the way to seek for the hidden treasure I so much longed for? These queries were continually revolving in my mind, without a satisfactory solution. Sometimes I almost concluded that God was too good to send the beings he created for his own glory to perdition to all eternity, and all would ultimately be saved; at other times, I could not reconcile universal salvation with the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, and was ready to conclude that salvation was for the elected few, and there were those who could not be saved, and I was among the lost. In one of these seasons, of almost despair, I ventured to attend a Methodist meeting held in a private house, in company with my uncle. Being at his house, I did not go home for permission. The minister was a plainly dressed man; the opening hymn was new to me, but every line seemed especially for me: "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform" It was read and sung in an impressive manner. The fourth stanza seemed specially suited to my case: "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence He bides a smiling face." This gave new light, new courage, and fresh hope sprang up, like streaks of the morning sunbeam in the Eastern sky, preluding the full blaze of the orb of day. The prayer and the text upon which he based his remarks were all flowing in the same channel. The exhortation was to the discouraged and despairing soul to remember that the darkest time of night was just before the break of day, a remark I had never before heard. I returned home stronger than ever before, and ventured to tell mother of the good sermon preached by Isaac Puffer. But she was again troubled, and reminded me of those we read of in Scripture, who would compass sea and land to gain one proselyte, that when gained, "were twofold more the child of hell than themselves." She also said that my uncles would be well pleased to have me go with them. I assured her that neither of my four Methodist uncles had ever intimated a word to me on the subject. "But," said she, "actions sometimes speak louder than words." This was not designed to discourage me, but darker than ever was the cloud of unbelief that filled my heart. Was Isaac Puffer a child of hell? then there is nothing in religion, with any body. It was all a farce--all mere "overheated zeal, not according to knowledge." All mere "religious excitement." I well-nigh distrusted all religion, and father's and mother's religion was the same as others, of no value. I had groped my way in midnight darkness, trying to find the true way, when there was none. In this despairing state, while on my way to my grandfather's on an errand, I halted to listen to the mournful notes of the forest birds at my left; I looked upon the field of waving grain at my right, and burst into a flood of tears as I exclaimed, Oh, what a sin-stricken world is this! Every head of wheat is bowed in mourning