--lost,
ruined, and undone. He had never believed it before, and the prayers
which he had occasionally offered up had been very much in the spirit of
the Pharisee's, "God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are!"

He had been blessed with a pious mother, who was early taken from him;
yet not too early to have had some influence in forming the character of
her son; and the faint but tender recollection of that mother's prayers
and teachings had proved a safeguard to him in many an hour of
temptation, and had kept him from falling into the open vices of some
of his less scrupulous companions. But he had been very proud of his
morality and his upright life, unstained by any dishonorable act. He had
always thought of himself as quite deserving of the prosperity with which
he had been blessed in the affairs of this world, and just as likely as
any one to be happy in the next.

The news of Elsie's illness had first opened his eyes to the enormity
of his conduct in relation to her; and now, as he thought of her pure
life, her constant anxiety to do right, her deep humility, her love to
Jesus, and steadfast adherence to what she believed to be her duty, her
martyr-like spirit in parting with everything she most esteemed and
valued rather than be guilty of what seemed to others but a very slight
infringement of the law of God--as he thought of all this, and contrasted
it with his own worldly-mindedness and self-righteousness, his utter
neglect of the Saviour, and determined efforts to make his child as
worldly as himself, he shrank back appalled at the picture, and was
constrained to cry out in bitterness of soul: "God be merciful to me, a
sinner."

It was the first _real_ prayer he had ever offered. He would fain have
asked for the life of his child, but dared not; feeling that he had so
utterly abused his trust that he richly deserved to have it taken from
him. The very thought was agony; but he dared not ask to have it
otherwise.

He had given up all hope that she would be spared to him, but pleaded
earnestly that one lucid interval might be granted her, in which he could
tell her of his deep sorrow on account of his severity toward her, and
ask her forgiveness.

He did not go down to breakfast, but Adelaide again brought him some
refreshment, and at length he yielded to her entreaties that he would try
to eat a little.

She set down the salver, and turned away to hide the tears she could not
keep back. Her heart