d the heart setting at liberty; or else--and more frequently--the
acquaintance is not close enough, and the new affection not sufficiently
deep to have "expulsive power" over the old. In either case, the remedy
is to come nearer to the Great Physician, to drink deeper draughts of
the water of life, to warm the numbed soul in the pure rays of the Sun
of Righteousness. "If any man thirst, let him _come unto Me_ and
drink,"--not stay away, hewing out for himself broken cisterns which can
hold no water. How many will not come to Christ for rest, until they
have first tried in vain to rest their heads upon every hard stone and
every thorny plant that the world has to offer! For the world can give
no rest--only varieties of weariness are in its power to offer those who
do not bring fresh hearts and eager eyes, as yet unwearied and unfilled.
For those who do, it has gay music, and sparkling sweet wine, and
gleaming gems of many a lovely hue: and they listen, and drink, and
admire, and think there is no bliss beyond it. But when the eager eyes
grow dim, and the ears are dulled, and the taste has departed, the tired
heart demands rest, and the world has none for it. A worn-out
worldling, whom the world has ceased to charm, is one of the most
pitiable creatures alive.

Sir Godfrey Foljambe had not arrived at that point; he was in a
condition less unhappy, but quite as perilous. To him the world had
offered a fresh apple of Sodom, and he had grasped it as eagerly as the
first. The prodigal son was in a better condition when he grew weary of
the strange country, than while he was spending his substance on riotous
living. Sir Godfrey had laid aside the riotous living, but he was not
weary of the strange country. On the contrary, when he ran short of
food, he tried the swine's husks, and found them very palatable--
decidedly preferable to going home. He put bitter for sweet, and sweet
for bitter. The liberty wherewith Christ would have made him free was
considered as a yoke of bondage, while the strong chains in which Satan
held him were perfect freedom in his estimation.

It was not with any hope that he would either understand or grant her
request that Perrote made a last application to her lady's gaoler. It
was only because she felt the matter of such supreme importance, the
time so short, and the necessity so imperative, that no fault of hers
should be a hindrance. Perhaps, too, down in those dim recesses of the
hu