The Grateful Man.

THE steamboat was just coming to her moorings, at the long and beautiful pier at Oswego. The mate was in an animated conversation with some one, and, as the strong mooring rope was flung over the post, I heard him say, "No, there is no such thing. I never saw a grateful man in my life-not even a Christian." At this moment there was a splash, and a shriek; and then a man, apparently about thirty-five years of age, ran from the door of the ladies' cabin, crying in tones which no one who heard them can forget or imitate, "It is my boy, it is my only boy!"

The deep green waters had already covered him; but in a moment the mate was down, hanging on the end of the rope, and just as the boy, a sweet fellow of about ten years, was sinking to rise no more, he thrust down his arm and caught him by the hair, some two or three feet under water. He drew him out and gave him back to the father, who was uttering his entreaties, and to his mother who was still, and uttered not a word. Her countenance was more eloquent than words. Some time after this, when the feeling had subsided, I saw the father take the mate one side. What he said I know not; but he spoke and tears flowed down his cheek. The noble sailor refused any compensation; and after a hard shake of the hand, I once more heard the mate say to his friend; "I was mistaken; I have seen one grateful man and he is a Christian."

Father, hadn't you better take a Sheep too?

A VALUED friend, and an able farmer, about the time the temperance reform was beginning to exert a healthful influence, said to his newly hired man, "Jonathan, I did not think to mention to you when I hired you, that I think of trying to do my work this year without rum, how much more must I give you to do without?"

"Oh," said Jonathan, "don't care much about it, you may give me what you please." "Well," said the farmer, "I will give you a sheep in the fall, if you wish to de without." "Agreed," said Jonathan.

The oldest son then said: "Father, will you give me a sheep, if I do without rum?"

"Yes, Marshall, you shall have a sheep, if you will do without."

The youngest son, a stripling, then said: "Father, will you give me a sheep, if I do without?" "Yes, Chandler, you shall have a sheep also, if you do without rum.”

Presently, Chandler speaks again-" Father, hadn't you better take a sheep too?"

The farmer shook his head, he hardly thought that he could give up the "good creature" yet. But the appeal was from a source not to be easily disregarded; the result was, the demon rum, was thenceforth banished from the premises, to the great joy, and ultimate happiness of all concerned.

Wicked Principle.

A COUNTRY gentleman not long since, placed a son with a merchant in street. And for a season all went on well. But, at length, the young man sold a dress to a lady; and, as he was folding it up, he observed a flaw in the silk and remarked, "Madam, I deem it my duty to tell you there is a fracture in the silk."

This spoiled the bargain. But the merchant overheard the remark; and had he reflected a moment, he might have reasoned thus with himself, "Now I am safe, while my affairs are committed to the care of an honest clerk." But he was not pleased; so he wrote immediately to the father to come and take him home; for said he, "he will never make a merchant."

The father who had brought up his son with the strictest care, was not a little surprised and grieved, and hastened to the city to ascertain wherein his son had been deficient. Said the anxious father, and why will he not make a merchant?

Merchant. Because he has no tact. Only a day or two since, he voluntarily told a lady, who was buying silk, that the goods were damaged, and so I lost the bargain. Purchasers must look out for themselves. If they

cannot discover flaws, it will be foolishness in me to tel them of their existence.

Father. And is this all the fault?

Merchant. Yes: he is very well in other respects. Father. Then I love my son better than ever; and I thank you for telling me of the matter; I would not have him in YOUR STORE another day for the world."

One minute too late.

A BEAUTIFUL young woman was condemned to die on the scaffold. Her youth, her loveliness and reputed inno'cence, kindled in the hearts of multitudes the keenest sensibility for her melancholy fate. The throne had been besieged with earnest supplication for her pardon-but still without success; while hope yet whispered that at the last moment, the heart of royalty might melt and grant the boon. The appointed day has come-crowds gather on the fatal spot-the hour when she must die draws near. The last ray of hope expires, when, afar in the distance a messenger comes he rides like lightning over the plain. He comes-he comes. But the fatal hour has come before him-the fatal blow is struck-her life blood mingles with the sand, when lo! the messenger arrived, the pardon is at hand; but it came one minute too late.

