Phenix Gazette

ALEXANDRIA GAZETTE.
A TALE FOR THE TIMES.
FROM THE FRENCH.

A good peasant was returning to his house one evening, after having worked all day, about a league from the city. He left his house early in the morning, and was very much fatigued and downcast, like the setting sun. As he was entering the gates of the city, he met one of his companions, who said to him, have you heard the news? our parson is just dead. 'Oh, Heaven!' cried the worthy fellow, what will become of the parish!' Wrapped in painful reflection, he continued to walk towards his abode. 'What will they do?' said he; to-morrow is Sunday - there will be no high mass. What will they say in the city when they have no high mass? The young girls wish to communicate, the old ones to pray, and my wife wants to confess. What shall we do?'
While he was indulging in these reflections, he was met by another friend. Ah, Peter,' said he, 'do you know the news?' Yes, our parson is dead.' ' Pooh, it is something else - the judge is dead, and will be buried to-morrow.'
Good heaven!' cried the poor countryman, what will become of the district? no judge, we are undone! If we had a bit of a revolution, who would come and harangue us in the market place? who will protect us now? who will be our refuge now the judge is dead?'
A few steps onward our worthy friend met a third person whom he knew: There is bad news - terrible news - stirring!' said the new comer. 'What is it? Holy Virgin! what more terrible news than the death of the judge?' Why the King is dead, neighbor Peter. It is in the newspapers to day.' Gracious Providence, who will now defend the kingdom?'
The reflections of the honest peasant were full of bitterness and sorrow, when he cogitated on the terrible misfortunes which developed themselves in so short a space as a quarter of an hour, so that when he entered his cottage he seated himself with a sorrowful air, by the chimney corner, without saying a word to his wife, or without lifting his little girl on his knee, as was his usual custom in the afternoon.
The family were all in consternation almost equalling his own Peter, Peter!' said his old mother in a hollow tone, and, shaking her head. what think you has occurred? The Pope's dead; the news is stuck up against the church.' Powers above!' cried Peter. what will become of the world?' For Peter thought the world was governed by the Pope, and that the everlasting city was the capital of the earth.
The Pope's gone', thought he; 'the king's dead - the Judge has gone to his last account, and the parson is buried! Heaven! what will to morrow produce? Will the sun rise? We shall no longer labor, no longer sow, no longer reap, and the poor will die of famine!'
Poor fellow! he sometimes got hold of a newspaper, and remembered often to have seen, 'The country in mourning.' This phrase now occurred to him - he depicted to himself the whole of France in black, and sighed deeply.
His night was almost sleepless; at the first ray of the sun, however, disturbed at what had happened, and anticipating all sorts of disasters, still more fearful, he went out quietly, and instead of taking as usual the way to the fields, he returned towards the great square.
A spring sun was rising in the horizon - the flowers, covered with dew, were drying themselves, raising their heads to the sunbeams; the birds were singing; the turf had renewed its verdure, and seemed revived by the freshness of the night; the sky was clear; the river full flowing and calm; Peter felt his breath at ease in spite of himself; he paused and looked about him.
The tradesmen were opening their shops and sweeping the fronts of their doors; - the mechanics were going to their work, singing in chorus; the market was filling with cattle, horses bearing baskets and carts: children, milk women and soldiers, were walking about in all directions The deuce!' thought Peter. shall I be the only one unoccupied? If all the people are going to work, they know more of the matter than I do. They have been told no doubt, as well as I have, that the Pope is dead; yet they work notwithstanding, and they appear to do all as usual The birds sing as loudly as before, and the children cry as much as ever.'
The worthy laborer reflected for some time, and then turning towards the piece of land which he was cultivating, with his head erect, and his mind assured, he went to his plough like a drunkard to his glass. Get up.' said he, goading his ox, it seems that only the pope, the king, the judge, and the parson are dead - all the rest of the world is as well as ever.'