yours, the
same fancies and buoyant passions dance in my bosom as in yours;
so that when I would persuade you to come with me to the same
Saviour, and to walk the rest of your life 'led by the Spirit of
God,' I am not persuading you to anything beyond your years. I
am not like a grey-headed grandfather,--then you might answer
all I say by telling me that you are a boy. No; I am almost as
much a boy as you are; as fond of happiness and of life as you
are; as fond of scampering over the hills, and seeing all that
is to be seen, as you are.

"Another thing that persuades me to write you, my dear boy, is,
that I have felt in my own experience the want of having a
friend to direct and counsel me. I had a kind brother as you
have, who taught me many things. He gave me a Bible, and
persuaded me to read it; he tried to train me as a gardener
trains the apple-tree upon the wall; but all in vain. I thought
myself far wiser than he, and would always take my own way; and
many a time, I well remember, I have seen him reading his
Bible, or shutting his closet door to pray, when I have been
dressing to go to some frolic, or some dance of folly. Well,
this dear friend and brother died; and though his death made a
greater impression upon me than ever his life had done, still I
found the misery of being _friendless_. I do not mean that I had
no relations and worldly friends, for I had many; but I had no
friend _who cared for my soul_. I had none to direct me to the
Saviour--none to awaken my slumbering conscience--none to tell
me about the blood of Jesus washing away all sin--none to tell
me of the Spirit who is so willing to change the heart, and give
the victory over passions. I had no minister to take me by the
hand, and say, 'Come with me, and we will do thee good.' Yes, I
had one friend and minister, but that was Jesus himself, and He
led me in a way that makes me give Him, and Him only, all the
praise. Now, though Jesus may do this again, yet the more common
way with Him is to use earthly guides. Now, if I could supply
the place of such a guide to you, I should be happy. To be a
finger-post is all that I want to be--pointing out the way. This
is what I so much wanted myself; this is what you need not want,
unless you wish.

"Tell me, dear G., would you work less pleasantly through the
day--would you walk the str