And, O, how much less could he forget the lovely and confidingcreature to whom he had given not only his whole heart, but the promise of his hand? object arrested her attention, and seemed at once to change the whole current of her feelings. The eloquent blood rushed in bright torrents to her cheek, a radiant smile lit up her beautiful features, her hands were clasped with convulsive eager ness, and her whole attitude evinced the most intense emotion. A young man of noble proportions stood on the prow of the vessel, holding aloft a streamer which floated on the breeze, displaying, as it caught the rays of the sun, the richest and most gorgeous colors. Pereene instantly recognized her lover, even at that distance, and intuitively felt that the streamer which he held in his hand was the scarf he had taken from her shoulders at the moment of parting. The time at length came which should have restored him to her side, and he saw no prospect of being able to fulfil the promise he had made her. His parents had, with an unwonted sterness, even forbidden any communication with the poor girl, and Clarens suffered several successive opportunities for forwarding letters to her to glide by unimproved, rather from a secret hope of overcoming their opposition by obedience, than from a conviction that it was his duty to comply with so unjust a command. The determination to relinquish Pereene never for a moment rested in his mind, while the obstacles presented by his parents preyed alike upon his spirits and his health. He grew moody and silent, and shunned society, until at length, overcome with affectionate alarm, his parents yielded an unwilling consent that he should revisit the West Indies, and bring thence his beautiful affianced as a bride. Filled with new life, Clarens poured out his gratitude and thanks for their kindness, and joyfully penned that epistle to Pereene, which carried such a balm to the heart-sick girl. Preparations were immediately made for The vessel had by this time anchored, him to embark on board a vessel which but, as the water was shallow for a long was in two or three weeks to sail for the way out into the sea, it was still at a conWest Indies, and Clarens once more look-siderable distance from the land. The ed forward to a happy and peaceful future. It was the close of a lovely day, and a cool breeze from the Caribbean sea was gently floating over the beautiful islands of the Archipelago, bearing refreshment to many a fevered brow and languid frame, when an English vessel was seen entering the bay of St. Christopher's.. It was watched with interest by many a curious eye; but there was one who, from the veranda of a spacious and luxurious mansion which over-looked the bay, gazed at the stately ship, as it stood proudly in towards the shore, with an eager eye and a beating heart. It was Percene. For a time, her expressive countenance and anxious movements betokened a painful uncertainty and indecision, when a new In an instant she was in her chamber; and, hastily arraying herself in a dress of sea-green silk, in which Clarens had always loved to see her robed, and twining a few pearls in the rich black tresses which clustered about her brow, and fell in shining torrents over her shoulders, she took from a casket a white handkerchief, which had been given her by Clarens, and which she had treasured up with the choicest care, and, attended by two or three favorite companions, hurried to the strand. languid and weary sailors were slowly preparing to let down a boat for the purpose of conveying Clarens to the shore; but he had perceived the approach of Pereene, and, impatient of their tardy preparations, plunged headlong into the flood, with the intention of swimming to the shore. He was an expert and fearless swimmer, and the wondering seamen gazed with as tonishment and admiration on the daring youth, as he boldly and manfully buffeted the waves. Pereene, who dreamed not that danger could lurk within the crystal depths of that transparent sea, felt no terror as she witnessed the daring feat of her lover. She advanced to meet him until the foaming surf curled around her feet, and, waving the handkerchief which he had given her in the air, held out her arms towards him, as if yearning to fold him to her heart. This sight stimulated the ardent youth to renewed exertions, and manlier and bolder was the energy with which he breasted the foaming tide. He had achieved more than three quarters of the distance between the vessel and the shore, when a huge, dark form was seen swiftly cutting the transparent waters in a direct line towards the unwary youth. A cry of warning and terror arose from the watchful crew, but was mistaken by Clarens for a shout of encouragement, as was evident by his answering cheer, and an exulting wave of his arm. In another moment a black semicircle, fringed with white, was hovering above the surface of the water, within a single