you all day by standing at the helm. Accordingly, in the evening, every man came down into the cabin. I took the Bible and read a chapter, and called upon the mate to pray. In a moment all were upon their knees. The mate proceeded a little way, but soon choked up with tears, and broke down. The cook then undertook it, and he soon swamped in the same way. I then said to one of the apprentice boys, Billy, can't you pray for us? The little fellow began and made an excellent, sweet little prayer, and seemed to get along the best of any us. "The fact is," said the captain, "we were all overwhelmed with a sense of our sins, and as there was not one of us that had made any profession of a religious experience, we made rather lame work of it at first; but, I do hope, that God, in his mercy, has heard our poor petitions, and converted every man on board. As to myself," said the captain, "it is my intention, if it please God, to connect myself with his people, and with the church, of which my praying wife is a member; and I suppose it is the proba ble intention of others to do the same."

I occa

The Scoffer and the Profane. DURING the residence of a few years at sionally met with a youth whose melancholy end in connection with his character, affords a solemn warning to those designated by the names which are placed at the head of this paragraph. His history was briefly this.

He was a youth of sprightly mind-fond of society, and among his companions the gayest of the gay-a leader in folly and in sin. Although called to move in a humble sphere of life, he seemed not only calculated, but desirous to exert an influence upon his own circle of friends and even beyond it, but the influence which he desired, and which he did exert, was of the most pernicious kind. He early chose the scoffer's seat, and occupied it with delight. The word of God was the subject of his constant ridicule. He would even collect the children about him in the street and endeavor to instil into their minds, his own feelings of hostility to holy things, by telling them that the Bible was a book of lies-that

there was no hell-that all these things were the invention of designing priests who desired to dupe their people and advance their own selfish ends thereby.

As might be expected from his character, he was greatly addicted to profaning the name of God. As he drew nearer the end of his short career, he seemed more and more filled with a spirit of scorning and blasphemy. After his mournful end, I learned that in anticipation of the holidays, which were near, he had resolved and prepared to spend them in greater thoughtlessness and contempt of God than ever before. One afternoon as a funeral procession was passing the house where he resided, he remarked to one that was with him, that he should have many grey hairs in his head before they could get him into such a box as that (alluding to the coffin or hearse) speaking at the same time in the most trifling manner of death. But, alas, he knew not the cup of his iniquity was so nearly filled, and that he was so soon to be driven away in his wickedness. As I was returning from the funeral referred to, I observed a crowd gathered in the street, and presently saw a young man carried out from their midst, apparently lifeless, and taken to a neighboring house. It was this youth. He had left home just after the procession passed, and calling upon a friend in whose presence he exhibited the reckless and wicked spirit which characterized him, he received a kind but severe rebuke, and a solemn warning to prepare for a judgment to come, but he turned it aside with jesting and ridicule. Going out into the street he met with some persons who had an exceedingly wild horse which no one ventured to ride. He immediately offered to mount him. Being strongly urged to desist, and assured of the danger, he persisted in his determination, and declared "he would ride him if he rode him to hell." These were the last words he ever uttered. He had no sooner mounted the horse than he was thrown violently upon the ground, falling upon his head, and was taken up in a state of insensibility. He lingered a day or two, but although he rolled his head from side to side, and moaned most piteously, as if in great pain, he gave no other signs of consciousness, and at length entered the eternal world.

Dear reader, do you ever permit your tongue to speak

lightly of God's holy world? Does his awful name, which angels dare not use but with ascriptions of Hely, Holy, Holy, ever escape your lips profanely? Do you spend your breath in blasphemy, and mocking God and his sacred truth? Do you dare to trifle with death and judgment and hell? O, remember how soon that breath may be stopped-those lips sealed, and that tongue stilled in death. You will not much longer be permitted to scoff at God and his word. Your next oath, your next scoff may be your last, and may be your last words. To avoid even the possibility of such an end, (of which you have so many examples and warnings,) the next time you use the name or the word of God, let it be to cry with a broken heart, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

The Tract and the Jug.

