The effect of the recollection of this passage was solemn and powerful. He could no longer enjoy the scene around him. He quickly retired, but his soul continued to be troubled; nor did he find rest till he had chosen the Savior. Reader, when you hear the clock tell the departure of another hour, will you ask yourself what report it bore to heaven? And how many more hours you are ikely to have, to waste, perhaps in sin?

A Noble Youth.

THE following anecdote was related to a gentleman, during a night he spent in a farmhouse in Virginia, some few years ago:

In December, 17-, towards the close of a dreary day, a woman with an infant child were discovered half buried in the snow, by a little Virginian, seven years old. The lad was returning from school, and hearing the moans of some one in distress, threw down his satchel of books, and repaired to the spot whence the sound proceeded, with a firmness becoming one of riper years. Raking the snow from the benumbed body of the mother, and using means to awaken her to a sense of her deplorable condition, the noble youth succeeded in getting her upon her feet; the infant nestling on its mother's breast, turned its eyes towards their youthful preserver and smiled, as it seemed, in gratitude for its preservation. With a countenance filled with hope, the gallant youth cheered the sufferer on, himself bearing within his tiny arms the infant child, while the mother leaned for support on the shoulder of her little conductor. "My home is hard by," would he exclaim, as oft as her spirits failed; and thus for three miles, did he cheer onward to a happy haven, the mother and child, both of whom otherwise must have perished, had it not been for the humane feeling and perseverence of this noble youth.

A warm fire and kind attention, soon relieved the sufferer, who, it appeared, was in search of her husband, an emigrant from New Hampshire, a recent purchaser of a farm in the neighborhood of near this place. Diligent inquiry for several days found him and in five

months after, tne identical house in which we are now setting was erected, and received the happy family. The child grew up to manhood-entered the army-lost a limb at New Orleans, but returned to end his days, a solace to the declining years of his aged parents.

"Where are they now?" I asked the narrator.

"Here." exclaimed the son. "I am the rescued onethere is my mother, and here, imprinted on my naked arm is the name of the noble youth, our preserver!" I looked, and read "Winfield Scott."

The King and the Soldier.

A KING was riding along in disguise, and seeing a soldier at a public house door, stopped, and asked the soldier to drink with him; and while they were talking the king swore.

The soldier said, "Sir, I am sorry to hear a gentleman swear." His majesty took no notice, but soon swore again. The soldier said, "Sir, I'll pay part of the pot if you please, and go; for I so hate swearing, that if you were the king himself, I should tell you of it." "Should you indeed?" said the king. "I should," said the soldier. His majesty said no more, but left him. A while after, ne king having invited some of his lords to dine with him, the soldier was sent for; and while they were at dinner, he was ordered into the room, and to wait a while. Presently the king uttered an oath; the soldier immediately, but with great modesty, said: "Should not, my lord, the king fear an oath ?" The king, looking first at the lords, then at the soldier, said, "There, my lords, is an honest man he can respectfully remind me of the great sin of swearing; but you can sit and let me send my sou. to hell by swearing, and not so much as tell me of it.

The most interesting sight in the World.

ONE day the Rev. Henry Venn, author of the "New Whole Duty of Man," told his children, that in the eve ning he would take them to see one of the most interesting

sights in the world. They were anxious to know wha it was, but he deferred gratifying their curiosity, till he brought them to the scene itself. He led them to a miserable hovel, whose ruinous walls and broken windows bespoke an extreme degree of poverty and want. "Now," said he, "my dear children, can any one who lives in such a habitation as this be happy? Yet this is not all, a poor young man lies upon a miserable straw bed within it, dying of disease, at the age of only nineteen, consumed with constant fever and afflicted with nine painful ulcers." "How wretched a situation!" they all exclaimed. He then led them into the cottage and addressing the poor young man, said, "Abraham Midwood, I have brought my children here to show them that it is possible to be happy in a state of disease, and poverty, and want; and now tell me if it is not so." The dying youth, with a sweet smile of benevolence and piety, immediately replied, "Oh, yes sir! I would not change my state with that of the richest person upon earth, who was destitute of these views which I possess. Blessed be God! I have a good hope, through Christ, of being admitted into those blessed regions where Lazarus now dwells, having long forgotten all his sorrows and miseries.

"Sir, there is nothing to bear whilst the presence of God cheers my soul, and whilst I can have access to him, by constant prayer, through faith in Jesus. Indeed, sir, Í am truly happy, and I trust to be happy and blessed through eternity, and, I every hour thank God, who has brought me from a state of darkness into his marvellous light, and has given me to enjoy the unsearchable riches of his grace!" The impression made by this discourse upon his young hearers was never effaced.

The Sage's advice to Mourners.

I saw a pale mourner stand bending over the tomb, and his tears fell often. As he raised his humid eyes to heaven, he cried: "My brother! Oh my brother!" A sage passed that way, and said:

For whom dost thou mourn?"

"One," replied he, "whom I did not sufficiently love while living; but whose inestimable worth I feel."

"What would'st thou do if he were restored to thee ?" The mourner replied, that he would never offend him by an unkind word, but would take every occasion to show his friendship, if he could but come to his fond embrace.

"Then waste not thy time in useless grief," said the sage; but if thou hast friends, go and cherish the living remembering that they will one day be dead also."

Course of Life.

"LIFE," says Bishop Heber, and beautifui is the imagery which he employs to express his thoughts, "life bears us on like the stream of a mighty river. Our boat, at first, glides gently down the narrow channel, through the playful murmurings of the little brook, and the windings of its grassy border. The trees shed their blossoms over our young heads; the flowers on the brink seem to offer themselves to our young hands; we are happy in hope, and we grasp eagerly at the beauties around us: but the stream hurries us on, and still our hands are empty.

"Our course in youth and manhood, is along a wilder and deeper flood, and amid objects more striking and magnificent. We are animated by the moving picture of enjoyment and industry, which passes before us; we are excited by some short-lived success, or depressed and rendered miserable, by some equally short-lived disappointment. But our energy and our dependence are both in vain. The stream bears us on, and our joys and our griefs are alike left behind us. We may be shipwrecked, but we cannot anchor; our voyage may be hastened but cannot be delayed. Whether rough or smooth, the river hastens towards its home, till the roaring of the ocean is in our ears, and the tossing of its waves is beneath our heel and the lands lessen from our eyes, and the floods are lifted up around us, and the earth loses sight of us, and we take our last leave of earth and its inhabitants and of our farther voyage there is no witness, but the In finite and Eternal."