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Rev. J,T. WARD. Assistant Editor.

PRICE ONE CENT.
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perings TO his soul, yes, and stared, looked
around in hopes, in expectation Of behold
ling aliving being1 What is this, Who
can explain1 None: but all can imagine
what they please, And what more besuli
full fancy can the human mind conceive.
than thatof departed friends watching over
those they loved on earth; the happy spirits
Of the dead, striving to whisper on to bliss
poor, sorrowing man, for they alwayswhis-
per, peace, hope, courage, and all will be
we'll gag1a
j No matter from whence comes the cause,
the effect Is virtuous and happy. What
power has the early lessons of pious mo-
ther upon our after life ! Can they ever be
effaced from the heart No. we once
stood upon the deck Of ship; for three
long days the winds had ragged and the
waves rolled, until their frothy tops seemed
striving to pierce the very clouds, and our
gallant vessel as if tired Of contendinp with
the angry elements, would raise upon .the
mountain billows, and then plunge in the
abyss, as il seeking to find in the deep, bo-
som OF the ocean, an end to its giant strug-
gles. All hopes were gone, Watery grave
seemedothe inviolable fate Of all /; and all
strove by cries sof mercy sobs Of woe, tears
Of agony .andsheait-felt prayers, to blot from
heaven'sa record the fearful stain fof a
wasted life. All but one were what the
world calls, bravs men; had faced danger
IN a thousand forms, and smiled with Joy
at the, deed-they dare not face death,
The exception was a youth, pale and sick
ly, riding the blue waves in hopes of regain
ing lost health. He did not shrink, he
did 'not'duail, but gazed upon the danger
with q steady eye, spoke words Of hope
and consolation to the wretched crew, and
walked the deck, more like the inhabitant
Of a better world, than mortal man. We
asked him what supported his soul in The
trying hour: mark his answer. ai''@


"1hank God my mother learnt me when
but youth, to live 50 as to die without
fear. 49, " AA+ .s.ty
aHe'd die-the only one-a wave hurl-
ed him from the deck TO watery grave be-
meath the blue pillows. That mother, as we
broke the sad tale Of her SONS fate, wept not,
but 1breathed y blessing upon the author Of
IiSa uO'HS, onu suC Sutuc VI IIcT CIHuHOOu.
She had done her duty, and would not
murmer Al the win OF heaven, though it
snatched from her bosom an only son -
Can we ever forget the warm afectioh Of a
beloved father how often he has taken us
on his knee, smoothed down our little curls,
kissed our brow and breathed blessing
upon our youthful head become dead to a
sisters kindness, Or a brothers. sympathy.
Memo, il is impossible. And who would
if they had the power None but the false
and vicious none but those whose pres
ent conduct renders the memory Of past
virtue, agony. The good, the pure, cher
ish these recollectons as they do the friend
ship Of the living, allow them to cluster
around and grow into the heart, until they
orm an unfading flower, for the tired spirit
Q rest upon, and sip unpoluted bliss. Cold,
:old, and deeply stained with guilt must be,
he heart, that cannot dwell upon the past
with pleasure, poor must be its prospects
IF JOY on earth, and poorer still its hopes of
Heaven. II. II


WASHINGTON, August IL, l846. .a5,


