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THE 
 
 PASTOR'S STORY 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER PIECES; 
 
 OR, 
 
 |ti0S4 mA $Qti\i^, 
 
 BY M, A. H. GAY. 
 
 SEVENTH EDITION. 
 
 MEMPHIS, TENN.: 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY GOODWYN & Ca 
 
 1871. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the Office of the Clerk 
 of the Superior Court of DeKalb county, Georgia, 27th day of 
 August, 1860. 
 
 In Exchange 
 
 Duke UniverBitf 
 
 aUN 2 3 19b2 
 

 TO 
 
 %\t f aHu 0{ (BtaxfiK, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 If MOST RESPECTFULLY D E D I C A T B B^ 
 
 BY 
 
 A NATIVE GEORGIAN. 
 
^ 
 
Conttnh. 
 
 Local attachinents 9 
 
 The little grave 18 
 
 To my love 20 
 
 Charity.... 22 
 
 My valley home 25 
 
 The dew-drop : 27 
 
 Is this, Aen, life? 29 
 
 The pastor's story 35 
 
 Lines to a young lady , 78 
 
 The robin 80 
 
 Full many a flower 82 
 
 To Mary 90 
 
 An elegy on the death of a young lady 92 
 
 Happiness 94 
 
 Forget thee 95 
 
 Lines 96 
 
 The Sabbath 98 
 
 The unfortunate 99 
 
 Temperance address 101 
 
 My childhood's home 109 
 
 Tallahassee Falls Ill 
 
 The ancient languages , 114 
 
 Farewell, Alabama 118 
 
 My heart to-night 120 
 
 T 
 
VI. CONTENTS. 
 
 The power of trifles 126 
 
 To Mary 136 
 
 Lines to my sister 13" 
 
 Sing gently 14( 
 
 Eeligion 14^ 
 
 Don't cry, my bady 144 
 
 The Sabbath 149 
 
 Oothcalooga 154 
 
 The salvation of the soul 156 
 
 The busy-body 182 
 
 To Ann 184 
 
 Song 185 
 
 "Willie to Mollie 187 
 
 A vision * 189 
 
 I'll love thee 195 
 
 Song 196 
 
 To Maria 198 
 
 A leaflet from life's book 200 
 
 The nineteenth century 205 
 
 To God all trusts belong 223 
 
 Fragment 225 
 
 An undevout astronomer is mad 227 
 
 The dream of love 234 
 
 My spirit groom 238 
 
 An oasis 241 
 
 My bird 245 
 
 Verses to a beautiful though very sad-looking young lady the 
 
 writer saw in Southwestern Georgia 247 
 
 In the graveyard 250 
 
 Memory 257 
 
 A Fragment 259 
 
 The Zephyr 262 
 
 Spring » 264 
 
. / 
 
 THE 
 
 PASTOR'S STORY. 
 
PROSE AND POETEY. 
 
 LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 
 
 There is no principle of the human heart more 
 deeply planted, or more difficult to eradicate, than 
 that of local attachments. 
 
 Every nation on the globe, despite the disadvan- 
 tages of its government or geographical position, 
 clings to its native land with intense devotion. 
 
 The Icelander, surrounded as he is by eternal 
 snow, and liable at any moment to be engulfed in 
 the fiery floods of some volcanic eruption, yet ex- 
 claims with heartfelt emotion, ^'Iceland is the best 
 land the sun shines upon !'* 
 
 The Switzer, far from home, bears upon his heart 
 the .image of his own cloud-capped Alps, and the 
 blue lakes sleeping at their base. 
 
 The Scotsman loves his heather hills; and the 
 
 German never fails to speak the praises of his 
 
 ^'fatherland." 
 
 1* (9) 
 
10 PROSF AND POETRY. 
 
 Even tlie poor son of Erin, driven from his own 
 green isle to seek in the land of the free an asylum 
 from want and British tyranny, can yet look back 
 with ^'swelling heart and a tear-stained cheek'* 
 upon the receding clifts of the Emerald Isle. In 
 that degraded but lovely land his childhood was 
 spent ; and there in the quiet churchyard sleeps his 
 young wife — she who when perishing from hunger 
 could still smile for his sake. 
 
 The emigrant ship glides swiftly over the waves, 
 bearing him on to that land where there is ''work 
 for all, and bread enough to spare;" but who can 
 blame him for vowing, ''I'll ne'er forget old Ire- 
 land !" And as he thinks of the magnificent forests 
 of the l^ew World, he exclaims : 
 
 *' Often in those grand old "woods 
 I'll sit and shut my eyes, 
 And my heart will wander back again 
 To the spot where Mary lies." 
 
 But while love of country is a universal prin- 
 ciple, existing alike in millions of human hearts, at 
 the same time each has his own particular home, 
 which none can love so well as himself. Home ! 
 WTiat heart does not thrill at the sound of that 
 word ? It is closely connected with all that is dear 
 on earth, whether past, present, or prospective. 
 Within its well-remembered walls our first childish 
 
LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 11 
 
 accents were heard ; and there the early buddings 
 of intellect were watered and trained by a mother's 
 guiding hand. By its fireside, impressions were 
 made which ambition and worldly cares may dim 
 but cannot obliterate. 
 
 The traveller may visit the palaces of kings and 
 princes, and be a welcome guest at the hearth- 
 stones of a foreign land, but he still yearns for home 
 and the loved ones there. He engages passage on 
 a homeward-bound vessel, and at last, after many 
 wanderings by sea and by land, he is nearing the 
 goal for which he has sighed. He has but to cross 
 the little bridge, surmount the brow of the hill, and 
 the old farm-house bursts upon his anxious vision, 
 surrounded by the same beautiful lilacs and clus- 
 tering vines. With trembling hand he lifts the 
 gate-latch ; creeping on tiptoe he enters the porch, 
 and with straining eje peeps in upon the familj^ 
 group, all unconscious of his approach. With 
 grateful heart he finds that not one is missing from 
 that loved circle ; his heart swells with uncon- 
 trollable emotion, and in the very fulness of grati- 
 tude he exclaims : 
 
 " Be it ever so humble, 
 
 There's no place like home." 
 
 The sailor may look with admiring wonder on 
 
12 PBOSB AND POBTRY- 
 
 the beauties, the majesty of the great deep, when 
 its waves are sleeping beneath the silvery moon- 
 beams, or when 
 
 **The foam- wreath glows with its phosphor light, 
 Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow." 
 
 He may gaze on these same waves when lashed in 
 fary by the tempest's wrath, but yet, "oft in the 
 stilly night" he weeps as there steal over his soul 
 the loved visions of home. 
 
 The tottering steps of the aged pilgrim are near- 
 ing the verge of Jordan. He has but little recol- 
 lection of the scenes through which he has but 
 recently passed, but speak to him of the home of 
 his early youth, and the dim eye will brighten, and 
 the faltering tongue grow eloquent, as it discourses 
 of the days of yore. All else may be forgotten, but 
 the home of childhood, never. 
 
 Who does not cherish a strong attachment for 
 the old schoolhouse, where first they learned to say 
 A, B, C, etc., the elements of all subsequent attain- 
 ments? It may be an humble building of logs, 
 but we love it for all that. As years roll on, we 
 may enter a more dignified structure, but whether 
 it be academy, seminary, or college, our attach- 
 ment for the place where our schooldays were 
 spent is still the same. Each room has its own 
 
LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 13 
 
 peculiar associations, not the less dear because 
 sometimes sad. They must be callous indeed who 
 do not love the very spot where, day by day, the 
 powers of the soul are consciously expanded, its 
 glorious attributes developed, while listening to the 
 sublime truths of physical science, or the philoso- 
 phy of the mind, expounded by a gifted and beloved 
 teacher. 
 
 Among ''the pictures that hang on memory's 
 wall,*' is one of a little church, situated on a gently 
 rising knoll, and almost surrounded by a group of 
 forest trees, untouched by the woodman's axe. 
 Apart from the world, there is nothing to disturb 
 its sacred silence, save the soft hymn of a bird, 
 heard at intervals amid its leafy shades. At the 
 sunset hour, how sweet it is to linger about this 
 lovely, this consecrated spot, and meditate upon 
 the solemn events which have here transpired ! 
 How vividly we recall the lineaments of the faithful 
 pastor, who for years has ministered to the people 
 wont to assemble here ! How often from the sacred 
 desk have the unsearchable riches of Christ's dying 
 love been proclaimed, the thoughtless aroused, and 
 the heavy-laden soul relieved of its burden as it 
 was brought to the foot of the cross, and pointed to 
 the crown of immortality ! Just in sight, on yonder 
 hill -side, gleam the white marble pillars which 
 
14 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 serve to mark the last resting-place of fallen human- 
 ity. There many a worn soldier of the cross, with 
 ''feet torn and bleeding by the way," lays him 
 down in peace to sleep till the last trump shall 
 awake him to the resurrection of the just. There 
 are little hillocks, too, beneath whose green sod lies 
 many a household pet. In every part of the 
 grounds, paths are seen leading to the graves of the 
 loved and lost, proving that some at least love even 
 the city of the dead. 
 
 It may be my lot to sit beneath the dome of some 
 lofty cathedral or magnificent church, where ele- 
 gance meets the eye and fills the mind with ad- 
 miration, and the pealing notes of the full-toned 
 organ seem borrowed from angel harps ; but yet 
 amid all this splendor my heart would wander 
 back again to its own loved village church. It 
 may be my lot to roam through the beautiful 
 cemeteries of the opulent, where the hand of art 
 has done much to rob the place of its wonted 
 solemnity, and 
 
 ** The sculptor's art exhaust the pomp of woe, 
 And storied urns record who rests below ;" 
 
 but yet amid all this mockery my heart would 
 wander back again to its own loved village grave- 
 yard, boasting no sacrilegious pomp. 
 
 Local attachments: but for this principle, many 
 
LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 15 
 
 wise purposes had been defeated ; man would not 
 have remained in one place sufficiently long to have 
 made those improvements which so greatly contri- 
 bute to the comfort and enjoyment of the human 
 race ; convenient and beautiful homes would never 
 have been erected, nor stately cities built. In pro- 
 portion as civilization advances, local attachments 
 increase. The nomadic tribes of ancient Britain, 
 and other countries, had no fixed habitations, but 
 wandered from place to place in quest of pasturage 
 for their flocks and herds. Now the homes of 
 England show that these aborigines have been suc- 
 ceeded by a nobler race, created for a higher des- 
 tinv: 
 
 ** The Saxon, in his pride of high descent, 
 And Gaul, with spirit harp of finer strings,'* 
 
 have reared ancestral homes, which will be loved 
 and honored throughout all succeeding generations. 
 Some there may be who have no local attach- 
 ments. Such we do not envy, for surely their 
 hearts must be as hard as the nether millstone. 
 Great and good men have always loved native 
 land and native home. List to the beautiful author 
 of the Course of Time : 
 
 *< Nor do I of earthly sort remember — 
 If partial feeling to my native place 
 Lead not my lyre astray — of fairer view, 
 
16 PEOSEANDPOli.TRY. 
 
 And comelier walk, than the blue mountain paths 
 
 And snowy cliffs of Albion renowned. 
 
 Nor do I of that isle remember aught 
 
 Of prospect more sublime and beautiful, 
 
 Than Scotia's northern battlement of hills, 
 
 Which I from my father's house beheld, 
 
 At dawn of life ; beloved in memory still." 
 
 An anecdote illustrating Daniel Webster's love 
 of home is doubtless familiar to many. He was 
 born in a log-cabin, raised among tbe snow-drifts 
 of New Hampshire. Years after, when his un- 
 rivalled eloquence and statesmanship had made 
 him a nation's idol, he still paid an annual visit to 
 the remains of this rural home. His own words 
 are : " I love to dwell on the tender recollections, 
 the kindred ties, the early affections and narrations 
 and incidents, which mingle with all I know of this 
 primitive family abode, and I weep to think that 
 none who then inhabited it are now among the 
 living.'' 
 
 To local attachments may be ascribed the high 
 position which America occupies among the na- 
 tions of the earth. It was the love of country and 
 the love of home that nerved our forefathers for 
 the great revolutionary struggle, and we, their 
 posterity, are this day the witnesses of the glorious 
 result — the recipients of the inestimable benefits. 
 
 But notwithstanding the many good effects 
 
LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 17 
 
 which have resulted from this principle, still it 
 Qiight not to be allowed to fasten our affections 
 too closely about this perishing earth — it ought 
 not to be allowed to entwine the tendrils of our 
 hearts too closely around perishing objects. This 
 beautiful world, with all its lovely scenes, must 
 pass away. There is but one locality which we 
 can safely love with all the heart, and dread not 
 its loss ! That place is heaven. We need not 
 fear that we can ever have too strong an attach- 
 ment for that bright abode. When once sheltered 
 within its pearly gates, we will go no more out 
 for ever ; for there no parting is known, and there 
 "no farewell tear is shed." 
 
18 P H S B A N D P E T E Y, 
 
 THE LITTLE GRAVE. 
 
 There is a little grave to memory dear, 
 
 In a field 'tis situate — a river near. 
 
 No marble slab marks that consecrated spot : 
 
 Though neglected, by me 'twill ne'er be forgot. 
 
 A lovely little rosebud lies withered there, 
 
 Its beauty and fragrance for this earth too fair ; 
 
 Death, the archer, pierced it — ^transformed it to 
 
 clay, 
 But Heaven snatched the spirit and bore it away 
 
 To realms full of bliss, of purity, and love, 
 
 To join the sweet choir of blest children above : 
 
 Sing, angel sister, I am glad thou art gone 
 
 From this world full of troubles and hearts forlorn. 
 
 I am glad thou hast escaped the tempter's snares ; 
 I am glad thou never breathed the sinner's prayers ; 
 I am glad thou art with Christ whilst tender and 
 
 young, 
 For surely by such his praises should be sung ! 
 
IHE LITTLE GRAVE. 19 
 
 Thou art with our father, who before thee went, 
 And an angel, it may be, after thee sent ! 
 And with our grandparents — aged saints are they, 
 Basking in the light of God's eternal day! 
 
 Thou art a sparkling diamond in Jehovah's crown, 
 Borne high over earth's woes, and secure from its 
 
 frown ! 
 Thou art a bright star in the courts of heaven, 
 Shining with lustre to thee by God given ! 
 
 Thou art a rich-toned organ, whose softest peal 
 Would fill the whole earth, and its saddest heart 
 
 heal ! 
 Thou aH sister to Jesus ! to him very dear — 
 The relationship made by God, who is near ! 
 
 Sing on, happy spirit ! in realms of bliss sing ; 
 Shine on, bright star! in the courts of heaven 
 
 shine ! 
 Peal on, sweet-toned organ ! angels are lisVning 
 To the sister of Jesus — the sister of mine ! 
 
20 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 TO MY LOVE. 
 
 Dost thou think of me, loved one ? 
 
 O dost thou think of me ? 
 When far from thy side I'm gone, 
 
 Who then doth cherish thee ? 
 
 Dost think of me at morn's sweet hour. 
 When holy thoughts have sway, 
 
 And as the sun in kingly power 
 Sends forth his farewell ray? 
 
 Dost think of me in silent prayer, 
 
 When purest spirits nigh, 
 To Dear the humble strain up there, 
 
 To Jesus Christ on high ? 
 
 If I were sure that through the day, 
 At morn and evening's hour. 
 
 And when thou kneel' et to God to pray 
 In closet or in bower, 
 
TOMYLOVE. 21 
 
 That tliou, loved one, of me dost think, 
 
 With soft affection's thrill, 
 Though I were standing on death's brink, 
 
 My soul with joy 'twould fill. 
 
22 PBOSK AND POETRY. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 ** Pure in her aims, and in her temper mild, 
 Her wisdom seems the wisdom of a child ; 
 She makes excuses, when she might condemn. 
 Reviled by those who hate her, prays for them ; 
 Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast — 
 The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
 Not soon provoked, however stung and teased. 
 And, if perchance made angry, soon appeased ; 
 She rather waives than will dispute her right. 
 And, injured, makes forgiveness a delight." Cowper. 
 
 In this age of ostentation and selfishness, charity 
 has almost lost its sweet meaning. Instead of the 
 pure, spontaneous offering of the heart, owing all 
 value to sentiment, it has become a humiliating 
 insult, resorted to by the rich to remind the poor 
 of their inferiority and dependence. Sometimes 
 people who have more than they know how to ap- 
 propriate, magnanimously (?) bestow generous dona- 
 tions on those possessing but little. But is that 
 charity V 
 
 Nor is great attention to public manifestations 
 any evidence that true charity exists. The most 
 
CHARITY. 23 
 
 selfish, heartless being on earth, governed alone by 
 the rule of self-interest, regardless of the responsi- 
 pility devolving on every individual to contribute 
 to the comfort of the indigent, to " clothe the naked 
 and feed the hungry,'' can converse as scientifically 
 of relieving distress as though it were the fragrant 
 breathing of a benevolent heart. 
 
 We are not, however, considering superficial or 
 aflfected charity, but that which had its birth in 
 heaven : that which suflTereth long ; envieth not ; 
 vaunteth not itself; seeketh not its own ; thinketh 
 no evil; and rejoiceth not in iniquity: that which 
 beareth all things ; believeth all good things ; 
 hopeth all good things ; and endureth all things. 
 
 Charity is the sister of Humility, and they re- 
 ciprocally strengthen each other; subduing all 
 malice, all hypocrisy, and all eyil-speaking ; spon- 
 taneously suggesting all that is forgiving, candid, 
 and compassionate ; striving always to think others 
 better than themselves ; never severe on the frailties 
 of others, because all are frail; declaiming not on 
 a mote in another's eye, because none are exempt. 
 
 Genuine charity leads its possessor to scenes of 
 poverty, misery, and crime ; gives simplicity to the 
 character; levels the difiFerences of the mind and 
 situation ; facilitates a mutual flow of afifection ; 
 and teaches the important truth, that the efficacy 
 
24 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 of means of usefulness depends not on their 
 imposing and expensive character, but on their 
 skilful and earnest application. 
 
 Shall we who have acquired the epithets of 
 "guardian angels," and "angels of mercy,'* per- 
 mit pride and selfishness to deprive us of the privi- 
 lege of being recognized in heaven as the instru- 
 ments of past alleviation ? 
 
 The most favored of us should consider our own 
 helplessness and inutility, unaided by Divine power, 
 and let frieTuhhip, love^ and truth influence our 
 every act. 
 
 As an elevated standard gives elevation to the 
 mind, let us compare our principles, motives, and 
 obligations with what our Saviour has done for us 
 and commanded us to do. And those who are 
 luxuriating in opulence should remember they have 
 an important trust to fill : to whom much is given, 
 of them much will be required. They are impera- 
 tively commanded to search out and relieve distress ; 
 and to consider their "mightiest efforts as a drop 
 of heavenly dew falling on the great salt waters.** 
 
MY VALLEY HOMB. 26 
 
 MY VALLEY HOME. 
 
 I LOVE my cottage by the moor, 
 With woodbine running o*er the door; 
 A green grass covering spread around, 
 With blossoms to adorn the ground. 
 I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
 But, sweeter far, it is my home 1 
 
 I love the sun that shines for me 
 Upon my cottage light and free : 
 It stirs again my bee's wild hum, 
 And brightens up my valley home. 
 I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
 But, sweeter far, it is my home ! 
 
 I love the moon that shines so bright, 
 I love the stars with their mild light; 
 They seem to linger near the spot, 
 They seem to smile upon the cot. 
 I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
 But, sweeter far, it is my home. 
 
26 PROSE AND POETRY* 
 
 All things around that place I love, 
 The earth beneath, the heavens above. 
 When time on earth with me is o'er, 
 0, lay me by that cottage door 1 
 There let me wait till God doth come. 
 To take me to my heavenly home. 
 
•THE DBW-DEOP. 27 
 
 THE DEW-DROP 
 
 It serves as morning beVrage, 
 We drink it when we sup ; 
 
 In ev'ry placa we find it, 
 Except the drunkard's cup." 
 
 No, you may search well from the bottom up, 
 No dew-drop you'll find in the drunkard's cup ; 
 But a Bohon Upas there you will find, 
 Which, after the body, destroys the mind. 
 
 Destroys the comfort of the father (dear, 
 Whose head bears the frost of many a year; 
 Destroys the peace of a fond mother's heart, 
 Who never in pleasure again takes part. 
 
 Destroys faith fraternal, in which there's love, 
 Caught from the angels in heaven above ; 
 Destroys affection too profound to tell. 
 Which a sister's bosom full long doth swell. 
 
28 PROSH ANB POETRY* 
 
 Destroys the happiness of her whose hand 
 Forms the brightest linklet in Hymen's band ; 
 Destroys the golden hopes of children young, 
 Whose joyous song of mirth too goon was sung. 
 
 Destroys the last fear of that Being great 
 Who created man for a high estate, 
 Who alone hath power the soul to save. 
 And rob of its victory the cold, dark grave ! 
 
 O ! you may search well from the bottom up, 
 No dew-drop you'll find in the drunkard's cup ; 
 But a Bohon Upas there you will find, 
 Which, after the body, destroys the mind* 
 
18 THIS» THEN, LIFE? 29 
 
 IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 
 
 Is this, then, life ? ! was I born for this — 
 
 To follow phantoms that elude the grasp ? 
 
 Or whatsoe'er secured, within my clasp 
 
 To withering lie ? as if an earthly kisa 
 
 Were doomed death's shuddering touch alone to greet I 
 
 life ! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss ? 
 Must the unattained allure my feet ? 
 
 The unattained with yearnings fill my breast, 
 That rob for aye the spirit of its rest ? 
 Yes, this is life, and everywhere I meet 
 Not victor's crowns, but wailings of defeat ! 
 
 1 falter not, for I have a test 
 
 That shall incite me onward, upward still ; 
 
 The present cannot sate, my soul it shall not fill. 
 
 From the cradle to the grave it is the lot of 
 humanity '^to follow phantoms that elude the 
 grasp/' The little child catches at the sunbeams 
 gilding the floor; he opens his tiny hand, expect- 
 ing to hehold a bright treasure, but it is not there. 
 He learns only by repeated disappointment that 
 those glittering rays have no tangible form ! 
 
 How ambitious, how confident is j^outh ! Its boast- 
 ful language is, " Others may have been defeated 
 
8C PROSE AKD POETRY. 
 
 in the battle of life, but, struggling, it may be, 
 with a mighty army, I shall vanquish every foe. 
 I shall trample under my feet every obstacle, and 
 at last stand foremost in the rank — stand highest 
 on the mount of earthly glory. A laurel wreath 
 of unfading green awaits my brow. And when, 
 full of honors, I shall have descended to the tomb, 
 I will leave behind me ' footprints upon the sands 
 of time,' which the tempestuous storms of the 
 world's commotion can never blot out!" Pause, 
 ambitious youth, and contemplate the career of 
 one who, like thyself, sought to win a brighter 
 fame than even a Caesar or an Alexander ! Earthly 
 glory was his idol. To this he devoted his time, his 
 talents, his best affections ; for this he was content 
 ^o sever the fond ties that bound a loving heart to 
 nis ! On the altar of earthly fame he recklessly sacri- 
 ficed his immortal soul. He became the most power- 
 ful potentate of Europe. Kings and Pontiffs trem- 
 bled at his name. But, alas ! how uncertain the 
 duration of earthly honor — of earthly greatness! 
 The hero of so many battles is at length subdued. 
 His conquerors decree that he shall be banished 
 to a lone isle of the ocean. There he spends a 
 few years in ignominious exile and sorrow; and 
 there, far from his native land, far from her to 
 whom he was dearer than the vital principle which 
 
IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 81 
 
 Bnstained her own unliappj^ life, he falls a victim 
 to death, the last great conqueror ! 
 
 The howling blast, the roaring billows, and 
 the pealing thunder, chant his requiem ! The 
 nations rejoice that he sleeps his last sleep, and 
 will lead against them his conquering forces no 
 more. 
 
 Such will ever be the fate of those who seek 
 merely for earthly fame — ^^of all the phantoms 
 fleeting in the mist of time, the most unsubstan- 
 tial, unessential shade." 
 
 In the common walks of life, with what delight- 
 ful emotions does the youthful mind look forward 
 to some anticipated scene of festivity ! Imagin- 
 ation is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of 
 joy. In fancy, the voluptuous votary of fashion 
 sees herself amid the festive throng, " the observed 
 of all observers.'' Her graceful form, arrayed in 
 snowy robes, is whirling through the mazes of 
 the joyous dance ; her eye is brightest, her step 
 is lightest in the gay assembly. 
 
 In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, 
 and the welcome hour arrives for her entrance 
 into the elysian world, of which she has had such 
 bright dreams. How fairy-like does every thing 
 appear to her enchanted vision ! each new scene 
 is more charming than* the last. But after a while 
 
S2 PEOSE AND POETRY. 
 
 slie finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all 
 is vanity : the flattery which once charmed her 
 soul, now grates harshly upon her ear; the ball- 
 room has lost its charms ; and with wasted health 
 and imbittered heart, she turns away with the 
 conviction that earthly pleasures cannot satisfy 
 the longings-, of the soul ! 
 
 Mark the care-worn countenance of him who 
 has wasted the best portion of life in the acquisition 
 of wealth ; not that he might be enabled to relieve 
 the wants of the destitute and afflicted, but that 
 he might be powerful, and leave a rich legacy 
 for his children when he is gone. Does his wealth 
 secure happiness ? Ah, no ! He has exhausted 
 his energies in accumulating a fortune, and re- 
 ceived naught but vexation of spirit in return. 
 He has sought for gold, and found but dross. 
 
 Such are life*s scenes ! Change and disappoint- 
 ment are written upon every leaf of Time's book. 
 The present seems cheerless, oftentimes sad, and 
 we look forward to the future for a *' reserved cup 
 of bliss ;*' the future comes, and we find the cup 
 empty, or sadly adulterated. Our dearest joys, how 
 fleeting they are ! 
 
 Our brightest, most beguiling hours, 
 How oft embellished bj earth's flowers I 
 
 We place our affections upon some cherished 
 
IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 33 
 
 friend, and that friend is taken from us by death ; 
 we bestow all the wealth of our affections upon 
 some idolized object, and that devotion is unre- 
 quited — perhaps held up in derision. 
 
 Life, however, has some sunny spots, but they 
 who seek happiness only from the world, find 
 but few of them. The gifted Byron, possessed 
 of rank and talents by which he swayed at will 
 the human heart, and at the waking of whose 
 "harp nations heard entranced,*' was most un- 
 happy ! 
 
 *'A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing. 
 Scorched and desolate and blasted soul, 
 A gloomy wilderness of dying thought — 
 Repined and groaned and withered from the earth.'* 
 
 The desire felt by every one for bliss which 
 cannot be realized on earth, is a sure proof of the 
 souPs immortality ; it is vain to endeavor to sate 
 its yearnings with terrene pleasures, riches, or 
 honors. 
 
 There is but one thing that can satisfy the soul, 
 and that is, the restoration of the innocence it 
 originally possessed. The purity and consequent 
 enjoyment of the soul were lost when man sinned 
 against God ; to restore that lost purity and conse- 
 quent enjoyment, Christ died on the cross, and if it 
 
 is made a partaker of salvation, it has many fore- 
 
 2* 
 
34 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 tastes of the bliss which awaits it in eternity. And, 
 though bowed down by the sorrows of earth, 
 the time will come when the ransomed soul, 
 perfectly free from care and earth's changes, 
 shall be full of happiness in the presence of the 
 Lord. That consoling assurance, life ! is the 
 cup of bliss reserved to allure my feet heaven- 
 ward; to fill my yearning breast with heavenly 
 aspirations ! 
 
 In the celestial home there will be no sadness, 
 for God himself shall wipe away all tears from 
 the eyes of his saints. The wailings of despair 
 will there be changed to the triumphant songs 
 of praise. All will strike their golden harps to 
 notes of sweetest melody; all will be clothed 
 in spotless garments; all will bear the conquer- 
 ing palm, all wear a victor's crown. 
 
 Therefore, 
 
 ** I falter not, for I haye a test 
 That shall incite me onward, upward still ; 
 The present cannot sate, my soul it shall not filL" 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 85 
 
 THE PASTOR'S STORY. 
 
 «* He patient Bhowed us the wise course to steer, 
 A candid censor and a friend sincere ; 
 He taught us bow to live ; and (0 ! too high 
 The price of knowledge) taught us how to die." 
 
 In a retired yet delightful location, about 
 
 miles from Charleston, reside Thomas Daniel and 
 his amiable wife Edith, in the full enjoyment of 
 that serene bliss which the ostentatious scenes of 
 the world can never bestow. 
 
 He is the faithful, zealous pastor of an intel- 
 ligent and affectionate congregation, to whom he 
 ministers every week, in a neat little granite church, 
 almost imbedded in fragrant shrubbery. It would 
 seem that some pious genii had adapted the spot to 
 the purpose, and constituted its occupant the pre- 
 siding divinity — so appropriate is it, and so efficient 
 is he. 
 
 Each member of its attendance, too, seems 
 imbued with a spirit of Christian piety, imparted 
 by the same mystic agency, as unobtrusive as 
 their place of worship, and as unpretending aa 
 
86 PBOSEAND POETRY. 
 
 their humble pastor. He is one of those high- 
 toned beings with whom we but rarely meet, who 
 wants not pretension to give him influence and 
 position ; and who wants not wealth, though he 
 has it in abundance, to give him preeminence in 
 society. He is one of those rare mortals, who, by 
 unremitting perseverance in works, has grown in 
 grace until invested with a heavenly sublimity 
 apparent to every beholder. 
 
 Gifted with extraordinary oratorical powers, 
 listening senates might have hung entranced upon 
 the eloquence of his tongue, and conferred upon 
 him their highest meeds of honor. But he chose 
 the better part, which will stay with him when the 
 statesman and the orator shall have been stilled in 
 death, and when their influence shall, like them, 
 have passed away: he chose to serve even as a 
 laborer in his Master's vinevard. 
 
 And Edith. Have you seen the full-blown rose 
 in its beauty and fragrance ; the most delicate 
 hues, the most refined shades trembling on its 
 bosom ; the gentlest perfume floating around it, as 
 it seemed the spirit of loveliness basking in the 
 efl'ulgent rays of eternal sunshine ? Then you 
 have seen that which is emblematical of her. 
 
 Matured in womanhood, charitable and hopeful 
 in disposition, refined in manners and elevated in 
 
THE pastor's story. 87 
 
 intellect, the most delicate thoughts and impulses 
 animate her beautiful features; whilst she moves 
 about the embodiment of loveliness, gently but 
 surely exerting an influence conducive to her 
 husband's great work; an influence which will 
 shine with undiminished brightness when the 
 glory of the sun shall have been dimmed. A fit 
 companion she for such a man ! 
 
 "We endeavored to learn the history of this 
 happy couple — these golden threads in the tissue 
 of society, these step-stones to heaven — and found 
 it invested with much of romantic interest, as well 
 as with religious efficacy. We give it as it was 
 given to us : 
 
 Edith Baxter was bequeathed as a dying legacy 
 to her maternal grandparents by their beloved 
 daughter, bearing the same name ; and never was 
 infancy more tenderly cared for, nor childhood 
 more judiciously managed. 
 
 At an early age Edith developed traits of char- 
 acter gratifying to the fondest wishes of these her 
 dearest friends, and which secured for her the love 
 and admiration of all with whom she was associated. 
 
