other, though he did not pretend to divine the motives which induced people to attempt such a clumsy piece of imposition; and, on their persisting that they were not deceiving him, swore at them as a set of knaves, who would fain persuade him out of his senses.  On their bringing him a pile of blank Bibles backed by the asseverations of other neighbors, he was ready to burst with indignation.  “As to the volumes,” he said, “it was not difficult to procure a score or two ‘of commonplace books,’ and they had doubtless done so to carry on the cheat; for himself he would sooner believe that the whole world was leagued against him than credit any such nonsense.”  They were angry, in their turn, at his incredulity, and told him that he was very much mistaken if he thought himself of so much importance that they would all perjure themselves to delude him, since they saw plainly enough that he could do that very easily for himself, without any help of theirs.  They really did not care one farthing whether he believed them or not:  if he did not choose to believe the story, he might leave it alone.  “Well, well,” said he, “it is all very fine:  but unless you show me, not one of these blank books, which could not impose upon an owl, but one of the very blank Bibles themselves, I will not believe.”  At this curious demand, one of his nephews who stood by (a lively young fellow) was so exceedingly tickled, that, though he had some expectations from the sceptic, he could not help bursting out into laughter; but he became grave enough when his angry uncle told him that he would leave him in his will nothing but the family Bible, which he might make a ledger if he pleased.  Whether this resolute old sceptic ever vanquished his incredulity, I do not remember.

Very different from the case of this sceptic was that of a most excellent female relative, who had been equally long a prisoner to her chamber, and to whom the Bible had been, as to so many thousands more, her faithful companion in solitude, and the all-sufficient solace of her sorrows.  I found her gazing intently on the blank Bible, which had been so recently bright to her with the lustre of immortal hopes.  She burst into tears as she saw me.  “And has your faith left you too, my gentle friend?” said I.  “No,” she answered, “and I trust it never will.  He who has taken away the Bible has not taken away my memory, and I now recall all that is most precious in that book which has so long been my meditation.  It is a heavy judgment upon the land; and surely,” added this true Christian, never thinking of the faults of others, “I, at least, cannot complain, for I have not prized as I ought that book, which yet, of late years, I think I can say, I loved more than any other possession on earth.  But I know,” she continued, smiling through her tears, “that the sun shines, though clouds may veil him for the moment; and I am unshaken in my faith in those truths which have transcribed on my memory, though they are blotted from my book.