WHILE traveling through an adjoining county a few days since, I was informed of a circumstance which is proof positive, of the real value of tracts. A brother who had met with an accident while passing through the town of, called at a blacksmith's shop for aid. The smith was absent, but his wife allowed the stranger to use the forge and tools, as it was impossible for him to proceed without repairing the loss. While at work in the shop, he accidentally stumbled on a jug which contained ardent spirits. The careless appearance of the working appara tus-the leaky and crazy house-the rickety fence-the garden overrun with weeds-the lean, half-starved cowin fact, all he saw or heard, plainly said—" a drunkard lives here." He fortunately had a tract on drunkenness which he thrust between the handle and the jug, praying that God would use it for good. The miserable husband -the unkind father-the brutal inebriate, returned-he had pressed the cup of liquid fire to his lips, his soul was bathed in alcohol-the fountain of human kindness has been burned within him--all the tender sympathies of the heart were chilled-and how could he expect to find his home the calm and peaceful cottage where he once centered all his hopes. Sullen and morose, he seeks hig

companion the jug. But what is that in the handle! He reads-dashes it upon the ground tramples upon itconscience gave a sting-he took it up-read-wept--reread-the tears rolled down his bloated face-"Oh my wife, my ruined babies! I am an ungrateful husband, an unworthy father! This cursed jug!" He confessed his sin, and put away his cursed jug, the source of all his ills. A family saved the awful duty of carrying a drunkard to his grave--a maniac made sober-a broken, bleeding heart healed a mother's bitter, scalding tears, made to cease their flowing. What a change! The brutal father becomes an affectionate protector; the cruel husband becomes the kind and attentive companion; the leaky roof keeps off the pelting storm; the half-starved, ragged children fed and clad; now they meet their father with outstretched arms; they cling round his knees, kiss his furrowed cheek; and soothe his aching bosom. What a change! The despised family is respected; the disconsolate wife is filled with joy, and peace, love and happiness reign now, where pale sorrow made her home. What has done this? A tract that cost one fourth of a cent. The stranger who left that mute yet eloquent preacher, has more reason to rejoice, than he who rules an empire; one may rule a nation, the other has been instrumental in saving an immortal soul! Dear reader-do you drink. ardent spirits? O be careful-one more glass, and one more, until thy soul is forever lost! Be persuaded to put down that glass--there is death in it! A serpent hides his head there, and will sting your soul-one more dram has ruined thousands. "The prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself; the simple pass on and are punished."

Integrity of Washington.

DURING the administration of Washington, as President of the United States, an application was made to him by a gentleman for a lucrative and highly responsible office within his gift. The application was made with more confidence of success, from the fact, that this gentleman had been the friend and companion of the General

throughout the whole course of the Revolutionary war, during which he had received, on various occasions, inlubitable marks of his kindness and partiality. He had become, in the estimation, if not of himself, of his friends, in a degree necessary to the happiness of Washington, and had therefore, in their opinion, only to apply for the office, to receive it. It was a boon, which, while it would ensure competency and ease to a friend, would bring that friend into frequent intercourse with his patron, and former associate in arms.

For the same office, however, there was a competitor; but as he was decidedly hostile to the politics of Washington, and had made himself conspicuous among the opposers of his administration, no serious apprehensions were felt from this quarter. Towards such a man-a well known political enemy-Washington surely could feel under no obligations, and was not likely to prefer such an one to a personal friend and favorite. Every one acquainted with the pretensions of the two applicants, was at no loss to judge as to the President's decision, and the concurrent opinion was in favor of the friend, and against his competitor.

Judge, then, the general surprise, when it was announced that the political opponent of Washington was appointed to the office, and the former associate of the General in the toils and deprivations of the camp, was left destitute and dejected.

When his decision was known, a mutual friend, who interested himself in the affair, ventured to remonstrate with the President on the injustice of his appointment. "My friend," replied this illustrious man, "I receive with a cordial welcome; he is welcome to my house, and welcome to my heart; but with all his good qualities, he is not a man of business. His opponent, with all his political hostility to me, is a man of business. My private feelings have nothing to do in the case! 1 am not George Washington, but President of the United States. George Washington, I would do this man any kindness in my power; but as President of the United States, 1 can do nothing."

As

Who can read this incident in the life of this distinguished man, and not admire his integrity? The temp