LEGENDS OF 1689-90.

"THE BRAND PLUCKED FROM THE FIRE."

BY MISS GODDARD.

Pahkehpunnassoo, the sachem of the Chappequiddik, was bitterly opposed to the gospel, and labored earnestly to prevent its spread among his people.

A Mr. Thomas Mayhew, Jr., had settled at Martha's Vineyard, and was so highly esteemed by the few English settlers of that place, that they made him their minister. After some years labor among his resident parishioners, Mr. Mayhew became dissatisfied with his limited means of usefulness, and, having acquired a knowledge of the Indian language, commenced his labors as missionary among the tribes in his vicinity. His first convert was Hiacoomes, a man of small repute among his own people, yet considered by his English brethren as competent to fill the office of minister, and was regularly ordained somewhere about the year 1670. This ordination of a native, displeased Pahkehpunnassoo, so highly, that he embraced every opportunity for manifesting his dislike both towards Mr. Mayhew, and his Indian convert. So bitter was he, towards Hiacoomes, that he at one time, beat him severely, for professing his faith in the white man's gospel. Poor Hiacoomes, smarting under the infliction, manifested less gentleness of spirit, perhaps, than was becoming for a Christian. He even ventured to threaten the sachem with divine vengeance; and strange as it may seem, the threat was soon afterwards, not only fulfilled, but was the proximate cause of Pahkehpunnassoo's conversion to the same faith. It chanced in this wise: Pahkehpunnassoo, with another Indian, was busily employed about his cabin, during a severe thunder storm. While repairing the chimney, both were struck by lightning, and the latter killed. Pahkehpunnassoo fell partly into the fire, and but for his friend, would have perished. His remarkable escape, it is said, awakened him, and was the means of his conversion.

At his baptism Hiacoomes officiated, and, rejoiced no doubt, over the calamity which had brought his stern persecutor to bow to the force of that gospel to which he had borne testimony, and for which he had suffered so cruelly. Of this event, in connection with the lightning, Mr. Mayhew quaintly remarks, "Pahkehpunnassoo was as a brand plucked from the fire."

Hiacoomes died in 1690, aged some where about 80 years.

An amusing incident is related of one of Hiacoomes converts, who sent for his minister to enquire about his gods. Being informed that there was but ONE GOD, the convert immediately enumerated some thirty-seven of his own, and ventured to suggest that it was a pity to throw away so many, for one. Being finally pursuaded that one was amply sufficient, the exchange was made, and the one, as the Indian himself declared, years afterwards, was found to be amply sufficient for all practical purposes.

ALEXANDER AND HENRY MARTYN.

Twenty-two centuries since in the kingly palace of Macedon, might have been seen a youth of some twenty years, pacing an apartment alone. His ruddy hue speaks health, and his eye flashes with quick and earnest thought. His tread is firm and his mein lofty. His brow is knit in thought, and as he strides within his narrow limits, his compressed lips reveal emotion deep and turbulent.

It is Alexander, heir to the crown of Macedon. But an hour since he has heard that Philip has fallen by a subject's hand. No longer vassal to man and recognizing no Divine authority, he is launched young and inexperienced, upon times boisterous, and full of peril.

Well his brow be knit and his eye stern, as may

he paces his On the North hover the Barbarians of the Danube. On the South the cities of Greece stand ready to revolt. The signs

room.

of the times bid him relapse into the insignificance of his paternalheritage, ere he be crushed into a still smaller space. Such with most men would have been their fate, but such a fate his proud spirit could not brook.

When as a boy he tamed Bucephalus, his father cried, "My son, seek a kingdom more worthy of thee, for Macedon is below thy merit." He believed it, he felt it; and now the thought comes full upon his heart, "Macedon is below thy merit." And shall he be content with this miserable height, sovereignty, within his few square miles, when a world is around him. He scorns the thought, and there in that spot decides, that Alexander shall gain immortality or death.

There is no long struggle between self and conscience, between faith and unbelief. Full of self-confidence, the love of ease is overpowered by the love of Glory. Henceforth his aim shall be to magnify himself-self shall be the idol of his heart, the shrine at which his soul shall bow. The world too, shall bow with him, and receive this new religion at his hands.

A few days pass and he embarks for Asia. Persia is his chosen field, conquest his call, the sword his argument, and death the only alternative. How terrible, how successful a career grew from this decision, is told by the pages of History. We may not here trace it. We have glanced at this decisive hour, to contrast it with a like era in another's destiny.

