We shall never forget a scene in which deep pathos was a principal characteristic, which we once beheld, at a country church, in one of the thinly-populated, humble towns of western New-York. A pious clergyman, of the Baptist denomination, whose 'three-score years and ten' had turned his hair to snow, and given to his limbs the tremulousness of age, was to preach his farewell discourse to his little congregation, over whom he had presided for nearly half a century. The place itself, and the time, were accessaries to the 'abiding effect' which was left upon the minds of all who were present. It was the afternoon of a mild October day, and the sere leaves of the trees which shaded the church were falling in slow eddies by the open windows. After recapitulating his long labors among them--his teachings 'publicly, and from house to house'--his attendance upon the marriage festivals of those whom he had afterward consigned to the grave with bitter tears--the christenings and funerals he had celebrated--after these affectionate reminiscences, which touched an answering chord in the bosom of every hearer--he adverted to that day wherein all the actors in the drama of life must enter at the last scene, to complete and make up the sublime catastrophe, and warned them to prepare for its momentous solemnities. 'For myself,' said he, 'I can say--standing upon a narrow point between two eternities, and looking back upon a world imperfect and fading, and upon friends dear indeed, but more fleeting still--that I account myself as nothing, until I was my Saviour's, and enrolled in the register of Christ.' And raising his trembling, attenuated hands to heaven, his dim eyes streaming with tears--for, though he had struggled against emotion, his feelings now overcame him--he repeated these lines, in the most melting cadence: 'Ere since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming Love has been my theme, And shall be till I die: _Then_, in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing thy power to save, When this poor lisping, faltering tongue Lies silent in the grave! The look which followed these touching stanzas--the subdued emotion, the pious hope, which beamed in the countenance of the venerable father--will never fade from the memory of those who heard him. The heart of the speaker was poured forth; he was embodied Pathos. * * * * *