would be a faithful follower of Christ to his life’s end. Not long after this, Captain Dutton had an attack of Bright’s disease, which brought him to an early grave. He was buried in Mount Royal cemetery, where the monument, “erected by a few of his friends,” bears the inscription: “Commodore Allan Line. Lieut. R. N. Reserve. In memory of Captain Joseph E. Dutton, late of the R. M. SS. _Sardinian_. Born at Harrington, England, February 8th, 1828. Died at Montreal, July 6th, 1884, aged 56 years. “‘Now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that when he shall appear we shall be like him.’—1 John iii. 2.” There was a time when profane swearing used to be indulged in freely by sea-captains and their subordinates. Happily the custom is going out of fashion, though now and then a representative from the old school may still be found. Captain Dutton was never addicted to swearing, though his temper was tried often enough. On arriving at Rimouski in 1879, after making the fastest voyage to the St. Lawrence then on record, the _Sardinian_ had to lie at anchor for two mortal hours before he could get his mails landed. One hour it took the tender to get up steam, and another hour to get alongside the ship, owing to a strong easterly breeze, which brought up a lop of a sea. All this lost time Dutton rapidly paced the bridge to and fro with evident impatience. At length, when the tender was made fast, he came down and mingled with the crowd on deck, on the keen lookout for letters and newspapers, when one said to him, jokingly, “Why did you not swear at the captain of that tender?” “Oh,” said he, with a pleasant smile, “he is only a farmer.” The provocation had been great, but the controlling principle was greater and highly creditable to Dutton. _Apropos_ to the subject of swearing was the story told by a fellow-passenger—a deacon in the late Prof. Swing’s congregation in Chicago. Dr. Swing had withdrawn from the Presbyterian Church, but continued to preach in a public hall or theatre, drawing immense crowds to hear him. Swing was a sensational preacher, who could extort tears or smiles from his hearers at will, and not unfrequently his random shots hit the mark. On one occasion, the deacon informed us, he overheard the remark made by one of Chicago’s fastest young men to a comrade as they were leaving the place of worship after listening to a scathing discourse on the besetting sins of young men, swearing included: “Say, Jim, I’ll be d——d if that is not the kind of preaching that suits me.” This is a hard story, scarcely credible, but it was told in sober earnest and in a tone that indicated that in the speaker’s judgment an arrow had pierced the young man’s heart, and that the shocking expression just quoted was, after all, neither more nor less than his peculiar way of emphasizing the fact that he was _stricken_. THE DOMINION LINE.