ey are to prosper in their own souls,
they must so use the word,--sternly refusing to admit the idea of
feeding others, until satiated themselves. And for similar ends it is
needful that we let the truth we hear preached sink down into our own
souls. We, as well as our people, must drink in the falling shower.
Mr. M'Cheyne did so. It is common to find him speaking thus: "_July
31_, Sabbath.--Afternoon, on Judas betraying Christ; much more
tenderness than ever I felt before. Oh that I might abide in the bosom
of Him who washed Judas' feet, and dipped his hand in the same dish
with him, and warned him, and grieved over him--that I might catch the
infection of his love, of his tenderness, so wonderful, so
unfathomable."

Coming home on a Sabbath evening (Aug. 7th) from Torwood Sabbath
school, a person met him who suggested an opportunity of usefulness.
There were two families of gypsies encamped at Torwood, within his
reach. He was weary with a long day's labor; but instantly, as was his
custom on such a call, set off to find them. By the side of their
wood-fire, he opened out the parable of the Lost Sheep, and pressed
it on their souls in simple terms. He then knelt down in prayer for
them, and left them somewhat impressed, and very grateful.

At this time a youthful parishioner, for whose soul he felt much
anxiety, left his father's roof. Ever watchful for souls, he seized
this opportunity of laying before him more fully the things belonging
to his peace.

"Larbert, _August 8, 1836_

"MY DEAR G.----. You will be surprised to hear from me. I have
often wished to be better acquainted with you; but in these sad
parishes we cannot manage to know and be intimate with every one
we would desire. And now you have left your father's roof and
our charge; still my desires go after you, as well as the kind
thoughts of many others; and since I cannot now speak to you, I
take this way of expressing my thoughts to you. I do not know in
what light you look upon me, whether as a grave and morose
minister, or as one who might be a companion and friend; but
really, it is so short a while since I was just like you, when I
enjoyed the games which you now enjoy, and read the books which
you now read, that I never can think of myself as anything more
than a boy. This is one great reason why I write to you. The
same youthful blood flows in my veins that flows in