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Ir is, perhaps, not generally known, that quite a number of German Hermits were scattered through this country in early times. Their lonely places of abode were generally found in the wilderness around the German settlements. They were most commonly of a pious cast, many of them having sought the new world for the very purpose of finding a secure and silent "lodge in the vast wilderness," where they might live retired from the presence of men and the follies of life. The lives of these "quiet ones in the land" would make an interesting chapter in our early history, should some old mortality rescue their memorial from that oblivion into which all records and traditions of them are fast passing. Having in the course of some labors of an antiquarian character, been frequently led across the path of these German Hermits, we shall take occasion to notice some of them in the Guardian, using up at least the material we have collected. For the substance of our present sketch we are indebted to a German paper, published in Lancaster in 1809, in which the account is credited to a Baltimore correspondent.

In the time of the American Revolution, as a company of soldiers were passing through a forest in the interior of Virginia, they came to a plain looking cave which attracted the attention of the party. Around the mouth of the cave there appeared evidences that buman taste had been somewhat aiding nature in its rural decorations. It was a small opening at the side of a rocky mountain; a small but charming green spot, ornamented with many kinds of fruit trees lay before it, in the midst of which was a small but well cultivated garden, through which softly murmured a crystal rill from a spring near by. In a lonely corner of this green spot stood a weeping willow, whose long pendant branches floated in the sighing wind. The entrance to the cave was through bending wild roses, the vines of which grew intertwined with the limbs of a thorn bush, so as to make ingress very difficult; but under its low branches there was a small opening, through which one could creep by bowing down to the earth.

The romantic aspects of the spot in the midst of an uninhabited wilderness, induced the soldiers to enter with a view of exploring the ave. The mouth of the cave was closed with stones and sticks, which they removed and so entered into the first grotto, which they found filled with fruits, roots, and some implements of husbandry and gardening. They then followed a dark passage which led them to a kind of door, which opened into a room; this had the appearance of having been cut out of

Should any of our readers be able to furnish us with any sketches-or material from which they might be formed-of the Hermits of earlier times, we will be thankful for such aid; and in that case we may be able to form an interesting series of articles. There are many hills of a larger kind, or mountains in Pennsylvania, which have in former times been sacred as the abodes of these silent and venerable men.

a white rock, and it received its light through several openings above, which also seemed to have been cut through the rock. In one corner of this room upon a stool sat a venerable man with a book in his hand, which was printed in a strange language. Near him was a kind of table, and a sort of bed made of leaves. His white hair hung over his shoulders, and his long silvery beard covered his breast.

The unexpected appearance of the strangers disturbed him in his deep meditations; he looked up and spoke to them in a language to them unknown. They looked at one another filled with wonder, because they could not comprehend the singularity of the venerable man. At length the Hermit addressed them in broken English:

"Who are you? Why have you disturbed me? What do you desire?" To this the leader of the party replied: "Venerable father, we have not come to distress you; mere accident revealed to us your dwelling place, and curiosity moved us to penetrate into your solitude; if, however, we have transgressed, we beg to be pardoned, and if our presence is unwelcome to you, we will immediately withdraw. But before we depart, I ask that we may have the pleasure of serving you in any way you may desire."

"I desire nothing," answered the Hermit, in a very murmuring tone. He resumed his seat, and was again immersed in his studies; nor were they able any further to arrest his attention, or move him to speak another word. Convinced, therefore, that their presence was unwelcome, they left him; and after they had departed, he closed again the mouth of his

cave.

After they had returned to the camp they made inquiries in regard to this Hermit. They were told that he had dwelt there many years, and that he annually made a pilgrimage to the seaport cities, but that he entirely avoided all intercourse with men; that when any thing is offered bim for his sustenence, he seldom accepts it, and if he does, manifest not the least marks of gratitude.

