refreshing rain. In case of sickness or any other trouble they prayed to San Roman and gave to him the glory which a true Christian gives only to God. The planter of San Roman could neither read nor write, and not a person on his great estate was any better off than he in this respect. One day, while in Matamoras on business, a Mexican gentleman showed our friend a book which he called the word of God. He had heard of God and of his Son, but never before that this great Being had written anything that men could read. "Was it a letter," he asked, "or a history?" The planter persevered in his inquiries until he had heard enough about this wonderful book to want it with all his heart, and at once he offered the owner twenty silver dollars for it. The gentleman would not sell it for any money; he too valued it as a priceless treasure.
But the planter of San Roman was not to be put off. "You can get another copy," he said, "and I cannot. I have never heard till now that God had sent any message to this world, but, since he has, I must have it. Take the twenty dollars, and I'll keep the book." So saying, he folded the precious volume under his serape and rode away.
The planter had nearly fifty miles to go before he reached the house of a friend who could read this wonderful message to him. He stopped his horse at the door and called out to his friend to go home with him; "for," said he, "I have a book—a strange book—for you to read, and I want my family to hear it too. I do not know how to wait until you shall open it to me ;" adding, with a solemn air, "It is the word of God to men."
The friend thus appealed to was not so much interest-
