you and me, and all men, to be good and happy. He has loved us ever since we were born, although we have not loved Him. He has given us everything good that we ever had, though we may never have asked it of Him, or thanked Him when we got it. He has told us our duty in the Bible, and written it upon our consciences, although we have not done it. And we have taken the devil's side and not His. And if we do the devil's work, depend upon it we shall get his wages, and that is misery, and nothing but misery. But,' said Wilkins,-for to tell the truth I began to tremble, and for the first time in my life felt afraid to die' But,' said Wilkins, God in His love sent His own Son Jesus Christ into the world to seek and to save the chief of sinners; the chief of sinners, mind you, said he. And he died for sinners on the Cross, and suffered, the just for the unjust, to bring us to God; and rose from the dead, and lives, to forgive every man, and to give His good Spirit to make every man good who will trust Him, and try and do His will. Oh, Tom,' he said, believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. Yes, Tom, even you, before the sun sets, He will receive as a poor prodigal, and save you on this masthead, without church or bible or parson, but by His own love. Accept the forgiveness of sin, His own free gift, for if you don't you will never love your God and be at peace, but be frightened for Him and hate Him. Don't,' says he, holding on for his life, and talking as peaceful as a child, don't go up to judgment with all your sins written in God's book, and not one of them forgiven! Don't damn yourself, messmate, when God wishes to save you! Don't ruin the soul that does not belong to you, but to Him that made it and died for it! Don't be put off turning to God until it is too late; for if you die without a Saviour, and without repenting and being at peace with your Maker; if you say to him "depart from me," then He may take you at your word at last, and say to you depart;" and where will you go then?' With that the sun set, and Wilkins, holding on by one hand, lifted up the other and prayed, -God, our Father, give this prodigal son of thine true repentance, and save his poor soul through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and grant that if we both die this night, we may both wake in heaven and not in hell.' That was Wilkins's sermon, and that was Wilkins's prayer," said Walters. "What became of Wilkins?" asked a gruff voice from one of the hammocks.

6

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"We were both picked off the wreck next morning," said Walters; "but before morning I had given my heart to Christ, and I have never taken it from Him, nor don't intend to do so for ever and ever; and I find Him one of the best and kindest of masters, while I found myself and the devil the worst."

After a pause, during which no remark was made, Walters rose and said with affectionate and earnest voice 66 My men, I am neither hypocrite nor humbug! I appeal to Him that made me, that I believe what I say; speak the truth, and risk my soul on it. As God showed mercy to me nine years ago come tenth of next May, I desire to make my fellow-men share the same mercy, and to enjoy the same peace and liberty; to deliver them

from the foul slavery of sin, and to set them free in the liberty of Christ's service. I solemnly tes tify to you, that as sure as there is a God we must live as long as He lives-for ever; that we must be saints or devils; good and happy, or wicked and miserable. I testify to you, as saith the Scriptures, what you know to be true, that the wicked are like the troubled sea which cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt,' and 'that there is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.' I speak to you what He has given me to say, and it is this: Say ye to the righteous that it shall be well with him, for he shall eat the fruit of his doings. Woe unto the wicked, it

shall be ill with him, for the reward of his hand shall be given him.' 'Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong drink.' I testify to you what you know is true, that wine and women take away the heart,' and make it hard, dead, and miserable. But I testify more than this, that as God liveth He has no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that he would turn from his wickedness and live; that He who knows all your sins, says, "Though thy sins be as scarlet, I will make them white as snow.' Oh, my lads, my comrades of the sea! don't shipwreck your poor souls for ever when there is a life-boat at hand, and when you have your Lord and brother able and ready to save. What say you? Come, my lads, what say you? What has the devil done for you? What sort of master have you found him? What sort of wages has he given you? Are you happy? Are you ready to die? Are you fit to meet your Saviour?"

Walters paused as if for a reply. "It is God's truth you are saying," said Neil Lamont, looking at the palm of his huge hand, "and there is no contradicting you. It is Scripture, I believe, every word."

