The lady of the manor (Volume 2)

And Thirdly, that I should keep God's holy Will and Commandments, and walk in the same all the Days of my Life.

Q. Dost thou not think that thou art bound to believe and to do as they have promised for thee?

A. Yes, verily; and by God's Help so I will. And I heartily thank our heavenly Father, that he hath called me to this State of Salvation, through Jesus Christ our Saviour. And I pray unto God to give me his Grace, that I may continue in the same unto my Life's End.

As soon as the lady of the manor saw herself again surrounded by her little party of young friends, she caused Miss Sophia to repeat the third clause of the baptismal vow: viz.--'And thirdly, that I should keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all the days of my life.'

"My dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "this is now the tenth period of our meetings; and I believe that not a single occasion has passed, in which I have not pointed out to you, either by precept or example, the exceeding corruption of man's nature, and his entire incapacity of turning and preparing himself for good works. One of the Articles of the Church of England is decisive upon this subject; being such as I shall repeat:--' The condition of man, after the fall of Adam, is such, that he cannot turn and prepare himself, by his own natural strength and good works, to faith and calling upon God: wherefore we have no power to do good works, pleasant and acceptable to God, without the grace of God by Christ preventing us, that we may have a good will, and working with us when we have that good will.' [10th Article.] Such being the case," continued the lady of the manor, "as may be proved both from Scripture and experience, it is very certain that no person in his own proper strength can keep God's holy will and commandments; and that every attempt so to do will end in shame and disappointment. Nevertheless, when man is made a new creature by the regenerating power of the Holy Spirit, good works as naturally follow as good fruits from a good tree. Hence the faithful are known by their works; and it is invariably found that those teachers and ministers who succeed most largely in producing examples of good works among their pupils and auditors, are those who dwell most on the higher doctrines of religion, and publish, without disguise, the whole scheme of salvation, as it is delivered in Scripture.

"I have often intimated to you," proceeded the lady of the manor, "that no teacher or minister is in himself able to convert a single individual among those whom he is appointed to instruct. Nevertheless, it is every where found, that true Christian instructions are invariably followed sooner or later with the divine blessing, while the moral teacher rises up early and late takes rest without producing any perceptible effect, commonly leaving his hearers just as he found them, unconvinced and without amendment: such being the nature of sin, that when opposed by merely human efforts, it either acquires new strength, and presents a determined resistance which defies control, or it assumes a new form, and in that form commences some new act of rebellion against the Most High. An enlarged acquaintance with the commandments of God only renders a man more sensible of his sins, without giving him any power to overcome them; the law convinces a man of sin, and leaves him totally helpless; the law wounds, and leaves the wounded to perish. Were I, my dear young people, to entertain you for months to come on the subject of the purity and excellence of God's commandments, without pointing out to you whence strength must be derived for obeying those commandments, I should but add to your guilt and misery. The law can only assist an individual in his progress towards the kingdom of God, by giving him a clearer view of his own depravity, and thus pointing out to him the need of a Saviour. Hence the law is a school-master to bring the sinner to Christ: but after that faith is come, we are no longer under a schoolmaster." [Gal. iii. 25.]

The lady of the manor then proceeded, as her manner was, to relate a little adventure of her early days which she thought much to the present purpose.-- "I once," said she, " during my travels, which have been various, resided for a few months in a small town, or rather village, as it would have been called from its dimensions and rural appearance, had it not possessed the privilege of a market. While residing in this place, I became acquainted with a family of sisters, who conducted a small seminary at about the distance of a mile from the town. The house and whole establishment brought to my mind the Palace Beautiful in the Pilgrim's Progress. The house was a large and ancient mansion, situated on a lawn, shaded in the back-ground by a grove of majestic oaks, and fronted by a garden abounding with fruits and flowers. The sisters who conducted the establishment were all modest, discreet, and pious, possessing that kind of beauty which is the effect of well-regulated minds and graceful habits. But what chiefly delighted me in this place, was the evident happiness of the young people whom Providence had drawn together to this desirable place of education. There I saw order united with cheerfulness, and subordination sweetened by affection. I often visited this place on fine summer evenings, and sometimes spent many hours sitting in a bower of the pleasant garden, while I saw the happy children playing about me, among whom were two little girls of my own, who now are rejoicing in the dwellings of everlasting bliss."

Here the lady of the manor paused a moment, evidently under the constraint of a slight emotion; but soon recovering herself, she proceeded--"It was impossible for me to behold so much harmony and love, so much activity, modesty, obedience, and cheerfulness, in this little society, without feeling an unspeakable gratification. It is seldom that I think it right to use very strong expressions of approbation when speaking of my fellow-creatures, since unqualified praise is due only to the Almighty, as the great First Cause and Author of all good. Nevertheless, I was one day so much delighted with what I saw in this family, that I could not help expressing my extraordinary satisfaction to the second sister, as we sat working together in the parlour.

In reply to this, she answered, 'Whatever meets with your approbation in this family must be attributed, under the divine blessing, to our eldest sister, whose holy charity and truly Christian gentleness enabled her successfully to disseminate through this little society those precious doctrines of the Word which have produced the effect you so greatly admire.' She then entered into a little explanation of their outset in the way of life in which I had become acquainted with them. She informed me, that when their little seminary was first opened, her elder sister being then absent, the control of the family was in her own hands. She owned, that she had at that time no knowledge of the doctrines of the Gospel, and that her religion was entirely legal; insomuch that she was for working out her own salvation by good deeds, and compelling others by the terrors of the law to endeavour to do the same. 'I have naturally,' said she, 'a high spirit, and am of a firm and decided temper; you may therefore suppose that the poor children who were under my charge met with no mercy when they did wrong. Every misdemeanor that came within my view, or the knowledge of which I could by any means obtain, I punished with the most exact justice, being determined to pursue offences of every kind with rigour, till sin, as I hoped, should be banished the house. But what were the consequences of this conduct? My untempered justice, although it checked some open and flagrant acts of evil, excited such a spirit among my pupils, as would effectually have put an end to all hope of my usefulness. Sin was committed as frequently as before, but with more caution; and if it forsook one form, when opposed, it instantly assumed another. I laboured to advance that which was right, but made no progress. Frequent tumults and partial rebellions arose in the family; and I could not but observe that when by some severe punishment I had excited the angry passions of one child, others would seem to be infected with the same feelings, till the whole house appeared, as it were, at once and in a moment to be all agitated by one and the same evil spirit.

"'Though amazed at the ill effects of my own efforts, yet I felt that sin was not to be allowed in my neighbour; and therefore I continued to visit every breach of the law on my little rebels with unabating strictness but without the smallest apparent benefit, till the arrival of my sister, who had been residing for some time in a truly pious family. This happened just at the crisis when the poor children were duly prepared by the terrors of my government to enjoy the sweet influence of her gentle manners, and to profit by the truly evangelical modes of instruction which she adopted. As the traveller in the parable would not have rejoiced in the healing balsam administered by the good Samaritan, had he not first fallen among thieves and been wounded; so the poor children, humanly speaking, would not have reaped any lasting benefit front my sister's mild instructions, had they not groaned for a time under my severer discipline.

"' I soon made my sister,' continued the young lady, 'acquainted with the situation of the family. Upon which she immediately pointed out to me the error of my management, making me sensible that the heart of man can never be kindly influenced or amended by the terrors of the law; and that, although correction must be used at times, it should only be employed as a means to lower man's lofty thoughts, and prepare him for the reception of divine truth. She then intimated, that she could never hope to see an improvement in the state of the children, until Christian principles should begin to operate among them; adding that, although faith was the gift of God, and therefore could not be imparted by any human means, she felt it an indispensable duty to use such means as were in our power for the purpose of facilitating so blessed an acquisition.

