At length, an aged magistrate from a distant province made his appearance. He was simply clad in a long cotton robe, and his hoary beard waved on his breast. He made his obeisance before the young monarch, and holding forth an embroidered silken bag, he thus addressed him:—
“Deign, great king, to accept the faithful homage and fervent good wishes of thy servant on this important day, and with them the small present I hold in my hand. Small, indeed, it is in show, but not so, I trust, in value. Others have offered what may decorate thy person—here is what will impart perpetual grace and lustre to thy features. Others have presented thee with rich perfumes—here is what will make thy name sweet and fragrant to the latest ages. Others have given what may afford pleasure to thine eyes—here is what will nourish a source of never-failing pleasure within thy breast. Others have furnished thee with preservatives against bodily contagion—here is what will preserve thy better parts uncontaminated. Others have heaped round thee the riches of a temporal kingdom—this will secure thee the treasures of an eternal one.”
He said, and drew from the purse a book, containing the moral precepts of the sage Zendar, the wisest and most virtuous man the East had ever beheld. “If,” he proceeded, “my gracious sovereign will condescend to make this his constant companion, not an hour can pass in which its perusal may not be a comfort and a blessing. In the arduous duties of thy station it will prove a faithful guide and counsellor. Amid the allurements of pleasure and the incitements of passion, it will be an incorruptible monitor, that will never suffer thee to err without warning thee of thy error. It will render thee a blessing to thy people, and blessed in thyself: for what sovereign can be the one without the other?”
He then returned the book to its place, and kneeling, gave it into the hands of the king. He received it with respect and benignity, and history affirms that the use he made of it corresponded with the wishes of the donor.
ON EARTHS AND STONES
Tutor—George—Harry.
Harry. I wonder what all this heap of stones is for?
George. I can tell you—it is for the lime-kiln; do n’t you see it just by?
Har. O yes, I do. But what is to be done to them there?
Geo. Why, they are to be burnt into lime; do n’t you know that?