 Her father, who, subsequently to the death of 
 her mother, had resided much of his time in 
 foreign countries, especially in England, sojourned, 
 when in America, in the metropolis of his native 
 
88 PROSE AND POETEY* 
 
 State; and, on every return from a European 
 tour, hastened to spend a week, at least, with his 
 little daughter in the country. Each returning 
 visit more fondly attached the parent to his child, 
 and increased the conviction that the duration of 
 the absent periods must become shorter. As her 
 years increased, so did her resemblance to her 
 sainted mother, to whom he was undyingly at- 
 tached ; and every look and every gesture which 
 reminded him of her, but strengthened the tie 
 which bound him to the home of his conjugal 
 felicity. 
 
 On one of these joyful occasions, Edith learned 
 that her father had brought with him a little 
 English boy, an orphan^ consigned by his widowed 
 and expiring father to the guardianship of his 
 most intimate friend. Major Baxter. 
 
 The magnanimous Carolinian at once determined 
 to adopt the unfortunate boy, and give him ad- 
 vantages equal to those of his own child. And 
 during his first happy interview with his little girl, 
 he communicated to her his intentions, begging 
 that she would consider him her brother. 
 
 Edith's affectionate heart responded to the 
 call, and she unhesitatingly received the juvenile 
 foreigner as one entitled to her kindest regards 
 and most affectionate sympathy* 
 
THB pastor's story. 39 
 
 Much as moralizing is denounced when occurring 
 in stories, we cau ^but remark what a source of 
 gratification to '-^t^ae father must have been this 
 happy compliance on the part of his child with his 
 benevolent wishes. Had she, jealous of her rights, 
 manifested an unwillingness to receive him, how 
 pained and embarrassed would he have been ; 
 and how soon, perhaps, have regretted, yea, have 
 abandoned the generous design ! With no other 
 resource or protection, how mortified, too, would 
 have been the dependent though noble young 
 Englishman ! 
 
 If there is any thing on earth which angels 
 contemplate with pleased satisfaction, it is the 
 operations of a sympathetic heart, prompting its 
 possessor to deeds of philanthropy and love. 
 "Were there m^ny such, this world would be a 
 paradise, this life a summer day, where no cloud 
 enthralled the sky, no Bohon Upas exhaled its 
 poisonous odor. Such a world and such a life we 
 shall have when the spirits of Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity have scattered from their urns the incense 
 of pure and holy aspiration. 
 
 With a heart as fresh as the atmosphere of his 
 own native clime, and a mind as clear as its 
 skies, Thomas was sensible to every act of kind- 
 ness by his stranger friends, and grateful and 
 
40 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 enthusiastic in his new attachments, loving his 
 kind benefactor with more, if possible, than filial 
 devotion, and his little sister i^^ith fraternal ten* 
 derness. No efibrt which a refined and grateful 
 mind could suggest was spared to promote their 
 enjoyment, or to evince to them his readiness to 
 be guided by their wishes. 
 
 No wonder that these children, brought together 
 under circumstances bearing to each other such 
 remarkable similarity, should become warmly 
 attached. 
 
 The son of Albion, on the elegant estate of 
 Edith's grandfather, equally privileged, enjoying, 
 with the companion of his affections, the ap- 
 propriate pastimes of childhood, unattended by 
 solicitude and apprehension, ceased to remember 
 his own classic Avon ; or, if remembering, with not 
 more fondness than for the lovely Edisto, along 
 whose banks he often wandered in delighted 
 admiration. Together with joyous steps the young 
 friends brush the crystal dews of morning; 
 together engage in the important studies of the 
 day ; together raise their silvery voices in evening 
 orisons to the Father of mercies. 
 
 When Edith had reached her twelfth and Thomas 
 his fifteenth year, they were placed at boarding- 
 schools situated in the same city, where they were 
 
THB pastor's story. 41 
 
 goon distinguished for their application and rapid 
 progress : Edith excelling in the course of educa- 
 tion usually marked out for woman, and in the 
 concomitant accomplishments indispensable to ease 
 in the circle for which she was destined ; Thomas 
 exhibiting characteristics of that genius and intel- 
 lectual superiority which in after-life gave him so 
 influential a position. 
 
 Diligent during school months, these youthful 
 students hailed with glad buoyancy of spirit the 
 liberties of vacation; and returned to the loved 
 scenes of home with renewed affection and de- 
 light. 
 
 Time, - as it rolled by in its rapid ear, drew 
 in closer connection the souls of these passengers 
 to eternity ; and they knew no dearer tie in nature 
 than the one which united their souls together. 
 Alas that so dear a connection, so strong a tie, 
 should ever be severed ! The period at length 
 came when these friends, so unselfish in their 
 every principle — these bona Jide lovers — were to be 
 separated. 
 
 General Daniel, having passed many years in 
 the Indies, possessed of the handsome sum of 
 five hundred thousand dollars, returned to Eng- 
 land—the home of his fathers. Not finding an 
 only brother, whom he left in , and of whom 
 
#2 PROSBANi)POBTRY. 
 
 he had heard nothing for a great while, he imme- 
 diately instituted a search for him. That brother 
 was deceased, but his only child survived. 
 
 This child — the young Thomas — had crossed 
 the "Atlantic's blue waves' V with Major Baxter, 
 and found a home and friends amid the rural 
 scenes of the New World. 
 
 The wealthy Englishman having ascertained his 
 address, dispatched a letter to Major Baxter, en- 
 closing one to his nephew. These letters repre- 
 sented himself a disappointed adventurer, who had 
 spent his life in the vain effort to amass a fortune ; 
 and now, almost destitute of means, and a con- 
 firmed invalid, returned to his native city, from 
 which, as a prodigal son, he had wandered in the 
 hopeful days of early manhood. 
 
 He implored Thomas, as he valued his proud 
 name — a name humbled but by the reverses incident 
 to life — to hasten to his relief: to come with a heart 
 prepared for any emergency — nerved for any con- 
 flict; as he would be to a great extent dependent 
 upon his youthful exertions for support. 
 
 This intelligence was received during a visit the 
 now betrothed couple, in company with Major 
 Baxter, were making in Charleston. And, though 
 it very naturally cast a gloom over the minds of 
 the devoted trio, each, including himself, felt it 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 43 
 
 the duty of Thomas ta immediately comply with 
 the, what would have appeared to others, selfish 
 requisition. 
 
 ^'Go," said the self-sacrificing Edith, *' and 
 minister to the very utmost of your ability to the 
 requirements of your afflicted reU\tive. Whilst he 
 lives, think not of returning to your adopted home ; 
 but when he shall have yielded to the inexorable 
 power of disease, and the grasp of death has set 
 his spirit free, come — O, come back to us who love 
 you as our own lives, and who will ever cherish 
 your image in our hearts enshrined." 
 
 ''Go, my son," said Major B., ''the calls of 
 humanity are imperative; especially when coming 
 from those claiming near consanguinity. Go, and 
 by your generous sympathy strew with flowers the 
 pathway to the tomb ; and when the cypress shall 
 have waved its melancholy blossoms over the 
 grave, delay not your return to America — the 
 home of your youth — the nativity of your first, and 
 Heaven grant, while Edith lives, your only love." 
 
 "Go," said a still small voice, which spoke 
 from the inner man, and seldom erred in its dic- 
 tates, " go, and however long the term of trial and 
 personal sacrifice, however onerous the tasks im- 
 posed, faint not in well-doing." 
 
 Thus directed and sustained, Thomas deter- 
 
44 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 mined to leave at once fof the distant shores of 
 his native land. Preparatory to which he desired 
 to bid farewell to the aged friends who so kindly 
 welcomed him to their hospitable abode, and by 
 the tenderest attentions taught him to regard them 
 as indeed his grandparents. On the hill-top of 
 innocent expectation of most brilliant entertain- 
 ment, the party entered the city — a new world to 
 them, glittering with coruscations of bliss too 
 exquisite for realization, too bright for mortal 
 vision. With saddened though resigned feelings, 
 they departed for the old homestead. 
 
 It has been said that misfortunes and sorrow 
 never come singly. Truly, indeed, was the say- 
 ing verified in this instance. A few miles from 
 Charleston, the chastened travellers espied a horse- 
 man in full speed. Approaching nearer, they recog- 
 nized the groom of the estate. Apprehension 
 simultaneously prepared them for the melancholy 
 tidings, thus almost winged to them, of the dan- 
 gerous illness of the dear grandmother whom 
 they had so recently left in the full prospect of 
 many more years of health and usefulness. Alas 
 for earthly hopes and prospects! One rude blast 
 may destroy the superstructure of years; one 
 mighty cloud overshadow the brightest sky; one 
 bitter frost chill the heart for life. 
 
THE pastor's story. 46 
 
 Facilitating their movements, each hoped to 
 arrive at home in time to receive her dying 
 llessing, but in this too they were disappointed. 
 
 Unable distinctly to articulate, she breathed her 
 last farewell to him who had been for many years 
 the companion of her life, just a short while before 
 they reached home. 
 
 Upon Major Baxter devolved the sad duties of 
 the funeral, and in their faithful performance, as 
 in every transaction of life — as in the discharge 
 of every duty, either public or private, either 
 joyous or sad — he showed himself a gentleman of 
 the most refined sensibility. 
 
 Edith sorrowed deeply at this her second great 
 bereavement, but not as one without hope. 
 
 The pale, expressive face and tearful eyes of 
 Thomas plainly told the deep emotion within. 
 It would be sacrilege to speak of the deep though 
 almost sublime grief of the aged and bereaved 
 husband — it was too peculiar, too profound for 
 description. 
 
 The day after the interment, Thomas, impelled 
 by a sense of duty, ventured to appoint the next 
 for his departure. His friends, as endeared as he 
 was to them, and much as they regretted the cir- 
 cumstances which rendered his going necessary, 
 were too considerate to seek in any way to detain 
 
46 PEOSB AND POETRY. 
 
 him, or 'to imbitter the parting moments by ao 
 unavailing demonstration of grief. 
 
 "Walk with me, Thomas, to the church 
 grounds,*' said Major B. to his adopted son, 
 the last afternoon before his departure for Eng- 
 land ; " I have a message to communicate to and 
 a gift to bestow on you, invested with sacred 
 interest ; and there is no place on earth more 
 suitable to witness the deed, than that afforded 
 by that consecrated enclosure/* Seated upon the 
 stone steps of that little sanctuary, with Thomas 
 in anxious, hopeful suspense by his side, he com- 
 menced thus: "I should know of no excuse 
 sufficiently deprecatory to exculpate me from the 
 charge of unkindness, in so long withholding from 
 you the revelation I am about to make, but for 
 a promise I made your father " 
 
 "A promise made my father!** gasped, rather 
 than repeated, the overwhelmed young man. ** O, 
 can it be that he left any message for me ? Any 
 gift, however small, which may possess talismanic 
 virtue to avert the ills of life, which now seem 
 pending; and which, notwithstanding the prin- 
 ciples of Christian philosophy instilled, I hope, 
 into my very being, by the venerable pastor of 
 this church, hang over me as a dark cloud, threat- 
 ening to crush me by their fall." 
 
THE pastor's story. 47 
 
 Major B* r<^r:ioved the envelopes one by one from 
 a little ivory box, whicli enclosed one of the richest 
 of jewel cases. On opening this case, imagine, 
 if you can, Thomas's astonishment and delight, 
 not, however, without trepidation, at beholding 
 a letter bearing his own address, '^ Care of Major 
 Baxter, South Carolina." 
 
 He hurriedly opened it, and eagerly glanced 
 at the signature. His own father's name, traced 
 with a feeble hand, met his eye, and filled him 
 with melancholy joy. Long and steadily he 
 gazed upon the name, entwined with his very 
 existence, and hallowed by the innocent memorien 
 of his childhood, as if to learn of it the import 
 of that to which it was subscribed. At length 
 turning to the beginning, he slowly perused the 
 following letter: 
 
 "Mat, 18^. 
 
 "My dear Son: — When this letter shall have 
 been given you by the hand of friendship and 
 affection, the one which traced it will long since 
 have mouldered in the dust, and been numbered 
 among the dead. You will doubtless ask, w^hy 
 the only memorial of your father has so long been 
 withheld from you? If living, provided you 
 receive it bc'^ore you attain your majority, Major 
 
48 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 Baxter will answer: 'Because it was your father's 
 request : but for this stipulated contingency, had 
 I given it to you a day sooner, I had violated 
 a sacred trust.* 
 
 " For this request, I will myself account. In 
 order to appropriately address you, I must, in 
 fancy, transport myself through the dark valley 
 of death to the bright mountains of the redeemed, 
 and converse with you as from the spirit-land. 
 
 "In consigning your childhood and youth to 
 the care of one in every respect entitled to my 
 confidence and esteem, 1 felt that any directions 
 to him with regard to his subsequent management 
 of you were unnecessary. A high-toned, honor- 
 able man never proves recreant to a trust — never 
 deceives friend or foe. I gave you to him in the 
 full confidence that you would be brought up in 
 the ways of virtue and peace, and I doubt not 
 that such has been his endeavor. 
 
 " To you, my dear son, I simply said : Thomas, 
 I bequeathe you to Major Baxter, Extend to him 
 the obedience and aifection which would have 
 been due me had I lived ; and be grateful and 
 tender to him in his declining years. To one 
 of your upright principles, I knew this to be 
 sufficient to insure the most scrupulous perform 
 ance of duty. 
 
THE pastor's STORY, 49 
 
 "With regard to myself I have but little to 
 narrate : suffice it that I am the son of highly re- 
 spected parents, a descendant of one of the oldest 
 and best families in England. My father designed 
 and educated me for the ministry of the gospel, 
 but not considering myself worthy so high a 
 calling, I disappointed his desire, and chose the 
 vocation of lavr. Established in a lucrative pro- 
 fession, and winning golden opinions every day, 
 although poor, I aspired to the hand and heart 
 of a beautiful lady of immense wealth and of 
 illustrious birth. She encouraged my advances, 
 and, at her suggestion, we were clandestinely 
 married. According to her apprehensions, from 
 that hour her kindred abandoned and disowned her. 
 What mattered that, however? We were all in all 
 to each other ; and by my untiring exertions and her 
 frugality, we were soon independent of their notice. 
 
 ''By and by, you, my son, were given unto us. 
 And 0, what a blessed world this then was ! The 
 very stars shone brighter, and the atmosphere 
 was redolent of joy, as I gazed upon the baby 
 face of my darling boy — my miniature self! But 
 mysterious indeed is the hand of Providence ! 
 The same hour that brought you to my enraptured 
 vision, entertained the grim monster Death; and 
 gave him as fair a lily as ever opened its pure 
 
60 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 petals to light, to feed upon until swallowed up 
 in his insatiate jaws. Day by day I witnessed 
 the expansion of the hectic rose, as it bloomed in 
 mockery upon her beautiful face, without the 
 power to pluck and dash it far away. 
 
 " One long year of intense suffering and patient 
 endurance added another conquest to the relentless 
 tyrant's power, and another to the catalogue of 
 the bereaved. 
 
 " With her head upon my bosom, her emaciated 
 hand clasped within mine, I saw her die. I felt 
 the death-throe! In an agony of despair, I besought 
 God to manifest compassion on me by permitting 
 me to die too. I called upon the earth to swallow, 
 the rocks to cover me ! In the delirium of my 
 grief, I forgot there was a remaining link connect- 
 ing me to earth. I forgot you, my son ! The 
 recollection of you, of your helpless and dependent 
 infancy, came like a sunbeam to my soul, reconcil- 
 ing it to its earthly imprisonment, reconciling it to 
 the then'sad duties of life. 
 
 In the course of time my grief, though never 
 subdued, became less poignant, and I often ex- 
 perienced the most grateful rapture in contem- 
 plating the physical and mental developments 
 of the only pledge of the dearest period of my 
 existence. For you, my son — I had not learned 
 
THE pastor's STORY* 51 
 
 even yet the fallacy of earthly honor — all the 
 ambition of my nature was revived. I anticipated 
 the time when an admiring world should have culled 
 the brightest flowers in the garden of fame, and 
 offered them as an oblation at your feet. With 
 the eye of affection I beheld your brow enwreathed 
 by a garland of rose-buds, destined to expand 
 and bloom in heaven with unrivalled splendor 
 and sweetness. 
 
 "But the presumption and temerity of man 
 seldom go unpunished even in this world. His 
 most cherished hopes and objects are those soonest 
 destroyed or disappointed. Constitutionally deli- 
 cate, the care, which I would not permit shared 
 by others, during the affliction of your dear 
 mother, laid a sure foundation upon which con- 
 sumption again reared its funeral pile. Flattering 
 as the disease is, and struggle as I would against 
 the conviction, I knew that the work of death 
 was going on : I knew that I must soon leave 
 you, my noble boy, an orphan in the world. But 
 a merciful Father raised up a friend to supply 
 my place; that friend you know to be Major 
 Baxter, and I repeat that I hope that he has ever 
 had and will ever retain the place in your affec- 
 tions which would have been mine. 
 
 "In conclusion, there is another duty I would 
 
62 PROSE AND POETRY* 
 
 impress upon you : you have an uncle, my only 
 brother. Than his, a more noble, generous heart 
 never throbbed. Too confiding, however, he 
 learned, when too late, that all were not, like him- 
 self, to be trusted. By the duplicity of others 
 having been greatly reduced in a pecuniary point, 
 he embarked for the Indies in the hope of making 
 up his losses. For several years we maintained 
 a regular correspondence, but at length he became, 
 if living, too much engaged in the pursuit of 
 wealth to devote to absent friends, or his letters 
 miscarried. On this account I fear he has been 
 unsuccessful, and chooses to exile himself rather 
 than to return to his native land without the 
 means of sustaining the position to which he was 
 once accustomed. Should you ever hear that he 
 needs assistance, go directly to him and do all 
 in your power to relieve his wants. God will 
 reward you, 
 
 "True it is, that 'brevity is the soul of wit,' 
 but it is not the soul of afiection. In this, my 
 last communication to you, I could have written 
 volumes — I could have muliplied endearing 
 epithets mountain high, but want of time forbade. 
 
 "Before, however, finishing this already prolix 
 epistle, I could not forbear telling you, my beloved 
 son, that a change came over the spirit of my 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 56 
 
 ambition, I would still have had you great, but 
 only in a moral and religious sense ; still have had 
 you win a name, but only such as Heaven would 
 approve. In the spirit of Wesley, Newton, and 
 Edwards, seek to make the world better by having 
 lived in it; this being done, you will have achieved 
 a victory for which Napoleon would have re- 
 linquished his blood-stained honors. This being 
 done, recording angels will have inscribed your 
 name in imperishable characters in the highest 
 courts of the New Jerusalem. 
 
 "' Now, my dear son, a long and tender farewell. 
 May the Father of the orphan watch over and 
 shield you from the ills of life, is the praj^er of 
 your dying father, 
 
 ''William Daniel. 
 
 " P. S. — In the same box containing this letter, 
 you have your mother's bridal present from me. 
 Attached is her written desire with regard to its 
 destination. Affectionately, W. D." 
 
 The contents of this letter filled the mind of 
 Thomas with a pleasing sadness, and gave to it a 
 fixed purpose in life, which will be fully realized 
 only in eternity. As though he deemed himself 
 unworthy to touch an article sanctified by hia 
 
64 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 mother's wear, Thomas hesitated in opening the 
 case in which it was concealed. Major B., per- 
 ceiving the hesitation, and divining the cause, 
 kindly opened the case, and drew forth a neck- 
 lace of diamonds of the purest water. Full and 
 complete it was save one missing jewel. Turning 
 it over, he discovered in small but unmistakable 
 characters the initials of his mother's name. And 
 upon a tiny sheet of embossed note-paper, neatly 
 secured to the valuable relic, were these words : 
 " To my dear son I bequeathe this memento of the 
 fondest affection, with the desire that he will never 
 part with it until he shall have found one dearer 
 to him than all the world beside. He then will 
 be at liberty to clasp it around her neck, a symbol 
 of that love which gently encircles the whole. 
 His affectionate mother, Mary Daniel,'* 
 
 After reading it, Thomas enclosed his mother's 
 note in his father's letter, and placed them next 
 his heart. Too overpowered for conversation, he 
 and his friend silently retraced their footsteps 
 home. He sought an early opportunity to hand 
 the letter to Edith, with a request that she would 
 read it and then meet him in the verandah. 
 
 The meeting of these lovers on this memorable 
 occasion, we forbear to describe ; suffice it, that it 
 was long and tender And before they separated, 
 
THE pastor's STORY. S5 
 
 Thomas clasped the necklace, but now, as it were, 
 the gift of his mother, round the neck of Edith. 
 
 She fully understood the import so delicately 
 implied; yea, more, she understood the refined 
 nature which appreciated a look far more than 
 the most enthusiastic expressions, and forebore the 
 utterance of thanks. Her beautiful face, radiant 
 with love and gratitude, plainly evinced that which 
 language were impotent to convey. 
 
 The parting struggle was experienced that night. 
 And a resignation to duty so calm and so unim- 
 passioned succeeded, that he who looks merely at 
 the surface of things, would never have suspected 
 the mighty conflict beneath. Or, rather, he who is 
 incapable of such moral triumphs over the passions 
 and sensibilities of his nature, would have thought 
 them too stoical for lovers. 
 
 At a very early hour next morning, Thomas, 
 accompanied by Edith and her father, was on his 
 way to Charleston, whence he expected to embark 
 the succeeding day for England. 
 
 In an eloquence intelligible only to the soul, the 
 farewell was expressed, and Thomas went aboard 
 an elegant vessel bound for Albion^s shores. With 
 a disposition which -could adapt itself to circum- 
 stances, and conform with composure to the re- 
 quirements of occasions, he soon appeared one of 
 
56 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 the most contented passengers, and did much to 
 contribute to the entertainment of the voyage. 
 
 Day after day, and night after night, as the 
 magnificent ship moved on its way, Thomas paced 
 the deck wrapped in devout meditation. His whole 
 being was filled with love and admiration for Ilim 
 who, in the omnipotence of his power, holds the 
 winds in his fists, and the seas in the hollow of his 
 hands; and, without any positive religious ex- 
 perience, he would fall upon his knees and pour 
 out his soul in supplication to Him who *' walked 
 on the waters.'* Thomas's lofty soul aspired to 
 communion with this great Being, and he deter- 
 mined to hesitate no longer in making known his 
 wants. Many beautiful passages of the Holy 
 Scriptures suggested the way, and encouraged him 
 to seek after that higher good, that purer joy, that 
 loftier love for which his religious instincts kept 
 longing. As a little child he cried, Lord^ save, or I 
 perish ! This was the way and the only way to be 
 healed with that balm which grew by the pure 
 waters of Gilead. A beautiful evangelical faith 
 filled his heart with praise and thanksgiving to the 
 dear Saviour, who had often extended to him a 
 sustaining influence. 
 
 Thomas was a Christian! O how he longed to 
 tell Edith of this great work in his heart ! O ho\\ 
 
THE pastor's story. 5T 
 
 he longed that the world might be encompassed 
 by this wondrous love ! 
 
 After an auspicious and delightful voyage, the 
 vessel anchored at . 
 
 "With a heart fortified by manly resolve and 
 Christian purpose, Thomas stepped ashore. The 
 clear depths of his dark eyes betrayed to every 
 beholder this resolve — this purpose. And none 
 could look, even casually, into his earnest, thought- 
 ful face, without being impressed with the superi- 
 ority of the indwelling spirit. 
 
 Inclination, as well as a sense of duty, urged 
 him to delay no time in going to the city of his 
 uncle's abode. Arrived there, he at once went in 
 search of him. Aided by the direction? enclosed 
 in the letter received in America, he soon found 
 the humble dwelling* With a composed and 
 determined step he approached the door. Gently 
 rapping, he received as response an invitation to 
 '^come in." Thomas's feelings and emotions, 
 upon entering that poor and unfinished apartment, 
 wer^ better imagined than described. 
 
 Upon a scaffold bedstead, upon which was only 
 a thin mattress, lay the once proud form of Gen- 
 eral Daniel. A moment sufficed to establish in 
 the mind of the nephew the identity of the uncle. 
 The resemblance to his father, whom he remem- 
 
 3* 
 
68 PROSEANDPOETRT. 
 
 bered well, was too apparent to be imaginary. 
 He was overwhelmed by a thousand thoughts, and 
 in a moment of uncontrolled feelings he rushed to 
 his side and clasped his astonished uncle in his 
 arms. "My uncle!" "My nephew!" were the 
 proud exclamations of these stranger relatives. 
 Though apparently reduced to penury, Thomas 
 saw in the eye, and curve of the thin lip, unmis- 
 takable indications of the souFs nobility. And 
 but for a certain undefinable something in his 
 manner, which he could not reconcile to this 
 nobility, he would have gloried to call him uncle — 
 gloried to minister to his adverse situation. Were 
 it prudent, time would not allow us to repeat the 
 affectionate conversation which ensued; before it 
 ended, however. General D. was satisfied that his 
 brother*s son was not ashamed of the relation- 
 Bhip, and that his highest pleasure would be to 
 serve him. 
 
 Though too much interested to think of dinner 
 on his own account, Thomas knew that his uncle 
 needed refreshment, and he was anxious to pro- 
 cure it. Owing to the generous supply his Ameri- 
 can friend, Major B., had slipped into his hand as 
 he bade him farewell, he yet had ample means 
 for many weeks* support. But how to go about 
 providing for the present occasion, especially 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 59 
 
 when so refined a person was the object of it, he 
 was at a loss to devise. 
 
 Apprehending the cause of embarrassment, Gen- 
 eral D. asked his nephew to place the little table 
 which stood in the corner, by his bedside. Hav- 
 ing complied, his uncle removed a coarse but 
 snow-white covering, and, to his gratification, 
 he beheld, if not the most choice articles of food 
 for an invalid, those which were quite suitable. 
 Perceiving there was an abundance, he did not hesi- 
 tate to share the humble meal. Humble as it was, 
 th^ host, however, went through with all the for- 
 malities of a courtly entertainment, and before they 
 had finished the repast, his nephew was convinced 
 in his own mind that he was either a monomaniac, 
 or a proud man of the world, who rebelled against 
 the decrees of Providence. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, General D. 
 informed Thomas that he had some important 
 business to which he wished him to immediately 
 attend, as the delay of even a few hours might be 
 attended with disadvantage. Ready to perform 
 any duty, and anxious to obtain if possible a clue 
 to his uncle's state of mind, he received a bundle 
 of papers, with verbal instructions as to the 
 locality of those with whom the business apper- 
 tained. 
 
60 PROSE. ANDPOETRY, 
 
 "This being accomplislied," said General D., 
 ** the afternoon will be nearly spent ; but howevei 
 late, I then want you to go a little way up the 
 river and call at the elegant mansion of General 
 Daniel, and deliver into his own hands this letter. 
 Do not ask directions — you cannot fail to find the 
 place." 
 
 Thomas complied with his uncle's desires to the 
 letter. Having finished arrangements with the 
 attorneys, he proceeded to the elegant mansion on 
 the borders of the Avon. To the servant who an- 
 swered his ring he handed his card, with a request 
 to see the master immediately on urgent business. 
 The servant soon returned with a kind invitation 
 to him to go to the chamber of the General, as he 
 was too indisposed to see him elsewhere. 
 
 Ushered into one of the most princely apart- 
 ments, imagine the surprise of Thomas as he 
 beheld, clad in purple and fine linen, the very same 
 uncle whom he had but so recently left in one of 
 the most obscure domiciles in the city. He could 
 scarcely credit his own senses, so mysterious did 
 every thing appear. General D., feeling that it 
 would be unkind to keep him longer in suspense, 
 extended to him his hand, with but these words, 
 ''My nephew!" Words which sent a thrill of 
 joy to his heart but that very morning, now fell upon 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 61 
 
 his ears without inspiring a single emotion of plea- 
 sure. Quick as thought he comprehended all. 
 His uncle was very rich, and had resorted to this 
 expedient to force him from his friends in Ame- 
 rica — to recall him to England. He was disap- 
 pointed, almost vexed. General Daniel, perceiv- 
 ing this, rendered satisfactory reasons for the 
 "innocent hoax." Returning to his native home 
 with wealth that would, have satisfied the most 
 avaricious, and having no heir upon whom to be- 
 stow it, he resolved to adopt his only nephew, 
 whom he had never seen, to inherit his magni- 
 ficent estates. In order to convince himself that 
 this nephew was deserving his generosity, he con- 
 ceived the plot to deceive him, and see how he 
 yielded compliance to his requests. In one respect 
 he did not deceive : he was indeed in rapidly de- 
 clining health. And, as a dutiful and affectionate 
 relative, Thomas ministered to the comfort and 
 enjoyment of his last days. 
 
 A few months of unremitting suffering com- 
 pleted its work ; and he who had spent his life in 
 the acquisition of wealth and worldly honors, dis- 
 covered, when too late, that they could avail no- 
 thing in the hour of death. Notwithstanding the 
 praj^ers and entreaties of his pious nephew, this 
 man of the world died as he had lived, unmindful 
 of his soul's salvation. 
 
62 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 WTien Thomas had discharged the last sad 
 duties to his only uncle and known relative, he 
 fully realized that he was a stranger among stran- 
 gers ; and his heart instinctively turned with all 
 its yearnings to his home and friends in America. 
 
 He immediately wrote to Major Baxter and to 
 Edith, informing them of the melancholy though 
 expected event, and for the first time made 
 known to them the "hoax/' Judging them by the 
 majority of persons, he had erroneously supposed 
 that upon discovering that his uncle needed not 
 his assistance, they would think he ought to 
 return to his adopted home, and he had avoided 
 alluding to his situation ; and had even retained, 
 with the warmest expression of thanks, several 
 considerable sums of money, remitted to him by 
 his dear friend "across the waters." 
 
 Strange, unaccountably strange, to Thomas, 
 month after month elapsed, and no answer came 
 to either of these letters. He never for a moment 
 questioned the fidelity of his friends. O no I he 
 knew them too well for that. In the agony of sus- 
 pense, he determined to sail without delay for 
 America. But, then, although sole heir, his 
 deceased uncle's business had to be adjusted ac- 
 cording to law, and it was indispensable that he 
 should give it his personal attention. 
 
 Besides this important reason for remaining 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 63 
 
 iwliile ill England, there was yet another, which, 
 though he himself could scarcely explain, was 
 even more controlling. While yet in doubt with 
 regard to the cause of his not receiving answers 
 from his Carolina friends, an impression, border- 
 ing on certainty, existed in his mind that some- 
 thing stranger, more gratifying perhaps than any 
 thing preceding it, awaited him, and prevented 
 him from carrying out his premature determination 
 to leave. 
 
 Many a starlit evening he wandered alone on 
 the classic shores of the grand old river winding 
 by his beautiful home, absorbed in earnest thought 
 or religious meditation : thought inspired by 
 the enchanting solitude and mystic melodies of 
 the majestic old trees, standing like sentinels to 
 guard ancestral inheritance, around the princely 
 mansion ; and the peculiar plaintive song of the 
 boatmen, as it told its tale of love. Memory, too, 
 was often at work, and by its magic power he 
 lived over again the loved season spent with 
 Edith in a distant land. Each glance of her ceru- 
 lean eyes beamed upon him with the same tender 
 fervor; each softened intonation of her musical 
 voice was borne on the fragrant zephyrs, and 
 vibrated upon the harp-strings of his soul. He 
 saw her point to heaven, and bid him hope. And 
 
/ 
 
 64 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 that same beautiful faith, which sprang up m hii 
 soul on his voyage hither, dispelled all depressing 
 forebodings, and inspired his tongue with songs of 
 praise and rejoicing. 
 
