CHAPTER XI.

The Curse Revoked--Conclusion

*THE CAPTAIN'S STORY.*

*CHAPTER I.*

The Stranger--The Castle--The Captain's Soliloquy--The Pastor--The

Invitation.

"I travelled among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea;

Nor did I know, sweet home, till then,

What love I bore to thee.

"'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

--WORDSWORTH.

Towards the close of a beautiful day in autumn, the last rays of the

setting sun were gilding the tops of the mountains, which overhang the

picturesque valley of Bergstrasse, along which winds the road from

Heidelberg to Frankfort. The heavily laden country carts and waggons

were toiling slowly along the dusty highway, both horses and drivers

looking hot and tired, and both, no doubt, very glad that they had

nearly reached the end of their day's journey; while every now and then

a horseman, or a carriage with ladies and gentlemen inside, dashed

rapidly along, and soon left the more heavily loaded vehicles far

behind. What a striking picture of human life and the great journey we

all are taking--some of us struggling wearily, and oftentimes painfully,

but always, let us trust, hopefully, under a heavy load, and others

trotting merrily along their course, happy, and apparently at least free

from care. Who shall say which of the two shall reach the end most

safely!

While the broad high-road presented this animated scene, the steep rocky

footpath cut in the side of the mountain, and leading up to the old

ruined castle of Aurburg on its summit, was almost deserted; not quite

deserted, though; for, toiling up the steep ascent was an old man, who,

in spite of the help afforded him by his stout bamboo cane, looked very

tired as he went slowly along. He was rather a strange-looking old man,

respectably dressed, and with a pleasant-looking face; but his clothes

and general appearance were different from those of the people commonly

seen about there, and his bronzed, weather-beaten features showed him to

be, if not a foreigner, one who had evidently been for some time in a

foreign country. Indeed, the little boy who passed him on his way down

to the valley with his goats, and the little girl going home with her

bundle of sticks for the fire, seemed half afraid of him as they bade

him good-night, and even when he had gone by, they turned round to look

at him as he went on up the mountain-side.

In spite of his evident weariness, the stranger kept bravely on; and

just as the sun was disappearing behind a long range of mountains in the

west, he reached the ruins of the old castle, of which only one tower

and a few walls were then standing. Here he sat down to rest himself on

a large heap of stones which had long since fallen from the walls of the

castle, and were now all overgrown with lichens and ferns, and seemed

for some moments lost in thought. His eyes wandered over the rich

landscape which lay spread out beneath his feet; then, giving vent to

the emotions which filled his heart, he exclaimed: "Yes, this is the old

place again, and after forty years' absence I have at last returned to

take one more look at these mountains and forests which I remember so

well. There, too, far away down the valley, glides the beautiful river,

along whose banks I so often wandered when I was a boy. Ah, it is a

true saying, 'There is no place like home!' And yet, after all, our

real home is not in this world, but in heaven. There are all who were

dear to me, and there I trust soon to meet them again; but now I am left

alone--alone in the world! What a change a few short years have made!"

The old man sat silent for a few minutes, and then in a voice full of

emotion began singing part of a beautiful English hymn which touchingly

expresses the instability of all human affairs:--

"Change and decay on all around I see:

O Thou that changest not, abide with me."

While he was singing, two children, hearing him, came close up behind

him, and when he had finished began to cough in order to attract his

attention. For some time he took no notice, but at last he turned, and

saw two nicely-dressed children, a little boy and girl, who wished him

good evening and made a bow. He was about to speak to them, when their

father, who had also heard him singing, came up, and supposing him to be

an Englishman, said to him in English, "Although, sir, we are strangers,

it is true, those beautiful words you were singing, which I am sure come

from your heart, prove to me that we both look up to one common Father

in heaven. I am the pastor of the little village you can see down

there, at the foot of the mountain. But it is growing dark, and if, as

I presume, you are a stranger in these parts, I can gladly offer you the

simple accommodation of my cottage for the night."

The stranger answered in German: "Your kind invitation is very welcome,

sir. An old sea-captain like me is not much in the habit of paying

compliments; I can only say I gladly accept your hospitality."

Guided by the last glimmer of twilight, they took their way at once

towards the peaceful village, the steeple of which was just peeping up

above the trees. On their way the captain told the pastor that he bad

only arrived at the neighbouring village of Aurbach that afternoon.

"But," said he, "I could not rest, tired as I was with my day's

travelling, until I had been up here to look at the old castle, which I

have not seen for forty years."

*CHAPTER II.*

The Children's Expectation Disappointed--The Scapegrace--The Forester's

House--Curiosity of the Villagers--Their Remarks--The Captain's Luggage.

"I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled

Above the green elms, that a cottage was near;

And I said, 'If there's peace to be found in the world,

A heart that was humble might hope for it here.'

"It was noon, and on flowers that languished around,

In silence reposed the voluptuous bee;

Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree."

--MOORE.

Night had already closed in when they reached the village, and the moon

was just appearing over the tops of the mountains. Here they were met by

the pastor's wife. She had already heard of the stranger's arrival from

the two children, who had run home before. "Pray do not be alarmed at

the sight of a strange and unexpected guest," said the old man to her,

"I hope my arrival will not inconvenience you at all." "Not in the

least, sir," replied she, "you are very welcome to such accommodation as

we can offer."

Upon this they entered the house, and were soon comfortably seated in

the parlour, while the children, who had heard that the stranger was a

great traveller, listened very attentively, hoping that he would begin

talking of his long voyages, and perhaps tell them some interesting

stories of his adventures. This evening, however, they were doomed to

be disappointed, for though the captain could easily have satisfied

their curiosity, and amused them for a long time with an account of some

of the dangers he had passed through, and the many foreign countries he

had visited, he seemed just then to be more inclined to seek for

information on different points, than to talk about himself and his own

doings.

He began by asking the pastor a great many questions about different

places in the neighbourhood, and the people (several of whose names he

knew) who used to live there; and seemed very much interested in all he

heard. He then inquired whether there were still living any descendants

of the former pastor, a Mr Buchman. "So far as I know, there are none,"

replied the pastor, "indeed, I understand he had only one son, a regular

scapegrace, who left home a long time ago, and has never been heard of

since." "It must be nearly forty years since Pastor Buchman lived

here," he added, "perhaps you remember him?"

"Indeed I do," said the captain, "I remember him well, for he was my

father, and I am no other than the only son you spoke of!"

"Is it possible?" cried the worthy man, a little disconcerted; "are you

indeed that very young man, of whose wilful character I have heard so

many speak? Forgive me, my friend, for having spoken of you as a

scapegrace. How could I imagine that you, who as a boy were so wild and

disobedient, would have become a quiet and pious man, as you seem to me

to be." "Yes, thank God," said the captain in a voice trembling with

emotion, "He has at length, after many hard trials and severe

chastisements, shown me the error of my ways, and guided my feet into

the way of peace. But pray excuse my speaking more on this subject just

now. I could scarcely relate all the details of my long story to-night,

and, fatigued as I am, it would be too much for me; indeed, as it is,

the idea of passing the night under your roof almost overcomes me; for

this is the very house that I was born in, and here, too, my parents

both died."

Notwithstanding his anxiety to hear a full account of the extraordinary

events in the life of his guest, the worthy pastor considerately

forebore to touch on the subject again during the evening. As to the

children, they did not cease to pay the greatest attention, hoping to

hear, at least, something interesting, but in vain. The captain sat

buried in thought, and during the short time before supper scarcely

spoke a word. Directly after supper, the pastor read a chapter from the

Bible, and made a short evening prayer, and then the children had to go

to bed. This seemed to them a greater hardship to-night than it had

ever done before, and they could not help thinking, as they went

up-stairs, that perhaps the captain might relate his adventures after

they had gone, and so they should miss hearing them. They kept all these

thoughts to themselves, however, for they were good, obedient children,

and went to bed without murmuring.

After they had left the room, the captain still refrained from speaking

on the subject of his travels, only telling the pastor of his intention

of spending the rest of his life in his native village, if he could find

a suitable house, either to rent or buy. His host heard this resolution

with pleasure, and told him that there was a neat, comfortable cottage,

close by his own parsonage, which was for sale; it had belonged to a

forester who had died about six months ago, and would, he thought, be

very likely to suit him. They continued talking on various subjects for

some little time, till the pastor's wife reminded them that it was past

ten o'clock. Upon this they went up to bed; but for nearly an hour

afterwards the pastor heard his guest, who slept in an adjoining room,

walking up and down, and occasionally praying in a loud voice. After a

time, however, all was silent, and peaceful sleep closed the labours of

the day.

The next morning the two children were the first down-stairs. They had

always been accustomed to get up early, and little Willie, when only

four years old, once said to his father, "Isn't it a shame, papa, to let

the sun get up before we do? He must be more tired than we are, for he

has such a long way to go every day." Their father usually employed the

first part of the morning in taking them both out for a walk, either up

the mountains, or in the fields, or perhaps into the forest, where they

would gather ferns or flowers, and get him to tell them their names.

But to-day they seemed so anxious to hear the captain's adventures, that

they did not like to go out far, for fear they might miss some

opportunity of hearing his story; and they could scarcely contain their

joy when their mother told them that he was not going to leave Dornbach

(that was the name of the village), but was going to live at the

forester's house.

