us when we most require to be sustained, but because in this source of
consolation there is something, we have reason to believe, of the divine
spirit; something of that goodness which detects amidst our own evil
doings, a redeeming quality; something which, even in our fallen nature,
we possess in common with the angels; which had its being in the old
time when they trod the earth, and lingers on it yet, in pity.

How often, on their journey, did the widow remember with a grateful
heart, that out of his deprivation Barnaby's cheerfulness and affection
sprung! How often did she call to mind that but for that, he might have
been sullen, morose, unkind, far removed from her--vicious, perhaps, and
cruel! How often had she cause for comfort, in his strength, and hope,
and in his simple nature! Those feeble powers of mind which rendered him
so soon forgetful of the past, save in brief gleams and flashes,--even
they were a comfort now. The world to him was full of happiness; in
every tree, and plant, and flower, in every bird, and beast, and tiny
insect whom a breath of summer wind laid low upon the ground, he had
delight. His delight was hers; and where many a wise son would have
made her sorrowful, this poor light-hearted idiot filled her breast with
thankfulness and love.

Their stock of money was low, but from the hoard she had told into the
blind man's hand, the widow had withheld one guinea. This, with the few
pence she possessed besides, was to two persons of their frugal habits,
a goodly sum in bank. Moreover they had Grip in company; and when they
must otherwise have changed the guinea, it was but to make him exhibit
outside an alehouse door, or in a village street, or in the grounds or
gardens of a mansion of the better sort, and scores who would have given
nothing in charity, were ready to bargain for more amusement from the
talking bird.

One day--for they moved slowly, and although they had many rides in
carts and waggons, were on the road a week--Barnaby, with Grip upon his
shoulder and his mother following, begged permission at a trim lodge to
go up to the great house, at the other end of the avenue, and show his
raven. The man within was inclined to give them admittance, and was
indeed about to do so, when a stout gentleman with a long whip in his
hand, and a flushed face which seemed to indicate that he had had his
morning's draught, rode up to the gate, and called in a loud voice and
with more oaths than