and frugal. His wife and children are tidily, though coarsely, clad; and the smiling sún-burnt countenances of his little ones discover a happiness, to which, until lately, they were strangers. His dwelling,

The shed that shuts him from the storms,'

is clean, though homely; and the Bible, once neglected, now lies on the well-known. shelf, bearing many a mark, that its owners have their secret hours with God.

Descend with them the declivity on the right, and you enter a pleasant valley. It is verdant, and watered by a stream that finds its babbling way over opposing rocks, and the numerous trees, which the wintertempest has thrown across its bed. At the farther extremity stands a cottage, more respectable in its appearance than those you have passed. It is a house of mourning, but of mourning sanctified. There, lived a couple, who were' estranged from God. They were fondly attached to each other, and were as happy as they can be, whose hopes and wishes centre in earthly things.

But the hour of chastisement was at hand. Fanchette was taken ill-gave birth to her child-and died. The widowed father wandered in distraction from place to place, seeking rest and finding none, like the dove, distant from the ark. At length, Mr. du Blesne went to visit him. He prayed with him, and put a little volume upon his table -Consolations under Affliction.' For a season, it remained unopened; but casting his eye on it one evening when groaning in spirit, he took it up and read it. The influence of the word of grace accompanied the perusal, and he felt its healing virtue. He became calm, resigned, humble, pious. He looked from time to eternity-from earth to heaven; and he is now a Christian pilgrim going sorrowful, yet not refusing to be comforted, on his way.

Though that fair form, whose lips, warmed with Pentecostal fire, proclaim in every tongue, the wonders of redemption, and prepare in every desert a high-way for our God, had not yet arisen to bless the world -that form, so justly likened to the angel

Cheerful, may we attune our songs,
And join her grateful lay;
Since unto thee the praise belongs,
That we behold to-day.

With her's our mounting spirits, too,
Would range yon gloomless skies,
Where joy has flowers of ev'ry hue-
Nor storms, nor darkness, rise.

Thus would we live, through grace divine,
By thy still waters led:

In thy dear presence-sheep of thine;
And in thy pastures fed;

Until, in thy redeemed rest,

From sin and sorrow free,
We lay us down, supremely blest,
And sweetly sleep in thee!

In such strains, you might have heard the hymn of their early adoration resounding in harmonious echoes among their hills, from voices attuned to the songs of Zion,' and from 'hearts that made melody to God.' Nor, if the day opened with notes of thanksgiving, did its close meet them disinclined for a similar sacrifice.* It was not with them, as with too many, alas! who bow the knee at stated and distant intervals, and appear in the Divine presence through

accustomed form. Here, religion was the one thing needful;' and they considered its pursuits at once as the most delightful of their employments, and as the chief concern of life. Whether, therefore, it was morning that rose on them, or night that gathered round their dwelling, they were still prepared to worship Him, who is a Spirit, in spirit and in truth.' Liberty of access to, and communion with, a reconciled heavenly Parent had been obtained for them at an inestimable price; and they were not negligent in the cultivation of so valuable and exalted a privilege. Deeply conscious that the most exquisite of earthly pleasures, united with the tenderest sensibilities of human friendship and love, are all poor and empty in comparison of those elevated enjoyments, with which the Redeemer, blesses his children, it was their first and most anxious desire to keep free every conduit, through which the streams that make glad the city of God,' could be derived to. themselves individually, or to the house of their pilgrimage'-a habitation, where the

Prince of peace was a welcome, and where, they trusted, he would not be an unwilling, guest. Thus, soon as the Evening had hung her shadows upon their mountains-when the shepherd on the upland had secured his fold-the woodman laid aside his bill and wedge and all around invited them by its stillness to meditation and prayer, they knelt together, in acknowledgment of the mercy which had sustained and preserved them.

In their turn, each member of the family presented, in the name of the others, the tribute of supplication and praise; the portion of the inspired volume, which had been previously read, generally furnishing its matter. "I have often,' says a worthy pastor,* who found it good for him to visit this calm retreat of piety and peace, made one on these interesting occasions; and have heard, sometimes the venerable patriarch, or his amiable partner, sometimes the children, discharge this important function with the greatest facility, and the most touching fervour.'+ Nor were the domestics excluded from