" 'My sister,' continued she, 'immediately began to act upon these views so perfectly new to me. She endeavoured to make the children acquainted with the Christian religion, taught them to understand wherefore they were unable to do well, and where they were to seek assistance for that purpose. And from that time the system of correction, though not wholly interdicted, was much seldomer resorted to in the house: and such now is the general influence of religion in the family, that there are several individuals among the young people with whom we have never found reason to adopt any other methods of treatment than those of the gentlest kind.'"

Here the lady of the manor, having concluded her little story, added, "My dear young friends, in this little anecdote which I have just related, you will perceive the different effects of the Law and of the Gospel on the human mind, and how entirely ineffectual the law must needs be in changing the heart. But since I shall have occasion frequently to recur to this subject in our consideration of the Commandments, I will now proceed to the neat clause in the Church Catechism; and for this purpose shall request you, Miss Sophia, to answer the following question.-- 'Dost thou not think that thou art bound to believe and to do as they have promised for thee?"

In reply to this question, Miss Sophia repeated these words--"'Yes, verily; and by God's help so I will. And I heartily thank our heavenly Father that he hath called me to this state of salvation, through Jesus Christ our Saviour. And I pray unto God to give me his grace, that I may continue in the same unto my life's end.'"

"It was my intention, my dear young people," resumed the lady of the manor, as soon as Miss Sophia had finished all she had to say, "when I undertook my present engagement, to present you with a course of instruction upon all the most important parts of our holy religion; and also to direct your judgments, as far as in me lay, with respect to many of those lesser matters which fail peculiarly within the province of women in your rank of life. It might indeed be said, that I am not fit for so large and important an undertaking. I grant this: I own myself to be utterly incapable and unworthy of such an employment but after being urged to this work, and made to feel that I ought to attempt it, I was enabled also to trust that strength would be given me from on high to perform the duty assigned me. I remembered on this occasion the words of the promise--As thy days, so shall thy strength be, [Deut. xxxiii. 25,] and acting conscientiously upon this principle, I have hitherto found the requisite assistance. I now, however, am entering on a point at once so delicate and of so much importance--a point on which it is absolutely necessary to open your minds, and yet, one in which the slightest error or misstatement might have the most injurious effect, that I feel more than ever the need of divine assistance, lest I should darken counsel by words without knowledge. [Job xxxviii. 2.]

"In that part of our Catechism," proceeded the lady of the manor, "which we have chosen for our consideration this evening, supposing ourselves to be believers, we thank our heavenly Father that he hath called us to a state of salvation, through Jesus Christ our Saviour. And we pray unto God to give us his grace that we may continue in the same unto the end of our lives.

"Now," said the lady of the manor, "in these few words we find, in a concise form, an acknowledgment of that doctrine which is stated more largely and plainly in the seventeenth Article of our Church. This Article, which treats of predestination and election, is thus worded.--'Predestination to life is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his counsel secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour. Wherefore, they which be endued with so excellent a benefit of God be called according to God's purpose by his Spirit working in due season: they through grace obey the calling: they be justified freely: they be made sons of God by adoption: they be made like the image of his only-begotten Son Jesus Christ: they walk religiously in good works, and at length, by God's mercy, they attain to everlasting felicity. As the godly consideration of Predestination, and our Election in Christ, is full of sweet, pleasant, and, unspeakable comfort to godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the working of the Spirit of Christ, mortifying the works of the flesh, and their earthly members, and drawing up their mind to high and heavenly things, as well because it doth greatly establish and confirm their faith of eternal salvation to be enjoyed through Christ, as because it doth fervently kindle their love towards God: so, for curious amid carnal persons, lacking the Spirit of Christ, to have continually before their eyes the sentence of God's Predestination, is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the devil doth thrust them either into desperation, or into wretchlessness of most unclean living, no less perilous than desperation. Furthermore, we must receive God's promises in such wise, as they be generally set forth to us in holy Scripture: and, in our doings, that will of God is to be followed, which we have expressly declared unto us in the word of God.' [17th Article of the (Church of England.)]

"From this Article of Predestination," continued the lady of the manor," it appears that those who are to be saved were chosen before the foundation of the world, to be delivered from curse and damnation, and to be brought by Christ to everlasting honour. It also appears, that they are called according to God's purpose by his Holy Spirit; and that through grace obeying the call, and being made sons of God by adoption, they walk religiously in good works, and at length, by God's mercy, attain to everlasting felicity.

"Thus it appears, that there is but one way in which fallen and sinful man can be accepted with God, and justified before him, and that is entirely of grace, through the perfect atonement of Christ alone, and not through the merits or deservings of the person saved, or through any good works which he has been enabled to perform either before or after his calling. For our Church expressly decides upon these different sorts of works, in her separate articles, and declares her opinion that neither the one nor the other can have any influence in procuring man's justification in the eyes of God. Hence man is left utterly without any cause of boasting; and thus, as a celebrated writer on this subject states the case, 'the most shining deeds and valuable qualities that can be found among men, though highly useful, and truly excellent, when set in their proper places, and referred to suitable ends, are, as to the grand article of justification, treated as nonentities'. In this respect, the most zealous professor, with all his laboured performances, stands on a level with the most profane; the apostolic truth addressing all to whom it comes, as guilty, condemned, perishing wretches, leaving no room for preference or boasting, that so the whole glory of our salvation may be secured to that grace which is infinitely rich and absolutely free."

"I think I have now formed some slight idea, my dear Madam," said one of the young ladies, "of that great scheme of salvation which this article exhibits, and I perceive in some measure how the salvation of many poor, miserable, and weak sinners is secured to them by this divine arrangement: but if such a question is not presumptuous, may I venture to ask, as all men are equally sinful by nature, and equally guilty in the eyes of God, wherefore all are not predestinated to everlasting happiness?"

"I am not sorry that you have put this question," said the lady of the manor, "as it contains a difficulty which might hereafter be brought forward to perplex you: but the true state of the case is, that we have no right to ask the question. Of this we are assured, that the Lord will never reject any one who comes to him, because it is written, All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in nowise cast out. [John vi. 37.] Thus are we assured that if we are brought to seek Christ, he will by no means reject us; this is enough for us as individuals, and sufficient also for us in all our concerns with our fellow-creatures. As to the rest, we are bound to receive the words of Scripture in silence and submission; and it is wisely remarked by Mr. Milner, in his Church History, that 'the common rock on which all heretics have split, is a desire to explain by our reason, the modes of things which we are required to believe on divine testimony only.'

"No doubt," continued the lady of the manor, "as much light has been given to us as is necessary for us: but I think it important to point out especially to young people, that there are many subjects relative to the divine government of the universe, on which we cannot form an opinion, and for which, perhaps, with the utmost light which could be given us, our present faculties are not adequate. Nay, could it be supposed that we possessed faculties which might render us capable of forming an opinion of the divine government of the universe," continued the lady of the manor, "do we not want that knowledge of facts with reference to this subject, without which no judgment can be formed on any, even the commonest, subject in ordinary life.

"There are many circumstances," proceeded she, "attending the state of man upon earth, evidently connected with events which took place before the foundation of the world. Now suppose that any one was to attempt to make a child of four years old understand the debates in a London newspaper--I should conceive that no means which could possibly be used would succeed in making such child comprehend the full meaning of one single speech so reported. And yet this child approaches, in point of intellect, in a considerable degree nearer to the first politician in the House of Commons, than we do to the meanest being without sin. For the effect of sin, in clouding the mind and intellect, is inconceivably great, as I hope to have an opportunity of stating to you on another occasion, from a very valuable old writer upon the subject.

