THE BETTER PART. ; 97

if he were really praying, or confessing
real sins when he gets there, is small help
to him when the will balances between
right and wrong. It is truly, as a matter
of mere common sense, a poor bargain, a
wretched speculation, to be half religious ;
to get a few checks and scruples out of it,
and no real strength and peace; and, it
may be, to lose a man’s soul, and not even
gain the world. For who dare promise
himself that Christ our Judge, who spent
a self-denying human youth as our ex-
ample, and so loved us as to die for us,
will accept a youth of indifference, and a
dissatisfied death-bed on our part? And
if it be all true, and if gratitude and com-
mon sense, and self-preservation, and the
example and advice of great men, demand
that we shall serve Gop with all our
powers, don’t you think the devil must, so
‘to speak, laugh in his sleeve to see us
really conceited of being too large-minded
to attend too closely, or to begin to attend
too early, to our own best interests ?”
“Ah!” he added after a while, “my
dear boy—dearer to me than you can tell
—the truth is, I covet for you the unutter-
able~blessing of a youth given to Gop.
What that is, some know, and many a
man converted late in life has imagined
with heart-wrung envy: an Augustine,
already numbered with the Saints, a Pro-
digal robed and decked with more than
pardon, haunted yet by dark shadows of

the past, the husks and the swine. My
boy, with an unstained youth yet before
you to mould as you will, get to yourself
the elder son’s portion—‘ Thou art ever
with Me, and all that I have is thine’
And what Gop has for those who abide
with Him, even here, who can describe?
It’s worth trying for, lad; it would be
worth trying for, on the chance of Gop
fulfilling His promises, if His Word were
an open question. How well worth any
effort, any struggle, you’ll know when you
stand where I stand to-night.”

We had reached the front steps of the
house as he said this. The last few sen-
tences had been spoken in jerks, and he
seemed alarmingly feeble. I shrank from
understanding what he meant by his last
words, though I knew he did not refer to
the actual spot on which we stood. The
garden was black now in the gloaming,
The reflection from the yellow light left by
the sunset in the west gave an unearthly
brightness to his face, and I fancied some-
thing more than common in the voice
with which he quoted:

‘* Jesu, spes pcenitentibus,
Quam pius es petentibus !
Quam bonus te querentibus !
Sed quid invenientibus !”

But I was fanciful that Sunday, or his
nervous “fads” were infectious ones; for
on me also the superstition was strong to-
night that it was “ the last time.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

I HEAR FROM MR. JONATHAN ANDREWES—YORKSHIRE—ALATHEA alias
BETTY—WE BURY OUR DEAD OUT OF OUR SIGHT—VOICES OF THE NORTH.

I SAT up for a short time with my father

on my return. When I went to bed,
to my amazement Sweep was absent, and
Icould not find him anywhere. I did not

like to return to the Rectory, for fear of
disturbing Mr. Andrewes’ rest, so I went to
bed without my dog.

I was up early next morning, for I had
H