"He lived to see Methodism spread through Great Britain, America, and the West India Islands. Nearly one hundred and forty thousand members, upward of five hundred itinerant preachers, and more than one thousand local preachers, were connected with him when he died. And how have these multiplied since! The epitaph of Sir Christopher Wren, in St. Paul's Cathedral, the work of his own genius, is applicable to Wesley's memory in almost all the civilized world: Do you ask for his monument? Look around you."

A VISION IN THE WILDERNESS.

"It seemed a dream, and yet 'twas not."

IN my long journeys in the West, I used frequently to rest during the heat of the noonday under the shade of a tree, fastening my horse to one of its branches by a long rope, which afforded him ample room for grazing. After a hearty meal, of the famed "hoe-cake," furnished at my last stopping place, and eaten with a relish which nothing but hunger and travel can give, and offering up my tribute of praise to Him who guided my wanderings, I usually lay down on my traveling blanket, with my saddle for a pillow, and refreshed myself by a few hours' sleep. Reposing thus, with my pocket Bible in my hand, reading and meditating on the promises of God to his people, I once fell into a dreamy revery, during which I imagined that all the illustrious of the church in former ages passed in slow procession before me.

First in the long train, and at considerable distance from the following groups, moved a venerable company, with silvered locks, and

elevated and wrinkled brows; their countenances were marked with an expression of blended gravity and simplicity, their staves were crooks, and their whole appearance indicated the simple habits of pastoral life. They were preceded by a figure of peculiar dignity, the rapt thoughtfulness of whose countenance bespoke a high communion with the spiritual world-a friendship with the Deity.

His

At a short distance in their rear followed one whose whole bearing was that of a stern, yet dignified consciousness of power. He bore in one hand a rod, and in the other a scroll. brow seemed like bronze, and was marked with the lines of most profound and somewhat awful thought. I gazed on this ancient-looking group until the shadows of the foremost grew dim in the distance, when, turning my eye, my attention was immediately arrested by an exceedingly interesting company of more varied character, and at more irregular intervals from each other. They were male and female. Their countenances wore different expressions; some the calm dignity of collected thought, others a lofty majesty that seemed something more than human; some an affecting pathos and lonely sadness, while the features of others were radiant with the outbreakings of ecstatic

emotion. All, however, had an indefinable correspondence. I was struck with an uplifted look of the eyes that was common to all, and imparted an aspect of sanctified inspiration.

The first in the group was a lovely female figure, whose graceful form appeared to glide along as if moving on the air; her hair waved in the breezes, and her countenance was an expression of blended beauty and holiness. It seemed illuminated with a radiance from heaven. In one hand she held above her head a timbrel, while with the other she struck it with enthusiasm. At a distance methought I heard her sing, "Awake, awake, Deborah; awake, awake, utter a song."

Next followed an unimpassioned, aged man, his eyes sunken, and his locks white like the snows of winter; mature thought and wise counsel sat on his visage, blended with a hallowed complacency that seemed to say, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth." He was followed by one who was robed in regal apparel, and whose head was circled with a crown. He appeared a prince of God's people, anointed from on high. His face shone with rapture as he moved buoyantly along, with a harp in his hand, singing, "O come, let us sing unto the Lord;

let us make a joyful noise unto the Rock of our salvation."

Then came one wrapped in a mantle, with a solemnity truly august; his beard was long and silvery; his eye, though sunken with age, gleamed with fire; and on his elevated, but indented brow, sat a solemn loftiness of the ht. His motion was that of strong old age, and as he passed I heard him say, "Awake, awake; put on thy strength, O Zion; put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city."

In the same group I observed several other most interesting figures, some carrying harps, some rejoicing, some weeping. Among the latter, one particularly affected me. He seemed a man of God-his look was that of deep dejection, yet submissive and sanctified. He uttered as he passed, with a tone of affecting pathos, "O that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people !"

Many others of remarkable appearance were passing before me, but the sudden approach of another group at a distance drew away my attention. The first that caught my eye was a figure robed in camel's hair, with a leathern girdle about his loins; his face was weather