 In one of his solitary rambles, Thomas observed 
 at a distance a stately form, which at once riveted 
 his eye. Advancing nearer, he beheld the com- 
 manding figure of an aged gentleman, whose 
 appearance united the nobility of nature with the 
 aristocrat of society. Admiration and reverence 
 at once took possession of him, and he involuntarily 
 raised his hat until he passed him. The interest 
 was mutual. 
 
 There is something truly inexplicable in the 
 affinity which kindred spirits bear to each other. 
 Thomas felt that he had seen his own prototype, 
 and with a sort of enthusiastic impatience he 
 wanted to see more of it. Day after day ho 
 wandered in the same direction, with no other 
 (that was enough) motive than that of meeting 
 this mysterious personage. He had a sort of 
 vague, superstitious idea, despite his better know- 
 ledge, that there was something more than human- 
 ity associated with him, and that there was an 
 invisible link connecting their beings, and he 
 longed most ardently for its discovery. 
 
 Each recurrence of these meetings more fully 
 
THE pastor's story. 65 
 
 established in the minds of each of these persons 
 that there was a magnetizing principle implanted 
 within which could not resist its kindred influence. 
 On an early occasion they met. Through the eye 
 their souls went forth, and in one long embrace 
 united never more to separate — Thomas's and his 
 grandfather's, With thanksgiving, such as the 
 angel bands of heaven might stoop to hear, these 
 rejoicing spirits made the woods resound. '' Praise 
 God, O my soul ! for this happy day, this glorious 
 privilege ! 0, my daughter ! whose sacred name 
 I am not worthy to call ! thou whom I so un- 
 justly discarded from all the loved endearments of 
 mother and home ! look down from thy bright 
 habitation in heaven, and see how entirely my 
 heart bows in humble supplication to thee for 
 forgiveness ! And hear my solemn vow to atone, 
 to the very extent of my ability, to the son for the 
 mother's wrongs." 
 
 Such, and the like, were the contrite exclama- 
 tions of that once inexorable old gentleman, w^ho 
 had in earlier life made all the tender impulses of 
 the heart but secondary considerations ; who had 
 made every principle of his nature — and there were 
 many of an excellent character — subserve the arbi- 
 trary conventionalities of the sphere in which he 
 was born and brought up. Thomas's rejoicing 
 
66 PROSEANDPOETRY. 
 
 was similar to that of his grandfather, varied only 
 by years and circumstances. 
 
 By the earliest mail he dispatched other letters 
 to Edith and her father, containing a full account 
 of this happy interview. He implored her to 
 delay not an answer, as every thing earthly was as 
 nothing compared with his all-absorbing love for 
 her. He told her that without the hope of her 
 pious example through life, without her gentle 
 guidance through the dangerous vortex of wealth, 
 he feared he would be engulfed in its dark waters. 
 He told her how he had already conceived the 
 idea of endowing a religious and literary institu* 
 tion, and begged her advice and cooperation. 
 
 Again months passed, and no reply rewarded 
 his fidelity. Again he determined to embark foi 
 America. To his aged grandfather he confided the 
 history of his love, and his reasons for desiring to 
 leave England at this important crisis ; and, to 
 his gratification, the old gentleman approved his 
 course. 
 
 The afternoon preceding his contemplated de- 
 parture, as strolling pensively, he scarcely knew 
 whither, he came in the vicinity of an establish- 
 ment of choice jewelry. As if grateful to that 
 chance which had directed his steps hither, he 
 entered, determined to make a selection of a plain 
 
THE pastor's STOBY. 67 
 
 but valuable ring which he intended presenting to 
 Edith. 
 
 Having made the selection, Thomas had turned 
 to leave, when the salesman, anxious to secure 
 the patronage of one evidently able to afford it, 
 begged that he would examine a case of antique 
 though magnificent diamonds. Leisure allowing, 
 courtesy prompted him to grant the request. Ad- 
 miringly he examined several articles, which, from 
 their antiquated style, appeared relics indeed. But, 
 heavens ! what was his consternation when he 
 beheld the very same necklace he had clasped 
 round Edith's neck the night preceding his depart- 
 ure from America ! He could not be mistaken ; 
 there it was, with one diamond missing, and his mother* s 
 initials! His frame shook as in an ague fit; his 
 head reeled as if intoxicated, and he was obliged 
 to cling to a column near by for support. But a 
 few moments were lost in this way : he seized the 
 necklace, and peremptorily demanded its price and 
 the manner in which it was obtained. The polite 
 and gentlemanly salesman, understanding the heart- 
 workings which had thus thrown his noble visitor 
 off his guard, gave him a correct account of his 
 purchase of the article hallowed by the strongest 
 ties in nature. The account, however, furnished 
 Thomas no clue to the real state of affairs, but 
 
68 PROSEANDPOETRY. 
 
 rather supplied grounds for the most heart-rending 
 suspicion. 
 
 That Edith was in England he doubted not ; but 
 under what circumstances, conjecture failed to 
 furnish one that was satisfactory. He resolved to 
 lose no time in efforts of discovery. Every hotel 
 and boarding-house in the city he daily visited ; 
 every place of public amusement and entertain- 
 ment he attended, in hope of seeing the idol of 
 his affections. 
 
 Just as hope had well-nigh ceased to animate 
 his exertions, an incident of a most thrilling char- 
 acter occurred in the near vicinity of his residence ; 
 an incident which enlisted his sympathy and 
 interest, and again stimulated him to action. 
 
 An aged man, who, though in very indigent 
 circumstances, had by numerous little offices of 
 kindness and accommodation endeared himself to 
 a large circle of acquaintances, was, in the still- 
 ness of darkness, broken in upon by several of a 
 banditti which had for months infested the 
 countr}^ with defiant boldness, and gagged and 
 bpund so as to be unable to oppose them. Whilst 
 the father was thus incapacitated, these men of 
 sin noiselessly proceeded to the room occupied by 
 his two daughters. Sleeping until too late for 
 Inflective resistance, these unoffending females, 
 
THE pastor's STORY. 69 
 
 who, save on errands of usefulness, seldom went 
 bevond their father^s humble enclosure, were 
 securely fettered and also gagged ; then forced 
 from the house and placed each upon an elegant 
 horse, destined, by the sad perversion of the use- 
 ful, to carry two persons as unlike as midnight 
 and noonday — an ambassador of darkness and a 
 spirit of light. So it is with life : the vile and the 
 pure how often, alas ! closely drawn together. 
 
 Thus mounted, these terrified maidens, the 
 younger of whom was just verging into woman- 
 hood, were hurried they knew not whither. Just 
 as day — a day that brought no light to them — was 
 dawning, they were mockingly ushered into a 
 capacious but unfurnished drawing-room of what 
 appeared to them an untenanted old castle, and 
 begged in the same mocking manner to feel per- 
 fectly at ease in their new abode, notwithstanding 
 the contrast to the one from .which they came. 
 In a few moments they were conducted with much 
 ceremony to a private apartment, which already 
 contained as pure an occupant as ever graced 
 courtly hall or princely saloon, and bade to hold 
 themselves in readiness for further orders. Brought 
 together under circumstances so mysterious and 
 humiliating, these unfortunate girls were not long 
 in learning each other's history; and, notwith- 
 
70 PROSEANDPOETRY. 
 
 standing the uncertainty of their own fate, the 
 sisters seemed to forget their situation, so great 
 was their commiseration for the gentle creature 
 who had previously been abducted and forced into 
 this rendezvous of iniquity. 
 
 As "the darkest day has gleams of light,** so 
 even this dark place was not without its aperture 
 through which feebly gleamed a ray of hope. 
 
 Unacquainted with the world, and allured by the 
 most plausible and seductive promises, a young 
 man of some very excellent qualities, with his 
 little patrimony in his pocket, had been induced 
 to unite his interest with that of these " specu- 
 lators,*' many of whom mingled as gentlemen in a 
 respectable (?) class of the community; and not 
 until too late to rescue his all from their nefarious 
 covetousness, did he discover the nature of their 
 "speculations:** how, with a long catalogue of 
 the most fearful transgressions, they combined 
 that of abducting innocent females and retaining 
 them in captivity until rewards satisfying their 
 cupidity were oifared. Then some of the band, 
 who, disguised in the garb of gentlemen, walked the 
 .streets every day, eager to obtain the prize, soon, 
 despite *^ opposition,** and oftentimes "bloodshed,* 
 boie the captives in triumph to their rejoicing 
 friends All this he discovered, and he resolved, 
 
THE PASTOR'S STORY. tl 
 
 thongli his life should pay the forfeit, to expose 
 the villainy; in order to do which, and to safely 
 effect his escape, he had to seem as one of 
 them, taking care not to participate in actual 
 crime. 
 
 Just as he had matured plans by which to 
 prosecute his intentions, the first of these fair 
 captives was brought hither. He then abandoned 
 all thought of leaving as long as she remained in 
 this gloomy imprisonment; and to mitigate her 
 sufferings, to screen her as much as possible from., 
 insult, and to inspire her with hope and cheerful- 
 ness, was his constant care. Without the certainty 
 of her release, too, freedom, even from this odious 
 'place, could not have been given him. To add to 
 his solicitude and care, the other two were brought 
 and likewise confined. Decision wavered n^ 
 longer. Advising the girls of his plans, anr< 
 begging them to feign entire ignorance of him 
 should they be interrogated, he went to those o^ 
 the conspirators who were there, and told ther>^ 
 that their ''Captain" had left orders with him to 
 
 be at precisely at one o'clock that night. So 
 
 ingeniously did this young man fabricate his stor\, 
 that even these bad men yielded ready credence. 
 and offered no objection to the proposed excursion. 
 Mounting one of their fleetest horses, he put off 
 
72 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 at a rapid rate in the direction designated ; but as 
 fioon as out of sight, he, by a circuitous way, reversed 
 his course, and lost no time in getting to . 
 
 A few miles from the town, by the light of a 
 brilliant moon, he perceived at a considerable 
 distance a man on horseback. Deeming caution 
 the best policy, he immediately slackened his pace, 
 with the view of passing the stranger in a com- 
 posed and unsuspicious manner. The gentleman 
 advancing chanced to be none other than our 
 young friend, Thomas : impelled by a restless 
 anxiety and an unaccountable foreboding that 
 something would soon transpire which would 
 lead to the discovery of Edith's whereabouts, he 
 had gone forth this memorable night. 
 
 The strangers were about passing in silence, but 
 a mutual gaze, as inquiring as intent, caused 
 each to halt. By a polite salutation, which at once 
 inspired confidence, our young hero broke the 
 silence. A tew moments of almost whispered con- 
 versation ensued, in which Thomas w^as brought 
 acquainted with the young man's object, and he 
 at once enlisted his services. Together they sped 
 to the town, ana cautiously making known their 
 wants, but a snort time sufficed to raise a little 
 army of weu-equipped men. ready to spill their 
 life's-blood in a lust cause. 
 
THE PASTOR'S STORY. 73 
 
 On, on they sped until within hearing distance 
 of the old castle, destined soon to be the scene 
 both of bloodshed and joy. Dismounting, they 
 secured their horses, and on foot cautiously pro- 
 ceeded to the old building. The " Captain'' 
 having prematurely returned, had heard the story 
 of the young man's departure, and, filled with 
 torturing apprehensions known only to the guilty, 
 had already given orders for a speedy removal. 
 The bloody conflict which ensued we would not 
 describe; enough that those in the right tri- 
 umphed. 
 
 Thomas's heart now throbbed with joy, as the 
 thought occurred to him that two of the young 
 ladies here imprisoned might be the two so 
 cruelly torn from their father in his own city. 
 To one as sanguine as he, the hope amounted to 
 certainty ; and he wondered that he had not 
 thought of it before. He preceded rather than 
 followed his brave young conductor to the apart- 
 ment of the almost frantic girls. In the very 
 agony of fear, lest he who had imperilled his life 
 that theirs might be rescued had fallen m the 
 contest, they had safiered as much mentally as 
 those who had physically sufiered. 
 
 On opening the door, Thomas, almost paralyzed 
 
74 PROSE AND POETEY. 
 
 With amazement, beheld a face the dearest on 
 earth! He had never seen but one like it — he 
 could never see another. "Was it an apparition 
 that he saw ? No ! it was flesh and blood ! It 
 was his own loved Edith ! 
 
 From a description of the scene which followed 
 our pen would shrink indeed; before it ended, 
 however, Thomas had again clasped his mother's 
 necklace round the neck of the astonished and 
 happy Edith, with a vow never to leave her ex- 
 posed. 
 
 The morning's dawn found the heterogeneous 
 party on their way home. The gratitude of the 
 old man upon the restoration of his daughters 
 was indescribable. And the heroic young man, 
 so instrumental in the release of these young 
 ladies, sought and won the hand and heart of the 
 younger sister. 
 
 At as early a period as practicable, Edith and 
 Thomas were united in the indissoluble bonds 
 of wedlock. 0, what a noble spirit was his ! No 
 suspicions of the propriety of her course caused 
 him to delay the fulfilment of a sacred promise ; 
 no elucidation of mysteries was necessary. She 
 loved him ; had followed him across the briny 
 deei3 ; and not until the solemn vows had been 
 
THE PASTORSSTORY. 75 
 
 breathed, did he learn from his loving wife the 
 full extent of her trials and troubles. How, after 
 the deaths of her grandfather and father, she had 
 resolved to go to England, for the purpose of 
 learning, if possible, the reasons for his unexpected 
 course : both his and her letters had been intercepted 
 by a bribed postmaster. How, accompanying some 
 
 friends who wei% going there, she arrived at ; 
 
 and, had she been guided by the impulses of 
 her own fond attachment, and acquainted him 
 through the mail of her arrival in his city, she 
 might have been spared the humiliating ordeal 
 through which she had passed. How her friends, 
 not knowing as she did the magnanimity of his 
 nature, fearing he had forgotten his love for her,, 
 and was even then, perhaps, the husband of some 
 more fortunate lady, opposed this course. How 
 she, in the hope of discovering something con- 
 cerning him, had gone forth alone when her 
 friends thought her safe within her own room. 
 How, in one of these solitary rambles, she was 
 seized by a ruffian's hand and drawn into a build- 
 ing of good appearance ; then violently robbed 
 of her necklace ; and then retained in the closest 
 custody until that period most loved by those 
 whose deeds are evil, when she was hurried by 
 
16 PEOSEANDPOETKY. 
 
 the same conscienceless person to the retreat where 
 she was so happily found. 
 
 With something more than earthly interest 
 Thomas regarded his beautifal young wife, as 
 she recounted the troubles and sufferings which 
 her love for him had occasioned. And he felt 
 just as such a man as he could feel, that a life's 
 devotion were incompetent to repay such heaven- 
 born fidelity. 
 
 In revie^ving the history of his life, he read in 
 characters too legible to be mistaken, the hand- 
 writing of God ; and with a heart surcharged with 
 love and thankfulness, he bowed, he and his Chris- 
 tian wife, in one long, heartfelt prayer to the Great 
 Author of so many blessings. 
 
 Thomas told Edith that he was solemnly im- 
 pressed with the conviction that it was his duty 
 to preach the gospel : to preach Christ and him 
 crucified to a dying people; and in order to do 
 which, so as not to bring reproach upon the cause, 
 he must pursue a theological coarse of study. 
 This was the fondest desire of her soul, and she 
 did all she could to facilitate this great and 
 responsible undertaking. 
 
 Three years after entering one of the best 
 theological institutes in Europe, Thomas was an 
 
THB PASTOR'S STORY. Tl 
 
 ordained minister of the gospel. The field he 
 chose for his labors was the home of his youth. 
 The church he supplied with a pastor was the 
 neat little granite edifice, almost imbedded in 
 fragrant shrubbery, about miles from Charles- 
 ton. 
 
78 PBOSBANDPOBTRy. 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Affectionately addressed to a young lady on tKe receipt of h 
 beautiful souvenir — a rich purse, wrought by her hands, and pre- 
 sented to the writer. 
 
 Thanks for the beauteous gift, sweet girl, thy 
 
 tasteful skill hath twined, 
 And brilliant though its meshes be as brightly 
 
 there enshrined ; 
 Through future years will memories dwell of 
 
 these our happy hours, 
 As the fled summer^s glory lives in one rich 
 
 wreath of flowers. 
 
 And as thy love-lit years glide on, be each glad 
 
 hour enwreathed 
 Into a tissue sparkling bright as this thy hand 
 
 hath weaved : 
 
LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 79 
 
 Like to that dial florists frame,* still may the 
 
 laughing hours 
 Be marked by thee but by the bloom of joy's fresh 
 
 op'iiing flowers. 
 
 ^ Linnaeus formed a dial of flowers, whose successive openings 
 and closings marked the hours. 
 
80 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 1 HEARD a soft and sweet-toned note, 
 
 Which rose and swelled from distant tree : 
 
 A robin from his magic throat, 
 
 There perched and sung his song for me. 
 
 " The cold winds came, and where went he ? 
 
 Away, where summer wings did rove ; 
 Where buds were fresh, and ev'ry tree 
 
 Was vocal with the notes of love/* 
 
 Kow green shrubs edge our forest walks. 
 And blushing are our sweet-wood flowers ; 
 
 Snowballs hang on their slender stalks, 
 Kissed by dew in softest showers. 
 
 Come are Spring's bright sunny bowers. 
 Come Spring's encircling, tender vines ; 
 
 And Winter, with his dismal hours, 
 On Kenesaw no longer pines. 
 
THE EOBIN. 81 
 
 Then come, come, to this mild sky, 
 So fresh the blooms that scent the air; 
 
 The vernal winds are passing by, 
 And scattering buds and leaves so fair. 
 
 Yes, come again, my own dear bird, 
 
 To this warm clime; haste — speed thy flight! 
 
 Kiss with the sun the evening's cheek, 
 And stay with me the long, long night. 
 
 Warble that wildwood note again. 
 And I will read and list the while ; 
 
 Its tones will soon my soul enchain. 
 And all my pensive hours beguile. 
 
 4* 
 
82 PKOSE AND POETRY. 
 
 FULL MANY A FLOWER. 
 
 ** Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 
 The dark, unfatliomed caves of ocean bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 Geay's Eleqt. 
 
 Presumptuous as it may appear as an introduc- 
 tion to the remarks I have to inflict upon the 
 hearing of those who honor this occasion by their 
 presence, I have stolen the diamond from a string 
 of pearls, strung by one whose heart, " once preg- 
 nant with celestial fire," felt as few men have ever 
 felt ; and who from one of the highest summits of 
 that Pisgah which overlooks the fair Canaan of 
 poesy, plucked flowerets pendant from Heaven's 
 festoons, and received inspiration from ethereal- 
 ized spirits, which enabled him ^Ho wield the 
 elements,'* and to sound the depths of the human 
 heart, raising and stilling its passions at his bid- 
 ding; and I humbly hope that a gleam of its 
 effulgent lustre may illuminate my otherwise dull 
 and uninteresting composition. 
 
FULL MANY A FLOWER. 83 
 
 "We are not informed that wlien God created 
 the world, he did not decorate every portion of it 
 alike beautiful ; but we are authorized by his 
 word to believe, that if any spot received his 
 peculiar consideration, that spot was the Garden 
 of Eden. 
 
 There luxuriated in rich variety all the beauties 
 of nature, which have elicited the admiration and 
 engaged the attention of all succeeding ages. 
 There the rose, acknowledged queen of flowers, 
 and the lily, fit emblem of maiden purity, grew 
 spontaneous, independent of mortal culture. There 
 the lowly violet and the humble little forget-me-not 
 commanded the same attention as did the proud 
 and majestic magnolia, loftily waving its ex- 
 pansive foliage in the pure atmosphere of heaven. 
 But when we turn from that consecrated enclosure, 
 that favored spot of Divine love, all is conjecture 
 and supposition. 
 
 Whether the Creator of the universe, and all 
 pertaining to it, distributed alike over the surface 
 of the earth these beautiful manifestations of his 
 generosity; or whether it was reserved for man, 
 after his dispersion, and "the fowls of the air'' 
 on their migratory tours, to transplant them in 
 other climes, has often been a subject of specu- 
 lation. 
 
84 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 The happiest conclusion is, that when God said, 
 ^^Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding 
 seed, and the fruit-tree yielding fruit,'' no section of 
 the world was more propitiously regarded than 
 another. Doubtless, the most sequestered nooks 
 and the most obscure places were then beautified 
 and embellished by the prettiest of flowers; and 
 who will dare to think that those flowers were 
 
 ** Born to blush unseen, 
 And waste their sweetness on the desert air ?" 
 
 Have not the angels eyes? And did not they 
 look down from their happy homes in heaven, and 
 unite in anthems of praise for what the Great Dis- 
 penser of all good had done for them ? 
 
 Did not the golden stars and the silvery moon 
 lend rays of effulgence to their variegated petals ; 
 and the sun, the king of light, reflect their rain- 
 bow tints ? 
 
 God was glorified where the foot of man had 
 never trod ! 
 
 Go now, who will, to the rich conservatories of 
 the opulent, where affluence and science, two all- 
 powerful agencies, conspire to change even the 
 order of nature; where, by congregating exotics 
 the very antipodes of each other, anomalies are 
 produced which seem very like burlesques on the 
 
FULL MANY A FLOWER. 85 
 
 original design; pluck from their offerings the 
 most choice flower, carry it to the gay saloons of 
 pleasure, and bid the votaries of fashion go into 
 ecstasies over its beauty and fragrance ! Yes, bid 
 them ! For it sends no voluntary thrill of delight 
 to the heart — arouses no dormant emotions of love 
 and gratitude, which irresistibly elicit an out- 
 burst of unaffected joy and admiration ! 
 
 Hand in hand with Flora, I will hie to the 
 mountain's brow, or to the valley's bosom, and cull 
 a bouquet of the sweetest blossoms, unadulterated 
 by the hand of culture, and take them to the bed- 
 side of the sick, or the room of the oppressed ! 
 Mark that smile — sweet though melancholy ! And 
 that teardrop ! Whence does it flow ? From a 
 heart whose fondest recollections clust^ around 
 the past ; and whose hopes for the future nestle at 
 the foot of Calvary ! 
 
 That little oflering of friendship, that simple 
 nosegay of the wildwood, has awakened thoughts 
 of childhood's days ; parents and friends long incar- 
 cerated in the house of silence are resuscitated by 
 their magic influence, and are gently hovering 
 round, tenderly discharging the oflices of friend- 
 ship and love. Attachments of more mature 
 years are revived, and exist again in all the fer- 
 vency of affectionate regard! The heart, disap- 
 
86 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 pointed in its earthly calculations, turns to heaven, 
 lihat mighty emporium of happiness, where parents 
 and children are reiinited, and friends found in 
 whom there is no decay or shadow of change ! 
 Have those sweet wildwood flowers wasted their 
 sweetness on the desert air ? 
 
 Methinks I see a courageous adventurer wend- 
 ing his way through a narrow defile of the Rocky 
 Mountains. He endeavors to banish all thoughts 
 of home, lest perchance they should restrain his 
 enterprising footsteps ! With forced cheerfulness 
 he whistles a merry air, which fell upon his ear in 
 the joyous parterre^ or in the hilarious hall of the 
 voluptuous and rich. He avoids such as Some, 
 Sweet Home : it may be that he fears their plaintive 
 melody will shake the determination to pursue his 
 journey. 
 
 Look ! what a change ! That self-defying man ia 
 ashy pale ! even on his cheek the teardrop glistens 1 
 Ah ! his eyes, in constant search of the beautiful, 
 have fallen on an humble little flower, the same 
 in appearance that she, the object of his early 
 love, the plighted partner of his earthly destiny, 
 had given him as emblematical of her devotion 
 and fldelity. All the tender though slumbering 
 emotions of man's mighty heart are aroused and 
 operated upon. A Fremont is again locked in the 
 
FULL MANY A FLOWER. 87 
 
 fond embrace of affectionate regard ; wife and 
 children cluster about, and, vinelike, twine their 
 arms round him, the oak of that little grove ! 
 
 "Will he refuse to shelter them from the scorch- 
 mg rays of summer, or from the chilling winds of 
 winter ? Will he neglect propping those frail twigs, 
 dependent in a measure upon him for the impress 
 the tree shall bear ? He has done so ! A spirit of 
 adventure, an ambition for worldly renown, has 
 induced him to consign that precious little group 
 to the care of those comparatively disinterested; 
 and to relinquish all the fond endearments of wife, 
 home, and friends ! Hence he weeps on seeing 
 that mountain flower — that memento of happier 
 times ! Has that flower wasted its sweetness upon 
 the desert air ? 
 
 I will now ascend from Flora's kingdom to that 
 which embraces man, and endeavor to exhibit the 
 beautiful analogy. 
 
 So much depends upon mental culture in the 
 development of moral and intellectual flowers, 
 that no pains or expense should be spared to 
 promote its general diffusion. Lamentable in* 
 deed is the reflection that in many a " neglected 
 spot'' exist all the 
 
 " Elements to sway an empire 
 Or wak« to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 
88 PEOSE AND POETRY. 
 
 "But knowledge to their eyes lier ample page, 
 
 Rich with tjie spoils of Time, has ne'er unrolled ; 
 Penury represses their noble rage, 
 
 And freezes the genial bent of the soul." 
 
 There are some flowers, however, belonging to 
 this kingdom not indigenous to any clime, nor are 
 they entirely dependent on culture for develop- 
 ment. Those are the flowers of the heart — an 
 amiable and gentle disposition, a kind and forgiv- 
 ing spirit. 
 
 Such ofierings are infinitely more acceptable to 
 God than the dazzling treasures of Golconda's 
 mines, or the intellectual oblations from the hill 
 of science ! Humble though they be, no spot, 
 however obscure, can conceal such excellence ! A 
 mother on whose brow ''the traces of sorrow may 
 be found," or a father whose " footsteps are now 
 feeble and slow," may feel their heavenly influ- 
 ence, and thank their merciful Father for such 
 angel gifts. Is such sweetness wasted on the desert 
 air ? 
 
 He who, though gifted with all that renders life 
 attractive — parents who watched with tender soli- 
 citude over the period of helpless infancy, and 
 whose affection diminisheth not in later years ; 
 brothers and sisters who shared alike each joy 
 and each woe, and around the same knee learned 
 to lisp, ^^Owr Father^ who art in heaven'' — impressed 
 
FULL MANY A FLOWER. 89 
 
 by the powerful obligation he is under to " work 
 the work of Him that sent him while it is day, for 
 the night cometh, wherein no man can work," and 
 leaves the valued associations of childhood, youth, 
 and early manhood, and devotes himself phy- 
 sically and mentally to leading out of Egyptian 
 darkness the poor benighted heathen, seems to 
 bury his talents — seems to waste his sweetness upon 
 the desert air. But when his head shall have re- 
 ceived " a crown of righteousness, brightened by 
 the acclamations of praise, which shall redound to 
 his Saviour's glory, from heathens saved through 
 his instrumentality from eternal woe,*' it will be 
 discovered that his talents were wisely employed. 
 
 Such flowers emit a fragrance inhaled by angels, 
 and will be transplanted in heaven, there to bloom 
 in their native element, through all eternity ! 
 
90 PROSEAND POETRY 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 In love, dear girl, thy friend now twines 
 A garland for thy youthful brow — 
 
 A texture of the golden lines, 
 
 Of hopes and joys that glad thee now. 
 
 Though gilded now by rays of hope, 
 Fraught with changes thy life may be ' 
 
 To shade thy radiant horoscope. 
 Dark clouds may linger near to thee. 
 
 Deceitful ones thy path may throng, 
 
 While Spring doth last and flowers bloom; 
 
 But soon as Winter's winds arise. 
 Sycophants shun the coming gloom. 
 
 Then from the crowd, my friend, select, 
 
 To be companions chosen here, 
 Those pure and true — of God elect — 
 
 To virtue and religion dear. 
 
TO MARY. 9i 
 
 Like Christians aft' their terrene close, 
 Still living on, though *bove our view, 
 
 Thy Saviour's love no changing knows — 
 Though ills betide, 'tis ever true. 
 
 Then treasure well his sacred Word ; 
 
 'Twill faith unto thy spirit give, 
 And waft it up to joys unheard, 
 
 Prepared with Christ for e'er to live. 
 
82 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 AN ELEGY 01^ THE DEATH OF A 
 YOUKG LADY. 
 
 No more shall I behold her, 
 No more these arms enfold her ; 
 To a land of deepest shade 
 
 She is gone. 
 Like the flower nipped by frost, 
 Ere its early bloom was lost. 
 So died the lovely maid 
 
 "Who is gone. 
 
 O, do not weep or mourn, 
 
 Or desire her return ; 
 
 To the mansions of the blest 
 
 She is gone. 
 From envy and from strife, 
 From all the ills of life, 
 Where the weary are at rest. 
 
 She is gone. 
 
AN ELEGY. 98 
 
 There, free from toil and pain, 
 She for ever will remain ; 
 Her sorrows are all o*er; 
 
 She is gone 
 
 To that bright throng in heaven 
 The host of the forgiven ; 
 Then let us grieve no more, 
 
 She is gone. 
 
94 PROSE AND POBTRr. 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Happiness ! thou glittering thing. 
 
 That which we all desire ; 
 Thou art for ever on the wing, 
 
 And if pursued, retire ! 
 How many mortals toil through life, 
 'Mid scenes of danger, care and strife, 
 
 And in the end do find 
 That all their work has been in vain — 
 They sought what none on earth obtain, 
 
 A perfect peace of mind. 
 
 Then stop, vain man, and follow not 
 
 This ignis fatuus bright. 
 But be contented with your lot ; 
 
 Trust not its flattering light. 
 It still will fly when you pursue, 
 And keep receding from your view — 
 
 'Tis but a fruitless chase ; 
 And when your race of life is run, 
 This rainbow, glistening in the sun, 
 
 Is in another place. 
 
FORGET THEE. 95 
 
 FORGET THEE. 
 
 Forget thee ! no, thy image dear 
 Is with the chords of life entwining ; 
 
 Thy noble form is ever near, 
 
 And like a light before me shining. 
 
 Whether in slumber or awake, 
 In solitude, or converse sweet. 
 
 My constant thoughts of thee partake, 
 And whisper we again shall meet. 
 
 To me thou art a beacon bright, 
 
 My pathway o'er rough seas to guide ; 
 
 To me thou art a star of night, 
 Far brighter than all else beside. 
 
 That star relumes my darkened way. 
 And cheers my sad, desponding soul 
 
 With light of more than heavenly ray, 
 Yet more remote than distant pole. 
 
 Forget thee ! no, I try in vain, 
 To banish every thought of thee : 
 
 When this lorn heart is closed to pain 
 Thou 'It be my sweetest memory. 
 
96 LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE 
 
 LINES TO LITTLE MnTNIE. 
 
 As fades the bud without decay, 
 Plucked off by ruthless hand, 
 
 So passed thy lovely charms away, 
 To holier, happier land. 
 
 No racking pain, sweet one, by day. 
 Left on thy brow its trace, 
 
 Nor night of anguish stol'd away, 
 The bloom from thy angelic face. 
 
 Thy coral lip lost not its hue, 
 Thy eye its winsome light ; 
 
 Thy bosom ne'er by earth's cold dew 
 Had felt a chilling blight. 
 
 0, lovely Minnie ! pretty dove, 
 
 Dropt for an hour below 
 To fill our hearts with joy and love, 
 
 And charm away our woe. 
 
LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE. 97 
 
 Too soon thy little song was sung ; 
 
 Too soon thy smile^has fled ; 
 Too soon, alas ! thy lute unstrung ; 
 
 Too soon thy icy head. 
 
 Thy death bed was a scene of joy 
 
 To thee, sweet one ! alone, 
 For thou did'st change earth's gross alloy 
 
 For praise 'neath God's high throne. 
 
