It was nearly night when we left Maysville, and most of the passengers were glad to go below, and remain there. The hour for rest was also approaching: of this also we were glad; for, to most of us, it had been a very fatiguing day.

There was, however, an interval of two or three hours between "tea" and bedtime; and the question was, how this time should be employed? I say this was the question; but I mean rather that it should have been: for I do not suppose, on further reflection, that one person in ten of those who were on board was in the habit of asking himself any such question—whether on land or on water, at home or abroad. They took "no note of time, but by its loss." And they who do not live by system or rule elsewhere, will not be likely to do so while on board a steamboat.

In truth, it is very difficult for those who are the most careful, economical, and systematic in regard to their time, to keep everything straight while traveling, especially while traveling at the rapid rate of modern times, and with such crowds. It costs even the most conscientious—those who fear God the most—quite a struggle.

Do you ask what the fear of God has to do with matters of this kind?—and whether we have time to think closely and continuously about the right and wrong of everything, on board a steamboat?

My reply is, that some persons do it, in spite of the difficulties. There were a few on board the Pittsburg who did it, although their number, as I have already intimated, was very few.

I have said that some persons try to have a conscience void of offense toward God and man, not only while at home, but when they travel abroad, whether in the steamboat, or in the railroad car: they believe that God sees them there as well as elsewhere: they believe that for every thought, word, and deed—alone or in company, at home or abroad—they must give account in the day of judgment: they believe that whether they eat or drink, or whatsoever they do, and whenever they do it, they are required to do all to the glory of God.

I saw one or two groups of passengers on board the Pittsburg, in one of the cabins where there was the most merriment of all kinds, as well as the most thoughtlessness on the part of many, who had their Bibles in their hands for a long time, during the progress of the evening, and who appeared to be reading and studying.

I know, full well, that all this may be done—sometimes is done—for mere effect. Some read the Bible that they may appear to be good. Some read it to keep down the upbraidings of their consciences. Some do it from mere habit. And some do it in the vain hope that somehow or other—they know not when or how, but at some time or other—a blessing will come out of it.

When I saw those persons reading the Bible on board the Pittsburg, I did not at once set them down as certainly and always religious; I did not set them down as persons who, if they were religious on occasions, or at stated times, carried out their religion into dayly and hourly practice: I mean I did not set them down as necessarily so, or such merely because they read the Bible.

But I will tell you what I did think of them then, and what I think of them still. I have no doubt that they were people who had good purposes, and who lived by system, and not at random or mere hap-hazard: I have no doubt that they were church-going people when at home: I doubt not at all that they were Sabbath-keeping people; and I have very little doubt that they prayed, at least sometimes.