sweet. Being himself a stranger to the sustaining power of faith, the calm, lovely expression of Rebecca's countenance, seemed to his mind a matter of surprise.

'How,' said he to himself, ' can she be so very cheerful, under such trying circumstances; I am sure I could not be.'

While he was thus reflecting, Henry entered the room. The old gentleman, on perceiving him, arose, walked half way across the floor to meet him, and proffered his hand, while a tear ran silently down his cheek. Henry took the offered hand, and warmly pressed it. This was an expression of kindness that Mr. Dunbar felt was undeserved by him.

Henry, with much feeling, said, 'I thank my Heavenly Father that I have lived to see this hour.'

'You ought, in justice, to have seen a better hour, ere now,' said the agitated father; then would my dear lovely child have lived longer to bless her friends. shall never forgive myself, for what I have done!'

O, I

'My dear father,' said Rebecca, in feeble, yet thrilling tone, I beg you will only remember any thing that you now regret having done, but as a sin against your best, your heavenly Friend. So far as Henry and myself are concerned, I feel that it is for our good that we should thus early be separated."

'O! that she might even now be spared,' said her father, addressing Henry.

'I have long prayed for her valuable life,' responded the son-in-law, but trust I have prayed in humble submission to the will of Him who delights to "temper the wind to the shorn lamb." He appears to think it best to

remove her to that world to which our darling little one has already gone.'

'That child,' said Mr. Dunbar, I never saw; would that it had been otherwise.' He was much affected, as a vivid recollection of the past flashed across his mind.

'Father,' said his lovely daughter, tenderly, forget the things that are behind, and strive to press forward, from this hour, in the path of duty, to that God to whom we all are so deeply indebted.'

May it be so,' answered Mr. Dunbar.

The excitement occasioned by the soul-moving scene through which the invalid passed, that afternoon, greatly prostrated her strength; and when the kind Doctor Felton called to see his patient, in the evening of that day, he found her much exhausted. Yet while he deprecated the effect, he could not but feel thankful for the occurrence of the circumstances that had caused it. It was pleasant to his benevolent heart, to see the father, mother and husband of this youthful Christian, assembled together near her bedside, and to know, too, that they could now sympathize in each other's sorrows.

Mr. Dunbar left the chamber with the physician, and followed him to the outside door. He asked how long Rebecca might be expected to continue with them.

'Not many days at the longest,' said the doctor, ‘she is sinking rapidly into the icy embrace of death. But,' he proceeded, she is closing her life most peacefully, and seems upborne by an invisible power. Her affections, I believe, are above.'

Yes, that is true,' replied the afflicted father, what a blessing have I thrown from me.'

Dr. Felton, with a feeling of compassion, bade the old gentleman good evening, and walked away; while the other, overwhelmed with sorrow and self-reproach, sought and found a refuge from the observation of those around him in the retirement of his own chamber, where in the anguish of his spirit he knelt before his offended God. He prayed that he might become what he felt assured he must be in order to enter that sinless world to which his injured Rebecca was soon to be admitted.

The breast of Mrs. Dunbar was agitated by mingled emotions; joy and grief, at times, struggled hard to obtain the ascendency over each other; and it was some days after the events we have described, ere she was favored with her usual tranquility.

After the expiration of a week, during which Rebecca had every day been enabled to converse at short intervals with her father and other friends, he, with the other members of the family, was one night summoned to attend her dying bed. Mr. Dunbar gazed upon her changing features with a sorrow unknown to either of the other friends.

Rebecca's sister mourned most deeply that she was to lose one to whom she had ever been wont to look for counsel and sympathy. Rebecca had endeavored, during her last interviews with their father, to influence his mind in regard to his hitherto erroneous views upon the important subject of his children's marriage. She entreated him not to disregard real worth, in relation to the connec

tion her sister might wish to form, merely because it was unaccompanied with wealth.

She had been favored with a patient hearing, whenever she had addressed him upon the subject; but now, as she was aware that her lips were soon to be closed forever, she availed herself of this last opportunity to intercede with him to spare her beloved sister a trial similar to that which she had herself endured.

Dear father, promise me,' said she, with quivering lips, 'that you will not try to compel Jane to wed any one, merely because he is rich.' She paused.

My child, my dear Rebecca,' said her father, kissing her affectionately, 'I will, I do promise not to do again as I have done to you.'

6

6

'Thank you, dear sir,' said Rebecca, at the same time kissing him. Do not think,' she faintly said, that I undervalue money; no, it is desirable in its place, but father, it is not intrinsic worth.'

6

The father's heart was moved, and whose would not have been, at such a scene? Her friends wept. On perceiving their tears, she bade them to cease to weep. Why mourn, because I am thus early called to my eternal home, to that mansion which Jesus has prepared for me above? Farewell,' continued she, farewell, my friends, yet not forever! I would have you all prepare to follow me to Heaven.' She said

'No more; the Angel of the Covenant

Was come, and faithful to his promise stood,
Prepared to walk with her thro' death's dark vale.'

CHAPTER XIV.

'Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes;

They love a train; they tread each other's heels.'

YOUNG.

James redeemed― His Return and Jane

Death of his mother - Henry Friendship between Mr. Dunbar and Henry.

In a few days after the death of Rebecca, tidings were brought to her afflicted relatives that the vessel James had sailed in had been taken by the Turks, and James, among others of the passengers and crew, was carried a prisoner into Constantinople.

This painful intelligence filled the heart of both parents with indescribable woe, and the father felt it a stroke too heavy to be borne. He sunk under this weight of accumulated sorrow; and his wife, though deeply tried, was obliged to summon all her resolution to appear calm in his presence.

In this extremity, Henry was a comfort to the father of his sainted wife; and had it not been for the kindness of this excellent young man, who, forgetful of past wrongs, daily strove, by every method ingenuity could devise, to encourage the desponding feelings of the old gentleman, he would have been driven to despair.