 We laid thee in the cold, dark grave, 
 With prayers, and sighs, and tears; 
 
 But oh ! we know that thou wilt have 
 Holier, happier spheres. 
 
 And tho' our hearts may bleed and break, 
 
 We would not have thee here ; 
 We'll "pray the Lord our souls to take," 
 
 And meet in that bright sphere. 
 
08 PROSE ANJ) lOETRY. 
 
 THE SABBATH 
 
 •<Aiid God blessed the seventh, day, and sanctified it: because 
 that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and 
 made." — Gbn. ii. 3. 
 
 Hail, holy day ! sweet day of rest, 
 Both blessed and sanctified ; 
 
 In which the poor and the oppressed 
 Are free and satisfied ! 
 
 The poor, who toil from day to day 
 
 Beneath a burning sun. 
 With gratitude and joy will say. 
 
 Our six days* work is done. 
 
 They see the Sabbath day appear, 
 To Heaven their prayers arise ; 
 
 They hope to end their labor here, 
 And rest above the skies. 
 
XHB UNFORTUNATE. 
 
 THE UNFORTUNATE^. 
 
 " She never said she loved him/* 
 
 But I saw it in her eye. 
 The blush that mantled her fair cheek, 
 
 Whenever he was nigh ; 
 The sigh that heaved her tender breast, 
 
 When, rising to depart. 
 He kissed away the falling tear. 
 
 And pressed her to his heart. 
 
 I knew that he was wealthy. 
 
 She poor, but virtuous too ; 
 I thought to spoil her loveliness 
 
 Was all he had in view ; 
 That, like some sweet but fragile flower, 
 
 Torn from its parent tree. 
 She'd please his fancy for an hour, 
 
 And then forgotten be. 
 
 I told her not to trust him. 
 
 He 'd ruin her fair fame ; 
 Rob her of innocence and life, 
 
 All but a guilty name ; 
 
100 PROSE AND POETBf. 
 
 But she believed his promises — 
 
 With a seducer fled, 
 And now, deserted by the wretch, 
 
 She toils for her child's bread. 
 
TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 101 
 
 TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 
 
 After my respects and compliments to the 
 
 ladies of S and vicinity, allow me to apologize 
 
 for assuming my present position : a position 
 which commands the inestimable opportunity of 
 tendering to this Division of the Sons of Temper- 
 ance a small manifestation of admiration and 
 esteem ; a privilege to which you, and you only, 
 are legitimately entitled, and of which, I doubt 
 not, you would ultimately have availed yourselves. 
 Knowing, however, the kind and forgiving nature 
 of woman, I feel a confident assurance of pardon. 
 
 Worthy Patriarch and gentlemen of the Order 
 of the Sons of Temperance, the laudable design in 
 contemplation is the only consideration which 
 could have induced me thus to transcend the con- 
 ventional barriers of feminine delicacy, and to 
 occupy a position so conspicuous. 
 
 Should I^ prove, as I apprehend, unable to 
 advance any thing deserving your attention, I 
 shaU not attempt supplying the deficiency by 
 
102 PROSEANDPOETRY. 
 
 rhetorical garlands, which please only the super- 
 ficial, and are, though sometimes indulged, repu- 
 diated by the more intelligent and discriminating. 
 
 As a representative of the female sex, I appear 
 before you to mingle the voice of condemnation 
 against the deleterious draught you have wisely 
 renounced ; and to express heartfelt gratitude to a 
 philanthropic fraternity, destined to revolutionize 
 the moral world ; to dilapidate the strongholds of 
 Satan ; to dethrone the most abandoned sovereign 
 that ever swayed sceptre; to create an earthly 
 paradise where thorns and thistles were wont to 
 luxuriate. 
 
 When the benign constellation of Temperance 
 had become almost extinct in the moral galaxy; 
 when the whole world, as it were, was writhing 
 under the withering influence and diabolical 
 tyranny of King Alcohol ; when the feeble voice 
 of remonstrance and expostulation had well-nigh 
 yielded to the desponding groans of despair; 
 when solicitude, deep and heartfelt, had almost 
 exhausted her ingenuity, and the dove of hope had 
 plumed her wing the last time in pursuit of the 
 olive branch, then, then it was that a little though 
 determined band of brothers, with hearts ignited 
 by philanthropic zeal, unfurled the banner of 
 Temperance, proclaiming in the thunder's voice 
 
TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 103 
 
 rebellion against this hydra-headed monster — this 
 sworn friend of Pluto. Nor has the banner been 
 unfurled in vain: every breeze that passes by 
 wafts tidings of victory. High on the hill-top, or 
 low in the vale, wherever its bright folds are seen, 
 there, too, is a moral reformation visible. 
 
 The pernicious — pernicious is a word too feeble 
 to convey the idea — the damning effects of intox- 
 icating liquors are too obvious to require delinea- 
 tion, too revolting for refined contemplation. The 
 concentrated art of sin and wickedness could not 
 manufacture a beverage more demoralizing in its 
 effects, more destructive in its operations. 
 
 Man, high-hoping man, created in the image of 
 a Divine Maker ; superior to all animated nature ; 
 endowed with the capabilities of a god; an 
 aspirant for heaven, and communion with Christ 
 his intercessor, while under its influence is the 
 most corrupt, the most terrible. Yet, strangely 
 deluded, strangely infatuated, in opposition to his 
 better judgment, in defiance of God's awful 
 denunciations against the drunkard, he delib- 
 erately and unequivocally administers the suicidal 
 dose of Bohon Upas, which poisons his mind; 
 unfits him for the enjoyment of the refined 
 pleasures of existence ; introduces contention and 
 discord where love and harmony were wont to 
 
104 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 dwell; desecrates the sacred privileges of every 
 Divine ordinance; in a word, robs him of the 
 man, and constitutes him a brute, a byword, and a 
 reproach; finally consigning him to a premature 
 grave, there to wait the death-knell of his soul : 
 '^Depart from me^ ye cursed. Ye knew your dutyy 
 but ye did it noV 
 
 Ages of unutterable woe shall have passed, and 
 the agonizing shrieks of the lost are reverberating 
 through the fiery vaults of hell : " Tell me, ye 
 companions of iniquity, how long shall I endure 
 this indescribable torture?'' Eternity! eternity! 
 ^^Tell me, thou spirit of my sainted mother; thou 
 whose prayers, fervent and anxious^ I disregarded, 
 whose counsels I rejected, how long, how long 
 shall I suffer this dreadful punishment? always 
 consuming hut never consumed; always dying hut never 
 to die r' Eternity! eternity! eternity! 
 
 Millions of years shall again have inflicted their 
 allotted portion of misery, and the wailings of 
 despair and supplication are yet reverberating: 
 " Tell me, God ! whose love I spurned, whose 
 wrath I wilfully enkindled, is there no mercy in 
 heaven? All, all I ask is spiritual annihilation, 
 and that I beg for mercy's sake !" " Ye knew your 
 duty^ hut ye did it not!'* is the awful though just 
 response of Him who has promulgated to the 
 
TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 105 
 
 world, " The wages of sin is eternal death!'' a re- 
 sponse ectioed through, the celestial courts of 
 heaven. 
 
 Gentlemen, this is no fancy sketch, conceived by 
 an enthusiastic imagination, and delivered in the 
 delirium of excitement. Would to Heaven it 
 were ! If there is a single individual present over 
 whom a fate so awful is impending, let me beseech 
 him to pause and reflect; to dash far from him 
 the fatal cup, instrumental in producing such 
 consummated wretchedness, such endless punish 
 ment. 
 
 "Will he whose soul is lighted 
 With wisdom from on high, 
 To spirits so benighted 
 The lamp of life deny V* 
 
 Freedom ! 0, how sweet the sound ! With 
 out freedom life were a cheerless boon, a 
 dreary waste ! Give me liberty or give me death, 
 is the sentiment of every enlightened mind — 
 of every mind bearing the impress of its Divine 
 origin. 
 
 Whenever the national flag is unfurled to the 
 breeze, every patriotic bosom thrills with courage 
 and valor ! No hesitation to investigate causes — 
 enough for man to know that his country has 
 
 been invaded, his privileges as a freeman ex- 
 
 5* 
 
106 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 posed to danger. With heart nerved for battle, 
 with heart ready to be immolated upon the shrine 
 of liberty, he is ambitious to be foremost in the 
 contest, and never shouts more triumphantly than 
 when elevating the standard of victory ! 
 
 If such is man's courage when his tempora^ 
 rights are assailed, what should be the extent 
 of his courage when the eternal interest of his 
 immortal soul is involved ? Surely it should 
 employ the most vigilant exertions, the most un- 
 relenting opposition ! What should be the extent 
 of his zeal when the banner of Temperance, the 
 ensign of moral greatness, is hoisted ? It should 
 acknowledge no restraint within the limits of 
 reason ! 
 
 Were I a man, I, for one at least, would rally 
 around it, defending it with my latest breath ! Yes, 
 I would unite with this wise little army, which 
 already has accomplished much, and is destined 
 to achieve a greater victory than an Alexander 
 or a Napoleon ! 
 
 Is there no Caesar present who will take the 
 lead in this glorious warfare ? The Rubicon being 
 crossed, the battle is won. A little moral courage, 
 and the victory is gained. 
 
 Let the feeble voice of woman inspire that 
 courage! In no way can you conduce more to 
 
TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 107 
 
 human happiness, or more enhance your own; 
 in no waj more assuredly procure for yourdelves 
 an approving conscience, or more effectually 
 secure the approbation of the ladies ; in no way 
 sooner establish peace on earth and good will towards 
 men, or contribute more to the cause of Chris- 
 tianity, 
 
 In conclusion, allow me, gentlemen, to present 
 to you this banner. Take it — guard it well ! 
 During its execution a thousand emotions have 
 revolved in my mind. Hope and fear have alter- 
 nately prevailed ! Hope that, in after years, I 
 may have the happy gratification of learning that 
 its pure folds and bright colors have been shielded 
 from the assaults of the enemy. Fear, lest one 
 of your little number, recreant to duty, recreant to 
 honor J should, by a violation of his sacred trust, 
 reflect dishonor upon it, and upon the Division to 
 which it is given. But, as a summer cloud 
 before the noonday sun, every uncharitable re- 
 flection has vanished, leaving no vestige of fear 
 behind. 
 
 An organization having Love, Purity, and 
 Fidelity for its foundation, is obliged to stand. 
 The rain may descend, the floods come, and the 
 winds blow and beat upon it, and it will not fall ; 
 
108 PROSE AND POETRY* 
 
 for it is founded upon a rock. Yea, it is destined 
 to survive the vrreck of the universe, and be per- 
 petuated in heaven, where all will be immaculate 
 members of the Sons of Temperance, 
 
MY childhood's HOME. 109 
 
 W^ CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 My childhood's home ! My childhood's home ! 
 
 Of thee with rapture I will sing ; 
 For thy dear joys to me do come. 
 
 As brightest sunshine Spring can bring. 
 
 My childhood's home, and mother dear, 
 
 Together linked by strongest tie 
 In this fond heart till death is near, 
 
 To waft my soul beyond the sky. 
 
 My childhood's home ! and father brave ! 
 
 Blessings sure, by Heaven's decree, 
 To lead my thoughts beyond the grave, 
 
 To things Divine — God, to thee ! 
 
 My childhood's home ! and sisters too, 
 Are golden links of that bright chain, 
 
 In mercy formed for me to view ; 
 Then draw my soul to Him again. 
 
110 PROSE AND POETRy> 
 
 My childhood's home, and brother's love ! 
 
 Their tendrils, round my heart entwined, 
 Are growing still — will live above, 
 
 With saints and angels e'er enshrined. 
 
lALLASSBE FALLS, 111 
 
 TALLASSEE FALLS. 
 
 Tallassee ! humble, obscure Tallassee ! 
 Thy modest grandeur hath aroused dormant 
 Fancy ; and the bright beams celestial, 
 Which from thy crested bosom dart, wake once 
 More the slumbering flame of wild poetic 
 Fire, which, in the days of youthful ^rdor, 
 Inspired my happy heart ! 
 
 Yet hard ! 0, hard the task to tell thy wonders ! 
 Language, rich and copious, the tongue rebukes, 
 And bids it silence keep, nor vainly prove 
 Its impotence ! Imagination filled, 
 Inebriated with amazement, in vain 
 Essays to grasp thy warring sublimities ! 
 Though I may feebly tell the sweet and sacred 
 Thoughts which crowd my brain, as on the rock I 
 Stand, and gaze upon thy fearful chasm ! 
 Thoughts which the love-toned harp of Zion woke, 
 Thy discord calleth forth again ! 
 
112 PROSE AND POETRT. 
 
 I gaze 
 Upon thy turbid waters, as they rush. ^ 
 From rock to rock, in angry mood, till, vast 
 And vehement, thy warring torrent, like 
 A "lake long pent up amid the mountains," 
 Leaps forth in the gulf below ; and as I 
 Gaze, I think upon the awful flood of wrath 
 Due to the sins of vile, apostate man. 
 Which gushed upon the meek and lowly 
 One, and wrung the bitter cry : "My God ! 
 My God! 0, why dost Thou forsake me?'' 
 I behold the mysterious bow of heaven. 
 And read a language in its silent spell ! 
 Tellest thou, bright arch, of that beauteous bow 
 Of peace and love which spanned Mount Calvary 
 When Jesus died ! The eye of Christian faith 
 Turns from scenes of earth, and sees, O, love 
 Divine ! the wondrous words inscribed by God's 
 Own hands upon that bow, Peace, 'peace on earthy 
 Since Christ the Saviour died ! 
 I stand upon the rock ! here am I safe. 
 Thus may I ever stand on him, the Rock 
 Of everlasting ages ! 
 
 Secure from harm, 
 As on the rock I contemplate that mighty 
 Cataract of wrath which on my Saviour 
 Poured to rescue me — to rescue all — thus 
 
TALLASSEE FALLS. 118 
 
 May I gaze upon the bow of mercy ! 
 Read its bright lines, and wonder and adore ; 
 Thus sweetly may the fountains of my soul 
 Be broken up ! and tears, luxurious tears 
 Of joy and gratitude for ever flow. 
 
114 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 
 
 In past ages the study of the ancient languages 
 was confined almost exclusively to the clergy, and 
 a few learned men. The idea of introducing it 
 into female schools and seminaries of learning 
 would have startled the world, and been regarded 
 as some extravagant chimera of a madman's 
 brain. 
 
 We are told, however, that Lady Jane Grey and 
 Queen Elizabeth were well versed in some of the 
 dead languages. The latter spoke fluently both 
 Latin and Greek ! But these royal females were 
 far more favored than others of their sex, and 
 equalled by few" of the opposite — were far in ad- 
 vance of their age. 
 
 Even in classic Scotland, the nursery of science, 
 the study of the Greek language was not intro- 
 duced until about the sixteenth century ; and then 
 it met with much opposition. 
 
 The great Scottish Reformer, John Knox, did 
 not become acquainted with the Hebrew until at 
 
THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 115 
 
 the age of fifty. He studied it while an exile m 
 Geneva. 
 
 In our country much indisposition has been 
 shown to the study of the ancient languages. 
 But a brighter day seems dawning upon the lite- 
 rary world. The ponderous tomes of classic authors 
 are no longer confined to the library of the theolo- 
 gian and the linguist ; but may be seen in the 
 hands of every schoolboy, yea, and schoolgirl 
 too. 
 
 A great many words in our language, especially 
 the compound, are of Latin and Greek origin : 
 and it is impossible to thoroughly comprehend 
 them, unless acquainted with the languages from 
 which they are derived. Far be it from us to 
 repudiate the use of the good old' Saxon words ; 
 for many of them, simple though they be, are 
 hallowed by association with the dear objects that 
 they denote. But words which give dignity 
 and grandeur to the English language are derived 
 chiefly from the Latin and Greek. 
 
 By reading translations, some knowledge of 
 the works of classic writers may be acquired ; but 
 the best translation is to the original as the life- 
 less picture to the living form. The principal 
 features may be faithfully preserved, but the 
 warmth, the vivacity of the original are wanting. 
 
J16 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 The scholar who is familiar with the pages of 
 classic literature has many rich feasts, which one 
 unacquainted with the ancient languages can 
 never enjoy. He can accompany a Csesar through 
 his triumphant career of conquest ; listen to the 
 sublime orations of a Cicero ; and be entranced 
 by the sweet pastorals or more heroic measures of 
 a Virgil. He thus becomes acquainted with the 
 laws, customs, and peculiar doctrines of the great 
 nations of antiquity, and is prepared to trace their 
 influence on all succeeding ages. Some knowledge 
 of those languages is essential to any of the learned 
 professions. 
 
 The lawyer has much use for the Latin tongue, 
 because the rudiments of law were early written 
 in that language ; and its technical terms are yet 
 in Latin. The Roman tables constitute the basis 
 of our legal system ; and to one unacquainted with 
 the language of Rome, legal lore is unmeaning. 
 To the disciple of Esculapius, the Greek is indis- 
 pensable, since medical science was derived from 
 that people. Its forms of expression, its techni- 
 calities, are Greek. 
 
 But especially is it necessary that the theologian 
 should be well acquainted with the languages in 
 which the Sacred Scriptures were originally written. 
 He who is not may be a man of much piety, but 
 
THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 117 
 
 never can he enter so deeply into the meaning of 
 the Divine text, as he to whom the Hebrew and 
 the Greek are familiar. 
 
 He who wars against the study of the classical 
 languages of antiquity, is chargeable with reckless- 
 ness and folly as great as he who would demolish 
 the foundation of the temple, and expect the 
 superstructure to stand firmly erect. Extinguish 
 the knowledge of these, and the principal lan- 
 guages of the world would degenerate into un- 
 couth jargon. 
 
 The English, the French, the Spanish, the 
 Italian, owe their polish and beauty to their origin 
 — the oro rotundo of Roman literature. 
 
 Should it ever unfortunately happen that the 
 study of those languages should fall into disuse — 
 should be banished from the halls of learning, 
 and the writings of Livy, Cicero, Horace, Virgil, 
 and Caesar, and all the host of classic authors, be 
 repudiated, then will our language become a 
 medley of scraps and terms collected from all other 
 tongues. The ancient classics serve to keep the 
 fountain pure. 
 
118 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 FAREWELL TO ALABAMA.* 
 
 Alabama, good-bye ! I love thee well ! 
 
 But yet for awhile do I leave tliee now ! 
 Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth 
 swell, 
 
 And burning recollections throng my brow ! 
 For I have wandered through thy flowery woods ; 
 
 Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream; 
 Have listened to Tallassee's warring; floods, 
 
 And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam. 
 
 And now we part ; the car is running fast, 
 
 Her pathway decked by wreaths of curling 
 smoke ; 
 The Herculean power that guides her mast 
 
 Will soon bear me to my own Homey Sweei 
 IIom£, 
 Home ! Home ! that tender word let me retrace — 
 
 Retrace each dear and hallowed spot at home ! 
 Each cherished wish, and every well-known face, 
 
 To banish thoughts of those from whom I roam. 
 
 ^Written in imitation of Tyrone Power's "Farewell to Ame- 
 
MY HEART TO-NIGHT. 121 
 
 My enraptured, happy soul. 
 
 Free as the proud eagle's wing, 
 Free from physical control, 
 
 Soars to worlds where angels sing ; 
 To worlds where there is no noise, 
 
 No contention nor vain strife. 
 But celestial peace and joys 
 
 Reign throughout immortal life. 
 
 O, it is the sweetest joy 
 
 Thus in thought to rise aloft, 
 Where no sins of earth alloy, 
 
 Wliere words of love are heard oft. 
 Stay aloft, spirit mine. 
 
 Disdain this cold, selfish world ; 
 Much purer joys can be thine 
 
 Than on earth were e'er unfurled. 
 
 Look abroad upon each c^tar ! 
 
 Tho7agh it but a beacon seems. 
 To guide mariners from afar, 
 
 A bright world of glory beams ! 
 ""Whose suns and skies are e'er clear, 
 
 Without one single hour of gloom ; 
 And the gently rolling j^ear 
 
 Ne'er puts off its youthful bloom. 
 
122 PKOSE AND POETRY. 
 
 "Where looks of briglitness never know, 
 
 Through time's lapse, one sadd'ning shade; 
 Nor the forced smile strive to throw 
 
 Over hopes in ruin laid/' 
 WTiere asre comes not with chillino; touch. 
 
 Bringing symbols of decay ; 
 -But forms of beauty are such 
 
 Through eternity's long day. 
 
 "Where grim death can never wring 
 
 The heart's strong and sacred ties ; 
 For they in love do only cling 
 
 To heaven's immortalities. 
 *^And friends love without the thought 
 
 That forces oft the bitter tear, 
 That a few years may leave naught, 
 
 Perhaps, of all held most dear." 
 
 But hark, my soul ! dost forget 
 
 The sweet visions pure and bright, 
 That but now around thee met, 
 
 With rich feasts of sweet delight ? 
 Ye are welcome, dear loved guests, 
 
 Though ye come in mystic form ; 
 I will list to your behests, 
 
 They with pleasure I'll perform. 
 
MY HEART TO-NIGHT. 128 
 
 "What's your mission ; what's your will, 
 
 That ye come in silent night ? 
 If some dewdrop to distil, 
 
 Shed it ere the sun give light. 
 If some kind monition brought, 
 
 Speak at once, and I will list ; 
 If with sorrow ye are fraught, 
 
 I can bear that too, I wist. 
 
 '' Yes, a dewdrop we do bring, 
 
 And a kind monition too ; 
 * Angels now are on the wing,' 
 
 May their songs be heard by you ; 
 By their gentle hands be led 
 
 Through the strait and narrow way; 
 When the grave enwraps thy head. 
 
 Thy soul will guide to endless day.** 
 
1*24 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 I WENT TO THE PLACE. 
 
 I went to the place of my birth, and said: *'The friends of my 
 youth : where are they ?" And echo answered : ** Where are they ?" 
 
 I WENT to the place of my birth, and said : 
 
 "The friends of my childhood, where are they 
 
 fled?'' 
 And echo replied, in a deathlike tone, 
 " There remaineth not one — all, all are gone !'' 
 
 Like the dewdrop, that glittered on the spray. 
 Or the morning mist, they vanished away : 
 Some went to the east, and some to the west. 
 And some in the house of silence to rest. 
 
 The cot where my father and mother dwelt, 
 Even that the general doom had felt : 
 It was gone ; and also the old oak tree 
 Beneath which I played in infancy. \ 
 
I WENT TO THE PLACE. 126 
 
 There nothing remained of the days gone by, 
 " To claim a tear or to merit a sigh/' 
 But the eternal hills and mountains high, 
 And the ever-enduring calm blue sky. 
 
 And thus, I exclaimed, it happens to all — 
 Our friends like the leaves of autumn fall ; 
 They noiselessly go, and are seen no more 
 On life's eventful and changing shore. 
 
 But Hope lifts my heart to that world above ; 
 there may I meet each friend that I love ; 
 There never again from them shall I sever. 
 But 0, blessed thought, dwell with them for ever ! 
 
126 PROSE AND POBTBY. 
 
 THE POWER OP TRIPLES. 
 
 *' Springing from the faintest causes, 
 Grand results have often shown 
 That there is a power in trifles." 
 
 A FAINT rustle is heard amid the sere leaves cf 
 autumn : a tiny acorn has fallen to the ground. 
 Weeks, months elapse, and at the very spot where 
 lay the acorn, a slender stem, surrounded by a few 
 delicate leaves, appears in its stead. The rain, the 
 gentle dew, and the sunshine, each in its turn 
 contributes to its growth and development. In a 
 few years the fragile plant, which an infant's foot 
 might have crushed, has become a sturdy oak, 
 the hundred-armed Briareus of the forest, whose 
 roots the storms of winter but serve to fix more 
 deeply; in whose branches the birds of the air 
 build their nests ; and beneath whose wide-spread- 
 ing umbrage both man and beast find shelter and 
 repose. 
 
 Down deep in old ocean's bed, myriads of 
 
THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 127 
 
 insects, so small as to be scarcely perceptible, are 
 rearing monuments of themselves which bid defi- 
 ance to the roaring winds and the raging waves. 
 Many a green island of the sea, where grows 
 the feathery cocoa and the graceful palm, and 
 upon whose shores the dusky son of the tropica 
 erects his home, is the production of these tiny 
 though industrious insects. 
 
 In that portion of the United States bordering 
 on the Rocky Mountains, is a little limpid lake, 
 from which flows a small stream only a few inches 
 deep. Merrily it dances on its* way: now mirror- 
 ing the wild flowers blushing by its side ; now 
 furnishing a cooling draught for the agile deer 
 bounding over its native woods ; and now refresh- 
 ing the weary traveller as he drinks of its crystal 
 waters. A thousand other brooks unite with it, 
 and it becomes a mighty river : on its broad bosom 
 majestic steamers are borne; on its fertile banks 
 proud cities are erected. Proceeding onward, it 
 is constantly receiving tributaries, until finally, 
 having traversed thousands of miles, it mingles its 
 now turbid waters with the Atlantic's blue waves. 
 
 As the forest oak was once a bitter acorn ; as the 
 island of the sea was the work of the coral insect; 
 as this great Father of Waters — this mighty Mis^ 
 sissippi — had its source in a diminutive mountain 
 
128 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 lake, so in the moral as well as the material world, 
 grand results have often sprung from the faintest 
 causes. 
 
 Almost all the great discoveries which have 
 preeminently distinguished the late centuries, have 
 been the result not so much of profound research 
 as of accident. For instance, the simple circum- 
 stance which led to the great discovery of the law 
 of gravitation. 
 
 A hundred years later, in an humble cottage in 
 Scotland, a little boy sat by his mother's kitchen 
 fire. In an attitude of the deepest attention ho 
 gazed at the tea-kettle singing on the hearth. 
 What did he see in the misty wreaths of steam 
 which ever and anon escaped from the spout, or 
 slowly lifted the lid of the kettle ? The expan- 
 sive, the propelling power of steam ! And the 
 grand idea enters his mind of applying this power- 
 ful agent to machinery. Little did his mother 
 dream, when she chided her son for what she con- 
 sidered a foolish habit, that he was making a dis- 
 covery for which he would not only receive a proud 
 title, but the untiring thanks of a grateful world ; 
 for the improvement in the steam-engine, which 
 this discovery enabled Watt to make, has saved 
 an amount of labor no mathematician can esti- 
 mate 
 
THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 129 
 
 The history of our own country affords ,many 
 happy illustrations of the power of trifles. Behold 
 Columbus, with a small fleet, and without a chart, 
 sailing over seas hitherto unexplored. Even the 
 magnetic needle, his only guide over the pathless 
 ocean, ceased to point to the polar star. Terrified 
 by this phenomenon, the sailors refuse to go 
 farther, until he, with the presence of mind for 
 which he is so remarkable, promises if in three 
 days land does not appear he will return. Soon 
 signs of land are visible : with renewed hope they 
 proceed ; and the discovery of a New World is the 
 result. Had the self-possession of this renowned 
 adventurer forsaken him but for a moment; had 
 the time appointed for retracing their course been 
 but a few hours shorter, America might yet have 
 been a trackless wilderness. 
 
 More than a century after this important dis- 
 covery, a solitary ship is on the deep. With its 
 precious freight of one hundred and one souls, it 
 pursues its perilous way over the wintry waves. 
 The winds howl through the rigging ; the billows 
 rage around; but within that little vessel all is 
 calm. Those Pilgrims have put their trust in God, 
 and amid the storm they sing his praise. At last, 
 weak and weary, they land on the rock-bound 
 
 coast of New England, " without shelter, without 
 6* 
 
130 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 means, and in the midst of hostile tribes/' Were 
 it possible to interrogate any one unacquainted with 
 the subsequent history of the Pilgrim Fathers, as 
 to the result of their enterprise, he would answer : 
 " They must perish ; they cannot survive the priva- 
 tions and dangers to which they are exposed/' 
 But every citizen of our nation knows that this 
 little band of Christian brothers, forced by perse- 
 cution to flee their native land, were the first to 
 establish a permanent colony in the Western 
 Hemisphere ; the first to establish the glorious 
 privileges of civil and religious libert3^ 
 
 The causes which led to the American revolu- 
 tion were in themselves insignificant; but the 
 result ! — the formation of a republic for which the 
 world's annals furnish no parallel. 
 
 Our chief institutions of learning exemplify the 
 principle of "great efifects from little causes/' As 
 proof, we need only turn to the history of Yale 
 College and Nassau Hall. 
 
 Even ''genius loves to nestle in strange places," 
 and confer its meeds of honor in the most obscure 
 pathways. The very humblest households have 
 frequently been the nurseries of the most gifted 
 minds. " We see Galileo soliciting the loan of a 
 few shillings with w^hich to purchase the materials 
 for constructing his telescope," an instrument 
 
THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 131 
 
 which has brought thousands of stars, never before 
 seen, within the sphere of mortal vision ; thus 
 throwing a flood of noonday effulgence on the 
 sublime science of Astronomy. 
 
 Embarrassed by poverty, and surrounded by a 
 gloom never varied by 
 
 **The sweet approach of even or morn, 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 Or human face divine," 
 
 Milton wrote an epic poem never equalled. 
 
 Beethoven, whose name is inseparably connected 
 with all that is sublime in harmony, was in ex- 
 tremely limited circumstances. Like most great 
 geniuses, he was in advance of his age. The 
 world disdained to listen to those exquisite strains 
 its discordant soul could not comprehend, and 
 almost persuaded him to doubt the powers of his 
 own genius. As a climax to his misfortunes, he 
 became completely deaf. Never more shall he 
 hear the sweet sounds dearer to him than all the 
 world beside ; but their memory lives, and will 
 vibrate through his soul for ever. Alone amid 
 the solitudes of nature, he composed those marvel- 
 lous symphonies which everywhere thrill with 
 unutterable emotion the heart-strings of the gifted, 
 the refined, the noble in soul. 
 
 It is with feelings of grateful triumph that we 
 
132 PROSEAND POETRY. 
 
 arrive at our own ^reat and comparatively recent 
 blessings, the results apparently of little causes. 
 It was through the stern discipline of early strug- 
 gles with adversity that the great American 
 triumvirate, Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, derived 
 that strength of mind which enabled them to 
 battle so successfully when a nation's destiny was 
 at stake. 
 
 The very nobility of Christian literature have 
 sprung from the lowest walks of life. Dr. Thomas 
 Home, author of the Introduction to the Bible, 
 was once a journeyman bookbinder; and White- 
 field, the Demosthenes of the pulpit, was once a 
 poor bootblack in the University of Oxford. In- 
 deed, almost all the great men who have done so 
 much for the advancement of science and the 
 amelioration of mankind, were in early life en- 
 gaged in some manual employment. The profess- 
 ing Christian whe scorns the lowly, would seem 
 to forget that Jesus selected his disciples from the 
 fishermen of Galilee ; that Melancthon, the theo- 
 logian of the Reformation, emerged from an 
 armorer's shop ; and that Luther went forth from 
 the cottage of a German miner, to wound the Man 
 of Sin, and to shake to its foundations the throne 
 of Papal Rome. 
 
 The publication of a book seems a trivial occur- 
 
THE POWER OP TRIFLES. 133 
 
 rence; but who can tell tlie influence, either for 
 weal or woe, which it may exert? Two centuries 
 ago, within the walls of a prison, was written the 
 immortal Pilgrim's Progress, which now goes 
 forth by millions to every quarter of the globe, 
 leading multitudes to the Cross of Christ. 
 
