knees John seemed a changed man. Before he left my study he felt that he could rejoice in Christ as his Saviour.

Not long after, they professed their faith in Christ, and although for years beyond the bounds of my ministry, I believe they yet live to adorn that profession; and their conversion may be traced up, as a means under God, to the aurora borealis.

How plainly this narrative teaches the following truths:

The means of God, for impressing the minds of sinners, and leading them to himself for pardon and salvation, are exhaustless.

A clear understanding of the plan of salvation through a Saviour-of its freeness and fulness of its sovereign efficacy when truly relied on, is the only sure way of securing peace to the anxious sinner.

How important that the believing wife should labour for the salvation of the unbelieving husband; and the believing husband for that of the unbelieving wife!

A word to the reader of this narrative. Are you a careless sinner? If the aurora so impressed the mind of this woman, what will be your impressions when the elements shall melt with fervent heat? when the earth, with all that it contains, shall be consumed? Are you an anxious sinner? Then Jesus died for sinners; and he died for you, because you are a sinner. To be saved, you have only to believe upon him. Are you a Christian? Then rise from the perusal of this narrative with the resolution to labour for the conversion of some soul, as this woman laboured for the conversion of her husband, and yours may not be a starless crown.American Messenger.

OLD HUMPHREY ON PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY.

WHO has not prepared for a journey? Who has not passed through the different degrees of excitement which a prospect of leaving home, and an expectation of gazing on new and distant scenes, are accustomed to call forth? At first the intention is not fully entertained; it has merely occurred to the mind, or been suggested by a friend, but after a while the plan is more mature, the determination is strengthened, and the intended journey becomes a settled thing.

To an attentive observer it is not uninteresting to trace the varied emotions which an intended journey awakens in the minds of youth and age, for these emotions are very different. Youth looks onward with ardour and impatience. The nearer the holiday, or the excursion, or the journey, the greater the anxiety that it may arrive. Thus it is ever with youth, but rarely is it the same with age.

It is one thing for him who has grey hairs on his head to anticipate a long journey at some future day, and another to contemplate it as almost at hand; for in the latter case, that which was agreeable, frequently becomes adventurous. The love of ease, the disinclination for change, and the caution and fears of age, have a tendency to represent the undertaking as something formidable. The resolution wavers; not one, but a hundred "lions" appear to be "in the way," and almost is the rash enterprise abandoned.

As the day of departure approaches yet nearer, and becomes inevitable, this caution and these fears increase, so that the affair creates something like alarm. Shadowy thoughts and foreboding anticipations intrude-coach accidents, railroad disaster, and wrecks at sea, flit across the memory; a hurried glance is given on the dear ones around: "What, if an accident should take place—what if" and here the mind reins up itself with an-"Ah, well!"—and takes refuge in some active duty to dispel its fears. The

young may laugh at these unseasonable apprehensions; but tell me, my aged friends, if I do not faithfully describe your emotions?

There is a growing importance in an intended journey, and it becomes by degrees more and more the subject of conversation. However quiet it may have been kept at first, afterwards it is freely made known. We make ourselves, as it were, the centre of a circle, rise in our own estimation, and expect attention and help from every body.

The day of departure is a day of bustle. What brushing of clothes, and folding of linen! What piling up of cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs! What opening and shutting of drawers! What hurrying to and fro, and calling for paper and string! What packing of boxes! What contrivances to get in this and that! and what regrets at being constrained to leave out the others! At last all is right, and the large trunk is ready for cording.

No, alas! all is wrong, for the razors, now required for use, instead of being at the top, are at the bottom; a clothesbrush is in the box, instead of being in the carpet bag; and where the map and guide-book are, no one can tell. The great trunk, so beautifully packed as it was, must again give up its contents, and once more the carpet-bag be opened.

How alive we are to our own comfort in preparing for a journey! We make inquiries, provide ourselves with all sorts of conveniences, choose the best route, adopt the safest mode of conveyance, carefully calculate distances and expenses, and leave nothing undone that can contribute to our ease and satisfaction. Whether our enterprise be one of pleasure, profit, or information, it absorbs our thoughts, it mingles with all our concerns, and we enter into it with all our hearts.

And here the thought naturally enough occurs to the mind, while thus we make preparation for moving to and fro in this world, are we equally anxious in preparing for the great journey to another? This question is not the less important, because it is common-place. To pack up a few necessaries for time is one thing, to wind up our worldly affairs for eternity is another. It is a strange, a sad, a fearful mistake, to make preparation for life, and neglect preparation for death; to prepare for the comfort of the body, and altogether overlook the comfort of the soul. If, then, we ask, What does the perishable frame require when preparing for a common journey?-let us not evade the question-What will the immortal spirit require when preparing for the great journey of eternity? It will require peace, even the peace of God that passes understanding. It will require hope, even the hope that maketh not ashamed. It will require faith in Jesus Christ, who died for sinners; and it will require joy, even joy and peace in believing.

