ted district. At 9 o'clock we set out to make a
Sabbath-day's journey: the wind extremely high and always in our face,
which fatigued Nimrod [their horse] as well as ourselves. We dined at
Lesengnan: not a Protestant in the place, yet we met with a circumstance
worth recording. Jules, who is ever watchful to find out who can read,
gave a few tracts to some boys in the stable-yard. When I went out, writes
J.Y., to see our horse, several rather bright-looking boys followed me,
asking for books. After ascertaining that they, could read, I supplied
them. This was no sooner known, than boys and girls came in crowds, soon
followed by many of their parents. As our visitors increased, I ran
upstairs to fetch my dear M.Y., and we embraced the opportunity to speak
to them on the importance of religion. No doubt curiosity drew many to us,
for we were a novel sight there, and the mingled multitude was not less so
to us. Among our auditors was a messenger of Satan to buffet us. He was a
good-looking man, who expressed a seeming approval of what we had done,
saying we made many friends. We told him they were all children of the
same Almighty Parent, and that there was but one true religion, and one
heaven. This observation drew off his mask, and he began to express doubts
whether either heaven or hell really existed, and brought forward the
threadbare argument of not believing what he could not see or prove. We
asked him if he had a soul: he said he had. We asked him how be knew that
he had a soul, for he could not see it: he replied, he believed that he
had a soul, but that his soul would die with his body. We then asked him
why two and two made four: he said he could not tell, and yet acknowledged
he was bound to believe it. The countenances of many around beamed with
joy at seeing this darkling perplexed; and we did not shrink from
exhorting him to repentance and faith in Christ, who died for him and for
all men.

On returning to our room the landlady entered with a fine-looking girl,
for whom she begged a book. This opened our way to speak to her of things
connected with salvation. She said,--"We have not much of religion here."
"Why so?" we asked. "Because the people do not like to confess to
the priests." "And what is the use," said we, "of confessing to man?"
"Because," she replied in somewhat trembling accents, "we think it eases
our consciences, for the priests are the appointed ministers to take
charge of our souls." "What,"