 And Doddridge, the author of the Rise and Pro- 
 gress of Religion in the Soul, was of humble 
 lineage. Thus we see that that book, and the like 
 literature, which thousands, from the renowned 
 William Wilberforce down to the present time, 
 regard as instrumental, in their conversion, have 
 emanated from the domiciles of the poor, or from 
 the confines of the persecuted. 
 
 A learned writer has said: ''There is nothing 
 on earth so small that it may not produce great things.'' 
 
 '•Planets govern not the soul, nor guide the destinies of man; 
 But trifles lighter than straws are levers in the building up of 
 character." 
 
 On a bright summer's day, in years gone by, 
 there lay, near a grogshop, on the outskirts of a 
 Virginia city, one in manhood's prime, but ap- 
 parently lost to manhood's pride. His senses 
 stupefied by liquor, there he was, a degraded mash of 
 animated dust, the scorching rays of the sun beating 
 down upon his face with furious intensity. A 
 young lady, who was passing by, recognized in the 
 
134 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 inebriated sleeper the idol of earthly affections; 
 him whom she had told she would sacrifice every 
 thing for, if he would but cease his intemperate 
 habits. With all woman's devotion and tenderness, 
 she softly spread over his face her handkerchief — 
 her name written upon it. The sleeper awoke. 
 The name uppermost in his sober thoughts met 
 his eye. The truth burst upon his mind. He 
 resolves to forsake such an ignominious course. 
 The lovers meet and are united. The subsequent 
 history of William Wirt shows that this little 
 office of love was not lost ; yea, that it may even 
 have been the means of rescuing him, who after- 
 wards declined a presidency, from a drunkard's 
 grave; and enrolled his name upon the annals 
 of his country's greatness to shine with undying 
 lustre. 
 
 A little word, a little act, a little thought seals 
 our destiny for ever. A yes or a no shapes our 
 fortune for wretchedness or bliss in all coming 
 time. Thus, then, we may learn from this view 
 of the subject not to despise little things. They 
 possess a potency and expansion of which men 
 little dream, amid the rush and turmoil of life's 
 career. 
 
 If we have been denied those extraordinary 
 talents which ever give their possessor such influ* 
 
THK POWER OF TRIFLE St 135 
 
 ence, we are apt to imagine there is nothing for 
 us to do. But this is not so : 
 
 Every one, though poor and humble, 
 
 Has a mission to fulfil ; 
 Every hand, though small and feeble, 
 
 Can work out some good or ill. 
 
 "We, then, who may mourn over the want of 
 talents, the inability to accomplish great things, 
 should take courage. Though we be not distin- 
 guished for brilliant acquirements ; though the 
 worldly and the gay seek not our society ; though 
 listening senates and crowded assemblies hang not 
 upon the eloquence of our tongue ; yet we may 
 exert an influence, unobserved save by an All-seeing 
 eye — an influence gentle as the dewdrop, sweet as 
 the fragrant flower — which will live when the vain 
 and frivolous are forgotten, when the statesman 
 and orator are stilled in death. If we have soothed 
 one aching heart — if we have spoken one word of 
 encouragement to an erring brother — if we have 
 given even one cup of cold water to one of the 
 household of faith, we are not living in vain. 
 
 Such deeds, though seemingly trifling, are pre- 
 cious in the sight of God ; and are recorded in his 
 jewelled ledgers in characters imperishable as 
 eternity 
 
• 36 •> PROSE AND POETKt, 
 
 a 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 'And what is friendship but a name, 
 A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
 
 A shade that follows wealth and fame, 
 Then leaves the wretch to weep ?'* 
 
 Is friendship then a selfish thing ? 
 Is wealth and fame the only spring 
 
 From which such feeling flows ? 
 If so, how few on earth can claim 
 That tender, that endearing name ! 
 
 For one, I can't, I know. 
 
 ^'But 'tis not so — none but the vile. 
 The false, the sycophants, that smile 
 
 To gain some purposed end, 
 "Would prostitute that sacred tie, 
 And, masked in base hypocjisy. 
 
 Profess to be a friend. 
 
LINES TO MY SISTER. 137 
 
 Yes, there are some whose candid hearts 
 Would scorn dissimulation's art ; 
 
 Who are just what they seem. 
 May such kind Heaven bestow on thee. 
 For only such will constant be^ 
 
 Or merit thy esteem. 
 
 LINES TO MY SISTER. 
 
 [Written in Tuscaloosa.] 
 
 I'm far away, lov'd one, 
 
 'Mid sunshine and song, 
 Where birds of gay plumage 
 
 Their love notes prolong; 
 Where golden-hued blossoms 
 
 And soft zephyrs play, 
 And joy sprinkles dew drops 
 
 And balm in my way; 
 Where murmuring waters 
 
 Glide lovingly by. 
 And reflect as a mirror 
 
 The sunlighted sky ; 
 Where orange and myrtle 
 
 Together entwine, 
 
138 LINES TO MY SISTER 
 
 And dark waving cedar 
 Rears tendril and vine. 
 
 Where the spirit of poesy 
 
 Floats o'er the scene, 
 Like a cloud o'er the earth 
 
 In its silvery sheen ; 
 And sparkling fountains 
 
 Toss up their light spray, 
 In ceaseless merriment 
 
 Through night and through day; 
 These spring days are passed 
 
 'Mid Tusca's cool bowers. 
 Her butterflies gay, 
 
 And tinted flowers; 
 My footsteps have wandered 
 
 Through grotto and glen, 
 O'er mountain and woodland. 
 
 Through valley and fen. 
 
 In Castalia's groves 
 
 I have tremblingly stood, 
 And my heart beat high 
 
 In that mystical wood : 
 
LINES TO MY SISTER. 189 
 
 'Mid temples of learning 
 
 And classical lore, 
 And sweet scented briers 
 
 On Warrior's green shore. 
 I've gone, dearest one, 
 
 To the temple of God, 
 And knelt in devotion 
 
 O'er death's cold sod; 
 I've list to the teachings 
 
 Of earth, sky and air, 
 While my soul soar'd upward 
 
 On pinions of prayer. 
 
 But more sweet to my heart 
 
 Is thy voice, my love ! 
 Than aught else beneath 
 
 The bright heavens above; 
 It has power to soothe 
 
 My worn spirit to rest, 
 And point it to realms 
 
 Of the pure and the blest ; 
 " Where rivers of Jordon 
 
 Flow o'er the bright plains, 
 And the noontide of glory 
 
 Eternally reigns. 
 
140 ' PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 SING GENTLY. 
 
 "Sing gently, sweet syren ;" my spirit is sad, 
 Peace has fled from me, no longer I am glad ; 
 The semblance has changed, the word has been 
 
 spoken 
 That blasted my hopes, while my heart it has 
 
 broken. 
 
 "Sing gently, sweet syren;" earth's pleasures are 
 
 o'er, 
 My bosom shall feel their emotions no more ; 
 This heart has been stricken, 'tis bleeding with 
 
 pain, 
 A pang it has suffered 'twill ne'er feel again. 
 
 "Sing gently, sweet syren;" my lot has been 
 
 cast 
 In a land of troubles that fore'er will last; 
 Hope brings no promise of approaching relief, 
 In sadness and sorrow must weather my grief. 
 
SrNa OENTLlf. J41 
 
 ^ Sing gently, sweet syren ;'* I'll list to thy lay, 
 rill life's burning troubles shall flicker away ; 
 When on my last pillow I've suffered full long, 
 My dying devotion shall cling to thy song. 
 
142 PEOSFAFi:?:iTEY 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Religion ! thou source of all true joy on earth ! 
 
 Conceived in heaven, and on earth given birth ! 
 
 Beautiful, lovely, glorious and sublime, 
 
 Thy joys endureth unto the end of time ! 
 
 Ay, longer, over time itself victorious, 
 
 Thou art enthroned in the courts above glorious ! ' 
 
 Religion ! thou art a mysterious gift, 
 Which the heart of man o'er the earth doth uplift! 
 Thou tamest the wildest savage of the wood. 
 And makest him the instrument of great good ! 
 Thou strewest with flowers the path of the exile, 
 And, in the fulness of joy, makest him smile ! 
 
 Religion ! thou brightenest the prisoner's cell, 
 And draughts of bliss yieldest him from thy pure 
 
 well ! 
 [n the desert thou art an oasis green. 
 The weary heart making all tranquil serene ! 
 [u humble poverty's meagre abode, 
 Thou smilest and speakest a hopeful word ! 
 
RELIGION. lis 
 
 Religion ! thou art a jewel beautiful — meet 
 
 For the young bride to wear her bridegroom to 
 
 greet ! 
 With thanks to the Giver, too many to speak, 
 Thou impressest a kiss on the new-born's cheek! 
 With unwav'ring faith in God's power to save, 
 Thou lookest in hope from the loved one's grave ! 
 
 Religion ! thy strength is felt in all walks of life, 
 Now promoting peace, and now subduing strife ! 
 In the halls of state with grace thou dost preside. 
 Enacting laws which throughout time wilt abide ! 
 In the senate-chamber, thy silvery voice 
 For the culprit pleads, and makest his heart rejoice 
 
 Religion ! thou speakest with voice still and small, 
 
 Alike in lowly cot and in stately hall ! 
 
 To the man of years thou givest a new birth. 
 
 And convertest to heaven his home on earth ! 
 
 " Thou walkest in light shed from heaven abroad, 
 
 And summerest in bliss on the hills of God !" 
 
144 PROSE AND POETRY 
 
 DON'T CRY, MY BABY. 
 
 Lines suggested by hearing a sick mother say to her darling 
 boy — an only child — just a few days before he died, "Don't cry, my 
 baby.*' 
 
 Does fever rack my darling boy, 
 And fill his little frame with pain : 
 
 His mother knows no hour of joy, 
 Till lie with health is blessed again. 
 
 Don't cry, my baby. 
 
 0, nestle, loved one, near my heart ; 
 
 My fond affection may to thee 
 Health-giving principles impart, 
 
 Ev'n though of life it robeth me. 
 
 Don't cry, my baby. 
 
 Father in Heaven ! God of Love ! 
 
 K thou wilt touch him he will live ! 
 O, from thy throne, in courts above. 
 
 In mercy look — ^bid him survive ! 
 
 Don't cry, my baby. 
 
don't cry, my baby. 145 
 
 Bid him the bitter cup refuse, 
 
 Surcharged with chilly dews of death ! 
 
 O'er his stricken spirit diffuse 
 
 The healing fragrance of thy breath ! 
 
 Don't cry, my baby. 
 
 It cannot be, it cannot be, 
 
 For man's first sin my child must die ! 
 Must from his father and from me. 
 
 Clasped in Death's sleep for ever lie ! 
 
 Ever lie, my baby. 
 
 O ! I was sick, and could not save 
 The dear pledge to mortals given, 
 
 To raise their thoughts beyond the grave, 
 On wings of faith to soar to heaven. 
 
 Blame not, my baby. 
 
 And when they told me thou wert dead, 
 My senses reeled — my earthly joy, 
 
 And fondest hopes, together fled 
 To realms above, my cherub boy ! 
 
 To thee, my baby ! 
 
 With mournful steps they bore my child 
 
 Unto his narrow bed of clay ; 
 Whilst I, in deep despair, was mild. 
 
 And saw not where my son they lay. 
 
 Saw not, my baby. 
 
146 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 Though lonely is that dwelling-place, 
 
 Though dark and deep the chamber there 
 
 Which from earth's view hides thy pale face, 
 Sad, sorrowing ones linger near. 
 
 Rest, rest, my baby. 
 
 Dear child of mine ! thou liest low ; 
 
 The pulse has left thy silent heart ; 
 And thou hast gone where all must go. 
 
 And all must be as now thou art. 
 
 My dead, cold baby ! 
 
 "A seal is placed upon thy tongue, 
 
 Which mortal hand can never burst ; 
 A mist before thine eyes is flung, 
 
 Which mortal might can ne'er disperse." 
 
 My poor, blind baby ! 
 
 The grief that now my bosom rends, 
 None ever but a mother knew — 
 
 My fair and faded bud now wends 
 To other worlds, far from my view. 
 
 Far, far, my baby ! 
 
 In brighter worlds the bud now blends 
 
 Heaven's hues ! cerulean blue ! 
 From His high throne my King now bends, 
 . To list this prayer — ^heartfelt and true — 
 
 This prayer, my baby ! 
 
DON*T CRT, MY BABY. 147 
 
 Pardoned, accepted, may again, 
 
 In God's pure fold, the mother meet 
 
 Her little lamb, by Thee now slain— 
 Now taken angel bands to greet. 
 
 My angel baby I 
 
 " Suffer it to come unto me ; 
 
 Composed of such my kingdom is ; 
 But in my courts 'twill meet with thee, 
 I^'e'er to part, as in worlds like this !'' 
 
 We'll meet, my baby ! 
 
 Give God the glory, my soul ! 
 
 For love so great — love so Divine ! 
 Which can the broken heart make whole, 
 
 And cure this wounded spirit mine ! 
 
 Give thanks, my baby ! 
 
 Don't cry, my baby ! shout, rejoice, 
 That so soon from sin thou art free ! 
 
 That thou canst list to Christ's sweet voice, 
 Pleading to save lost ones like me ! 
 
 Rejoice, my baby! 
 
 Rejoice ! the seal is off thy tongue, 
 Which mortal hand could never burst ; 
 
 Rejoice ! the mist thine eyes is flung. 
 
 Which mortal might could ne'er disperse. 
 Sing praise, my baby ! 
 
148 PROSE ANP POETRY. 
 
 Some angel motlier enfolds thee, 
 Now, beneath her spotless white wings ; 
 
 Some angel band's sweet minstrelsy 
 Thy mother's lullaby now sings. 
 
 Sing too, my baby ! 
 
 He who sits on the great white throne 
 Will take you gently in his arms ! 
 
 High above every trouble borne, 
 Ne'er more to feel earth's rude alarms ! 
 
 My blessed baby ! 
 
THE SABBATH. 149 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Sweet day of hallowed rest! How blessed thy 
 
 sacred hours ! 
 White-robed Peace sits enthroned upon yon fleecy 
 
 cloud, 
 As when the first six days' work was done, and the 
 
 God 
 Of creation blessed the seventh day and sanctified 
 It! 
 
 The glorious king of light, in majesty 
 Sublime, shoots forth his golden arrows, spreading 
 
 bright 
 Efiulgence through the branches of the tall old 
 
 trees, 
 That, like sentinels, stand around in triumphant 
 Security — twining their leaf-clad arms in close 
 Embrace; and, with ray serene, descends to 
 
 meanest 
 Blade of grass and lowliest flower that raise 
 Their heads to heaven. 
 
160 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 The fields are keeping Sabbath! the reaping- 
 hook 
 
 Lies untouched midst Autumn's generous sheaves! 
 *the black - 
 
 Bird's gladsome note, as he warbles his Heaven- 
 taught 
 
 Song, "comes soft and mellow from the dale;*' 
 the gentle 
 
 Zephyrs scarce kiss the flowery dell; "and man 
 and beast 
 
 Enjoy the season designed for rest." 
 
 At a time like this — 
 
 So still, so tranquil, so Sabbath-like, the grateful 
 
 Heart, in songs of praise and thanksgiving that 
 upward. 
 
 Like holy incense, riseth to heaven. No earth- 
 
 Born passion nor thought impure obscures the 
 brightness 
 
 Of the spirit's gaze : unfettered from the world's 
 cold 
 
 Prison bars, it sees the vastness of eternity ! 
 Hark I it is the steeple's bell I hear. 
 
 Welcome sound ! sound that summons unto God's 
 holy 
 
 Worship ! At thy bidding the rich and poor, the 
 high 
 
 And low assemble ! The careworn laboier, who 
 
THE SABBATH. 151 
 
 Earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, and the 
 
 proud 
 Voluptuous votary of mammon, all — all 
 Come at thy impartial bidding ! 
 
 Now the bell has 
 Ceased, and those for devotion met wait for 
 
 prayer — 
 Prayer which on angels' wings is borne to heaven ! 
 
 Then 
 From the choir songs harmonious swell with 
 
 chorus 
 Sweet and joyful — voices touched by David's pure 
 
 harp 
 Of Zion, unite in the euphonious strain. 
 Prayer again ensues — prayer, fervent, eloquent 
 
 prayer. 
 In which — for " Our Father who art in Heaven" is 
 No respecter of persons — the rich and poor 
 Remembrance find. 
 
 One in the pulpit stands, of God 
 Elect ! exhorting to good. He reasoneth thus : 
 " Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall bo 
 
 as white 
 As snow ; though they be red like crimson, they 
 
 shall be 
 As wool.'' 
 
152 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 His soul, freed from all cares, bathes its wings in 
 
 glories 
 TJnconceived ; and as his lofty intellect grasps 
 The inspiration of this most sacred theme, he. 
 Through argument great and imagery beautiful, 
 Soars to bright, celestial altars, God has made 
 Himself, eternal in the heavens. Now he tells 
 Of a Saviour's dying love — his high estate — his 
 Shameful banishment from the throne — his agony 
 And bloody sweat — his soulfelt cry of anguish 
 great : 
 JElij JEli^ lama sabachthani ? 
 His ignominious death and burial! The noon- 
 day 
 Sun conceals with crapen veil its blushing face ! 
 
 Deep 
 Sepulchral voices fill the air — while the cold 
 
 graves 
 Send forth their dead! — pale band, to chant the 
 
 songs of praise 
 And love ! 
 
 ** 'Tis done, the mighty plan is carried out — 
 The last great sacrifice for sin is o'er; 
 Then from the tomb he rolls the stone away, 
 And shows a risen Saviour and a God ! 
 The difierent hearers testify his power 
 
THE SABBATH. 153 
 
 In different ways. TLe truth, like a sharp sword, 
 Has cleaved its path. The flinty heart is crushed, 
 And the great deep of sin is broken up ; 
 The old transgressors tremble by the stand. 
 The young in sin repent to sin no more. 
 A. thousand voices join in one wild prayer. 
 And shrieks, and groans, and shouts of joy arise ;' 
 And Heaven keeps Sabbath over the joyful scene, 
 Sweet Alleluia to the King of the Sabbath day ! 
 
164 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 OOTHCALOOGA. 
 
 Vale of beauty ! . the lone and troubled heart — 
 In sweet seclusion, far remote from strife, 
 
 Exempt from pain and folly, guile and art, 
 
 Which throng around the busy scenes of life — 
 
 Enjoys within thy bosom that repose 
 
 Which in this cold world is seldom given ! 
 
 That calm content which from retirement flowt^, 
 And holds celestial intercourse with heaven ! 
 
 Not here does malice plume her sable wing ; 
 
 Nor mad ambition rage without control ! 
 Not here does envy hurl her venomed sting, 
 
 Nor passions base contaminate the soul ! 
 
 Here, in her primitive simplicity. 
 
 Nature o'er all holds undisputed reign; 
 
 And banishes deceit, hypocrisy. 
 And fashion's giddy, unreflecting train ! 
 
UUTHCALOOGA. 155 
 
 Sure I for gayer scenes will never sigh, 
 Nor crave the luxuries ill understood ; 
 
 Which lull the senses, and attract the eye 
 From thy delightful paths' sweet solitude ! 
 
 O, if to us, while on this terrene sphere, 
 A foretaste of heavens' joys be given, 
 
 Sure it must be by God's own hands strewn here, 
 An earnest of celestial biiss m heaven. 
 
156 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 
 
 ** For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and 
 lose his own soul ? or, what shall a man give in exchange for hia 
 soul?" 
 
 Startling questions ! Momentous inquiries ! 
 Questions which, if not found within the lids of 
 the Holy Bible, the book of God, but simply 
 propounded by man to his fellow-man, how deeply 
 even then would he be impressed with their 
 weighty importance, their startling suggestions ! 
 How much more weighty, how much more start- 
 ling then should they appear to man, coming as 
 they do to him sanctified by Divine authority, 
 sanctified by the Holy Spirit of God himself! 
 
 All will admit that the salvation of the soul, the 
 salvation of the immortal part of man, is of more 
 worth than any, or all, mere earthly possessions 
 or attainments, however desirable, however valu- 
 able they may be. These questions teach the 
 doctrine that the soul is immortal, therefore of 
 more worth than the whole world beside. 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL* 157 
 
 Wealth, earth's most treacherous gift, is, never- 
 theless, valuable; affluence, though unstable as 
 water, is desirable : it commands for the possessor 
 every earthly comfort, every earthly luxury: it 
 gratifies his appetite, indulges his passions, and 
 purchases position : it allures the weak, it conquers 
 the strong, and is the idol of all. 
 
 When properly managed and judiciously appro- 
 priated, wealth is valuable to man — ^valuable as a 
 means, most valuable as an end. In the hands of 
 the wise, wealth is power, and its possessor a uni- 
 versal conqueror. But wealth belongs to earth ; it 
 abideth not with man. 
 
 ** Wealth hath never given happiness, but often hastened misery." 
 
 Knowledge, too, is valuable, most valuable. 
 Knowledge is wealth of the most durable charac- 
 ter : she possesses a wand which commands for her 
 possessor a nobler happiness, a more exalted des- 
 tiny; and weaves for his brow a chaplet of virtu- 
 ous renown, whose bright colors will fade but with 
 the end of time ! But knowledge shall fail, her 
 devotees be transformed to dust, her laurel- wreathed 
 altars crumble to decay; tongues and prophecies 
 lie stilled in death. 
 
 Power is valuable : it elevates to the very sum- 
 mit of earthly bliss. To be the observed of ob- 
 servers, as the one preeminent, to govern and 
 
158 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 command, is pleasing to the soul of man— is the 
 acme of the bright but illusive grandeur of human 
 happiness. But it, like wealth and knowledge, 
 abideth not with man. 
 
 Wealth is terrestrial, and, however useful as a 
 means, passeth away. Knowledge, when confined 
 to earthly sciences, however the glory of its attain- 
 ments may ennoble the mind and feast the intellect, 
 perishes; and power, the poor brief power with 
 which man is invested, is but weakness ! Either 
 of these great objects of man's ambition, however 
 conducive to his temporal happiness, is mortal, 
 and, in its very best estate, must perish in its use. 
 The occupant of a palace, the presiding deity of 
 millions, lies down in a little narrow house of 
 clay, with the poverty of him who tenanted a 
 hovel, scarcely commanding the subsistence of 
 a day. The philosopher, 
 
 "Who knew all learning, and all science knew; 
 And all phenomena, in heaven and earth, 
 Traced to their causes," 
 
 with the simple man 
 
 * Who never had a dozen thoughts 
 In all his life, and never changed their course," 
 
 both stripped alike in death ; and the king, 
 
 " The man condemned to bear 
 The public burden x>f the nation's care," 
 
THE SALVATION OP THE SOUL. 159 
 
 in the grave is too often more impotent than the 
 subject ; for the eye of the kingdom looks a pro- 
 tection to the tomb of the subject, while the king 
 dies in banishment and is buried in exile. 
 
 Human life, in its purest form, surrounded by 
 all the heart holds dear, is but vanity and vexation 
 of spirit. Man, '-poor pensioner on the bounties 
 of an hour, walketh in a vain show.'' Why should 
 he strive, why should he toil to obtain either of 
 these the surest sources of earthly happiness, if 
 life, and all that pertains to it, so soon be gone ? 
 
 But will not human wealth and knowledge and 
 power combined secure the happiness he craves? 
 Hath human effort, industry, and ingenuity com- 
 bined them? What did they bring to the pos- 
 sessor ? Happiness ? No ! 
 
 ** For who did ever yet by honoT, wealth, 
 
 Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find ? 
 Who ever ceased to wish, when he had health, 
 Or, haying wisdom, was not vexed in mind ?'* 
 
 Field joining field, waving and laden with 
 autumn's golden grain ; Minerva standing by, in- 
 dustriously, gloriously analyzing, compounding, 
 increasing, commanding the product of its wealth ; 
 then rising, in the majesty of her own queenly 
 power, to gather and control productive industry 
 from still brighter fields, of larger dimensions and 
 
160 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 nobler pile in yonder star-lit plain, whose husband- 
 man giveth the increase ; increasing, producing, 
 expanding in the proudest nobility of man ! — this 
 were a higher happiness than earth hath ever 
 known, and yet it were vanity; for the golden 
 bowl is broken at the fountain, the daughters 
 of music made low, and man goeth to his long 
 home ! Hope whispers not of bliss unfading in 
 yonder heaven ! Faith, living faith, points not to 
 the Lamb which taketh away the sins of the world. 
 
 Who then will deny that he walks in a vain 
 show ? Who then will deny that his life, without 
 the hope of a blissful immortality, is a shadow, 
 and his earth-born happiness emptiness and vanity ? 
 
 Depravity, universal and destructive depravity, 
 the demon spirit that rears its altars at the expense 
 of every earthly good, and then brings as its 
 oblations purity and hope, which it consumes 
 with fiendish delight, has made a wreck of human 
 happiness ; and the undying part of man, un- 
 fettered and fetterless by mere temporal good, 
 weeps in agonizing bitterness over the mockery 
 of life. Nor does death itself, the finis of all 
 things sublunary, dispel its anguish: upon the 
 graves of the departed it keeps its nightly vigils 
 und its eternal moanings. 
 
 We have immortal souls — 0, what an incentive 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 161 
 
 to good ! — whicli soar above the earth, which death 
 ciinnot imprison, which only eternity can measure 
 in its duration of existence ; and before anothei 
 sun brighten the earth, the dark cloud of death 
 may cast its shadow over all that is beautiful in 
 life, the cold grave entomb all that is dear to the 
 heart, may even be open to receive these bodies 
 of ours ; but our souls, without regeneration, will 
 live in the dreadful desolation of death, shall 
 weep in endless hell, when the conqueror of life 
 shall be destroyed; and the very funeral pall of 
 Time itself be white as snow. 
 
 O ! what is worth a thought, what is deserving 
 a moment's consideration, when put in the balance 
 with the immortal part of our being? Is wealth? 
 No ! Though the wealth of both Indies and the 
 diamonds of Golconda were ours, to-morrow we 
 die, and these our goods may become the posses- 
 sions of enemies, to the oppression of our own 
 heirs : 
 
 *' Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, 
 The dangers gather as the treasures rise.'* 
 i- 
 
 Is knowledge ? ^ 
 
 ** Sorrow is knowledge ; they who know the most, 
 Must moan the deepest o'er the fatal truth, 
 The tree of knowledge is not that of life ;" 
 
 and though we were master of all science and the 
 
132 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 very light of philosophy, to-morrow we die and 
 dhall find no consolation in human wisdom. Is 
 the power of kings ? 
 
 ^'Earth's highest station ends in *here he lies,' 
 And * dust to dust' concludes her noblest song/' 
 
 When did the turbid tide of death roll back at 
 the command of kings ; or the crown of the dead 
 give security to the heir ? 
 
 The wealth of the world, the wisdom of Solo- 
 mon, and the power of crowned heads combined ! 
 they dwindle into insignificance when put in the 
 balance with the immortal spirit of man. ''As 
 the mortal to the immortal : as the dead to the 
 living!" 
 
 Wisdom is folly to attempt the measure of an 
 argument: ''For what shall a man give in exchange 
 for his soulf 
 
 ** Nothing is worth a thought beneath 
 But how I may escape the death 
 That never, never dies." 
 
 let us prepare our souls ! we can't too soon ; 
 Commence now the blessed work, before it is noon. 
 
 This great preparation of the soul should be the 
 grand object of human pursuit. The salvation of 
 the soul is inestimable. It cannot be repeated too 
 often, that the accomplishment of this great work 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 16S 
 
 is worth a lifetime of the most arduous toil, the 
 most trying sacrifices. 
 
 There is implanted within the breast of every 
 rational being a longing for immortality; to die^ 
 to pass away and be no more, is revolting to every 
 reflective mind. But what would immortality be 
 without the redemption of the soul? without a 
 saving grace, which taketh away the sins of the 
 world ? A death that never ^ never dies ! 
 
 What is it to be a redeemed soul? It is to 
 possess, to the fullest extent, that which our reason 
 tells us constitutes perfect happiness ; it is the 
 possession of wealth without the ensign of poverty ; 
 the possession of knowledge which aspires to 
 heaven, and passeth not away; the possession of 
 power which subdues death and robs the grave of 
 victory; it is every thing combined, which human 
 reason, true to herself, calls happiness — esteems 
 valuable beyond estimate. 
 
 Let us see what it is to be a lost soul ! Let us 
 contemplate the dreadfal spectacle. It is poverty; 
 a heart-rending personification of poverty; poor, 
 naked poverty, in its most abject condition ; 
 poverty that the wealth of kings and emperors 
 cannot enrich, nor conceal its nakedness ; it is 
 ignorance that the knowledge of man cannot 
 educate ; it is moral darkness that the world 
 
164 P K S E A N D P E T E Y. 
 
 cannot illuminate ; it is weakness that the powers 
 of earth, cannot make strong. A lost soul ! God 
 of heaven ! what is it to be a lost soul ? This 
 little pigmy world, with its scenes of conflict and 
 strife, where the unsatisfied mind is tantalized and 
 disappointed in her every eflfbrt to obtain com- 
 plete happiness, is trouble enough for finite for- 
 titude ; but to be cut off from hope which ventures 
 beyond the narrow confines of time, from life 
 everlasting, and to be doomed to inhabit the deep 
 chambers of despair in unfathomed hell ; itself an 
 unconsuming hell, banished irrevocably from the 
 presence of God — the lust hope of rescue extinguished.: 
 This it is to be a lost soul ! 
 
 Anguish, deep and heartfelt, may envelop in 
 dark clouds our spirits to-day, but to-morrow's sun 
 dispels the gloom. Pain in the night, acute, ex- 
 cruciating, subsides in the morning; but in 
 eternity no hope of the day's return comforts the 
 lost soul ; no bow of promise spans the fiery abyss ; 
 trouble and sorrow^, anguish and conflagration 
 never terminate ; the light of eternal life beams 
 full and brilliant upon the liquid fire, not to in- 
 spire hope, but a greater and more accurate know- 
 ledge of the soul's eternal loss. God of mercy, 
 save our souls from such a loss ! 
 
 The thrilling questions, asked in all the im- 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 166 
 
 V 
 
 pressiveness of a Saviour's solicitude for dying 
 man, which we have chosen for the context of our 
 remarks, plainly, unmistakably imply that the 
 rejected soul finds its way to that fiery abyss 
 through its own neglect of the great overtures of 
 mercy extended to it by a crucified God, all-pow- 
 erful to save ; and with every other source of 
 trouble in perdition, the thought that we wilfully, 
 deliberately, of our own free will and choice, made 
 our destiny eternal woe, will doubly augment the 
 dreadful suffering — will plunge us infinite fathoms 
 deeper in the torturing lake. 
 
 The inquiry suggests : Is it indeed true that we 
 are the controllers here of the destiny of our im- 
 mortal souls in yonder vast, limitless eternity? 
 Yes ; the united testimony of the inspired writers 
 teaches that we are as much the directors of our 
 immortal as of our mortal destiny. Yea, more ; it 
 teaches that we may secure the salvation of our 
 souls, while the acquisition of a world's wealth, 
 the acquisition of a world's wisdom, the acquisi- 
 tion of a world's power were impossible, and, if it 
 were possible, would avail us nothing in eternity. 
 Yes, these are the sublime teachings of the meek 
 and lowly Jesus, the risen Savour and eternal God. 
 It is ours to secure immortal bliss, or unending 
 ivoe; to shine a bright luminary in the pure 
 
166 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 galaxy of angels, or to be enshrouded in midnight 
 darkness; to sing praises with Moses and the 
 Lamb, or to howl in utter wretchedness a requiem 
 to lost happiness. 
 
