fineness of the material with which he dealt. That we too
may know something of the tempering of the steel, we are permitted a
reverent glance into that pious mother's bosom. Before the birthday
came she continually dedicated the little life beneath her heart to
the God who is pleased to accept such gifts. During all his childhood
he received the most careful Christian training. Nourished in such a
home-garden, and shined on by such mother-light, we cannot wonder
that the child grew toward the Sun, and that the roots of religious
character struck deep and spread wide.

When but a little child he showed an unusual concern of conscience.
At fifteen the town in which he lived was greatly aroused and
revived. His friends and acquaintances received the blessing, and he
was deeply interested, but the revival passed, leaving him with a
bitter, rebellious feeling in his heart.

About this time, one fine cold winter morning, a merry sleigh load
drove from his father's house. He, with his brothers, sisters and
cousins, about eighteen in all, went to spend a few days with his
uncle in West Hartford. Samuel had recently come into the possession
of a fine farm. He was gay and ambitious. His companions fearing his
good fortune might make him feel a "little too high minded," sought
to tease him. The evening before their return, after eating nuts and
apples, they agreed to have a little singing. They struck up "Hark,
from the Tombs a Doleful Sound," to the tune, Bangor. They sang it
slowly and solemnly, now and then casting at him glances from their
mischievous eyes. He sat a silent listener, while their song, sung in
fun, made an earnest impression of which he could not rid himself.

Soon after his farm was sold, and at eighteen he determined to go to
Litchfield and study in the Academy. As he was leaving home, his
mother's anxious heart could not let him go without enquiring for his
soul's health. Other mothers know the pain she suffered, when he told
her "for two years I have been sorry God ever made me." She replied
to him as her wise heart prompted her, and sent him on his way. She
went where all mothers of boys must so often go, to her knees, alone
with God.

He had not gone far on his journey when he met a Friend. It was the
Good Shepherd, whom that mother's urgent prayer had sent searching
for the wanderer. It was as if he had met Christ in his path. He
looked up at the great trees and down at the blossoms, and in
everythi