elaboration and order of development. "He had always been accustomed," says his biographer, "to think much; and to arrange his thinkings thoroughly before he brought them forth-carefully to consider and examine which should be placed first, and which last, and in what order he should marshal the whole, so that they might produce just the effect he desired."

The last days of Pascal furnish a singular commentary on this, his posthumous work, in which he dwells so largely on the contradictory nature of fallen humanity. The vanity, weakness, and misery of man in himself, are strikingly contrasted with his strength in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. His own life and character during this trying season appear to have exhibited a servile and superstitious adherence to outward rites, whilst he held firmly the fundamental truth that salvation was to be found in Christ, and Christ only. Scrupulously constant in his daily attendance at vespers, visiting all the churches where relics were exhibited, and carrying about with him a devotional almanac that he might know the proper time and place for every special act of piety, he could nevertheless record in these beautiful words his honest convictions on the subject of salvation by grace—

"It behoves us only to know Jesus Christ, because it is through Him alone that we can hope to know God in such a way as can be useful to us. It is He who is the true God of mankind-of the wretched and the sinner. He is the centre and the end of all; and he who knows him not, knows nothing of the constitution of the world or of himself. For not only can we know nothing of God but by Jesus Christ: without Him we can know nothing of ourselves. Without Christ man must remain in vice and misery; in Christ he is released from both. In Him are our happiness, our virtue, our life, our light, our hope out of Him there is only vice, wretchedness, darkness, and despair, and we see nothing but obscurity and confusion in the character of God, and in our own natures."

"How rich, how poor, how abject, how august,

"How complicate, how wonderful is man!"

Pascal died at Paris, 19th August, 1662, at the early age of thirty-nine, and was buried there in the church of his own parish, St. Etienne-du-Mont.

MY FIRST VISIT TO THE FAIR.

ONE day of my boyhood at Brackenbraes, is deeply impressed on my recollection. I can conjure it up before me with all the vividness of reality. I was eleven years old at the time. Summer was come, and all nature participated in that season's

brightness.

My cousin had come to spend a few days with us. He was a year or two older than myself; but both Jesse and I found him a very pleasant companion in our sports.

I think it was the fourth day after my cousin's arrival, in which time we had seen everything we could think of, conpected with the farm, that I heard my father giving some directions to the shepherd. I soon discovered that they referred to the annual fair, which takes place a few miles from Brackenbraes.

"Above all," I overheard my father say, "beware of the drinking booths. You know what they reduced you to last year; and when you know this to be your weak point, you ought to keep out of temptation. Here are your wages, and I hope you will only buy with them, such things as you require. I give you this advice, because, should I hear that you have been drinking, I'll at once dismiss you from my service."

"There's nae fear this year, master, tak' my word for that," replied the shepherd. And my father soon afterwards joined us in the parlor.

He was

Joe had been with us as long as I could remember. a faithful and honest servant; but the great blemish in his character was his love of drinking. As he had no opportunity of yielding to this vice at Brackenbraes, his conduct was unimpeachable, while he took a remarkable interest in the affairs of the farm. My father, after what had occurred on the similar occasion the year before, dreaded the consequences of another visit to the market-town, Hence arose the warning he had been giving him before he left.

The conversation that I had overheard, gave rise, however, to a different train of thought. I immediately proposed that my cousin, Jesse, and I should go to the fair. I had never

seen one, and the accounts of them which I received from the farm-servants only whetted my curiosity.

My father, as was usual on such occasions, at first, wholly opposed the idea, but at length he gave permission to my cousin and me. We pleaded earnestly that Jesse should accompany us, but on no account would he consent. The fair was to take place on the following day, and the interval was fully oocupied in discussing the probable events of the next twenty-four hours.

Six o'clock in the morning found us up and ready to start. We had a hearty breakfast, and substantial provisions for discussion on the road. Joe had gone last evening with the sheep, so that my cousin and I set off by ourselves. And never were lighter hearts or brighter faces than ours that summer morning.

Seldom, in my experience, have four miles seemed so short. One refreshing shower fell, but then, without it, we should not have enjoyed the novel shelter which the hedge-row afforded. And when it was over (it lasted but a short time) how pleasant everything looked! The verdure sent forth a grateful fragrance; we could hear the little burns on every side, that had before been almost dry, begin to murmur along their stony channels, and the birds with their plaintive warblings filled the air, as if all nature were shewing its gratitude for the refreshing shower.

