In a rural town in Maine lived a Mr. B., an openly irreligious man. His custom was, when his neighbors were at public worship on the Lord's day, to take his fishing-rod or gun, and stroll about the fields and woods in search of amusement. One hot summer day, starting on his accustomed ramble, his course led him by the village church. The pastor, a devoted, godly minister, now in glory, had just risen to name his text. The Sabbath-breaker passed on ere it was announced. But the door of the sanctuary being open on account of the heat, his glance within met that of the man of God. Those calm, unworldly eyes, with their "holy expression," as the transgressor subsequently stated, shot conviction to his heart, and he found no peace till he found it beneath the sin-atoning cross. A faithful pastor,* who made much of "the lambs," was in the habit of taking a little girl, the daughter of a parishioner, on his knee when he called, and teaching her a hymn to sing. He taught her those lines from Watts, commencing,— "Earth has engrossed my love too long." * Rev. J. Newton Brown. She had a clear, rich voice, and when the family would sing those words her bird-like notes might be heard above all the rest. One day she came in from play, hot and fevered—scarlet fever had seized her, and she soon faded from earth, to be folded in the arms of the "chief Shepherd." Many years passed. With her death the stanzas ceased to be sung and were seldom thought of. An older brother, who had grown to manhood, read infidel books, forsook the house of God, and became a caviller at religion. His business called him to a distant town, and having a taste for music, he became a member of a choir, still unchanged in his feelings towards Christianity. One Sabbath the officiating clergyman gave out the hymn already referred to. While engaged in singing it, suddenly he seemed to hear that child-voice ringing out, in cadences of angelic sweetness, her favorite lines,— "Earth has engrossed my love too long; 'Tis time I lift mine eyes Upward, dear Father, to thy throne, And to my native skies." Each word uttered with thrilling distinctness to his ear, he was lifted above his skepticism, heaven became a reality, the gospel a divine power. Overcome by emotion, he sat down before the song had ended,—melted, subdued, humbled, tearful. After his conversion he would often allude to that hour as one of deep and vivid impression. Little did that loving pastor think what he was doing for that brother when the fair-haired girl sat in his lap committing those verses. A LOST OPPORTUNITY.