See if it be worthy to divide even your least service with Him who, infinite in goodness, accepts the imperfect,--showers his bounty on the unprofitable,--and opens, even to the rebel, the arms of a father!--who meets your offences with undesired pardon, and anticipates your wants with offers of himself! Think you that this generous love could lay on you a galling yoke? I know that, though you should distrust my judgment, you will credit my testimony; and I solemnly protest to you, that I have found his service to be "perfect freedom." He exalts my joys as gifts of his bounty; He blesses my sorrows as tokens of his love; He lightens my duties by honouring them, poor as they are, with his acceptance; and even the pang with which I feel and own myself a lost sinner is sweetened by remembrance of that mercy which came to seek and to save me, _because_ I was lost. These are my pleasures; and I know that they can counterbalance poverty, and loneliness, and pain. Your pleasures too I have tried; and I know them to be cold, fleeting, and unsubstantial, as the glories of a winter sky. Oh for the eloquence of angels, that I might persuade you to exchange them for the real treasure! Yet vain were the eloquence of angels, if the "still small voice" be wanting, which alone can speak to the heart. I may plead, and testify, and entreat; but is aught else within my power?--Yes,--I will go and pray for you. 'E. MORTIMER.' CHAPTER XI _He had the skill, when cunning's gaze would seek To probe his heart, and watch his changing cheek, At once the observer's purpose to espy, And on himself roll back his scrutiny._ Lord Byron.