"If, therefore," proceeded she, "it would be utterly impossible to make a child of four years old form any proper judgment of a speech in parliament, how, I ask, can we be supposed able to reason justly upon what is proper in the government of the universe? As I before said, our minds are sufficiently enlightened on all points which concern our salvation: but when we attempt to reason on subjects which do not belong to us, we are immediately lost, and run ourselves into difficulties which sometimes end in absolute infidelity. But in order to state our doctrines and our difficulties in the plainest language, I must premise, that it is understood by all Christians, that there is one almighty God, who made all things; and that in this God there are three equal persons. Moreover, we understand, that this God is a perfect Being, and of course without sin, because sin is an imperfection; we know also that God made the world, and are assured, that, as he is a perfectly holy Being, the creatures which he made must have come out of his hands without sin.

"Whence then did sin arise? I do not ask," proceeded the lady of the manor, "how it came into the world; for this we all know. But how did it insinuate itself into the creation? or who first conceived it? If you answer, The fallen angels first conceived it--you only remove the difficulty a little further back. Were not the angels holy creatures, living in heaven in the presence of their Maker? How then did they first admit sin into their nature? This is a point too mysterious to be comprehended. If then at first setting out we meet with so mighty a difficulty as this, we may be sure that it is impossible for us to understand all the further complicate dealings of God with his creatures. Hence, from all I have said, it appears that our views are so short, our intellects so narrow, our perceptions so obscure, and our absolute knowledge of facts as they refer to the concerns of the universe so bounded, that we cannot judge why it is proper to do one thing, or why it is proper to leave another thing undone.

"It is generally acknowledged, that a mother may often find it necessary to correct a child under three years of age; but it would be impossible, absolutely impossible, to make that child distinctly understand her reasons for so doing. Nevertheless, I venture to assert, that we know enough of the Lord our God, especially of his love and tenderness for his creatures, to believe that whatever he doth is for the advancement of his own glory; and if for the advancement of his own glory, surely it must also be for the good and happiness of his creatures--since man is never miserable but when he departs from God, and seeks the glory of the creature instead of the Creator.

"It cannot therefore be questioned, upon all these considerations, that our wisdom consists in taking the words of Scripture on this subject in their obvious and literal sense: and if the danger of the thoughtless multitude hang heavy on our minds, let us labour to arouse and awaken as many of them as fall within the range of our influence to a due regard for the concerns of their own souls. The Lord works by means; and if haply he should condescend to use any one of us as the instrument of bringing some of his creatures nearer to himself, we shall have abundant reason to glorify his name on that account."

"But," said one of the young ladies, "when we look at the number of persons who live altogether in sin, it is surely dreadful to think how few appear to be in the right way, or are likely to be saved!"

"Indeed," said the lady of the manor, "it is a subject of melancholy reflection that we see so few persons, in comparison of the multitude of grown men and women, whom we can reasonably suppose to be in the right way. How few do we see who boldly come forward in the service of God! Where is the man who separates himself from the world?--who joins himself to Christ, and proves, by his holy conversation, that he is an adopted child of God? How small, in comparison of the multitude, are the characters which answer to this description! Is not the glory of Jacob become dim, and the fatness of his flesh waxed lean?--There are, indeed, a few gleaning grapes left in the visible Church, as the shaking of an olive tree, two or three berries on the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof. [Isaiah xvii. 4, 6.]

"But," continued she, "there is a description of persons numerous as the stars of heaven and the sand of the sea--a description of persons unspeakably dear to bereaved mothers, yea, and infinitely dear to him who said, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God: [Mark x. 14;] who having been early removed from this world of sin and sorrow, not having as yet committed actual sin, are undoubtedly saved, inasmuch as that stain and pollution of nature which they received from their father Adam is not laid to their account, through the infinite merits of Christ the second Adam. Clothed in his imputed righteousness, these souls are presented with acceptance before the throne of God, and will to all eternity magnify the effects of that free grace by which they were fore-ordained to triumph over sin and death."

"It is a sweet thought," said Sophia, who had some years ago followed a dear little brother to the grave, "to think that all those little creatures who die in infancy are saved; and that happiness is thus secured to so many who might otherwise perhaps have destroyed themselves by sin."

"I think I have heard," said the lady of the manor, that at least one third of the human race die before they are two years old. So that the happiness of one third of the children of Adam is thus effectually secured; a reflection full of unutterable comfort and sweetness to those parents who are early deprived of the smiles of their infants. Furthermore, perceiving in the case of children dying early and received into glory, that their salvation must needs be effected by the eternal and absolutely free favour of God, as procured for us by the merits and death of our Saviour--we necessarily arrive at the solid conclusion that these souls were, fore-ordained to glory before the foundation of the world. Now it is evident, and must be universally allowed, that such infants can have done nothing in order to promote their own salvation, and that therefore they are saved through the free mercy of God--notwithstanding which, we cannot apply this doctrine to our own cases, nor be content to enter heaven as little children but we almost universally fall into the error of supposing that we must do something in order to promote this great work, and so are perpetually endeavouring to bring some good action or other to account, in order to counterbalance the great sum of our unworthiness.

"It is astonishing," continued the lady of the manor, "what enmity the human mind has to the doctrine of salvation through Christ alone!" She then proceeded to give the young people a short account of the nature and signification of grace, as well as of the manner in which its sovereignty is manifested in our election, in our calling, pardon, justification, adoption, sanctification, and preservation until the end. She first stated that the word grace signifies free and undeserved favour and kindness, exhibited in cases where no claim can be preferred, and where no worthiness is apparent--even that free and eternal love and favour of God, which is the secret and inexhaustible source of all the benefits which we receive from him.

"Grace," continued the lady of the manor, "is that ample and unlimited measure by which the Lord deals with those who are unworthy; therefore, those who are sinners, and those only, are the objects of grace. And this," continued she, "if properly understood, will explain to us the words of St. Paul--Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt, [Rom. iv. 4.] For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast. [Ephes. ii. 8, 9.] if by grace, then is it no more of works: otherwise grace is no more grace." [Rom. xi. 6.]

One of the young ladies then said, "We are to understand that grace is the free favour of God, by which he bestows his blessings upon unworthy persons?"

"Yes," said the lady of the manor. "I believe you now comprehend the meaning of the word: but I wish you to understand also, that the grace of which we speak is eternal and unchangeable in its nature; and that it was the original mover in our salvation, which must ever be considered as wholly flowing from the free and unmerited love of God."

"I think now," said one of the young ladies, "that I begin to have some little idea of the meaning of those verses in the Epistles on the subject of grace and works, some of which have been quoted on the present occasion; and which I have hitherto considered so difficult, that I have, I fear, never tried to understand them. Grace is the free and eternal love of God, and this grace has supplied the means of salvation: we are therefore to receive this salvation as a free gift, of which we are quite unworthy; while we abhor the thought of supposing that we ever have done, or ever can do, any thing to deserve this great salvation."

"Moreover," replied the lady of the manor, "you must understand, that the only real objects of grace are such as feel and acknowledge their own unworthiness. If therefore we endeavour to make ourselves worthy before we seek for grace, or independently of its influence, we render ourselves incapable of it."

"Well," said Miss Emmeline, "this is a very hard doctrine, and very wounding to our pride; for we find by it, that if we would be saved, we must cast away all our good works, and all our merits, and put ourselves on a level with the thief on the cross, and the woman who bathed our Saviour's feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair."

"And were we to throw our good works utterly away," said the lady of the manor, smiling, "we should subject ourselves to no great loss, I believe, Miss Emmeline; since were they ten thousand times better than they are, they would be but filthy garments compared with that robe of righteousness with which we may hope through divine grace to be clad."