In a retired country village like Dornbach, where everything went on

from one week's end to another in the same quiet manner, it was rarely

indeed that anything occurred to furnish the villagers with a new topic

of conversation, and every traveller who stopped at the road-side inn,

if it were only to bait his horse, created quite a sensation. If the

stranger should happen to get into conversation with any one, for the

next three days at least every one in the place would be talking about

him. This was specially the case now when the report was spread that

the captain of a ship had arrived at the parsonage, not for a passing

visit, but with the intention of settling in the neighbourhood; and when

it was further reported that this old captain was no other than the much

talked-of son of the late Pastor Buchman, well remembered by the older

inhabitants as the scapegrace, the excitement of the good people of

Dornbach was immense. This was now the subject of everybody's

conversation. The people all seemed to have forgotten their ordinary

occupations; everywhere they were to be seen gathered together in

groups, talking about the news of the day, of which, however, as yet

they knew very little.

"Oh yes, I have seen him," said old Hannah; "I saw him yesterday, when

he first came to the village."

"Is he not very rich?" asked another.

"Of course he is," said Frau Margaret; "how can he be otherwise, if he

is really the captain of a ship? I'm sure he must have a million of

money."

"A million of money!" muttered the old bailiff; "if he had half as much

as that he would never think of shutting himself up in an out-of-the-way

village like this."

"If he had twice as much," said old father Nicholas, with an air of

irony, "he would not have it long, if he is anything like what he used

to be. Ah, I remember him well: I was at school with him, and if ever

there was a spendthrift in the world, one who did not even seem to know

there was such a word as 'save,' believe me, he is the man."

In short, every one had something to say on the subject, in spite of the

fact that no one knew anything about it; and after a great deal had been

said, they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to

wait and see what would happen.

While all this was going on in the village, the captain had sent down to

the inn at Aurbach, where he had left his luggage, and ordered it to be

sent to Dornbach, to his new house, which the bailiff had put into good

repair for him. He had also borrowed some necessary furniture from his

good friend the pastor, until he could get some of his own from the

neighbouring town. When the cart arrived with his boxes and portmanteaus

in it, the curiosity of the villagers received a fresh impetus. "What

can he have in that strong-looking box?" said one. "If it were money,

two men could could never carry it. And look what a number of packages

besides! I can't think what a single man can want with so much

luggage."

"How do you know he is single?" answered another: "he may, for all we

know, have a wife and family, who will come down here when his house is

ready for them."

"Well, well, perhaps that is it," said a third, who stood opposite; "we

must wait and see."

Willie and his sister Mary were quite as curious as any one else, and

kept asking their papa what all those boxes contained. "I really do not

know," was his answer; "perhaps when he has unpacked them he will show

you some day, if you are good children."

The captain soon set to work unpacking, but for more than a week he did

not ask any of his friends to go and look at his treasures. Even the old

servant whom he had engaged was not allowed to go into the room where

most of his boxes were, so that for a time every one's curiosity

remained unsatisfied. As it was only a few steps through his garden

(which joined that of the pastor) to the parsonage, he had made

arrangements with the pastor's wife to dine with them regularly, so that

he might not be troubled with the duties of housekeeping.

*CHAPTER III.*

Invitation to Tea--Negroes--Curiosities--The Fable of the Grasshopper

and the Ant--The Explanation.

"Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round;

And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,

That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,

So let us welcome peaceful evening in."

--COWPER.

One evening, a little more than a week after the captain had moved into

the forester's house, he invited the pastor and his wife and the two

children to go and take tea with him. On arriving at the house they were

shown at once into the room which had been kept so securely locked up

since the luggage had arrived, and were delighted at seeing the result

of his labours. The children, too, were much amused with looking at

some tapestry which covered one of the walls, representing three black

slaves in the act of handing coffee and refreshments to the visitors.

These were as large as life, and so well done, that at first the

children were quite frightened, believing them to be real negroes. When

they were all seated, the captain gave them some genuine and very rare

tea served in fine porcelain cups which he had brought from China, and

also some nice preserved fruits and sweetmeats from the Indies. The

room was quite full of curiosities of all kinds, and the pastor's wife

was much interested in looking at some beautiful silks from the Levant,

and several curiously carved boxes containing spices from the Molucca

Islands, and also coffee and cocoa-berries, cotton-pods, and specimens

of many other useful articles, which in their prepared state were well

known to her.

The chief attraction for the pastor and the two children was a fine

collection of objects of natural history, which the captain had already

found time to put in order. There were some stuffed birds from foreign

countries, which the captain had shot, and several cases containing a

great many splendid butterflies from Brazil. They saw also, hanging on

the walls of the room, wooden spears and roughly-made axes, with bows

and arrows, and other weapons used by the savages of different countries

which their host had visited. On the mantel-piece, too, were some lumps

of amber from the Black Sea, porphyry from the ruins of Carthage, large

shells and fine pieces of coral, agate, and many other curiosities from

the sea. Beside the large shells on the mantel-piece, there was a

beautiful collection of smaller ones in a small cabinet on the

sideboard. In another cabinet, which was made of ebony, and handsomely

inlaid with mother-of-pearl and silver, they were shown a valuable

assortment of precious stones from Persia and the Indies.

The delight of the children when they saw all these curiosities was

unbounded, and they asked so many questions, first about one thing they

saw and then about another, that it was impossible for the captain to

satisfy their curiosity in one evening. When the time came for them to

go home, they were very sorry, but were consoled by the hope of often

visiting their kind friend, and getting him to tell them all about his

different treasures. After this first visit, the children were often

allowed to go over to see the captain, and each time they did so he had

something new to surprise them with--either some curiosity to show them,

or perhaps a long and interesting story to tell them about some of the

foreign countries he had visited. Sometimes, too, he would let them

read to him out of a little book full of pretty stories and fables which

he had bought, and then he would explain to them all that they read.

One day they had been reading the fable of the grasshopper and the ant,

in which the grasshopper is represented as blaming the ant for working

so hard during the fine summer weather, instead of enjoying the bright

sunshine, and leaving the future to take care of itself. The ant

replies that she knows it is very pleasant to have nothing to do but to

play and sing among the grass and the flowers, but instinct has taught

her that the bright warm weather must in time be exchanged for cold

gloomy days with frost and snow, when no food is to be got, and so she

is seeking, while she has an opportunity, to lay up a store against a

rainy day. The captain asked little Mary if she knew what was meant by

the grasshopper in the fable. "I don't know," was her answer; "but I

think it must mean a man."

"Yes, my dear," said he, "it does represent a man; but what sort of man?

Perhaps Willie can tell us."

"I suppose," said Willie, after thinking a little while, "that the

grasshopper in the fable is intended to represent those people who live

without any care for the future, and who, when they have plenty of

everything around them, forget that a time may come when they will not

be able to work, and who never lay up anything for their future wants."

"That is quite right," said the captain, "and we may learn, too, from

this fable, to make a good use of our opportunities while we have

them,--not only to lay by money as a provision for old age, but, while

we are young, to try by diligence and study to lay in a store of useful

knowledge, and above all to 'remember our Creator in the days of our

youth,' instead of leaving it to an old age, which we may never live to

see."

*CHAPTER IV.*

The Portrait--The Captain begins his Story--His Wilfulness--Goes to the

University--Bad Behaviour there--His Father's Letter--Refuses to send

him Money--He Runs Away.

"In all my wanderings round this world of care,

In all my griefs--and God has given my share--

I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;

* * * * *

Around my fire an evening group to draw,

And tell of all I felt, and all I saw."

--GOLDSMITH.

Every time the pastor went to see the captain, he could not help

noticing that his eyes were very often fixed on a portrait which hung

just over the looking-glass, and he noticed, too, that whenever he was

looking at it, his eyes were filled with tears. At first, from a

feeling of delicacy, he did not like to ask him the cause of this; but

at length he thought that his title of friend added to that of pastor

made it his duty to endeavour to free his friend from the burden of some

unhappy memory, under which he was evidently labouring. One day, then,

when he found him alone, he said to him, "My dear friend, how is it that

you are always gazing at that portrait with such an expression of

sadness on your countenance?"

"All, my dear pastor," answered the captain, "your question touches the

spring of all my grief. Even now, that all my wanderings are over, and

I am settled down here, leading such a peaceful, quiet life in my native

village, how can I be happy when every moment the memory of him whose

face you see there comes up before my mind?"

"Whose portrait is it, then?" asked the pastor.

"It is my father's," was the reply; "but for you to fully understand my

feelings when I think of him, you must know something of my history; and

as the present is a good opportunity, I will relate my story to you and

to your family. I should like you all to know what troubles I have

passed through."

The pastor's wife and children did not want asking twice to come and

listen to the captain's adventures, which they had so long been hoping

and longing to hear. When they had all come and were seated, he began

his story.

"I was, as you know, born in this village in the year 17--. Shortly

after my birth, my mother died, leaving me, her only child, to my

father's care. He, sadly distressed at her loss, resolved never to

marry again. He was a pious and very learned man, and as I grew up he

took great pains to instruct me in the fear of God; but his parochial

duties and his studies prevented him from having me constantly under his

own eye. I was, indeed, left in a great measure to the care of an old

aunt, who was very deaf, and whose weak, easy good-nature could not

restrain my naturally headstrong disposition, so that I had no lack of

opportunities for disobeying my father's commands, and satisfying my own

taste for amusements of which he did not approve. I never found any

difficulty in learning, and indeed could always get my tasks done long

before the time I had to say them, so that I had a great deal of spare

time on my hands which I used to spend in the streets, playing with the

little boys of the village, who taught me a great many bad habits.

