id="id00174">"Yes," said the Judge; "any attention we can render is more than repaid by the pleasure Mr. Pownal's presence imparts. If he should ever think more highly of himself than we do, he will be a very vain person."

The young man could only bow, and with a gratified countenance return his thanks for their kindness.

"Your adventure was also the means," said Mr. Armstrong, "of making you acquainted with our anchorite. Did you not find him an interesting person?"

"More than interesting," replied Pownal. "From the moment he took me into his arms as if I had been a child, and with all the tenderness of a mother, I felt strangely attracted to him. I shall always remember with pleasure the two days I spent in his cabin, and mean to cultivate his acquaintance if he will permit me."

"He is evidently a man of refinement and education," said Armstrong, "who, for reasons of his own, has adopted his peculiar mode of life. It was a long time before I could be said to be acquainted with him, but the more I know him, the better I like him. He and Faith are great friends."

"I value his friendship highly and am glad he made so favorable an impression on you, Mr. Pownal," said Faith.

"I do believe," cried Anne, "Faith could not reverence him more if he were one of the old prophets."

"If not a prophet," said Faith, "he is at least a noble and good man, and that is the highest title to respect. He takes an interest in you, too, Mr. Pownal, for Anne tells me he has been to see you."

"My preserver has been here several times to make inquiries after my health," answered Pownal. "He was here this morning."

"And preaching about the kingdom," said Judge Bernard. "What a strange infatuation to look for the end of the world each day."

"He errs in the interpretation of the prophecies," said Mr. Armstrong, "when he finds in them prognostics of the speedy destruction of the world, but does he mistake the personal application? Who knows when he may be called to face his judge? Youth, and health, and strength, furnish no immunity against death."

"But what a gloom this daily expectation of an event which the wisest and stoutest hearted are unable to contemplate without trepidation, casts over life," said the Judge.

"Not in his case," replied Armstrong. "On the contrary, I am satisfied he would hail it with a song of thanksgiving, and I think I have observed he is sometimes impatient of the delay."

"It is well his notions are only crazy fancies as absurd as his beard.
His appearance is very heathenish," said Mrs. Bernard.

"Taste, my dear," exclaimed the Judge, "all taste. Why, I have a great mind to wear a beard myself. It would be a prodigious comfort to dispense with the razor in cold winter mornings, to say nothing of the ornament. And now that I think of it, it is just the season to begin."

"You would look like a bear, Mr. Bernard," said his wife.

"It would be too near an imitation of the old Puritans for you,
Judge," said Faith.

"You, at least, my little Puritan," cried the Judge, "would not object. But do not fancy that in avoiding Scylla I must run upon Charybdis. Be sure I would not imitate the trim moustaches and peaked chins of those old dandies, Winthrop and Endicott. I prefer the full flowing style of Wykliffe and Cranmer."

"We should then have two Holdens," exclaimed Mrs. Bernard, "and that would be more than our little village could live through."

"Fancy papa running an opposition beard against Mr. Holden!" said
Anne.

The idea was sufficiently ludicrous to occasion a general laugh, and even Armstrong smiled.

"I am a happy man," said the Judge; "not only mirthful, myself, but the cause of mirth in others. What a beam of light is a smile, what a glory like a sunrise is a laugh!"

"That will do, Judge Bernard, that will do," said his wife; "do not try again, for you cannot jump so high twice."

"Tut, tut, Mary; what do you know about the higher poetics? I defy you to find such sublimities either in Milton or Dante."

"I can easily believe it," said Mrs. Bernard.

At this moment some other visitors entering the room, the conversation took another turn; and Mr. Armstrong and his daughter having remained a short time longer, took leave and returned home. Let us follow the departing visitors.

Upon his return, Mr. Armstrong sank upon a seat with an air of weariness.

"Come, Faith," he said, "and sit by me and hold my hand. I have been thinking this evening of the insensibility of the world to their condition. How few perceive the precipice on the edge of which they stand!"

His daughter, who was accustomed to these sombre reflections, bent over, and bringing his hand to her lips, kissed it without saying anything, knowing that he would soon explain himself more perfectly.

"Which," continued Armstrong, "is wiser, the thoughtless frivolity of
Judge Bernard, or the sad watchfulness of Holden?"

"I am not competent to judge, dear father; but if they both act according to their convictions of right, are they not doing their duty?"

"You ask a difficult question. To be sure men must act according to their ideas of right, but let them beware how they get them, and what they are. Yet, can one choose his ideas? These things puzzle me?"

"What else can we do," inquired his daughter, "than live by the light we have? Surely I cannot be responsible for my involuntary ignorance."

"How far we may be the cause of the ignorance we call involuntary, it is impossible to determine. A wrong act, an improper thought, belonging to years ago and even repented of since, may project its dark shadow into the present, and pervert the judgment. We are fearfully made."

"Why pain yourself, dearest father, with speculations of this character? Our Maker knows our weakness and will pardon our infirmities."

"I am an illustration of the subject of our conversation," continued Armstrong, after a pause of a few minutes, during which he had remained meditating, with his head resting on his hand. "I know I would not, willingly, harshly judge another—for who authorized me to pass sentence? Yet these ideas would force themselves into my mind; and how have I spoken of our kind and excellent neighbor! There is something wrong in myself which I must struggle to correct."

We communicate only enough of the conversation to give an idea of the state of Mr. Armstrong's mind at the time. At the usual family devotions that night he prayed fervently for forgiveness of his error, repeatedly upbraiding himself with presumption and uncharitableness, and entreating that he might not be left to his own vain imaginations.