The lady of the manor then proceeded to point out how grace might properly be said to reign throughout the whole wonderful process of man's salvation--in his election, his calling, his pardon, his justification, his adoption, his sanctification, and his perseverance to the end. And as these words were more or less unintelligible to the young people, she endeavoured as much as lay in her power to bring them down to their comprehension.

"'Election, or predestination to life,'" said the lady of the manor, speaking from the Article which had been before quoted, "'is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his own counsel, secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour.'

"Calling," proceeded the lady of the manor, "is that important change which takes place in the mind and views of a sinner when converted to Christ. Election, it is supposed, makes no real change in the state of its object; so that the chosen person often remains in an unconverted state to an advanced period of life, as may be proved from the parable of the labourers in the vineyard. But when the time of conversion comes, the Spirit of God speaks to the soul, and awakens it as from the dead. Various are the means employed for the conversion of sinners; but whatever time outward means may be, the work is that of the Holy Spirit, and is generally effected through the instrumentality of the written and preached word of God.

"I could say much," continued the lady of the manor, "upon this subject; but as I shall have occasion to enlarge further upon it hereafter, I shall now forbear, and proceed to say--That pardon of sin is a blessing of inestimnable value, which we also receive from divine grace. It is that which is absolutely necessary to the present peace and future happiness of the sinful race of Adam: and this pardon can only be obtained through Christ our Saviour. On this point the Articles of our Church hold the following language--'They also are to be accursed, that presume to say that every man shall be saved by the law or sect which he professeth, so that he be diligent to frame his life according to that law and the light of nature. For Holy Scripture doth set out unto us only the name of Jesus Christ whereby men must be saved.' [18th Article of the Church of England.]

"Justification is also defined in our Articles; and as I must hereafter enter more largely into this subject, I think I shall content myself in this place with giving you the excellent words of the Article itself.--'We are accounted righteous before God only by the merits of our Lord Jesus Christ, by faith; and not for our own works and deservings. Wherefore that we are justified by faith only, is a most wholesome doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely is expressed in the Homily of Justification.' [11th Article.]

"Adoption," proceeded the lady of the manor, "is also a subject on which I must hereafter enlarge; I shall therefore at this time merely present you with a concise statement of the doctrine; and this I shall do in the words of a celebrated author on these subjects.--'Adoption signifies that act by which a person takes the child of another, not related to him, into the place, and entitles him to all the privileges, of his own son. And that spiritual and divine adoption about which we treat, is God's gracious admission of strangers and aliens into the state of relation and enjoyment of all the privileges of children, through Jesus Christ; according to that glorious promise of the new covenant--I will be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord God Almighty.'

"Sanctification is that change of heart whereby we are made new creatures; it is that operation by which a sinner is cleansed from the pollution and filth of sin, made free from its power and dominion, and endued with a principle of holiness. Thus God by his Spirit in due time sanctifies those whom he has chosen.

"And finally, to speak of that crowning work of grace, whereby it enables poor weak and miserable mortals to persevere in the right way unto the end--we find from Scripture, that the Lord hath engaged himself in the behalf of those whom he hath begotten again to a lively hope, that he will keep them stedfast unto the end. It is very certain, that if God were suddenly to withdraw his help from the individual (whomsoever he may be) who is most advanced in the heavenly course, that man would certainly fall. Wherefore, unless we had the assurance that God would never forsake his people, we could have no hope of attaining the unknown felicities of everlasting life. But there are many texts of Scripture which give us this assurance; and the promises of God, those exceeding great and precious promises which are scattered in rich abundance through every part of the Bible, afford every believer the strongest possible consolation respecting this matter. Some of the sweetest among a countless number of passages to this purpose addressed to the elect are the following--For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Rom. viii. 38, 39])--Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, to the strangers scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, elect according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through sanctification of the Spirit, unto obedience and sprinkling of the blood of Jesus Christ; grace unto you, and peace, be multiplied. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time." [1 Peter i. 1--5.]

After the lady of the manor had ceased to speak, the young ladies remained silent for a few minutes. At length one of them ventured to say, that she had heard some people object to the doctrine of predestination, on account of its tendency to produce pride in such individuals as might have the arrogance to suppose themselves of the number of the elect, and to generate despair in others who might think themselves in the opposite condition.

"My dear young friend," said the lady of the manor, "whatever is found in Scripture is written for our learning, and consequently whatever is there revealed concerning God is no doubt revealed for our good. We may safely leave it with God to honour his own word; and he has done it, and will do it to the end. And it is remarkable, that God hath been pleased in all ages especially to honour this doctrine of election and free grace, although it is certainly possible that ill-designing persons may wrest these doctrines to evil purposes; because such is the depravity of our nature, that there is no doctrine, however pure, which we are not sometimes inclined to pervert. But I think it would not be hard to prove that there are more immoral men among those who maintain the contrary opinion, that works have some share in man's salvation; than among those who maintain the Scriptural doctrine of free grace."

"But surely, Madam," said Miss Emmeline, "we are not to understand that any unholy person, that is, a person given to evil works, can properly be called an heir of the kingdom of heaven?"

"It is possible," replied the lady of the manor, "for a man now living in sin, and greedily committing evil works, to be one of the elect or chosen; for St. Paul was one of the elect while yet engaged in persecuting the servants of God, and compelling them to blaspheme. But grace had then only selected him as an object of mercy through Christ; he had not yet been called, pardoned, justified, adopted, or sanctified: therefore no man in his senses would at that time have called him a chosen vessel of mercy. Works are then to be considered as the only proper evidences of the call of an individual; for the tree is known by its fruits.

"But," proceeded the lady of the manor, "inasmuch as I have detained your attention for a long time on a very serious subject, I shall now endeavour to entertain you with a little narrative which is not altogether irrelevant to the points in question."

The lady of the manor then unfolding a little manuscript, read as follows.--

THE HISTORY OF MRS. HOWARD; RELATED BY HERSELF

"I shall not begin my history, as is commonly done, with an apology for intruding the affairs of a private person on the attention of the public; because I wish it to be understood, that my object in troubling the world with my concerns is the desire of rendering myself useful to such persons as may labour under the same illusions as I did during the greater part of a long life.

"I am the daughter of a dignified clergyman of the Church of England, and was married early in life to an elderly gentleman of the name of Howard, a person of considerable property. While yet under thirty, I was left a widow with one daughter, who was heiress of her father's large property, subject to no other incumbrance than my jointure, which was to be sure an exceedingly handsome one, though not unsuitable to the family circumstances.

It may readily be supposed, that a young widow so circumstanced, and one who was not disagreeable in her person, should have many temptations to enter a second time into the state of matrimony. But having conceived a dishonourable idea of second marriages, I adhered to the resolution I had formed during the first weeks of my widowhood of never marrying again. No one certainly could blame me for this decision. I was at liberty to do as I chose; and had I chosen to do otherwise, I should not have done amiss, if my choice of a second husband had fallen upon a worthy person. But be this as it may; I remember that I built much in my own favour upon the resolution which I had taken and so scrupulously adhered to, laying this as a kind of foundation of the character which I afterwards chose to appropriate to myself, viz, that of a woman of strict piety and exalted morals.

