and I give thee them all."

But Jochonan refused again; and the Prince of the Mazikin opened the door of a third chamber, which was called the Hall of Diamonds. When the Rabbi entered, he screamed aloud, and put his hands over his eyes; for the lustre of the jewels dazzled him, as if he had looked upon the noon-day sun. In vases of agate were heaped diamonds beyond enumeration, the smallest of which was larger than a pigeon's egg. On alabaster tables lay amethysts, topazes, rubies, beryls, and all other precious stones, wrought by the hands of skilful artists, beyond power of computation. The room was lighted by a carbuncle, which, from the end of the hall, poured its ever-living light, brighter than the rays of noontide, but cooler than the gentle radiance of the dewy moon. This was a sore trial on the Rabbi; but he was strengthened from above, and he refused again.

"Thou knowest me then, I perceive, O Jochonan, son of Ben-David," said the Prince of the Mazikin; "I am a Demon who would tempt thee to destruction. As thou hast withstood so far, I tempt thee no more. Thou hast done a service which, though I value it not, is acceptable in the sight of her whose love is dearer to me than the light of life. Sad has been that love to thee, my Rebecca! Why should I do that which would make thy cureless grief more grievous? You have yet another chamber to see," said he to Jochonan, who had closed his eyes, and was praying fervently to the Lord, beating his breast.

Far different from the other chambers, the one into which the Rabbi was next introduced, was a mean and paltry apartment, without furniture. On its filthy walls hung innumerable bunches of rusty keys, of all sizes, disposed without order. Among them, to the astonishment of Jochonan, hung the keys of his own house, those which he had put to hide when he came on this miserable journey, and he gazed upon them intently.

"What dost thou see," said the Demon, "that makes thee look so eagerly? Can he who has refused silver, and gold, and diamonds, be moved by a paltry bunch of rusty iron?"

"They are mine own, my lord," said the Rabbi, "them will I take, if they be offered me."

"Take them, then," said the Demon, putting them into his hand;—"thou may'st depart. But, Rabbi, open not thy house only, when thou returnest to Cairo, but thy heart also. That thou didst not open it before, was that which gave me power over thee. It was well that thou didst one act of charity in coming with me without reward, for it has been thy salvation. Be no more Rabbi Jochonan the miser."

The Rabbi bowed to the ground, and blessed the Lord for his escape. "But how," said he, "am I to return, for I know not the way?"

"Close thine eyes," said the Demon. He did so, and in the space of a moment, heard the voice of the Prince of Mazikin ordering him to open them again. And, behold, when he opened them, he stood in the centre of his own chamber, in his house at Cairo, with the keys in his hand.

When he recovered from his surprise, and had offered thanksgivings to God, he opened his house, and his heart also. He gave alms to the poor, he cheered the heart of the widow, and lightened the destitution of the orphan. His hospitable board was open to the stranger, and his purse was at the service of all who needed to share it. His life was a perpetual act of benevolence; and the blessings showered upon him by all, were returned bountifully upon him by the hand of God.

But people wondered, and said, "Is not this the man who was called Rabbi Jochonan the miser? What hath made the change?" And it became a saying in Cairo. When it came to the ears of the Rabbi, he called his friends together, and he avowed his former love of gold, and the danger to which it had exposed him; relating all which has been above told, in the hall of the new palace that he built by the side of the river, on the left hand, as thou goest down by the course of the great stream. And wise men, who were scribes, wrote it down from his mouth, for the memory of mankind, that they might profit thereby. And a venerable man, with a beard of snow, who had read it in these books, and at whose feet I sat, that I might learn the wisdom of the old time, told it to me. And I write it in the tongue of England, the merry and the free, on the tenth day of the month Nisan, in the year, according to the lesser computation, five hundred ninety and seven, that thou may'st learn good thereof. If not, the fault be upon thee.

STANZAS

Written on seeing Flags and other Ensigns of War, hanging in a Country Church

BY ALARIC A. WATTS

Oh! why amid this hallowed scene.
Should signs of mortal feud be found;
Why seek with such vain gauds to wean
Our thoughts from holier relics 'round?
More fitting emblems here abound
Of glory's bright, unfading wreath;—
Conquests, with purer triumphs crowned;—
Proud victories over Sin and Death!

Of these how many records rise
Before my chastened spirit now;
Memorials, pointing to the skies,
Of Christian battles fought below.
What need of yon stern things to shew
That darker deeds have oft been done?—
Is't not enough for Man to know
He lives but through the blood of ONE!

And thou, mild delegate of God,
Whose words of balm, and guiding light.
Would lead us, from earth's drear abode,
To worlds with bliss for ever bright,—
What have the spoils of mortal fight
To do with themes 'tis thine to teach?
Faith's saving grace—each sacred rite
Thou know'st to practice as to preach!

The blessings of the contrite heart,
Thy bloodless conquests best proclaim;
The tears from sinners' eyes that start,
Are meetest records of thy fame.
The glory that may grace thy name
From loftier triumphs sure must spring;—
The grateful thoughts thy worth may claim,
Trophies like these can never bring!

Then, wherefore on this sainted spot,
With peace and love, and hope imbued,—
Some vision calm of bliss to blot,
And turn our thoughts on deeds of blood,—
Should signs of battle-fields intrude:—
Man wants no trophies here of strife;
His Oriflamme—Faith unsubdued;—
His Panoply—a spotless life!

THE BRITISH SAILOR'S SONG

BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

Away with bayonet and with lance,
With corslet, casque and sword;
Our island king no war-horse needs,
For on the sea he's lord.
His throne's the war-ship's lofty deck,
His sceptre is the mast;
His kingdom is the rolling wave,
His servant is the blast.
His anchor's up, fair Freedom's flag
Proud to the mast he nails;
Tyrants and conquerors bow your heads,
For there your terror sails.

I saw fierce Prussia's chargers stand,
Her children's sharp swords out;—
Proud Austria's bright spurs streaming red,
When rose the closing shout.
But soon the steeds rushed masterless,