ORIGINAL. THE STUDENT OF TARSUS. BY CLEMENT E. BABB. ALONG the banks of the Cydnus a boy was wandering alone. There was no lecture that day in the school of Crysippus the philosopher. It was a high festival in honor of Jupiter Capitolinus--and wo to the provincial city which worshipped not the gods of the world's mistress! The trumpets were sounding loud and triumphantly from the marble portico of the temple. The priests were preparing. the garlanded victims for the sacrifice. The crowd were thronging every approach to the sacred enclosure, and shouting the praises of the "Sire of Gods." In those rolls which had been heirlooms for centuries in his father's house, the boy had read about the living and true God, and he could not bear to see men offer sacrifice to a monster of their own imaginations-a deified compound of their vices and their passions. His taste, which had been cultivated by the study of the purest Grecian models, and his faith, which he had learned from his mother in infancy, and which had been nourished by the wonderful history of his nation, both hurried him away from that gorgeous but unmeaning spectacle. Indignation was flashing from his eyes as he climbed along the ravine, through which the stream came down the mountain; but, the murmur of the water, and the music of the wind as it swept through the cedar groves, calmed his spirit; and when he stood on the brow of the ascent, and looked eastward upon Mount Taurus as it stretched away in the distance, with many of its proud heads crowned by the gorgeous clouds of an Oriental morning; then turned westward, to gaze upon the Mediterranean, whose waves dashed as restlessly as those of the ocean, while the hills and plains of Cyprus slept in calm beauty on its troubled breast, he forgot all about the city, and thought only of God. The granite peak of Horeb seemed to rise before him. Jehovah had come down upon it; the clouds which are his pavilion, were hung thick about it, and thunderings, and lightnings, and the sound of |