"I now proceed to state precisely what my ideas of piety then were. They consisted in a close compliance with all the appointed forms of the Church of England. Of its doctrines I say nothing, because I did not at that time comprehend them; but I held a kind of confused opinion that I was to do what was right as far as I could, and trust to Christ to make up my short comings. I entertained no suspicion whatever that any distinction was to be made between the commands delivered in the Word of God, and the ordinances of man: and, in consequence, the opinions of any man of rank in my own Church had as much weight with me as the words of the Bible. For though I often heard and read the words of Scripture, I heard and read them entirely as matters of course, constantly interpreting them to my own fancy, and agreeably to certain preconceived notions; without ever seriously reflecting upon them, or employing my understanding in ascertaining their real import. I was, in fact, though a member of one of the purest establishments upon earth, little less than a downright Papist, submitting my will to human rather than divine authority: so that the Bible was, in fact, almost as entirely a sealed book to me, as it is to the man who never hears it read in a known language".

"Neither was I any better informed respecting the spiritual meaning of the Liturgy of our Church. I had not the smallest conception that it had been prepared for a description of persons with whom I had at that time not one feeling in common; and, in consequence, I applied without reserve all the passages which are there put in the mouth of the broken-hearted sinner, or the regenerated and sanctified person, to my own peculiar case, although I scarcely had ever heard of conviction of sin, and should not have scrupled to assert that regeneration and sanctification were words without meaning, or merely the inventions of fanaticism. Thus, although my case was not quite so singular a one, it in some respects resembled that of the Oxford scholar who is said to have appropriated to himself the honours intended for the heir-apparent of the crown, in whose train he once happened to enter the theatre. But religious appropriations of this kind are, I fear, too common, and are no doubt made by all those persons who cannot distinguish between the visible and invisible Church, not understanding that multitudes perpetually creep into the former who have no place in the latter, and that, notwithstanding the utmost efforts of pious ministers to separate the tares from the wheat, they will be found growing together until the harvest.

"I am, however, anxious, from my own experience, to give others a clue to the intricate and dark corners of their own hearts, that I may thereby induce them, with the divine blessing, to enquire seriously within whether they are truly entitled, as feeling their own utter depravity and helplessness, to adopt the language of the liturgy, and to appropriate to themselves the various consolatory expressions it holds out to those who have been brought to see their need of a Saviour. But to leave these matters for the present, and proceed with my narrative--

"After my husband's death, I settled in one of his country-houses, which, with an estate surrounding it, was part of my jointure, and there I resided till my daughter was of age to be introduced into the world. This house had been built about the time of King William, when the Dutch taste prevailed. It was a square building; the front opening upon a garden laid out in the same style with the house, into which there was a descent by high flights of steps. In this garden every thing was uniform, grove nodding at grove, and every alley being provided with a brother. Here I had a favourite room, opening with folding-doors into the garden, from whence I had a view of two square pools, or tanks, one beyond the other, flanked on each side by groves of Linden trees, through which avenues were cut in various directions; the whole scene being terminated by a Chinese temple.

"The room itself was hung with blue damask, with curtains and sofas of the same; and the oaken floor was polished bright as a mirror. In this apartment, where was a harpsichord and some few books, I might be seen every morning employed with my needle; for I was exceedingly fond of fine work, and while so engaged I had opportunity of observing those persons who were employed to instruct my daughter Lydia, whom I was anxious to bring up in the strictest manner according to my own views of propriety.

In those days, accomplished female teacher's were not to be met with. I was therefore obliged to be contented with a young woman as a governess for Lydia of very inferior qualifications. But in order to make up the deficiencies of this teacher, I procured the assistance of a young clergyman, the curate of the parish, who being, though a gentleman in the best acceptation of the term, in humble circumstances, and under some obligations to the family, was not sorry to undertake the office of instructing my little girl. To this young man, therefore, whom I shall call Berrington, the cultivation of my daughter's mind was submitted, subject to my directions and control.

"Having thus arranged my establishment, I spent some years without experiencing any very great or remarkable change of circumstances. In the mean time, the idea was established in my own mind, that I was a decided character with regard to religion, most admirably qualified as a mother and the head of a large family, as well as highly to be commended, with respect to my principles, as a member of the Established Church. Under the influence of this illusion, and not being exercised by any searching providence, I vainly proceeded in my own strength, looking proudly down on all about me, without ever once supposing it possible that I should be at that very time in a spiritual sense, poor, and blind, and naked, and miserable.

"All this while, in my supposed character of an accomplished member of the Church of England, I appeared on every occasion of divine service in the large family pew, which was richly lined with crimson cloth, handsomely furnished with elegant chairs, and duly set forth with quarto Prayer-Books in red morocco, having the armorial bearings of the Howards impressed on their covers. Thus seated in my station of dignity, and filled with such sentiments of my own worth and consequence as above described, I repeated without hesitation the various penitentiary passages of our Liturgy with the most entire self-complacency, it never happening to occur to me that I had at no time turned away from my wickedness, and that therefore I could with no sort of propriety use even the first clause of the service. As to the confession of sins, which immediately follows the address of the minister to his people, in my own opinion I was by no means wanting in my duty there; for I always made a point of repeating it aloud, and in a kind of melancholy and emphatic tone which I conceived might be very edifying to my servants and dependents, who formed the larger part of the congregation. I also made my responses in the Litany and the Communion Service with equal emphasis; in addition to which I was always seen on my knees rather a longer time than ordinary after the blessing was pronounced. I was moreover a constant attendant at the communion table, and observed the festivals with great regularity. I felt likewise a superstitious respect for the more minute ceremonial parts of our religious establishment; insomuch that I was not only greatly scandalized one Sunday when our vicar had forgotten his band, but I even presumed to set down an old lady of quality as a decided infidel, for saying that she was not fond of the sound of bells. Thus I confounded, in the same disorganized mass of childish ideas, the essentials and non-essentials of religion, being utterly incapable of distinguishing one from the other; because at that time I was destitute of the clew by which true believers are readily conducted through that labyrinth of human opinions, in which the mere formalist finds himself so perplexed that he not seldom stands quite still in the spot wherein he happens to find himself when he first begins to reflect, determining there to maintain his station in spite of all the arguments and representations by which he may be assailed. But no more of this at present.

"I shall now proceed to speak of one whose character was as directly the reverse of mine as it is possible to suppose any character could be. This was my daughter, the lovely Lydia Howard, as she was not seldom called in the higher circles to which she was introduced when at a proper age. Even in very early infancy this child was remarkably beautiful; and her beauty was of so delicate and modest a description, that the longer it was looked upon the more admirable it appeared. She was exceedingly fair, and generally pale; but when in the smallest degree excited, a delicate blush mantled in her cheek, and added new perfections to her charming countenance. She was naturally reserved and timid; and under a mother such as I have described myself to be, her character had no opportunity of unfolding itself to those about her. Therefore, during the earlier period of her life, little more could be said of her than that she was entirely inoffensive. Sometimes indeed, and for a few minutes, her natural sensibility and warmth of feeling would appear, as I once especially remember on the death of an infant in whom she had taken great interest, whose little grave I accidentally heard her address with a tenderness and pathos which at once discovered the strength of her feelings and the elegance of her mind.

"This my dear child was about ten years of age when Mr. Berrington was established in his office as her tutor. Mr. Berrington at that time had just entered into deacon's-orders, having obtained extraordinary honours at the University, and being equally distinguished by the politeness of his manners and the agreeableness of his conversation.

"I was by no means myself a cultivated woman; nevertheless I had some idea of the distinction which a cultivated mind gives to an elegant young woman. I therefore requested Mr. Berrington to communicate to my daughter every possible advantage of this kind: and indeed I myself in general very officiously presided on these occasions, not seldom, as I have since thought, interrupting him with many impertinences.

