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exposed for sale. Presently she took me in her hand, and opening my cover at what had, in the freshness of my young days, been the blank page, she uttered a cry of surprise.

"Father, father, your name is here; and it must be your own handwriting also."

"Mine, Rachel ?"

"And there is a date, long, long ago; and writing underneath, but so worn that I can scarcely read it; look, father;" and she placed me in the old man's hands.

"Rachel, dear child, my eyes are dim," he said: "and if you cannot read, how can I? But what book is it, Rachel ?"

"A Bible, father; a pocket Bible. There, I can read it now: and the date-oh, father, it is the date of his birthday—my brother's; dear to me, though he was dead before-"

"Read, read, Rachel," said the father, with an agitated voice, and strange interest kindling in his countenance- read, beloved one."

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And the daughter read :

"This Bible is given to you, dear boy, at your own request, on your sixth birthday. Your parents rejoice at your choice, and earnestly hope that you may ever esteem the word of God above all riches, embrace the gospel of God's dear Son which it reveals, and live according to its dictates: that it may be your guide and support in times of darkness, perplexity, and sorrow; your joy in

prosperity; and that, in death, it may be your comfort, assuring you of the pleasures which are at God's right hand for evermore."

The lady's voice faltered exceedingly, ere she had read this; and silent tears were rolling down the eyes of her aged companion.

"Rachel, it was your brother's Bible; given him by your dear mother and myself when he was five years old-fifty years ago, Rachel. Buy it, Rachel, buy it at any price; and let us hasten homewards. I feel overcome, but it is only surprise and pleasure. Will not your mother rejoice to see your brother's Bible again?"

So the lady paid down the price, and something over, for me; and they hastened homewards, the aged man saying more than once-"Fifty years ago, Rachel, before you were sent to us to comfort us for his loss. Fifty years ago. I gave the Bible afterwards to his cousin-his poor cousin who has long been dead, you know; I thought it might be useful to him; but what became of it afterwards I never knew and to think of our finding it here, a hundred miles away. I wonder, if the Bible could tell its own history, what it would have to tell?"

They reached the home-the daughter's home; and I was shown to her husband and her children as a relic not to be parted from for my weight in gold. After many days I was carefully packed, and accompanied the aged father on his journey homeward. It was the old home-the house in which I

had first entered on my work in my great Master's service. Not much was altered there, save that all things around, like myself, told of age and infirmity. But none so much as the aged pilgrims, who having passed the threescore and ten years of mortal existence, were but waiting the summons to their Father's home above.

Shall I need I-tell how I was welcomed; how many happy tears were shed over me at the memories I called forth; how I was honoured with a place on the very shelf on which I had so long ago rested; and where yet were some of the companions I had left behind, cherished through so many years for their former owner's sake; how, sometimes, the aged couple take me down to look at the dear name. written on me, and to glance over the pages on which his eye once rested with faith and childlike trust; and how sometimes the words are solemnly repeated-"Oh, if this Bible could speak, what a history it would have to tell?"

Reader, my history is told. And be sure of this, that at another day your Bible will also have a history to tell. It is already partly written: how shall it end?

LONDON: KNIGHT AND SON, PRINTERS, CLERKENWELL CLOSE,

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