foot of the fated youth. It glided over him and fell; a piercing shriek which appalled the heart of the boldest listener, rung over the face of the deep, and Clarens disappeared. A moment more, and the upper half of a human form, streaming with purple gore, sprang two feet out of the water, and, instantly falling back, sunk down beneath the waves. A low, gurgling sound was for a moment beard a few dark crimson streaks we.e seen riding on the foamy crests of the advancing surges and all was over. So awful, so sudden was the tragedy which took place in far less time than it has taken to narrate it-it was some minutes before the horror-struck spectators on the shore could withdraw their shuddering gaze from the spot where the ill-fated Clarens had vanished from their sight When, however, the current of life returned once more to its accustomed channels, and their paralyzed senses began to take cognizance of the present, their attention was attracted to Pereene. She stood with her arms still extended, as if endeavoring to win some loved one to her embrace her figure was slightly stooping forward, her bloodless lips firmly pressed together, and her eyes, wildly and fearfully dilated, were riveted to the spot where she had witnessed the awful fate of her lover. So pale, so motionless, so rigid, she seemed as if suddenly transformed to stone. No sound had escaped her through all that scene of horror. Her companions approached, and endeavored gently to lead her away, but the moment their arms encircled her, shriek after shriek burst in wild and mournful cadence from her lips, until exhausted nature gave way, and she sunk fainting in their arms. They bore her to her dwelling; but long and almost hopeless were their effort to restore the suspended functions of her being. Their labors, however, seemed at last to be crowned with success. Her breathing became free, her eyes opened, and in a short time she rose up. But, although her bodily faculties were stored, those of her mind seemed entirely obliterated. She took no notice of any thing around her; and no efforts which they were able to employ could win a single word from her lips, or a single token that she was conscious even of her own existence. They spoke to her of her lover, but she heard them not. They held the little tokens of affection, which he had given her in the days of their happiness, before her eyes, but she saw them not; or, if she did so, no motion or sound escaped her to indicate that such was the fact. re Thus time wore on; each successive day diminishing the probability that the shattered mind of the unfortunate girl would ever be restored. There were, indeed, periods when it seemed as if some faint memory were again dawning upon her darkened intellect; when she would slowly glide towards the strand, and, advancing to the verge of the surf, stand bending forward, and gazing into the deep, as she had stood when arrested by the awful tragedy which had banished her reason, and struck her speechless forever. But no one, at those times, could discover the least trace of emotion, or the least change in her fixed and statue-like composure, save that her large, dark eyes would become darker and more dilated, and her pale cheek blanch to a more deadly whiteness. In this manner several weeks elapsed, when, one morning, during one of her irregular visits to the shore, a boat was seen advancing from a vesse! towards them, and was but about a cable's length from the strand, when Pereene reached She They buried her among the palms, beneath her favorite bower; and many a flower, as lovely and evanescent as herself, was taught to blossom on her grave; while the solemn and ceaseless moanings of the melancholy sea were her fitting and everlasting requiem. GUARDIAN ANGELS. BY REV. J. G. BARTHOLOMEW. "And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him."-Luke xxii. 43. Is it true that angels hear us, When we sing our songs of praise? Radiant forms are bending near? Is it true that in our sorrow, They in tender love draw nigh, Telling us of that bright morrow, When no tear shall dim the eye? Do they come on holy missions, From our Father's home above? To return with our petitions, And our songs of praise and love? Can we doubt, since that bright legion To announce the Saviour's birth? With their words of sweet relief? And if men have heard their chorus, May they not be bending o'er us, With their crowns and harps of gold? Let us listen to their singing, For it is of heavenly love; And the very air is ringing THE RESURRECTION. NO. I. Is the Resurrection of Christ a Sufficiency? BY REV A. G. LAURIE. INTRODUCTION. This Essay will be followed by three others in the Repository, which are intended as inquiries on a subject which has not, we think, had sufficient attention devoted to it by the thought of our denomination. That all shall live hereafter, and live in holiness and blessedness through the Redemption