Whenever I was found out, it is true, I was severely punished, and for a

little while was more sharply looked after, but I too often managed to

deceive my father, and did not hesitate even at falsehoods in order to

be able to follow the bent of my own bad disposition.

"My father had intended that I should become a pastor like himself. My

taste, however, was rather for a life of travels; but I dared not set up

my will in opposition to his, and in my eighteenth year I left his house

and entered the University at Giessen. The liberty which the students

there enjoyed pleased me amazingly, and I endeavoured to avail myself of

it to the utmost. I studied, however, with great diligence, and my

natural aptitude for learning always left me plenty of time to devote to

pleasure. Little by little I found my studies become irksome to me, and

my desire for amusement increase, until at length I entirely gave up all

serious occupations, and used to pass all my time either in

pleasure-parties or in the public house. Before I left home my bad

behaviour had gained for me the name of the Scapegrace, and at the

University I did my best to show myself worthy of the title.

"It was not long before my father was informed of my disorderly conduct,

and you can understand what impression such a report made upon him. He

wrote me a most affectionate letter, full of the most touching

exhortations to give up my evil course. This at the time sensibly moved

me, and made me seriously resolve to turn over a new leaf. Soon,

however, my love of pleasure, aided by the influence of bad companions,

made me break through all my good resolutions; I was ashamed of what my

associates called my weakness, and I soon fell lower than ever. Oh how

deeply has the experience of that time proved to me the truth of that

saying of an old French writer, 'The being ashamed of what is right is

the root and source of all our misery.'

"When my father saw that all his exhortations were without effect, and

all my promises without any result, he tried the plan of refusing to

send me any more money, hoping that the want of means to indulge my bad

habits would bring me back to a better frame of mind. This plan,

however, was far from being successful. I soon got into debt, and when

at last no one would trust me any longer, I sold my books and every

article of value that I had, and getting on the coach, I resolved to

make my way to Amsterdam and go to sea. The journey to Amsterdam suited

me very well, for I found most of my travelling companions were young

men of about my own stamp, and with them I passed the time pleasantly

enough. Over and over again, I repeated to myself the foolish wish, 'Oh

that I could be always as happy as I am now.'"

*CHAPTER V.*

He writes to his Father--Arrives at Amsterdam--His Father's Answer--The

Curse--On the Quay--Meets a Fellow Countryman--Is Kidnapped and

Robbed--Sent to Sea--Endures many Hardships.

"Thorns and snares are in the way of the froward: he that doth keep his

soul shall be far from them."--PROV. xxii. 5.

"Before quitting Giessen I had written to my father to tell him of my

resolution, and I had also the effrontery to ask him to send me some

money. He was, you may be sure, deeply grieved on receiving such a

letter, but when I reached Amsterdam I found an answer from him, in

which he enclosed L20. The letter contained the most earnest and

affectionate exhortations to me to return and repent, assuring me of his

willingness to forgive me if I did so; if, however, in spite of all he

could say, I should refuse and still persist in my mad and wicked

course, he added, 'My curse shall be upon you, and follow you always.'

I was much agitated by these terrible words, and I seriously thought

when I read them that I dared not go on; but whether it was that I was

ashamed to go back, or from my desire to travel about the world, or the

idea that such a threat uttered, I was sure, in a moment of anger, would

never be fulfilled, I hardened my heart against my better feelings, and

obstinately persisted in the course I had chosen. Alas, how soon was I

to know, by bitter experience, the terrible effects of a father's curse!

"However, I strove to dismiss all such thoughts from my mind, and went

down to the quay with all my money, nearly L30, in my pocket, to look

out for a ship about to sail either for North America or the Indies. I

was not very particular which, my great desire being to get to sea as

soon as possible, and then, I thought, my happiness will begin. Having

heard that there was a fine vessel then loading for Surinam, I took a

boat and went on board to see the captain, but I soon found my means

were insufficient for such a long voyage, and returned from the ship

quite low-spirited. This may seem strange, but it is a fact that

whenever we are doing wrong wilfully, and pursuing any course which our

conscience cannot approve, the slightest repulse is sufficient to cause

us great uneasiness, and any little hindrance we may meet with, which at

another time we should think nothing of, is then enough to make us quite

unhappy. This was the case with me, and I felt very miserable as I was

walking up and down the quay. The course I had chosen was one of

disobedience and sin, and I was realising the truth of the words, 'There

is no peace to the wicked.'

"I had been walking up and down for nearly a quarter of an hour in this

way, when on raising my eyes I noticed a well-dressed young man

apparently waiting to speak to me. When I got near him he bowed

politely, and addressed me in German, 'Excuse me, sir, but you seem to

be a stranger in this town, and, if I am not mistaken, a German. I am

also quite a stranger here, and I am rejoiced to meet with a

fellow-countryman.' I was very glad to hear this, and assured him of

the pleasure I felt at meeting him, and thus we soon got into

conversation together.

"When he heard that I intended to go abroad, and thought of going to

North America, he seemed agreeably surprised, and told me that he had

just engaged a passage to New York in a vessel which was to sail the

next day, and added, 'If you like, I can take you to the captain's

house, for I think he has room for another passenger, and on our way we

can see the vessel, which is not far from here.' I thanked him for his

kind offer, and we walked arm in arm down the quay, where he soon showed

me the ship riding at anchor. She was a fine vessel, newly painted, and

looking very trim and neat. It seemed a very long way to the captain's

house, and I am sure we must have gone more than a mile together before

we got there. My new friend seemed to know the house well, and led me

down several passages, to a little room at the back of the premises,

where he left me, telling me he would go and call the captain. As he

went out, I heard a slight grating noise, as though he had locked the

door after him; and, though I quite laughed at the idea, yet after

waiting impatiently for nearly half-an-hour for the captain to come, I

thought I would just look up and down the passage and see if I could

find any one who would tell me where he was.

"On reaching the door, you may imagine my consternation at finding it

was indeed locked. Horror seized me, for I found I was like a mouse

caught in a trap. I flew to the window and found it was securely nailed

down, and then saw, what I had not noticed before, that it was guarded

outside by stout iron bars. I now began to realise the situation I was

in, and concluded that I was the victim of one of those crimps, or

kidnappers, who in those times infested seaport towns, and, as I had

read, used all manner of artifices to decoy unwary travellers into their

dens in order to rob them, and then sell them into the military service

of some distant colony. This thought almost drove me frantic. I tore

my hair and wrung my hands, and stamped on the floor with my feet. I

screamed and called for help, but all in vain: my prison was too well

chosen for my cries to reach any but the persons of the house, and after

an hour spent in vain endeavours to escape, I sank exhausted into a

chair, and sullenly awaited my fate.

"After waiting about two hours (as it seemed to me) in this terrible

state of rage, grief, and despair, I heard the door unlocked and

prepared myself to make one desperate effort for my liberty. The door

was thrown open, and I felt my last chance of escape was gone, when I

saw two men enter with pistols, loaded and cocked, in their hands. They

soon compelled me, by threats of instant death if I resisted, to hand

over all my money to them, and then I was obliged to change my clothes

for a very dirty sailor's dress which one of them had brought with him.

They were deaf to all my entreaties for pity, and though I wept and

besought them to let me go, even if they took all I had from me, and

promised them a liberal reward, it was all in vain; they took no notice

whatever of my complaints, and merely putting down some bread and

cheese, and a mug of water on the table, they gathered up all my

clothes, and left me to my own reflections.

"When night came on, I was again aroused and taken out of the house by a

back-door and conveyed on board a ship, where I found several other

young men, who, I concluded from their melancholy and dejected air, were

in a similar predicament to myself. Our captors were too numerous and

well-armed for resistance to be of any avail, and as I could see that

anything of the kind must only end in making our situation still worse

than it was, I made up my mind to suffer all my misery as patiently as I

could.

"As long as we were in sight of the land we were kept down in the hold,

and carefully guarded day and night by armed men, and I was quite

thankful when we got well out to sea, and were allowed to go on deck. We

soon found, however, that our masters had no intention of letting us be

idle during the voyage, for we were kept constantly employed about the

ship, and made to do all the hardest and dirtiest work. This was very

distasteful to me with my lazy habits, for I had never done a day's hard

work before in my life, and latterly even study had become quite irksome

to me. The curse which my father had pronounced upon me had already

begun to be terribly fulfilled, and I now began to believe that it was

indeed to follow me always."

*CHAPTER VI.*

The Tempest--All Hope Lost--The Ship Founders--The only Survivor--The

Spar--Remorse--The Rock--A Sail in Sight--The Signal--Despair--The Sail

in Sight again--The Signal Seen--Saved--He Works his Passage to

England--Is Tired of a Seafaring Life.

"Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the north-east;

The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows frothed like yeast.

"Down came the storm and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

Then leaped her cable's length."

--LONGFELLOW.

"When I was at the university, I had indeed been accustomed to low

society; but when I came to hear the conversation of some of the sailors

on board, my hair stood on end with horror. I would have given anything

to have been employed in some way, so that I might have avoided hearing

all day long the terrible oaths of these wicked men, compared with whom

I seemed to myself to be a very model of excellence; but as I had

neglected the study of mathematics when I had the opportunity, I had not

sufficient knowledge of the principles of navigation to be employed in

anything but manual labour.