As we neared the spot, groups of country people began to appear, and every bye-path swelled the little throng. Some, gaily dressed, were evidently attracted to the fair for amusement; others (and these were for the most part farmers) talked together anxiously about the price of lambs; while some, who had come from a distance, passed in carts. All seemed disposed to be cheerful, and were more than usually careful respecting their dress.

Arrived at the foot of the hill on which the fair was held, we halted at a spring of pure water, that trickled gently from a projecting rock. We seated ourselves near this spot, and as the morning was now far advanced, we felt quite ready for the refreshment we had brought with us; and a draught of the spring-water recruited us amazingly.

Ascending the hill, we could hear that the business of the fair had already commenced. The bleating of sheep, the barking of dogs, and the voices of men became gradually louder, until the scene itself lay open before us.

It was an imposing one. To the left was a long, broad thoroughfare, the principal and busiest part of the fair, lined on both sides with tents; while towards the right, a wide plain stretched before us, wholly covered with lambs of every variety. It was a novel spectacle to us, who now pressed more eagerly forward than before, to mingle in the multitude of people.

As it stood at the extremity of the fair, a gipsy encampment first attracted our attention. Their waggon leant its shafts against the ground, and in it lay an infant fast asleep. Round a wood fire sat, or rather crouched, several elder children, and their father and mother, all partaking of that dark, swarthy complexion, which is peculiar to these wandering tribes. Close by, a horse was feeding upon such patches of pasture as were to be found; and which, by its shrivelled skin and protruding bones, no doubt belonged to this primitive group.

Passing by, we came to the broad path bounded by tents, which on closer inspection, we found to be, for the most part, refreshment-booths, diversified by petty bazaars of tempting appearance, and ginger-bread stalls, cakes of which lay tempingly rolled up in paper of gaudiest colours.

Noon brought with it a scorching sun; yet the farmers and shepherds still wore their heavy plaids, an invariable part of their costume. We were astonished to find that the space allotted to the sheep was almost clear; and that thousands of these were, ere now, proceeding on their various ways.

As afternoon approached, the less pleasant features of a day of this kind became apparent. The multitude of people was by no means abated, but seemed rather augmented. As we looked into the refreshment-booths, we found them filled by men of every appearance,-from the well-dressed farmer to the destitute laborer. In these tents money is paid and received, but this is scarcely ever done, except over the glass of whiskey, the bane of such occasions.

This custom often leads to the worst consequences, and turns such annual gatherings into scenes of riot and drunkenness.

Some lay stretched insensible on the hill-side; others rent the air with shouts of wild mirth; oaths were uttered in exulting madness; quarrels sprung up between friend and friend, and blows were dealt in the fury of passion.

We had strolled through this busy throng, with only an occasional rest, all day; and when we saw the aspect of affairs so disagreeably changed, we gladly left the spot, and made for the town at the foot of the hill, where we intended visiting some friends.

We spent an hour in the village, gratifying our curiosity at every point, and calling on those friends who occasionally visited us at Brackenbraes.

It was now five o'clock, and the evening sun was bright and glowing, so we had the prospect of a pleasant walk home. Leaving the village behind us, we began to ascend the hill on our return, with the intention of turning off a little below, and so avoiding the scene of the fair, which, we were warned, would, if possible, present still more revolting features. We were half way up the steep ascent and had met on our way a number of people leaving the fair, when we observed a group of men turn down the hill, who, unlike the others, were approaching slowly, as if bearing some burden. Our interest was excited, and we questioned some of the people whom

we met.

Two men had quarrelled over their whiskey. High words were speedily exchanged for blows, and blood had flowed freely. Both had been wounded-one dangerously so. It was he whom the men were supporting. This was all we could glean.

The men approached with their burden, and we stood aside to allow them to pass. A glance at the insensible body as it was carried by us, and the truth, I so little suspected, flashed upon my mind. It was Joe!

Although I had heard of his drinking propensities from my father, yet I never had thought of Joe otherwise than as the kind friend he had always been to me. To my young mind the shock was a severe one; and I was, for the time,

motionless.

We were anxious to see what would be done for the wretched