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Ere the psalm was yet over, the door was opened, and a tall, fine-looking man entered, but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse. Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy and dirge-like music, he sat down on a chair, and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's bed. When the psalm ceased, the Elder said, with a solemn voice, "My son-thou art come in time to receive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room before the morning again shine over the Hazelglen, win thee from the error of thy ways! Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, whom thou hast forgotten.

The Minister looked, if not with a stern, yet with an upbraiding countenance, on the young man, who had not recovered his speech, and said "William ! for three years past your shadow has not darkened the door of the house of God. They who fear not the thunder, may tremble at the still small voice-Now is the hour for repentance-that your father's spirit may carry up to Heaven tidings of a contrite soul saved from the company of sinners!"

The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bed-side, and at last found voice to say, "Father-I am not without the affections of nature-and I hurried home the moment I heard that the minister had been seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover; and if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness-for, though I may not think as

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you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart. Father! I may have been unkind, but I am not cruel. I ask your forgiveness."

"Come near to me, William; kneel down by the bed-side, and let my hand feel the head of my beloved son; for blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my first-born, and thou art my only living son. All thy brothers and sisters are lying in the churchyard, beside her whose sweet face thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soul. Ay, too much the pride! for there was not in all the parish such a man, such a son, as my own William. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. I have sorely wept for thee; ay, William, when there was none near me; even as David wept for Absalom; for thee, my son, my son!"

A long deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father to him who has denied God, the Father of us all?"

"Oh! press him not too hardly," said his weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where she tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame. "Spare, oh! spare my husband. He has

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ever been kind to me;" and, with that, she knelt down beside him, with her long soft white arms mournfully and affectionately laid across his neck.

"Go thou, likewise, my sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, "go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother, so that I may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer."

The child did as the solemn voice commanded, and knelt down somewhat timidly by his father's side; nor did the unhappy man decline encircling with his arm, the child too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood, in spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity.

"Put the word of God into the hands of my son, and let him read aloud to his dying father, the 25th, 26th, and 27th verses of the eleventh chapter of the gospel according to St. John."

The pastor went up to the kneelers, and, with a voice of pity, condolence, and pardon, said, "There was a time when none, William, could read the Scriptures better than couldst thou. Can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?"

He had not forgotten them. There was no need for the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed-side. The sacred stream of the gospel had worn a channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing. With a choked voice, he said, "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die.

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Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord : I believe thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.”

"That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying man, triumphantly; "nor, William, hast thou an unbeliever's heart. Say that thou believest in what thou hast now read, and thy father will die happy!'

"I do believe; and as thou forgivest me, so may I be forgiven by my Father who is in heaven.”

The Elder seemed like a man suddenly inspired with a new life. His faded eyes kindled; his pale cheeks glowed; his palsied hand seemed to wax strong; and his voice was clear as that of manhood in its prime. "Into thy hands, O God! I commit my spirit:" and, so saying, he gently sunk back on his pillow; and I thought I heard a sigh.

There was then a long deep silence; and the father, the mother, and the child, rose from their knees. The eyes of us all were turned towards the white placid face of the figure now stretched in everlasting rest; and, without lamentations, save the silent lamentations of the resigned soul, we stood around the DEATH-BED OF THE ELDER.-Wilson.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

Dionysius. What do I see? 'Tis Pythias arriving here!-Tis Pythias himself!-I never could have thought it. Hah! it is he: he is come to die, and to redeem his friend.

Pythias. Yes; it is I. I went away for no other end but to pay to the gods what I had vowed them; to settle my family affairs according to the rules of justice; and to bid adieu to my children, in order to die the more peaceably.

Dion. But what makes you come back? How now! hast thou no fear of death? Comest thou to seek it like a desperado, a madman?

Pyth. I come to suffer it, though I have not deserved it; I cannot find it in my heart to let my friend die in my stead.

Dion. Thou lovest him better than thyself then?

Pyth. No: I love him as myself; but think I ought to die rather than he, since it was I thou didst intend to put to death: it were not just that he should suffer, to deliver me from death, the punishment thou preparedst for me.

Dion. But thou pretendest to deserve death no more than he.

Pyth. It is true, we are both equally innocent; and it is no juster to put me to death than him.

Dion. Why sayest thou, then, that it were not just he should die instead of thee?