No, they were not happy. I could not but compare the condition of these owners of mine with that of the family of my earliest possessor. Those were struggling with many difficulties; these had, if not all, yet much in worldly possessions that heart could wish; but in the one case, there was the

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peace of God which passeth all understanding, keeping the heart and mind through Christ Jesus," while in the other was dissatisfaction, distaste, and disgust. How often have I seen, when these gay seasons were over, the mask of pleasure removed which concealed the rankling passions that distorted the features of my owners, and heard words of bitter import which revealed, more fully, the tumult of souls to which true peace was a stranger!

I had some opportunities, too, of observing the peculiar disposition of my purchaser. That he was ill at ease with himself, my readers may have gathered from some few expressions in the conversation above recorded; and from the fact that I became his merely because he had lighted on me as "a bargain," may be obtained some insight into his character. It happened that a conversation which passed in my presence made me acquainted with some part of his past history, and served as a key to his inward thoughts and feelings.

In the earlier part of his life, he had been dependent on the kindness of the relative who "had always something to say about the Bible, and asked such strange questions." It may be that this

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protector and friend had mingled too much sternness with his authority, and was as much feared as loved by the orphan youth. But be this as it may, he had dealt generously with him during life; and when he died, he made the orphan nephew his heir. The young man had been brought up in the outward reverence of things sacred: he was well acquainted with the letter of my commission, which he acknowledged to be Divine; but "the deceitfulness of riches" had turned his heart aside from the pursuit of heavenly blessings. He knew his Master's will, and did it not." No wonder, then, that he was uneasy, and in a state of unrest. Yet did he believe that the time would come-though perpetually adjourned-when he should find comfort and hope in that which he constantly avoided and postponed. Truly is it mine to declare that "the heart is deceitful above all things;" and faithfully am I commanded to exhort all to whom I am sent, to beware of that self-hardening of the heart which, commencing in criminal neglect, proceeds to infatuated rejection, and ends in utter, eternal ruin. Reader, "TO-DAY if you will hear His voice," who speaks by me, in love and mercy, in boundless compassion, and gracious invitation, "harden not your heart," nor dream the fool's dream of " TOMORROW."

I had been many months in this family, and saw no hope of amelioration in my condition. Assuredly

I was not roughly treated; I was simply unnoticed. There were, indeed, under the same roof, many of my compeers; and little would my own individual treatment have concerned me, had I known that they had been well and usefully employed. But alas! it was not so: all were equally neglected. There had been many "dull Sundays at home;" but these had never been cheered and enlivened by the accents of our voices. But I must hasten on through this stage of my history.

One night, a sudden confusion and alarm disturbed the repose of the household. It rapidly increased, and broke into wailing and lamentation. Lights gleamed, and hasty footsteps passed to and fro. The trampling of a horse was heard without; it died away in the distance: after a short interval the sound revived; then more rapidly still arrived another horse and horseman. The later arrival was that of a physician. My poor owner had been struck with deadly disease.

Morning dawned slowly on the alarmed and distracted family. Death was hovering around-that last enemy, death; and alas! alas! he had come in all his terrors. "The sting of death is sin."

The day passed over, sadly and hopelessly. The poor remnant of life only remained, to flicker a few hours longer in its socket. Then, with feverish haste, were my services sought; hope and consolation were required at my hands.

It was mine, indeed, to tell, in those awful hours,

of One who is "able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him." But who shall say that the mind which, in health and vigour, has deliberately refused reconciliation and salvation, shall, in the agonies of dissolution, be brought to receive "the kingdom of heaven as a little child?"

A few hours longer, and night again fell. Then was it said to my poor owner-my owner no longer "This night is thy soul required of thee.”

Reader, once again suffer the word of exhortation: "TO-DAY if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts;" nor dream the fool's dream of-TO

MORROW.

CHAPTER VII.

THE HEIR.

FOR many months my existence was a blank. On the death of my late owner I was not suffered to remain in the chamber, but was thrust into a dark closet among a few articles of little worth, and the key of the door was turned upon me.

When I was released from my confinement, the sun was shining brightly into the chamber, and I perceived that many changes had taken place since I last felt the light. The solemnity of death no longer hung around; and the first, as well as every

other countenance I afterwards encountered was new

and strange to me. I soon discovered, indeed, that an entire change had been effected shortly after the death of my late possessor. His sorrowing widow and daughter had retired from the mansion, to give place to the heir; while old servants had been dismissed, and new ones introduced. I further learned that the conduct of the young man whom I must now call my owner, had been criminally and unnaturally harsh and unfeeling towards those whom he was bound to love and cherish. The father, with the foolish infatuation of too many who do not willingly think of death, had delayed making a will until it was too late, and had, therefore, made no permanent provision for those whom he best loved; who had been hurriedly compelled to leave their ancient home, and abandoned to comparative poverty and neglect by the dissolute youth who now revelled in his father's wealth.

My first reception by this young man forewarned me of the treatment I might thenceforward expect. He laid hands roughly and irreverently upon me, and laughed sneeringly while he exclaimed that there were Bibles enough in the house already, and that he did not think his old father had been such a saint. He then threw me contemptuously on the floor, into a corner of the room, where I lay for some time unheeded. The features of my new owner, I should add, were marked with traces of degrading vice; and his language, though he uttered