ast the rumbling of the wheels of the stage was
heard, and the four horses were reined up at the door. The boy
endeavored, by activity, in seeing his trunk and other baggage
properly placed, to gain sufficient fortitude to enable him to
articulate his farewell. He, however, strove in vain. He took his
mother's hand. The tear glistened for a moment in her eye, and then
silently rolled down her cheek. He struggled with all his energy to
say good by, but he could not. In unbroken silence he shook her hand,
and then in silence received the adieus of brothers and sisters, as
one after another took the hand of their departing companion. He then
took the warm hand of his warm-hearted father. His father tried to
smile, but it was the struggling smile of feelings which would rather
have vented themselves in tears. For a moment he said not a word, but
retained the hand of his son, as he accompanied him out of the door
to the stage. After a moment's silence, pressing his hand, he said,
"My son, you are now leaving us; you may forget your father and your
mother, your brothers and your sisters, but, oh, do not forget your
God!"

The stage door closed upon the boy, The crack of the driver's whip was
heard, and the rumbling wheels bore him rapidly away from all the
privileges and all the happiness of his early home. His feelings, so
long restrained, now burst out, and, sinking back upon his seat, he
enveloped himself in his cloak, and burst into tears.

Hour after hour the stage rolled on. Passengers entered and left; but
the boy (perhaps I ought rather to call him the young man) was almost
insensible to every thing that passed. He sat, in sadness and in
silence, in the corner of the stage, thinking of the loved home he had
left. Memory ran back through all the years of his childhood,
lingering here and there, with pain, upon an act of disobedience, and
recalling an occasional word of unkindness. All his life seemed to be
passing in review before him, from the first years of his conscious
existence, to the hour of his departure from his home. Then would the
parting words of his father ring in his ears. He had always heard the
morning and evening prayer. He had always witnessed the power of
religion exemplified in all the duties of life. And the undoubted
sincerity of a father's language, confirmed as it had been by years
of corresponding practice, produced an impression upon his mind too
powerful ever to be effaced--"My son, you may