The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1871-11-18
Sleeping Seventy Summers.
THE RIP VAN wINKLE OF THE TALMUD.

l
one or two particulars to the world-renown
ed story of Rip Van Wrinkle, which Wash
ington Irving gave to the world, and which
has been revived in the drama by Mr.. Jos
Jefferson.
This Rabbi was learned above his peers
and many reverenced him for his wisdom
and erudition. But he perceived not the
necessity for that charity and forethought
which should induce individuals to make
provisions for those coming after them,
and therefore he received the stern lesson
An old man was planting carob tree,
and displayed heartiness which seemed
to indicate that he expected to enjoy the
the results of his labor. Coniah regarded
him in establishment and certain degree
of contempt, for it is tradition of the
Talmud that carob tree does not bear
fruit till seventy years after it has been
planted.
"Do you expect to eat of the fruit of
this tree?' the Rabbi asked, with shruo
of d:sdain.
Rabbi" answered the old man meekly,
but with dignity, "when l was little
child this field abounded with carob trees
laden with fruit. My fathers had planted
them for me; plant this tree for my chill
dren.'
Coniah turned away murmuring: "For
his children. Blind how blind we are
We live in this world but brief period,
and yet presume to provide for those that
will come after us. They must die as well
as we. Our existence was not given us
merely for this world Every man ought
to consider his heavenly life, and forego all
care or interest about the few days that he
and others will spend here What is our
lot, or the lot of our children, is of little
account. We are destined for heaven and
that is enough
While he was meditating in this manner,
Coniah laid down upon the ground, Feel
ing the sensation of hunger, he drew from
his pocket piece of bread and ate, contin-
uing his reflections. Presently he became
drowsy, and fell asleep. He awoke not at
all during that day, nor during that night
! The day returned, and the night began
again, but still he slept. Thus passed
many days and nights, during which he
awoke not. A wall of stone was erected
over him by miracle, and shut him from
the light of man.
Thus for years he lay incarcerated as in
tomb. Generations passed away, and
numerous events occurred to change the
aspect Of the world.
Finally seventy years were accomplished,
and the stony sepulchre removed, restoring
| Coniah to the light of day.
He awoke as the sun assembled the meri-
dian and exclaimed:
"Verily, have slept long 1t was lit
| tie before the dusk of evening when Law
down, and now the sun is midway in the
sky"
He arose and walked to the place where
he had reproached the old man who planted
the tree for posteri:y. Behold, it was fully
grown, and boy stood near eating of its
| fruit.
Coniah accosted him:
My young friend, who planted that
| carob tree %
Not T. replied the youth, "for it
requires many years for such tree to
mature and yield its fruit. My father
declares to me that my grandfather planted
| it,
Coniah heard this with a feeling of hor
ror.
"There can be no mistake said he to
himself, there it was that | rebuked the
old man, and there laid down and slept.
The tree bears fruit and have been sleep
ing for seventy years.
Full of anxiety, he directed his footsteps
towards the city where he dwelt. But he
soon paused in sad bewilderment The old
path was gone, and the familiar trees and
landmarks had disappeared. The houses
had put on an unfamiliar appearance
Everything around him was strange and
new.
At length he discovered the way, and he
came to the city. A multitude swarmed
in the streets. Coniah looked sharply, but
no face could he descry that had ever been
known to him. Once he had host of
n I1Q hxy
| any one. For him was no welcome, no
word of greeting. A terrible sense of iso-
lation came over him. He was alone in the
midst of that crowd, as much so as had he
been in the solitude of desert. Bitter
| was the anguish of that hour. A faint
hope only remained to mitigate the fierce
mes Of his despair.
NO more,'' said he to himself, ono
more have friends and acquaintance.
But my family yet remains to me. With
them may yet find a home, and consola-
ton and peace
With throbbing heart he hastened to the
house where he had dwelt. But as he went
along his confidence abated. He could not
recognize Ills home, neither the walls nor
the roof Everything was new. With
feeling OF hesitation he entered. Children
were at play; the mother aided in their
sports, while the father, hale middle-aged
man, was ut work. The moment that
Coniah was perceived all were still, and
regarded him with apprehension and looks
of suspicibr. Addressing himself to the
man, he sai:
Call f.. me the son of Coniah."
"The sol of Coniah." exclaimed the
man in establishment; she has long since
slept with Lis fathers
Vino tlap are vor1 o,f Cnpiab aSEa5
81 am IT, grandson of Coniah."
Overjoyrd, Coniah extended his arms to
embrace him, exclaiming: 81 am your
grandfather
You my grandfather No. l never
saw you, aud l know you not.
The distracted Coniah began to tell the
story of his wonderful sleep and to entreat
for the affection of his grandson. But the
latter shook his head and answered:
"You may remain here with me and do
what you please; but do not ask my love.
| have never seen you before, and l know
you not"
So Coniah remained; but his life was
wretched. There was no memory to con-
meet him with his family and endear them
to each other. He was in solitude, although
surrounded by living persons; for they had
never seen him before, and their hearts
were not opened toward him. He was
never more than stranger who abode with
them.
He visited the elderly gentlemen of the
city, but no one could recognize him. They
remembered the name of Coniah, the great
rabbi, but when he attempted to make
himself known they repulsed him angrily,
saying:
You are imposing upon us. Coniah
has been dead these many, many years.
You cannot be he"
So he wandered about with his terrible
sorrow, seeking some kinsman or friend to
love and comfort him. But it was in vain.
He could be received nowhere without a
name, and when he insisted upon his own,
he was secuted as an imposter.
One day he entered into the college where
once nc had been accustomed to teach and
receive honor. To avoid reproach, he fore
bore to mention his name or speak of him
self A learned discussion was going on,
and he listened with his old eagerness. As
each man argued he would quote Coniah,
his rules, his examples, his opinions, as
men speak of one for long time kead.
There sat the living Coniah, and dared
not utter a word. 1t was intolcrable: he
wept bitterly, and his cheeks flowed with
scaldinG tears.