other kind of meal (diluted with a pint of cold water, stirring the while with a stick or spoon). When thoroughly mixed, throw in the fish, cut up in rather small pieces; season with two ounces of grated or sliced common cheese, pepper and salt to taste; allow the whole to boil fifteen minutes longer. The soup will then be ready, and form an appetizing and nutritious meal at a small cost.

ANOTHER ECONOMICAL SOUP FOR ONE HUNDRED PERSONS.

Break the bones small, set them to boil in a covenient-sized vessel, containing six gallons of water; and after the whole has boiled gently for twelve hours, strain off the broth from the bones, and add six more gallons of water; repeat the boiling for a like space of time, and after having strained the second broth, add this to the former. Next, chop the vegetables small, and fry them in the fat skimmed off the broth, and when they become slightly browned, pour in the broth; then add the seasoning and the meal (previously diluted with sufficient cold water to convert it into a liquid batter); keep stirring the whole well together over the fire for about half-an-hour; the soup will then be ready for use.

EXTENT OF THE UNITED STATES.-The United States have a frontier line of more than 10,000 miles. We have a line of sea coast of 4000 miles, and a lake coast of 1200 miles. One of our rivers is twice the size of the Danube, the largest river in Europe. The Ohio is 600 miles longer than the Rhine, and the Hudson has a navigation of 120 miles longer than the Thames. The single state of Virginia is a third larger than England. Ohio contains 5,120,000 acres more than Scotland. From Maine to Ohio is further than from London to Constantinople, and so we might go on and fill pages, enumerating distances, rivers, lakes, capes, and bays, with comparative estimates of size, power, and population.-New York Sun.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We have received the communications of a Constant Reader; an Old Subscriber; a Workman; 0. O.; P. S. L.; E. A.; a Layman; S. B.; M. B.; C. M.; X. Y. Z.; and some anonymous correspondents.

AN ACCOUNT OF DAVID W.. FF.

WHEN David W. . ff first came under my notice, he must have been nearly eighty years of age; he was a venerable looking old man, with long white hair hanging below his shoulders, which, when agitated by the wind, was like fine floss silk. He was rather below the middle stature, and bent by age and weakness; his countenance was very pleasing notwithstanding his loss of sight, the predominant expression being peace and humility. There were very few, if any, wrinkles, and his colour retained the freshness of youth; he was led to Church by a grand-daughter, about ten or eleven years old, with a round red face, enlightened by a pair of sparkling black eyes; her hair was raven black, and she seemed proud of her office as guide to her aged grandsire. One of the old man's hands rested upon the child's shoulders, the other upon a staff; and I cannot conceive a finer study for a painter, than that which the two, described above, presented. David was one of the earliest attendants at S- -d church. Whatever might have been his motive in the first instance for going there, it was love of the truth that kept him a constant attendant afterwards; it was under the ministry of

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Mr. C. that the eyes of his understanding were opened, and he found himself, in a spiritual sense," wretched, and miserable, poor, and blind, and naked." What a discovery was this for a person near eighty years of age to make!

The poor blind, greyheaded man knew there was no time to be lost; and hail, rain, or sunshine, there he was in the same seat, his venerable head turned a little, and one hand placed over his ear as though he feared the words of life would escape. His residence was nearly two miles from the church; so that in winter it was no small exertion for the poor pilgrim to walk so far, On one occasion, when the snow was deep upon the ground, my dear mother said, "Why, David, I wonder to see you this severe morning; did not you find great difficulty in walking such weather?" He answered, "Oh yes, ma'am, the roads are very bad, and I thought I must turn back, and not attend church to-day. Then the thought came into my mind: this is not near so bad to bear as what the blessed Saviour bore for me; though the snow does cling to my feet, and my shoes are none so good, and I am tired and cold, yet I am NOT ascending Mount Calvary, bearing my cross, and expecting a lingering painful death. If the blessed Jesus had turned back when all those things were upon Him, what would have become of me? These thoughts gave me strength, and enabled me to proceed on my way." David was regular in his attendance at the Sacrament, and was led to the table either by his nephew or the clerk, and it was an affecting sight, that old man and his young spiritual guide. There was extreme humility in poor David at those times, and also deep affection in his pas tor's manner, who knew far more of the old man's history than we then did. I can never forget old David's Amen," at the conclusion of the service; his whole heart seemed absorbed, and the world quite shut out: indeed, he frequently said it was a great advantage to him being blind; his attention, he observed, was more fixed, and his mind was not drawn away by his eyes. "You know," he continued, "if the door opens, it is no use for me to turn my head that way."

