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wild beast in the dale of Avonah. How happy are we, Zarbanad, that we live in a time when signs and marks have been found out by which the thoughts of one friend may be conveyed to another in a distant land. We can grave our thoughts upon a piece of the soft rock, and shut it up in a box made of the wood of the palm tree, and send it to our friends who are afar off by those who travel in wagons drawn by asses, to see the land and the inhabitants thereof. I send this unto thee from my bower on the bank of the brook Sareph, where I sit in the heat of the day, with my sheep and lambs around me. I can tell thee nothing that will give thee greater pleasure than the prosperity of thy sister's son, Methuselah, who is now three hundred and seventeen years old. He is more beloved by the good people than any other young man in all the country of the hills. He has erected seventeen cities, and in one of them there are two hundred houses. He has sought out many inventions, and has added two marks to those with which Zimonidah taught us to grave the thoughts of our minds upon the rocks. His wife, Kerekka-harbach, has been slain by the thunder while she was drawing water for her flocks at the well Ezelah. When the twenty-nine years of mourning shall be numbered, according to the custom of the land, we believe that he will take unto himself a new wife. All the daughters of the land say that

he is a fairer, and a better, and a stronger man, than any of those who have taken the name of the Sons of God. There is not one of the Giants that can outrun him in the race, or lay him down upon the ground by the strength of the arms. Tirezai, the daughter of the ruler Maphuzzath, a very fair young woman, two hundred and twenty-seven years old, has composed to the harp, that Jubal gave to her in honour of her beauty and virtue, a noble song in praise of Methuselah. When he shall be five hundred and fifty years old, and shall be numbered among the elders, he will be chosen one of the chief rulers of the people. Wilt thou, friend of my life, send me the thoughts of thy heart, graven upon a piece of the soft rock of the cave Benon? I pray unto the LORD God that thy sons may be as the pillars of the altar, and thy daughters as the flowers of the garden,

EPISTLE II.

from the city of Evanam, in the great plain of Zebomar, on the fourteenth day of the eleventh New Moon, in the year of the Creation of Adam and Eve, One Thousand and Nine.

ZARBANAD, the son of Arphazah, to Mahalah, the son of Zabach, at the city of Enoch, in the land of Nod, Health and all Happiness.

The epistle of the beloved companion of my youth was sent to me by Morah, the driver of the wagon in which our good old uncle Seth was travelling to visit his sons and daughters in the vale of Zamzummah. In going down the hill of Avek, the asses were frightened by the fall of a part of the rock that hung over the path, and ran like the little bird of the air when pursued by the terrible eagle. The wagon was torn in pieces, and the epistle of my friend was broken into fragments. Although thy thoughts, graven upon the rock of Sareph, are as dear to me as the old blind camel upon whose hard back I rode over the plain of Mashkittim, yet thou wilt believe me if I that the broken arm of our aged uncle was the cause of more tears to myself and my daughters than the loss of what thou hadst written. Verily, it was not all lost. Morah is just and faithful. He gathered up the broken pieces of the stone and

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brought them to my tent. I put them together carefully, but they were so shattered and defaced, that I could find out but a few of the many thoughts which thou hadst graven for me. O, thou friend of my heart, while I agree with thee that the invention of graving our thoughts upon stone and sending them to our distant friends is a great benefit and a great pleasure to poor mortals, let us hope that the time will come when a better invention will be found out. Mazillah, the daughter of the priest Jehugael, thinks that we might mark our thoughts upon the leaves of the palm tree, with the juice of an herb which she has found in the valley of Zizim. I often think that the day may come when we may mark them upon a substance thin and white like the covering of our tents, with the water of some plant thick and black like the cloud in the time of thunder. The pouring out of the mind of one friend to another may then be contained in the corner of the folding of a robe, and will not be lost by the falling of a little bank of sand, or the stumbling of an ass

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Few and evil, friend of my soul, are the days of our years. It was revealed to Father Adam that no man should ever live to be one thousand years old, and that in the course of ages, human life should be so shortened that few would live to the age of one hundred. If those who are now born knew that they were to live but one hundred years, could they wish to live at all? We have only time to build a few cities, to raise up families of two or three hundred sons and daughters, and lo, we are called to go down to the dark house of the grave! We see indeed our children and the children of our children for a number of generations, spreading over the country of the east, and it gives us great joy. But, alas! Where will they all go in the day of that dreadful change of which Adam spake? And how many are the signs before our eyes that such a change is coming. We have seen both the greater and the lesser Lights of Heaven darkened for a time. The greater Light does not shine on every day as it did in Eden. In the last year it was darkened by black shades during more than twenty days. Instead of the pure and soft dews that were wont every evening and every morning to refresh the herbs and the plants, we sometimes suffer many evils from the shower, the tempest, or the whirlwind. The east wind has sometimes blown during the greatest part of a day, and has made the head dizzy and the

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