After several years the officer of this party of soldiers again visited this Hermit cave, but found no more the lord of that realm. No doubt he had passed "into that world where earthly infirmities no more afflict the etherialized body, and the spirit is purer than here below." A small band-box with manuscripts was found in the grotto, from which it was ascertained that he was born in Germany, and that on account of some reverses and disappointments in his youth, he had fled to this solitary home in the deep wilderness of the new world.

Busy fancy carries us irresistibly back to the days and scenes of his early life in the far-off fatherland. He seems to have been an educated man, retaining still habits of reading and deep study. We would fain know from what source came that severe storm of adversity, which so shook and wounded his sensitive nature, that he was induced forever to flee from the scenes and associations of his early sorrow, and from the face and fellowship of men. It would be as true to reality as it is to romance, should we suppose that from some fair creature, into whose holiest life the roots of his affections had confidingly grown, were his heart's tendrils rudely severed-and he could trust and love no more! To him, loneliness, the deepest now seemed more friendly than the face of man. He bade adieu to the scenes of his childhood and youth, the

graves of his fathers and the land of his birth; crossed the wide sea, penetrated the primeval wilderness of the new world, and in the loneliness of his cave and the deep solitude of his own wounded spirit, still continued to cherish the lovely image of that sweet reality, which for him had hopelessly vanished. It, and with it, as we trust, his God, he worshipped in meditative silence. He could love nothing else.

There

His was, perhaps, a morbid sorrow which grew into misanthropy; but as he injured no one, we are willing to regard it at least as an amiable revenge which he took upon his race; and we would rather pity than blame. We would fain hope that like Elijah of old, who fled from the rude wrath of Jezebel to the lonely rocks of Horeb, after the wild storm, earthquake and fire, he was permitted also often to hear the "still small voice" of peace and hope, as he looked out upon the noisy world from the mouth of his cave, whilst the sighing of the soft evening wind that played with his venerable beard, and the mellow beams of the setting sun which fell upon his saddened face, were to him as angel whispers and angel smiles from that world of love for which he looked and longed. What strange mystery surrounds this man of the cave. We cannot think of him except with a kind of reverence bordering on awe. he dwells in almost awful silence and loneliness, as the solemn years roll round. Summers and winters pass-the forests around him are clothed and unclothed-night and day, bright and cloudy skies succeed each other the world drives on in the chase of loss and gain--cities are built, and ships of commerce ride the seas-a mighty revolution and a fierce war for freedom are shaking the land-but none of these things affect the deeply abstracted spirit of the Hermit. His cave is his world, to pick his scanty fare is his earthly business, and his own thoughts are his consolation. With what awful stillness must the night have settled down around him; and how doleful to any one except a Hermit, lost in his own deep reveries, must have been the moan of the autumn winds in the forest, and the roar of the wintry storm at the mouth of his cave. Nearly a century has passed away since he has gone to his rest. Without a friend to close his eyes-without funeral or grave-astranger in a strange land-a strange and solemn mystery, he passed away! May he have safely reached that land where weary pilgrims rest.

POETRY BY TRLEGRAPH B. F. Taylor, of the Chicago Journal, furnished a beautiful song for the recent Burus Festival in that city, the following lines of which were telegraphed to the festival at Cincinnati, as a "sentiment :"

Heart of leal! Can this be dying,
Coming thus sublimely down!
Lo, an hundred winters sighing,

Leave unstrown thy holly crown!
Not in sorrow dawn thy morrow,

HIGHLAND MARY" by thy side,
Making life and love keep time:
Beauty be thy deathless bride,
Weaving all our hearts in rhyme

Everywhere. everywhere.

Smiles will break and tears will start.
Making rainbows round the heart,

Ploughman, Brother, BARD OF AYR!

DREAMS OF THE BIBLE.

BY Ꭱ . P. Ꭲ .

INTRODUCTION.