"Our ship was freighted for Batavia, so that I had no hope of any change

for the better in my miserable condition for a long time, and my

wretchedness reached its height when I was told that on our arrival I

should be compelled to join a regiment of Dutch troops. No life,

indeed, could be less to my taste than that of a soldier, on account of

the strict discipline which is always enforced in the army. It was,

however, decreed that we should never reach our destination.

"Soon after we had crossed the Line, a sudden and violent gale drove our

vessel out of her course, and for two days and nights we were driving at

the mercy of the wind. No sooner had we succeeded in making some little

way against this gale, than a violent tempest arose, and we were obliged

to devote all our attention to saving the ship. AH round the ship the

sea and sky were enveloped in thick darkness, broken by repeated flashes

of lightning, which served only to show us the danger of our position.

At one moment the vessel rose on the tops of the immense mountain-like

waves, and the instant after plunged down into a vast hollow, leaving

the waters standing up around us like a wall. While one party of the

sailors were trying in vain to furl the sails, the rest were kept busily

at work at the pumps. By this time the hold was half full of water, and

every moment we were expecting the ship to go to pieces, as her timbers

were too old and rotten to bear the strain upon them. Soon we lost all

hope of saving the ship, and the crew ceased making any further

exertions, every one seeking for some means of saving his own life. The

vessel then began to settle deeper and deeper in the water, and soon

after disappeared beneath the waves. Before this, however, I had thrown

myself into the sea, and was then clinging to a part of the mast, which

had been washed away. Several of the crew beside myself had sought for

safety in a similar way; but when the sky grew a little lighter, and I

was able to look around me, I could see no one, I seemed to be the only

survivor.

[Illustration: "Clinging to a part of the mast which had been washed

away."]

"The storm continued to rage furiously all night, and it was with

difficulty that I managed to keep on the slippery spar which was now my

only support. All night long, amid the howling of the tempest, I seemed

to hear my father's words ringing in my ears. I tried to pray, but

remorse was busy in my heart, and conscience kept repeating to me, 'Why

did you not return to your father, like the prodigal son, when you knew

he was ready to forgive you, and to receive you with outstretched arms?'

At length this terrible night, the longest I have ever passed through,

came to an end, and when at last daylight returned, I was very thankful

to see, close by me, a large rock, which I managed to reach, though not

without great difficulty. Benumbed as I was with passing the night in

the water, I clung eagerly to it, and, after resting a while, dragged my

weary limbs as high above the water as I could, and gazed eagerly out

over the wide expanse of sea. For a long time, however, I looked in vain

for any signs of help; but at length, to my great joy, I descried a sail

far away in the distance, apparently making towards me.

"I was so weak and faint with my long immersion, that although this

sight seemed to put new life in me, it was as much as I could do to

clamber up to the top of the rock, and my hands and feet were much cut

by the sharp shells and edges of rock. I scarcely noticed this, so

great was my eagerness to make a signal to the ship I had seen, and to

let those on board know that on this solitary reef there was a poor

shipwrecked mariner. I had of course no means of making a fire, so I at

once pulled off my shirt and waved it in the air, as the only way I had

to make myself seen. All was in vain: the ship was too far off to

notice my signal, and instead of coming nearer, as I had hoped, she

tacked round on another course, and gradually disappeared in the

distance.

"As the vessel slowly faded away from my sight, I sank down on the rock

in despair. My situation was indeed desperate; the small rock on which

I was, was only about fifty yards in circumference, and had nothing but

a little moss and sea-weed growing on it. It is true there were a few

shell-fish clinging to it, but I knew it would be impossible for me to

support myself long on them, and besides, I had not a drop of water. I

feared that I had only escaped death by drowning, to perish more

miserably still by starvation. But even in this extremity, God's

goodness was watching over me, although I had so long despised and

forgotten Him. Suddenly a breeze sprang up from the westward, and I had

the unspeakable joy of seeing the very ship which had passed in the

morning heave in sight once more. Again I waved my shirt in the air,

and made every signal I could think of, and, after a long time, what was

my delight to see that I was observed. A boat was soon lowered, and

half an hour afterwards I found myself on board the good ship _Morning

Star_, homeward bound to England from India.

"The captain received me very kindly, and supplied me with some dry

clothes, giving me at the same time a good meal, of which I stood much

in need. The anxiety and exposure I had undergone, however, made me

quite ill, and for three or four days I was under the doctor's care. On

my recovery, I was obliged to work my passage home, and this employment

became so distasteful to me, that I quite lost all my love of roving,

and made up my mind, if once I got safely on shore, never again to set

my foot on board ship."

*CHAPTER VII.*

He Arrives at Portsmouth--Resolves to Return to his Father--Arrives at

Rotterdam--Sunday Morning--Writes to his Father--Is Penniless--The Curse

of Disobedience--The Sermon--Is Starving--Obtains Temporary Belief from

an Old Fellow-Student--Receives News of his Father's Death--His Sorrow

and Remorse--Goes to Sea Again--Becomes Captain of a Ship.

"Wild is the whirlwind rolling

O'er Afric's sandy plain,

And wild the tempest howling

Along the billowed main;

But every danger felt before--

The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar.

Less dreadful struck me with dismay,

Than what I feel this fatal day."

--GOLDSMITH.

"After a favourable voyage we arrived at Portsmouth, to which port the

ship was bound. I took leave of the captain to seek my fortune

elsewhere. He wished me good luck, and paid me my wages for the

homeward passage, which, however, did not last me long. Finding myself

again penniless, and without any means of earning my living, I resolved

to return to my father. Accordingly, I shipped as a common sailor on

board a bark bound for Holland. We had beautiful weather, and after a

very good passage I landed at Rotterdam. It was early on a Sunday

morning, and as there was no business connected with the ship to prevent

me, I thought I could not do less than go to church, and there give

thanks to God for the great deliverance He had given me. This will show

that the dangers through which I had passed, and the experience I had

gained, had not been without some influence on the state of my soul. I

had become more serious, my outward conduct, at least, was much

improved; but, notwithstanding this, I had as yet experienced no real

change of heart.

"Had I but fully realised the meaning of the sermon I heard that day, I

should have felt that something more than this was necessary--a real

inward purification, and a complete renunciation, even in thought, of

the sins which had led me astray. One part of the discourse ran

thus:--'God regards not only those things which a man does, not only his

outward actions; His eye can also see our inmost thoughts, and He knows

the true motive of every action of our lives. He regards not the

outward appearance, but the inner reality; not the shell, but the

kernel; that is, the inmost feeling and disposition of the heart; the

shell is only the outward act. He sees the grain, and not the husk only;

the treasure, not the box which contains it; the sword, and not the

scabbard which hides it from our less penetrating view. What can it

avail to have the scabbard ornamented with gold and jewels, if in the

day of battle the sword is found edgeless, and covered with rust? Who

would value a crop, however fine it might look as it stands in the

field, if all the ears of corn were blighted and withered? Doubtless it

is well that our outward actions should be of the highest and noblest

character; this is indeed the sign of a well-regulated and religious

life; but only truly are they such when they proceed from pure and noble

motives, and are the expression of sound principles within.'

"The same day I wrote to my father again, and told him how I was

situated. I assured him of my true repentance, and begged him to send

me sufficient money to enable me to return to him. But while waiting to

hear from him, I had only about two shillings in my pocket, and this was

entirely gone by Wednesday. I knew his reply could not reach me for

four days, and in the meantime I had not a penny to pay for board and

lodging. I would not beg, though my circumstances were really worse

than those of the poorest beggar in the streets, and I had not then that

faith and trust in our heavenly Father's care, which I have since

through His mercy been enabled to feel. I knew not as yet what it was

to be a child of God. I determined, however, to bear my hunger till

some relief arrived from my father. All day on Friday I had literally

nothing to eat, and by Saturday night I felt weak and ill in the

extreme; and still those words of my father were ringing in my ears, 'My

curse shall be upon you.' I had long lived in abundance, and squandered

away pounds upon pounds; now I was to know by experience what it is to

be in want. In this pitiable condition, having no means of obtaining a

lodging, I crept under a boat hauled up upon the beach for the night,

and obtained a few hours' forgetfulness of my misery.

"When I awoke, I felt very wretched and low-spirited; but remembering

that this was Sunday, I determined to go to church again and listen to

another sermon, hoping to hear something there that might afford me some

comfort. My hope was not in vain. The minister spoke most feelingly of

the love of God, and of the care which He takes of all His creatures.

His text, and the explanation he gave of it, seemed so exactly suited to

my own case, that I almost thought the preacher must have known my

circumstances, and chosen it expressly for my benefit. I was much

affected, and on my return I wrote on a sheet of paper (which I have

ever since carefully preserved), the following passages, which seemed

peculiarly applicable to my own case. The text was from St. Matthew vi.

26, 'Behold the fowls of the air.'--'Yes, consider them attentively, for

even they can teach us a lesson. How beautiful they are! how lively and

active in all their motions! They of all created things seem specially

adapted to give delight to the eye of man by their brilliant plumage and

graceful evolutions, and to charm his ears by their melodious songs.

Their homes are in the tops of the highest trees; they wing their course

far up above our heads, and indeed seem to belong more to heaven than to

earth.

