space in a wide circle of friends. But the place was now va cant; the outer man had been seen to fail day by day, death finished the work, the grave covered it up, the worms had their prey. And not lost! not lost! I reasoned a moment before I could be satisfied that the epitaph was not, like most epitaphs, mere rhetoric.

A broad and beautiful stream was before me. Its waters were rolling silently but steadily on towards the mighty sea. They are here--they are gone-never, never to return. Are they lost? Every drop is there as pure and perennial, as when gliding at my feet.

A white-sailed vessel was just entering the gap of the Highlands: the summer breeze freshened, and bore it out of view. It was gone, but it was not lost.

The star that melts away into the light of heaven," when the brighter sun rises on the world, or the star that goes down behind the western hills, or the sun itself that sets in glory, is gone; but to shine again with equal or brighter lustre. It is not lost. Not a ray of its living light has perished.

A holy man, in the early ages of the world, walked with God, and "was not," for God took him he was gone. The places that knew him once, knew him no But he was not lost. He lived--he yet lives.

more.

A certain prophet of the Lord was walking with another whom he tenderly loved and suddenly there "appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven. And Elisha saw it, and he cried, My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the horses thereof. And he saw him no more." He was gone, but not lost.

A disconsolate female came to the grave of her best beloved friend, and as she saw that his precious remains were gone, she cried, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him." She thought in her sorrow, as most of the bereaved are wont to think, that she had lost her all; when one stood before her and said, "Mary," and the joy of life from the dead burst in rapture on her soul. It was the voice of her beloved. She had found her Lord. He was gone, but not lost.

This was a natural, if not profitable train of thought. A believer writes this inscription over the ashes of a de

parted saint. Day by day disease wears away the tabernacle of clay; by and by death dashes in pieces the "golden bowl," and the wheel at the cistern stands still. But the freed spirit starts into new existence before the eternal throne, and, like an angel of light, leaps in gladness and glory anutterable and inconceivable. And is that saint lost. In a diamond mine is found a clod of earth that contains a gem of great price. It is taken from him that found it, and polished for him who owns the mine and all its gems; and now it sparkles on the bosom of the queen, or shines radiantly in the royal coronet. Is that jewel lost? And if the Monarch of the universe could find, in the darkness of this lower world, gems that infinite skill can polish for his use, shall we count them lost when he makes up his jewels and takes them to himself? If he should send for these little ones that are this moment laughing in the innocence of their young hearts at my feet, and set them as stars in his crown, shall I break my heart with grief as if my children were lost. So Payson reasoned. I asked a friend whom I met after a long separation, "How many children have you?" "Two here," said he, "and one in heaven." He would not reckon lost the one first found and saved. He was right. Of such is the kingdom.

They are not lost who die in Christ. They live, and reign, and rejoice in the midst of the throne and the Lamb. Then "weep ye not for the dead," as though they were lost. They are safe, where danger, disease, or death, will never reach them. In the hope of a joyful resurrection, commit their ashes to their kindred dust, and write over them, "Gone, but not lost."

The Last Prayer.

ONE afternoon in 18-, several carriages were seen gathering round an elegant mansion in the town of P. A clergyman and several physicians were assembled in a darkened chamber around the accomplished Mrs. L. The anxious countenances, the light tread, the half-suppressed breathing of the attendants, the solemn stillness that pervaded the whole group, told too plainly their fearful ap

prehensions that the disease of Mrs. L. would baffle al human skill, and prove fatal to the sufferer. She hac been suddenly arrested in the full flow of health by a disease that had locked up all her senses in a lethargic stupor, from which the skill of faithful physicians and the assiduous efforts of sympathizing friends could not arouse her. The loss of such a friend under any circumstances could not but be severely felt; but the affliction would seem greatly increased, were she to pass into the world of spirits without any communication with those who might still linger behind. For several years she had been an ornament to the church, and her friends earnestly desired to know, whether her religion proved an unfailing support, when passing through the valley of the shadow of death; and when in the course of his prayer the clergyman entreated the Lord that her consciousness and power of speech, might, if consistent with the divine will, be reștored, most earnestly did every heart join in the request

When all the means, which affection and professional sagacity could suggest, had been tried in vain, her little son, who had just learned to articulate a few words, was brought into the room. With mingled fear and wonder he gazed on his mother, and upon the attendants, watching in silence the issue of the disease. "Ma-ma, ma-ma," exclaimed the little prattler, after a few moment's silence. These words effected, as if by some mysterious power, what other appliances failed to accomplish; the mother opened her eyes, and slowly stretching out her hand, beckoned for her son. He was placed in her arms: in a low voice, she commended her offspring to God, and prayed that he might meet her in heaven. That was her last prayer in a few hours that son was motherless.

