tion of its power--the faintest evidence of
failing strength--and released her instantly, most anxious for her
health and safety, then and always.

Then arose, as will arise from the contented bosom of domestic piety,
grateful rejoicings--the incense of an altar glowing with love's own
offerings! Past time was summoned up, weighed with the present, and,
with all the mercies which accompanied it, was still found wanting in
the perfect and unsullied happiness that existed now. "The love of
heaven," said the minister, "had never been so manifest and clear. His
labours in the service of his people, his prayers on their behalf, were
not unanswered. Improvement was taking place around him; even those who
had given him cause for deepest sorrow, were already turning from the
path of error into that of rectitude and truth. The worst characters in
the village had been checked by the example of their fellows, and by the
voice of their own conscience, (he might have added, by the working of
their minister's most affectionate zeal) and his heart was joyful--how
joyful he could not say--on their account. His family was blessed--(and
he looked at Ellen with a moistened eye)--with health, and with the
promise of its continuance. His best and oldest friend was at his side;
and he, who was dear to them all on her account whose life would soon be
linked with his, was about to add to every other blessing, the
advantages which must follow the possession of so good a son. What more
could he require? How much more was this than the most he could
deserve!"

Doctor Mayhew, touched with the solemn feeling of the moment, became a
serious man. He took the incumbent by the hand, and spoke.

"Yes, Fairman, we have cause for gratitude. You and I have roughed it
many years, and gently enough do we go down the hill. To behold the
suffering of other men, and to congratulate ourselves upon our
exemption, is not the rational mode of receiving goodness from Almighty
God--yet it is impossible for a human being to look about him, and to
see family after family worn down by calamity, whilst he himself is free
from any, and not have his heart yearning with thankfulness, knowing, as
he must, how little he merits his condition. You and I are happy
fellows, both of us; and all we have to do, is to think so, and to
prepare quietly to leave our places, whilst the young folks grow up to
take them. As for the boy there, if he doesn't smooth your pillow, and
lighte