ple; but what I wanted to know was, How can I get my sins forgiven? And they never once told me that. I wanted to hear how a poor sinner under a sense of sin might find peace with God; and when I went I heard a sermon on 'Be not deceived: God is not mocked,' which cut me up worse, but did not say how I might escape. I went another day, and the text was something about the glories of the righteous; nothing for poor me. I was something like a dog under the table,—not allowed to eat of the children's food. 1 went time after time, and I can honestly say that I don't know that I ever went without prayer to God; and I am sure there was not a more attentive hearer in all the places than myself: for I panted and longed to understand how I might be saved. At last one snowy day—it snowed so much I could not go to the place I had determined to go to, and I was obliged to stop on the road, and it was a blesssd stop to me—I found rather an obscure street, and turned down a court, and there was a little chapel. I wanted to go somewhere; but I did not know this place. It was the Primitive Methodists' Chapel. I had heard of these people from many, and how they sang so loudly that they made people's heads ache; but that did not matter. I wanted to know how I might be saved; and, if they made my head ache ever so much, I did not care. So sitting down, the service went on; but no minister came. At last a very thin-looking man came into the pulpit, and opened his Bible, and read these words: 'Look unto me and be saved, all the ends of the earth.' Just setting his eyes upon me as if he knew me all by heart, he said, 'Young man, you are in trouble.' Well, I was, sure enough. Says he, 'You will never get out