 We are not now exempt from death, and sus- 
 pended between heaven and hell, without a bias to 
 the choice of either. This position is but the too 
 common error — fair and plausible, even palatable 
 to the understanding in theory, but faUe and 
 poisonous in practice. This is an error fraught 
 with destruction to human souls ; this is an error 
 which has kept many from the cross of Calvary, 
 and therefore should be exposed, should be ex- 
 ploded. 
 
 If a man does not secure the salvation of his 
 immortal being, must he not endure the eternal 
 wrath of God ? Yes, as surely as the God exists 
 who promulgated that the wages of sin is eternal 
 death. Christ never taught the doctrine for 
 which careless sinners contend : he never set life 
 and death, heaven and hell before men who were 
 disposed to the choice of neither; he did not take 
 upon himself the form of man and come into the 
 world to glorify the supposed free volition of man 
 in enabling him to save himself. Fallacious, pre- 
 sumptuous thought ! Tie came seeking to save the 
 lost, those over whom sin had dominion : he came 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 167 
 
 in might to break open the prison-house of the 
 bound ; he came, glory to his holy name, to set the 
 captive free ; he came to proclaim glad tidings to a 
 dying world ; he came to give the free agency^ of 
 life to the spiritual dead, who have no agency to 
 the right. To-day he comes to us — to those lost to 
 holiness, lost to life, lost to happiness, lost to 
 heaven — he comes with the white garments of 
 holiness, the great balm of life, the great secret of 
 happiness, the key to heaven, and offers them 
 without money and without price. Who will re- 
 fuse such great gifts ? who will refuse to be made 
 alive ? He stands above the tomb of buried hopes 
 to-day, and says to the dead, ''Come forth unto 
 life;'' to the sick he says: " Take up your bed ana 
 walk;'' to the blind he says : ''Behold thy Saviour;" 
 to the deaf he savs : "Hear the word of the Lord;' 
 and to the poor (blessed be his name) he says : 
 "Ye have the gospel j^^^eached unto you^ and blessed is 
 he, whosoever shall not be offended in me," 
 
 Does this look like Jesus came to set life and 
 death before men free to choose either ? No. It 
 looks like he came to set life before the dead. He 
 says : " Choose life and live, or drink the lorath of God" 
 
 Is it not also plain that he who is perfectly free 
 to choose either of two things, is equally free to 
 choose neither? And God, our Saviour, therefore. 
 
168 PROSE AND POETRl!. 
 
 upon this principle of human volition, fails entirely 
 of the end of man's probation, and salvation by 
 grace becomes the merest song of the idle imagina- 
 tion. Unholy, impious thought, which seeks to 
 elevate man by depressing and blotting the revela- 
 tion of God I 
 
 Has sin the dominion ? Are we then without a 
 bias to choose weal or woe, heaven or hell ? Is 
 not sin our prior choice, the troublesome current 
 in our life which we cannot control ? It flows on, 
 it flows ever, anxious, disturbed, with swollen 
 waters and increasing flow ; it rolls us into the lake 
 which burneth with fire and brimstone, unless the 
 fatal stream be broken, and its springs be dried up 
 in time. He, therefore, who would pamper the 
 pride of his depravity, the lust of his flesh, with 
 the variety of choice, in the freedom, recklessness 
 of volition, is the enemy of his own soul, the 
 destroyer of his own immortal happiness. The 
 choice to life proposed in the heavenly philosophy, 
 in the Divine economy, to eternal life in Christ 
 our ransom, is from heaven. There is a hope, and 
 but one way of hope, to escape the fearful punish- 
 ment of sin ; there is a holiness, and but one way 
 of holiness, that leads up to heaven ; there is the 
 Christ, the appointed choice in God's appointed 
 salvation to the lost souls. For out of this ap- 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 169 
 
 pointed salvation, this salvation through Christ, 
 our God is a consuming fire. Does this look like 
 the freedom of variety of choice ? Must we not 
 choose the one way of life, the appointed way of 
 salvation, to escape the everlasting death of the 
 soul ? Does this look like the freedom to a variety 
 of choice? Is not the souVs estate, before it 
 embraces this appointed salvation, one of spiritual 
 death, without hope and without God in the 
 world ? 
 
 I read in the blessed Book of God, that when 
 there was no eye to pity man, and no arm to save 
 him from death, then Jesus loved him. O won- 
 drous love and pity, beyond our highest thought ! 
 Jesus loved the sinner in his lost estate, sinful 
 estate. "With an arm of love and of power, Jesus 
 enters the prison-house of human death, and 
 brings life and immortality to light. I read that 
 Christ comes to-day, and says: ''I am the way, 
 the truth, and the life ; choose me and live;'* and 
 so far from leaving man to exercise a depraved 
 volition, the appointment of his love pleads with 
 him to his acceptance ; reasons with him with 
 ability to conceal his sins and make him holy; 
 entreats his acceptance of him for his own good ; 
 warns him that there is no other way to escape the 
 
 eternal wrath of God — the eternal death of his 
 8 
 
170 PROSEAND POETRY. 
 
 soul. His word, his Spirit, and his providence he 
 offers to sinful man, and are his, if he accept them, 
 to teach, to guide, and to save. Who would not 
 receive this salvation and live ? and, 0, who would 
 reject it and drink the wrath of God ? There is a 
 better way than the exercise of a free volition. 
 God, who only is free to will the salvation of his 
 creature, hath willed, decreed man's life, and has 
 not willed or decreed the death of any man, but 
 that all would come to him and have life everlast- 
 ing. If man escapes not the damnation of hell, it 
 will not be because God willed his punishment ; it 
 v^U be because he rejects the decree of life — the 
 great salvation appointed in Christ. 
 
 This is the great difficulty with those who delay 
 the acceptance of this appointed salvation : they 
 entertain the idea of physical power in connection 
 with the decree of life ; whereas God is a Spirit, 
 and the decree to salvation is spiritual, therefore 
 cannot do violence to the spiritual man. That 
 part of man which is born of the Spirit of God is 
 the spiritual man ; and that which is born of the 
 flesh is flesh. It is not physical change ; it is not 
 a new creation of the physical man for which 
 immortality pants and sighs : it is a redemption of 
 spirit from the death of depravity which makes 
 the luxuriant earth a barren desert to the soul. 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 171 
 
 The redemption of the soul is precious. Who 
 should be anxious much as to his physical man ? 
 What profit here ? But, I his soul ! his fettered, 
 lost, immortal soul, where shall he find a ransom T 
 
 Thanks to God for his unspeakable gift. God has 
 found a ransom ; he hath laid help on one who is 
 mighty to redeem ; and in the appointment of his 
 love hd comes to all. He finds way to every lost 
 spirit — for he is a Spirit — through the physical man, 
 without violence, without let or hindrance, to the 
 laws of the physical constitution. He ofiers free- 
 dom to the captive soul ; he unbinds the fettered 
 spirit; he speaks, and it is done; the liberated 
 spirit leaps for joy ; salvation and the sinner are 
 locked in close embrace; the lost is found; the 
 soul is saved. 
 
 This is the way to heaven ; this is the way our 
 fathers trod. Let us be warned of the coming 
 wrath. Let us embrace the Christ appointed. Let 
 us enter the good old ship of Zion : 
 
 At anchor safe within the bay she rides ; 
 
 Nor heeds the danger of the swelling tides : 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Prayer her steadfast anchors prove, 
 
 With resignation to Ihe powers above. 
 
 God is too good to tantalize a poor lost soul 
 with this variety of choice ; Heaven regards 
 sinners, as they really are, the objects of pity. 
 
172 PROSE ANDPOBTRY. 
 
 The spirits fallen through their own choice of evil, 
 and the totality of their depravity, constitute 
 the continual tendency to all evil ; Heaven com- 
 passionates the poor lost soul, and so far from 
 saying to the bound in sin, loose thyself, she 
 approaches it in the more rational way ; she says : 
 ^^I know thy sin and thy just deserts; I know 
 thy weakness, that thou canst not make one hair 
 white or black ; but I have loved you with an ever- 
 lasting love ; I have redeemed you with great 
 power, and have laid your help upon one who is 
 mighty to save ; I have wrought out a righteous- 
 ness which can save you ; I give it to you freely ; 
 in this way only can you escape ; receive now the 
 grace of God and live, or reject it and die in your 
 sins. It is my will that you live ; it is my choice ; 
 I have chosen you in Christ to everlasting life, 
 that you should go and bring forth fruit, and that 
 your fruit should remain; that whatsoever you 
 shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give 
 it to you P' How any lost soul can resist the 
 appeal of God's love to life, is one of the inexplica- 
 bilities of human depravity. ^ 
 
 Yes, God so loves sinners, that he gives his only- 
 begotten Son to die for them, that they may have 
 everlasting life. Why will they then fret their 
 day of grace away in useless speculations as to the 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL* 173 
 
 way of life ? Jesus says : " Come unto me, all ye 
 that labor and are heavy laden ; take my yoke upon 
 you; learn of me, and find rest to your souls;" 
 and again, " Ye will not come to me and have life.** 
 This address must be to those capable in the 
 physical man to exercise such a process of reason 
 in regard to the facts contained in it, as shall 
 bring the understanding to the point of the gospel 
 address ; which is, that sinners are fallen spirits, 
 lost souls, and there is no escape from everlasting 
 punishment, but in the mercy of God as pro- 
 claimed in Christ, the appointed Saviour ; and this 
 operation of the reason brings us to the very point 
 of the whole matter. The Bible plainly says, if 
 saved at all, it must be through the mercy of God, 
 not by works which you can do ; and reason, 
 looking to the facts, arrives at the very same con- 
 clusion in reference to salvation. What then can 
 sinners do but fall at the feet of sovereign love, 
 and say : If I perish, I perish ; I have no hope 
 but in the mercy, the undeserved, unconditional 
 mercy of God; that God against whom I have 
 wilfully sinned, and who hath mercy on whom he 
 will. I have no claim to such mercy; but, though 
 my sins are great, I will venture to approach the 
 mercy-seat ! I can but perish if I go, I am con- 
 demned already ; this is my only mode of escape. 
 
174 - PROSE ANP POETRY. 
 
 Perhaps he will admit my plea, perhaps will hear my prayer. 
 
 And if I must perish, God ! let me perish there. 
 
 I know his heavenly courts, and I would enter in ; 
 
 Why should I starve and hunger here — prison-bound by sin ? 
 
 I'm in a barren land — my spirit thirsts and sighs 
 
 For immortality, it fain to heaven would rise. 
 
 I glad would eat and be full, but no man gives to me ; 
 
 All unworthy as I am, God I I come to thee. 
 
 Have we reached this point? Then light hath 
 entered in — life is given. 
 
 God is love ! There is enough for all, and to spare — 
 Room in the Saviour's bleeding heart for us to share. 
 Arise, go to our Father, go in our great shame. 
 Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, 'tis all the same, 
 He loves us still ; he beholds us from afar off, 
 And gives us pity instead of merited scoff. 
 He beholds the broken sorrows of each our hearts, 
 And runs to meet us, and to us his love imparts ; 
 He falls on our neck and gives us the kiss of love, 
 . Promising us a bright inheritance above. 
 
 ** Bring forth, says he, the best robe and put it on him; 
 
 This is my son — in heaven, amongst cherubim. 
 
 He '11 shine — for he was dead, but lives again ; was lost, 
 
 And is now found ; he of my love will share the most." 
 
 Thus Jesus spoke of the erring, prodigal son ; 
 
 And will he not extend to us like favor, won 
 
 By obedience to his just and holy laws ? 
 
 Surely yes, then let us give him all the applause. 
 
 We idle when we talk about willing our own 
 salvation ; we must submit to the salvation of 
 God ; we must be born again, not by the flesh 
 nor the will of man, but by the will, the power of 
 God. To seek out the lost, then, and to secure our 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 175 
 
 redemption from the power of sin, is the object of 
 Jesus* mission to earth, and it is because he hath 
 the ability, both to the choice and the power of 
 our salvation, and that he comes to us by his 
 w^ord, his providence, and his Spirit, and, in his 
 loving interest for the salvation of our souls, 
 inclines us to choose him, that we are enabled to 
 choose at all the wav of life, and live. Does this 
 look like a choice of human, depraved volition? 
 Is it not rather the choice of Christ, the choice of 
 the benevolent Deity, our only Saviour? Yes, 
 reason does and must see a necessity for the inter- 
 position of Divine will to life I Must see that, 
 without this Divine will to life, humanity, lost, 
 must wail for ever the universal wreck of her 
 happiness. 
 
 •'For what is a man profited if he shall gain the 
 whole world and lose his own soul ? or, what shall a 
 man give in exchange for his soul ?" These impor- 
 tant questions are an argument of Jesus, by which 
 he would incline us to the choice of true happiness ; 
 and since our choice of destination to the life 
 everlasting is dependent on the predetermining 
 choice of Christ, the riches of his love as exhibited 
 to us in the predestination of our souls to eternal 
 life, we should accept the offered choice ; if we do 
 not, we are lost souls, and the possession of the 
 
176 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 whole world could not happify our immortal 
 spirits laboring in sin. It is the grace of God that 
 saves souls. By grace we enter into the grace of 
 salvation ; because of grace abounding in the gift 
 of life we enter in, or it is freely given to us to enter 
 in. Now, in the tenth chapter of the Gospel of St. 
 Mark, the Saviour teaches us the way to Christ ; 
 the question is plainly asked, the answer is given 
 in the same beauty of simplicity : " Good Master ! 
 what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?'' 
 "Verily I say unto you," says Jesus, '' whoever 
 shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little 
 child, he shall not enter therein.'' ISTow this lost 
 soul, it appears, was in quest of eternal life, and 
 he ran to Jesus, and propounded the question to 
 him. Jesus said: "Knowest thou the command- 
 ments?'' "All these have I kept from my youth 
 up," said the young man; "but I have not found 
 eternal life. "What lack I yet?" Jesus looked 
 iipon him and loved him; he was in the riglit 
 way; he had qualified himself for eternal life, so 
 far as man can qualify himself, as he supposed, and 
 yet he lacked something, he knew, but knew not 
 what that something was. With an anxious mind 
 he ran -to Jesus : " I am in quest of eternal life ; 
 my soul is not satisfied with its portion ; I have 
 l^earched the Scriptures; I have kept the com- 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 177 
 
 mandments; I have done all I can; I have pre- 
 pared the way; I no relief can find: Jesus, Master, 
 what lack I yet?'' 
 
 We should particularly notice that human 
 reason, in her quest, brought this young man to 
 Christ; we should notice that he was kindly re- 
 ceived ; and we should also notice that he lacked but 
 one thing, and that that was everj^ thing to him. 
 He had not yet learned that justification unto life 
 is the treasure from heaven. Human reason 
 sought a justification in the deeds of the law, but 
 found it not. In the search, however, he found 
 Christ coming in the way; and presents him- 
 self, where reason fails, to the Saviour for further 
 instructions. He seems to have been in earnest in 
 the pursuit of life : " What lack I yet ? I wait thy 
 further command." Well might Jesus love him; 
 for here is an ardor and anxiety on the part of 
 this young man in relation to his salvation, that is 
 lovable, most lovable: ^'What lack I yet? I am 
 determined in my search ; no sacrifice will be too 
 dear ; I have done much already ; I have kept all 
 the commandments : what lack I yet?'* 
 
 Human reason, the proud guardian of man's 
 
 destiny in this fallen world, calculated on some 
 
 great sacrifice, and was prepared to make it ; but 
 8* 
 
178 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 she was not prepared to jHeld up herself into the 
 hands of another. 
 
 Jesus looked upon him, and loved him, and j»aid: 
 " One thing thou lackest. Go sell all thy goods, and 
 give to the poor ; then come, take up thy cross, fol- 
 low me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.'* 
 And the young man went away sorrowful, for he 
 was very rich. He was not prepared to make the 
 sacrifice required ; he was not prepared to receive 
 the kingdom of God. He lacked but one thing, 
 and that one thing he was not prepared to do. 
 He, therefore, went away sorrowful. Had he been 
 as a little child, he would have done as Jesus bade 
 him; he would have received the kingdom of 
 God. But it is asked: How could he, being a 
 man, receive the kingdom of God as a little child ? 
 Jesus has answered this question also: He could 
 have been born of the Spirit then and there, by 
 the will and power of God, without violence to 
 his physical man, and as a child of heaven. 
 
 But he went away sorrowful Perhaps if noble 
 reason had been as willing to sacrifice self and 
 self-love as to keep the commandments ; had he 
 been willing to give up all to the sovereign mercy 
 of God, peradventure he had not gone away sor* 
 rowful. 
 
THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 179 
 
 We are explicitly taught, however, that we 
 cannot do any thing which will enable us to 
 inherit eternal life. We can do nothing but re- 
 ceive the grace of God, which brings salvation. 
 The condition of the acceptance of the grace of 
 God is not the doing of any thing to bring salva- 
 tion, but it is the receiving of the offered grace of 
 God which brings salvation. The very perform- 
 ance of the condition, therefore, is a virtual sur- 
 render to the sovereign mercy of God, in order 
 to the soul's destination, at the hand of the 
 merciful God, who hath mercy on whom he will 
 have mercy. 
 
 l^ow, if we lack but one thing, and will submit 
 our proud and sinful souls, which we can do, to 
 the sovereign mercy of God, in order to our bouI's 
 destination, we think we will not go away sor- 
 rowful. The entrance of light shall give life, and 
 we shall live for evermore. If we stay away, we 
 know we shall perish, and if we come to him, we 
 will be kindly received and loved; for he loves 
 lost souls ; and if we come to him aright, lacking 
 nothing, it is his pleasure, his purpose, and his pre- 
 rogative to save. 
 
 We claim, rightfully, rationally claim the choice 
 of our destiny. And there is an appeal to our 
 reason by a powerful motive of love — a love that 
 
180 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 is life, and stronger than death. A Saviour ia 
 ready, able, and willing to redeem us. ! will we 
 accept ? Will we choose him and live ? Will we 
 make our election sure ? Will we save our souls ? 
 Shall the great reprieve, which props our house of 
 clay, be ours in vain ? Shall the love of God, as 
 exhibited to us in the glorious plan of salvation, 
 be ours in vain ? 0, let us save our souls ! 
 
 *^For what is a man profited if he shall gain the 
 whole world and lose his own soul?" 
 
TO SARAH. 181 
 
 TO SARAH. 
 
 O, MAY thy life with peace be blest ! 
 
 The wish is ardent from my soul — 
 The peace that heals the wounded breast, 
 
 And lifts the heart o'er earth's control. 
 
 And when beyond the grave's dark bound 
 Thy vital breath divine shall wend, 
 
 O, may thy better life be crowned 
 With ev'ry joy Heaven doth blend. 
 
182 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY 
 
 Did you ever see a busy-body, 
 
 A rattling, tattling, talking thing 
 In human shape, a flippant tongue of lire, 
 
 To poison with its deadly sting ? 
 
 Did you ever note in his daily rounds. 
 The scorched track he leaves behind ? 
 
 The breaking heart-strings and the bleeding wounds, 
 The workings of a little mind ? 
 
 The lone prairie, swept by destroying fire. 
 Leaves in its rear a blackened plain ; 
 
 And the tall, green grass, which in beauty bloomed, 
 By the fiery element slain. 
 
 The beautiful spring, in '' mantle of green," 
 
 With smiling face and sun so warm. 
 May in one short night be robbed of her sheen. 
 
 By the frost and the pelting storm. 
 
THE BUSY-BODY. 183 
 
 As the devouring flame consumes the grass, 
 
 And withers by its heated breath, 
 So the darkened shadow of scandal's glass 
 
 Falls heavy on the good man's death. 
 
 As the frost in springtime nips the flower, 
 
 It ne'er resumes its early bloom; 
 So the heart that's bent by scandal's power, 
 
 Enshrouded is in midnight gloom. 
 
184 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 TO ANN. 
 
 O5 HOW shall I measure the flight 
 Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 
 
 It dwells in the regions of light, 
 And sweetly encircles the world ! 
 
 "Where angels in purity move, 
 
 It lingers in ecstasy there ; 
 Drinks deep of the ocean of love, 
 
 And weeps over woe and despair. 
 
 It loves the sweet dew-drops that lie 
 Upon the lone wilderness flowers ; 
 
 On wings of imagining fly, 
 
 And lingers 'neath beautiful bowers. 
 
 0, how shall I measure the flight 
 Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 
 
 It dwells in the regions of light. 
 And sweetly encircles the world ! 
 
soKe, 18& 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A SONG for thee, dearest, 
 
 I send from afar, 
 Where my feet have been roaming 
 
 Without guide or star. 
 Wilt thou set it to music, 
 
 And sing when I come, 
 Disheartened and weary, 
 
 Back to my home ? 
 
 Let the tune be a zephyr 
 
 Melodious and free, , 
 As true unto nature 
 
 As thou art to me ; 
 Which thy heart can embrace 
 
 As it would with a friend, 
 And my words and thy music 
 
 In melody blend. 
 
186 PROSE ANP POETRY. 
 
 Not a sad tone nor gay one, 
 
 But a half-way between; 
 High gladness, deep sorrow, 
 
 Let it intervene. 
 That so it interprets 
 
 By musical art 
 How we laugh when we meet, 
 
 And shed tears when we part 
 
MOLLIE RAY. 1S7 
 
 WILLIE TO MOLLIE. 
 
 I WILL not strike the harp to kings, 
 But love shall tune the pensive lay ; 
 
 111 touch with skill its tunefal strings, 
 And sing of thee, sweet MoUie Ray* 
 
 Let fortune reign in splendid pride, 
 Fond of excess and rich display ; 
 
 With sweet simplicity my guide, 
 I'd live and die with MoUie Ray. 
 
 Were I of fortune's smile possessed, 
 While on me shone her brightest ray, 
 
 A secret pang would rend my breast, 
 K wanting thee, sweet MoUie Ray. 
 
 How canst thou witness my despair. 
 And bid me from thee ever stray ? 
 
 Show me a girl but half so fair. 
 And I'll abandon MoUie Ray. 
 
Ids PROSE ANP POETRY, 
 
 Such charms as thine are rarely found, 
 They bloom in Winter like as May ! 
 
 Go vainly search the earth around. 
 They're only found with MoUie Ray. 
 
 Should cold neglect, contempt, and scorn, 
 My ardent vows of love repay, 
 
 ^These eyes her absent form would mourn^ 
 This heart would bleed for Mollie Ray. 
 
 What then could soothe this burning breast 
 When hope had winged her final way ? 
 
 O Mollie, make me ever blest ! 
 And ever blest be Mollie Ray. 
 
A VISIOK. 189 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the 
 throne on high not a single star quivered ; but the 
 deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly 
 vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific light- 
 ning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy 
 chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power 
 exerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin ! 
 Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth 
 from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if 
 to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene. 
 
 At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human 
 sympathy my very spirit sighed; but instead thereof, 
 
 ** My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide — 
 My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,** came to my side. 
 
 She moved like one of those bright beings pictured 
 in the sunny w^lks of fancy's Eden by the romantic 
 and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by 
 her own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her 
 stop, it failed to make even a sound, and but for the 
 
J.90 PROSE AND PGETKY. 
 
 magical thrill imparted by her genial touch, as other 
 unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away 
 unperceived — unsought. A strange sadness rested 
 upon her features, like icy tears upon the robe of 
 December, as she pointed to the contending ele- 
 ments without, and bade me contemplate the two 
 beings presented. 
 
 The name of my welcome visitor was Meditation. 
 The objects she bade me contemplate were War and 
 Peace. In the right- hand of Peace was a branch 
 of olive, in the left a dewy cluster of the richest 
 balm that ever grew in Gilead. 0, I cannot paint 
 her as she seemed to me ! 
 
 She seemed a seraph sent to teach us how to be ; 
 So gentle, so patient, so retiring was she. 
 
 And yet, within her modest bosom lay stern deter- 
 mination for her rights to contend. No sophistry 
 her heart could contaminate, or her judgment mis- 
 lead. 
 
 List ! methinks I hear his voice : 
 
 '' The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his 
 way, before his works of old. 
 
 " I was set up from everlasting, from the begin- 
 ning, or ever the earth was. 
 
 " When there were no depths, I was brought forth ; 
 when there were no fountains abounding with water. 
 
A VISION, 191 
 
 " Before the mountains were settled, before the 
 hills was I brought forth. 
 
 "While as yet he had not made the earth, nor 
 the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the 
 world. 
 
 : "When he prepared the heavens, I was there; 
 when he set a compass upon the face of the depth. 
 
 "When he established the clouds above; when 
 he strengthened the fountains of the deep. 
 - " When he gave to the sea his decree, that the 
 waters should not pass his commandment ; when he 
 appointed the foundations of the earth. 
 
 " Then I was by him as one brought up with him ; 
 and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before 
 him. Rejoicing in the habitable part of his earth; 
 and my delights were with the sons of men. I pro- 
 mised them serenest bliss, but not content, God's holy 
 behest they defied, entailing thereby all the misera- 
 ble corruption to which flesh is heir — dissension 
 and war propagating throughout time. Since then 
 my habitations have been vacillating and uncertain. 
 Childhood's happy heart to me is a favorite resting- 
 place ; but often, alas ! when human nature develops 
 itself I am driven away ! In rural retirement I love 
 to dwell. There the high thoughts, the ambitious 
 hopes of mortal aspirations to disturb my equa- 
 uimity seldom obtrude ! There the broad basis 
 
192 PROSE AND POETRY* 
 
 upon whicli the magnificent temple of earthly fame 
 is erected, my waking meditations disturbs not, 
 and when sleep asserts her reign haunts not my 
 dreams. Humble and easily attained is my every 
 desire." 
 
 Hark ! a sound so terrific and awful meets my ear, 
 I fancy it comes from the lowest depths of the low- 
 est deep. *Tis the voice of War, a convulsed na- 
 tion answers ! Mark well the hellish import of hjs 
 words, the fiendish sneer pervading his counte- 
 nance observe ! But what avails a description ? 
 Before the world he stands the greatest terror, a^ 
 numberless orphans, uncounted widows testify. 
 "With delight he surveys the bleeding hearts lying 
 prostrate at his feet ! The manifold groans of the 
 wounded and dying never drew from him a tear ! 
 Hark! I am sure I never heard more dreadful 
 words : 
 
 "Destruction is my mission ! Since the creation 
 of the world, my guilty ambition has hurled into 
 eternity no less than fourteen hundred thousand 
 millions of souls ! Conquest is my life, obtained at 
 any price. Then why contend V 
 
 The silver lute of valor was perfectly tuned ; no 
 discordant notes fell upon the ear, like sometimes 
 occur in the studied harmony of words which man 
 has mind to frame or voice to chant, as she thus 
 
A VISION. 193 
 
 responded : " So long as I have a votary or patriot- 
 ism a friend, the servile knee shall never be bowed 
 of America's free sons. To any thing illegal, un- 
 constitutional, or unjust, never, never shall they 
 submit!" 
 
 Shall valor's appeal in vain be made ? Ah, no ! 
 Methinks I see the brave, vigorous men of the 
 JSTorth, the voluptuous youths of the South, with 
 armor well girded on, marching forth in battle 
 array against the foe who our rights would dare 
 assail. Methinks I see an aged man, whose locks 
 are white as snow, whose feeble form is supported 
 by a well-worn staff, raise his head, and, listening, 
 hold his breath to hear the well-known notes of 
 martial music ! Notes which sent a thrill to his 
 youthful bosom, cause him now to forget the in- 
 firmities of age ! With enthusiasm he casts away 
 his staff, and once more shoulders his musket in his 
 country's defence ! Methinks I see an aged mother, 
 whose trembling frame is bending over the grave, 
 clasp her darling boy to her bosom, and bid him 
 the patriotic number go swell, and " Come back in 
 triumph, or come not again." She tells him the 
 pearl of mighty price, for which his forefathers 
 ^'fought, bled, and died," should be by him pre- 
 served — should be by him enlarged, else indeed a 
 
 useless steward prove himself. She tells him to show 
 9 
 
1&4 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 the world that in an American soldier there is 
 something — in the cause he espouses something — in. 
 the name he bears something — in the country he 
 defends something for more than any common 
 danger makes him equal ; and that, whether right or 
 wrong, our country's privileges shall be defended, 
 and that " he who conquers shall find a stubborn 
 foe/ 
 
I'll love theb. 195 
 
 I^LL LOVE THEE. 
 
 I 'll love thee as long as I live, 
 Because thou hast ever a smile, 
 
 And words in kind accents to give, 
 My loneliest tinae to beguile. 
 
 When those who should cherish me, never 
 Doth naught but many foibles see, 
 
 I can turn, dear one, to thee ever 
 For the sweet balm of sympathy. 
 
 And 0, my soul-love for thee beameth 
 More pure, more bright than star-lit dew ! 
 
 And thy earnest love for me seemeth 
 To stamp all else beside untrue. 
 
 I will never quench the flame of love, 
 
 Though it consumed the hopes of youth ; 
 
 But, e'en as a lorn, forsaken dove, 
 I '11 prove in death its sacred truth. 
 
 And when my life's declining star. 
 
 Obscured by death, no more shall shine ; 
 
 I '11 think of thee 'mid skies afar, 
 And still, O, still, I '11 call thee mine. 
 
196 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AiE.-— *^ Those Evening Bells." 
 
 The village bell ! the village bell ! 
 On loving beart its music fell 
 In otber days and happier time, 
 "When first I heard its soothing chime/ 
 
 Whilst now I list to thy dear sound, 
 My heart doth leap with joyous bound ! 
 It tells of home, and mother dear, 
 Her silvery voice and tones so clear! 
 
 In childhood's hour, I list its call — 
 Relinquished hoop, and bat, and ball ; 
 "With willing steps repaired to school ; 
 My teacher loved, obeyed his rule. 
 
 And as it called each 8abbath day, 
 
 I happy was to wend my way 
 
 God's praise to hear, by one whose tongue 
 
 With sacred truths divinely rung. 
 
SONG. 197 
 
 But sadder strains — I know them well — 
 My heart doth sicken while I tell — 
 Of one whose beauty passed away 
 In gay Springtime and morn's first ray. 
 
 'Tis ever so with earthly sounds, 
 The sweetest strain with woe abounds : 
 There is a world of peace and love ! 
 No discord's there in heaven above! 
 
198 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 TO MARIA. 
 
 Tey form is like a ray of light, 
 
 That brightly gleams, 
 Shedding upon the clouds of night 
 
 Its clearest beams. 
 
 For of thy worth the noblest part 
 
 Is all unseen ; 
 Thou hast an angel's soul and heart, 
 
 I humbly ween. 
 
 
 
 The thoughts that thy high soul doth know, 
 
 Are all humane ; 
 From purest fount they ever flow ; 
 
 There's naught profane. 
 
 I strive to emulate thy worth, 
 
 'T is all in vain; 
 Thy soul has had immortal birth, 
 
 'Tis God's again. 
 
no MARIA. 199 
 
 The glory of the King of kings, 
 
 Already' 8 thine: 
 may like joy on angels' wings 
 
 Be borne to mine. 
 
 Then my wrapt soul, in vision bright, 
 
 "Will Jesus see ; 
 Will share the bliss with pure delight 
 
 Now known to thee. 
 
 Sorrows of earth will then have fled, 
 
 Or lost their sting ; 
 And when I'm numbered with the dead, 
 
 To Christ I '11 cling. 
 
 O wilt thou, loved one, in thy prayers, 
 
 Eemember me ? 
 Remember me to Him who bears 
 
 The Cross for thee! 
 
