They gather themselves together, and assume the posture humble devotion. They pour forth the sentiments of aise, of hope, of unshaken confidence. They cast themIves, their wives, their children, into the arms of that neficent PARENT, who is present in the wilderness no less an the crowded city. It is to HIM that they look for pport amidst the wants of nature, for shelter against e storm, for protection against the savage, for relief in

sease.

LESSON XCIII.

Lady Arabella Johnson.-STORY.

THE lady Arabella Johnson, a daughter of the earl of ncoln, accompanied her husband in the embarkation under inthrop; and, in honor of her, the admiral ship, on that casion, was called by her name. She died in a very short ne after her arrival, and lies buried near the neighboring ore. No stone, or other memorial, indicates the exact place; t tradition has preserved it with a holy reverence. The membrance of her excellence is yet fresh in all our Oughts; and many a heart still kindles with admiration of r virtues; and many a bosom heaves with sighs at her timely end.

What, indeed, could be more touching than the fate of ch a woman? What example more striking than hers, of compromising affection and piety? Born in the lap of se, and surrounded by affluence; with every prospect which uld make hope gay, and fortune desirable; accustomed to e splendors of a court, and the scarcely less splendid hosalities of her ancestral home; she was yet content to it, what has, not inaptly, been termed "this paradise of enty and pleasure," for " a wilderness of wants," and, with fortitude superior to the delicacies of her rank and sex, to ist herself to an unknown ocean and a distant climate,

might partake, with her husband, the pure and worship of God.

honor, to the eternal honor of her sex, be it said, that, ath of duty, no sacrifice is with them too high or too Nothing is with them impossible, but to shrink from e. honor, innocence, religion, requires. The voice are or of power may pass by unheeded; but the affliction never. The chamber of the sick, the the dying, the vigils of the dead, the altars of reever missed the presence or the sympathies of woman. hough she be, and so delicate that the winds of may not too roughly visit her, on such occasions she sense of danger, and assumes a preternatural courch knows not, and fears not consequences. Then lays that undaunted spirit, which neither courts es, nor evades them; that resignation, which utters murmur nor regret; and that patience in suffering, ems victorious even over death itself.

ady Arabella perished in this noble undertaking, of he seemed the ministering angel; and her death niversal gloom throughout the colony. Her husband whelmed with grief at the unexpected event, and her but a single month. Governor Winthrop has ed his eulogy in one short sentence:-" He was a , and wise, and died in sweet peace."

is truly the idol of the people; and the spot selected If for his own sepulture became consecrated in their that many left it as a dying request, that they might d by his side. Their request prevailed; and the ourying-ground in Boston, which contains his reecame, from that time, appropriated to the repose of . Perhaps the best tribute to this excellent pair is, , which, with so unsparing a hand, consigns states1 heroes, and even sages, to oblivion, has embalmed ory of their worth, and preserved it among the of New England relics. It can scarcely be forgotwith the annals of our country.

19

LESSON XCIV.

The Pilgrim Fathers.-C. SPRague.

BEHOLD! they come-those sainted forms,
Unshaken through the strife of storms;
Heaven's winter cloud hangs coldly down,
And earth puts on its rudest frown ;
But colder, ruder was the hand,

That drove them from their own fair land,—
Their own fair land, refinement's chosen seat,
Art's trophied dwelling, learning's green retreat;
By valor guarded, and by victory crowned,
For all, but gentle charity, renowned.

With streaming eye, yet steadfast heart,
Even from that land they dared to part,
And burst each tender tie;

Haunts, where their sunny youth was passed,
Homes, where they fondly hoped at last,
In peaceful age, to die;

Friends, kindred, comfort, all they spurned-
Their fathers' hallowed graves,

And to a world of darkness turned,

Beyond a world of waves.

But not alone, not all unblessed,

The exile sought a place of rest;
ONE dared with him to burst the knot,
That bound her to her native spot;
Her low, sweet voice in comfort spoke,
As round their bark the billows broke;
She, through the midnight watch, was there,
With him to bend her knees in prayer;
She trod the shore with girded heart,
Through good and ill to claim her part;
In life, in death, with him to seal
Her kindred love, her kindred zeal.

They come-
-that coming who shall tell?
The eye may weep, the heart may swell,
But the poor tongue in vain essays
A fitting note for them to raise.
We hear the after-shout, that rings

or them who smote the power of kings-
The swelling triumph all would share;
But who the dark defeat would dare,
And boldly meet the wrath and wo,
That wait the unsuccessful blow?

t were an envied fate, we deem,
To live a land's recorded theme,
When we are in the tomb:

We, too, might yield the joys of home,
And waves of winter darkness roam,
And tread a shore of gloom,-

Knew we, those waves, through coming time,
Should roll our names to every clime;

Felt we, that millions on that shore

Should stand, our memory to adore : But no glad vision burst in light Upon the pilgrims' aching sight; Their hearts no proud hereafter swelled; Deep shadows vailed the way they held; yell of vengeance was their trump of fame, monument, a grave without a name.

Yet, strong in weakness, there they stand,
On yonder ice-bound rock,

Stern and resolved, that faithful band,
To meet fate's rudest shock.

Though anguish rends the father's breast,
For them, his dearest and his best,

With him the waste who trod-
Though tears, that freeze, the mother sheds
Upon her children's houseless heads-
The Christian turns to God!

In grateful adoration now,

Upon the barren sands they bow.

What tongue of joy e'er woke such prayer,
As bursts in desolation there?

What arm of strength e'er wrought such power,
As waits to crown that feeble hour?
here into life an infant empire springs!
There falls the iron from the soul;
There liberty's young accents roll
Up to the King of kings!

To fair creation's farthest bound,
That thrilling summons yet shall sound;
The dreaming nations shall awake,
nd to their centre earth's old kingdoms shake.
Pontiff and prince, your sway

Must crumble from that day;

Before the loftier throne of Heaven, The hand is raised, the pledge is given'ne monarch to obey, one creed to own,'hat monarch, God,—that creed, his word alone

Spread out earth's holiest records here,
Of days and deeds to reverence dear;
zeal like this what pious legends tell?
On kingdoms built

In blood and guilt,

'he worshippers of vulgar triumph dwell;
But what exploit with theirs shall page,
Who rose to bless their kind,—
Who left their nation and their age,
Man's spirit to unbind?

Who boundless seas passed o'er,

And boldly met, in every path,

Famine, and frost, and heathen wrath,

To dedicate a shore,

Where piety's meek train might breathe their vow, nd seek their Maker with an unshamed brow; Where liberty's glad race might proudly come, nd set up there an everlasting home?