Day after day he preached, but all to no purpose. He portrayed the bliss of heaven--its purity and peace--in his most rapt and glowing manner. It was the last place which could have any charms for his Woodville audience. He portrayed the strife and turmoil of the world of woe. Apart from its physical torments--and they felt a sort of wild pride in defying these--they rather liked the picture. At all events, it was much more to their taste than was his description of heaven. So it went on, day after day. Not a sigh of penitence; not a wet eye; not a single occupant of the anxious seat. His labors were fruitless. Finally, he determined upon a change of tactics. He spoke of the decay of Woodville; how it was falling behind every other town on the river--"Oh!" said he, "might but the Angel of Mercy be sent forth from before the Great White Throne, commissioned to proclaim to all the region round that there was a revival in Woodville, and what a change there would be! The people would flock here from every quarter; the hum of business would be heard in your streets; the steamers, whose bright wheels now go flashing past your wharf, would stay in their fleet career; these dense forests, which now lour around, would be hewn down and piled up for food for these vast leviathans; and thus a golden tide would pour in upon you; and Woodville would become the wealthiest, the most beautiful, and the happiest place on the banks of the great Father of Waters!" A chord had been touched in the hitherto insensible hearts of the Woodvillers. Thought, emotion, feeling, were aroused; and soon the strange electric sympathy of mind with mind was excited. The emotion spread and increased; the anxious seats were thronged; and a powerful, and to all appearance genuine revival of religion ensued. The character of Woodville was entirely changed; and from that time it has continued to be one of the most moral, quiet, thriving, and prosperous of all the minor towns upon the Mississippi. * * * * *