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the whole arrangement of his features into a holy, pleasant, calm and resigned state, that would seem to say, an heir of grace can find “ glory begun below.”

“O, Bob, my dear lad,' said the captain, with great humility, "I have had such a night! After you left me I fell into a sort of doze; my mind was full of the many blessed things you had been reading to me from the precious Bible. All on a sudden I thought I saw, in that corner of my bed-place, Jesus Christ hanging bleeding on his

Struck with the thought, I thought I arose and crawled to the place, and casting my: self at his feet in the greatest agony of soul, I cried out for a long time, like the blind man you read of, Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.' At length I thought he looked on me. Yes, my dear lad, he looked at your poor wicked captain ; and O, Bob, what a look it was! I shall never forget it. My blood rushed to my heart-my pulse beat high-my soul thrilled with agitation, and, waiting for him to speak, with fear not unmixed with hope, I saw him smile. O, my child, I saw himn smile-yes, and he smiled on me-on me, Bob. O, my dear boy, he smiled on wretched guilty me. Ah, what did I feel at that moment ! my heart was too full to speak, but I waited, and ventured to look up, when I heard him say, hanging as he did on the cross, the blood streaming from his hands, and feet, and side--0, Bob, what sounds were these! shall I ever hear his beloved voice again? I heard him say, in sounds that angels cannot reach, Son, be of good cheer; thy sins, which be many, are all forgiven thee !' My heart burst with joy; I fell prostrate at his feet; could not utter a word but glory, glory, glory! The vision vanished ; I fell back on my pillow; I opened my eyes; I was covered with perspiration. I said, O, this cannot be a dream! No, Bob, I know that Jesus bled and died for me; I can believe the promises, the many precious promises you have read me out of the Bible, and feel that the blood of the cross can cleanse even me. I am not now afraid to die; no, Bob, my sins are pardoned through Jesus. I want no more: I am now ready to die ; I have no wish to live. I cannot, I feel I cannot be many days longer on this side of eternity. The extreme agitation of my mind, of late, has increased the fever of my body, and I shall soon breathe my last.” The boy, who had silently shed many tears, now burst into a flood of sorrow, and involuntarily cried, “No, my dear master, don't leave me." Bob," said he, calmly,“ my dear boy, comfort your mind; I am happy, I am going to be happy for ever. I feel for you ; my bowels yearn over you as if you were my own child. I am sorry to leave you in such a wicked world, and with such wicked men as sailors are in general. O, may you ever be kept from those crimes into which

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I have fallen. Your kindness to me, my dear lad, has been great; God will reward you for it. To you I owe every thing as an instrument in the Lord's hands. Surely he sent you to me! God bless you, my dear boy; tell the crew to forgive me, as I forgive and pray for them.” Thus the day passed in the most pleasing and profitable manner, when Bob, after reading the Bible as usual, retired to his hammock. Eager the next morning to meet again, Bob arose at day-light, and opening the state-room door, saw his master had risen from his pillow and crawled to the corner of his bed-place, where, in his dream, he beheld the cross. There he appeared kneeling down in the attitude of prayer, his hands clasped and raised, and his body leaning against the ship-side. The boy paused and waited a few moments, fearful of disturbing his master. At length he called, in a sort of whisper,

“ Master." No answer. “ Master." No reply. He ventured to creep forward a little, , and then said, - Master." All was silent! Again he cried, “Captain.” Silence reigned! He stretcned out his hand and touched his leg ; it was cold, and stiff, and clammy. He called again, “Captain." He raised his hand to his shoulder; he tenderly shook it. The position of the body was altered: it declined gently until it rested on the bed; but the spirit had fled some hours before, we hope, to be with Christ, which is far better.

M. LE PELLETIER.

I was travelling through Orleans, says Dide. rot, accompanied by an officer. Nothing was talked of in the town but what had lately happened to an inhabitant of the name of Le Pelletier, a man who showed the deepest commisseration for the poor, so that, after having, by his great liberality, exhausted a considerable fortune, he was reduced to a state of poverty himself. Though he had barely sufficient for his daily wants, he yet persisted in the benevolent labors he had undertaken, and went from door to door, seeking, from the superfluities of others, that assistance for the destitute which it was no longer in his power to bestow.

The poor and well-informed persons had but one opinion of the conduct of this individual ; but many rich men, who wasted their substance in riotous feastings and journies to Paris, looked upon him as a madman, and his near relations treated him as a lunatic who had foolishly spent his wealth.

Whilst refreshing ourselves at the inn, a number of loiterers had assembled round a man who was speaking, a hairdresser, and were earnestly addressing him, “You were present, do tell us. how it was.”

Willingly, gentlemen,” replied he, and appeared as impatient to relate as they were to hear, the following narrative:

Monsieur Aubertot, one of my customers, whose house faces the church, was standing at his door, when Mons. le Pelletier accosted him, “Monsieur, can you give me nothing for my friends ?" (thus he called the poor.)

"Not to-day, sir."

Mons. Le Pelletier added, “Oh! if you but knew for whom I ask your charity! There is a poor woman! a distressed mother! who has not a rag to wrap round her new-born babe !"

“ ì cannot to-day !"

“ There is a daughter, who, though young, has for a long while maintained her father and her mother; but now she wants work, and starves."

"I cannot, Mons. le Pelletier ; I cannot af. ford it.”

“There is a poor working man, who earns his bread by hard labor ; he has just broken his leg by a fall from a scaffolding."

“ But, sir, I cannot afford it, I assure you.”

“Pray, pray, Mons. Aubertot, allow yourself to be moved ; oh, have compassion !"

"I cannot afford it, sir; I cannot, indeed, afford it."

My good, good, merciful Mons. Aubertot

“Mons. le Pelletier, I beg you will leave me: when I wish to give, vou know I do not need to be entreated."

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