"The instructions which Mr. Berrington gave his little pupil were, no doubt, excellent, if I may judge by their effect on her mind. He taught her to read French and Italian, with which languages he was well acquainted; and as much Greek as enabled her to read the New Testament in the original with facility. He made her acquainted with history, both sacred and profane; and taught her to write elegantly. These were the leading points of his instructions; and though he seldom gave her a lesson expressly upon religion, which he had, no doubt, some reasons for not doing, yet he so insensibly blended Christianity with all his instructions, that he had formed her principles relative to these matters, at a time when I had reason to suppose her nearly ignorant of any thing but the outward forms and general outlines of the Christian religion.

"I have before mentioned that I was a great observer of forms; accordingly, when Lydia was between fourteen and fifteen, thinking it right that she should be confirmed, I wrote to a relation of my late husband, who was high in the Church, for the purpose of consulting him upon the subject.

"He replied, that the young lady having attained the age appointed by the Church for such ordinance, there could be no doubt that it ought now to be attended to; but that the young lady should previously be examined in the Creed, Lord's Prayer, and Ten Commandments, as the Church required.

"Having received this letter, I, who always did every thing with much ceremony, caused Mr. Berrington to be sent for, and taking him into my dressing-room, delivered my opinion to him at some length, enlarging, no doubt, upon the obligation under which all parents lie of bringing their children at a due age to be confirmed. I then read my friend's letter to him, and requested, or rather, laid my commands upon him, to prepare my daughter for the ceremony.

Mr. Berrington, who I have much reason to suppose bore my frequent insolence entirely on account of the regard he had for his pupil, promised to obey my commands, and immediately began the work of preparation.

It happened, during the few first days of these examinations, that I was unable to be present, being engaged by a visitor of high rank, to whom I thought particular attention was due, this lady being no other than a dowager duchess, of whom I shall have occasion to speak more hereafter. However, as it never suited my ideas of propriety to leave Mr. Berrington alone with my daughter, I ordered Miss Chelmsford, my Lydia's governess, to attend at these seasons; while, to maintain the character of a very watchful and prudent mother, I thought it necessary, after the first examination, to question her on what she had heard Mr. Berrington say to my daughter.

"'I did not hear any thing about the Creed, Madam, or the Lord's Prayer,' she replied. 'On the contrary, Mr. Berrington ran as far from these subjects as he well could, and spoke of things which had happened before the beginning of the world.'

'Extraordinary!' I said. 'What can you mean?'

"In reply to this, she blundered and stammered, making every thing she endeavoured to explain appear totally ridiculous, as uneducated persons are apt to do when meddling with what they do not understand: so I dismissed her with a charge to be more attentive another day.

"Miss Chelmsford's next report was more consistent; and as she was assisted by certain Articles of the Church to which Mr. Berrington had made a reference, I was led to comprehend, that the young divine was instructing my daughter on the alarming points of election, of grace, of the depravity of man's nature, and the necessity of regeneration. As excellent a Church-woman as I supposed myself to be, the Articles of the Church itself were not sufficient to reconcile me to these doctrines. However, as the duchess was to leave me the next day, I resolved to conceal my uneasy feelings, and succeeded so far as to appear all composure till I saw her Grace's carriage drive from the door. I then hastened to the room were Mr. Berrington was with Lydia, and there seated myself at the table, with my knotting-shuttle in my hand, quietly waiting till I should hear something at which I might take offence.

"Mr. Berrington had a Book of Common Prayer in his hand, and the first expression I heard him use was to this effect:--'All the prayers and services in this book, you must observe, Miss Howard, are intended for the use of those persons who, according to the words of our Articles, "having been called according to God's purpose by his Spirit working in due season, have, through grace, obeyed the call and been justified freely"--persons who, knowing themselves to be sinners, have seen the need of an entire change of heart; who having cast away all self-confidence, and placing their whole trust in the merits of Christ, are enabled to rise with the heart, as well as the tongue, the language of the Church, confessing themselves miserable sinners, and appropriating to themselves all the comfortable promises and assurances of salvation interspersed throughout our Liturgy.

"'The language of our Common Prayer-Book,' continued Mr. Berrington, 'is the proper language of the children of God. The ordinances of religion are intended for their comfort only; and that peculiar service on which we are meditating, may, from its very name, be understood only as an office for strengthening and confirming those who are already in the right way. The proper preparation therefore for confirmation, should consist in a serious examination of our actual state, especially as it regards the following points: viz. whether we have already been called to Christ by the power of the Holy Ghost; whether we are regenerated, or have received a new nature; and whether by our holy lives we give the requisite proofs of this our renewal unto holiness,'

"'Amazing, Mr. Berrington!' I said in the plenitude of my folly; 'did any one ever hear such sentiments as you have just uttered?'

"'Madam,' said he, with his usual composure, 'I have said nothing but what our Liturgy and Articles will fully confirm.'

"'Will they,' said I, 'confirm your assertion, that none but the saints, the converted, and the pious, have any business at church?'

"Mr. Berrington pleaded, that he had made no such assertion; but had simply said, that, as the prayers of the Church, and its other forms, speak the language of converted men, those who are not so should be informed of this circumstance, lest, by a confident application of the promises contained in that ritual, they should thereby appropriate to themselves those consolations which belong not to their condition.

"'And pray, Sir,' asked I, 'who is to judge what individuals in a congregation are fit to apply these consolations to themselves, and who are not?'

"'No man,' replied Mr. Berrinigton, 'is competent to form this judgment; and of this our reformers were so fully aware, that they prepared their Liturgy under the supposition that all who make a part of the visible Church are members also of the invisible.'

"'Well, Sir,' I said, 'these opinions are perfectly new to me; neither do I see the need of troubling my daughter with them at this time.'

"'Consider, my dear Madam,' he replied, 'that your daughter, being judged by the Church of a proper age to take upon herself her baptismal vow, ought at this time to be led to a serious review of her spiritual state: and inasmuch as I am convinced that many young people have been misled by the very circumstance of their being continually addressed by their ministers in the congregation as believers, I have taken some pains to explain to Miss Howard, that, although the minister is obliged to address her in public, with the rest of his people, as a child of God;--that although, when baptized, thanksgivings were made on her account in these words; "We yield thee hearty thanks, most merciful Father, that it hath pleased thee to regenerate this infant with thy Holy Spirit;"--and that although she has been taught to repeat this sentence of the Church Catechism; "In my baptism, wherein I was made a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven;"--yet, notwithstanding all this, that it is still possible she may be an unchanged character, and no otherwise a Christian than in name and outward circumstances.'

"I was going to speak, and with no small degree of heat and probably of insolence, when Lydia gave me one of those beseeching looks, which, harsh and imperious as I was, I often found irresistible.

"'Excuse me, Madam,' said Mr. Berrington, 'if I may seem to be searching my pupil too deeply. But I ask her no questions; I desire to hear no confessions; I am only anxious to lead her to a close self-examination. The period of confirmation is a golden opportunity held out by the Church to young people for serious consideration, and I am desirous that Miss Howard should make the best of it.'

"I confessed so far, that this ceremony ought not to be passed lightly over, but added, that I did not like the idea of divine calls and vocations; fully convinced that such fancies led to enthusiasm and all manner of absurdities--that I myself had never experienced any thing of the kind--and that I believed the Church had not many more faithful members than myself.

"Mr. Berrington bowed. It was impossible to answer this argument. But I thought Lydia sighed; and firing at this idea, I instantly added, 'I hope, Mr. Berrington, you have not led my daughter to suppose that no one can be a Christian who has not been miraculously called, by dream, or vision, or some other such conceit.'

'By no means, Madam,' said Mr. Berrington: 'but I wish Miss Howard to understand, that, if she has not been made sensible of her lost state by nature, of her utter inability to help herself, and of her extreme need of a Saviour, she has not as yet experienced that change which in Scripture is described as a new birth.'