200 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 * A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 
 
 One of the heart's dearest treasures is she — the 
 gentle, loving help -meet of our pastor! Never, 
 while memory derives pleasure from communing 
 with the loved images stored away in its garners. 
 or grasps at the sunbeams reflected upon its walls, 
 or while earthly sounds cause the harp-strings of 
 the soul to vibrate with soothing melodies, can we 
 forget how she looked, sitting, as was her wont 
 during the long summer afternoons, in the vine- 
 eheltered portico of the old parsonage, or the 
 tender, heartfelt cadence of her voice as she time 
 and again gave us affectionate welcome to that con- 
 secrated abode. How quiet, how peaceful every 
 thing appeared there ! On each side of the pretty 
 sand-covered walk extending from the gate to the 
 house, were flower-beds carefully tended by the 
 pastor's favorite daughter. Here, in early spring, 
 bloomed the daftbdil, the hyacinth, and the beauti- 
 ful monthly rose; and when autumn robed the 
 woods in Scarlet splendor, the hardy chrysanthe- 
 
A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 201 
 
 mum unfolded its varied - colored blooms — fit 
 emblem of a constant friend, who appears most 
 lovely when all others forsake. But let us not 
 linger so long without, even among flower-beds, 
 when loving heart and tender voice are waiting to 
 welcome us within. Ah ! yes, upon the threshold 
 stands "a mother in Israel," the pastor's wife. How 
 cordially she shakes our hand, and what a motherly 
 kiss she bestows upon us ; and how kindly, too, 
 she inquires about each member of our mother's 
 household ! A child of affliction herself, she ever 
 sympathizes with the sick and the sorrowing ; and 
 many a burdened heart has been lightened by the 
 consolation which she knew so well how to admin- 
 ister — consolation drawn from God's own word, 
 and the merciful dealings of His providence. She 
 was faithful in all the relations of life, but her 
 unmitigated devotion to her husband was, in our 
 eyes, one of the most charming features of her cha- 
 racter. Though a few scattered white locks alone 
 remained of the dark -brown masses which once 
 shaded his noble brow, she loved him not a whit 
 the less : her affection for the husband of her youth, 
 the chosen companion of her earthly pilgrimage, 
 steadily increasing as years passed by. 
 
 An instance of her self-sacrificing devotion we 
 will record : One bright afternoon she was sitting, 
 9* 
 
202 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 as described in the commencement of tMs sketch, 
 in the vine-sheltered portico. She was alone, and 
 yet not alone, for fancy was busy ; and well might 
 we guess, if an arch smile and speaking counte- 
 nance betray the workings of the mind, that it was 
 planning a pleasant surprise for the loved and 
 absent. Yes, this precious woman had received, as 
 a May-day present from her mother, a generous 
 supply of money, and she was thinking how she 
 would make each one of her family, especially her 
 husband, the recipient of its benefits. Just as she 
 had well-nigh matured a very satisfactory plan, 
 footsteps which she never mistook — they were 
 those of our pastor — approached. "With a face 
 beaming with love, she rises to meet him. What a 
 change has come over her countenance — a troubled 
 expression, despite her efibrts to conceal it, has 
 usurped the place of the joyous one ! One glance 
 at the face she had long since learned to read as a 
 book, convinced her that all was not right with her 
 husband — that something was weighing heavily 
 upon his mind, or that some cherished object could 
 not be accomplished, and her heart, true to the 
 nature of woman's heart, felt the pang more acutely 
 perhaps than his. Feeling that it was her right to 
 share his troubles, she met him, and gently laying 
 her hand upon his arm, inquired wnat the source 
 
' A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK* 203 
 
 of trouble was. Handing her a letter received by 
 the afternoon's mail, lie took a seat without utter- 
 ing a word; the emotions which heaved his full 
 heart were too overpowering to allow conversation. 
 After reading it slowly and carefully, the wife 
 raised her eyes from the letter to the face of her 
 husband, with a most puzzled expression. In it 
 she saw nothing to occasion trouble, but, on the 
 contrary, much to inspire the deepest gratitude — 
 the highest joy. 
 
 At the earnest solicitation of many members, 
 our pastor had sought and obtained the consent 
 of his church to occasionally supply with gospel 
 food a flock of a distant fold, deprived by death 
 ot its aged shepherd. And the letter was from 
 several of this fold, who urged him, in behalf of a 
 goodly number who had attended with deep 
 interest upon his ministry, and had been con- 
 firmed thereby in the determination '^ to testify to 
 the world the goodness and love of Christ, by 
 putting him on in the ordinance of baptism,'* to 
 come and "plant them in the likeness of the 
 Saviour's death." 
 
 But alas ! our pastor was a poor man, and had 
 not the means with which to defray the expenses 
 of the trip ; and his own people had been remiss in 
 the discharge of their obligation to pay a promised 
 
204 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 salary. Hence his trouble on the present occasion. 
 He^ however, who had been with him in six 
 troubles, was ready to carry him through the 
 seventh. In this instance, as in innumerable 
 others, his angel-wife was the instrument in the 
 Lord's hands to relieve his burdened heart, and 
 point him to One who has promised that "every 
 one that asketh receiveth." When he had told her 
 the want of means to go would prevent his enjoy- 
 ing this Christ-like privilege, her countenance again 
 grew radiant with joy and gratitude, as she ex- 
 claimed with child-like enthusiasm, "You can go ! 
 you can go !" Then, and not till then, did our 
 pastor know of that aged mother's May-day present 
 to a daughter who counted it no sacrifice to relin- 
 quish her own cherished plans to promote the cause 
 of her blessed Redeemer. 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 205 
 
 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 From the fiftli to the fifteenth century the sable 
 pall of ignorance and superstition spread over the 
 whole of Europe. Learning was almost extin- 
 guished; the pure doctrines of the Cross were 
 adulterated, and the Romish Church gained com- 
 plete ascendency over the minds and fortunes of 
 men. But this deplorable state of affairs was not 
 always to continue. In 1587 the Reformation 
 began, which has well been styled the most im- 
 portant event that has taken place since the first 
 promulgation of Christianity. Simultaneously with 
 the revival of religion was the revival of learning ; 
 and the march of improvement has been steadily 
 progressing until it has reached a high point in 
 this the nineteenth century. Let us contemplate 
 some of the leading features of the age ; and though 
 but little more than half of this period has elapsed, 
 we safely assert, that never have the arts and 
 sciences advanced so rapidly; never has knowledge 
 b^en 60 widely diffused ; never have such import- 
 
206 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 ant revolntions agitated the world ; and never have 
 the glorious truths of the Christian religion heen 
 so extensively disseminated as in the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 During this eventful period, the long list of 
 earth^s battle-fields has been extended by the addi- 
 tion of the sanguinary conflicts of Leipsic, "Water- 
 loo, New Orleans, the Crimea, and Lucknow. 
 The military exploits of this age surpass in many 
 respects those of any preceding period. A con- 
 queror such as Bonaparte the world never saw. 
 The contests which he waged against the allied 
 powers of Europe are the most wonderful on 
 record, in the extent and rapidity of his conquests, 
 and their influence upon the nations of the world. 
 He stands forth upon the pages of history as the 
 most remarkable potentate of modern times : ele- 
 vated, at the early age of twenty-seven, from the 
 rank of a common soldier to the chief command of 
 the French army; at thirty, elected First Consul; 
 and at thirty-five, proclaimed Emperor of France. 
 
 A striking contrast to the ambitious Napoleon, ia 
 the hero of Lucknow — the brave, the pious Have- 
 lock. Instead of laying waste unoffending cities, 
 he came to the relief of the distressed and help- 
 less ; and though he stood high as a military com- 
 mander, he was not ashamed of the gospel of 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 207 
 
 Christ, but preached its unsearchable riches to the 
 soldiers of his regiment, and baptized them with 
 his own hands. But he sleeps in victory ! His 
 battles are over ; and he is now where the scorch- 
 ing rays of the Indian sun, and the fierce combats 
 of opposing forces, can never come. 
 
 The present century is distinguished by great 
 political revolutions, which have thrown in commo- 
 tion the nations of the earth. When the year 1800 
 dawned upon France, she was a republic ; in 1804, 
 she became an empire ; in 1815, after Bonaparte 
 was deposed, Louis the Eighteenth was restored to 
 the throne of his ancestors ; and now another Na- 
 poleon reigns, under the title of Emperor of the 
 French. How many bloody battles were fought to 
 produce these changes in the government of France ! 
 and what a striking illustration are they of the mu- 
 tability of human institutions ! In 1806, by the 
 resignation of the reigning emperor, the empire of 
 Germany came to an end ; and in 1832, Poland was 
 erased from the list of kingdoms by its incorpora- 
 tion with Russia, 
 
 What changes have been wrought in our own 
 land ! In 1801 the United States extended only to 
 the Mississippi river on the west, and to Florida on 
 the south. In 1803 Louisiana was ceded to the 
 Union by France, for $15,000,000. Florida was also 
 
208 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 ceded by Spain in 1820. Thus has the United 
 States acquired a right to these valuable posses- 
 sions, which cost their first owners so much death 
 and sufiering. In 1539 the romantic De Soto and 
 his followers wandered over the sunny plains of the 
 land of flowers, in search of El Dorado. After 
 marching over half the continent, they met not the 
 realization of their golden dreams. "Worn out with 
 fatigue and disappointment, De Soto sickened and 
 died, and his remains lie undisturbed beneath the 
 turbid waters of that mighty river of which he was 
 the discoverer. Spain, once a wealthy and power- 
 ful kingdom, now occupies a low rank among the 
 nations of Europe, and the United States quietly 
 enjoys the immense possessions she once claimed. 
 In 1848 California was obtained by treaty from 
 Mexico; and now the "star-spangled banner'' un- 
 folds its bright colors from the Atlantic to the 
 Pacific. England has forced China to open her 
 ports, so long closed to the civilized world; and by 
 the negotiations of an American commodore, com- 
 munications have been established between Japan 
 and the United States. 
 
 As before stated, the present century is remark- 
 able for advances made in the arts and sciences. 
 Steam, as applied to machinery, has wrought won- 
 ders. The first railroad resembling those now in 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 209 
 
 use, was the " Stockton and Darlington Railway," 
 completed in 1825. But the first practical pxhibi- 
 tion of the powers of a steam locomotive engine 
 was made at the opening of the "Liverpool and 
 Manchester Railroad" on the 15th of September, 
 1830. In 1856 upwards of one hundred and fifty 
 separate lines of railway, the total length being 
 8115 miles, had been completed in the United 
 Kingdom of Great Britain. The increase of rail- 
 roads in the United States is unparalleled. In 1828 
 there were only three miles of railroad ; now there 
 are 25,000. The advantages accruing from rail- 
 roads in the rapid transportation of goods and pas- 
 sengers from one section of country to another, and 
 in the increased diffusion of knowledge, may be 
 considered the greatest benefits of the age. In 
 1807 the first steamboat was launched upon the 
 Hudson. Fifty years have gone by, and beautiful 
 steamers are proudly gliding over all our principal 
 rivers, along our coasts, and upon the broad bosoms 
 of the great lakes of British America. 
 
 The Pilgrim Fathers were three months perform- 
 ing their perilous voyage across the Atlantic: their 
 descendants sail over the same space in little more 
 than ten days: a striking example of the progress 
 of our age. Voyages by steam are performed along 
 the Mediterranean, and along the Arabian and Red 
 
210 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 Seas. Indeed, '^almost every sea and ocean on the 
 surface of the globe is traversed by steam-vessels — 
 promoting a rapid intercourse between all the 
 nations, tribes, and families of the earth." By 
 steam navigation commerce is extended, knowledge 
 is increased, civilization is advanced, and the 
 heathen world enlightened by intercourse with 
 Christian nations, preparing the way for the mis- 
 sionaries of the Cross, and the consequent conver- 
 sion of the Gentile world. 
 
 We come now to the greatest discovery of the 
 nineteenth century, the electric telegraph. When 
 we look upon a steam-engine rapidly advancing 
 with its long train of cars, and hurrying on its 
 freight of many tons : when we stand by the river's 
 edge, or on the shore of the mighty deep, and 
 behold some gallant steamer steadily and swiftly 
 pursuing its way, in opposition to wind and tide, 
 we feel that man, though fallen, is noble still, pos- 
 sessing an intellect capable of devising and execut- 
 ing great things; but when we contemplate the 
 electric telegraph, we can scarcely persuade our- 
 selves that it is the result of human research and 
 human skill. To use the language of another : " The 
 principle, or agent, which displays its terrific energy 
 in the awful volcano, the fearful hurricane, and the 
 destroying earthquake, is the same as, subdued by 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 211 
 
 science and human art, is rendered useful, to society 
 in a vast variety of ways, and in no way more pro- 
 minently than in the electric telegraph." By this 
 agency the principal towns of the United States are 
 closely connected. Friends thousands of miles 
 apart can converse as if in the same hall. How 
 many heart-cheering messages have thus been borne 
 upon the lightning's wing ! and in the late revival 
 it has been made the speedy messenger of the glad 
 tidings of God's converting grace. Submarine 
 wires encased in gutta percha connect Europe with 
 the British Isles; and the cable of the telegraph 
 between Europe and America is now laid upon the 
 bed of the ocean ; and the time is doubtless near 
 when all the grand divisions of the globe shall by 
 this means be brought in converse. But to the 
 philanthropist and the Christian the improvement 
 in the art of printing by the application of steam- 
 power, stands preeminent. As an illustration of 
 the rapidity with which printing is done by this 
 method, a machine of this kind throws off from 
 nine hundred to twelve hundred sheets in an hour. 
 Books once so costly that only the most wealthy 
 could afford their purchase, are now within the 
 reach of every one. Newspapers, magazines, and 
 periodicals of every description are daily issuing 
 from the press, containing much valuable informa- 
 
212 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 tion, and, alas! much whicli is deleterious to the 
 minds and souls of men. The power wielded by 
 the press is second to none on earth ; and it is a 
 lamentable fact that this, the nineteenth century, is 
 so prolific of that species of literature entitled 
 novels, infusing into the minds of countless multi- 
 tudes, especially of the rising generation, false 
 notions of life, and erroneous views on the great 
 subject of religion. Fortunately, however, for 
 society, this is not the only literature published and 
 read in this age. Many excellent works on history, 
 philosophy, and theology, have been written, and 
 hailed with enthusiasm by the literary world. 
 What a vast amount of good has been accomplished 
 by those noble institutions, the British and Foreign 
 Bible Society, the American Tract Society, and the 
 American Bible Society, all of which have been 
 established since the dawn of the present century. 
 
 There are many other discoveries and inventions 
 of the present age, which have done much for the 
 amelioration of the human race. Many a poor 
 miner has had reason to thank God that Sir Hum- 
 phrey Davy was ever led to construct the safet}''- 
 lamp, which has been the means of preserving 
 many useful lives. Lighting the streets of large 
 cities with gas has been more eficctual in suppress- 
 ing vice and crime than any police. Securing a 
 
THR NINETEENTH CENTURY. 213 
 
 life-like shadow by the daguerrean art, has afforded 
 more satisfaction to all classes of persons than any . 
 preceding discovery. 
 
 Within the last fifty-eight years many interesting 
 discoveries have been made in the science of astro- 
 nomy. On the first of January, 1801, Ceres, the 
 first of the asteroids, was discovered. Since then 
 many of these miniature planets have been seen, 
 which are supposed to be the fragments of a large 
 celestial body, w^hich once revolved where the 
 asteroids are now seen. This remarkable dis- 
 covery has given us a slight insight into those great 
 changes which are taking place in the remote 
 regions of space, and fills the mind with admiration 
 for that Almighty Being who formed the starry 
 worlds, — ''that bringeth forth their hosts by num- 
 ber; that calleth them all by names." The dis- 
 covery of the planet Leverrier, or Neptune, by cal- 
 culation, is a signal triumph of the human mind. 
 By means of the great telescope of Lord Eosse, 
 many of the nebulae, once supposed to be chaotic 
 masses of luminous matter, have been resolved into 
 stars, giving us enlarged conceptions of the bound- 
 less extent of the universe. 
 
 The nineteenth century is distinguished by its 
 long array of illustrious sculptors, musicians, artists, 
 authors, statesmen, and theologians. Among sculp- 
 
214 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 tors none stand higher than Powers, whose " E^e/ 
 and whose "Greek Slave," have been the admira^ 
 tion of both sides of the Atlantic. From the ear- 
 liest ages of the world the sons of men have loved 
 and cultivated music ; but we are persuaded that it 
 has now arrived at a degree of perfection never 
 before attained. The exquisite mechanism of musi- 
 cal instruments, especially that of the pianoforte, is 
 one of the improvements of the age. And where, 
 in the annals of the world, have we an account of 
 such vocal powers as those of Jenny Lind? or of 
 sweeter strains than those of Thalberg and "William 
 Vincent Wallace ? 
 
 "What shall be said of the authors of the nine- 
 teenth century ? In British literature, we find the 
 names of Sir Walter Scott, Byron, Moore, Pollok, 
 Eliza Cook, Mrs. Hemans, Macaulay, Professor 
 Wilson, and Hugh Miller. Among American 
 authors are conspicuous Bryant, Longfellow, Ban- 
 croft, Mrs. Sigourney, and many others whose writ- 
 ings have exercised a powerful influence on the age, 
 corresponding in its nature to the characters of 
 their respective works. Besides the authors men- 
 tioned, there are travellers who have rendered their 
 names immortal by contributions they have made 
 to our knowledge of the distant regions of the 
 globe. Such are Dr. Kane, who wrote an account 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 216 
 
 of his search for the long-lost Sir John Franklin in 
 the frozen regions of the frigid zone; and Dr. Liv- 
 ingstone, who has spent sixteen years amid the 
 burning sands of Africa. The Eastern Continent 
 has not been without men w^ho have swayed the 
 councils of nations by the w^isdom of their measures 
 and the witchery of their eloquence; but in our own 
 free land are we to look for the noblest statesmen 
 of the nineteenth century. At its commencement 
 Washington had just rested from his labors; but 
 his associates, Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton, 
 held a prominent position before the nation. In 
 later date come J. Q. Adams, Andrew Jackson, 
 Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and Daniel "Webster. 
 But to the disciples of the Prince of Peace, neither 
 the warrior nor the statesman appears so glorious as 
 those men of giant intellect and holy heart who 
 have during the present century boldly stood forth 
 before the world and contended for '-the faith once 
 delivered to the saints.'' Of such are Chalmers and 
 Cumming, of Scotland; Miller and Alexander, of 
 ' America ; and Spurgeon, the modern Wliitefield of 
 the English pulpit. And there is another whom it 
 would be wrong to pass in silence, Harbaugh, the 
 author of that beautiful series of works whose sub- 
 ject is Heaven. Who that has read these books 
 can ever divest himself of their mild but powerful 
 
216 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 influence — an influence leading his tliouglits to that 
 happy world of which they speak in such soothing 
 and beautiful strains. 
 
 With regret we now introduce another phase of 
 this century, which forms a painful contrast to those 
 by which it is preceded. IsTotwithstanding the wide 
 diffusion of religious knowledge, there are some 
 who, having closed their eyes to the truth, have 
 embraced and propagated the most dangerous 
 errors. As instances, the Millerites, perched upon 
 the highest eminences, awaiting in their white robes 
 for the arrival of a specifled day on which to ascend 
 to heaven; the Mormons, differing in their origin 
 and system of belief from any sect that has yet 
 appeared before the world; and the Spiritualists, 
 who have been so abundant in the Northern States. 
 
 The position of woman is a remarkable feature of 
 this age, being in many respects far more exalted 
 than ever before ; and yet, not satisfled with her 
 own appropriate sphere, she has in a few instances 
 sought to assume privileges belonging exclusively 
 to man. Such are Lucy Stone and her strong- 
 minded sisterhood, the advocates of woman's rights. 
 But doubtless these errors and follies will soon be 
 banished by the superior force of truth, which is 
 mighty and must prevail, to the pulling down of the 
 strongholds of error. 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 217 
 
 Another circumstance worthy of notice is, that 
 no universal monarchy now exists as in the days 
 when Assyria, Macedonia, and Rome flourished. 
 The nations of the world are becoming too enlight- 
 ened to allow a few despots to exercise unlimited 
 sway. Under the benign influence of Christianity 
 the world is becoming better. Much of the cruelty 
 of former times has been abolished ; even war is 
 less terrific. Benevolent associations for the relief 
 of suffering humanity have been formed all over 
 the civilized world. Asylums of elegant archi- 
 tecture, surrounded by beautifully embellished 
 grounds, have been erected for the reception of the 
 deaf, dumb, and blind. To these institutions the 
 world is indebted for many bright intellects which 
 otherwise would have remained in obscurity. Even 
 poor little outcasts found in all large cities have 
 received their share of attention. Houses of indus- 
 try have been established where these little vagrants 
 are taught much that is useful. Thus have many 
 souls been '^snatched from hell and laid in the 
 sheltering arms of Heaven.'' Missionary efforts 
 have been crowned with signal success; and the 
 Bible translated into the languages spoken by more 
 than half the human race. England has the honor 
 of devising and carrying into operation the present 
 system of foreign missions. About fifty years ago 
 10 
 
218 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 the first missionaries, Carey and Hall, were sent out 
 to India, and soon afterwards Newell and Judson, 
 of America, were appointed to the same field. A 
 feeble band, they went forth to convince the hea- 
 then of the sin of idolatry, and turn them to the 
 service of the living and true God. Many, even in 
 this favored age, regarded foreign missions as a 
 visionary scheme ; but those pious ambassadors 
 knew that they were obeying the command of 
 Christ : '' Go forth into all the world and preach 
 the gospel to every creature ;'* and they bade adieu 
 to home and friends, and braved the dangers of the 
 stormy deep, leaning upon the precious promise, 
 ^' Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of 
 the world." Since then many self-denying men 
 have devoted themselves to the missionary work. 
 Need we detail the results ? Go ask the converted 
 Hindoo, the Chinaman turned from the worship of 
 his idols, and the Christianized inhabitants of the 
 islands of the sea, what they think of this glorious 
 enterprise of the nineteenth century, and they will 
 answer: By their instrumentality we have been 
 brought out of darkness into the marvellous light 
 and liberty of the gospel. But, if not before then, 
 at the last day will all the glorious eftects of mis- 
 sions be known ; when that vast multitude, re- 
 deemed out of every nation, kindred and tongue. 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 219 
 
 shall bo welcomed to the courts of Heaven, there to 
 sing everlasting praises to the ''Lamb of God," and 
 there to meet the heralds of the Cross who led them 
 to see Him as their Saviour. 
 
 Thus have we cursorily reviewed the triumphs of 
 this great age — an age in which more has already 
 been done towards the civilization and renovation 
 of the world than in any age since the Christian era. 
 And yet the volume of its history is but half com- 
 plete. Nearly half of its years, and, it may be, half 
 of the mighty record of its achievements, is yet un- 
 told. The future, as it unrolls the panorama of 
 wonderful events to the eye, may yet eclipse the 
 years that have passed — astonishing as have been 
 their developments. 
 
 One would think that the balance of this glorious 
 century might be well employed in filling up the 
 outline of its present achievements : in perfecting 
 its inventions ; in extending the utility and applica- 
 tions of these great instrumentalities of good which 
 have already been brought to light ; in laying ofi*, 
 adorning, and beautifying the magnificent field 
 which the march of mind has compassed ; and that 
 the historian and author might find ample employ- 
 ment in the materials of the half century already 
 elapsed. 
 
 But who shall presume to set bounds or limits to 
 
220 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 the mighty march of this century — to that progress 
 which impels civilization onward, as the comet is 
 hurled in its infinite journey around the firmament? 
 Who shall say that the inventive resources of 
 genius are exhausted — that the future has no re- 
 serve, no depths of profounder wisdom yet to be 
 fathomed — no fields yet vdder and wider to be 
 explored — no more wonderful plans to be worked 
 out by that Divinity, which is so manifestly devel- 
 oping the destiny of man? Who shall say that 
 science, with all its boasted attainments, may not 
 yet be in the primer of its learning — when future 
 years shall have poured upon the world the meri- 
 dian splendors which are yet to appear ? She has 
 gathered beautiful pebbles on the beach, but the 
 dark, unfathomed caves of ocean have not yet 
 emptied at her feet the gems which are richly trea- 
 sured there. The morning has come, the sun of 
 knowledge has risen on the horizon, but it has not 
 yet performed its course ; it has but begun the 
 revolution of glorious light which it is destined 
 to make, and before which all clouds and vapors 
 shall be dispelled. ^'Knowledge shall increase," 
 is the fiat which has gone forth, and none but God 
 who issued that decree shall set limits to that 
 increase. Its fountain is no less than the mind of 
 Deit3^ It draws its illumination from the great 
 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 221 
 
 ceutral sun of that omniscient intellect which is the 
 light of the everlasting universe. Who shall say 
 that the full measure of its revelation to man, 
 through the medium of nature, has yet been seen, 
 or that He will not evolve from the vast treasury of 
 his wisdom and his goodness an increasing degree 
 of knowledge, until ignorance shall be torn as a 
 covering from the hideous vice and depravity of 
 man — until light shall drive from the world the 
 dark legionary of superstition, ignorance, and hell. 
 The philosopher and divine cannot fail to per- 
 ceive that religion and knowledge go hand in 
 hand — that God has chosen light, in the moral 
 world, as the instrument to dispel the darkness of 
 error and evil, as, in the physical world, to chase 
 away the gloom of night. "Will he not, then, 
 impel onward the intellectual march of the world, 
 until knowledge all over the earth shall pave the 
 pathway for the chariot-wheels of religion and mil- 
 lennial glory ? 
 
 How much of so great a destiny is reserved 
 for this century must be left to the unborn his- 
 torian to write. "We can only indulge in those 
 bright anticipations which the past and the pre- 
 sent inspire. Judging from these, that fature 
 volume of the history of this century will reveal 
 
222 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 to its readers other great triumphs of genius, other 
 inventions, and other evidences of the wisdom and 
 goodness of that Supreme Being who has so sig- 
 nally favored this proud age. 
 
TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 223 
 
 TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 
 
 '' Why is it that the midnight moon" 
 
 No moment stays ? 
 And why the sweetest bloom so soon 
 
 Droops and decays ? 
 
 Why is it that the noonday sun 
 
 So soon descends? 
 And why the honor nobly won 
 
 So quickly ends ? 
 
 Why sends the west its brightest ray 
 
 As sinks the sun ? 
 Why sings the swan its sweetest lay 
 
 When life is run ? 
 
 Why is the rainbow's gorgeous hue 
 
 Begirt with clouds ; 
 And when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too, 
 
 The earth enshrouds ? 
 
224 PROSE ANDPOETRY. 
 
 And why does friendship's golden link 
 
 So bright appear. 
 Just as the foot has reached the brink 
 
 Where ruin's near? 
 
 Alas ! 'tis always thus on earth ! 
 
 The dearest tie, 
 In love vouchsafed to mortal worthy 
 
 Doth quickly die ! 
 
 I'll never trust the midnight moon, 
 
 Though full and bright ; 
 Nor cling to earthly joys, so soon 
 
 To fade from sight. 
 
 I'll never gaze on noonday sun, 
 
 In heaven high, 
 But with the thought his course 's soon run, 
 
 His light must die. 
 
 I'll never love the rainbow's hue. 
 
 Though bright and fair ; 
 For when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too 
 
 Are lurking there. 
 
 I'll never trust to friendship's chain, 
 
 Though bright and strong ; 
 But to the Lamb for sinners slain 
 
 All trusts belong. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 225 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The glorious sun was hast'ning 
 To bid adieu to earth; his farewell ray 
 "Was bright'ning, and his lengthening shadows 
 Casting through the balmy spring-time air. 
 
 All nature sought repose, and woo'd, by its 
 Soft lullaby, the busy throng to rest. 
 
 A strange, sweet sympathy upon my spirit 
 Fell, which with the hour chimed in unison ; 
 And gently touched the mystic chords 
 That bind us to the spirit land, and swell 
 The soul with love unutterable and full of joy! 
 
 Led by unseen hand, my footsteps wander'd 
 To the habitation of the dead. I stood 
 Beside a full grown grave — yea, two — 
 Blent in one : In life, "two bodies — one heart; 
 In death, two bodies — one grave." 
 
 And a charm, sad and holy, 
 Enchain'd me there. It was the last resting 
 Place earth had to give those who, years agone 
 Had fondled in their arms, and to their 
 Daughter's orphan child spoke words 
 Of love and comfort. Sad mem'ries of the past 
 
226 AFRAGMEN-T. 
 
 Crowded thick and fast upon my brain. 
 The funeral throng, with solemn, measured 
 Tread ; the crapen hearse ; the earth arrayed 
 In sable garbs — as if it gave in sullen 
 Mood the spirits lent — all, all appear'd, in quick 
 Review, before my spirit's gaze. And 
 Repeating yet the still, small voice, 
 , Which 'whispered : " I am the resurrection 
 And the life, saith the Lord ; he that believeth 
 In me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
 Live : And whosoever liveth and believeth 
 In me shall never die.'' 
 
 The strug'ling sun breaks through 
 The darken'd clouds, and a bright rainbow 
 Spans the arch of blue. 
 
 The tall old cedar keeps nightly vigil, 
 "While through the cypress blooms the beautiful 
 Sunlight, in mellow radiance, brightens 
 All around; and the eyes of heaven 
 Look down in love upon those who sleep 
 Beneath ! 
 
AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 227 
 
 AN UKDEYOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 
 
 jJ^The globe, that, in its present epocli, is the 
 habitation and peculiar possession of the human 
 race, appears, when regarded by itself, a body of 
 imposing dimensions;" but when night's dark 
 drapery conceals from view its varied scenery, its 
 picturesque landscapes, and busy thoroughfares, its 
 sunshine and shade, then it is that the eye, the 
 portal of the soul, turns to the "lights in the firma- 
 ment of heaven." What transcendant glories meet 
 it there ! The sky, the deep blue sky, bestudded 
 with glittering orbs, pavilions this earth of ours ! 
 the moon in queenly majesty pursues her course 
 through the chambers of heaven ! What an inspir- 
 ing scene ! how elevating, how ennobling the con- 
 templation of these "emblems of the Infinite!" 
 " Kings have descended from their thrones" to ad- 
 mire its beauty — to feel its power; "and humble 
 shepherds, while watching their flocks by night, 
 have beheld with rapture the blue vault of heaven, 
 
228 PROSE AND POETEY. 
 
 with its tliousand shining orbs moving in silent 
 grandeur, till the morning star announced the 
 approach of day;" but by the astronomer — the 
 pious astronomer, who views the mighty works of 
 nature as step-stones to nature's God — alone, is the 
 scene fully comprehended — fully appreciated. 
 
 Though appearing, to those unacquainted with 
 astronomical science, to be situated at equal dis- 
 tances from us, yet shining with different degr|ps 
 of intensity, as ''one star differeth from another star 
 in glory;" he, by deep research, has ascertained 
 that those bright worlds are not all situated at 
 equal distances, but that many of them are millions 
 of miles more remote than others : he knows that 
 some of the smallest stars that twinkle with golden 
 lustre on the bosom of night, are suns perhaps 
 larger than our own proud luminary, surrounded 
 by planetary worlds which receive from them light 
 and heat, and the vicissitudes of day and night. 
 "With telescope in hand he joins the innumerable 
 host, whose movements are not noted by the com- 
 mon eye — walks with Hesperus, and becomes fami- 
 liar with Jupiter ! About the latter he tells many 
 strange things. He says, instead of the bright 
 planet which this orb appears, it is an irregular 
 world, "like our globe, and has undergone similar 
 convulsions." 
 
AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 229 
 
 It has been estimated by the astronomer that 
 there are one hundred million of stars now visible 
 through the telescope, which cannot be seen by the 
 unassisted eye. And is it not probable that in the 
 regions of infinite space there are countless worlds 
 which man, not even by the aid of the most power- 
 ful magnifying - glasses, will ever behold? Far 
 beyond the reach of mortal vision they wheel on 
 in their rapid course, unseen, save by the eye of 
 Omnipotence, or the adoring angels and seraphim 
 around the throne on high. Countless as are these 
 worlds, each, doubtless, has its own peculiar orbit, 
 never interfering with the motions of another. 
 The Power which placed them there has also 
 appointed their bounds, beyond which they cannot 
 pass. 
 
 Let us take an astronomical view of the solar 
 system of which we form a part. This system con- 
 sists of the sun as a centre, around which the 
 asteroids and the principal planets, with their satel- 
 lites, revolve. During a solar year, or in an interval 
 of twelve months, our earth, at a distance of one 
 hundred million of miles, describes an undeviating 
 circle around this great central point. " Between 
 the earth and the centre of its motion there are two 
 other bodies, named, on that account, the inferior 
 planets ; and beyond it we find six superior orbs — • 
 
230 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 the remotest, Neptune, being thirty times more dis- 
 tant than we are from the sun." The utmost 
 bounds of this complicated system are enlightened 
 by the sun, its great centre. The planets which 
 surround him form a geometrical series, each one 
 being double the distance of its next interior planet 
 from the sun. Mercury being nearest to the sun, 
 and receiving from him a much greater degree of 
 light and heat, is found to be the most dense of all 
 the planets. The atmosphere of the planets is also 
 thought to differ ; therefore, it may be as comfort- 
 able at Xeptune as at Mercury. If these planets 
 are all inhabited as well as our earth, what a wise 
 provision of Providence is this ! each planet pre- 
 cisely adapted to the peculiar situation it occupies. 
 Our globe, the third planet from the sun, is most 
 favorably situated in the solar system; nearly all 
 the sister planets being visible to the naked eye. 
 Its inhabitants may all look upon the silvery bright- 
 ness of Mercury, the mild radiance of Venus, and 
 the fiery splendor of Mars ; and its astronomers, by 
 the aid of telescopes, may gaze upon Saturn with 
 his "sky-girt rings'' and seven moons; and Jupiter 
 with his belts and satellites. What a generous dis- 
 play of the wisdom, power, and goodness of God ! 
 When we consider that all the planets composing 
 the solar system, many of them hundreds of times 
 
AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 231 
 
 larger than the globe we inhabit, are, witliout 
 doubt, peopled by intelligent beings, formed to 
 admire and adore the wonders of the universe, are 
 not our minds impressed with the mighty power, 
 benignity, and wisdom of Him who made them ? 
 But when we reflect still further, that were our 
 system, vast as it appears to us, to be stricken from 
 the *^ Divine empire,'' it would scarcely be missed 
 by His Omnipotent eye, then are we lost ; and feel 
 indeed that God's ways are ''past finding out." 
 What must be the immensity of the universe if 
 such a system as ours is but as a grain of sand to the 
 sea-shore — a drop of water to the ocean? "When 
 we gaze upon the firmament of heaven, and see the 
 moon "walking in beauty," and the same stars 
 which shone upon our happy childhood, inspiring 
 it with lofty thoughts, the first, perhaps, it ever 
 entertained, we feel as if to them no change could 
 come. The very same orbs, in all their wonted 
 brilliancy, are nightly shining over us which Abra- 
 ham, and Job, and David looked upon with pious 
 admiration. " Canst thou bind the sweet influences 
 of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion ? Canst 
 thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season ? or canst 
 thou guide Arcturus with his sons?" are beautiful 
 inquiries, replete with significance, which the Lord 
 put to the faithful Job; and when the "sweet 
 
232 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 singer of Israel" considered the heavens the work 
 of God's fingers, and the moon and the stars which 
 He ordainedj he exclaimed, with a deep sense of his 
 own impotence : '' What is man, that thou art mind- 
 ful of him ? and the son of man, that thou visitest 
 him?" 
 
 The Pleiades and the bands of Orion gleam as 
 brightly now as then; the same heavens proclaim 
 the might of His handiwork ! But yet, even within 
 the observation of mortals, there have been worlds 
 which, having doubtless subserved the purpose for 
 which created, have been seen to burn brighter and 
 brighter as the work of their consumption pro- 
 gressed, and then becoming fainter and still fainter, 
 to disappear for ever from the starry host. And so 
 it will be with this beautiful earth on which we live. 
 *' The day of the Lord will come as a thief in the 
 night; in the which the heavens shall pass away 
 with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with 
 fervent heat ; the earth also and the works that are 
 therein shall be burned up." "When it shall have 
 accomplished the end for which designed, at a day 
 and hour of which we know not, it shall be con- 
 sumed. 0, it seems that one look, through the 
 medium of science, at the starry sky, would '' ele- 
 vate the soul above vicious passions and grovelling 
 pursuits;" would irresistibly lead the almost god- 
 
AN UNBEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 233 
 
 like energies of the mind to the Divine fulcrum of 
 this mighty machinery ; that one look would con- 
 strain man to bow in humble adoration to Him who 
 "rules in the armies of heaven, and doeth His will 
 among the inhabitants of earth/' An astronomer 
 who can devote his life to the sublime study of the 
 heavenly bodies, and not exclaim, with deep humi- 
 lity of spirit, Great and marvellous are thy works, 
 Lord God Almighty ! Thou art worthy to receive 
 glory, and honor, and power, for thou hast " created 
 all things, and for thy pleasure they were created," 
 is a madman indeed. 
 
234 PROSE AN DPOETRl 
 
 THE DREAM OF LOVE. 
 
 In girlhood's bright and sunny days, 
 
 I had a dream of joy, 
 That filled my soul with sweetest lays 
 And bliss without alloy. 
 I saw a noble, gifted youth, 
 
 Who stood amidst the throng, 
 Beloved, admired for the truth 
 
 Which would not stoop. to wrong.' 
 
 I saw enrapt ten thousand forms, — 
 
 In sacred silence stood — 
 By eloquence, his eloquence. 
 
 Poured forth in crystal flood. 
 I listened to his language bold ; 
 
 I looked upon his brow ; 
 I gazed into his eagle eye, — 
 
 Whose light is with me now ' 
 
THE DREAM OF LOVE. 235 
 
 Till language, brow and eye enshrined 
 
 "Within my innermost heart ; 
 With his my very soul entwined — 
 
 Of his became a part. 
 In secret long I nursed the flame 
 
 Which shed so soft a light ; 
 Nor dreamed that he would ever name, 
 
 Or heighten my delight. 
 
 At length one balmy morn he came, 
 
 And breathed into my ear 
 The sweetest words I ever heard — 
 
 The sweetest and most dear. 
 His language I can ne'er recall, 
 
 Though manna to my soul ; 
 I only know his theme was love. 
 
 And I the loved of all. 
 
 I could not tell my love for him — 
 
 It trembled on my tongue ; 
 He saw it on my blushing cheek. 
 
 And pressed it to his own. 
 I could not breathe one single word, 
 
 To tell him I was his ; 
 But little beatings there were heard 
 
 Of rapture and of bliss. 
 
286 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 Thougli of love no word was spoken, 
 
 Though breathed no vow to him, 
 All the signs of love the token 
 
 Were borne by cherubim. 
 And written in the books of heaven, 
 
 In characters of gold. 
 To stand until the earth is riven, 
 
 And heaven's joys unfold. 
 
 In the pure ecstasy of love 
 
 Passed sweet and happy days ; 
 The angels round the throne above 
 
 Taught me their joyous lays. 
 And I essayed to touch the lyre, 
 
 And sing love's sweetest song, 
 In strains of heartfelt melody— 
 
 In notes to God belong. 
 
 In full sweet strains of joy I sang 
 
 Of a cot within the vale ; 
 And one lone minister of love. 
 
 My loving heart to hail. 
 And I sang of — I will confess — 
 
 A darling, bright-eyed boy. 
 My cottage in the vale to bless. 
 
 His father's hope and joy. 
 
THE DREAM OF LOVE. 287 
 
 But in my song a note of woe, 
 
 High o'er the rest, was heard ! 
 My dream of love will ne'er below 
 
 Call forth a joyous word. 
 'T was but a dream, too bright to last, 
 
 And now from earth 't is gone ; 
 But mem'ry sad recalls the past, 
 
 And leaves my heart forlorn. 
 
 Yes, the dream of love has passed away 
 
 Unto the realms of night, 
 Where never star nor sun is seen 
 
 To shed one ray of light. 
 And as a worn and wearied child 
 
 Upon its mother's breast, 
 I 'd lean my aching head on Thee, 
 
 Thou only source of rest ! 
 
 A bruised reed Thou wilt not break, 
 
 Nor quench the smoking flax ; 
 And though in anguish long I 've wept, 
 
 Thou 'It stay the fatal axe. 
 I know if I but kiss the rod 
 
 By Thee " in mercy sent. 
 The staff of comfort from my God 
 
 Shall in his love be lent." 
 
238 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 MY SPIRIT GROOM. 
 
 In life's gay morn and vernal bloom, 
 We met and loved, my spirit groom ! 
 My hand you sought with noble pride — 
 I knew myself your spirit bride, 
 And gave at once a loving heart, 
 Forgetting that the world could part 
 The spirit bride and spirit groom, 
 Or overcast their sun with gloom. 
 
 Many long years we lived and loved, 
 Many long years I gently moved 
 A happy captive to love's sway, 
 And dreamed of joy's unending day. 
 No shadow dark, my spirit groonn. 
 O'er this bright scene did darkly loom ! 
 But as the snake in Eden roved, 
 The tempter came, and potent proved. 
 
MT SPIRIT GROOM. 239 
 
 Yes, Satan came with costly ore ; 
 The paltry stuff you did adore ; 
 And turned from me, your spirit bride. 
 To lead another by your side. 
 And call her ^' wife.'* 0, spirit groom ! 
 I 'd have her loved, whatever my doom ; 
 For blessings on her I '11 implore ; 
 Though sad my fate, 1 11 not deplore. 
 
 Another claims my spirit groom ; 
 Another rose for him doth bloom ; 
 A little bud opes by his side, 
 And calls her ''mother,'' his earth bride. 
 And yet I love her — love her child. 
 And love him too, with passion wild. 
 Wilt Thou, O Lord ! dispel this gloom. 
 And guard with care my spirit groom ? 
 
 Long years have flown since last we met. 
 But still thy spell enchains me yet ; 
 And naught can cheer this heart's sad gloom 
 Save thoughts of thee, my spirit groom ! 
 Thou 'It think of me when far away, 
 I '11 think of thee when knelt to pray ; 
 Though years have flown since last we met, 
 You love me still — I love you yet. 
 
240 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 0, love like yours, and love like mine, 
 Too sacred was for earthly shrine ! 
 " Our Father's House'' alone hath room 
 For love like ours, my spirit groom ! 
 And though on earth we never meet. 
 In heaven each the other '11 greet ; 
 And, like the stars, our love will shine 
 With radiance bright, godlike, divine. 
 
AN OASIS. 241 
 
 AN OASIS. 
 
 I saw a green oasis once 
 
 Amidst a barren waste. 
 Where bright, pellucid streamlets flowed- 
 
 Pure nectar to the taste ; 
 Where lilies and white roses grew, 
 
 Morjoram and sweet thyme, 
 The mignonette its fragrance threw. 
 
 And fruits of ev'ry clyme. 
 
 In state the tall magnolia stood, 
 And sweetly bloomed the while : 
 
 The monarch of that favored wood 
 Looked down with sweetest smile. 
 
 And ev'ry little flow'ret shed 
 Its perfume soft and sweet. 
 
 And ev'ry little zephyr sped 
 
 To bear it to God's feet. 
 11 
 
242 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 And many birds of plumage gay, 
 
 And throats attuned to song, 
 Their Maker's praise sang day by day, 
 
 In chorus sweet and long. 
 All nature joined the grateful strain, 
 
 And trilled the joyous lay. 
 Till zephyrs caught the strain again, 
 
 And bore it far away. 
 
 Upon that verdant spot by day 
 
 The sun in beauty shone, 
 Till like a sea of glory lay 
 
 The flow'ret, tree and stone. 
 And when the twihght hour came on 
 
 With holy, rapturous spell. 
 The moon in modesty looked down. 
 
 And saw that all was well. 
 
 No shiv'ring blast nor blighting frost 
 
 Its loveliness did 'mar — 
 The Storm-god, with destructive host, 
 
 Kept from this spot afar. 
 And Venus in her pathway bright, 
 
 A brighter ray shed forth. 
 As she beheld, with much delight, 
 
 No ravage of the north. 
 
AN OASIS. 243 
 
 Its Adam was a godlike man, 
 
 Of form and brow erect; 
 And his fair face the impress bore 
 
 Of thoughts from God direct. 
 Its Eve was beautiful and good, 
 
 And moved with angel grace, 
 As, in the flowery wild-wood, 
 
 "With dew she bathed her face. 
 
 Their children were a noble race, 
 
 Living for good alone; 
 "With not a single care to trace 
 
 A line of sorrow's own. 
 The serpent's trail ne'er entered there 
 
 With sin's destructive breath; 
 And not a single human care 
 
 Brought on a human death. 
 
 All nature to their store bequeathed 
 
 An ofi*'ring rich and bright ; 
 The very atmosphere they breathed 
 
 Was pure as heavenly light. 
 ^'They worshipped in no lofty pile, 
 
 No proud cathedral fane; 
 God's universal temple theirs — 
 
 Hill, valley, wood and plain." 
 
244 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 Their friendsh.ip never waxed nor waned, 
 
 But stronger grew with time, 
 Till^ by the sacred spell enchained, 
 
 Borne to still brighter clime. 
 Their love — an angel's purest love, 
 
 More pure than theirs could be. 
 But not on earth the chosen dove 
 
 Could woo from sin more free. 
 
 Would you, dear friend, that Eden know, 
 
 Amid what flow'ry plain, 
 That you may enter bliss below, 
 
 Nor live on earth in vain ? 
 Wouldst thou shake off the coils of sin 
 
 That bind thee to this earth. 
 And hie thee to a home wherein 
 
 Sin never yet had birth ? 
 
 "Alas ! 'twas but a dream of night 
 That showed that spot to me," 
 
 And not on earth will spot so bright 
 Be ever seen by thee. 
 
MY BIRD. 245 
 
 MY BIED. 
 
 Bird of the gay and joyous wing, 
 Pour forth again thy tuneful lay ! 
 
 Sweet is the song thou e'er dost sing 
 At dewy eve or break of day ! 
 
 I love thy song ! its gentle strain 
 Has ofttimes cheered a lonely hour; 
 
 And now I list its notes again, 
 And feel once more its soothing power* 
 
 A7hat makes thy heart, sweet bird, so light ? 
 
 Ah ! naught of trouble thou dost know 
 To mar thy joy, so fresh and bright. 
 
 Or shadows cast by clouds of woe ! 
 
 What makes thy tones so sweet and clear? 
 
 Hast thou an angel's voice, my love, 
 To .sing the hymns to mortal ear. 
 
 Which vibrate round the throne above ? 
 
246 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 I would that I could join thy song, 
 And sing with thee the lays of love ; 
 
 But grief has closed my harp so long, 
 It would not chime with thee, my dove ! 
 
 "There is no sorrow in thy song. 
 Because no sin is in thy heart; 
 
 And he whose soul is kept from wrong, 
 Has learned the secret of thine art :'^ 
 
 Has learned by faith to soar aloft. 
 And trust in One who dwells on high. 
 
 To cleanse from sins repeated oft, — 
 "Who'll hear his song beyond the sky. 
 
 ''Sweet bird ! with gladnes in thy lay, 
 
 And heaven's pure light upon thy wing, 
 
 I seem to hear thy transports say, 
 
 'Seek heaven, like me, if thou wouldst 
 
 sino;.' " 
 
VERSES. 247 
 
 VERSES 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL, THOUGH VERY SAD-LOOKING, YOUNG LADY THE 
 WRITER SAW IN SOUTH-WESTERN GEORGIA. 
 
 Lady, we did but meet ; 
 
 "No introduction passed; 
 Thy name I could not greet, 
 
 If we should meet at last. 
 
 And yet IVe felt for thee 
 
 A sister's tender love, 
 A sister's sympathy : 
 
 O, may we meet above ! 
 
 I saw on thy young brow 
 
 The lines of deepest woe ; 
 They told of no joy now 
 
 In any thing below. 
 And on thy blanched cheek, 
 
 The rose's faded hue 
 Of withered hopes did speak. 
 
 And of withered joys too. 
 
248 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 Hast thou no brother's arm 
 
 To shield thee from distress; 
 Or, if should come alarm, 
 
 To seek for thee redress? 
 Hast thou no sister's love 
 
 To brighten thy blue eye, 
 And point to realms above, 
 
 Where pleasures never die ? 
 
 Hast thou no father old, 
 
 To live for and to love ? 
 Gird on thine armor bold. 
 
 And woo the olive dove ! 
 Hast thou no mother dear. 
 
 To soothe thy aching breast ? 
 Thy brother, Christ, is near — 
 
 He'll give thee sweetest rest. 
 
 Hast thou no friend to lend 
 
 A helping hand to thee ? 
 Thy Father, God, will send 
 
 A friend who'll constant be. 
 "If love has seared thy heart, 
 
 A glorious hope is given. 
 Which soothe's affliction's smart- 
 
 There's purer love in heaven." 
 
VERSES. 249 
 
 O, if there is not one 
 
 To follow thy lone bier, 
 "When life on earth is done, 
 
 And shed a silent tear. 
 Turn thy heart, so riven, 
 
 Beyond the clouded sky, 
 "To tenderer ties in heaven," 
 
 Where loved ones never die. 
 
250 PROSE AND POETRY 
 
 IN THE GRAVEYARD. 
 
 In the graveyard see them lie, 
 
 Quietly, side by side ; 
 No anxious thought that mortal eye 
 Should gaze approving, or deride, 
 Disturbs them now; 
 No broken vow. 
 Nor'- cold averted look — 
 Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
 Shivers now the pulseless heart; 
 These it never more will brook. 
 Peacefully the baby lieth 
 
 In its narrow bed of clay; 
 "While the soul that never dieth 
 Lives in bliss through endless day 
 Love it angels, love it dearly, 
 Love it not as angels merely. 
 
 Jesus said — 
 And from his love-lit eye Divine 
 Sparkled light too bright to shine 
 
IN THE GRAVEYARD. 251 
 
 Long on earth — 
 To me let little children come, 
 And share my bright, celestial home. 
 Buds fresh and white, 
 And diamonds bright, 
 We ever want 
 To glitter round the throne on high. 
 Then love it, angels, love it dearly, 
 Love it not as angels merely. 
 
 In the graveyard see her lie, 
 The youthful maiden fair; 
 Called in the spring of life to die. 
 In grief we laid her gently there : 
 The flower sprite. 
 In sacred might 
 To earth came down. 
 And took the rose, 
 And then arose 
 Far above mortal sight; 
 
 ! in thy might again come down. 
 And tell to us the joys she's won: 
 
 From earth we know she's passed away — 
 Her earth-light dimmed and turned to night; 
 
 But Faith points to a shining day. 
 In which she basks in radiance bright — 
 A flowret in that holy crown. 
 
252 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 In the graveyard^see^her lie, 
 
 The'aged motlier dear; 
 No more the tear bedims her eye; 
 'No more oppressed by anxious fear; 
 No more exposed 
 To human woes, 
 For God has heard her life long prayer, 
 And now in peace she lieth there. 
 
 Hath it flown, her spirit bright ? 
 Or lingereth it near its earth-worn garb ? 
 Or nearer still in darkest night 
 
 To those on earth most loved ? 
 Points she still to that realm of light, 
 Where Jesus is, from earth removed? 
 Or hear ye the notes of an angePs song, 
 As upward and homeward it speeds along ? 
 0, list to those notes, 
 As in ether it floats ! 
 They will soothe thy spirit's sadness, 
 And give peace to thee and gladness ; 
 
 And, perchance. 
 They'll guide thy wandering footsteps. 
 
 In the paths of truth and love. 
 And direct thy wayward spirit, 
 "To the bright, bright world above, 
 "Where the holy angels move." 
 
IN THE GRAVEYARD. 253 
 
 In the graveyard see him lie, 
 
 The honored statesman bold ; 
 His form doth moulder in the dust, 
 His spirit shine more bright than gold : 
 O, why did this statesman, 
 Nature's true nobleman, 
 The silent grave enfold ? 
 Why does mortal worth 
 Pass so soon from earth ? 
 Why the manly voice. 
 Hush so soon in death? 
 Why ascend to heavenly sphere ? 
 His nation wants his service here. 
 O !]cease, vain heart ! 
 
 His Saviour's praise 
 Now claims, apart, 
 His joyous lays. 
 
 In the graveyard see him lie, 
 
 The patriot brave ; 
 His country's call he quick obeyed, 
 And gave his life to save. 
 "Better that death 
 Should come, than 'neath 
 A tyrant's yoke to rest. 
 Or be by'/oes oppressed." 
 He said : 
 
254 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 "Better all the sweet joys of home — 
 Its sacred love and tender ties — 
 
 Should pass from time away, than come 
 A despot's rule, and die as dies 
 A coward mean.'' 
 
 Thus fortified by valor strong, 
 
 He bravely fought, but fell, ere long : 
 And now his rest, so peaceful^ seems 
 To ask steps that will not break its dreams. 
 
 In the graveyard see them lie. 
 
 Quietly, side by side ; 
 No anxious thought that mortal eye 
 Should gaze approving or deride. 
 Disturbs them now ; 
 iSTo broken vow, 
 Nor cold averted look — 
 Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
 Shivers now the pulseless heart ; 
 These it never more will brook. 
 Peacefully the baby lieth 
 
 On its mother's breast of clay ; 
 While the soul that never dieth. 
 
 Lives with Christ through endless day; 
 And never more on eaath will wake. 
 The maid the sprite came down to take. 
 And the mother, aged mother, 
 
IN THE GRAVEYARD. 255 
 
 Lies beside the aged father; 
 And the sons, 
 And lovely daughters, calm in death, 
 Are waiting for undying breath. 
 
 The poor man. 
 And he by opulence made bold. 
 Slumber alike both stiff and cold. 
 The poet sweet. 
 And artist, meet 
 And mingle here. 
 The statesman and the patriot brave. 
 
 Side by side with the coward mean; 
 They cannot now their country save ; 
 He cannot now to weakness lean. 
 
 cruel grave ! 
 
 Thou tenement of all ! 
 
 Not always will thy sway be felt ! 
 
 As Jesus from the grave arose — 
 
 As near his cross the heart doth melt, 
 And breathe to him its earthly woes — 
 
 So the buried dead 
 
 Will burst apart thy fetters strong, 
 
 Their mortal forms hath held full long; 
 
 And, Christ at their head, 
 
 Will vanquish Death, their latest foe; 
 
 His form into the caverns throw : 
 
 One mighty grave 
 
256 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 Will this tyrant have ! 
 There, through Eternity's long day, 
 With naught to cheer his cheerless way, 
 He'll lie alone. 
 Death, where is thy sting ? 
 Grave, where is thy victory ? 
 
MEMORY. 257 
 
 11* 
 
 MEMOEY. 
 
 I see the cottage in the glen, 
 Remote from village, town, or fen, 
 Where every toucli of taste was shown 
 A mother's hand alone, alone 
 Could give to beautify the scene, 
 And make the bliss of Evergreen. 
 
 I hear the fountain murm'ring still , 
 
 I see the sloping of the hill, 
 
 And sward, and banks, and clumps of trees 
 
 Gently swaying in the breeze. 
 
 Which gave enchantment to the scene, 
 
 Around my home of Evergreen. 
 
 I breathe the fragrance of the mead. 
 And that which doth from fields proceed. 
 And hear the songsters of the wood, 
 Pour forth their hymns — a vocal flood : 
 I gaze enraptured on the scene, 
 And live once more at Evergreen. 
 
258 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 I list once more to music's strain, 
 
 And feel its soothing power again; 
 
 It wakes and stirs, with pleasing thiillj 
 
 Emotions of the heart and will, 
 
 In this elysian, rural scene. 
 
 Where is my home, sweet Evergreen, 
 
 And now I con the classic page. 
 
 Or converse sweet with friends engage 
 
 To cheer this heart, too soon grown sad, 
 
 And make my spirit light and glad. 
 
 Amid the quiet little scene 
 
 Around my home, sweet Evergreen. 
 
 And now I gaze on worlds afar, 
 Outshining far the brightest star, 
 And, wrapped in meditation there, 
 I dream of all things bright and fair — 
 Of things surpassing e'en the scene 
 That beauty gives to Evergreen. 
 
 Yes, all these things before me pass, 
 With the aid of memory's glass ! 
 But nevermore on earth will wake, 
 The bliss in youth I used to take 
 Amid the dear, romantic scene 
 Which give the charm to Evergreen. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 259 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 'Twas in the May-day of youth ! 
 
 Her brow was fair as the page of truth ; 
 
 No trouble had left its impress there; 
 
 And o'er it wreathed her dark brown hair. 
 
 I saw the soul in her mild blue eye, 
 
 "Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye 
 
 That beams midst Spring's ethereal showers, 
 
 Brightening her world of shade and flowers. 
 
 Her pure young heart was light and gay 
 
 As Luna's beams on ocean spray; 
 
 Her beauteous form appeared to sight 
 
 Like an angel clad in robes of light ; 
 
 "A foot more light, or a step more true. 
 
 Ne'er from the heath-flower brushed the dew." 
 
 I saw her crowned sweet queen of May, 
 
 And reign in love that festal day ; 
 
 "Whilst every heart in homage low 
 
 Did near its queen devoutly bow. 
 
260 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 I saw her again in woman's prime ! 
 Her heart beat not to music's chime; 
 And that marble brow, though very fair, 
 Was marked by the lines of deep despair. 
 And the soul I saw in her mild blue eye, 
 Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye, 
 lS[o longer beamed with radiant love 
 On aught beneath her home above. 
 And too soon, alas ! that lovely form 
 Bowed to the blast, and bent to the storm; 
 And slow and feeble her pulses played 
 As her thoughts afar too often strayed. 
 She moved a shadow — a spirit of fear, 
 As one whose home is not of this sphere ; 
 And walked the earth alone — alone^ 
 As one from every friend uptorn. 
 
 ^^Was it sickness that made her cheek so pale, 
 Or was it the trace of weeping and wail?" 
 
 "The deceiver came — his syroc breath, 
 Blanched her fair cheek with the hue of death ! 
 And now, as a beautiful wounded bird. 
 Whose rich-toned notes in each grove were heard, 
 'Till a thoughtless shot deep pierced its side. 
 It never sang more, but languished and died ; 
 
A FRAGMENT, 261 
 
 She is passing from earth away — away, 
 
 "Without one comforting, cheering ray, 
 
 Her happiness wrecked, her spirit torn. 
 
 And on life's current rudely borne, 
 
 To stem the tide and buffet the wave, 
 
 'Till she sink unwept to her welcome grave." 
 
262 PROSE AND POETRY 
 
 THE ZEPHYR. 
 
 Daughter of Aurora ! whence comest thou, 
 In beauty and freshness to kiss my warm brow ? 
 All laden with sunshine — all laden with love, 
 And sweet balmy nectar just dropped from above? 
 
 "From the flowery walks of Valhalla I come. 
 Where the rose's cup is my elysian home; 
 Fve been to the Queen of the Morn — at her call, 
 I've borne sweet fragrance to her star-columned 
 
 hall; 
 I've quivered the leaves of the forest boughs, 
 And songsters have risen to warble their vows ; 
 I have kissed the sod where the green grass grows 
 
 high. 
 And the lark is now hymning her melody. 
 I've been to the chamber of beauty, and there 
 Have played with long ringlets of radiant hair: 
 I've wreathed her fair neck which but the snow 
 
 eclipsed, 
 And sipped the rich dew from her odorous lips. 
 
THE ZEPHYB, 263 
 
 I've carried the plaint of a love-burdened strain ; 
 
 And the maiden blushed deep at the murmur of 
 pain. 
 
 'Twas the same gentle sigh which but yestereve 
 fell; 
 
 It had kissed her soft hand, it had bade her fare- 
 well. 
 
 I have been to the bleak house of death, and from 
 
 thence 
 Have winged the freed soul to Omnipotence ! 
 'Twas an innocent, beautiful babe, and the sigh 
 Of the mother was heard in the cloud-paths on 
 
 high — 
 Half mingled with prayer to the seraphim given. 
 Who smiled when it welcomed the baby to heaven. 
 To Italians seas I go, where the gondola rides, 
 Like a nymph of the deep, o'er the languishing 
 
 tides ; 
 Whilst waves one by one into slumber fast fall. 
 And not a breath's heard save the Zephyr's call. 
 'Tis the clamor of voices I hear swells the dome — 
 Loud the call is for ^Zephyr' — I come, I come. 
 To your sun-lighted shores — to your bright seas 
 
 away; 
 There are wan ones awaiting, I dare not delay; 
 I've flower-loves to meet — I have vows to renew, 
 I fan your warm, brow — Adieu, lady ! adieu !" 
 
264 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 ^ SPEIJSTG. 
 
 Thou'rt come again, sweet youth of time ! 
 
 In all thy pristine sheen ; 
 "With voice attuned to music chime, 
 
 And robes of brightest green. % 
 Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 
 
 And joy's fresh op'ning day; 
 And buds and blossoms thou dost bring 
 
 To scatter by the way. 
 
 Thy step is felt o'er hill and dale; 
 
 It glides along the main; 
 'Tis bounding o'er the modest vale, 
 
 And quiv'ring o'er the plain. 
 / feel thy impulse through me thrill. 
 
 It throbs through heart and brain ; 
 'Tis coursing through each little rill. 
 
 And through each larger vein. 
 
SPUING. 265 
 
 The turtle's song is heard again, 
 
 And the cuckoo's gentle call ; 
 No more the nightingales complain 
 
 Of Winter's frozen pall. 
 The mockhird's song at early dawn, 
 
 The thrush at noontide hour, 
 And, as the dewy eve comes on, 
 
 The hummingbird in rosy bower. 
 
 Thou 'rt come again, sweet youth of time! 
 
 Thy glory spreads from pole to poie ! 
 The sunny South, and Northern clime, 
 
 Wake in joys at thy control ! 
 Thou 'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing; 
 
 I see thj' glory in the East ! 
 The birds, and bees, and brooklets sing. 
 
 As ^'lii^ht bv lio:ht's increased." 
 
 Thou hast breathed into mother earth 
 
 Thy fructifying breath, 
 And " nature bounds, as from her birth 
 
 She gathers might and strength. 
 Already see the flowers start 
 
 To ''beautify her feet;" 
 Already feel the bounding heart, 
 
 Up-spring the flowers to ^reet. 
 
266 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 The violets are blooming now, 
 
 Where late the storm-god whirled ; 
 And ice-drops from his shaggy brow, 
 
 Are dewdrops now by zephyrs stirred. 
 The crocus and the liUic's hue 
 
 Is fittins: now a roval kinsc; 
 The hyacinth and tulip, too, 
 
 Tributes of rich frao:rance brino;. 
 
 Thou'rt come asrain, sweet youth of time 
 
 With merry pleasant hours; 
 And voice attuned to n)usic's chime, 
 
 In fairy woodland bowers. 
 Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 
 
 And roses on thy brow; 
 And beauty's smile on ev'rv tliino; 
 
 Which bedeck thy patlnvay now. 
 
 H 13 89 
 
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