I speak feelingly on the subject of preparing for a journey, for it is applicable to my own case. It so happens that a fit, which came upon me some time ago, to see the Highlands of Scotland, is now at its height, and is only to be allayed by the sight of Loch Lomond, the scent of the mountain heather, and the sound of the Falls of Aberfeldy :

"The braes ascend like lofty wa's,

The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws The birks of Aberfeldy,

"The hoary cliffs are crown'd with flowers; White o'er the linn the burnie pours, And rising, weets wi' misty showers

The birks of Aberfeldy."

In my youthful days I read much, thought much, and talked much, of bonnie Scotland, longing to linger on her heath-clad hills; and once wandered from my onward course into Dumfries, for the mere delight of putting my foot in the "Land of the Thistle." It seems but as yesterday, that I first took up young Macpherson's poems, called "Ossian's Poems," and revelled in their wild contents. How well do I remember the glowing language in Fingal, that inflamed my foolish fancy, and set my pulse beating ardently in my veins: "Where are my friends in battle? The companion of my arm in danger? Where art thou, white-bosomed Cathbat? Where is that cloud in war, Duchomar? And hast thou left me, O Fergus! in the day of the storm? Fergus first in our joy at the feast; Son of Rossa! Arm of death! Comest thou like a roe from Malmorlike a hart from the echoing hills? Hail, thou son of Rossa! What shades the soul of war?

"Four stones," replied the chief, "rise on the grave of Cathbat. These hands have laid in earth Duchomar, that cloud | in war. Cathbat, thou son of Torman, thou wert a sun-beam on the hill. And thou, O valiant Duchomar, like the mist of marshy Lano, when it sails over the plains of autumn, and brings death to the people! Morna! thou fairest of maids! calm is thy sleep in the cave of the rock. Thou hast fallen in darkness, like a star that shoots athwart the desert when the traveller is alone, and mourns the transient beam. Say, said Semo's blue-eyed son, say how fell the chiefs of Erin? Fell they by the sons of Lochlin, striving in the battle of heroes? Or what confines the chiefs of Cromla to the dark and narrow house?"

Well, too, can I remember how I was affected by the works of Burns, and the Ettrick Shepherd, and the Noctes Ambrosianæ, in Blackwood's Magazine, and the popular lines of Scott, the "Wizard of the North," beginning with the couplets,

"O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."

Their influence was great upon me, and I yearned to get among the Buchanans and the Camerons, the clan Stuarts and clan Ranalds, the Mackenzies and

the MacPhersons of the Highlands. How strange, that the romantic desires of youth should be gratified in years, and that the grey-headed man should climb those mountain-tops, that the fair-haired boy sighed in vain to ascend! Well! there is yet in me much that is adventurous; and those who may meet the "old man" on the hills will hardly give him credit for the elasticity of his foot, or the warmth of his affections. Scotchmen, I feel as a friend, and no "chiel amang ye takin notes" shall fling on you and your bonnie land a freer blessing than that which shall be poured upon you from your highest hills, by the lips and the heart of Old Humphrey.

What hard work it is to pick up a little rail-road information! It may be that I over-estimate my own ability; but never yet did I look over a railroad paper, purporting to set forth the departures and arrivals of first, second, and third-class carriages, with their several fares, without thinking that I could have given the information in a much more intelligible shape. These papers, to me, are, for the most part, sad puzzle-pegs; for seldom can I find what I want with out great difficulty, if I find it at all. It was only the day before yesterday that I lost a full hour in poring over railroad papers, without obtaining the information I required. The fearful array of titles, Great Western, Great Northern, London and South Western, London and North Western, Eastern Counties, Great North of England, Northern Counties Union, Northern and Eastern, and twenty others, together with the complicated columns attached, studded with figures, arrows, stars, lines, dots, and spaces, absolutely bewilder me; and glad am I when any one is at hand, to whom they are more intelligible than they are to me, to satisfy my inquiries.

Making preparation for a journey suited me much better years ago than it does now-for my body could then better sustain the ardour of my mind. My imagination is still as active as ever : why, even in the last few moments, standing at the window, in fancy I have roamed through the Trosachs, mused in gloomy Glencoe, revelled at Loch Katrine, ascended the mighty Ben Nevis, gazed delighted on the boundless prospect around, lingered till after sunset on the mountain, lost myself in the fog, and taken shelter for the night in a shepherd's shieling. Even now, I am again

on the wings of imagination. Loch Vennachar's silver flood is before me. Benledi rises by its side-and here is the muster-place of Clan Alpine, where, at the shrill whistle of Roderic Dhu,

"Instant through copse and heath arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The braken bush sends forth the dart;
The rushes and the willow wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife."

But see! early as it is, the sun is shining in the skies, the clock has struck five; my corded trunk and carpet-bag are placed ready in the hall. I have hastily breakfasted, a cab has just driven up to the door, and in three minutes I shall be off for the Highlands!

PATIENCE AND PRAYER.