"Another tender glance from Lydia here checked me: but feeling rather angry at being so checked, I suddenly desired Mr. Berrington to return to his usual studies with my daughter, assuring him that enough had been said on these subjects, and that there could be little doubt of a young person, brought up like Miss Howard, being at all times fit for confirmation.

"From that time, I do not recollect that I had any particular conversation on these subjects with Mr. Berrington, who nevertheless, as I before hinted, had the address, during the course of his other instructions, to give my daughter such views of religion as he desired. For, after all, it is not so much long discussions on the doctrines of religion, which form the principles of young people, as the general tendency of their daily instructions; and, on the contrary, evil is often insinuated in the same way, not by formal addresses, but by subtle remarks, made upon such subjects as daily occur: and hence the amazing importance of placing young people under proper instructors.

I found no difficulty, as I had foreseen, of procuring a ticket entitling my daughter to be confirmed; so having presented her with this token of her proper qualification, I had the pleasure of seeing the Bishop lay his hand upon her head: after which I returned home fully satisfied that every thing regarding this affair had been duly performed.

"Where a mother is extremely busy, clever, and somewhat overbearing, the characters of her children are often not sufficiently understood. A great deal of the art of education consists, I have of late years been persuaded, in gently drawing forth the character under the parent's roof, and encouraging young people to exert their powers while still blessed with a parent's superintendence. My daughter was, however, so remarkably modest and timid; and my manner towards her was so decisive, so distant, and, in a word, so overbearing; that I had little opportunity of knowing her real disposition while she remained under my control. Nevertheless, the modesty and extraordinary unobtrusiveness of her conduct, which were no doubt the effects of grace, could not but strike me, and I was even, at times, angry at seeing her take so little upon herself; not unfrequently saying, 'Lydia, what will you do when you come to be at the head of a family?--when you go out into the world?--when possessed of your estates? I suppose you will not even choose yourself a carriage, or scarcely a cap, without asking mamma's opinion. Well, when you are married, I must come and live with you, and help you to manage your table and order your household.' She commonly smiled when thus addressed, and would frequently say, 'I hope you will always find me obedient to your will, my dear Madam, and thankful for your advice.'

"On Lydia's reaching the age of seventeen, she was emancipated from the control of a governess, and it was intended that Mr. Berrington's lessons should then cease: but she made the request that he might still be permitted to direct her studies; which I the rather agreed to, as we lived in great retirement, and his conversation was so agreeable that it would have been a piece of self-denial on my part to have banished him our society.

"On the birth-day subsequent to my daughter's having attained her eighteenth year, she was presented at court, where her appearance produced a sensation even beyond my most sanguine hopes. The consequence of her appearance was, that immediately afterwards I received a visit from my friend the duchess before mentioned, who informed me, that such was the impression Lydia had made on her son, that she believed her perfections were almost sufficiently strong to induce him to think of matrimony, against which he had strenuously declared for some years past.

"I am ashamed to think how much I was elated with the idea which now first suggested itself of seeing my daughter in so elevated a rank, although she were to purchase it by marrying a man who was far from what might be wished in a son-in-law; the nobleman in question being a person of excessive pride, bad morals, and as bad a temper. His mother, however, had long wished him to marry; though it seems that he resisted all her solicitations on this head till he had seen my daughter at court; on which occasion, he told his mother, that if ever he married, it should be to Lydia Howard.

"As soon as the old lady had sounded me on the subject, and found that I should look on the alliance as an honour, she proposed a short visit to me in the country within a few weeks; adding, that she hoped she should have influence enough to bring her son with her.

"This matter being settled, I returned with my daughter to our country habitation, where, to my utter amazement, she appeared presently to have forgotten all she had seen, and heard in town, devoting herself again, with renewed ardour, to her former employments; so that, while receiving her instructions from Mr. Berrington, she seemed entirely to have lost sight of all the pageants of the court, and to think only of her music, her pensioners among the poor, her bees, her flowers, and her books. Thus we were situated, when the duchess wrote to inform me that she was actually coming to visit me, and that her son had entered into the proposed scheme with a vivacity which proved that his heart was not wholly unconcerned in the affair.

"When I informed Lydia of our expected visitors, she received the news in a manner which proved to me that she was utterly unsuspicious of the motive of their journey.

"The noble lady and her son arrived on the appointed day, but an hour or two sooner than I expected; and, in consequence, they found me in my favourite parlour, instead of my state drawing-room where I had intended to have received them, surprising us while Mr. Berrington was reading with Lydia.

"I saw the eye of the dowager fixed on Mr. Berrington as soon as she came in; and soon after we were seated, she said apart to me, 'Who is that fine young man?'

"I had seen Mr. Berrington so frequently, and for so many years, that I had ceased to remark his outward appearance, and had looked upon him with so much contempt as a poor curate, and a kind of dependent on the family, as I chose to consider him, that it had not occurred to me, wise as I thought myself till the duchess spoke, that there could be any danger in his being so much with my daughter. But on her repeating the question, 'Who is that young man whom we found seated with you and your daughter?' I blushed, and said, 'It is only the curate of the parish.'

"The old lady looked at him again; and, though too polite to add more on the subject, I saw that his presence displeased her. And from that time, certain jealousies arose in my mind respecting Mr. Berrington, which led me to watch his whole conduct with a degree of keenness which could not have failed of detecting the smallest impropriety towards my daughter, had any such existed.

"In the mean time, Lydia, though without a design or wish so to do, pleased the duke so much, that he no longer hesitated whether he should solicit her hand: and, in consequence, empowered me to break the subject to her, it having been previously arranged that he and his mother should leave us for a few days, in order to give my daughter some time for consideration, though no doubt seemed to be entertained on their part of her prompt and even joyful acquiescence.

"In this respect I was not, however, quite so sanguine as her noble admirer, although I questioned not but that I should have influence enough to bend her will to whatever I might require. Accordingly, immediately after the duchess and her son had taken their departure, I called Lydia into my dressing-room; and, after some hesitations and circumlocutions, I opened the matter to her. From her frequent changes of colour, she seemed to have understood the affair before I had ceased speaking, but did not interrupt me, nor even answer me for some moments after hearing all I had to say. Then speaking in a hurried manner and with considerable agitation, she besought me not to press this matter any further; assuring me that she never could love the duke sufficiently to become his wife, though she was grateful for the honour he did her in making her his choice.

"I expected this; and, therefore, in nowise cast down thereby, I again urged the suit with increased warmth, and at some length.

"She heard me out, and then clasping her hands, 'Oh! my mother!' she said, 'if you love me, say no more on this subject.'

"I, in return, made her understand that my heart was in the affair, and that I could never give it up. On which, she was thrown into a perfect agony; and, turning pale as death, she fell at my feet, beseeching me, as I loved her, as I desired not to see her die on the spot, never again to mention to her the name of the man who now sought her hand.

"This strong language, accompanied by actions so affecting, startled me, especially from my hitherto gentle Lydia; and instantly suspecting the truth, I said, 'Lydia, your affections are engaged. You need not, you cannot deny it.'

"On hearing this, a deep blush succeeded her former paleness, and, unused to falsehood, she covered her face with both her hands, and was silent.

"I arose, as she still knelt to me, and moving to the other end of the room, 'You cannot deny the fact, unworthy young creature,' I said; 'and well I know the unprincipled man who has seduced your affections.'

"'No one,' said she, looking up, 'has attempted to win my regards. Heaven is my witness, that not a word, not a look, not an action has been used to that purpose. He has, I am persuaded, never thought of me but as of a child: he has not an idea of my folly.'

"I turned to her hastily, and looking sternly at her, 'Of whom are you speaking, Lydia?' I said.

