among the Oneidas; but to whom the letter was addressed, or what passed on the subject, I have no means of ascertaining. It serves to show, however, that her feet were already tending to the path, in which they were afterward to tread. The following lines, which are without date, treat of topics with which the heart seems to have been familiar:

66 COME OVER AND HELP US."
"Ye, on whom the glorious gospel,
Shines with beams serenely bright,
Pity the deluded nations,

Wrapped in shades of dismal night;
Ye, whose bosoms glow with rapture,
At the precious hopes they bear;
Ye, who know a Saviour's mercy,
Listen to our earnest prayer!

See that race, deluded, blinded,
Bending at yon horrid shrine;
Madness pictured in their faces,
Emblems of the frantic mind;
They have never heard of Jesus,
Never to th' Eternal prayed;
Paths of death and woe they're treading,
Christian Christian! come and aid!

By that rending shriek of horrour,
Issuing from the flaming pile,

By the bursts of mirth that follow,

By that Brahmin's fiend-like smile;

By the infant's piercing cry,
Drowned in Ganges' rolling wave;
By the mother's tearful eye,

Friends of Jesus, come and save!
By that pilgrim, weak and hoary,
Wandering far from friends and home,
Vainly seeking endless glory

At the false Mahomet's tomb; By that blind, derided nation, Murderers of the Son of God, Christians, grant us our petition, Ere we lie beneath the sod!

By the Afric's hopes so wretched,
Which at death's approach shall fly;
By the scalding tears that trickle
From the slave's wild, sunken eye;
By the terrors of that judgement,
Which shall fix our final doom;
Listen to our cry so earnest;
Friends of Jesus, come, oh,

come!

By the martyrs' toils and sufferings,
By their patience, zeal, and love;
By the promise of the Mighty,

Bending from His throne above;
By the last command so precious,
Issued by the risen God;

Christians! Christians! come and help us,

Ere we lie beneath the sod!"

CHAPTER III.

X

THE CONSECRATION.

"Eeold her life the cffering-
In her young beauty bow;

There hear her quivering glad lip breathe,
Her consecration vow;
Love, deathless, lighting up her eye,
Its glory on her brow."

N the year one thousand eight hundred and eighteen, the young, ardent, and devoted Colman first planted his eager foot upon the land of idols; and in little more than two short years, a grave was made for him in Chittagong. He did not go wearied and worn out with toil; but scarce had he raised one warning finger, scarce had he looked upon the field, when he was called from his morning labour, to the rest of the sainted. And there, beside his ashes, as though he had never been, the pagoda still stood undisturbed beneath the golden fillagree of its own brella," surrounded by a hundred miniature

66 um

copies of its taper self; and still beneath the carved gables and glittering spires of the Kyoung, swarmed swarmed yellow-robed, indolent priests, pompously awake to their own importance, their sanctity and learning; but with all their cunning and their miserable pride, not a whit less ignorant and debased than their blinded worshippers. And thither, too, trooped thousands on thousands with their offerings the old man with his fruit and rice, and the young girl with her flowers;—and when a few careless words had been muttered, with eye and heart both wandering, all thought that they had gained a step toward heaven, and went away to commit their daily sins without compunction, since remission could be again so cheaply bought. From this scene Colman passed, just as his tongue had learned to frame some broken, but precious sentences; and even the spirits above must have looked in wondering awe upon the strange dispensation, while awakened to new admiration of "the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God." On earth heavily sunk the sad intelligence into many a heart; for the mission cause was then in the weakness of its infancy; and to the finite eye, it looked a tottering cause, balanced on a single point.

Within the walls of Waterville College, on the green banks of the Kennebeck, sat a student poring over his books. His slight, though manly figure, gave no indication of physical strength; and there were blue veins on his temples, a flush upon his cheek, and at times a spiritual kindling of the eye, which formed a sad tablet, that the most careless might read with ease. It is seldom the destiny of one like him to count the allotted three score and ten links in the chain of life. But on the brow, and in the eye, and clustering about the pensively curved mouth, was a something full of promise, a high-toned' devotedness of character, and a solemn earnestness, which seemed to say, that the chain might yet be all the richer for its shortness. To the student, in the midst of his books, came the voice of mourning; and with it, up from the ashes of the buried dead, came another voice, and his blue eye darkened, and his bosom swelled with enthusiasm, as he listened.

"A soldier has fallen! to the field! to the field!" fell the spirit-stirring call upon his heart; and though honors, such honors as a young man dearly loves to win, were waiting his acceptance; though bright visions lay before him, and loved ones gathered round, the