A few years since in an humble apartment in Great Britain, in like manner, trode with hasty steps, a youth of lowly parentage. On his brow too, is resting care, nor are words needed to tell that sorrow and bitterness are his. This youth is Henry Martyn. He has lately been crowned with high academic honors, yet he rejoices not in the days of his youth, for a strangeness has arisen between him, and his Savior God.

Not many days since a message reached him from his Lord, telling of millions dying in a Heathen land, with none to lead them to his bosom of love. It sounded in his ears, "Get thee out rom thy country and from thy fathers house, into a land that I will show thee." He saw them perishing with none to help, he heard their cries, and answered, "Lord, I go."

His soul went forth, but suddenly was cast down. Self rose at

this threatened death, and struggled for existence. Satan too, put forth his power, and for a while the Prince Emanuel seems cast out. Fear bids him disbelieve the power of his Lord to bear him up. Home and his native land assumed new charms, whilst the bond of woman's love grew potent as cables of iron to detain his soul. What can free him? What release him from these bonds? But one power in the Universe, and that is faith-faith to believe that Christ will be true to his promise to be more than all to those who give up all for him. Now is he wrung with anguish. To be burned were easy; but to trust in Christ and go forward, is impossible. One step is needed to place his feet upon a rock. He summons reason, fear and gratitude, but he cannot take that step. Oh, wondrous power of Unbelief thus to defeat Almighty Love!

But now, behold! he prays. He has bowed the knee. Be silent, for this is holy ground. Sad and broken are his tones. His voice is one, and yet we harken to the words of two. The creature worm is holding converse with his Maker God. "My God! my God!" he cries, "why art thou so far from helping me ?"

"I am nigh unto them," the answer comes, "that are of an

humble and of a contrite heart."

"Yet I behold thee not, where art thou, oh high and holy one?"

"Come in, I beseech thee, oh, enter this sad heart."

"Lo, I stand at the door and knock.”

"But art thou willing to come in ?"

"If any man open to me, I will come in, and sup with him, and he with me."

"Oh Savior! art thou ready now to take possession of my life?" "I have waited long, yet I faint not. My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of night."

"But wilt thou never leave me to fall?"

"Never will I leave or forsake thee."

"But how shall I know that thou wilt do this?"

"Oh child of the dust. I have loved thee even unto death, and wilt thou not believe my word? Behold the cross."

"Enough, enough! Oh Savior, thou has conquered. Come in, come in. I will rest on the arm of my beloved. I will not fear, for thou are with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." The victory is won. The world may now allure, and Satan rage, but in vain. They deal not with nipotence on which by faith he leans. strength.

him alone, but with Om

God is his refuge and his

World wide apart are these decisions, one for self, and one for God; as widely different are the paths to which they lead. Yet the same lands were visited, the same rivers crossed, the same Persian sun endured, by both, but for far different ends. Did Alexander feast in Persepolis; among its ruins Henry Martyn prayed. Did the one covet these lands for himself; so did the other for his God. Did the Macedonian bid them burn incense at his own feet; the Missionary bid them bow to Jesus Christ. The Conqueror scattered misery and death; the Christian sowed the word of life.

God granted to each, near the same length of days. Thirtytwo years sufficed to make the names of both illustrious. Quickly they fled and the hour of early death drew nigh. They died, but of their death, history tells not, except that one fell before the wine cup, the other by disease. Yet let us still follow them, and first learn how died the man who put his trust in self.

A youth no longer, but drunk with the blood of Nations, Alexander approaches Babylon. He enters it, but is warned by Chaldean soothsayers that his days are numbered. Now is his soul filled with the horror of overhanging death. Day by day, new sacrifices and new feasts are celebrated, at which the great conqueror seeks to drown his thoughts beneath a flood of wine.

One whole night has he passed in furious carousal. Another is commenced. Bowl after bowl is emptied, his brain whirls, madness has taken hold upon him. He calls for the last cup of Hercules, fills and drains it, then falls senseless to the ground. Flying from death, he has clasped him to his heart.

He is borne to his royal couch, and revives, only to sink beneath new agonies. The ghosts of gory thousands seem to flit before him-but his straining eyes are fixed on one, that one his bosom friend, slain by his own hand. The ghastly shade, plucks