can get some place in Liverpool. I didn't think I should ever come to this! But for you, mother, I wish I lay at the sea bottom."

"Dear lad, don't talk like that."

"O, I'm very miserable! O mother, dear, why did I ever want that paltry prize! What have I done now, through that!"

He refused all her efforts at consolation, and at last rose, and said he would go down to the Lamores. With wistful eyes she saw him depart, and watched the dark form through the snow-mist till it disappeared.

Mrs. Lamore sat by the fire in her old rocking-chair. Harry's letter on her lap; Nelly opposite; Dick and his father were gone out, and the baby was asleepwhen a shadow passed the window, and a knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” said Mrs. Lamore; "who can it be, Nelly?"

A tall form entered, and closed the door.

46

Who is it?" she said, half startled.

"It's Mr.

The new comer took off his cap, and said, pushing back his dark curls with a trembling handAtwell, Mrs. Lamore. How are you to-night? Mr. Atwell! I thought you were on the sea

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Harry!"

Why did

you think so?"

"Why? Harry's letter! Sit down, sir, pray." Atwell sat down.

and

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- with

The letter only came to-day,

"To-day! What's the date of it?"

He almost snatched it away-but one glance defeated his hopes.

But, you've seen him lately, sir - How was he? Well and happy? Was his captain satisfied? Didn't he send any messages? What were they?"

"I be

"I trust that he is well and very happy, Mrs. Lamore," Atwell replied, steadying his voice. lieve his captain had every reason to be satisfied." "Let me see-where is he now ? When was it you saw him last, sir?"

Twice Atwell essayed to speak, and twice his voice

failed him. At last, in a low tone, he said, "I saw him last in my cabin."

Mrs. Lamore caught the constrained manner. Something has happened! I'm sure of it. O Mr. Atwell, tell me - what is it? Where is he?"

sir

"Send the girl away," he said, hoarsely.

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Go, Nelly, go. I can't bear this-where is he,

"Mrs. Lamore, your boy was a good, noble fellow. He did his duty manfully- and will surely find a reward! We met heavy gales — and

"And what, sir ?" "The ship couldn't bear them down at last!"

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Went down! Sank! O Harry!

and - she went

But he was saved,

I know he was. Such a good lad he always was to me.' Mrs. Lamore-bear it bravely your boy was— drowned!"

"Drowned! But you saw him in your cabin -how, where? O Harry, Harry! O, my dear lad — what shall I do!" She flung herself into the chair, and "You don't mean it-you can't! He's safe, I know he isn't drowned! O, my dear boy!" She would not hear a word.

wrung her hands.

Atwell sat, very pale and wretched, waiting till she a little recovered.

66 You

"It was

you murdered him," she cried. you who drove him to sea - he'd never have gone but for you-he'd have been here with us all. It's all through you. I dare say you might have saved him—and let him be drowned for want of help! just like you!"

"Don't, don't, Mrs. Lamore! I know it all — but I'd give all I have to see him here. Don't go on so, I can't bear it." He tried in vain to comfort her; but at last she became a little more calm.

Atwell writhed under her reproaches.—his wounded pride only told how true they were. He desperately wished himself dead, and the drowned boy in his place-while the last reproachful words that the lad had spoken, rang over and over again in his ears. He roused himself fiercely broke in upon Mrs. Lamore's grief— bade her listen how her gallant boy had met his deathand plunged at once into the narration.

Silent and very still she sat, hearing of shipwreck and disaster; of storm and deadly peril; of the launching of the boat; of that last meeting and parting; of the latest words of the loved of her heart; and when the tale ceased, was calm. "Mrs. Lamore," said the narrator, in a low voice can you forgive me? May God pardon me, for I never can myself!"

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." The words of that morning came over her wounded soul like strange sweet music. The thought of him who was gone hung round her like a sad fond dream. She bowed her head, and murmured May God forgive you as I do."

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"I can never be to you what he was. But all my life long I will protect and aid you, as far as in me lies. I have my own way to make in the world. Through your boy I am a changed man. Never, never to return to what I was! He has taught me to pardon and forget-to overcome evil with good."

