Year: 1861

vivial hour is passed. Here, in this warn
grosp, is my pledge " .s


The host came in, and the two guest,
arose and left the room In little whilt
Tim Chandler glided down from the bunk
aud moved towards the door. In the en-
try he met a number of his boon compan
ions, who were just in for a time,


"Hi-lo where now, Tim2 Come, join
us. Wbat'll ye .have?'


"Not now, not now, replied Tim.


"Then come and take a glass"
"No-not now


And with this Tim Chandler hurried
out of doors The snow track was hard
and smooth, aud the air was sharp and cut.
ting. But Tim noticed not the cold He
walked slowly, thoughtfully on, ever and
anon mutteriug TO himself, with his head
bowed, and his hands clenched. Finally,
when he had come within sight Of his
own cottage, he stopped, and spoke aloud.
He had been thinking deeply, calmly, and
solemnly, and his decision had been srri.
we'd at with clear comprehension and firm
purpose.


Tim Chandler can leave his children
an inheritancol' he said, with his feet plan
ted firmly, his swelling breast thrown no.
bly, out, and his head proudly erect
"These arms are stout; this heart is
strong and this brain can be clear again
As God lives, and suffers me to live, my
children shall have an inheritance which
will not cause them to blush for the faith
er who left itl'


Carleton made one cenvcrt that night of
whose existence he did not know.


Timothy entered his house, and sat
down by the FIRE. His wife was alone, and
had been weeping. He dared not speak
then, but suffered her to retire with the
weight of sorrow still upon her. And
Hannah Chandler slept, aud dreamed and
did not dream of the angel that had come
to her home.


In the morning Timothy was up irst.-
When his wife came out, he had warm
FIRE built and the tea, kettle on. She look
ed into his face, and through tho bur and
the cloud, came a light which had long
been hidden, cleaning upon her like gol
den rays from the morning sun, penetra
ting to her soul as did the old loveight in
the years agone. While yet she stood, ga
zing upon him like one in a dream, he
reached forth and took both her hands.


"Hannah, he said, with voice as strong
and firm as ever man spoke, and in tones
as true and tender as were those which
fell from his lips before the altar, "from
this hour begin to make an inheritance
for my children. 1t may nQk be money
it may not be material wealth but, if 1
live, it shall be an inheritance which they
shall not blush to own in years to come
It shall be a fathers name unsullied ; ia
theirs honor untarnished fathers ex-
angle that may be safely followed Help
me in the work, Hannah. Love me as you
ever have; and trust me as you would
trust your own soul. And may God bless
and keep us to the end -


And did Hannah help him? Oh how
she loved and cheered him-how she clung
to him, and blessed himl How bright was
the heaven of that home--how sweet the
music of its angel voices!


And Timothy Chandler went forth to
carve out the inheritance for his children.
His arm was strong, and so was his heart.
His soul was firm, and SO was his purpose.

The years crept on apace, and the frost of
age was upon his brow as white as SNOW
His.work was done, and he sat down in the
evening of life, by his Hannah's side, to
rest and repose He had carved out the
inheritance, and he lived to see his chill
dren and his children's children enjoy it.
AS father, and as grandfather, he was ten
derly loved and worshipped; and as friend
and citizen he was honored and respected;
whilc,as counsellor and guide, to the young
and to the middle-aged, none stood higher
than he did.


Timothy Chandler had not been able to
lay up much money for his children; but
did he not give to them for an inheritance
something of far greater worth--some-
thing near the worth of heaven? Alb, did
he not?