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After Mr. C. left Sd, we determined to visit David at his cottage, and accordingly walked one morning to see him. We heard talking, and concluded he had a neighbour with him; we walked in, but found he was alone. With that instinct peculiar to the blind, he knew our voices immediately, and requested us to be seated. My sister found a low three-legged stool, and an infirm chair was my accommodation. His bed occupied the whole length of his room, and was just under the window; he was seated on the side of the bed, and his feet rested upon the fender; an old table completed the furniture. A person with tolerably long arms might have stood in the middle of the room, and so have touched both walls: on a nail in the wall hung an old black bonnet which had been his wife's; he never allowed it to be taken away; it was the last memorial of one who had shared his joys and sorrows, and though he could not see it, he often felt if it still remained in its place. Such was David's earthly habitation. He said, "When you came in, I was meditating upon those beautiful words in the Epistle for last Sunday, Rejoice in the Lord always, and again, I say, Rejoice;' so you see, miss, it is the Christian's privilege to rejoice. Now," he continued, "it is very good in you young ladies to come and see such a poor unworthy creature as I am, and in this poor hut too; but let us remember what the Lord says in Malachi, 3rd chapter and 16th verse, Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his name.'"

"Now," he added, "let us forget all beside, and tell of all the good Lord has done for us, so that our memorial may be with Him." This poor man never talked of his neighbours, never named his poverty, never complained of his weakness; goodness and mercy were his constant theme, except when his sin and early life came to his memory, and then tears fell fast from his eyes, and like his namesake of old, he would exclaim, “I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." Once a lady called upon him, whose husband was

a

clergyman with a large parish; and on taking leave she put a shilling into David's hand. "Pray," said the old man, "take it back; you have much to do in your parish, and perhaps some there may want more than I do." At this time all he had to depend upon was 1s. 6d. a week. When the next minister came, he often visited old David, and he assured us his soul was always benefited by the good old man's conversation. On one occasion, when leaving the cottage, a person said, "Ah! David was not always what he now is," "I know it," said his pastor, "and you need not have troubled yourself to tell me this, for on my first visit to David he told me all." This dear servant of God was laid on a bed of great suffering and death; then poor David visited his minister, prayed with and comforted him, and pointed to his rest above: often did the sufferer declare the poor man's visits were more refreshing than he could express. I saw them take a final farewell of each other; but they have met again to part no more.

One day in winter my mother asked us, "who felt inclined for a walk?" It was severe weather, and no one spoke; she said, "I have finished the stockings which have caused you all so much amusement on account of their size, and now I wish them taken to old David, and no one seems anxious to go from a warm room and good fire." As soon as David's name was mentioned, there was no more reluctance. We set off in high glee with the stockings, a bottle of wine, and some sponge cakes; we entered the cottage as usual without any ceremony, and found the old man seated on the side of his bed, with his feet on the fender. After the accustomed salutation I said, "What do you want most this cold weather, David?" "Thank the Lord, I want nothing but a grateful heart for all my many mercies." Well," but I continued, "if any one wished to make you a present, and you were permitted to choose, what would you ask for?" He considered a moment, and then turned his head quickly round and said, "Oh! I forgot, I do want a pair of warm stockings very bad." I put them into his shaking hand with great satisfaction; he felt them, and perceived they were very long and stout. He raised his

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