only in deacon's orders."

"Are you not?" cries the doctor; "why then I will absolve myself. You
are to know then, my good friend, that this young lady was the
daughter of a neighbour of mine, who is since dead, and whose sins I
hope are forgiven; for she had too much to answer for on her child's
account. Her father was my intimate acquaintance and friend; a
worthier man, indeed, I believe never lived. He died suddenly when his
children were infants; and, perhaps, to the suddenness of his death it
was owing that he did not recommend any care of them to me. However,
I, in some measure, took that charge upon me; and particularly of her
whom I call my daughter. Indeed, as she grew up she discovered so many
good qualities that she wanted not the remembrance of her father's
merit to recommend her. I do her no more than justice when I say she
is one of the best creatures I ever knew. She hath a sweetness of
temper, a generosity of spirit, an openness of heart--in a word, she
hath a true Christian disposition. I may call her an Israelite indeed,
in whom there is no guile."

"I wish you joy of your daughter," cries the old gentleman; "for to a
man of your disposition, to find out an adequate object of your
benevolence, is, I acknowledge, to find a treasure."

"It is, indeed, a happiness," cries the doctor.

"The greatest difficulty," added the gentleman, "which persons of your
turn of mind meet with, is in finding proper objects of their
goodness; for nothing sure can be more irksome to a generous mind,
than to discover that it hath thrown away all its good offices on a
soil that bears no other fruit than ingratitude."