had thrown me I cannot tell, had I not been interrupted by the woman asking me into her house to take a seat. Thus roused from

a state of deep thoughtfulness, I eagerly inquired where the prayer meeting was, and was soon directed to John J's house, in

Lane. With hasty steps I hurried to the door. . . . Arrived there, I heard a voice I recognised it as that of a man who had been pointed out to me as a very notorious transgressor of laws, human and divine He was pleading with God for mercy. The frankness with which he confessed his sins, the fervent supplications he presented that those sins might be forgiven through the blood of Christ,-the ardour with which he prayed that God would make the preaching of the Gospel a blessing to him and his neighbours, and the rustic simplicity with which all this was clothed,-made an impression on my heart which never can be erased. It was the first time I had heard an illiterate villager pray, and I almost thought I had never heard prayer before. I saw more of the nature and

tendency of genuine religion that night than all my reading and study had ever taught me.

When the prayer was concluded, I walked in; and if I had heard much that gratified my best feelings, I now saw more. The house was full of the poor of this world, who had met to close the week with God, and seek his blessing on the means of grace which they hoped to enjoy on the approaching sabbath. Some of them had not yet risen from their knees; and the cheeks of each seemed bathed in tears. An expression of surprise sat on every countenance when they recognised me; nor was I less astonished to find such a meeting for such a purpose I delivered a very short address to them, expressing the pleasure I felt that they were thus employed, commended them to the Father of mercies, entreating him to carry on the good work thus happily begun among them, and then closed that evening's service.

This meeting, I found, had originated entirely among themselves, not a word having been said by any one to them on the subject.

This was the fourth or fifth week they had thus met; and it was soon evident, that from the commencement of this meeting was to be dated the success of the Divine word among them.

With what sort of feelings I returned home, after this most interesting visit, I shall leave my readers to imagine. The beauties of nature, the grandeur of the setting sun itself, presented nothing that could compare with the moral beauty of which I had been the delighted spectator.

Such a statement of facts needs no comment. It most impressively teaches the importance of social devotion; it encourages the servants of God to continue their labours in the most unpromising stations; and it shews the propriety of encouraging, as far as possible, village prayer-meetings.

11

THE DISABLED SOLDIER.

"Come, saints, and hear what God hath done,"

SEVERAL years ago, I was one evening sitting by the fire side, in the cold month of December. Bleak and winterly were the winds that blew, and thick and cheerless the snows that fell: had the Psalmist been living he would have again said, "He giveth snow like wool: he scattereth the hoar frost like ashes: he casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold?" How manifold are the arguments that such a season presents for gratitude to God, for the enjoyment of the blazing fire, the social hearth, and all the comforts it is our happiness to possess: and with what motives does winter furnish us to scatter these blessings among our poor neighbours. If we can receive the comforts of life without grati

tude to Him who gave them, or without a disposition to impart a portion of them to him that needeth, "how dwelleth the love of God in us ?"

While musing over a portion of the book of God, both for my own edification and for the instruction of my people on the following sabbath, a rap was heard at the door, and in a few minutes John W was admitted into the room where I was sitting: he wished, as he informed the servant, to have some talk with me.

John is a man somewhat past the middle stage of life. There is nothing attractive in his appearance, excepting, perhaps, the flaming patriot, when he looked at the scars he bears, the effects of the sword and gun-shot, would pronounce them so many marks of honour: for my own part, I could never look at them without asking the question of James-"From whence come wars and fightings among you ? come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members ?" John spent the best of his days in the army, from which he had