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which had such close affinity with habits of domestic industry and comfort. Their wives were evidently inured to toil, nor of that toil ashamed. A few of the mothers bore in their arms healthful and ruddy infants, leaving probably no person at home with whom they could safely intrust so precious a charge. They seemed to make no trouble, or if any was anticipated, the mother withdrew with them. Here and there, one might be seen in a quiet slumber, entirely releasing the attention of the careful parent. Sleeping innocence is always beautiful, and the guileless spirit of the babe need not be counted an unfitting, though an unwonted guest, in the temple of the God of truth.

The form of the aged pastor was bent with time, and his thin hair of a silvery whiteness. For more than fifty years he had been the guide and friend of his people;

"And ne'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place."

The affection was reciprocal, and it was touching to see with what attention they listened to every word that fell from his lips. His voice was tremulous, and the involuntary movement of his hand paralytic; but he spoke to them of sacred themes, and they loved them the better because he uttered them, and him the better because his life had so long been in harmony with what he taught. For two generations he had been with them, at bridal and at burial, at the christeningcarol and at the death-wail. He had rejoiced in their prosperity, and at their last conflict with the Spoiler, had armed himself with prayer, and stood by, until there was no more breath. He had shed the baptismal dew on infant brows, that, now mottled with gray, bent over their children's children. His flock had not been so numerous but that every part of their history was familiar to him, and kept its place in his memory.

Such an intercourse had created, as it ought, no common attachment. They saw that his step was feeble, and that time

had' taken from him somewhat of manhood's glory; but they remembered that he had grown old in their service, that his eye had become dim while he cared for their souls, and every infirmity was a new bond of sympathy. If there were any of the young who might have taken pride in a modern preacher, one less prolix, or more after the fashion of the day, they checked the thought ere it was spoken, for they had learned to venerate their faithful pastor, from the patriarchs who had gone to rest. Little children imitated their parents, and gathered around him, treasuring all he said to them; and the love that thus came down from other generations seemed not to have decayed at the root, or to have ceased from fruitbearing.

The intermission between the services was short, as most of the congregation, coming from quite a distance, did not return home at noon. Their horses were sheltered by sheds, constructed for that purpose, while they, seated in groups, amid clumps of lofty forest trees, partook of such refreshments as they had brought for the occasion.

On the banks of a transparent, winding stream, we had our coach-cushions spread, and enjoyed the quietness of the hour. It was pleasant to see families gathering together, with their healthful children, upon the green turf, beneath canopies of shade.

In an interesting group near us, the hoary grandsire, with lifted hands, besought the divine blessing on their simple repast. Here and there, the young walked by themselves, on the margin of the fair stream; but there seemed in their deportment or conversation nothing unworthy of the consecrated day. We returned home from the little village church cheered, and I hope edified by its devotion, and the beautiful and time-tried love of the white-haired shepherd and his confiding flock.

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LESSON XLIII.

Sacrifice of a Hindoo Widow. MRS. POSTAN.

NEWS of the widow's intentions having spread, a great concourse of people of both sexes, the women clad in their gala costumes, assembled round the pyre. In a short time after their arrival, the fated victim appeared, accompanied by the Brahmins, her relatives, and the body of the deceased. The spectators showered chaplets of mogree on her head, and greeted her appearance with laudatory exclamations at her constancy and virtue. The women especially pressed forward to touch her garments—an act which is considered meritorious, and highly desirable for absolution and protection from the "evil eye."

The widow was a remarkably handsome woman, apparently about thirty, and most suberbly attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy to all around her, and by a complete indifference to the preparations which for the first time met her eye. From this circumstance an impression was given that she might be under the influence of opium; and in conformity with the declared intention of the European officers present to interfere should any coercive measures be adopted by the Brahmins or relatives, two medical officers were requested to give their opinion on the subject. They both agreed that she was quite free from any influence calculated to induce torpor or intoxication.

Captain Burnes then addressed the woman, desiring to know whether the act she was about to perform were voluntary or enforced, and assuring her that, should she entertain the slightest reluctance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on the part of the British government, would guaranty the protection of her life and property. Her answer was calm, heroic, and constant to her purpose: "I die of my own free will; give

me back my husband, and I will consent to live; if I die not with him, the souls of seven husbands will condemn me!"

Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of death were permitted, again the voice of mercy, of expostulation, and even of entreaty was heard; but the trial was vain, and the cool and collected manner with which the woman still declared her determination unalterable, chilled and startled the most courageous. Physical pangs evidently excited no fears in her; her singular creed, the customs of her country, and her sense of conjugal duty, excluded from her mind the natural emotions of personal dread; and never did martyr to a true cause go to the stake with more constancy and firmness, than did this delicate and gentle woman prepare to become the victim of a deliberate sacrifice to the demoniacal tenets of her heathen creed.

Accompanied by the officiating Brahmin, the widow walked seven times round the pyre, repeating the usual mantras, or prayers, strewing rice and coories on the ground, and sprinkling water from her hand over the bystanders, who believe this to be efficacious in preventing disease and in expiating committed sins. She then removed her jewels, and presented them to her relations, saying a few words to each, with a calm, soft smile of encouragement and hope. The Brahmins then presented her with a lighted torch, bearing which,

"Fresh as a flower just blown,

And warm with life her youthful pulses playing,"

she stepped through the fatal door, and sat within the pile. The body of her husband, wrapped in rich kinkaub, was then carried seven times round the pile, and finally laid across her knees. Thorns and grass were piled over the door; and again it was insisted that free space should be left, as it was hoped the poor victim might yet relent, and rush from her fiery prison to the protection so freely offered. The command was readily obeyed; the strength of a child would have suf

ficed to burst the frail barrier which confined her, and a breathless pause succeeded; but the woman's constancy was faithful to the last.

Not a sigh broke the death-like silence of the crowd, until a slight smoke, curling from the summit of the pyre, and then a tongue of flame darting with bright and lightning-like rapidity into the clear blue sky, told us that the sacrifice was completed. Fearlessly had this courageous woman fired the pile, and not a groan had betrayed to us the moment when her spirit filed. At sight of the flame, a fiendish shout of exultation rent the air; the tom-toms sounded, the people clapped their hands with delight as the evidence of their murderous work burst on their view, whilst the English spectators of this sad scene withdrew, bearing deep compassion in their hearts, to philosophize as best they might on a custom so fraught with horror, so incompatible with reason, and so revolting to human sympathy. The pile continued to burn for three hours; but, from its form, it is supposed that almost immediate suffocation must have terminated the sufferings of the unhappy victim.

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