"'Let us consider now what we are told about them in the text. "They

sow not, neither do they reap." They are, in fact, utterly ignorant of

the fact that an ear of corn sown carefully in the ground would in due

season bring forth sixty or a hundred-fold. They see the berries and the

corn, about the growth of which they have never troubled themselves, and

there they find enough for their daily wants. Their free and joyous

spirit seems to have no care for the future; they never "gather into

barns." How many animals are otherwise! Look at the squirrel with his

hoard of nuts, the bees with their rich provision of honey, the careful

ants, and many others, whose foresight teaches them to provide against

the season of scarcity. These, too, are all the creatures of God, and

His "tender mercy is over all His works;" but how different is their

life from that of the birds! Singing and rejoicing seems the sole end

and aim of their life. Their songs, and all their joyous motions in the

air, are like a perpetual hymn of praise and thanksgiving to God, by

whose providence they are sustained. "Your heavenly Father feedeth

them." Is He indeed the Father of the ravens? Is He indeed the Father

of the sparrows? Only inasmuch as He is their Creator, and the supplier

of their wants. But to you, my friends--to you He is more than this: to

you indeed He is a Father--the true and loving Father of all who hear

His words, and "remember His commandments to do them." Oh, let us not

forget all His benefits; let us remember that from Him alone we have all

the blessings we enjoy, all blessings both of body and soul. But, above

all, let us thank Him for the unspeakable gift of His dear Son, Jesus

Christ, for our redemption, and of His Holy Spirit for the renewal of

our hearts.

"'And oh! as we think over all His benefits, as did David when he penned

the 103d Psalm, must not all that is within us bless His holy name? And

whatever His providence may send us, whether wealth or poverty, sickness

or health, let us look up to Him with thankfulness for His mercy, and

say, "Doubtless Thou art our Father."

"'Behold the fowls of the air;' their work, indeed, seems to be only

singing and rejoicing; but what is yours? "Are ye not much better than

they?" You, who are children of God, heirs of God, and joint-heirs with

Christ, who are strangers and pilgrims in this world of sorrow and

suffering, but whose home is in heaven; you, for whom God hath prepared

an eternal mansion in the kingdom of heaven, to which, indeed, you shall

one day go to enjoy bliss unspeakable and full of glory, if only while

here below, you walk as children of the light, and trust in that great

salvation which Christ accomplished for you, by His life and by His

death,--"Are ye not indeed much better than they?"'

Here Willie interrupted the captain's story by asking, "Why, then, are

we taught in the fable to blame the careless and improvident grasshopper

for not laying up a store for the winter, when the birds are praised for

living without troubling themselves about the future? I can't quite

understand this."

His father answered him: "All animals, my dear boy, follow the instinct

which God has implanted in them; it is not for us to blame them or to

praise them. But, at the same time, they may be used as examples to us,

so far as we find in each anything good, loveable, or useful: and one

and all may be employed to illustrate the characters of different men.

From the ant, for instance, the idle may learn to work, and the careless

to save. Do you remember who says, 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard,

consider her ways and be wise?' So, on the other hand, from the birds

the covetous and over-anxious may learn that it is possible to live,

however scanty our store may be, if we only have faith in our heavenly

Father's care. It is wrong to be too anxious and troubled about the

things of this world, while, at the same time, we must avoid falling

into the opposite error of carelessness, idleness, and improvidence."

Then, turning to the captain, he said, "Excuse our interrupting you, my

dear friend; pray continue your story."

The captain then resumed his narrative in these words:--"The pastor's

sermon seemed to console me very much, and gave me fresh courage, and I

thought to myself--'I am, it is true, a stranger in this large city,

without money or friends, but there is One above who knows my pitiable

condition; His eye is upon me, and if it seem good to Him, He can easily

feed me this one day at least, as He feeds 'the young ravens who cry

unto Him.' Soon after leaving the church, I noticed a young man, whose

features seemed well known to me, reading the Latin inscription on the

monument to Erasmus, which stands in the middle of the market-place. For

some minutes, I could not remember clearly who he was, or where I had

met him before, but all of a sudden I recognised him as an old

fellow-student at the University of Giessen; and stepping up to him, I

held out my hand, saying, 'Korbec, is it you?' 'That is my name,' said

he, staring at me, 'but I can't say I recollect you.' I then remembered

that, what with my sailor's dress, my famished appearance, and my

bronzed and weather-beaten features, it was scarcely likely that any of

my old companions would know me at first sight. I soon told him who I

was, and he recollected me at once and shook me heartily by the hand.

"I had no need to tell him I was hungry; my appearance sufficiently

showed that, and he considerately spared me the shame and pain of asking

him for relief, by taking me to an inn close by. Here a good dinner was

quickly provided for me, and I need scarcely say I ate with the ravenous

appetite of an almost starving man. As soon as I had satisfied my

hunger, I told him some of my adventures. He saw at once that I was in

need of further help, but as he was just about to join a ship to which

he had been appointed surgeon, he had need of all his money, and was

only able to give me a few shillings. These I accepted with gratitude,

and was very glad to be in a position to pay for a night's lodging.

Thus God, who 'filleth all things living with plenteousness,' supplied

me with the necessaries of life, as soon as I began to trust to His

care; even before I had learned truly to know Him, He dealt with me as

though I were one of His faithful children. Oh that I had been able to

recognise this love to me! But as soon as I found my distress relieved,

I thought no more of His love who had helped me, and very soon fell

again into my former state of indifference.

"The money my friend had given me was almost all gone, when on the

following Wednesday a letter reached me, not indeed from my father, but

from one of my uncles, who told me that my father was dead, and that

what little property he left had been barely sufficient to pay off my

university debts. The letter also contained an order for five pounds,

which my uncle sent me, without, however, telling me whether I was

expected to return home, or whether I was left free to continue my

wandering life. On reading the sad news of my father's death, I fell

into a chair, and covered my face with my hands. I seemed again to hear

those terrible words, 'My curse shall be upon you,' and I was for a long

time unable to utter a word, or to shed a single tear. At length,

however, my grief found vent, and I passed the greater part of the night

in bitter and passionate weeping.

"When the day broke, my troubles began again, and the future now looked

to me blacker than ever. What was I to do? Whither should I direct my

steps? Whatever I undertake, I thought, I can never escape the terrible

curse which I have brought upon myself by my disobedience. My father is

dead, and it is now too late to obtain his forgiveness! Oh, what would

I have given to have seen him alive once more! I would have thrown

myself at his feet, and on my knees have sought his pardon for my

wickedness, until he exchanged his curse for a blessing. But now, alas!

it is too late--too late!

"Reproaching myself thus, I at last made up my mind that it would be

useless now to return to my old home, and that the only course open to

me was to go to sea again, and I determined to go and offer myself as a

sailor on board the ship in which I had come over. The captain received

me very kindly, and engaged me as their mate, promising, at the same

time, to teach me something of navigation. We soon set sail, and before

we had been very long at sea, the second mate, who had been drinking too

much, fell overboard. It was dark at the time, and there was a heavy

sea on, and though the boats were lowered, no traces of him were

discovered. As I had in that short time paid great attention to my

duties, and to the kind instructions of the captain, I was promoted to

his place. The next voyage I was made first mate, and some years later

I became captain of a ship bound for Peru, and continued in that

capacity for about ten years. During this time, I had a good

opportunity for making private speculations, which proved so successful,

that at the end of the ten years I was able to buy a ship of my own.

"While I was thus busily engaged, I had little time to think of my

father, and his last letter to me; and so long as I continued in

prosperity, I neglected prayer altogether. Yet I passed before all the

world for an honest man, and, judged only by my outward acts, no one

would have doubted that I was a God-fearing one."

*CHAPTER VIII.*

His Marriage--The Portrait--His Terror--His Good Fortune Deserts

him--Heavy Losses--The Beggar--Recognises an Old Enemy--His Two Children

are Drowned--His Wife Dies--Is Bankrupt--In Prison--The English

Clergyman--Is Brought to Repentance--Is Set Free--The Fisherman and

Basketmaker.

"God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

"Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill

He treasures up His bright designs,

And works His sovereign will

"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning Providence

He hides a smiling face."

--COWPER.

"About this time, too, I had got married, being then about thirty-five

years of age. This was at Liverpool, and after the ceremony was over I

called at the clergyman's house to get a certificate. While he was

writing it out for me, I looked round the room, and saw hanging on the

wall that very portrait which you see there over the looking-glass. I

started back with astonishment, and began trembling violently, so much

so, indeed, that I was obliged to support myself by holding on to the

table. The clergyman asked me what was the matter. 'Oh, nothing,

nothing at all, it is only an attack of giddiness,' said I, with my eyes

still riveted on the portrait. I seemed to see my father alive before

me, with his eyes fixed upon me in anger; and in my agitation I even

fancied I saw the lips of the picture move, and thought I again heard

those terrible words, 'My curse shall be upon you, and follow you

always!' 'No, no,' I cried aloud, being unable to overcome my terror,

'Oh, do not, do not curse me!' The clergyman, filled with astonishment,

asked me the cause of so strange an exclamation. I confessed that it

was the portrait of my father, and my meeting with it so unexpectedly,

which had produced so strong an impression upon me.

"Upon this he took down the picture and showed me, by the name on the

back, that I was mistaken in thinking it was my father's portrait, it

being that of an English clergyman who had been dead for some years, so

that the resemblance was quite accidental. He spoke also very kindly to

me about the words I had used, and gradually led me to tell him the

story of my disobedience and my father's anger, and took much pains to

convince me that my father's curse could not exercise any unfavourable

influence upon me, if I had truly repented of those sins which provoked

him to utter it, and if, as a proof of my sincerity, I were now living a

different life. All his arguments, however, failed to quiet my

conscience, and I returned to my house much troubled in mind.

