THE PASTOR AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

A FEW years ago, when the thermometer had repeatedly warned me that the time had arrived for my annual healthseeking expedition, I bade adieu to desk and countinghouse, turned my face towards the glorious West, my back to the uproarious city of New-York, and embarking in one of our North River floating palaces, was soon ploughing my way up the noble Hudson, inhaling the invigorating breezes, and viewing with the true pride of an American, those indubitable proofs of rapidly increasing civilization which are to be seen in every direction, on the banks of that magnificent river.

Always an ardent advocate of " progress," it was with many an undisguised thrill of exultation that I witnessed the growth of towns and cities, where but a few years previous had stood hamlets and villages. Church spires pointing upwards above the beautiful trees, manufactories teeming with industry, and bringing wealth and comfort to the surrounding population; school-houses diffusing the benefits of education on those who will succeed us shortly in the cares of citizenship-all these, combined

with the grandeur of nature, united to render the outset of my tour the promise of a brief career of gratification.

It was my intention to proceed westward towards the lakes, with as little delay as possible, but one of the steamboat landings presented such attractions in the way of novelty that I was fain to alter my determination and go ashore; the manufacturing activity perceptible in the immediate vicinity of the stream, and the picturesque beauty of the scenery beyond, were sufficient to arrest the attention of a sight-seeing wayfarer like myself.

I made my way along the newly-formed streets, valise in hand, to a gayly decorated hotel, established myself as a guest, and went forth to view, with inward satisfaction, the work of "progress."

Railroads were being built, wharves constructed, immense industrial establishments, driven by steam, bespoke the growing importance of the place; banks, rival newspaper offices, all told of an onward career of activity. On a sudden, and in a situation scarcely to be expected, I came upon a small, neat church edifice, of the Protestant Episcopal persuasion, as I afterwards found, but as unlike all other buildings I had ever seen belonging to that denomination of Christians as possible. It was a square, low-roofed pile of brickwork, so low indeed that the ordinary dwellings in the vicinity looked down upon its more modest elevation. Surrounded by a carefully constructed fence, it stood in the centre of a small grave

yard, the green turf of which was closely shaven, and the graveled walks leading to the entrances carefully kept in order.

I passed through an open wicket, and peeping in at the windows, found every thing inside corresponding with the quaint and formal appearance of the exterior. No gilding, no velvet draped on the unpretending pulpit, or any of those decorations which are so profusely displayed in too many of our meeting-houses. There was a quiet, subdued air about the whole which shed a refreshing influence around, and seeming to command respect, told plainly that the hand of "progress" had not been at work here.

In the remotest corner of the little grave-yard, almost concealed from view by the drooping branches of a willow, an aged man stood leaning on a spade; I approached him unperceived. His head was uncovered, and as the wind blew his gray locks aside, a high and intelligent forehead was revealed: his eyes were bent on the ground near him, with a mournful though placid expression, while his compressed lips, and the slight heaving of his broad chest, indicated a mind absorbed in its reflections. I had leisure to note his dress, which was of a bygone age; buckles in his shoes, and coat of formal cut, told plainly his connection with the contiguous building, and that he also had defied the touch of my familiar, "Progress." He started as from a revery when I accosted him, and replied