in advancing the influence of religion and the Church. They have about a dozen Sunday-schools, from two to seven miles distant from Gambier, each of which is under the care of two or three students.

It may be interesting to you to hear a little more on this subject: I will, therefore, give you an account of my regular Sunday expedition, in which I am accompanied by a worthy collegian, my intimate friend. You must suppose the season to be summer, when the country appears to advantage, and the days are long. We rise early, and get a light breakfast an hour or two before the ordinary morning meal, and then sally forth with a few books, and some frugal provision for the day. The sun has risen about half an hour, and the dew is sparkling on the long grass. We proceed about half a mile through the noble aboriginal forest, the tall and straight trees appearing like pillars in a vast Gothic cathedral. The timber consists of oak, hickory, sugar-maple, sycamore, walnut, poplar, and chestnut; and the wild vine hangs from the branches in graceful festoons. Occasionally we hear the notes of singing-birds; but less frequently than in the groves of England. Deep silence generally prevails, and prepares the mind for serious contemplation. We soon arrive at a small clearing, where a cabin built of rough logs indicates the residence

of a family. Around the cabin are several acres upon which gigantic trees are yet standing; but perfectly deadened by the operation of girdling. Their bark has chiefly fallen off, and the gaunt white limbs appear dreary though majestic in their decay. Upon the abundant grass, which has sprung up since the rays of the sun were thus admitted to the soil, a number of cattle, the property of the college, are feeding; and the tinkling of their bells is almost the only sound that strikes the ear. We climb over the fence constructed of split rails piled in a zigzag form; we traverse the pasture, and are again in the deep forest. The surface of the ground is neither flat, nor very hilly, but gently undulating. Our pathway is plain, and conversation enlivens our walk. Occasionally we pass a log hut surrounded by a small clearing; and after an hour we arrive at a roughly-constructed saw-mill, erected on a small stream of water. The miller is seated at the door of his cabin, clad in his Sunday suit, and reading a religious book lent him by us on a former occasion. We hold a short conversation with him; he expresses a growing interest in religion and the Church; and concludes by telling us that he wishes us hereafter to use his horse on our expeditions. We accept the offer as it is intended; my companion mounts the nag, and I walk by his side.

We then pass through the woods along the banks

of Vernon River; and in due time my companion descends from his seat, and I mount the quiet animal in his place. After another hour, we arrive at a small village, or rather a collection of loghouses, the scene of our labours. At the further extremity of the street is a school-house built of logs, with a huge chimney at one end, and a fireplace extending across one side of the apartment. Within it are a number of rough benches, and all around it is a kind of temporary arbour, covered with fresh boughs for the accommodation of those who cannot find seats within. Having tied our horse to a tree, we enter the school-room and sit down to rest. Soon the children come flocking from the cabins and through the woods; and with them their parents and many other grown up people, attracted partly by curiosity, and partly by a sincere desire of religious instruction. In a short time the school-room is filled, and a number of persons are standing without in the shade of the arbour; I then give out one of the hymns in the Prayer-book, reading two lines at a time on account of the scarcity of books. The people join in singing it, and then all kneel down to prayer. I repeat a large portion of the service by memory, knowing that my hearers, although belonging to no sect whatever, have at present all the prejudices of sectarians against "praying by a book." After prayer

my companion adds a few words of exhortation, to which all listen with the deepest attention. This, although not strictly regular, is permitted by the bishop to candidates for orders, on account of the exigency of the case. We then instruct the children in the New Testament; and about midday we untie our horse, and set out on our journey homeward, intending to eat our cold refreshments on the

way.

But scarcely have we left the village, when a blacksmith runs after us and requests us to stop. He tells us that he has felt deeply interested in the services, that he desires more information, and that he wishes us always to dine with him on Sundays hereafter. We accordingly return to his cabin, and his wife sets before us a plentiful repast, consisting of chickens, potatoes, hot bread, apple-pies, and delicious milk. After some profitable conversation, we bid them farewell, and about three o'clock arrive at the miller's house, almost overcome by the excessive heat. When we have somewhat recovered from our fatigue, we proceed to a spot on the bank of the stream, where the grass is smooth, and where the thick foliage produces a comparative coolness. Here we find about a hundred persons collected, in hope of receiving from us some religious instruction. We conduct the service much in the same way as in the morning. The effect of the singing in the