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became accustomed to it, however, and finally it seemed manly to him, and before they reached the distant Asiatic port to which they were bound, he had made a decided progress in these vices. We will not follow him minutely, during the succeeding five years. It is too painful; suffice it to say that his course was down, down, down. He travelled all over the world; gazed upon the gold mines of California and Australia, climbed the loftiest heights of the Himalayas, and saw the Egyptian pyramids in their silent grandeur and mystery He walked, but not with reverent steps, where he, the holy one did, eighteen hundred years ago, beside the sea of Galilee, and upon the Mount of Olivet. He could speak from personal observation of the wilds of Patagonia, and the snows of Siberia. But O, how changed had he become from the handsome Eugene Blair, once the pride of his native village.

Five years had passed, and the wanderer was homeward bound, in a sail-ship from India. He was still a common sailor; for though his talents fitted him for promotion, his dissipated habits prevented it. There was a Hindoo boy on board, a poor orphan without home or friends, whom the captain had taken just as the vessel left port. The child was sea-sick and sad, and the hard-hearted captain treated him unkindly. For some slight offence, the captain ordered Eugene to take the boy below and flog him. Eugene hesitated; no rod had ever been applied to himself, and it was a command he could not, no, he would not obey. He told his commander plainly that the boy did not deserve it, and he should not do it.

"Take that, then!" and with one blow the hard-fisted, angry man felled Eugene to the floor of the deck. Enraged he attempted to rise, but one arm was broken, and he fell fainting backwards. He was carried to his berth, and did not leave it again till the voyage was nearly completed. This was his first illness since he left the parental roof. Now he had time to come to himself. He thought of his parents who had cared so tenderly for him in all his childish sicknesses and

sorrows, and hot tears came to eyes unused to weep. "What a fool, what a simpleton I am, to bear such indignities when it might have been so different."

Then he wondered if his parents were living. Not one word had he heard from them during all his wanderings. Then sprang up longings for their forgiveness and blessing. But how it would pain them, for him to go to them with his present habits and inclinations Was it possible for him to reform? to become such an one as they would wish to call their son? Then he thought of his mother's Bible-that birthday gift. But it was gone, he had given it to a saloon keeper at San Francisco for another glass of wine. Just then the little Hindoo came to bring him some refreshment.

"I wish I had a Bible," said Eugene, speaking more to himself, than to his attendant.

"I have got one, I'll get it for you," said the boy.

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'How came you by a Bible, you young heathen?"

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The missionaries gave it to me; I belonged to their school at home," was the reply.

Eugene took the well-worn volume, and commenced the study of its sacred pages. The dark-eyed heathen boy would sometimes point out to him his own favorite chapters and passages. It was a strange scene; the only son of wealthy parents, brought up in a Christian land, consecrated to God in his infancy, nurtured in the church and Sabbath school, and yet learning his first lessons in experimental religion, from the Bible of a poor Hindoo child, taught in his earliest years to worship idols. Verily Verily "many shall come from the east and the west, from the north and from the south, and shall sit down in the kingdom of God."

Simultaneously with the study of the Bible, he began to pray; and who ever sought the Lord in vain? First came a deep consciousness of his own guilt and utter unworthiness; then almost a despair of forgiveness for such a sinner. Then he turned over the leaves of the New Testament, and found that Jesus came not to call the righteous, but sinners to

repentance. Those precious promises of the gospel, which have afforded comfort for so many millions of human hearts, seemed spoken to him alone. "I am the way, the truth, and the life; for God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Then there was an entire surrender of himself to God. Peace like a river flowed into his soul, faith in Christ and joy in the Holy Ghost. He was unspeakably happy, and told all who came near him of the wondrous change. When the vessel arrived in New York, his arm was still in a sling, but taking the little Hindoo with him, he started immediately for his native village. They arrived late in the evening, and Eugene's heart beat quick as he came in sight of his father's house, and saw a brilliant light streaming from the sitting room window. They approached the door softly and listened. It was the hour of the usual evening worship. He heard the soft, clear voice of his mother read that beautiful Psalm

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commencing with "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.' Then his father prayed. How the heart of the listener melted as he heard that petition, that God would bless their wandering child, and bring him once more to his home, and especially that he would bring him into the fold of Christ. The amen was pronounced, the door bell rang gently, and the prodigal son was clasped to the hearts of his parents. Was there not joy in that household that evening? Is there not joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth?

