for you'll perceive that the
wind is becoming boisterous, and I fear we are going to have a stormy
night."

"You do not feel alarmed, do you Albert?"

"I cannot say I feel alarmed; but I would be more comfortable at this
time if I had not so precious a charge. There may be no real danger,
but there can be no harm in preparing for what might happen. If we
should have a storm I wish you would take your seat on that large box,
so as to appropriate it and keep it. Your father brought me two
life-preservers and a good cord, when we came on board, and charged me
to use them in case of accident. You smile, Mary, at my earnestness,
and perhaps my love for you induces anxiety which circumstances do not
warrant. Still you can keep in mind my directions."

Albert walked towards the bow of the steamer, while Mary again fixed
her attention upon the variegated clouds. She did not participate in
Albert's apprehensions, and thought his anxiety needless. Yet his
earnest request made that sort of impression upon her mind which
rather conduced to religious contemplation.

The broad disk of the sun could be seen through the floating cloud,
and as Albert returned, Mary remarked:--"Albert, an hour ago I tried
to look at the sun, but his light dazzled my eyes to blindness. I
could not mark its shape nor perceive its beauty. But now the cloud
floats before it, and through its light vapor I see the sun's circular
infinity, and admire its beauty and its glory undazzled by its
effulgence. So it is I see God through Christ, as he transmits the
glory of his Father. And it is by thus seeing God through Christ,
instead of by the eyes of intellect and mere mental observation, that
I obtain hope in God and feel prepared to enter upon the realities of
that world which is eternally lighted by the invisible presence of
Jehovah. Seeing him in Christ Jesus, I feel an assurance of his mercy,
and am freed from those apprehensions which your scepticism and
distrust occasion yourself."

"My dear Mary," replied Albert, "do not suppose my counsel to you
originated in any fear for myself personally. It may be from want of
reflection, but really I do not know what the fear of death is. Your
safety, Mary, is the cause of my present anxiety. I do not doubt your
preparation for eternity, but I am not willing to resign you yet to
the companionship of angels. If you perish beneath these billows, and
I survive, my hope for happiness in this life is blasted. What is