By dreams generally are meant those vain images that pass through the mind while we are asleep. Consequently they are regarded as something evanescent, shadowy and unsubstantial, mostly arising without any assignable cause, and vanishing without exciting any concern, or leaving any lasting impression. To put any faith in dreams now-a-days is looked upon as superstitious; and the only reasonable disposition to be made of them seems to be that, as they come unbidden, so they shall be suffered to pass unnoticed. But, at the same time, we are not unmindful of the fact, that there are instances in which dreams are significant, and often portend some approaching event. Yet we only see their prophetical character in their fulfilment.

In the Bible history, however, the subject is presented to us in altogether a different aspect. Under the Old Testament dispensation, especially, God often made use of dreams and visions as channels through which divine communications were made to men. Hence, the Jews at that period, as well as the eastern nations generally, suffered them not to pass by unnoticed, but at once sought those who professed to unfold their hidden mysteries. This custom or disposition comes down to us from very remote antiquity, as evinced in the case of Pharaoh, and of his butler and baker, among the Egyptians, and of Nebuchadnezzar among the Chaldeans. And, notwithstanding God had expressly forbidden the Jews to observe dreams, or seek their interpretation from any others than His inspired Prophets, and that only when they were regarded as specially significant, yet so deeply imbued were they with this prevailing desire, that they disregarded the divine injunction, even in the face of the penalty of death.

In the New Testament, also, we have instances of God revealing His will through dreams-when He instructed Joseph respecting the birth of the Messiah, and warned him with regard to the safety of the young child Jesus.

These dreams of the Bible, in their most comprehensive sense, are divided by Cruden into three classes: 1, Natural; 2, Divine; 3, Diabolical. To some of the most important of these, it has been thought, it might prove both interesting and profitable to call the attention of the readers of the "Guardian." They certainly form one feature of the inexhaustible source of wisdom and instruction as contained in the divine oracles; and, if properly studied, cannot but teach us many valuable and impressive lessons.

INJURY OF DEFILEMENT.

AVOID a villain as you would a brand,

Which lighted, burns-extinguished smuts the hand.

AN OLD-TIME ITINERANT.

BY THE EDITOR.

Perhaps the self-approving, haughty world,
That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks
Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she sees,
Deems him a cypher in the works of God,

Receives advantage from his noiseless hours,

Of which she little dreams.

SURE we are that the reader, when he has read our title, will at once run after his own fancies. He will imagine that he is to read a sketch of itinerant ministers of the olden times. He will fancy that he sees one of these wandering evangelists, dressed in plain clothes, ensconced in a shad-belly coat, sitting on a good-natured horse, with saddle-bags beneath him, and a hat of more than moderately wide brim over him, going along devoutly on his winding way, making the primeval woods ring with the victorious strains of

My soul mounted higher

On a chariot of fire,

And the moon it was under my feet!

But in this hasty opinion he is presumptuous. It is an humbler theme that engages our attention

However, we do not harshly blame the reader for his fancy. It is quite natural that he should have thus concluded from our title; for the itinerants of which he supposed we would write belong fairly to the olden time.

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They exist no more, except as they are fossiled in our memory of the years that are past. That class of itinerants are now "as other men.' The peculiarity of coat, hat and saddle-bags, which once belonged to them, has disappeared; and there is no more danger of mistaking them in the distance for a returning drover. There may be the same loftiness of feeling, but it is hardly of that kind which is so rapturously expressed by the line,

And the moon it is under my feet.

Having thus suitably reproved the reader for his mistake in self-sufficiently running ahead of his guide, we will at once set him on the right track. It is to a peculiar class of secular itinerants that our present writing relateth. It is a reminiscence of our childhood years that we would call to resurrection. It is an interesting picture of country life, as this characterized the quiet vallies of Pennsylvania in the age which is just passing into the dimness of the past, that is imaging itself before our recollection, and from which we would fain brush the dust of forgetfulness, re-varnishing it to brighten it again, and bring out some of its friendly figures and features.

Here, again, it is necessary for us to curb the fancy of our reader by a caution. He will imagine us to be an old man; and straightway expect to hear the tales of his grandfather. But in regard to this hasty opinion he will soon be undeceived; for, let him but ask his uncle, or perhaps

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