Saviour, the Son of God. In his own country, his family name, his
many virtues, and his entire devotion to the ministry upon which he had
entered, had elevated him to high positions of influence and honor. All
these he relinquished, after he had passed his three-score years, to
proclaim the Gospel of Jesus to the savages of North America. He landed
in Canada, in the summer of 1670. For some time he was employed as
chaplain of Governor Frontenac. Here he was untiring in his efforts to
instruct the Indians. Having become in a good degree familiar with
their language and customs, he embarked with La Salle to establish new
missions in the vast and unexplored regions he was about to penetrate.

The good old man was now seventy years of age. For forty years he had
been earnestly engaged in preaching the gospel of peace on earth, and
good will among men. And now the blessed hour had come when God sent
his angel to take the victor in many a hard-fought spiritual conflict,
to his home in heaven; for God can convert even the wickedness of man
into an agency for the accomplishment of His purposes.

How sublime the scene of his departure. It was a serene, beautiful
autumnal day. The deep blue of the overarching skies were embroidered,
as it were, with fleecy clouds. The waters of the river, clear as
crystal, flowed gently by. The luxuriant prairie, brilliant with the
bloom of autumn, almost entranced the eye as a garden of the Lord. In a
majestic grove the veteran Christian knelt, at peace with God, with
himself, and with all the world. His eyes were closed. His hands were
clasped. His soul was all absorbed in prayer. Suddenly a shower of
arrows pierce him, and he falls dead!

Dead! do I say? No! He awakes to a new life of inconceivable vitality
and grandeur. A retinue of angels are there, ready to receive him. In
their blest companionship he takes his rapturous journey to the bosom
of his Saviour and his God.

"Oh, 'tis a glorious thing to die
As dies the Christian, with his armor on."

The saddened voyagers, as they plied their paddles in ascending the
river, all unconscious of the fate which had overtaken the beloved
father, had still a journey of nearly two hundred and fifty miles
before them, ere they could reach their friends. The dilapidated canoe
soon failed them entirely, and they were compelled to abandon it. The
remainder of the long journey was to be made on foot. Their destitution
was alarming. They had n