young woman whose melancholy state I heard of from her father, and went to see. Poor creature! a monument of parental disobedience. She was in her nineteenth year cut off from all the hopes and joys of life; a prey to a repulsive and incurable disease, and laid from morning to night on the same hard couch, upon the floor, from which she could in no wise lift up herself. Her large dark eyes and beautiful eye-brows were all of beauty that remained: she had been two years a wife, and nearly that length of time, a deserted wife; she married at seventeen, against her father's will (her mother was dead) a man, who from the first cruelly treated and soon forsook her and she had returned in poverty, sickness, and sorrow, to her father's house, which was not shut against her, and there her disease increased, till it reduced her to the state in which I saw her.

Her mind, I thought, had sunk considerably beneath her sufferings, but as her throat was dreadfully affected, she seldom spake except with a painful effort, to express her thanks when I was leaving her; an act of politeness which I vainly tried to prevent, being much more desirous that, if an effort was made, it should be to inform me respecting her state of mind, of which I could only hope good, from the attention with which she listened to the scriptures.

My health obliging me to ride out every day, I proposed visiting this poor girl on Sunday evenings, and reading the Bible to her, as her sight was too much impaired to allow her the only pleasure she might otherwise have enjoyed.

My offer was accepted, and the next Sabbath evening, I took my way along the road that led to her house, my Bible in my hand-for that house, though a Protestant one, did not possess such. As

I went musingly along, an angle in the road prevented me from being seen by a party of bulletplayers, until the bullet was flung directly in a line with my steps, and I really was scarcely aware myself of the manner in which I escaped it. I know not if this is an English pastime-it is a very common Irish one. I believe it is played much in the same manner as ball, only the art appears to consist in throwing the bullet-which is a heavy one of lead, and requires strength as well as dexterity to use-to the greatest possible distance. It is always played on the roads, fields not being suitable, and on Sunday afternoons, even in the hottest weather, it is a scene lamentably common.

The awkward looks of the men, as I passed them, and the compunction which their faces, but not their words expressed, prompted me to address a hint to them on the sinful violation of that sacred day; but some cause, a wrong one I conclude-perhaps my Irish friends would call it an importation of English feeling, or perhaps, justly speaking, timidity at addressing a number of men, who might not receive such an admonition very civilly, restrained me, and I passed them in silence. The next Sunday evening I passed at the same hour, and found them in the same place; the bullet I saw, but it was not flung in my path, nor was I sure it was flung after I passed. The following Sabbath the party was much less, and, on drawing nearer to the house I visited, I perceived many of them sitting on the side of the hedge opposite to it, and the old woman who attended the sick girl, was standing on a little eminence, from whence, as soon as I appeared, she beckoned to the men, who hastily rose and went into the house.

I have often called to remembrance my weakness at that moment, if weakness be an appropriate term to designate my conduct by. It is useless to deplore what all the people of God acknowledge to be wrong, yet have so generally, since the day when Peter stood in the kitchen of Caiaphas to the present time, pleaded guilty to. To shrink from vulgar impertinence, or draw back from an encounter with profane opposition, when in the path of duty and the service of religion, is no uncommon weakness; and it was mine at that moment, as it has often been at others. I stood, I am sure, for three or four minutes quite irresolute whether to proceed or return; I thought there could be but one object in a plan so evidently concerted, and that was, to give me such a reception as must prevent a continuance of any Bible-reading visits. I think I had actually turned to go back: it is well the strength of the Lord is perfected in human weakness, or many, in greater things, would act in the same way; but something whispered to my mind a sense of sin and of shame, and I hastily advanced onwards to the house.

Opposite to the door, as I entered, the first object that met my eye was one that seems still before it: a young man was seated sideways on the dresser, one leg hanging pendulous, much lower than the other, and a long straw across his mouth, which, something like mauvaise honte, made him appear very eager to devour; two other men occupied a table behind the sick girl,-the few stools which the kitchen afforded were also appropriated, but my chair was set out for me with due formality.

I paused for some minutes after I had taken possession of it, but no one moved; and there seemed

on the men's faces a sort of rather ludicrous determination to keep their places, mingled with an evident consciousness that they ought to go. The old woman who used at first to retire, had now taken a stool near me, rolled her arms in her apron and placed them on her knees, in the regular attitude of attention; I therefore concluded I was expected to commence "the reading," and whispered to her an inquiry to that purpose. If your honour pleases,' was the reply.

I was surprised, and felt confused, but after a little reflection, I turned to the parable of the wheat and tares, as that which I thought, because it bore upon country subjects, might be suitable to country men, and also equally useful to the immediate object of my visit; to whom I endeavoured to address myself as usual, though with considerable embarrassment, pointing out in the "good seed" the state of men when first created, and in the tares, the work of Satan, and present condition of the wicked. The moment I began to read, all the hats were pulled off, and when I rose to go, every seat was vacated, and my half-frightened good evening,' warmly responded to.

The next Sunday evening, with feelings of shame for myself, and of pleasure for my poor country people, I remember, and relate it: the road as I passed along, was silent,-the bullet players were not there, literally and really, not one of them, and to pass them at first was a great annoyance to me; but when I entered the poor girl's cabin, the dresser and table were both full, quite full, and the wall too was lined with men who stood leaning there listening to sounds that were perhaps strange to their

ears, but might come to their hearts, though uttered in the depth of human weakness, in the Spirit and power of God, to turn them from darkness unto light, and lead them to desire, at least, the knowledge of Him who was as yet to them " an unknown God."

To the best of my recollection, that little congregation met there while I remained in the country, which, to be sure, was but a very short time: of any effects produced, I have not to tell, but the word of God was read in the hearing of the people,—the seed of divine truth, though feeble the hand that scattered it, was yet dispersed; and though neither a Paul planted, nor an Apollos watered, we cannot tell but the Lord may have given an increase, for it is "not by power, nor by might, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord" it is, at all events, an encouragement to those who wish to promote scriptural knowledge in Ireland, to hear in real instances of an apparent desire, and an unsolicited attempt on the part of some of the people to receive it.

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S. B.

[Many a touching “ recollection" of our own, has been vividly awakened by the foregoing. Would to God we could impress on all our readers the fact of how very white unto the harvest are those fields of poor Erin, from which alas! alas! the hand of worldly power is about to withdraw labourers, when the Lord of the harvest should rather be besought, in fervent supplication, to send forth multitudes in his name, with that "story of peace," which the poor perishing creatures so eagerly covet, so thankfully receive!EDITOR]