At last, with great difficulty, he was convinced that buying salvation was impossible, but impressed with the fact that he himself was from henceforth bought with a price, even the precious blood of the Son of God. And while the weary evangelist was still toiling to explain, the Lord took the matter in His own hands. And presently a joyful shout burst from Johnny’s lips: “Light ho, sir! I sees it all. He’s got me, an’ He’ll never let me go. Oh! why didn’t I know of this afore?” He was a saved man. Let those argue who will, dispute who can, Johnny Wilson was a standing proof of the power of God to save the most ignorant, the most callous of the sons of men. From that day forward, without any more teaching, save what he could get from any one who would read the Gospels to him, he grew in grace. He was no more trouble aboard. His work was always done to the best of his ability, and you could safely trust him to work by himself, for, as he said: “My Jesus is alonger me alwus.” Oh, but he was a real saint! Nothing could move him. He used to be hated by everybody--now he became the spoiled child of the fo’c’stle, at least in intent, for really he was unspoilable; but all hands, no matter what they thought, conspired to love Johnny. And when on the subsequent voyage he died of a blow received in falling from aloft, all hands gathered round his bunk, to hear from him the story that had transformed his life. He gushed it out with his latest breath: “Jesus Christ, God’s Son, come down from heaven to look for me an’ make me happy. I wasn’t worth a rope-yarn to anybody, but He come and found me, an’ made me so glad. An’ now I’m a-goin’ ter see Him. Dear Jesus Christ, the friend of pore devils like me.” “MY NIGHT WATCH IS OVER” “MY NIGHT WATCH IS OVER.” A SAILOR’S CONVERSION. Sitting upon the capstan in the centre of the fo’c’s’le-head of a huge four-masted ship rushing swiftly along the wide, wild stretch of the Southern Ocean, bound to England round Cape Horn, a young able seaman in the prime of life was engaged in the unusual mental exercise for seamen of meditating upon God. His name does not matter; it must be sufficient to say that he was brought up in a respectable middle-class home in the north of England, one of a family of seven,--four boys and three girls. He had been christened at the parish church, attended Sunday-school and family prayers with the utmost regularity, and had been confirmed at an early age. In spite of occasional outbreaks of wildness, he had won prizes for exemplary conduct at Sunday-school, and had felt, with the mistaken idea of so many, when he received them, as if somebody were trying to bribe him to give up all the fun in life and become a strait-laced, long-visaged humbug. But he also felt, thank God! that in his life there were two solid facts that could never be explained away, standing up like bastions of native rock in his life,--the love of his mother and the kindness of his father.