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Walters, as if anxious to get the men to think, and if possible to " bring them to the point," as he said, tried another tack, and remarked, Say your ship is run on the shore, anchors out, masts cut away, cables snapping, black rocks and wild breakers under astern, the last cable going,—Where next, my lads?"

"The long-boat!" cried a sailor.

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Right," said Walters; "the ship is your soul, and the long-boat is your Saviour!" But there was no response.

After a pause, he asked, with an energetic voice:

"Who cares for you, my men? Who cares whether you are dead or alive? sober or drunk? going to heaven or hell? Fifty fathoms deep, lying dead on the rocky shore, tossed about by the tide, or lying among the wreck on the shore? Who cares whether it's all hands lost, or all hands saved! Who cares?"

"You are right," said Jock Wilson, who could not stand that question. "No one cares for us more than for the brutes."

"No one?" asked Walters. "I say, yes! One does care, One who preserves both man and brute; -One that sailors seldom think of, and seldom speak of except in oaths. The God that made you, and who preserves you, cares for you. Oh,

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"What do you think a saint is?" asked Walters. Why, I do not know," said Wilson, "except, perhaps, he is a sort of long-faced fellow, with black clothes, who is all day singing of psalms, except when groaning and damning sailors for taking their liquor.'

Walters smiled, and said, "If that is a saint, I hope I may never be one, and, I am sure, I don't look like such a saint as that, and yet I hope I am a saint by God's grace that is offered to all. My lads," he continued, "a saint may be a sailor as well as a parson, wear duck as well as black, and be out on a yard as well as preach. For a saint is a man that does God's will with a heart, because he likes Him. And if he won't be a saint, depend upon it he is a devil, and no mistake, or very like one. For what can be worse than a man who dislikes God? And as for your taking liquor, one thing is certain, that whatever is good for a man, for his soul or for his body, his Father in heaven will give it to him; but I take it that getting drunk is good for neither, nor any other wickedness."

"Ye're no far wrang there, minister," said a Scotch voice, "for this has been an awfu' job for us."

"Chaps can't help a-doing what's wrong," remarked one of the hands, "that's my opinion; the devil gets the weather-gage of them in spite of them."

"That's a devil's lie, my lads, depend upon it," said Walters; "a man is a man, and not a brute, and no power on earth or hell can force him to sin unless he likes it, and then it needs no force."

"But wind and tide are always against a fellow when he tries to work his way in the right course, my hearty, isn't it?”

"Yes, when he tries it without God; but if he seeks God, He will be with him, and then He is stronger than wind or tide, for He can make the weakest craft overcome both."

"How do you know?"

"Because He says it, and because I have tried it a thousand times, and know it. The God who has delivered poor Tom Walters, is fit to save any man! And oh, it's peace, my lads; peace and freedom!"

"But what, suppose," remarked another gruff voice from a corner, "I makes up my mind, do ye see, to go ahead, and says, as it were, says I, I'll not pray, nor read the Bible, nor give up my grog or anything else, nor be a saint, but a sinner, and sail where I like, and when I like, and be my own captain? Eh? Can't a fellow get along well enough in that way?"

"And what, my lad," replied Walters, "if the Almighty takes you at your word, and tells you to go ahead, and sail when and where you like? When you give up God, and get your own way, what will become of you? Can you get a better master than Him who is your owner? Can you sail to a better harbour than heaven? Where else will you go to?"

"Yes, that's it! You'll go right on with him, and to him, and lose your God and Saviour for ever. There's but one port where your voyage will end, and you know where that is!

"But I must go, my time is up," continued Walters; "I have left God's message with you; I'll perhaps never see you till the judgment-day, and you'll know then for weal or woe that I have spoke the truth. Farewell!" he said, rising. "From my heart I wish you well, and that all good, and all peace may be yours! But remember there is no good or peace for man unless he believes in Jesus Christ, and serves Him. I will leave you some tracts, and two or three books which you may like to read on the voyage, and, perhaps, for the sake of old Tom Walters, you will grant me one request that you will hear read a portion of the Bible every Sunday, when possible, and a prayer from this Prayer-book, which I give you?" "There is the lad that will do it," said Buckie, pointing to Ned.