Thus he went away. Years afterwards, when he was prosperous and rich when he stood high in the world, when men respected and admired him, the repentant still remembered his promise. Raising and aiding, guarding and guiding the family of the gallant lad who had saved him; the sweet remembrances of that dead boy were ever a silver chain to link together the pardoning and the pardoned.

M. W. B.

A FRAGMENT ABOUT DEATH.

You say you cannot find any scriptural foundation for this belief you cleave to. I am not sure that there is any text that plainly asserts it, yet there are many that seem to me to imply it.

First-those words of our Lord, on which we largely build our hope of a future life, which ever seem full of exceeding great and precious promise, and through faith in which we see a beyond to the grave. 66 'He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth on me shall never die." How do we interpret them? How can they be understood?

Your friend dies; you know him to have been a believer in Christ; you say, that he came nighest unto your ideal of a Christian, he was more like unto Christ than any one you ever knew; for him, if for any mortal, you would claim those promises; deep down in your soul you feel full faith he will "never die." And yet he fades away, withers, and dies, here in the hour of his manhood; they take him away, encircle him with death-shrouds, shut him in a coffin, dig a grave in the damp cold ground; you stand round with aching heart and tearless eyes, and see the earth rolled in upon the form that will never stir more; the hand that can no more press your hand; the eye that will no more look on you with love. "Oh God-is not this death? wherefore this for him that should never die," you cry in your soul's agony. Yes, this were Death, if the spirit, the true life you loved so well, were to lie crushed within that dark damp hole-if that part of your friend which hoped, toiled, loved, believed, and trusted, was doomed to lie with its body in this narrow grave, long, long after worms had destroyed the body—then, indeed, this were Death, awful Death. Had he felt the last time he gazed into your eyes, that that was the last light he should see, the last love or joy he should feeluntil some distant unknown day — he might indeed have cried in agony, 'Oh Father! I am dying." Hard, terrible, indeed, would "to die" be. What other than this could Death be? What more painful than to die. If all good men, true believers in Christ, had to go through this agony, it would never have been written, He that believeth on me shall NEVER DIE ! "

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But, saw you not infinite repose on his brow, joy light in his eye, faith and hope beaming on his face? His last words were they not words of content and hopeful peace, full of child-like trust? There was no fear present, no dark shadow when he whispered, "I hear the angels calling me, God bless you, and may He call you ere long, - it is very sweet! There is one more , mind before I close. gain." Oh! my friend,

passage I must bring to your

To live is Christ, to die is could Paul, the earnest, noble

Paul, ever diligently labouring in the work his master

had given him to do- could he have grown so weak and weary as to cry out, "to die is gain? Did he believe

death would bring rest from his labour and sleep to his soul? Would he have felt that to be "gain?" "Would his strong, vigorous nature, his unwearying acting, look forward with pleasure to the time when he might lie mouldering in the grave;-would he have called that 'gain?" After his long-suffering and high aspirations, would he have hailed stagnation as a blissful rest? or decay a welcome goal to have reached? No, his soul yearned for death, but it was only death for the bonds that fettered him. Death to him was the path to immortality; he beheld Death opening the gates of eternal life, freeing his immortal soul from its mortal-garment, the body; beyond the grave he saw a boundless, infinite field in which to labour, the perfect rest of endless well doing; he longed to taste his fuller, purer life, to see with clearer, deeper vision; not "as through a glass darkly, but face to face," face to face with Christ, with God. Oh for these fetters to be loosened that they might fall off, that this body might die, that my spirit might flee away and live near Christ and in God's sight, this were gain!" Thus, Death was his friend not his foe.

If you believe that Christ ever lived, if you believe in Christ, if you believe that he ever uttered these words, He that believeth on me shall never die,"you must believe that your friend, that all who die in Christ are free from all pain in death. He was not in the body that you laid in the earth — he did not feel the cold damp earth roll in over it, his spirit had fled. It is the body alone that dies, the Christian shall never die; the body should be loved and tendered only as the garment which he wore, it should be reverenced as you reverence the house or chamber in which an absent one once lived. It is sacred evermore; lay it by tenderly, for it is replete with memories of "the days that are no more;" it is dear as last year's dead leaves are in spring.

If I were an artist it should be the aim of my life to do away with the present figures of Death, they are utterly false. To the Christian, Death is not a grinning skeleton, he is no King of Terrors. Such repre