I have won, through tribulation, Title to a heavenly home, Working out my own salvation Through the blood of Christ alone. Oh, my future brightest seemeth, Eye of faith, exchanged for sight, With celestial splendour beameth On through darkness into light. I have lost,--but I have won. I have won bright hopes immortal Of a heaven of peace and rest; E'en now I linger at the portal, As a kindly bidden guest. Lost and won!--oh earth! oh heaven! Hark!--I list the angels' strain, Voices in the silence even! Small the loss, and great the gain! I have lost,--but I have won. THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE. A WESTERN SKETCH. BY A MISSIONARY. It was the close of a cloudy afternoon, about sunset, in February, 1818, and I began to think it high time to seek a lodging-place. The prairie--the first I had seen, unless it might have been a patch of a few acres, the day before--was covered with snow; and, although a good many bushes grew on it, and it was somewhat "rolling"--I hope my readers know what _that_ is--I confess its aspect was to me, just then, more dreary than picturesque. Our road is best described by the term which designated it, "The old Rocky Trace," by which may be understood the "blazed" road usually travelled from Shawneetown to Kaskaskia. The dwellings were not very numerous--indeed, we had the privilege of considerable exercise in passing from one to another. Now and then a block-house, in good condition, showed the rather recent Indian troubles, which had frequently compelled the inhabitants to "fort." The sight of a cabin, after a while, was quite cheering. My wife was somewhat tired of carrying the babe all day, and was glad to see a prospect of rest and shelter. We drove up, and inquired, as usual, if we "could get to stay," not doubting an affirmative answer. And so we had; yet there was difficulty in the case. "I'm afeard, stranger, you'll have to go furder. _Our_ childer's got the hoopin'-cough, and maybe you moughtn't like yourn to go whar it mought git it--'less it's had it. You may stop, ef you're a mind to resk it, for I don't never turn anybody away; but I didn't like to let you carry your baby in without lettin' you know." Here _was_ a difficulty. We had had the child vaccinated at Pittsburg, on our way, but had used no precautionary measure against hooping-cough, and in "the dead of winter" there was some hazard in it. I looked at my wife: she looked troubled. Our friend--for he _was_ friendly--told us there was "a house on the Turkey Hill Road, a mile or two ahead; but it was a smart little bit on the _Rocky Trace_, afore we'd git any place to stop." The roads forked just where we stood, and we might choose either, to go to St. Louis; but some circumstance made it necessary for me to go through Kaskaskia. "What shall we do, wife?"