"Buckie!" shouted a voice, as if to rebuke him. "Na, but I'm real serious this time," rplied Buckie, as if he felt it an insult to joke at such a moment.

"I will read it," said Ned, "if the crew will allow

me."

The crew expressed their consent in their own peculiar phraseology.

Walters thanked them for their kindness, and added, after shaking hands with all he could get near, "My dear brother seamen, for I like to think of myself as one of you still, I speak just what I feel when I say before we part, that I think the prettiest sight which God Almighty could see on the bosom of the deep would be a ship manned by Christian sailors! Oh, my lads, what a sight, what a sight, that would be! Prayers instead of quarelling; praises instead of cursing, going round the world; and the ship shining beautiful as she went round, like the glorious sun of heaven! Jesus would be on board, and give peace to all, and say in the storm, "It is I, be not afraid!' She would be a blessing and not a curse to every port she entered, and Christian men would pray for her and welcome her, and cry God be with her! And if she was lost with all hands,' or 'never heard of more,' what then? Poor Jack would be at rest in the bosom of his Father and his God. But, farewell! God bless you all! a good voyage to you, and a happy meeting with all friends here, and a happy meeting with us all when the voyage of life is over!"

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Good-bye, sir! " Farewell!" "Good luck to you!" "A fair wind to you, my hearty! "Thank you, old boy!" "God bless you!" came from different voices in the forecastle, as Mr. Walters ascended the ladder.

Ned followed to the deck, and Walters taking him aside for a minute, said, "Young man, I was much pleased with your appearance in court. You are not hardened in sin anyhow; I can see that. Take an old man's advice, and pray to God for His Spirit to guide you, strengthen you, and make you out and out good. Let this adventure of yours be a warning to you to show what a bitter thing sin is; and, mind you, my lad, you may fall down a pit in a moment as a snail can do, but it

may take a long time to crawl up. It is but one step over the precipice, but a long fall, and perhaps broken bones or death at the bottom. So begin soon to be a good man, and you will find it a far easier thing than to begin if once you are a bad one. Every act of sin is another chain to bind us in the Devil's service."

"Thank you, sir," replied Ned. "Both my father, who is an old officer, and my mother, have taught me that," he replied, as he hung down his head, half with shame and half with modesty, and murmured, "I read my Bible, and pray, sir, and wish to serve God, but the other night I could not help it, for"

"Let us not argue about that, my boy," said Walters, kindly clapping him upon the shoulder, "Believe me, there is no good excuse for doing what is wrong. Trust God, my boy; trust God for all good to soul and body, and He will give you the best things at the best time, and in the best way. But trust yourself, or sin, and forsake God! and it is all over with you."

Mr. Walters shook him by the hand, and went aft to speak to the captain. Joining him and the mate on the quarter-deck, and again taking off his hat, he saluted them, presenting the Captain with a neat pocket-bible. Please accept this, Captain Salmond," he said, "as an expression of my gratitude to you for allowing me to speak to your men. They have promised to hear the Scripture read on Sundays, if you have no objection, and I have got a young lad, one of your apprentices, to be chaplain.'

"That'll be Fleming," said Salmond; "he is a gran' han' at the Bible already. As for the crew, they may do as they like, if they only do their duty to me. But saunts or no saunts, by jingo! they maun work the ship."

"I trust they may work her better than ever," said Walters; " she won't sail the worse if God is in her to help and bless her."

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"I'll no say she will," said Salmond; "but ho'soever, if they devils are better, the 'John' will be better too, and that's my only look-out." One word, before parting, to you, Captain, and mate and fellow-men: Unless we repent we shall all perish; unless we are born again we cannot see the kingdom of God."

"That would be an awfu' job," said Salmond. "But remember it is true," said Walters, as he shook hands, and vanished over the ship's side, and was soon seated in his boat, rowing rapidly towards the shore.

Salmond and M'Killop stood staring at one another, smiled, shrugged their shoulders, turned their quids in their mouths, and put their hands in their pockets.

