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such things as ye have: for He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. Heb. xiii. 5."
More than thirty years after the occurrence I have just mentioned, Oliver and Blanche met for the last time in this world. It was in a darkened chamber, where an aged widow was on her dying bed. That widow was Blanche Carterel. Her children were weeping around the bed. But near her head, and clasping her hand, was a gray-haired man, who seemed agitated more than all the rest.
“Brother," said the dying woman, “ the world is all deceitful, except so far as it is made helpful to us in our journey to the next. I have found written on every thing, Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. The world is a bubble. But in the fear of God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, there is substantial wealth. You have pursued worldly things, and yet your life has been a succession of disappointments. Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you."
This is indeed a inelancholy tale, but so much the more impressive is the moral. The world, with all its pleasure, wealth, honour, pomp and promises, is only a bubble-glistening, for a season, in borrowed colours, and then vanishing for ever. The way to avoid melancholy thoughts, with regard to it, is to look beyond it. In this world we must all have afflictions, but, if we believe in Christ, these work for us a more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. While we look not at the things that are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal ; but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Cor. iv. 18.
WHEN thy bosom swells with joy,
When thy brow with care is clouded,
When the loved, who now are thine,
When thy days are finished here,
THE INDIAN SACRIFICE.
My life, though I am still young, has been to me a very eventful one; I have never resided but a few years at a time in one place; for it has seemed the intention of a wise Providence that I should literally have here no abiding place or continuing city. I have lived in the town and in the country, in the village and in the wilderness, in society and in solitude. But I trust I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I have never passed a day without experiencing much, very much, for which to be thankful, and have truly been led to say:
“ Through all the various changing scenes
Of life's uncertain ill, or good,
The beautiful vicissitude.”
One afternoon, being surrounded by a circle of young friends, who had seldom been out of the busy hum of city life, I was urged by them to nar