Sinner! you are under sentence of death. He that believeth not, is condemned already. The hour of execution is rapidly drawing near. Each day that passes, brings that set time one day nearer. It will soon open on your eyes. The king has pardon in his heart, and in his hand. But he will be inquired of, to grant this boon for you. While you live, perhaps the day of grace lingers. Perhaps it is just closing, and the night of despair setting in. Your suit pressed now, may prevail. The pardon may be granted. Your soul may be saved. But soon the fatal hour, the hour of death_must_come. You are

stretched on a bed of pain. Disease has laid his iron hand upon you, and now is feeling for your heartstrings. A moment more, and you are out of mercy's reach. The voice of friendship shouts in your ear, beseeching you to

pray. You turn a dying eye to heaven. You raise an expiring voice to God. But the eyelid falls-the voice chokes the life blood stops. It is one minute too late. Oh! sinner, now is the accepted time. To-day is the day of salvation.

Be wise to-day

'Tis madness to defer.

A Member of Parliament, a Tract Distributor.

MR. BUTTERWORTH, a member of the British Parlia ment, was in the habit of devoting an hour every Sunday morning to the distribution of tracts, in the worst part of London.

He was one day beckoned to by an old woman, who told him there was a young man above stairs, who lay very sick and desirous to see him. On entering the apartment he found a youth bearing the evident impress of education and refinement, but of vice and dissipation, stretched on a pallet, pale, emaciated, and evidently approaching the grave. On conversing with him he confessed himself to be the son of a pious man in the interior of England, who had left his father's house to get rid of the restraints of his presence and example, and to allow full swing to his own corrupt desires. In his affliction he had sought the mercy of his father's God, and apparently not in vain : and now his whole desire was once more to see his injured parent, and to ask his pardon before he died. His visitor, deeply affected by what he saw and heard, inquired his father's name and residence--and though crowded with public business, laid every thing aside, and made a journey of upwards of fifty miles to his abode.

He found the old gentleman and asked him, if he had not a son? "Yes," replied the afflicted man, "but he is the grief and disgrace of my gray hairs." I have lately met your son." "Have you, sir? And where is he?" On learning the mournful account, he stepped into Mr. B's carriage on their return to London, the scene in the Savior's parable of the prodigal son was acted over in a way to melt the heart. They fell on each other's neck

"Oh! dear father, will you, can you forgive me?" "Forgive you! yes, fully, freely I forgive you." It was toc much for the exhausted frame of the dying penitent--he sank back, closed his eyes, opened them once more, fixed them on his father's face, then raised them to heaven, and without speaking another word, expired. What a spectacle-what a feast for the Tract Distributor!

Old Father Morris.

THE manner in which this aged New-England clergyman illustrated some topics, is shown in the following extract from an article in the Lady's Book, written by Mrs. H. B. Stowe.

Sometimes he would give the narration an exceedingly practical turn, as one example will illustrate:

He had noticed a falling off in his little circle, which met for social prayer, and took occasion, the first time he re-collected a tolerable audience, to tell concerning "the conference meeting which the disciples attended," after the resurrection.

"But Thomas was not with them," said the old man, in a sorrowful voice. "Why! what could keep Thomas away?" "Perhaps," said he, glancing at some of the backward auditors, "Thomas had got cold-hearted, and was afraid they would ask him to make the first prayer, or, perhaps," said he, looking at some of the farmers, "Thomas was afraid the roads were bad; or perhaps,' he added, after a pause, "Thomas had got proud, and thought he could not come in his old clothes." Thus he went on, significantly summing up with great simplicity and emotion, he added, "but only think what Thomas lost, for in the middle of the meeting, the Lord Jesus came, and stood among them! How sorry Thomas must have been!" This representation served to fill the vacant seats for some time to come.

Father Morris sometimes used his illustratic talent to a very good purpose in the way of rebuke. He had on his farm a fine orchard of peaches, from which some of the ten and twelve year old gentlemen helped themselves more liberally than the old gentleman thought expedient.