The music floated on and reached the ear of a poor maniac as he sat by
his comfortable fire, listening to the monotonous roar of the distant
water fall, and the howling of the wintry winds, as it came surging
on, waving the leafless tree and pelting the falling rain against the
windows.
"Hark!" said he, springing up, "the bees are swarming; I shall be
stung to death," and out he rushed, with a brighter fire in his eye
and a more intense one in his brain. Descending the hill, he watched
the sylph like forms as they floated on in the mazy dance, declaring
the bees were in terrible commotion, and he should be stung to death.
With difficulty he was prevailed upon to return to his house, and ever
and anon, as the sound of the music reached his ear, he would start
and affirm that the bees surely were swarming.
Such is man, the noblest work of God, when bereft of reason to guide
and direct him.
Still farther on were young parents keeping anxious watch over a sick
infant, whose feeble thread of life seemed trembling upon a very hair.
The doctor had said there was no hope; kind, sympathizing friends, as
they looked on the sufferings of the dear babe with tearful eyes, had
said, there is no hope; and the agonized hearts of the parents echoed
back, no hope. But still they did hope. The breath came heavily from
the heaving chest, and the blue orbs looked dimly from their half
closed lids, while the little sufferer, with burning hand and parched
lip, seemed struggling for that life that it had enjoyed but for so
brief a space.
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