But a time was coming when John Carey could not only submit, but rejoice that he had been kept from the path that he had wished to pursue; when he could be grateful from the bottom of his heart for the blows which had nearly cost him his life, for the sickness which had wasted his strength, the disappointment which had wounded his heart. This was when, about a year afterwards, he brought a bright, happy young bride to his home, and saw his mother's eyes beaming with pleasure almost as great as his own; for Jane was the girl of all others whom the pious widow would have chosen to dwell with her as the wife of her son. "You'll give us your blessing, mother, won't you?" asked John. The widow took the strong hand which was held out to her, joined it to Jane's, and pressed both to her happy heart. "Oh! My children," she cried, "may God—your father's God—give you both grace to go on as you have begun, walking hand in hand, as pilgrims to a better home—cheering each other, and helping each other on the way! Never forget that all earth can give is nothing without God's blessing; that blessing gives peace and hope in this life, to be followed by perfect bliss with Him in whose presence is fulness of joy, and in whose right hand are pleasures for evermore!" AN HEIR OF HEAVEN OR, A CHRISTIAN IN PRIVILEGE. CHAPTER I. The Lonely Cot. LONELY was the little cottage in which dwelt Silas Mytton, the hewer and chopper of firewood. It stood in a corner of a heath, with not another house near it, and all the winds could sweep over it unchecked from every quarter. It was a small patched-up place, with one little window at the side of the door, and above it another peeping from under the low thatched roof. The cottage had been scarcely large enough to hold Silas, his wife, and their five children; but now Mrs. Mytton was dead, and the eldest boy had gone to sea. The common looked pleasant enough in the summer, when the blossoms on the flags showed like white feathers round the patches of water, and the heather purpled the ground, and yellow furze dotted it with gold, and geese fed there, and donkeys browsed, and butterflies fluttered over the honied wild-flowers. But a very dreary place looked the common in winter, when the heath was brown, and the blossoms dead, and the patches of water grew broader and larger, and all around them was swamp, till sharp frost turned the water into ice, and the north wind rushed wildly across the waste, and covered it with snow. Mytton's cottage was then a dreary abode indeed, for seldom did any one care to go near it, and the wind not only swept over but through it, at least so it seemed to the dwellers therein.