TIME, the devourer of all things, has permitted me to be the spectator of a long series of events. The colour of my locks is now changed to that of the swans, which sport in the gardens of the mighty kings of the earth. Age and experience have taught me to believe, that the sovereign Disposer of our destinies has given to man a heart susceptible of virtue, and a soul capable of tasting the pleasures which arise from doing good. A noble and disinterested action must somewhere meet with its reward. Listen, O sons of Adam! listen to my faithful tale.

In one of those delightful valleys which cut the chain of the mountains in Arabia, for a long time lived a rich pastor. He was happy because he was contented, and his happiness consisted in doing good. One day, as he was walking on the enamelled borders of a purling stream, under the shade of a grove of palm-trees, which extended their verdant branches even to the heads of the lofty cedars with which the mountain was crowned, he heard a voice that frequently echoed into the valley the most piercing cries, and sometimes low murmuring plaints, which were lost in the noise of the torrent.

The venerable pastor hastened to the place from whence the voice proceeded, when he saw a young man prostrate on the sand, at the foot of a rock. His garment was torn, and his hair, in wild confusion, covered his face, on which were easily to be traced the flowers of beauty, faded by grief: tears trickled down his cheeks, and his head was sunk on his bosom: he appeared like the rose which the rude blast of a storm had leveled to the earth. The pastor was touched at the sight: he approached the youth, and said to him, "O child of Grief! hasten to my arms. Let me press to my bosom the offspring of Despair!"

The youth lifted up his head in mournful silence; in astonishment he fixed his eyes on the pastor; for he supposed no human being was capable of feeling for his sufferings. The sight of so venerable a figure inspired him with confidence, and he perceived in his eyes the tear of pity and the fire of generosity. If to a generous soul it is pleasure to complain, and unfold the latent secrets of the heart, that pleasure surely must be heightened when we complain to those who will not shut their ears to the voice of truth, but will weigh every thing in the scale of reason, even though those truths may be disagreeable, and such as they wish to have no existence.

The youth rose up, covered with dust, and, as he flew to the arms of the pastor, uttered cries which the neighbouring mountains trebly echoed. "O my father!" said he: "O my father!" when he had a little recovered himself, after the tender embraces and the wise counsels of the old man who asked him many questions.

"It is," continued the unfortunate youth, "behind those lofty cedars, which you behold on those high mountains, it is there dwells Shel-Adar, the father of Fatima. The abode of my father is not far distant from thence. Fatima is the most beautiful damsel of all those in the mountains. I offered my service to Shel-Adar, to conduct one particular part of his flock, and he granted me my request. The father of Fatima is rich; mine is poor. I fell in love with Fatima, and she fell in love with me. Her father perceived it, and I was ordered to retire from the quarter in which lived every thing that was dear to my heart.

"I besought Shel-Adar, in the most suppliant terms, to permit me to attend his far-distant flocks, where I could have no opportunity to speak to the object of my soul. My entreaties were in vain, and I was ordered instantly to retire. My mother is no more; but I have an aged father, and two brothers so young, that they can yet hardly reach the most humble of the palm-tree branches. They have long depended on me for support; but that support is now at an end. Let me die, hoary-headed sire, and put an end to my woes!"

The pastor went instantly in search of Shel-Adar, and having found him, thus addressed him. "A dove from Aleppo took refuge at Damos, and lived with a dove of that country. The master feared that the dove from Aleppo would one day entice away his companion, and therefore caused them to be separated. They would eat no grain but that which they received when together; they languished; they died. O Shel-Adar! separate not those who cannot live unless they live together!"

Shel-Adar listened with attention to the words of the pastor; and, when he found that the flock and the horses he had brought with him were now given to the bewailing youth, he took Fatima by the hand, and led her to the arms of her lover. They then retired to the neighbouring grove, where the nymphs and swains from the mountains assembled around them, crowned them with garlands, and in circles tripped over the enamelled grass to the sweet notes of the lute.

The day had passed too swiftly, when the twinkling stars appearing in the heavens, gave the signal for retiring each to their habitation. The reverend pastor then withdrew, but not till he had uttered these words:—

"Listen, ye tender branches, to your parent stock; bend to the lessons of instruction, and imbibe the maxims of age and experience. As the pismire creeps not to its labour till fed by its elder, as the young eagle soars not to the sun but under the shadow of its mother's wings, so neither doth the child of mortality spring forth to action, unless the parent hand point out its destined labour. Dangerous are the desires of pleasure, and mean the pursuits of the sons of the earth. They stretch out their sinews like the patient mule; they persevere, with the swiftness of the camel in the desert, in their pursuit of trifles. As the leopard springs on his prey, so does man rejoice over his riches, and, like the lion's cub, basks in the sunshine of slothfulness. On the stream of life float the bodies of the careless and intemperate, as the carcasses of the dead on the waves of the Tigris. Wish not to enjoy life longer than you wish to do good."

The worthy pastor then retired, and the moon darted forth her glimmering lights to illumine the way to his habitation. The amiable young shepherd and shepherdess, being now left by themselves, "My adorable Fatima," said the youth, "let us not retire to repose till we have offered up our most grateful thanks to him, whose throne is as far above that of earthly princes, as all the waters of the mighty ocean exceed one single drop falling from the clouds. To him we owe all the gratification of our wishes, and to him alone we must hereafter look up as our friend, guardian, and protector. May it be recorded in after times, that among these mountains once lived the happy Fatima and Dorillis, whose affections for each other, whose universal benevolence to all within the narrow sphere of their knowledge, and whose virtues and piety have left an example worthy the imitation of all who wish and know how to be happy."