"Shortly after this I set out for another voyage, but my late good

fortune seemed to have deserted me. We met with very rough weather

before we had been a month at sea, and in order to save the ship I was

obliged to order a great part of the cargo to be thrown overboard, so

that when at length we arrived at our destination I found I had lost

several hundred pounds on the voyage. The homeward voyage was equally

unfortunate, and when, after nearly twelve months' absence, I reached my

home and found my dear wife ready to welcome me with our baby in her

arms, the joy of such a meeting was marred by the fear that the

punishment of my disobedience might fall on the heads of those I loved.

"I have little to tell you about the next six or seven years, during

which time my bad fortune still followed me, and the state of my affairs

grew gradually worse and worse. One thing, however, I must relate. I

had been out one afternoon for a walk, and on returning, just at dusk, I

found a poor miserable looking beggar, with a wooden leg, sitting on the

grass near our cottage door, eating some food which my wife had just

given him. I said a few words to him when I came up, and as some of his

answers interested me, I asked him to stop a little while and give me an

account of himself.

[Illustration: "I found a poor miserable-looking beggar with a wooden

leg."]

"He began, 'I was born at Amsterdam'--and in a moment I recollected him.

He was no other than the very crimp whom I met on the quay when I first

went to that city, and who had decoyed me into his house, where I was

robbed and sent to sea as I have told you. I said nothing, however, but

let him go on with his story. He told me that he had been once in

business, but had met with so many losses that at length he was obliged

to go as a sailor in the English navy, and that during an engagement he

had received a bullet in his left leg, which had to be amputated, so

that when he received his discharge he was compelled to get his living

as he could. While he was speaking, a thousand recollections crowded on

my mind, and when he had finished I fixed my eyes sternly on his face

and said, 'Do you remember me?' He said he had no recollection of ever

having seen me before, Thereupon I told him the story of our meeting on

the quay at Amsterdam, and reminded him of what had followed his

treachery. As I spoke somewhat loudly and angrily, he became quite pale

with terror, and did not attempt to deny that he was the man who had

used me so cruelly; in fact he seemed quite paralysed with fright.

'Don't be afraid of me,' I said, 'God Himself has punished your

wickedness, and I will not revenge myself on you. Only take yourself

off from hence, and never let me see you again.'"

The captain here broke off to ask the children whether they thought he

had done well in acting thus?

"Oh yes, certainly," said Mary, "you were surely right not to be

revenged upon him."

"That is true," said Willie, "but the Bible says we are to love our

enemies, and I think, sir, if you had loved this man, you would not have

driven him away from you."

"Quite true, my boy," rejoined the captain, "and if I had followed the

example of our blessed Saviour, I should have tried to help this man out

of his troubles, and endeavoured to obtain some influence over his

heart, and so have been really useful to him by leading him to see how

wicked he had been. But I could not do it, I did not even know my own

heart, and I thought I was doing a wonderfully good action in not

punishing him for his cruelty and inhumanity towards me. I lived many

years longer holding this good opinion of myself until God gave me the

grace of humility, and brought me by means of more troubles to know the

wickedness of my own heart.

"As my affairs became gradually more and more embarrassed I was often

very much troubled on account of my children, of whom I had now two, for

during these few years all my savings had been expended, and I could not

see my way clearly to provide for their education as they grew up.

Their promising dispositions were, however, a source of great

satisfaction to me, and I comforted myself with the hope that things

might yet soon improve with me, and that one or two successful voyages

would place me in a position to provide for all their wants.

"With my mind thus filled with mingled feelings of joy at my safe return

to my family, and anxiety for the future welfare of those dependent upon

me, I returned one day late in the summer of 17--, after a three months'

voyage. I had written to my wife a few days before to tell her when I

should be at home, but having got into port a day earlier than I had

reckoned upon, I anticipated giving my wife and children a pleasant

surprise by my unexpected arrival. Even at this distance of time I can

scarcely trust myself to speak of the terrible disappointment that

awaited me. On entering my cottage, instead of being greeted with the

affectionate caresses of my dear wife and children, I was surprised to

see that the only person in the room was a good woman, who lived in a

neighbouring cottage. As she looked up and recognised me on my

entrance, something in her manner made me fear that all was not well

with my family. I eagerly inquired after them, and the woman, who was

an old friend of my wife's, burst into tears, and in a few words told me

the extent of the misfortune that had befallen me. My two children, for

whose welfare I had been so anxious, were both dead, and my poor wife

was confined to her bed by illness. I learned afterwards, for I was so

overcome by the news of this awful calamity that I could not listen to

the particulars just then, that the two little ones had gone down to the

seashore to play with a little companion about a fortnight before I

reached home; the last time they were seen alive they were amusing

themselves in one of the fisherman's boats which was lying upon the

beach. By some means or other they must have got the boat afloat, and

so been carried out to sea unobserved. The night proved very stormy,

and the next day the boat was seen floating, bottom upwards, out at sea,

and during the day their dead bodies were washed ashore. The anxiety of

my poor wife during that awful night, and her great agony of sorrow on

learning their unhappy fate, had preyed so much upon her health that it

was scarcely expected that she would ever recover from the shock. I

pass over the events of the next few days--it would be too much for me,

even now, to enter into any detail of the meeting between my wife and

myself; nor can I, without tears, think of her as I watched her day by

day growing weaker and weaker. Within a fortnight after my arrival she,

too, followed our children to the grave, and I was left alone in the

world.

"This surely should have been enough to soften even a heart of stone

like mine. It was not so, however. I only hardened my heart more and

more. 'This is the punishment of my disobedience,' I thought to myself.

The concluding words of my father's letter echoed again and again in my

ears, and instead of producing a good effect upon me, only made me more

obstinate in refusing to listen to the gentle appeals of my Saviour. If

I did not remember, but too well, my feelings at this time of my life, I

could not now believe that any poor wretched human being could carry his

pride of heart and stubborn rebellion against God to such a pitch as I

did.

"In order to divert my mind from the harassing reflections which beset

me, and made the solitude of my once happy home intolerable, instead of

bowing to God's holy will, and recognising, as I can now do, the fact

that all that had befallen me was sent in love to my soul by a heavenly

Father, who is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind, I sought

relief, where no one ever yet found it, by giving myself up to those bad

habits which had been the cause of all my misery. I spent my whole time

in the society of wicked and thoughtless men, and turned a deaf ear to

the remonstrances of all my real friends. There were many who expressed

the deepest sympathy with me in my sorrows, and made many vain efforts

to recall me to a sense of my duty. But I disregarded all their kind

exhortations, and always answered sullenly, 'What is the use of my

trying to do right? I am under a curse.'

"Such a state of things could not last long. For the last year or two,

my income had been insufficient to support my family, and I had

unavoidably contracted some few debts, and now my extravagances rapidly

increased them. My creditors soon began to importune me for payment,

and after putting them off from time to time, I was obliged to tell them

that I was utterly and hopelessly bankrupt. I was then brought before

the court, and my ship, my house, and all my goods, were ordered to be

sold, and these being insufficient to meet the claims against me, I was

thrown into prison. Then, indeed, my cup of sorrow was full. Again I

heard my father's malediction sounding in my ears, and this time without

being able to drown the painful memory in the riotous pleasures of the

world. And though, in my former troubles, I had not shrunk from

upbraiding God's providence for oppressing an innocent man, as I called

myself, I could not but feel that this new misfortune was the just

consequence of my own folly and extravagance. I was now forced to listen

to the reproaches of a conscience racked with remorse. Nevertheless, I

could not yet resolve to recognise the justice of God. I obstinately

resisted His appeals, and still remained impenitent.

"I cannot tell what I might have become while in prison, had I been left

altogether to myself. All men seemed to have forgotten me entirely, but

God had not even then deserted me. He had pity on me in my extremity,

and by an extraordinary dispensation of His Providence, sent to me that

very clergyman in whose house I had seen the portrait which so resembled

my father. My first words when I saw him were, 'You see I was right: my

father's curse is following me, and you see to what a state it has

brought me.' 'No,' replied he, 'this is not the effect of your father's

anger; it is the consequence of the curse of sin. If you had seriously

turned to God, He whose property is always to have mercy and to forgive

would assuredly have delivered you from that curse, and would have

turned it into a blessing.'

"I refused to listen to these words, and obstinately persisted in saying

that God had doomed me to misery, and that nothing could alter my fate.

'Take care,' said the clergyman, solemnly, 'that you do not provoke

God's anger still more by your rash and inconsiderate words. He has

surely shown you, plainly enough, that to rebel against Him is the act

of none but a madman. Tell me, have you ever tried to free yourself

from your load of sin? Have you ever prayed earnestly for God's help to

deliver you out of your troubles?' 'No, said I, 'I have never tried. I

cannot do so! I am suffering beneath the weight of an unjust curse,

while thousands of other men, who are worse than I am, never suffer any

punishment at all, but prosper in all they undertake.' 'My answer to

that,' said the good man, 'must be, that you who have studied for the

ministry, as you told me, must know, on the authority of God's own word,

that one single sin is sufficient for a man's condemnation; how can you

then dare to call your punishment unjust? As to your objection that

thousands of men are never punished for their offences in this world,

that can have no weight; for, even if no punishment reaches them here,

they cannot escape at the great Day of Judgment in the world to come.

You ought rather to thank God for the just chastisement you have

received, which is a proof that His pity and His love are not yet wholly

withdrawn from you. Every misfortune you have undergone is as the voice

of God calling you to serious repentance. Remember, "whom the Lord

loveth He chasteneth," and beware lest by your obstinacy you bring down

His wrath upon your head.'