"That's a queer ane," said Salmond. "Daft awee?"

better put it in the cabin till we hae time to think about it," he remarked, as he handed it to the mate, holding it with an outstretched arm cautiously, as if he thought it would burn his fingers.

CHAPTER XII.-ANOTHER SUNDAY AT SEA.

THE blue mountains of Jamaica have disappeared like a cloud below the horizon, and the "John" is once more in blue water,

"With nothing above and nothing below,
But the sky and the ocean."

On the first Sunday after the "John" got fairly out to sea, the weather being propitious, Ned, faithful to his promise to Mr. Walters, embraced a favourable opportunity of seating himself where he had been in the habit of keeping his promise to his mother, by reading a portion of his Bible, an exercise no longer interrupted, even by Buckie. The men were rather eager than otherwise to try the new experiment. There might, perhaps, have been at first a little awkwardness visible; some joking, and here and there a remark approaching to irreverence even, but yet, on the whole, there was an evident disposition to mark the day of rest with some sign of religion, or by a more decorous solemnity than they were in the habit of manifesting. The remembrance of Ned's fight made the crew at once recognise him as the "fox'all parson"

for so they dubbed him. Walters had very wisely given a small printed set of directions for the conducting of the services during the voyage, whether it was short or long. There was one circumstance, I may state, which tended perhaps more than any other to bring about this better state of feeling, and that was the marked change which had somehow come over the boatswain, and to which we shall afterwards more particularly allude. Cox, to the astonishment of all, took the lead in summoning the crew and arranging them for service.

Ned, following the directions he had received, first of all read aloud the Sailor's Psalm-(Psalm cvii.)

He next repeated the Sailor's Prayer-(Jonah ii. 3-9.)

The first portion of Scripture which was selected was the voyage of St. Paul, recorded in the 27th chapter of the book of Acts, which he read, explaining, as he was able to do, some of the proper names and less familiar phrases. It was deeply interesting to watch the men's faces, and hear their remarks. The whole narrative was to them as real as that of any voyage which had taken place in their own time. The interest got so great that Ned had to borrow an atlas from the Captain, and show the ship's course; a favour which Salmond gave with a growl, asking what had an atlas to do with the Bible? and remarking that " they might as well take a compass into the pulpit."

By the time Ned came to the thirty-third verse the men were eager to hear the end of the story.

"And while the day was coming on, Paul besought them all to take meat, saying, This day is the fourteenth day that ye have tarried, and continued fasting, having taken nothing. Wherefore I pray you to take some meat; for this is for your

:

health for there shall not an hair fall from the head of any of you. And when he had thus spoken, he took bread, and gave thanks to God in presence of them all; and when he had broken it, he began to eat. Then were they all of good cheer, and they also took some meat. And we were in all in the ship two hundred threescore and sixteen souls. And when they had eaten enough, they lightened the ship, and cast out the wheat into the sea."

Jock Wilson observed, "Well, I'm glad I was not on board of her! It must have been a wild job, with a leaky ship, a cargo o' wheat, shifting too, no doubt, and two hundred and seventy-six souls on board, and she riding by four anchors off a leeshore in a Levanter! Now, Fleming, as you are up to the Bible better than huz, tell me, 'Was that man Paul a regular parson?'"

"He was a holy apostle, Wilson," replied Fleming.

"That is a parson, is it?" continued Wilson. "In course, he was," said Lamont. "Pity me, Wilson, ye surely hae heard o' the Apostle Paul?" "Perhaps I have, as well as you," said Wilson, "but what I ax is, Was he what we call a parson? for if so, he was not like any that ever I know'd of."

"In what way?" asked Lamont.

"Because the most of them chaps I have sailed with, I'm blest if they were not fine gentlemen, rigged out with black coats that could not stand salt-water; and the ship's company awaiting on them, and not them helping or caring for the ship's company. Now, that man was all alive, I say, and fit for a quarter-deck."