After a few weeks had passed, and the first tumultuous joy was over, Mr. Blair made arrangements to place the Hindoo boy at a good school. When he became a man he followed the promptings of his enlightened conscience, and returned to his native land to tell his benighted countrymen, the wondrous story of the cross.

Eugene commenced again his studies. He went to college, he studied divinity, and now proclaims the gospel on our western prairies. He is no pet of a

wealthy parish receiving all his good things in this life, but with a zeal and earnestness like the Master, "the poor have the gospel preached unto them." And when this fitful dream is over, he will be found among those who turn many unto righteousness, and shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and as the stars forever and ever.

A MAY MEMORY.

BY ANNA M. BATES.

Close to my casement glass,
The apple trees used to blow,
In the merry month of May,
Sea-shell pink and snow;
That was when I was a child,
Years and years ago.

A golden robin came

And sang on the blossoming bough, His breast was like shining flame, I can seem to see it now; As when a little child,

I watched I can fancy how.

Years and years have passed, Summers and springs have fled, I sit by the casement glass,

But the apple tree is dead, Where the golden robin came, With his breast of flaming red.

Gone is the sea-shell bloom,

That clung to the emerald bough, And the robin does not come,

To sing in the old spot now; And I am no more a child. For the years have marked my brow.

Afar in the morning shine

I can see the apple trees, Sea-shell pink and white, Bowed by the soft south breeze; But to those I saw of old, What is the bloom of these?

And I hear the robin sing,

An exultant melody;

I watch him spread his wing,

And soar in the blue away; As if he would bear to heaven, The yearnings I feel to-day!

O, beautiful, bright-winged bird!
O, delicate May-time bloom!
What were ye both in the light
Of the other Eden home,
Where sinless angels await

For the loved of the earth to come?

MY UNCLE AND AUNT.

A SKETCH.

BY E. E. F.

Yes, brother and sister, yet so unlike, I always fancy them as representatives of two several worlds and the contrast puzzles me! But why, if conditions qualify! For they twain have had diverse teachings, and poor auntie, for so she ever seems to me with her sombre credences, shared the fate of the frosty. 'Twas not the tuition of her genial father, happy Mark, as the villagers called him, but of a childless aunt who requested her for a daughter, and so thoroughly did she enroot her lessons that they'll detach themselves with the detachment of the great root of her pupil's mortality and not till then. Puritanical prejudices have been poor auntie's preceptors, making her reject a more cheerful discipline, and she sees heaven through a long train of midnights, forgetting that the mid-days have an equal disposal and an equivalent blessing in the pronouncing of goods. She makes thorns of her blessings lest they prove stumbling blocks in the way of her salvation, remembering, "for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better," and forgetting, "in the day of prosperity be joyful," which admonition succeeds the other at a trifling interval. Stormy days are discomforts, and pleasant ones are weather burdens, and over Sunday she throws such a pall of sobriety, that the only light that escapes from it is the light of its evening, as the pall is rising.