that is in Christ Jesus, is the distinctive tenet which signalizes our communion among the different branches of the Church of Christ. Thousands, perhaps millions, in other departments of that church, hold it along with us, we know. But it is not so prominent a peculiarity in their belief as to induce them to detach themselves from the bodies with which, from hereditary, or social, or ever less worthy motives, they remain connected. The Church of England is so leavened with it, that we despair of ever seeing a separate Universalist Denomination establishing itself in that country. Indeed in the end it may be better for the sake of our cause there, that there never shall. For once let the masses of that church be penetrated by the sentiment, as already a large portion of its best mind and heart is, and it will then be the religious sentiment of the nation, as it never could become through the agency of any dissenting body there. Even in the Kirk of Scotland, gloomy to this day with the shadow of the fierce spirit of John Knox, we have personal knowledge that much of the higher intellect nominally within its pale, is saturated by this conviction, though it dare not speak it out. One of the most intelligent among the citizens of Edinburgh,—“ a citizen of no mean city,"-on informing me that himself was a Universalist, added that he had been intimately acquainted with Lord Cockburn, (whose Memorials had so large a sale a few years ago in this country,) with Jeffrey the critic, with Gibson Craig, and I am almost certain he said, Professor Wilson, and all the great lights of Einburgh society that have gone out within a few years past, and, he ended, they were all of that way of thinking." But," he resumed, "so stern is the gripe of the Kirk upon us, that we only talk of it in corners among ourselves." Oh, God, that the spirit would move and spread till the whole dear land were light. But however the conviction of our denominational truth may be overlaid or counteracted among other communions in its efforts to manifest itself by a distinct or ganiztion, it is that which has summoned us from other sects, and has given us our name, and has bound us in one Christian body by the affinities of a common faith in the great result which it predicts. We repeat the words in which it clothes itself; that all shall live hereafter, and live in holiness and blessedness through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. That is the statement of it in wholesale. We all believe that. But, as to the details involved in that predicate, we not only differ, and agree to differ, but I sometimes think, we prefer to leave them unmooted, that each may think about them for himself as best suits his individual prepossession, or opinion, or even fancy. And such ab egation is certainly favorable to denominational liberty, and toleration, and unity. But without any infraction of these inestimable advantages, I think we may try, more carefully than we have yet done, to explore some of the particulars of the subject. Every one who thinks about it at all, has certain persuasions in regard to the conditions of his future life; the time when he shall enter on it, whether immediately after death or at some farther period; whether he shall be so much himself as to retain his earthly affections and their objects, both purified from earthly passions; and whether what is called the Resurrection, be an instantaneous or a gradual, a simultaneous or an individual pro By the title of this essay we mean to inquire, whether the resurrection of our Lord is proof enough to us of our Future Life, or whether we should ask for more. Were we travelling in some journey along the edge of a vast plateau, opening on our left hand on a scene distinctly visible,a scene in which lay all our daily interests, and the objects of our daily pursuits,-the places familiar to our thoughts, and the persons dear to our affections, - haunts of business, homes of domestic joys, landscapes of common delight, while, on the right hand, it brinked an unknown space, into which we knew ourselves liable to be dismissed at any moment of our progress, a space obscure, vast, trending it might be outwards forever, or downwards, we knew not whether or which, I think every one of us, no matter how much interested in what deeds were doing, and what transactions were occurring on our left hand, would cast frequent and anxious glances into the untried contiguities on our right, and think often and gravely, Should my feet next moment slip from this path I am treading, where shall I be, and what?" We are Such exactly is the case of each one of us, and such, I hope, is the question which not unfrequently suggests itself to the minds of us all. We are every day moving on, along a line of road, just as precarious as that in our illustration, bordered on one haud by just as real and visible activities, and on the other by an unseen, yet certain