**What do you mean?" said Lamont.

"I mean as how he got rations served out to all hands, for'ard as well as aft, like a man, and kept a bright look-out for the crew, and for the passengers and sojers. And what I say is this, that he was an out-and-outer! A right good fellow he must have been, when the sea was a-washin' over that old tub in a gale of wind, before break of day, on a lee-shore, for him to rise up in that turmendous crowd of passengers, all a-hollerin', and to say grace as peaceful as if he was in a church; I say he was a tip-topper, and no mistake; and a man I'd hear preach, I would. Go on, Ned, I want to hear how they got along. It's first-rate." "Well," said Ned, "if you would listen to his preaching, I can read to you many of his sermons, for there are many of them here."

"Ye maunna

ae lesson I think I hae learned frae this chapter, and it's this, that a man may be in a bad ship and in a wild and lang gale o' wind, wi' little to comfort his body, and be even a puir ill-used prisoner; but yet he may hae the peace o' God in his heart, if he's a Christian man, and that's a reform which is in our ain power, wi' the grace o' God."

"Maybe, Neil, maybe," replied Wilson, "I'm only on my first voyage, like, thro' the Bible; all I say is, Paul was a man I honour and respect. I do indeed. So I say, go ahead, Ned."

And thus began the forecastle services, which were continued during the voyage, and each Sunday saw the crew more quiet, interested, and simple-hearted. During prayers they all rose and listened reverently.

Salmond and M'Killop never joined them, but they never interrupted them, and both confessedthey did not think such a thing possible ;* generously admitting that "they could not say they thought the crew the waur o't." An incident occurred which tended greatly to deepen good impressions.

CHAPTER XIII.-THE BOATSWAIN'S LAST VOYAGE. Cox, the boatswain, had never been the same man since that night of the riot in Kingston. There was evidently " something wrong with him, though neither his own sensations, beyond great internal uneasiness, nor the medical skill of any on board could indicate the nature of his malady. But he had lost his appetite, could seldom sleep, and when he did so, was haunted with nightmares of dim and impalpable horror. He seldom spoke, and seemed oppressed by some great weight. His messmates in vain tried to rally him. Neither their jokes nor their banter moved him further than to draw forth a quiet request to be "let alone."

"What is wrong with Cox?" some of them would ask in a whisper. "Has he seen a ghost? He has broken no bones, nor had a wound more than any of us. But his spirit has gone right off. He is like a vessel waterlogged, or lying-to under bare poles."

"The bo's'n's clean diddled," said Salmond, "with that new rum. We might as well hae a bellwether on board or a pig, for all the guid he does."

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"I am no sure but he's skulkin'," said M'Killop. "Skulkin'!" exclaimed Salmond, as if some new light had broken in upon him; "ye dinna say so? Has he ony spite at you or me? If I thought that, my word, I would start him, big though he is! But na, na, Peter, it's no that. He's ower proud

"Proud! there's nae doubt he's proud," replied the mate; "the proudest man I ever kent. And it's possible he may ha'e a spite; for I was obliged to gi'e him a guid crack that night; yet after a' I think he was ower far gaen to ken me, let alane to keep it in mind."

It is pleasing to know that there are upwards of worship is regularly conducted every Sunday, and, in a 200 merchant ships sailing from British ports in which few cases, daily, with the hearty concurrence of the

crews.

Cox had somehow heard, that the Captain and M'Killop fancied his sickness to be feigned, or thought it proceeded from some grudge, and in his present mood, this but intensified his suffering. No man at any time more thoroughly despised such cowardice, and nothing but a sense of duty or pride enabled him to stand on deck, and take his part in the ship's work. He was daily getting worse. His pale face betrayed his weakness.

In spite of the wrong he had done Ned, the boy was irresistibly attracted to the Boatswain. In his English tongue, handsome face, and fine manly bearing, there was a certain sailor grace and dignity which made him Ned's ideal of a Jack-tar. He had very frequently shown a great deal of kindness in his own way to Ned during the voyage. It was, therefore, with real pain that he saw poor Cox getting visibly weaker and sadder.

One night, when the weather was rough and wet, Ned had insisted on taking Cox's watch on deck. Cox expostulated with him, and refused the offerthe like of which he remarked had never been made to him the whole time he was at sea. But his pain compelled him to give in. Twice again the same charitable substitution was insisted upon by the apprentice.

