unconscious nobility, as though there was inspiration within his heart, because of which he must interfere, must speak to these youths, should he perish. The solitary man bends over the cheerful blaze no longer. See him among these wondering youths, with the light of earnest truth beaming from every noble line of his prophet face. Listen to his solemn tone, his words of weighty import. Hear what he says to them, amazed and confounded that the stranger has at last found a voice. What does he say? he tells the story of his own grievous shipwreck; he tells them how he was tempted and how he fell; tells them of all the wiles and stratagems by which he was overcome, and how he found out only at the very last, how hollow, false, and vain they were; bids them remember the miserable man bowed down by secret sorrow, that they have all along known him, and his voice trembles with solemn earnestness, as he warns them as they love their lives--as they love the gladness which God has given them, the heritage of their youth--to refuse and reject the insinuations of the tempter, and to oppose themselves to the serpent-cunning of the blasphemer, refusing even to listen to his specious arguments and hollow one-sided logic, if they wish it to be well with them. The air of the room has grown suddenly too hot for the discomfited sceptic, the scoffer has forgotten his gibe, the grumbler his grievance, and their companions their responsive laughter. Halbert’s words of sad and stern experience, spoken in solemn warning, sink into their hearts with much effect, at least for the time. Perhaps the impression will not last, but at this moment, these thoughtless youths are startled into seriousness, and whatever the effect may be ultimately, the recollection of that thrilling appeal will linger, and that for long, in their memories. Sweet slumber and pleasant dreams has Halbert Melville this night. He lies in that fair chamber, whose windows open to the rising sun, where rested after his great fight of afflictions that happy dreamer of old, where peace is, and no visions of terror can enter, and Halbert Melville, whatever his future fate may be, whether calm or tempest, fair or foul weather, has like the pilgrim found rest. [Illustration: text decoration] [Illustration: text decoration] CHAPTER II. Maiden! with the meek brown eyes, In whose orb a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies! * * * * * O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands--Life hath snares! Care and age comes unawares!--LONGFELLOW.