being but God; outwardly obeying many of the precepts of the Gospel, yet wanting its spirit.

At this time a camp-meeting commenced in the neighbourhood where he was sojourning; and thinking it would be a pleasant way to spend the Sabbath, as all the world flocked thither, he went. Unfortunately he had had a quarrel with a young acquaintance, the first he had ever had; for he was unobtrusive, and courteous, and regardful of the feelings of others. But now the worst passions of his nature were aroused. Supposing he might meet his opponent at the meeting, he armed himself with a bowie-knife, and went forth.

He arrived at "the ground." The white tents stood silent and solemn, like sentinels around the worshippers. The blue smoke curled up behind them as incense toward heaven. The rays of the sun, like threads of gold, interweaving with the green branches, formed a fairy network above their heads. The voice of human prayer was answered by the song of praise, poured forth by the little birds-sweet choristers of heaven. It was a Sabbath kept unto the Lord."

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As the young man gazed, perchance the scenes of his childhood came back, and the prayers of his pious mother. Perhaps in that hour he was again a little boy, kneeling at her knee, with his tiny hands put together, sending up petitions which he but half understood, though he knew they were something very solemn, for he was talking to God.

The preacher arose, and took his text, and as he unfolded the doctrines of sacred truth, "the bread which had been cast" many days before, upon the waters of the young man's soul, began to be found. There, upon the outskirts of the congregation, the Saviour whispered to him, and said, "Son, give me thy heart!" How often before had those imploring words been spoken to him! how often had he ungratefully turned aside and said, "To-morrow!" and when the morrow came he answered still, "To-morrow!" but now his heart was touched with the patient longsuffering of the Saviour, and he responded, "Take it, O Lord, and me, and all I am!"

When the sermon was closed, and mourners were called, he hesitated a moment. It was but a moment that his moral courage forsook him; then walking steadily up to the place, he knelt, and there he wrestled in prayer, until he saw the glory of God "clear shining in the face of Jesus Christ." By faith he looked up to the cross, and his burden rolled off, and then he was very joyful. He drew the bowie-knife, and cast it from him, calling for his enemy, that he might clasp him to his bosom, and prove to him that love was more powerful than the dagger or the polished sword.

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He returned from the camp-ground, his spirit chiming with the grand harmonies of nature, sending up also its song of praise to the Eternal. 'Light was in all his dwelling." But few days had passed before his body began to droop. The fever-spirit was hovering over him, and he felt its scorching breath upon his cheek; and as his head throbbed painfully upon his pillow, and the blood ran boiling through all his veins, he thought of his pleasant home in Kentucky, and longed for the soft, cool hand of his mother upon his burning brow, and prayed that he might yet gaze again upon the faces that he looked on first and loved most. This might not be; yet, like the martyr Stephen, he gazed up to heaven, and there saw his "elder brother," who had suffered for him, looking upon him with ineffable love, and all the innumerable family of God beckoning him away; and he could almost hear their notes of welcome borne upon the breeze across the dark river which was still between him and them. A few days more, and the spirit-land was to him a reality; he stood upon the shining banks of Canaan, and methinks I hear now the glad shout and hallelujah that rose from his enraptured soul.

Why grieve we for the departed?

"They are the living, they alone,

Whom thus we mourn as dead."

When his family heard that he was gone, although it was to heaven, they deeply felt that he was gone, and they sat down in bereavement and sorrow.

His body was brought home to rest near his father's

dwelling; a bower of southern roses was trained to overshadow him; and there, amid fragrance and beauty, and the hum of bees, and the song of birds, he sleeps well; there, where his mother's eye overlooks him, as it once did in his cradle, and she "mourns not as those without hope."

But he had not to remain in the land of blessedness long alone. He had a sister, the youngest sister of the family, the darling and pet lamb of her parents. I sit and see her now! She rises before me, so mild and life-like! She reminded one of a warm sunny day in April; or a daisy, that we find in spring time in the meadows; or a zephyr, that goes wandering its way through the world, singing its joy-tones low but merrily; or anything that makes the heart glad to look upon. She was "beautiful exceedingly." Her soft brown hair waved and curled around a brow that was fair and pure, and her blue eyes looked from out their dark lashes with kindness upon all God's creatures. It was observed of her face, that it was a love-letter to the whole human family.