M'Killop noticed it, and whispered to Ned to "mind what he was about," as he would "not put up with skulking down below. You understand me, don't you?" he asked, looking with one eye steadily at Ned, while the other seemed to follow his finger as he pointed down to the forecastle.

"I think I do," replied Ned manfully, "but Cox is ill, seriously ill, I say, and what can I do since you say that the whole starboard watch must come on deck?"

"All I say is, master," said the mate, with firmness, "don't come it too thick, and humbugging over me, you understand? I hope you do.” But this kindness upon Ned's part, with sundry little unostentatious attentions, such as getting him his food or drink when he could not rise without pain to get it for himself, and chatting to him cheerily to keep his spirits up, and reading now and then without making any fuss about it, or attracting too much notice, seemed to awaken a new life in the heart of the boatswain. One night when it was their joint watch on deck, he expressed his gratification at being able to resume his duties.

It was a glorious night, without a cloud in the sky.

"The moon shone round her with the heavens all bare," and a bright pathway of splendour streamed across the sparkling waves from the ship to the horizon. A gentle breeze swelled the canvas that crowded every yard from the deck to the truck, and out to the end of the stun'sail booms. The sea flashed in phosphorescent foam round her bows, gleaming past the ship, and joining the white and sparkling wake astern.

It was past midnight when the boatswain was gazing intently a-head. Ned joined him, and asked him how he felt. Cox started, as from a reverie, made no reply, but put his hand on the shoulder of the apprentice, made him sit down beside him on a coil of ropes at the heel of the jib-boom.

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Fleming, my boy," he said, "I'm a dying man. Hold hard now; don't speak, for I am not one to humbug you or any one, but I will take it kindly if you listen to what I have to say."

Ned felt a strange spell come over him that hin dered him from replying.

Cox rolled his arms, bent his head forward, and leaning close to Fleming, spoke with a low and earnest voice. "God forgive me," he began, "and I hope you will forgive me for the harm I did you on shore. Yes, yes, I know you forgive me, but I don't forgive myself. Yet what is this drop in the ocean of my wicked life! But that is not what I wanted to say, but something else. Fleming, you are young, and I might be your father; but you are an officer's son, have got good schooling, and can understand a fellow better than our messmates, and I have something on my heart I must heave off somehow before I get worse. It must not go down with me, like shot in my hammock." And then he rose, and, motioning to Fleming to sit still, he looked over the bulwarks in silence, as if debating whether he would say more, and then resumed his seat. "Listen," he said, "to my story. I will tell you what I have been telling no one but myself for many a long year." After a pause, he continued, "I was born and brought up in Dartmouth Forest, in a place called Brentnor. My own name is not Cox, but Revel. My father and mother, with young brothers and sisters, went to live near a place called Anstey's Cove, on the Devon coast. It is many a day, Ned, since I spoke these names aloud. My father had taken a share in a smuggling venture, and used to do a good deal in that line, making many a run in the lugger, for the family was poorly off; and we used to think the rich were determined to rob the poor; and that, though we broke the laws of man, we were not breaking the laws of God. For we thought man's laws were gone clean again' what was just; and indeed in them days, gentlemen and parsons and all were as keen to buy from the lugger as my father was to sell. But my father never did harm to anybody, for a kinder heart never beat. Never! never!"

Here Cox paused and looked aloft, and, clearing his throat, proceeded: "Well, one early morning he and I were walking along the coast, until we came to the top of a precipice that looks over a small place called Babbicombe Bay. Oh, lad, my eyes have never seen a prettier sight on land or and, though I was but a boy, I used to stop to water than there! Many a time I saw it afore ; look down on the big rocks and caves, and clear water and white sand, and Torbay, and the far away sea, with man-o'-war ships! But why should I speak of them that will never see them again? Well, as I was saying, we were coming up the rocks thinking no one was there; though my father knew that big Lillycrap, the coast-guardsman, was on the look-out for him. But just as we