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I went to sea again, in the hope my mind might recover, for I began to think that it was derangement; and I thought that if I were only among strangers I should feel better. But it was all in vain; I carried the cause of my misery with me wherever I went. There was a voice in the wind, there was a voice in the ocean, forever repeating my crime to me. sun, the moon and the stars reproached me; every eye that rested upon me seemed to read my dreadful secret and to condemn me, for everything around me appeared only the echo of the undying anguish within my bosom.

The

The captain and the sailors thought that I had partially lost my reason, but as I did my duty and was inoffensive they left me to myself.

After I had been two or three voyages I made the resolution to live the remainder of my life in solitude, and chose this spot, which in one of them I had become acquainted with, for my abode. The savings from my wages furnished me with more than enough to purchase a boat and what few things I should want, and here I shall remain till that great Being, whose laws I have violated, whose mercy I have slighted, releases me from the burthen of life.

Although the ocean was the scene of my last

crime yet I have a sort of gloomy pleasure in being near it; its eternal sound, its unceasing motion seems like my own soul to me, and it is the only companion I can endure.

Should any one read this narrative he may wonder at a sailor's writing in such language. But I had a natural taste for reading, and read a great deal at my master's office, mostly bad books, so that my mind was really injured by them. But I read some good books; and what I then gave little attention to, now often returns to my mind. I had a great notion of writing, and my master often employed me to write for him; and he was always pleased with what I did, and often praised my talents; but these talents I have abused, and they have only added to my condemnation.

The only book I have brought to my solitude is the Bible that my mother gave me when I first went to apprentice, but which I have so much neglected. This blessed book I have now read over and over again, although it sets before me my own wickedness and makes me feel the hatefulness of my ingratitude towards the good Being whose will it contains. Whoever reads these pages will learn from them that there is no rest for the wicked;

that security from detection is no security from punishment to the criminal; that there are no tortures that can be inflicted upon the body comparable to the sufferings of a guilty conscience; and that when it is said to be the worm that dieth not, it is but a faint image of the reality.

As the clergyman concluded, every face was raised to his with an expression of solemnity and deep compassion. The sun was just setting, its slanting beams as they struck uponthe white crests of the waves gave such a glow and brilliancy to the ocean as to make you feel as if its waters were rejoicing; and the happy and glorious aspect of nature contrasted strongly and mournfully with the dark and gloomy scene within and around the little cabin.

The countenance of every one was expressive of awe and pity as he contemplated the miserable being whose lifeless remains were stretched before them. The waves as they seemed to clap their hands, the farewell light. of the western sky, the soft evening hour as it gently approached, the stars as they began faintly to appear; all seemed to utter a mild

reproach to man, the lord of this world, for his insensibility to the harmony of nature, and his ingratitude to its Creator.

The clergyman improved the solemn hour to pray with his people, and to impress, upon their hearts the affecting lesson which the unhappy man's confession had taught. He called their attention to the glories and touching beauties, the holy peace of the visible world, and he tried to elevate their hearts to grateful love towards the Creator of all things, the Father of the whole human family, the God of mercy as truly as the God of justice.

DIALOGUE ON FAITH,

Have you had a pleasant time at Sunday

school?" said Mrs G

to her daughter

Rose as they were walking home from meeting together.

Rose. Yes, mother, very pleasant indeed, Mother. Can you tell me what your lesson was; and what have learned to

day?

think you you

Rose. Our lesson was about faith; our teacher asked us what was the meaning of faith; and not one of us could answer.

Mother. Could not one of you tell? I thought Rose, I had tried to explain it to you.

Rose. You did, mother, and I had some idea of it, but I could not express myself easily, and I was afraid I might be wrong; so I did not try.

Mother. Was that right, dear? was it kind to your teacher? When she takes so much pains for your good, ought you not to be willing to sacrifice your indolence or your vanity, to please her and to assist her in her labors?

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