that on first going to C- he was the great promoter of all its gaieties: no excursion or party of pleasure ever succeeded or was thought worth going to, if he had not the arranging of it. When we became acquainted with him, he was one of the brightest, most attractive and prepossessing examples of a genuine Christian that it is possible to meet with. The zealous disposition, the sociable, kindly feelings once given to the cause of worldly vanities, but now all employed with characteristic energy in the service of the Redeemer, adorned the doctrines he professed. No one, indeed, to see him, would imagine religion to be a grievous or a gloomy thing; there was something so winning in the servant, that it was almost enough to cause those who knew him to seek after the Master. We did not see much of Mr. for, alas! our paths were very different. He was employed from morning till night, in treading untiringly in the steps of him who went about doing good. The whole of the Sabbath he passed in church: it was often his custom to put a few biscuits into his pocket on leaving home in the morning, and remain in his pew until the last service was concluded. Oh! with what animation have I heard him describe, while his countenance sparkled with pleasure, the happiness of a day spent thus in the courts of the Lord's house. It was delightful to meet him in our walks. His slender interesting figure, silvered hair, intelligent speaking eyes; his face pale from delicate health but radiant with happiness and benevolence, and full of that peace which the world can neither give nor take away; his manners so cheerful and affectionate :there seemed a perpetual sunshine about him. One morning I can never forget, when with a merry party SEPTEMBER, 1837.

I turned into a shady path, down which he was proceeding. He accosted us with his usual kind smile, and I remarked that his features shone with more than their wonted beaming and benignant expression. It was a festival day,-St. James's, I believe. 'Are you returning from church?' he said, 'I have just been there.'

I faltered out something about not knowing that there had been service, and felt greatly confused, expecting a rebuke which I knew I deserved. But no rebuke did I receive. On the contrary, his manner became even more kindly and affectionate than before. Ah, I am sorry for that,' he replied; 'Mr. B preached, and I am sure you would have been quite charmed with him: you must mind better next time. Here,' he added in a playful tone, while he took out of his pocket a paper from among the little store of tracts, hymns, &c. it always contained; 'here are some beautiful lines which I shall give you to read, by way of a penance, and to prevent your playing the naughty girl again.'

'Do you know,' whispered one of my gay companions, when he had taken his leave, 'Mr. is one of the greatest saints in C I expected a long sermon well garnished with sour looks, when you told him you had not been to church.'

My heart was too full to allow me to reply. Selfreproach kept me dumb, and the charity of my venerable friend, his forbearance and kindness to a careless one like myself, touched me to the quick. 'Oh! that I knew how to be like him!' I inwardly exclaimed as he disappeared under the trees.

Some time after this, the night of sorrow, dark and dreary, fell with sudden desolation upon our house:

"The joy of our hearts had ceased,-our dance was turned into mourning." Wherever there was a tear to be wiped away, a broken heart to be bound up, there was this dear follower of the compassionate Saviour to be found. Hour after hour did he spend with the bereaved family, pouring into their wounds the oil and wine of the gospel,-and moving it was to see the big tears rolling down his usually joyful face, as he sympathised in their bitter affliction.

The depth and reality of his religion struck me forcibly. The scripture promises seemed to afford him such a solid ground of hope and confidence; his trust in the pardoning love of God was so strong, that in my ignorance of the effects of the blessed Spirit, adoption, and reconciliation through the Saviour's blood, I was unable to account for his feelings. The power of the Holy Spirit is, indeed, a mystery to the carnal mind. I measured, in dismay, the immense difference between his enviable state of mind and my own. There seemed a great gulf between us, and how to cross that Rubicon was a question that baffled and filled me with despair. At last I ventured to ask how, or by what means it was that he, who I had heard was once so engrossed in worldly things, had become what he now was. I shall never forget the peculiar expression that lit up his features at this question.

'My dear child,' he said, affectionately taking my hand, 'the wind bloweth where it listeth, and we neither can tell whence it cometh or where it goeth. So it is with the Lord the Spirit, who cleanses and renews our hearts, and raises our affections from earthly objects to things above.'

After enlarging upon the doctrine of free grace,

and the various means by which it pleases their heavenly Father to turn sinners from the broad path, he told us, by way of illustration, several instances of conversions that had occurred in his experience. One of these is so interesting, and presents so striking a view of the tender mercy and providence of God, that I shall make it the subject of a future communication.

M. F. D.

EARTHLY TREASURE.

"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and thieves break through and steal."Matt. vi. 19.

CHRISTIAN! canst thou tell me where
Thy treasure is ?-thy heart is there!—
Oh, are thy best affections given
To God or man, to earth or heaven?
When forth thy hopes rejoicing fly,
Say, do they reach thy home on high,
Or, with a feebler flight and slow,
Say, are they lingering here below?

And is it where thy dear ones dwell?
Hast thou some idol prized too well,
Within the shadow of thy home,

Where oft a stranger's glance might come,
Nor read the strength of love that lies
Deep hidden in those tender eyes,
That speak in looks of sympathy,
A language only known to thee.

Or tempts the world thine eager chase,
And art thou foremost in the race,
Where the dim counting-house displays
The ledger of its anxious days,