Harry and I are goi

d now I was going out for my usual Sunday afternoon walk. Only this afte

nie, "but it's Fanny's afternoon out, and I

r. Gear," said I. "I am going to

's an infide

any harm to study the Bible. I may not succeed; I pr

ou John. And I think I can. I can pray

e I had dreaded my errand, now I was in haste for the interview. I believe in the intercession of the sai

m the church. It was a bright afternoon in October. The woods were in the glory of their radiant death, the air was crisp and keen. Harry who now ran before, now loitered behind, and now walked sedately by my side,

ot believe in anything--Church, Bible, Sunda

u know of h

mbly's Catechism (he can say it better than I can today), and listened twice every Sunday till he was eighteen to good

r go to chur

hat question myself the other day," said he. "You

d a week. And at home I always go to church for the sake of th

u know of his t

p. I could make nothing out of him. He said he believed in the existence of a God. But he scouted the idea that we could know anything about Him. He was rather inclined to thin

that the gates are wi

e Deacon; "no

ay of Christ and Ch

markable teacher. But he ridicules the idea of the miracles; says he does not believe them any more than he believes in the mythical legends of Greek and Roman literature.

ends. I once tried to argue the question of inspiration with him. 'Deacon,' said he to me, 'suppose a father should start off one fine morning to carry his son up to the top of Huricane Hill and put him to death there, and should pretend he had a revelation from God to do it, what would you do to him?' 'Put him in the insane asylum,' said I. 'Exactly,' said he. 'My boys came home from your Sabbath School the other Sunday full of the sacrifice of Isaac, and Will, who takes after his fath

capacity on my part to "bring him to terms," as the Deacon phrased it, but buoy

s fearfully sound on the doctrine of total depravity, admits that there are some goo

d a doubt. In every business transaction he is the soul of h

ale was caught in the shafting and killed last winter, it was Mr. Gear who paid the widow's rent out of his own pocket, got the eldest son a place on a farm, and carried around personally a subscription to provide for the family, after starting it handsomely himself. He is appointed to arbitrate in half the incipient quarrels of the neighborhood, and settles more controversies, I am confident, than his neighbor, Squire Hodgson, though the latter is a Justice of the Peace. There is always difficulty in collecting our pew rents. Half the church members are from one week to one quarter behind-hand. Mr. Gear has a pew for his family, and his pew-

aracter. He must have a side where Christian truth could get in, if one could only find it; where indeed i