"I could not answer such arguments as these; but though my reason was

convinced, my heart was untouched. On leaving me, the clergyman gave me

a New Testament, and persuaded me to read it with attention, and

particularly recommended me to meditate prayerfully upon the Epistle to

the Romans. He then left me, and promised to come and see me again.

When he had gone, I thought to myself there could be very little good in

my reading the book he had left me. In my university studies, I had read

it so often, that I knew pretty well what it contained, and I did not

expect to find anything in it that I did not know before. Accordingly,

I left it unopened for some days, and it was only to divert my

melancholy thoughts that I at length, for want of anything else to read,

opened the Testament, and began to read the Epistle to the Romans. 'Is

this indeed the same epistle that I used to read at the university?' was

my first thought, when I had read a few verses. It was indeed the same,

word for word; there was no alteration in the book, but since I last

read it, I myself had undergone a change. Since that time, I had passed

through the rough school of adversity, and the experience of years had

shown me more than I then knew of the corruption of my own heart. When

I read the words, 'That every mouth may be stopped, and all the world

may become guilty before God' (Rom. iii. 19), I was filled with terror,

and to this was added an overwhelming sense of the infinite majesty of

God, whose goodness and justice I had so lately dared to question. Then

I came to the passage, 'For God hath concluded them all in unbelief,

that He might have mercy upon all, O the depth of the riches both of the

wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are His judgments, and His

ways past finding out! For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who

hath been His counsellor? or who hath first given to Him, and it shall

be recompensed unto him again? For of Him, and through Him, and to Him

are all things; to whom be glory for ever. Amen.' (Rom. xi. 32-36.)

Upon this, a ray of hope dawned upon my heart, and I cried out with

emotion, 'O God, since Thou hast mercy on all who come to Thee, have

mercy also on me.'

"Little by little my heart was softened, and tears of true penitence

streamed from my eyes. I was weeping when the clergyman came to see me

again. 'God be praised,' said he, as he entered, seeing the tears in my

eyes, 'God be praised, for He has had compassion on your soul.' I could

not answer, for my heart was too full for words. He then knelt down

with me, and prayed with much earnestness, that God would carry on the

good work He had begun in me; and as he prayed, I was deeply affected,

and at last I too called aloud to God for mercy. This cry was not in

vain; the peace of God descended upon my heart, and I was enabled to

believe in the possibility of obtaining pardon for all my sins, through

faith in a crucified Saviour. After this, I found myself in a much

happier frame of mind. I acknowledged that I had been a miserable

sinner, and that but for the infinite mercy of the Most High, I must

have perished in my sins; I saw now that all my misfortunes had been in

reality a token of the loving-kindness and tender mercy of Him, who

'willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should be

converted and live.' The Word of God, which for so many years had been

a dead letter to me, had now become a source of sweet and life-giving

nourishment to my soul; and I spent the greater part of my time while in

prison in reading and meditating upon the precious volume. The

clergyman offered to lend me some other books; but I declined them all,

telling him that the Book of books was enough for me.

"After this worthy man had thus attended to my spiritual wants, he

busied himself in endeavouring to set me free from my unhappy

confinement. By his exertions, and those of several friends, whom he

had interested in my behalf, it was not long before I was set at

liberty. I was glad to be once more a free man, but could not regret my

imprisonment, inasmuch as it was in the prison that I had been led to a

knowledge of Him 'whose service is perfect freedom.' The kind friends

who had interested themselves in me provided me with a small sum of

money, with which I took a little cottage by the sea-side; and having

bought a small boat and some nets, I was able to get my living all

through the summer as a fisherman, and supported myself during the

winter by making baskets, which I sold in the neighbouring town. I

begged my good friend the clergyman to give me the portrait so like my

father, which had caused me such terror when I first saw it in his

house, but which I could now look upon without distress of mind, knowing

that I had obtained grace and pardon from my heavenly Father. On

receiving it, I hung it up over the fireplace in my humble cottage."

*CHAPTER IX.*

Accepts the Command of a Ship--The Pirates--The Fight--Victory--Meets an

Old Friend--His Friend's Adventures.

"Come, peace of mind, delightful guest!

Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this sad heart:

Nor riches I, nor power pursue,

Nor hold forbidden joys in view;

We therefore need not part."

--COWPER.

"The blessing of Heaven seemed to rest upon my humble employment, and I

was not only able to earn sufficient to keep myself, but was able to lay

by a little money from time to time, so that within two years I saved

sufficient to repay my kind friends the money they had lent me to start

with. Among those who had interested themselves in my welfare was a

rich merchant who was the owner of several ships; and on the death of

the captain of one of these, he wrote to me and offered me the command

of it. I did not at all like the idea of leaving my peaceful cottage,

where for nearly two years I had lived a very happy and contented life,

studying the Word of God, and rejoicing in His mercy, but at the same

time I did not think it my duty positively to decline such an offer as

this without careful consideration.

"In this state of uncertainty, I resolved to consult my good friend the

clergyman, from whom I had no secrets, and who had already rendered me

so many services. I did so, and his first question was, whether I had

really considered the motives which led me to think of accepting the

offer, and if I was quite sure that I was not influenced by the desire

of riches, or any contempt for my present humble lot. I replied truly

that no such idea had ever entered my head. I was quite contented and

happy in my present employment, but I hoped to be able, by means of an

increased income, to pay all my old creditors in full, and perhaps lay

by some provision for my old age. Satisfied with this explanation, he

advised me by all means to accept the appointment, and added that he

himself had induced the merchant to make me the offer. Having now no

longer any doubt as to which was the right course to pursue, I let my

cottage to a fisherman, and taking the portrait of my father with me, I

set sail, full of confidence in God's protecting care.

"I was now in the Mediterranean trade, and had to call at several ports

with merchandise, and to take in goods for England. On our return, we

left the island of Corsica in company with several other vessels. My

ship, however, being a very fast sailor, we were not long before we left

them all behind. The weather was fair, and our voyage had been very

successful, so that I was in good spirits. Suddenly the sailor at the

masthead saw a suspicious-looking craft in the distance. I examined her

attentively with the glass, and at length became convinced that we were

chased by pirates. I felt at once that escape was impossible, and

resistance seemed almost hopeless, as we numbered in all only seventeen

hands and six passengers. Nevertheless, I resolved to fight to the

death rather than suffer myself and all on board to be earned away into

slavery. I hastily ordered the decks to be cleared, and having armed all

the crew and the passengers, I had our six cannons loaded, and waited,

with a beating heart, for our deadly enemy to overtake us. The pirates

evidently did not expect any resistance on our part, hoping, no doubt,

that we should yield without striking a blow. They had made no

preparations for action until they saw that we were prepared for an

engagement. We heard afterwards, too, that their vessel had received a

good deal of damage in an action the day before with an English cruiser,

in which several of their crew had been killed; indeed, their vessel

only escaped by her wonderfully fast sailing. As soon as they got

within range, I fired one of the guns, which created great confusion on

board our enemy, having, as I afterwards learned, killed their captain

and two of the crew. I kept up a brisk cannonade for some time, to

which they replied very feebly, and without doing us any serious injury.

In a short time they ceased firing, and I perceived that they were

endeavouring to retreat, but had much difficulty in doing so in

consequence of the damage our firing had caused. Seeing this, I crowded

all sail in chase, and we soon came up with them, when they threw down

their arms and suffered us to board them without any resistance. We

took about fifteen prisoners, whom I landed at Gibraltar, and delivered

over to the authorities there to take their trial for piracy. As for

the ship, we found it needed but little repair to render it sea-worthy,

though the mainmast was shot away, and the rest of the rigging had

suffered considerably; so, after doing what was absolutely necessary to

keep her afloat, I brought both ship and cargo with me to England.

"In the hold we found several prisoners whom the pirates had taken, and

whose joy at their happy deliverance was unbounded. Among these, to my

great surprise and delight, I recognised my old fellow-student the

surgeon, whom I met at Rotterdam, and whose kindness to me, in my

distress, had saved me from dying of starvation. His astonishment and

joy at such an unexpected meeting was as great as mine, and was

increased on finding so great a change for the better in my

circumstances. I told him my history since our last meeting, and he in

return told me his, which was almost as full of adventures as my own.

He had, he said, been wrecked on a desert island in his last voyage, his

ship and all the crew, except himself and two sailors, being lost.

Having built themselves a hut, they supported themselves for some months

on some edible roots and berries, which his knowledge of botany enabled

him to discover on the island, and their fare was occasionally improved

by the addition of a bird or animal, which they managed to shoot with

roughly-made bows and arrows. During this time they were busily engaged

in constructing a boat, in which they hoped to be able to reach the

mainland, which was just visible in very clear weather. After more than

one failure they succeeded in making their boat water-tight, and set out

with as large a store of provisions and water as their frail craft could

carry with safety. Having chosen a calm day for their attempt, and the

wind being in their favour, they reached the land without any accident,

but found themselves scarcely in a better position, if so good, as when

they were on the island. Before they were wrecked the ship had been

driven entirely out of her course by a terrific gale, and they were now

utterly ignorant as to their whereabouts. They had not been many days

on shore before a band of armed savages discovered them, and as they

were not in a position to offer any resistance, they were taken

prisoners, and led away some distance inland. Here they suffered many

hardships, and were in constant fear of being put to death by their

cruel captors. Several months passed away in this manner, during which

they were compelled to do the most laborious work, and were very

scantily fed, and were often besides beaten and threatened with death,

until at length they effected their escape, made their way to the

sea-shore, and were fortunate enough to be rescued by a homeward-bound

Austrian merchantman, which had stood in near the coast for the purpose

of obtaining fresh water. While on their voyage up the Mediterranean,

(the destination of the vessel being Trieste), they were captured by the

pirate from whom I had so providentially rescued them. When we reached

England my friend seemed so much to dread going to sea again that I

easily persuaded him to accept from me a sum of money sufficient to

enable him to return to his own country, where I have since heard he set

up as doctor in his native town, and died a short time ago, beloved and

respected by all who knew him."

