fully taught to read it by my own mother, and had read it daily as long as I possessed one, yet to so little purpose that I could not now call to mind a single text that would meet this poor man's case, and afford him the consolation he so much required. I was much distressed, and taxed my memory for a long time. At last a text did flash into my mind, and I wondered much that I had not thought of it before.
"Bill," said I, in a low voice, "'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.'"
"Ay, Ralph, I've heard the missionaries say that before now, but what good can it do me? It's not for me that. It's not for the likes o' me."
I knew not now what to say, for although I felt sure that that word was for him as well as for me, I could not remember any other word whereby I could prove it.
After a short pause, Bill raised his eyes to mine and said, "Ralph, I've led a terrible life. I've been a sailor since I was a boy, and I've gone from bad to worse ever since I left my father's roof. I've been a pirate three years now. It is true I did not choose the trade, but I was inveigled aboard this schooner and kept here by force till I became reckless and at last joined them. Since that time my hand has been steeped in human blood again and again. Your young heart would grow cold if I—; but why should I goon? Tis of no use, Ralph; my doom is fixed."
"Pill," said I, "'Though your sins be red like crimson, they shall be white as snow.' 'Only believe.'"
"Only believe!" cried Bill, starting up on his elbow; "ve heard men talk o' believing as if it was easy. Ha! 'tis easy enough for a man to point to a rope and say, 'I believe that would bear my weight;' but 'tis
