d,
however, no ear for this salute. Nor did he eye with delight the
flowering geraniums that clustered so thickly in the pots filling
the sills. Nor did he even care for the great bars of sunlight
that fell in golden splendour across his bed, causing the old dog
to wink, and sneeze, and smile beneath their mellowing beams. No,
these were nothing to him; indeed, they never had been--he had
lived for years oblivious alike to tree and flower and sun.

On the walls of his bedroom hung a number of rude prints, chief
among which was a hideous representation of Jesus Christ driving
the money-changers out of the Temple--the man of gentleness being
represented as a stern, passionless Master, the strength of whose
person was thrown into a relentless face, and a mighty arm
wielding a massive whip. At this figure he often glanced, and now
and again a look of recognition seemed to steal over his features,
as though the essence of his religion was embodied in that act--a
gospel anodyne for a suffering soul.

By the side of his bed was a small table on which lay two books,
the one bound in morocco, the other in leather--a Bible and a
ledger--his sole literature during the weary hours of sickness,
and wittily denominated by his wife, 'the books of mercy and of
judgment.' Indeed, she often told him that he knew 'a deal more o'
th' book o' judgment than he did o' t'other'; and it was even so.

Moses languidly took up his Bible. It was a veritable study in
black and white, many passages being underscored, and many
remaining as unsoiled as though seldom read. Indeed, the Gospels
seldom had been read, while the imprecatory Psalms and the latter
part of the Epistle to the Romans were greasy and stained with oft
perusal. But there was a more remarkable feature about the Bible
than this--its margin was filled with a number of pen-and-ink
notes! figures and calculations of money advanced and interest
drawn and due; his clever, sarcastic wife calling this his
'reference Bible,' and sometimes telling him he was 'mighty i' th'
Scriptures' when his own interest was concerned.

He laid down the Bible and took up his ledger. Ah! how he knew
that book!--to him actually and literally a book of life. He knew
its every page, and every name that headed those pages. True,
Moses knew the generations of the patriarchs, the names of the
sons of Jacob, the chronologies of the Chronicles, but he knew the
families of Rehoboth better. These latter were engr