t of a surety the time draweth nigh. Because He delayeth,
where, say they, is the promise of His coming? But doth a sparrow fall
to the ground without His knowledge, and are not ye of more value
than many sparrows, oh, ye of little faith? Shall not the sorrows of
fathers move the heart of the universal Father?"

It is scarcely to be expected that the young man entirely understood
the rhapsody of Holden, though familiar with his moods. He saw,
however, it had some connection with the one idea that had mastered
all others, leaving them, notwithstanding, at perfect liberty, except
so far as they interfered with itself. For it cannot have escaped
observation, that on all subjects but one Holden exercised an ordinary
degree of judgment, a circumstance by no means singular in the case
of persons affected with monomania. Pownal, therefore, did as he
was accustomed, avoiding all contradiction, and falling in with the
other's thoughts.

"That," said Pownal, "it seems to me, is the worthiest name that can
be given to the Supreme Being."

"It is the worthiest and the dearest. Thou, young man, canst know
nothing of the emotions of a father's heart. Couldst thou look into
its abysses of tenderness a new world would be revealed to thee,
of which now thou only dreamest. Not a drop of blood that wandereth
through its channels, but would coin itself into a joy for the
beloved. But what is human love to His, the Creator of love? A breath,
a bubble, a sigh. One great heart comprehendeth in its embrace all
hearts. Look around thee," he added, throwing up his arms, "and behold
the evidence: yon blue vault filled with bright worlds, bright because
they are happy; this vast ocean teeming with strange life; the green
earth whence, as from an altar, the perfume of grateful flowers and
chants of praising birds do ceaselessly arise. Young man, be thankful
and adore."

Holden stopped, as if he expected a reply, and Pownal therefore said:

"I am not, I fear, sufficiently thankful for the favors of
Providence."

"'Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth,'" pursued the old
man. "How many evils had I escaped had I heeded the advice I give!
But it is the old tale of human folly. The aged with his experience is
counted for nothing. My son," he added impressively, laying his hand
on Pownal, "behold these furrows on a withered face. They are the
traces of unrestrained passion. I forgot my Creator in the days of my
youth."

He turned and wa