en peculiar trials that thy faith might be purified and thy
heart weaned from worldly desires? And wilt thou sink beneath an
affliction which happens alike to them that have their portion here
below and to them that lay up treasure in heaven? Faint not, for thy
burden is yet light."

"It is heavy! It is heavier than I can bear!" exclaimed Pearson, with
the impatience of a variable spirit. "From my youth upward I have been
a man marked out for wrath, and year by year--yea, day after day--I
have endured sorrows such as others know not in their lifetime. And
now I speak not of the love that has been turned to hatred, the honor
to ignominy, the ease and plentifulness of all things to danger, want
and nakedness. All this I could have borne and counted myself blessed.
But when my heart was desolate with many losses, I fixed it upon the
child of a stranger, and he became dearer to me than all my buried
ones; and now he too must die as if my love were poison. Verily, I am
an accursed man, and I will lay me down in the dust and lift up my
head no more."

"Thou sinnest, brother, but it is not for me to rebuke thee, for I
also have had my hours of darkness wherein I have murmured against the
cross," said the old Quaker. He continued, perhaps in the hope of
distracting his companion's thoughts from his own sorrows: "Even of
late was the light obscured within me, when the men of blood had
banished me on pain of death and the constables led me onward from
village to village toward the wilderness. A strong and cruel hand was
wielding the knotted cords; they sunk deep into the flesh, and thou
mightst have tracked every reel and totter of my footsteps by the
blood that followed. As we went on--"

"Have I not borne all this, and have I murmured?" interrupted Pearson,
impatiently.

"Nay, friend, but hear me," continued the other. "As we journeyed on
night darkened on our path, so that no man could see the rage of the
persecutors or the constancy of my endurance, though Heaven forbid
that I should glory therein. The lights began to glimmer in the
cottage windows, and I could discern the inmates as they gathered in
comfort and security, every man with his wife and children by their
own evening hearth. At length we came to a tract of fertile land. In
the dim light the forest was not visible around it, and, behold, there
was a straw-thatched dwelling which bore the very aspect of my home
far over the wild ocean--far in our own England. T