n by
sorrow, ever associates death with himself or with those he loves,
till the Arch Reaper comes some day and cuts down and garners his
precious treasure?

John had heard of death, but he had heard of it just as he had heard
of the poisonous Upas-tree, growing on some distant ocean island, or
of an evil star, under whose baleful influence he might never fall.

The young live as if this life were immortal. So much the more bitter
their experience, when they wake up from the delusion.

The others of the party were gathered in an adjoining room, gazing
silently at the scene without. It was fearful, yet sublime. The whole
northern side of the Miramichi river, for over one hundred miles, had
become involved in one mighty sheet of flame, which was sweeping on in
swift destruction to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The river boiled with
the fierce heat and tossed its foaming waters, filled with its now
lifeless inhabitants, to the shore. The fire was fed by six thousand
square miles of primeval forest,--a dense growth of resinous
trees,--by houses and barns filled with crops, and by thriving towns
upon the river's bank.

Above all, the people could not put aside the horrible truth, that
hundreds of men, women, and children,--their friends and their
acquaintances,--were perishing by the all-consuming element. They
could not exclude from fancy, the agonized and dying shrieks of those
dear to them, and the demoniac light shone on countenances, expressing
emotions of pity, grief, horror, and despair.

While the missionary sat there waiting for the day, he recalled with
startling distinctness the wild dream he dreamed, on that first night
he spent at the Dubois House. Of course, his belief in foregleams of
future events was confirmed by the scenes transpiring around him.

Mrs. Dubois sat near him, her countenance expressing profound grief.

"The dear young man!" she said. "How sad and awful thus to die!"

"My dear madam", said Mr. Norton, "let us not mourn as those who have
no hope. Our beloved friend, brilliant and susceptible, aspiring and
tender, was illy fitted for the rude struggle of life. It is true he
might have fought his way through, girt with the armor of Christian
faith and prayer, as many others, like him, have done. But the fight
would have been a hard one. So he has been kindly taken home. Sad and
awful thus to die? Say rather, infinitely blest the God-protected
soul, thus snatched away from this terrific uproar