misgivings, and on a certain anniversary day, there comes out from a certain hiding place, a certain lock of hair, and, "I believe," is for the time forgotten in the overflow of feeling. In her organism are the seeds of a green ideality, but so shaded by the total depravity parasite, that not yet has the first young leaflet unrolled itself, though now and then some stray sentence give a gentle push to the backward vegetation, and a twig of the parasite begins to wither. She thanks the Father for the clouds which are to wean her from this world, but seldom for the sunlight, which would return in a succession of blessings, if it but spent itself upon a fountain of gratitude. She drowns her hopes in her fears, and keeps her brain constantly alive with the affliction of somebody, that thereby she may be reminded of the unsatisfying nature of this world's portion, and ruminate hourly upon that better inheritance of which she is sure, if the things of this life are but considered with a proper disdain. But auntie is not to be blamed for her credences. When she was a little girl, there was established at the throne of her conscience a roaring lion, and so exalted did he uprear himself, that poor auntie has had to glean all her sunlight through the shaking of his mane, and no wonder for the scarcity. At morning she must be a good girl or she would go to the wicked place, and at night she must petition for a new heart or the lion's paw was upon She gathered buttercups, but they smelt of brimstone, and daisies, but the ground was cursed, and every shower was a sugShe has an idea that life is an inflic-gester of the flood which drowned all the tion, and death the last stroke of the wicked people. She had her treasuresbastinado, and that each day is but a her sportive pussy-cat, her timid canary, multiplier of the black marks for whose but she musn't think too much of them or evasion a divine caoutchouc will hardly they'd certainly be taken from her, so suffice. She greatly laments the irresisti- they proved harassing consolations. bleness of Eve's apple-appetite, and never glad round sun was a ball of fire which handles a porter, a baldwin or a pumpkin- would one day burn the world up, and sweet, but the disaster recalls itself, and the twinkling stars, tale-bearers, who the fruit is an uncomfortable possession. would give certain information 'gainst any Six years ago, for the sake of a religious naughty tresspass. The beautiful blue principle, she ignored the magnet of her sky-she didn't dare to think of that, for soul's attraction, and expects for the that was heaven, and no place for her, denial, a corresponding saintship, though she was so worldly and had so many her heart is with her Harry despite the wicked thoughts; and when it drew night

her.

The

time, and there came floating through the darkness the murmuring of the rivulet, and the song of the whip-poor-will was on the breeze, and the pretty flowers were all asleep in the mighty shadow, her frightened ideality fancied goblins, and ogres, and jack-o'-lanterns, and staring owls, and night hawks who pounce upon straying chickens, and ravens who bode evil, and howling dogs, and flying bats, and poor auntie could find slender peace in anything. She's had a frosty experience, and cold thoughts have been the developers of it, for auntie's birth-star was in a favorable position, as the world calls it. She began life under the auspices of a plum-pudding regimen, and the substantial batter has presented itself at short intervals ever since. If she's wanted a new calico, she's bought it, and no ifs or buts as to the propriety of the disburse ment. The puzzling question of how to make five cents go as far as ten, never forces itself upon her consideration, though for purposes of economy she sometimes riddles it. So the frost of auntie's experience has been a frost of feeling, which makes it all the worse, inasmuch as a common sunshine cannot thaw it, but it must be vaporized by an especial chemistry.

But my uncle and the sketch brightens. A representative of that philosophy which would convert the baser metals into gold, he extorts beauty from the commonest trifle and makes of life a smiling adjustment. His brain is a development of sea-breezes and liberal tenets, and its expansion is of necessity. He finds heaven in his surroundings, and hence avoids the necessity of a telescope through which to magnify it. When there's a three week's water distribution, he admires the arrangements of that system which continually anticipates itself and discovers in every drop, the working of a Providence which ordereth all things to a beautiful perfection. The seething rays of an August noon-day will ripen the corn, and the cold frigidity of December will make the rice-crop abundant. It blows a hurricane, but in Ecclesiastes, there's this sentence, "The wind goeth toward the South, and turneth about unto the North; it whirleth about

