poor

quietly up stairs; and here he found the miserable man lying on his bed of death. The fire had not much disfigured his face, but his body was in a wretched state, and his pain was violent.

near him.

The child lay on a small bed His face was so burned, and so tied up, that nobody could have known him. Both were groaning, but the child seemed the most impatient. Late as it was, the clergyman was sitting by the bed of the poor

man.

William went up to Tom's bed, and he said, very kindly, "I am sorry to see thee here, my lad."

Tom looked at him very earnestly, but made no answer.

"Sit down, my friend," said the clergy

man.

So he sat down, but for some minutes nobody spoke. James meanwhile walked to the bed of his little companion, and there he sat crying. At last, the clergyman said to William, "This is a bad season to have to learn one's religion."

"True, indeed," answered William: "but I hope the poor man is willing to learn it."

"That must be for God to know," answered the clergyman: "my business is to tell him the truth; I must leave the rest to God. But what I mean to say is this-the beginning of all religion, is the fear of God; and the end of it, is peace and joy in believing. But, when a man is full of pain, and his body is sinking fast into the grave, it seems a cruel thing to tell him, that his soul is in danger of hell: and many persons, because they do not like this, will give their friends vain hopes of comfort."

"Methinks," answered William, "this is cruel kindness."

"Very true," replied the clergyman; "and what I wish now to do, is to teach this our poor brother here, that God is as able to send his soul into the fire of hell, as to afflict his poor body, as he now sees fit to do; and I want to make him see and feel, that he has been a grievous sinner against God, and that he deserves not only his present pain, but the fire of hell. When I can bring him to this

point, then shall I rejoice to hold up our merciful Saviour dying on the cross, and point out to him the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. But till I see him humble, I cannot call upon him to believe: there never was living faith without humility; nor can I call those his friends, who give him hope because he feels stupid, and has no sorrow for sin."

Having said these few words of caution to William Dainty, he turned to the poor man, and in the kindest manner tried to make him see what a sinner he was.

Tom seemed attentive; but all he could say was now and then "No," and "Yes."

After he had talked to him as long as he judged it proper of his own alarming state, and pointed out to him in what way he might look for mercy from God, the clergyman knelt down and prayed by the bed-side of the poor Then he kindly took leave of him, with a promise to call upon him the next day; but after that hour Tom spoke no more.

man.

William sat by him till his wife, who had undertaken to watch by him all night, came

F

into the room; and then William was obliged to take his leave of him and return home, for he did not like to leave his family, as his wife was not with them.

Before sun-rise the next morning Tom breathed his last-his day of grace was closed. No more shall the bell sound in his ears, and call him to the house of God; no more shall he hear the warning voice of a. minister of God; no more shall the example of a pious neighbour remind him of his duty; no more shall the funeral, as it goes by, say to him, "Prepare to die;" no more will his conscience, will the word of God, will the grace of the Holy Spirit, unwilling to leave him, strive with his rebellious heart.

Mary Dainty and a few other women were by the bed-side of the poor man when he died, and his last groan sounded long in their ears. Whether he had paid any real attention to the words of the clergyman, and whether they had brought him in deep humility to the foot of his Saviour's cross, can never be known till that awful hour when the secrets of all hearts shall be made manifest.

CHAPTER X.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"-Jeremiah

xvii. 9.

THE next morning, when William Dainty was gone to his work, and Mrs. Dainty had returned home, James asked his mother's leave to call upon little John; for his father did not take him with him that day into the pit. He was just setting out, when the clergyman and Master Marten passed by; and they stopped to ask Mrs. Dainty after poor Tom Wylde.

When she said he was dead, the clergyman looked very grave, but said nothing; so he and his little boy walked on to Tom Wylde's house, and James followed them.

The house was still afi hurry and bustle down stairs. The clergyman spoke a few words to the widow-he advised her to keep