The scene now changes. We pass the interval of twenty years, and find that son in college. The noble and commanding form of William L., his urbanity of manners, and diligence in study, soon won him the esteem of faculty and students. During the first year, he held a high rank in his class, and gave promise of eminent usefulnesss. But college life puts a young man's principles to a severe test. It is a state of exposure and trial, during which no youth is safe, without devoted piety, a security which William L. did not possess. He formed unfortu

nate connections with several idle students, the effects of which were soon apparent in his recitations. He was admonished of his danger, but seemed as if spell-bound by some fascination, from which he could not escape. It had been justly said that idleness is the parent of many vices; so it proved in the present instance. Idleness led on to dissipation; and after repeated admonitions and fruitless. efforts to reclaim him, William L. was expelled from college, a drunkard! Small indeed did the probability seem that his mother's last prayer would be answered.

William returned to his home. The report of his expulsion from college, and the cause of it, blasted the high raised expectations of his friends, and sounded in their ears like the knell of all his prospects and hopes. Still they endeavored to throw around him such influences and associations as would restore his self-respect; and with all the eloquence of pure affection they besought him to abandon at once and forever the intoxicating bowl. Their earnest entreaties led him to moderate, in some degree, his excesses, but produced no radical reformation; and his friends, wearied with unavailing efforts, were beginning to conclude that they must give up his case as hopeless.

One dark cloudy evening, William was sitting alone in his chamber, musing upon the great change, that had within a few years come over his prospects, when his uncle entered his room, and proposed a walk. William put on his hat and accompanied him. Whether by accident or design, they walked in the direction of the grave yard, and soon found themselves by the grave of Mrs. L. The white tomb-stones around, scarcely less visible in the darkness, read a silent but impressive lesson on the frailty of man. As they were leaning on the grave-stone of Mrs. L., the uncle gave William a description of her character, and of the circumstances attending her death, particularly her dying prayer that he might meet her in heaven; "and now," said he, taking William by the hand, "will you meet her in heaven, or will you die a drunkard?" William burst into tears, and sank down upon his mother's grave over whelmed with emotion. The darkness without was but a faint emblem of the darkness and horror within. Guilt, remorse, shame, stung him to an intensity of anguish,

such as he had never known before. His life passed in rapid review; his talents wasted-his time mispent-repatation blasted-hopes crushed-the hearts of friends bleeding over his degradation-a mother's last fond desire unheeded her last prayer unanswered-these and kindred reflections came crowding upon his thoughts, and death itself seemed preferable to his present degradation and wretchedness. He retired to his chamber, and to a sleepless pillow. The next morning, when the family had gathered around the breakfast table, they found upon it a temperance pledge, drawn up in strictest form, and signed by William L. From that time may be dated, not only reformation of external character, but also, as is believed, an internal and spiritual renovation of the heart.

He now resolved to resume his studies and prepare for some useful station; but before he could put his purpose into operation, he was seized with a fever, which left no hope of his recovery. He bore his protracted illness without a murmur, and seemed desirous of recovery only that he might counteract, in some degree, the evil he had already done. On one occasion, when his father told him the physician had recommended a little wine, he said, " father, if you insist upon it, I will take wine, though I should greatly prefer not to do it. I must die, and let me die without being polluted by what has well nigh wrought my ruin." This request was granted. A few days after, a long and silent procession was seen moving to the church yard, preceded by the mortal remains of William L. His body slumbers by the side of his mother; but where is the spirit? We believe that the mother's last prayer was answered, and that her son has gone to meet her in heaven.

The Profane Officer.

SHORTLY after the termination of the revolutionary war, Dr. John Rogers was on his way from Philadelphia to New-York, in one of the largest stage-wagons at that time It was filled with passengers of various appearances and characters; among the number was a middle

in use.