continually, and the wind 1cturneth again according to his circuits," and remembering it, he thanks the Father for the harmonious disposal by which Nature maintains her activities. He is sick, but there's a law of recuperation which never deviates, and disease is but the outgrowth of misapplied conditions and the body's return to regulation. There's a failure of the crops, but 'twill nurture a spirit of providence, and teach the consumers that though Paul plant and Apollos water, 'tis God who must give the increase. A Wall street telegram reports a money-panic, but 'twill check speculation, and the people may yet learn that disproportioned usury is a mildew to any scheme. By some oversight, his yesterday's manuscripts were made the substitute for kindlings, but "for the future I must use more caution, and the all of it is, 1 shall have to think the faster today." But the good uncle is not to be praised for his credences. When he was a little boy there was established at the throne of his conscience a magnifying mirror, so luminous was the polished surface that all the reflections take a tinge of the lucidity, and he sees everything through a glass brightly. He gathered buttercups and they reminded him of the golden streets of Paradise, and daisies, and their simple dresses suggested angels, and harps, and white-robed children, and shining crowns, and with the pattering of every shower came a troop of fancies-the dancing of the cascade, the gurgling of the streamlet, the drinking of the pitcherplant, the bubbling of fountains, the foaming of surges, the roaring of breakers, the thundering of the undertow, the quiet joy of the greensward, the glad egress of tiny petals, the quivering of the foliage, the washing of pebbles, the splashing of goslings, the spouting of gutters, the pelting of the house-top, vivid mosses, bending rushes, shining cowslips, and a thousand bright eyes, washed to transparency by the falling moisture. Night came, and to his fostered imagination it brought Jacob's ladders, descending angels, winged Psyches, Lethean spray-drops, glowworms, fire-flies, shining bubbles, brooded chickens, couchant cossets, and the sky was a jewel-case, where the gems were for

coronals for good little boys to wear, and the good uncle's boy-dreams had a rosy hue, and were altogether pleasant. So poor auntie and her brother reap a harvest, the seeds of which were of another's planting, and how shall we reconcile it? It may be auntie's shadows will make the coming sunlight all the brighter, and if so, will that equalize the balances?

TO MARIETTA.

The morning of life is just now breaking o'er thee,

No shadow as yet has beclouded thy road, And long may it stretch in its sunshine before thee,

To leave thee at last in the glory of God.

But the fairest and pleasantest pathway of earth,

That ever yet led through the journey of years,

Tho' oft it may wind o'er the hill-sides of mirth,

Must often, too, traverse the vallies of tears.

And if thine be but long enough, often thy feet Will be tangled with troubles, and weary with care,

And the pulses that now so abundantly beat, With the full blood of hope, may creep low with despair!

Even friendship can feign, even love can deceive,

too;

Aye, doubt it young girl, I once doubted it God help thee, at last, when compelled to believe,

Thyself to continue fast-hearted and true. As lengthens the road, darker shadows will

fall

From the tombstones of love, as they rise on

the way,

Yet why do I thus the dim future forestall? Every ill as it comes, is enough for its day. And brighter the good from the shadow of ill, As the gleam of the sun when the clouds have gone by,

And dearest the pleasures, and tenderest still, When the heart is so full that it only can sigh.

Then rejoice and be glad in this dawn of thy day,

For youth should be free from the cumber of

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NEPENTHES

In Eastern lands, where fervid air, Drinks up the crystal, singing rills, A sweet wild flowret, saintly fair,

With dew its chalice nightly fills; Then closes to the morn's bright ray, And ardent breath of blazing day.

The thirsty travellers on the waste,
Lean o'er its cup in glad surprise,
Its soothing drops so grateful taste.-

The nectarous gift of gracious skies!
Then bless with low-breathed, fervent prayer,
The Hand Divine that placed it there!

O Thou, who fill'st the flower with dew, And givest in burning lands its place, Do thou each day our souls renew,

With every hallowed spirit grace; That we some tender balm may keep, For feet that stray, and eyes that weep. LILY WATERS.

SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS.

"I wouldn't be seen speaking to her." Ah! indeed, self-righteous fair one! Is thy soul so spotless, that thou darest despise one who is bearing the burden of sin? Despise the sin, but give tender words to the victim. There are many shades of guilt between scarlet and white. It would be well for each one to study the hue of his own soul; the palest tint is plainly perceptible on snow! Purity need not fear that its ermine will be soiled in anointing a sin-bruised soul. The Immaculate One shunned not the approach of a woman who was a sin

ner.

The strong are commanded to bear the infirmities of the weak, and there is a wonderful power in a sympathetic look and tone, to strengthen a faltering heart, to quicken purer impulses, and incite to loftier aspiration.

Sympathy is the fountain in which poor leprous souls may wash and be clean. O, thou who art stronger in virfrigid conventionalities to check the gushtue, because less tempted, do not suffer ing warmth of thy soul's healing waters. The lily loses none of its whiteness in imparting its fragrance, nor does the spirit lose aught of its purity in diffusing its holiness.

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