eternity, into which next moment may remove us. treading a path, one edge of which lies well within the precincts of this mortal being whose pulses beat this instant so warm and full within us, while its other edge runs sheer along a domain as real, as actual, as surely ours, though we peer in vain through the dimness to determine what it contains for us, the realm of that immortal being, in which, when Death touches us, we are to live forever. We do not, I trust, any of us doubt that that touch once given and obeyed, the darkness will instantly disperse, and the prospect will unfold, clear, and calm, and boundless, to every one of us. "But here, yet here this bank and shoal of Time," upon naturally, urgently, we crave to know what those mists conceal, which brood so steadfastly as to baffle our human gaze into the mysterious domain of the infinite for which we are destined. As we stand beside the cooling corpse, from which five minutes ago one like ourselves has escaped, do we not turn from the closed eyelid and the mute mouth, to the space about and above us which seems so empty, but in which he may be with us still, and feel a solemn eagerness to summon him into sight, that we may ascertain, if it be but by one look, some positive knowledge of what his condition is, and of what therefore ours shall be? I know you tell me that this, in a Christian, is an unreasonable feeling; that I should fail back on the Resurrection of Christ, and be satisfied; and I admit it. Yet though unreasonable, the feeling exists, and at times struggles strongly within us. I do not forget, and I trust I estimate at its full value the thought, that that greatest of human events, is authenticated by what, in regard to any ordinary occurrence, we would think an overpowering weight of testimony. And I confess that, except by granting me an actual prospect of immortality, I can conceive of no method by which God could have demonstrated its reality to me half so convincingly, as that he did adopt, in bringing again Christ from the dead." And devoutly and confidently I believe in that Resurrection, and in my own future being as the fulfilment and consequence of the promise it makes to me. Yet, let me illustrate what I would express. Suppose I have never seen the city of London. Still, from human testimony in books I purposely omit that of living who have been there-I believe persons in the existence of the place so undoubtingly, that I say I know it. A suspicion that it does not stand there, in Middlesex shire, the capital of Great Britain, has never flickered through my thought. But let me suppose that in the question of its existence, or its non-existence, there were wrapped up some interest of vital, personal consequence to me, to my peace, perhaps my life, and I think it quite conceivable how, having no usual, no rational doubt of the actual fact, yet, in certain moods of mind, moods of intense self-consciousness, and dread of what might happen to me should my convictions after all be unfounded, and London, a mere traveller's tale, I might be seized with an eager wish to go and see for myself the substantial city, its streets, its houses, its appearance, and so be satisfied by my senses that what I had always believed, yes, known to be real, was real. This is not reasonable, I know; but is it not natural? I think we must all acknowledge that it is. Now just so is it with us in this present state, in our longings after a knowledge of the unseen world. All here, is seen and known by our senses. These senses fail us utterly when we apply them to the dimness of the future. Ard though, through other avenues than those they furnish,-through those of faith,-we can reach and rest in it, and often with a higher certainty than that they give us, still we are so accustomed to depend on them for our knowledge of realities. we need not wonder that in certain states of feeling, we should crave to test the actuality of the world unknown by them, that we should seek to see, and so to be certain of the fact and the conditions of the life that is to come. I doubt whether any thoughtful man or woman among us, ever stands by a dead body without thoughts that frame themselves into wishes, that the dismissed spirit might appear, if but for a moment, to reveal the nature of the life on which it has entered. The desire is, then, a natural one. And however wrong its excess may be, to show that God does not condemn it, we have but to remember that he has granted it at least a partial satisfaction, in the Resurrection of Jesus, and in providing full and convincing proof of that great fact, in the statements of the numerous persons who saw, and conversed, and ate and drank with him, after he had risen from the dead. Yes," you reply, "but you yourself have just intimated that this is not allsufficient; that we all crave further evidence, visible and tangible to each of us personally." Do not misconceive me. I |