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a solitary cave near the hanks of Killarney, there lived an ancient hermit; far retired from the bustle and pleasures of the city, he spent his days in the praise of his divine Creator. But here we may observe the power of sin in man. A suggestion arose in his heart, that vice should triumph over virtue. Pondering on the various accounts he received, he began to doubt the power of Divine Providence; he therefore resolved to travel as a pilgrim, and setting out one morning, travelled the pathless grass until mid-day alone; he at length fell in with a young man who saluted him, and though far different in years, they were delighted with each other's company. The sun had sunk below the horizon when our travellers began to think of resting their weary limbs. They stopped at a large house, and were welcomed by the generous owner, who was ever happy in making his house the traveller's home, not from charity or any good, but from the love of praise. After partaking of an elegant repast, they were conducted to beds of down.

In the morning, before they recommenced their journey, each drank a golden goblet full of wine. When a good distance from the house, the youth produced the golden cup which he had taken from the kind nobleman, and showed it to the hermit, which greatly surprised him, and he could not help thinking it hard that such generous actions should be so basely rewarded. While thus they journeyed, on a sudden the skies were covered with heavy black clouds, which presaged an approaching storm. Our travellers sought repose in a large well-built house. The owner was a great miser, whose door was ever shut against those in distress:—Long did they knock in a piteous condition, battered with the wind and rain: at length the old miser opens the door, and by a half welcome, admits the shivering pair; he brought them a morsel of bread of the coarsest sort, with a glass of wine, which he