her Maker; and I still look upon the corner in which it was always put aside, and call to mind its black cover, with her horn spectacles resting upon it, with as much respect as the Roman Catholic is said to regard the image of his saint. Mine, however, is no superstitious reverence, but a pious regard for the Word of GOD, and _her_ from whose lips I was first taught it; and, sir, when I read my Bible now, which I hope I do not much neglect, I combine pleasure as well as well as profit,—it brings back to me the happy recollections of my youth, as well as affords the consolations of old age.” “I quite agree with you,” said I, “as to the advantages of an early acquaintance with the Bible. Whether it should be made a school-book or not, depends entirely upon the capabilities and sound principles of the teacher.” “There you are right,” said he; “but mine were like the ‘words of king Lemuel, which his mother taught him:’ and old Bowman, to do him justice, drilled the somewhat dry catechism of the good Archbishop pretty soundly into my memory. Yet, as far as I can recollect, I had not at that time any very distinct notions of the value of the Gospel, as distinct from natural religion, and the obvious duty of doing as I was taught. I knew all the _facts_ of Christianity perfectly. I could tell all the events of our SAVIOUR’s life, and enumerate accurately every doctrine taught by Himself and His apostles. I knew the necessity of unity in the Catholic Church, and understood the Creeds by which that unity was intended to be secured. But I did not see how these things applied to myself, as guides for my own thoughts and actions. My real religion, I believe, as far as I can call back my thoughts at this distance of time, consisted a good deal in fear, both of GOD and man. My father, as I have said, was a strict disciplinarian; his word was law: and my fear of GOD, I cannot help thinking, arose almost naturally out of the situation in which nature had placed me. In very early life,—as far back as I can recollect anything,—I underwent great alarm from what is a common occurrence in that mountain range—a terrific thunder storm. The effect of the lightning in that land of hill and valley, is very striking; and was never more so than on that well-remembered day! Sometimes it seemed to dance in wanton playfulness on the side of the mountain, and sometimes to split it from the top to the bottom. Then the echoing thunder ran up one valley and down another in that land of seams and ridges, coming back again to the place which it had left, with a voice hardly weakened by its circuit; and there, joining a new and equally loud report, the bellowing became as confused and endless as it was startling. Then came the thunder-shower, not in drops of rain, but solid sheets of water. The white cataracts began foaming and rushing down the side of every hill, and gushing out of every opening in the valleys, till they swelled our