Hillsdale Whig Standard

The Lost Gem.

The black waters of death were rolling sluggishly onward. There approached those whose features bore traces of anxiety and sorrow; and with a bowed form she gazed into the turbulent stream, as though she would fain descry something far down in its fathomless depths.

A being of benign and celestial aspect appeared at her side, and said.
"What seekest thou, sorrowing one?"

"Alas!" she answered. "I wore a sparkling jewel upon my bosom. It was no paltry bauble, but a monarch's gift, and invaluable. The wealth of India cannot yield one to match it. In an evil hour it dropped from its resting-place into this dark river. For a moment I saw it float near the brink, and stretched my hand to regain it, but it was beyond my reach; and it sank down, till I saw it no more. It is gone—lost forever!"

"Stay mourner! Grieve not, but look again into the waters!"
She looked, and a cry burst from her lips.
"It is there! I see it floating upon the dismal wave. O. shall it not be mine once more?" The answer came:
Nay—but thou art deceived—what thou seest is but the semblance of what was thine. Yet, turn thy eyes upward and rejoice."

She obeyed, and beheld a star gleaming from a bright spot of azure in the murky sky, whose rays gave even the waves of that gloomy river a tinge of brightness, and whose reflection there she had mistaken for her own lost gem.

Then came a tender, musical voice, as the beautiful appearance vanished.
"Mourner, these restless billows, though fearful and dark to thee, roll up to the gate of heaven. Ever faithful to their trust, they bore thy jewel, which was lent, not given to thee, to its rightful owner, the Monarch of Heaven; and transferred to his care, it will shine forever in His glorious dwelling-place."

The mourner departed with a countenance thoughtful yet cheerful; her gaze no longer bent upon earth or the sorrowful river of death but was meekly and trustingly raised to the heavens. And that star, beaming into her spirit with rays of hope and gladness, was ever after her talisman and her guide.

Mother! who weepest for thy little one, so early lost; mourner, art thou? that star is thy now angel-child! Dry thy tears. and ever rejoice that thou hast a treasure in heaven!

[Lowell Offering,