, conscience whispered
her gentle yet severe rebuke. She complained sadly of the wickedness
that was done. The blush of shame mantled his cheek. Remorse took hold
on his spirit. He looked about to see who was upbraiding him; but none
seemed to notice it. He resolved that he would not again give occasion
for such feelings of regret and sorrow to himself as he then felt.

Could you have then looked into his heart, you would have pitied him.
This resolution he kept a few weeks, when, being a little irritated, he
a second time profaned the holy name of Deity. This time he felt some
compunctions of conscience, but they were not as powerful as before; the
first step had been already taken, and a second was much easier.

I need not go on to tell you how he, not long after, broke a second
resolution, and so on, till, ere many months, he had become really a
swearing young man.

It all sprang from the first sinful act; and when at last he did break
himself of the habit, it was not done without a serious struggle.

I have told you this story, my young readers, because I thought it might
be, not only interesting to you, but because I hoped it might be the
means of leading you to reflect upon the uselessness and wickedness of
PROFANITY; and that it might aid in impressing on your minds the
importance of governing your passions and keeping your tongues free from
evil speaking.

I see my friend, about whom I have written, quite often. He is now a
parent, and occupies an eminent position in the community; but he often
thinks of his former life, and says he has not yet ceased to lament his
FIRST OATH. Let this fact, then, teach you how a recollection of the
sins of boyhood, even though you may call them little sins, will be
cherished through life, and poison many moments that would otherwise be
happy ones. How important that childhood be pure and righteous in the
sight of God, and to our own consciences, in order to insure a happy
manhood and old age!

[Illustration]

THE FAIRY'S GIFT.

BY REV. J. WESLEY HANSON.

It was a quiet summer's day,
The breeze blew cool and fair,
And blest ten thousand happy things
Of land, and sea, and air,
And played a thousand merry pranks
With MARY'S golden hair.

MARY was not a happy girl;
Her face was sad and sour,
And on her little pretty brow
Dark frowns did often lower,--
And she would scold, and fret, and cry,
Full fifty times an