man do? His hour had come, and he felt it was a terrible thing for a soul unprepared, to fall into the hands of the living God!

George knelt by his side, and threw back from his noble brow his matted locks, and bending over him. caught his last words, which were these; "George, I am going fast; oh, would that I had remained with you, and spent this holy day in reading those sacred pages-I'm not prepared to die! be warned by me, be sober and forget not, as I have done, the prayers of a mother." With that word on his lips, his spirit fled to its final account.

At sunset his comrades carried him ashore and buried him in the little church-yard on the hill-side, where he now sleeps. From his grave comes a warn ing voice, "Prepare to meet thy God!"

HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH.

"Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour,
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin!"

THUS sings the highland bard of the triumph of the Christian's hope. In still sublimer language does the Apostle Paul describe the victor's death song, as he confronts those terrible monsters that have so long ruled and awed the human race. "Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh Grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God that giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

Come hither ye skeptics who have spent your lives in endeavoring to disprove the reality of the Christian religion by your vain subtleties, come with me to the chamber of the dying saint. The hour of his departure has come-he feels the chilling billows of Jordan, and though the tongue may be motionless, the eye, upturned, beams with celestial fire, and the smile of heaven plays on his pale features. Draw nearer still, and gaze on this spectacle of moral sublimity. Surely there must be a divine reality to his belief, a power in the religion of the Cross, that not only has given him, energy and hope throughout his earthly pilgrimage, but at the trying hour of dissolution infuses into his soul such triumphant joy!

How unlike the exit of Hume or Voltaire, who having sought peace under "a refuge of lies," find themselves at death taking a "leap in the dark." The former, although cheerful, and even jocose, in the presence of his friends, when left alone would become a prey to the most agonizing despair.

On the the contrary, the Christian has embraced a religion, the principles of which are in perfect accordance with the laws of his nature, and now sustained by an unfaltering trust, he looks upward, and by faith beholds the gates of Paradise on silver hinges turning,' wide open to receive his spirit.

6

The Grecian exile on leaving his native land for the last time, exultingly cried, as he launched forth on the boundless deep,

"Beyond this wild, dark, heaving sea,

There is a better home for me,

A welcomer, a dearer shore."

With a deeper joy and a more glorious anticipation does the Christian drop the chains of flesh and sin that long have bound him, and leaving his earthly prison-house, soars above to meet his divine Redeemer in Heaven. He has an anchor cast withing the vail, and none ever knew that mooring fail. He has a hope that maketh not ashamed, a hope grounded on the promises of God, and amid the darkest night of adversity he is cheered by the sun-light of God's countenance, and the blessed assurance of Jesus, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."

THE STAR OF HOPE.

Dec. 1853.

STAR OF HOPE! to pilgrims weary,
Sweetly beams that light on me :
Through the pathless desert dreary
Now its radiance clear I see,

When my bark the waves are tossing,

On the stormy sea of life,

STAR OF HOPE! afar arising,

Chase the darkness, still the strife.

Fearlessly amid the danger,

Onward may it guide my way,

Till within the vail I anchor,

Safely in eternal day.

Moored secure within the haven,

Peaceful sink the billows far,

Then amid the Light of heaven,
Gently sets my GUIDING STAR!

THE LOST AND THE RECLAIMED.*

CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD'S HOME.

"The sun had set, and up the eastern sky,
Like a maiden on a lonely pilgrimage,

Moved the pale star of eve."

THE mellow light of sunset yet lingered, and cast its golden hues over the rippling waters of the Penobscot, as they slowly flowed on to the sea. Along the river side, in sequestered beauty, extended the village of SThe verdant bank crowned with summer flowers and foliage, were reflected in the calm bosom of the water below. Near the winding shore was a row of stately elms, whose graceful branches overhung a quiet mansion, which to the eye of the passing traveller presented the picture of rural beauty and domestic comfort. Here were well-filled granaries, and there the neat white dairy house, with the honey-suckle and the jessamine grown over the thatch.

Over a beautiful lawn in front of the house, sporting amid the fragrant flowers, roamed a lovely girl of scarce six summers. Her fair, beaming countenance, her clear blue eyes sparkling with joy, and her merry

*This narrative carries its own moral. It is but one in a thousand similar cases that occur every year in our larger cities. The subject of this sketch died in Boston, July 1852, aged 18 years.