OUR patience is our crown, and others' conversion. Eusebius, from Clement, reporteth, that when a wretched accuser had brought St. James to condemnation, seeing his Christian fortitude, he was so touched in his conscience, confessed himself a Christian, so was taken to execution with him, where earnestly beseeching St. James to forgive him, he, after a little pause, kissed him, and said-Peace to thee, brother! and they were beheaded together. Oh! blessed patience, which not only gets honour to ourselves, but brings others to salvation, and, in all, glorifies God!

Prayer.―This was the apostles' refuge in the time of affliction, Acts iv. 24. Bernard, in a fiction, doth excellently express this necessity, and enforce this duty. He supposeth the kings of Babylon and Jerusalem (by whom he means the world and the church) to be at war one against the other. During this hostility, a soldier of Jerusalem fled to the castle of Justice. Siege was laid to this castle, and a multitude of enemies environed and intrenched it round. There lies near this soldier a faint-hearted coward called Fear. This speaks nothing but discomfort; and when Hope would step in to give some courage, Fear thrusts her out of doors. While these two opposites, Fear and Hope, stand debating, the Christian soldier resolves to appeal to the direction of Sacred Wisdom, who was chief counsellor to the captain of the castle, Justice. Hear Wisdom speak: Dost thou know, saith she, that the God

"I love that moaning music which I hear

In the bleak gusts of autumn, for the soul
Seems gathering tidings from another sphere;
And in sublime, mysterious sympathy,
Man's bounding spirit ebbs and swells more high."

But, presently, the gentle winds will change, and as they strip leaves from the rustling branches, and toss them high in air, they seem as though glorying in the destruction they occasion; and, at length, as autumn mingles with winter, they hurry on with suddenness and fury, sometimes tearing away the strongest branches of the knotty oak, or hurling to the ground the trunk of one that has long tenanted the forest or the grove. Many love not such scenes, for they indicate their own decay; but if the mind be taught of God, it fears not to dwell on the prospect of the future: a good hope, through grace, bears it aloft as on the pinions of an eagle, and it contemplates either the recurrence of the beauteous reign of another year, or the peaceful exchange of "the things which are seen and temporal" for those which are seen and eternal."

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The naturalist must now avail himself of every opportunity to observe the beauties that appear around, ere mellow autumn has declined into the barrenness and storms of winter. As he lingers by the river side, he will see the fading leaves falling on the water's bosom, and gently wafted away to be no more seen. Still the plants on the brink appear flourishing, the fish are sporting at the gravelly bottom, the rustic bridge invites the steps, and, as he passes onward, though indubitable signs appear of the declining beauty of vegetation, yet the varied and often rich tints presented by the landscape, as they gleam through the mists of autumn, with so much of chastened splendour and serene and sober loveliness, soothingly remind the beholder that the beauties of later summer are not yet gone.

The tints and hues of forest trees give, too, at this period an unsurpassed interest to the landscape. The appearance of the oak is varied according to circumstances and age; some seem almost in a summer dress, others wear a garb of dusky green, while a few have assumed a robe of russet hue. Pollard-oaks, as well as young beeches, sometimes retain their foliage during the winter, till the young leaves come; but it has been well re

the life of the tree, not its death; for were the latter the case, the leaves would adhere to, and die on the branches, but in the natural fall of the foliage, the sap retreats to the root, and by the contraction of its vessels, produces that remarkable change which is so characteristic of the present season. The planes and sycamores display every variety of tinge from a bright yellow to a brilliant red; the appearance of the elms depends on their age and the weather, and the beeches have deepened into a warm glowing brown:

"I saw the woods and fields at close of day,
A variegated show; the meadows green,
Though faded, and the lands, where lately waved
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown,
Upturned so lately by the golden share.
1 saw, far off, the weedy fallow smile
With verdure not unprofitable, grazed
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each
His favourite herb; while all the leafless groves
That skirt the horizon wore a sable hue,
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve."

have lost most of their flowers, yet many As for the hedge-rows, though they are spread out for the wintry food of the birds:

"The ruddy haws

Now clothe the half-leaved thorn; the bramble bends

Beneath its jetty load; the hazel hangs
With auburn branches, dipping in the stream
That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow
The leaf-strewn banks."

The red hips of the wild rose; the dark purple branches of the luxuriant blackberry; the brilliant scarlet and green berries of the nightshade; the blue sloes, covered with their tempting bloom; the beautiful clusters of the berries of the guelder-rose; the opaque fruits of the briony; the orange-tinted branches of the mountain ash; and the rose-coloured fruits of the spindle-tree, form a variety of interesting objects which cannot fail to elicit admiration. The ivy, as it mantles over the old ruin, or climbs around the rough sides of the yew, displays also many a cluster of green blossoms, from which This picthe bees extract the sweets. turesque plant softens the features of many a rude and uncouth building, and gives additional interest to ruined turrets and arches. Nor does it lose its charm by the severity of winter, for many an old gateway, a rustic bridge, or church tower is adorned with its graceful mantle. Uninjured, apparently, by the varied temperature of different climes, it has been thus addressed :