While she tended the roses, that hung in clusters about her brother's resting place, the fever-spirit whispered to her also from amid the leaves and said, "Come, join thy brother, fair maiden!" and her soul began to have indefinable longings, and the things of the world wearied her, and she replied, "I will come to thee, my brother!" Then the blood ran through her veins like lava; her eye became bright and glittering; her cheeks were like the crimson rose, and her lips as threads of scarlet. O, the angel of death had made her most beautiful, ere he folded her in his dark wings gently, and shut out the sorrows of earth for ever. Many days of suffering she passed patiently, quietly, and then closed her eyes, and was in heaven.

"The loveliest star of evening's train

Sets earliest in the western main,

And leaves the world in night."

Sweetly she sleeps by her brother's side in the bower of roses; and every day, in summer, the hand of affection scatters around them the fairest flowers.-American Episcopal Recorder.

OLD WINSFORD'S ACCOUNT OF

JOHN THOUGHTFUL.

JOHN THOUGHTFUL! OI remember him well! He was an intelligent and remarkably steady youth. From his boyhood he was noted for his good behaviour, obedience to his parents, and ardent desire for mental improvement. While other boys were bent only on their play, he judiciously employed himself in intermingled reading, writing, arithmetic, and grammar; and he also occasionally committed a little poetry, or short prose pieces of value, of an instructive or interesting kind, to memory. His circumstances were not very favourable to his mental culture and improvement, but he improved notwithstanding, showing that, "Where there is a will, there is a way." I have seen him, morning, noon, and night, at his books; and as the bee gathers honey from every flower, so he endeavoured to gather information on every useful subject from every available source. Books in his father's house, and in the Sunday School Library-for he went to the Sunday Schoolwhich scarcely were read by any other, he read with avidity, and his profiting appeared to all, for he stored up the knowledge he gained, as well as exercised his judgment thereon.

He told me one day what valuable information he had just gained from the introduction to a comment on the Scriptures, which his father possessed. This was when he was very young, or about that age when many content themselves with such books as "Jack the Giant Killer," or "The Seven Champions of Christendom." These latter I believe he had read, but he had now no need for such things. He wanted something more valuable, and far more important. He had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. This thirst he endeavoured to gratify. Books were neither as plentiful nor as cheap then as they are now. Money too with him was scarce. I believe I may safely say he scarcely ever spent a penny foolishly. What little money he had was spent on books. The Penny Cyclopædia he preferred to the Saturday Magazine, or to the Penny Magazine, because he said it was more useful as a book of reference, and partly supplied the place of a library to him. With what glee have

I seen him carry home a few parts of that work. I sometimes accompanied him to a neighbouring town to purchase a few books. He generally requested my judgment on them, though I must say it was not much needed. He one day showed me his stock of books. His library was not large, but select. He had no book but what was worth keeping. He had made an epitome, or abstract, of several of the best for his own use. This he said helped him wonderfully, as it not only enabled him to understand them better, but imprinted the arguments on his mind, so as to make them quite familiar to him.

He was very exact and methodical, and a great economist of time. I never found him unemployed, or his library in disorder. I believe he could have put his hand on any book he had, in the dark, in the box where he kept them. He laboured for his bread from early in the morning till late in the evening, but still found time to improve his mind. I sometimes felt ashamed of myself when I saw his industrious habits. While he had not more than an hour or two in a day, that he could by any possibility spare from meals and sleep, for mental improvement, and which many would have thrown away as worthless, he carefully redeemed that little. I have often thought that even to "that little," he was in no small measure indebted for his knowledge. Others had more time but less industry. What avails time without industry. The improvement of time is the great secret of the success of many.

Knowing well the great value of a good vocabulary he generally carried Dr. Johnson's small Dictionary in his pocket; and if in the course of reading or conversation he met with a word which he did not understand, he instantly referred to it; by which means he got a valuable stock of words, all of which he knew the exact meaning of. His desire for improvement was also particularly manifested by what many regard as a very trivial matter, but which he regarded as very important; namely, the proper pronunciation of words. He had no sympathy with what the late William Cobbett says on this subject in his Grammar, who observes, "that though the Scotch say coorn, the Londoners cawn, and the Hampshire folks carn, we know that they all