the morning star of glory, and like the lighthouse to the mariner, guides the wandering soul to its eternal home: for "The Lord will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in time of trouble." All men and all nations pray, the bible teaches us not only to pray, but to use it as our shield and buckler "in the day of trouble"-it tells us "always to pray, and not to faint." The drunkard in his madness and crime wildly prays to Bacchus, the weak and the indolent to Hercules, the poet to the stars, the lover to Venus, the soldier to Mars, and the Christian to his God! The Indian is excused for his mode of prayer, for their Manitto is our God! and those tribes who worship flowing waters, rippling rills, and the rising sun, and kneel to blasted oaks, have an intuitive idea or notion of some more powerful being beyond even these, the gods of their worship. The heathens believing in a plurality of gods, and in Muses presiding over the different arts and sciences, very naturally requested their aid in their undertakings. Having them as models of excellent versification and imagery, succeeding poets, living under a very different system of religion, have nevertheless copied their manners and opinions, and invoked their deities. How different is the prayer of Dr. Johnson, before he sat down to write the Rambler, by which he intended to instruct, as well as to amuse mankind. Here is no appeal to the muses, no direct address to the "hallowed nine”—he begins" Almighty God, the giver of all good things, without whose help all labor is ineffectual, and without whose grace all wisdom is folly; grant, I beseech thee, that in this my undertaking, thy holy spirit may not be withheld from me, but that I may promote thy glory, and the salvation both of myself, and others; grant this, O, Lord, for the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen." If Homer, Horace, and Virgil, believed in the existence of muses, and implored their aid in their writings, shall not Christians, believing that it is from GoD alone, that "all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works do proceed," implore His aid? Certainly. PART II-THE REPENTANT FATHER. "Even heaven is won by repentance." An old man lay on a sick bed, his glassy eyes rested on some object in the distant part of the room, and were fixed as if death had curtained them in night. Not a sound broke the stillness of that chamber, save the deep breathing of the suffering man, and the almost imperceptible action of an old woman, as she removed a portion of the window drapery to keep out the light of a glorious setting sun. The old man however, had observed the movement, and raising his head he spoke, though in a feeble voice :-" Put back the drapery, Sarah, let the light come in-it may, perhaps, be the last that I shall ever gaze upon in this world:-there, that will do. Oh! how beautiful it glows, how rich those colors which now gild yon mountain tops, and I can almost hear the music of the spheres as they chant their requiems of another day. Yes, days go out with light, and so does life. Hand me that drink, Sarah-ah! it is refreshing, but what can restore life to the oak upon whose bark the merciless axe has fallen." "Be calm, sir, you have many, many days to live yet, and happy ones." 66 Happy, happy, Sarah, never, never again on this earth, life itself is misery-memory a hell, for it recalls the past." "These are sad thoughts, and as you dwell upon them they torment you the more." 66 I cannot drown memory, I cannot help thinking." "It is not too late, sir-your son lives—in that thought there should be joy." "Aye, my boy-banished-cursed-and by me, and for what pride and ambition-yes, I have driven him from his home, with a father's malediction—I have done more, that curse hath rested upon him, blighted his youth-young hopes, and all the prospects of a great future. It has driven him to ruin, and disgrace. In my hours of health, and wild dreams of ambition I looked forward to his advancement, he opposed me, and I disowned him-and heaven has disowned me!"* "But, sir, he may yet live, and you can forgive." "Forgive-forgive-aye, on bended knees-oh! Sarah, say that he lives-say that he thinks of him whom he once called father. But he is not the only one I have offended— when I look there-there, up through the brightness of the world-I see dark and frowning clouds-the sky becomes o'ercast the thunder rolls-the lightnings flash-the sun so bright and beautiful, seems to set in mist and vapor-the storm comes up-hark! Sarah, how the wind whistles, and howls around the house-the fiends of the elements are abroad and it is I-I who am accused-not my son-nonot him-Sarah, close the shutters, the tempest rages fiercely." "Listen, sir-there is no storm, no tempest, do not rave thus, be calm-all without is calm." 66 Aye, and all within tempest," muttered the wretched man as he drew the coverlet over his head.† * Micah, vii. 18. † James, v. 13. "You must not yield thus to your fears, but be a man— a Christian." "A Christian, what is that?" "One who acknowledges the goodness of God and the mercy of our Saviour. Here is the bible, sir, shall I read it to you, sir?" "What would you, Sarah?" "I would repeat words which were uttered in other times, and in other days, which brought everlasting life to those who heard them, spoken as they were by the chosen men of God." "Sarah-that heart that is seared by the iron touch of sin cannot be healed-it is destiny to suffer-and it is mine." "Man-man-listen! 'Offer unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy And call upon me in thy day of trouble; I will "Ah! repeat that Sarah-repeat it-then close the shutters, put out the light and leave me. I will commune alone, and thus in my hour of trouble call upon him, I have so offended, Repeat it, Sarah!" "Listen, sir, 'call upon me in thy day of trouble.'” "Amen!" The windows were closed, all was still, and the man of sorrow was alone with his God!* PART III.-THE ACCURSED ONE. "Thou look'st a very statue of surprise, Reader, cast your eyes on this picture-see how the man of many sorrows bows down to the tempest and the * Ps. ix. 9. storm of woes which the world hath heaped upon him. He seems lost to all hope and the great future. That is the son on whom the curse of a father rests-both suffer, for both have sinned, the one for the crime committed, and the other, that he rests under the fearful ban of a curse! Time and misfortune have been busy with him, the fond partner of his bosom stands beside him, and endeavors to console his hours of grief, for poverty, and misery, those weird sisters on life's blasted hearth, have seared his heart, and conjured up spectres to madden the brain and make life a greater curse; in his hours of wretchedness he forgets his God, and the death of hope leaves no mourner in his heart, it is all dark and drear. But like an angel woman appears, like heaven's messenger she stands beside him and points with a christian's confidence to heaven. "Nay-nay dearest," he exclaims, averting his head, "it is all over with me, the clouds and tempests of an angry Providence have passed over this heart, and crushed it forever. Poverty is accursed, the snow flakes as they wanton through the freezing air-the wind as it whistles, and rushes past the palaces of the rich, finds here a resting place. I will not live, mocking life and fearing death. No, let me diedie as I am, accursed of man, an outcast from heaven." "Be calm, my husband, let us hope!" 66 Hope! what is it? a meteoric glare on our night of gloom and wretchedness, an icicle that melts even in the ray in which it glitters. No, my love, life is ended-this heart will, nay must break.” "O, Edward, how can you speak thus-how can you so calmly talk of death when all around is life, and the same sun shines on us all!" "Yes, but how! are its rays as mellow, and as calm, and as bright upon our misery as they are upon the mansions, |