We would see them only by the flashes of the lightning. When the flash had vanished, all was blackness; but, on its return, there they were still, different forms and with varying features; and they looked as natural as when in this--our life. What were our feelings? How could I express, or who will need that I should attempt to do so? We all responded deeply to Dr. Wilson's exclamation, "I would not have missed this for all the world! Oh, who after such a sight could ever again commit a sin?" It would seem that while we had no Spiritual sight to see them clairvoyantly in the darkness, they could bear the electric brightness of the lightning which revealed them to our eyes. A deep awe rested on us all, and we all united in the following beautiful old Methodist hymn which my mother sang. Many a time afterward we have sat in the hope of a repetition of this glorious spectacle; and Dr. Wilson would come when there seemed some prospect of thunder and lightning. But it never came again. Perhaps there was something in the quiet solemnity of that Sabbath hour which prompted it to the Spirits; and once shown, it was enough: for memory could not but keep it ever fresh in our minds, as it is and will forever remain in mine. What's this that steals, that steals upon my frame, Is it death, is it death? That soon will quench, will quench this vital frame, Is it death, is it death? If this is death, I soon shall be From every pain and sorrow free, I shall the King of Glory see, All is well, all is well! Weep not, my friends, my friends, weep not for me, All is well, all is well, My sins are pardoned, pardoned, I am free, All is well, all is well. There's not a cloud that does arise, To hide my Saviour from my eyes, I soon shall mount the upper skies, All is well, all is well. Tune, tune your harps, your harps, ye saints in glory, All is well, all is well. I will rehearse, rehearse the pleasing story, All is well, all is well! Bright angels are from glory come, They're round my bed, they're in my room, They wait to waft my Spirit home, All is well, all is well! SCARCELY CREDIBLE, BUT TRUE. A strange adventure befell me, at the age of between eight and nine years, which has always left a vivid impression on my mind; and I cannot resist the prompting to insert here a short summary of it. I will leave my readers to judge of it for themselves. I had obtained grandmother's permission to visit some little girls at the house of their father, Mr. Cox; which was granted on condition that I should be sure to come home before nightfall.