OLD PETER.

"O blessed name of Servant! comprehending

Man's highest honour in his humblest name, For thou, God's Christ, that office recommending, The throne of mighty power didst truly claim; He, who would rise like thee, like thee must owe His glory only to his stooping low." BETHUNE.

No season in the year in any climate surpasses in mildness and beauty the American autumn. Throughout the United States, this season is proverbially loved and admired. Even after the frosts have commenced their work of death, and the fireside is sought as a corner of comfort, there is a period of a few weeks when the sun seems to look back with regret upon the departed glories of summer, and with "attempered beams" again to shed down a mild and grateful warmth. This interval is generally known as the Indian summer, a name it received from the native red man, whose imaginative faith led him to believe that the sweet southwest wind that pre

vailed at this time proceeded directly from his benevolent god, Cantanhowit, or the southwestern god. With a more enlightened faith the Christian enjoys the beauties of this season, and traces them all to Him "who crowneth the year with his goodness."

It was one of the brightest of these bright mornings; the glowing sun called man forth to his labour, while it ripened the crop it summoned him to gather; the birds were sending up their songs to heaven in gladness-the air and the wave in music; and nature, animate and inanimate, seemed to join in the full chorus "Be joyful in your God."

We had arisen with the first light of dawn, and in looking forward to another day of duty, asked our Heavenly Guide, "Lord, what wouldst thou have us to do?" The petition was scarcely breathed before we were summoned below-a Christian friend awaited us, who had taken his early walk to bring us information of the sickness of an aged negro, who resided some miles from us, and of whose situation we were entirely ignorant.

It seems that for months he had lain on the bed of languishing, and now he was deprived

of that privilege. His disease was asthmatic, and a difficulty of breathing in a recumbent posture prevented him from lying down. immediately made arrangements to visit the poor sufferer. As I have said, the morning was full of the presence of God, and everything around us seemed cheerful and glad; but as we approached the desolate hut of old Peter, we felt that here was an exception to the uni versal joy. It appeared as if happy nature must do the poor inmate wrong; and, by its smiles and beauty, mock the misery of his heart; but we knew not of the calmness and peace that dwelt within the bosom of the old man, and that we were here to witness another exhibition of the truth that God is no respecter of persons, and that the light of His countenance can illumine the darkest abode, and make the most afflicted soul cheerful. We approached the poor hovel. It stood in a sheltered nook at the edge of a wood far removed from any other habitation. There was no sound of life about it, and no answer was returned to our appeal for admittance. We lifted the latch, and on opening the door the first object that was presented to our view was the

poor invalid, the only occupant of the lonely dwelling. His appearance and attitude riveted us for a moment to the spot. In one corner of the single apartment stood a low bed, and at its side knelt old Peter. His elbows rested upon the bed and supported his drooping head. He appeared unconscious of our entrance, but as we gently approached and seated ourselves by his side, he raised his head and smiled, but made no effort to arise. We soon found that this was the only position in which he could breathe with any degree of comfort, and that for many days and nights he had been unable either to stand, sit, or lie down.

I had heard nothing of the state of Peter's mind, and when I was informed of the length of his sickness and the extremity of his suffering, I was prepared to hear the voice of murmuring and impatience, and on my way I was summoning to my recollection the many arguments that Scripture presents of the duty of cheerful submission to the will of God. But I found that I was to learn a lesson, not to teach one. In this lonely abode I found another exhibition of the power of true religion, and saw how the heart that is staid on God can rise

superior to pain, and triumph over the most distressing external circumstances.

"How long is it, Peter, since you have been unable to lie down ?"

"It is three months, sir, since I have laid upon my bed," he replied with a cheerful voice, making no further mention of his sufferings.

"And why do you not sit or stand?"

“I am unable to do so, sir. I was in the habit of sitting in my chair all night, until my breathing became so short that I was forced to stand. I was too weak to support myself, and so I leaned my elbows on the window and was very comfortable; but my strength soon gave way, and now I stay on my knees night and day."

This account was given in a pleasant tone, and with a cheerful expression of countenance, and was simply an answer to our inquiries, nothing being added to excite our sympathy or move our feelings.

"Is it not very painful, Peter, to kneel so constantly on the hard floor?"

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Yes, sir; my elbows and knees have blistered and broke, and broke and blistered many