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a soldier. It almost broke her heart. After being trained he left the country, on foreign service. Letter after letter was written to him by his parents, and as he seemed to repent of his conduct and deplore his situation, being very desirous of quitting the army, strenuous efforts were made to release him. But twenty pounds, the sum required, was no small amount to raise by those who earned their bread by the sweat of their brow.

But what will not parental affection do? It led them to toil early and late, and to eat the bread of carefulness, and by repeated applications their employers were induced to lend the amount, which was to be deducted from their hard earned wages, and after the lapse of some months, to their great joy, their lost son like the prodigal, was once more under their roof. For some time he seemed happy and grateful, and he might have continued so, if he had not remained under the influence of Old I Don't Care, who so far from having been driven out of him, had apparently become more firmly fixed in him. In the army he had become acquainted with some only too much imbued with that leaven which had began to work in himself, and which threatened to leaven the whole lump. Before the money had been repaid, he plunged the family again into grief, by enlisting in the Honourable East India Company's Service. This stroke was too much for his poor mother, who rapidly sunk under it. Having attained to tolerable proficiency in his profession as a gunner in the Artillery, on the occasion of a public rejoicing, when firing a feu de joie, the gun burst, and himself and three others were hurried into eternity. Such was the end of another whom Old I Don't Care helped to ruin. He has ruined thousands and tens of thousands both for time and eternity. My dear young friends, mind he does not ruin you. Nor is the female sex altogether free from the influence of Old I Don't Care.

There was one, the pride of her mother, and the gem of the village. She possessed a little knowledge, or rather

means of acquiring it, for she could read her Bible, and she was pleasant and comely. She had arrived at the

critical period of eighteen. Her parents were still living, and Mary's company was sought, and desired by a young man who lived in the neighbourhood, but unfortunately he was not an abstainer from intoxicating drink, nay he had been seen in liquor several times. Mary was faithfully and frequently warned of what she might expect if she married a drunkard ; but she indignantly repelled and resented the stigma, saying, that he was not a drunkard, that he only took a little too much occasionally. Now, according to Scripture, a drunkard is one “who tarries long at the wine, who goes to seek mixed wine.” Mary could not deny that he went to seek liquor at times, and that he tarried long at it, but she excused him on the ground of company, and said if they were united she could no doubt prevail on him to stay at home with her; and

marry

him she would ; for in that matter, as it concerned herself more than anybody else, she would have her own way, let, the consequences be whatever they might, and she did not care what people might say to the contrary. Thus Old I Don't Care had got the mastery of her. It is now many years since, and Mary is now a wife and a mother, but I sorry to say a drunkard's wife, and a careworn, sorrowful, and wretched mother. Those who saw her in her youth, would scarcely now know her. Life is now a burden to her, which I believe she would gladly get rid of at any cost but suicide ; and what is still worse one or two of her sons are treading in the steps of their drunken and profligate father. O, Old I Don't Care, what mischief thou hast done! What innumerable evils hast thou led those into who have been guided by thee.

Another young man under the influence of Old I Don't Care, whose mind was well informed, possessing an amount of intelligence not often met within the lowly walks of life, and who was excessively fond of company, fell in with a number of young persons distinguished for their profanity and derision of things sacred, who prided themselves in their abominable atheistical notions. Though he was again and again warned of his danger, yet as their free jovial companionship pleased him, he was still deter

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mined to cultivate their friendship. They soon undermined his religious principles. Unlike a number of so-called gentlemen, who met to burn the Bible—but who desisted because he who was to perform the shocking act, with fear and trembling said, “ I think we had better not burn this book until we can get a better”—these young men actually burned the Bible. Well, George got more hardened by this impious act, and which stamped him as an unbeliever. When reasoned with on the danger to which he exposed himself by the company he kept, he invariably replied, " I don't care ; nobody else has a right to interfere.” He now fully oc:upied the seat of the scornful. Having been often reproved, he hardened his neck, and was now ripe to be destroyed and that without remedy. After a night of drunkenress, in which he debased himself as low as hell, he was suddenly seized with a dreadful sickness, and died in great agony, cursing and blaspheming both men and God!

O my young friends, never give way to Old I Don't Care ; for

“Od Don't Care is a murderer foul,

And a murderer foul is he ;
He beareth a halter in his hand,

And his staff is the gallows' tree;
and slily he follows his victim on,

Through high degree and low,
And strangles him there when least aware,

And striketh the fatal blow-
Hanging his victims high in the air,

A villain strong is Old Don't Care.

He looks on the babe at its mother's breast,

And blighteth that blossom fair ;
For its young buds wither, and fade and die

'Neath the gaze of Old Don't Care;
And in place of these there springeth up

Full many a poisonous weed,
And their tendrils coil round the victim's heart,

A lank and loathsome breed

Blighting the spirit, young and fair,

A villain strong is Old Don't Care.
He meeteth bold manhood on his way,

And wrestleth with him there;
And he falls a sure and easy prey,

To the strength of Old Don't Care.
Then he plants his foot on the victim's breast,

And shouteth with demon joy,
And treadeth the life from his panting heart,

And exulteth to destroy,--
Crushing bold manhood everywhere,

A villain strong is Old Don't Care.”

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THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX. BOTTREAUX CASTLE, of which there are some remains, is situated on the cliffs on the northern coast of Cornwallthis has since given its name to a village callea Boscastle. In the parish of Forrabury, there is a church, with a tower, but no bells. This is the silent tower of Bottreaux. Tradition says,

that one of the Lords of Bottreaux, ordered a set of bells, and that these were brought by sea, but wrecked on the coast-a punishment for the impiety of the captain. The bells, it is said, are heard to ring in the sea at the approach of the storm. The rest of the tradition is embodied in the following lines, written by a clergyman of Cornwall.

Tintagel's bells ring o'er the tide,
The boy leans o'er the vessel's side;
He hears the sound, and dreams of home,
Sad, the wild orphan of the foam.

Come to thy God in time,
Thus saith the pealing chime;
Youth, manhood, old age past,
Come to thy God at last.

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But why are Bottreaux's echoes still ?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill;

Yet the strange chough* that home hath found,
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.

Come to thy God in time,
Should be her answering chime;
Come to thy God at last,

Should echo on the blast.
The ship rode down with courses free,
The danghter of a distant sea;
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stor'd,
The merry Bottreaux bells on board.

Come to thy God in time,
Sang out Tintagel's chime;
Youth, manhood, old age past,

Come to thy God at last.
The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;
Thank God, with reverent brow, he cried,
We make the shore with evening tide.

Come to thy God in time.
It was his marriage chime;
Youth, manhood, old age past,

His bell must ring at last.
Thank God, thou whining knave on land,
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand;
The captain's voice above the gale,
Thank the good ship and ready sail.

Come to thy God in time,
Sad grew the boding chime,
Come to thy God at last,

Boom'd heavily on the blast.
Up rose that sea, as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal word ;
What thrills the captain's whit' ning lip,
The death groan of his sinking ship.

Come to thy God in time,

Swung deep his funeral chime; * Chough is a Cornish word for a crow.-Ed.

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