the judgment of the great day. The good widow having refused again to violate her concience and dishonour her Redeemer, by submitting to their unlawful demands, Wrathburn, in a tone of jeering and ridicule, said she had better pray, and confess herself quickly, as she had not a moment to live. It was in vain to entreat these men of Belial more. Mrs. Thomson looked with a streaming eye on her daughter. "They shall kill your mother," she said, "you will be left helpless orphans," remembering William as she spoke, "you shall be left helpless orphans in the world; but God will be your father-never forsake him, and he will never forsake you. And O my dear Helen! you know something of the Christian_religion; instruct your little brother, that I may receive you both at last into the happy place." "Short, short," cried the cruel dragoon, taking hold of his carabine. The poor widow now turned her eyes to heaven, and commended her soul into the hands of her Redeemer. The soldier who accompanied Wrathburn, softened by the tears of the mother, and the shrieks of the daughter, urged him to let the poor widow escape. But Wrathburn, in his unmercifulness, levelled his carabine, and as Mrs. Thomson's eyes were turning again from heaven on her dear child, fired the mortal shot. It took effect in her left side, touched the heart, and passed fairly through her body. Her head fell back heavily against the ground—she threw a dim look on her daughter-seemed to breathe the blessings she could not pronounce-drew her arms convulsively over her breast-again they fell back on the heath -and her soul ascended up on high. "Her blood be on her own head,” cried the brutal dragoon, as he turned his horse and galloped away, unmoved by the expiring agonies of the mother, or her little daughter, that swooned by her bloody corpse. And, O! shall he need no mercy himself? When disease shall lay its withering hand pon him, and cast him on his last bedwhen every sublunary hold shall deceive him-and when hope shall take its leave of him-and when his desire shall fail, and the sun, and the light withdraw itself-and the silver cord be loosed, and the golden bowl broken--and the wheel broken at the cistern-and the dimness, and dizziness, and terrors of death fasten upon him-shall he have no lack of the smile of God's countenance? Is he sure that he can enter the gates of death alone, and take a fearless view of the grim and ghastly visage of the king of terrors, and find his unguided way through the valley of thick darkness? Shall he be stout-hearted enough to listen unalarmed to the notes of the last trumpet-and see the earth pass away, and the sun darkened, and the stars falling, and the moon turned into blood, and the heavens rolled up like a scroll-and the Son of Man coming in the clouds to judgment? When he hears the footsteps of the summoning angels, and draws near the tribunal, and sees the books opening, and the face of the Judge frowning, and the sword of eternal justice flaming-shall he have no need of an Almighty Friend? Is he prepared to take a last sight of God's mercy-and all that is good, and all that is happy? Is he prepared to abide the unmitigated wrath of Jehovah-and take into his bosom the worm that dieth notand make his dwelling in the fire that is not quenched-and converse with utter despair, and utter destruction-and hear the gates of hell shut behind him, and the bolts of his fate driven deep for ever and ever? Ah, cruel soldier! thou art not prepared for this. The old farmer's shepherd having heard the mortal shot, came up to the place where the body of Mrs. Thomson lay: little Helen, recovered from her swoon, clung to her mother's breast, and with her arms clasped about her neck, wept, and cried, "my mother, O my mother! will you speak to me no more -will you lead me no more by the hand, and tell me of my father, of Christ, and of heaven ?" The shepherd endeavoured to soothe the child: "Your mother is gone," said he, "to meet your father, where Christ dwells. She is happy; and wishes you to be comforted. And if you be a good girl, you shall see her when you go to heaven, more lovely, more kind than ever." Talking in this way, the shepherd led Helen to the farm-house, and made known to the inmates the mournful story. The body of Mrs. Thomson was carried into the house; and it was indeed a day of mourning and lamentation in the house of the old farmer. Every one wept, as if he had lost a mother; so much was Mrs. Thomson loved by young and old, for her sober cheerfulness, modest piety, and kind instructions in righteousness. Little William wept aloud: and it was an affecting sight to see Helen, while weeping herself, trying to soothe and comfort her brother. It may be supposed that she could not remember the whole of her mother's dying advice; but her ear had caught these words, and they were imprinted on her memory for ever, "Never forsake God, and he will never forsake you. Instruct your little brother, that I may receive you both at last into heaven." "We shall go to our mother in the happy place," said Helen to her little brother; "I have heard her say, and I have read in the Bible, that Christ loves little children like us; and if we be good, he will come, and take us to our mother." While Helen talked thus, William would wipe his eyes, and seem now to believe, now to mistrust her words. Again would they remember the pale lips, and motionless eye of their mother, and burst into tears; and again, the hope of meeting her gleamed on their souls, as, clasped in one another's arms, the two orphans wept themselves fast asleep, while the darkness of night came down on the untenanted hut of Cleughhead. On the Tuesday following, the old farmer gathered two or three of his friends, and the remains of Mrs. Thomson were commit. ted to the dust, near the spot, as was fre. quently the case in those days, where she died a martyr to the holy religion of Jesus. How much ridicule soever, young reader, irreligion, or misguided genius may throw on her memory, or the memories of those like her, it is to her, and to those like her, that we owe much of our civil liberty, and the plentiful streams of the water of life, which flow to-day in the midst of our land. And shall the Christian take up the books of those who deliberately laugh at their memories, and laugh along with them? Shall the Christian hear their sufferings jeered at, their motives misconstrued, and their doings misrepresented, and yet give a smile of half approbation? Were our persecuted ancestors robbed of their goods? were they hunted like the wild beast of the mountains? were they imprisoned? were they tortured? were they banished? were they murdered? Did they eat the bread of affliction, and drink the water of affliction, and watch at cold midnight, in the caves, and the dens, of the wilderness? Did they set their breasts of heavenly heroism to the floods and the fires of hellish rage, that the manna of life might never be driven from our native land? Did their blood flow on the scaffold, and their groans lament on the desert, that we should drink in abundance, the streams C |