*CHAPTER X.*

Makes Several Successful Voyages--Becomes Rich--Buys a Ship of his

Own--Makes his Fortune--Retires from the Sea--Returns to his Native

Village.

----"This active course,

Chosen in youth, through manhood he pursued,

Till due provision for his modest wants

Had been obtained; and, thereupon, resolved

To pass the remnant of his days untasked

With needless services, from hardship free,

His calling laid aside, he lived at ease."

--WORDSWORTH.

"The successful issue of my voyage not only gained me the entire

confidence of the owner of my ship, but also put me in possession of a

considerable sum of money, with which I was able, to my very great

satisfaction, to meet all claims against me, besides supplying my

friend's need, as I told you. This, however, left me without anything

to live on, so that I was obliged to undertake a second voyage, in spite

of a certain uneasy feeling of which I could not get rid.

"Since the time when in the prison I had received the assurance of the

pardon of all my sins, I had been, it is true, quite satisfied as to the

safety of my soul, knowing that God having received me into His fold,

whatever might befall me, 'all things must work together for good.'

Still I could not altogether overcome my apprehension at the thought of

my father's curse, and of its influence on my temporal happiness and

well-being. I felt that I was justified in this when I thought of the

fifth commandment, 'Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may

be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.' He who

honours, and consequently obeys his parents, I thought, has a promise

here of a long and happy life, not indeed of eternal life, to gain which

he must honour God and keep His commandments, that is, he must be

converted and have faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, for 'this is His

commandment.' If he neglects this, he may indeed lead a long and

prosperous life here, and yet lose his life hereafter. He who, on the

contrary, disobeys his parents cannot be happy and successful in his

earthly career, although he may, by sincere repentance and faith, obtain

forgiveness of God, for his Saviour's sake, and everlasting happiness.

If he has brought down upon himself his father's curse, even this

forgiveness will not alter its effects in this world, although in the

hands of the Almighty the very sorrows and sufferings it brings upon him

may become the means of securing his eternal salvation.

"Thus convinced as I was that for His dear Son's sake God had forgiven

all my sins, I still remembered with alarm those words in my father's

letter, 'My curse shall be upon you, and follow you always;' and this

portrait, which I had always hanging up in my cabin, helped to keep me

in mind of them.

"I was, therefore, still a prey to great uneasiness, and even good

fortune failed to bring peace to my mind. In all my prosperity I

believed myself to be on the brink of some fresh disaster, having proved

by experience the instability of earthly things; and when I was

surrounded by misfortunes, I of course assigned them to the cause

uppermost in my mind. My fears, however, were not realised during a

second and third voyage which I made for my employer. On the contrary,

they were so successful in a pecuniary point of view, that I was able to

buy a ship of my own, which I freighted entirely on my own account. My

trading this time succeeded beyond my utmost expectations, and on

returning to England, I found myself in possession of a considerable

fortune.

"I was now nearly sixty years of age, and was beginning to feel a

wandering life almost too much for me. Accordingly I resolved to retire

from active work, and return to my native land, to devote my few

remaining years to preparation for life eternal and the glory of Him who

has led me in such a wonderful manner to Himself.

"Although I have passed through so much during my forty years' wandering

about the world, have endured so many troubles, and received so many

undeserved blessings, and although God has shown Himself so good and

gracious, slow to anger and of great kindness towards me, and though,

during these last few years, especially, His blessing has rested on all

I have undertaken, still even yet I start with a secret terror at the

sight of that portrait which brings before my mind so clearly the father

whom I disobeyed. The recollection of his curse is never absent.

Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake up, trembling, expecting the

house is about to fall and crush me, and it is only by earnest prayer

that I can recover my self-possession."

Here the captain ended his history, the recital of which had deeply

interested each and all of his hearers. The worthy pastor did his

utmost to convince him that his fears were only a vain superstition; but

the captain shook his head. His kind counsellor saw that it would be

unwise to argue the point, and left him with thanks for his graphic

narrative, resolving to pray earnestly that God would remove from him

the cloud of self-reproach, and enable him to spend the remainder of his

days in the brightness of Christian hope.

*CHAPTER XI.*

The Curse Revoked--Conclusion.

"Commend the past to God, with all its irrevocable harm,

Humbly, but in cheerful trust, and banish vain regrets;

Come to Him, continually come, casting all the present at His

feet,

Boldly, but in prayerful love, and fling off selfish cares;

Commit the future to His will--the viewless, fated future;

Zealously go forward with integrity, and God will bless thy

faith."

--TUPPER.

A year had passed away since the captain had taken up his abode in the

"Forester's House," as it was still called, in the course of which the

intimacy between him and his good friend the pastor had been confirmed

by many mutual acts of kindness. The captain was a great favourite with

the children, and a visit to his house was looked upon by them as the

greatest possible treat, and many were the interesting and instructive

stories which he related for their amusement. His long wanderings in

almost every part of the world furnished him with an inexhaustible

supply of anecdotes and narratives of foreign customs, which the

children could never grow tired of listening to. His friends, however,

could not help noticing that he had not yet shaken off his fear that

some fresh misfortune was in store for him, in consequence of his

youthful disobedience and the curse which his father had pronounced upon

him. This he believed, being unrevoked, would, as his father had

written, "follow him always."

Thus this one great sin of disobeying his father's commands had

embittered his happiness for more than forty years, not only when he was

suffering what he justly believed to be the consequences of his

wickedness, but long after he had earnestly repented of all his sins,

and was living a peaceful, godly life.

Oh that all the boys and girls who may read this story would think over

those words of St Paul, "Children, obey your parents in the Lord; for

this is right. Honour thy father and mother, which is the first

commandment with promise; that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest

live long on the earth," (Eph. vi. 1-3), and learn from this narrative

that every act of wilful disobedience to a parent's commands is a sin

against God, which He is sure to punish.

The good pastor's prayers that the captain might be relieved from his

anxiety of mind were not in vain, and he himself was destined to be the

happy instrument in God's hands of removing the burden that had so long

oppressed his friend. It happened one day when the pastor was writing

in his study, that a man called upon him for the purpose of obtaining a

certificate of his birth, which was necessary to enable him to receive a

legacy to which he was entitled. The pastor inquired his name.

"My name is John Lobert," said the man, "and I have been living at

Liverpool for many years; but I now intend to settle down here in my

native village for the remainder of my life."

"When you were at Liverpool, did you ever meet Captain Buchman?" asked

the pastor.

"No," said Lobert, "I never met him there; but I used to know him very

well as a boy; in fact, he was an old schoolfellow of mine. I was

astonished when I arrived at Dornbach last night to hear that he was

living here. I shall be delighted to see him again."

"The captain, I am sure, will be pleased to see one of his old

companions," replied the pastor, "but wait a moment, and I will give you

your certificate. In what year were you born?"

"In 17--," answered Lobert.

"Ah, that was in my predecessor's time," said the pastor; "I must look

through the old register, which ends at his death in 17--," and

unlocking a large box which stood in the corner of the room, he took out

the book, and soon found the entry of Lobert's birth. Upon the same page

he noticed the name of his friend the captain, and underneath it was

fastened a sheet of paper. The pastor unfolded this, and glancing over

its contents, cried out with delight, "Oh, what a blessed discovery this

is for my dear friend the captain!" He folded up the paper, and putting

it in his pocket, wrote out the required certificate for Lobert, who

took his leave, promising to call and see the captain on the next day.

As soon as he had gone, the pastor ran to the captain's house.

"Good news, my friend," said he as soon as they met "I am the bearer of

happy tidings for you. Here, read this paper."

The captain's eyes filled with tears as he read, and falling on his

knees, he gave thanks to God for the mercy He had shown him, He then

rose from his knees and read aloud the important document, which was as

follows:--

"I earnestly beg any one into whose hands this paper may fall, to tell

my son, Francis Buchman (if he be still living), that his old father

before his death has forgiven his disobedience, and revoked the curse

which he pronounced upon him in a moment of anger. I pray also that God

will forgive him, and turn him from the error of his ways.

"G. BUCHMAN, Pastor.

"Dornbach, 15th June, 17--."

The captain was quite an altered man now. The anxiety that had weighed

upon his mind for so many years being removed, his life glided on

smoothly and peacefully. The past only seemed to him as a terrible

dream, from which he had now awakened.

Lobert duly called upon the captain on the following day, and was

received with much joy, which was increased when he found that he too

had chosen that better part which shall never be taken away. He soon

became intimate with the pastor's family, and the three friends enjoyed

each other's society for many happy years. The captain devoted the

greater part of his time and his fortune to relieving the wants of the

poor in the neighbourhood, and was long remembered by the inhabitants of

the little village of Dornbach as the "Good Captain Buchman."

THE END

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