"She had risen from her knees; and on my putting this question, she started, trembled, and was silent.

"I repeated my question, 'Of whom are you speaking, Lydia?'

"She attempted to reply; but the words dying on her lips, she lifted up her eyes towards heaven, and clasping her hands, seemed to be uttering a prayer.

"Lydia,' I said, 'mock me not with this affectation of piety. Were you really a virtuous and pious young woman, instead of displaying these tragic airs, instead of invoking heaven like a martyr at the stake, you would prepare to obey your mother's commands, and to make her happy with your compliance. But do as you please: nevertheless, be assured of this, that Mr. Berrington shall be made to lament his presumption as long as he lives. I had intended to have served him effectually in his profession: I have indeed taken measures for the purpose, and hoped soon to have emancipated him from his present inferior situation, and seen him in possession of a handsome living: but this is now at an end. The man who has injured me as Mr. Berrington has done, shall never be the better for my exertions.'

"On hearing this, my daughter fell at my feet, and assured me, in a manner the most solemn, that she was well assured Mr. Berrington had not the slightest idea of her presumptuous preference of him.

"'Then what am I to think of you, Lydia?'

"She answered, 'That I have lived with one of the most amiable and excellent of men, till I can endure no other in the comparison.'

"'You are bold, Lydia,' I said, 'and are artfully charging me with imprudence for bringing you and the unworthy object of your preference so much together.'

"'Heaven forbid,' she answered, 'that I should have such an idea. I blame no one. I have no one to charge with my present misery.'

"'All this is very well, Miss Howard,' I replied: 'but of this be assured, that I shall believe nothing of your assertions respecting Mr. Berrington's innocence, unless you consent to the marriage which I propose.'

"She shuddered on hearing this; but seeing me determined, her habitual gentleness and obedience prevailed, and she gave her consent, though with an expression of countenance which ought to have taught me how great the sacrifice was which she made. However, being dazzled and blinded by ambition, I wrote instantly to my intended son-in-law, to inform him that I had succeeded in his suit; and at the same time I sent to the vicar to devise some means of sending Mr. Berrington from the country till the marriage should have taken place.

"The vicar, in whom I found myself obliged to place a partial confidence, promised to endeavour to assist me in this point; and returning home instantly, he speedily sent for Mr. Berrington, having devised some excuse for sending him to a benefice he possessed at some distance. But while these things were in agitation, Mr. Berrington, who little conceived what was passing, arrived by a circuitous way at the hall, and, as his custom was, proceeded to the room where I commonly sat in a morning, and where I had just held a conference with the vicar. He entered with his usual ease, took up a book which was upon the table, and began talking of it; I in the mean time endeavouring to behave to him as usual.

"We had not been together long, when Lydia came in. She had advanced far into the room before she saw Mr. Berrington. She then suddenly stopped, and looking at me, she became alternately pale and violently flushed, still standing in the same place whence she had first perceived the presence of her tutor. 'Lydia,' I said, 'come on, my dear: Mr. Berrington and I are not speaking on any particular business.'

"On hearing this, he dropped his book, arose in haste, set her a chair, and placing himself near her, 'Miss Howard,' he said, 'you look ill! my dear Miss Howard, are you not well?'

"His manner was affectionate and tender; but it would have been strange, had he not loved the amiable young creature, who had been so long under his care. She made him no answer; and, notwithstanding my looks of keen reproach, burst into tears and sobbed violently. Mr. Berrington was evidently much distressed, and looked at me for an explanation. 'She is not well, Sir,' I said; 'she has not been well some days.'

"He looked at me, as I thought, with a suspicious air, and then addressed something to Lydia, which, though nothing out of the common way, caused a renewal of her tears. On which, I advised her to leave the room, and endeavour to recover herself; and at the same time ringing for her maid to attend her, I was left alone with Mr. Berrington, who seemed lost in thought, following my daughter with his eyes till she had left the room, and then taking up the book he had thrown down, he remained for a while as if engaged in reading. I was determined, however, to penetrate his thoughts, if possible; and therefore, as soon as I was assured that Lydia was at some distance, I said, 'Mr. Berrington, are you not very much concerned to see Lydia look so ill? If she is not soon better, I shall feel myself under the necessity of procuring for her the best medical advice.'

"On hearing my voice, he threw down the book again, rose up, as if his impatience would not permit him to sit still, and then said, 'I hope nothing makes her unhappy, Madam. Miss Howard appears to me to have something on her mind.' He looked intently upon me, and I thought reproachfully, as he said this; insomuch, that I felt my cheeks flush with indignation. 'Sir,' I replied, 'what leads you to suppose that Lydia is unhappy? what reason have you for such a suspicion?'

"'No other, Madam,' he calmly answered, 'but her appearance to-day. And it would be strange indeed, if I, who have studied her character from infancy, could not now read her countenance! Indeed, Mrs. Howard,' be added, 'I am persuaded that she is unhappy. Do not let her gentle spirit be afflicted. Few mothers have such a daughter as you possess in Miss Howard, and consequently few mothers can have so much to lose as you would lose in her.'

"'To lose,' I repeated, 'Mr. Berrington! Heaven forbid that I should lose my Lydia!'

"Mr. Berrington sighed. 'May the Almighty hear your prayer, Madam!' he answered. But here he stopped, and, wishing me a good day, hastily quitted the room, leaving me with no small increase of unpleasant feelings.

"Through the management of the vicar, I saw no more of Mr. Berrington, till my Lydia was actually married, and had left the hall with her noble husband and mother-in-law.

"From the time of her agony of tears in the presence of Mr. Berrinigton, my unhappy daughter had remained perfectly calm: yet such was her paleness on the morning of her marriage, that Miss Chelmsford would have induced her to put on a little rouge; and I might, perhaps, have insisted on the same, had not I recollected that this artificial bloom would incur the risk of being displaced by her tears. And ought not this reflection alone to have determined a mother against this marriage? But, Oh! how hard is the unchanged heart of man! how cruel is the unrenewed creature! and how deadly a passion is ambition!

"It was agreed that the bridal party should make a tour on the Continent immediately after the marriage. But as I always had an inexpressible dread of the sea, together with all the other usual hazards to which travellers are liable, I requested to be left at home; in consequence of which it was some months after her marriage before I saw my daughter again.

"During the whole tour of the noble party on the Continent, I remained at Howard-Court, having Miss Chelmsford for my companion; with no other consolation than that which flowed from the reflection of possessing a duchess for my daughter, for at this time my mind first became somewhat uneasy upon religious subjects, and I began, during this dull interval, to entertain some kind of faint idea that I might not be precisely that perfect character which I had hitherto supposed myself to be.

"Many persons pretend to know the precise moment and occasion when they first experienced a change of heart. One person will say, 'I was awakened under such a sermon, or I was first enlightened by such a text.' But I can give no such precise account of my first impressions: I can only say, that about this time, that is, the period of my daughter's marriage, I began to have some slight suspicions that all was not well with me.

"It was on the day of the wedding, when the bridal party had just left the house, that, after having watched the superb train of equipages till they were hid from my view by the trees of the park, desirous to be alone, I walked out into the shrubbery, and taking a winding path which led to the back of it, I sat down on a seat which commanded a view of the open country at a distance, and, across a small field, of a little cottage situated in a garden. In this cottage lived a young pair, who had been married eighteen months, and I saw the young woman sitting at her door rocking her baby to sleep, and even at that distance heard the sound of her rural lullaby. It was natural for me to compare the humble lot of this young person with that of my Lydia, and to ask myself if Lydia had the same chance of happiness as this young woman had with the husband of her affections. I then thought of the sweet pale face of my daughter, as she stood before the altar, and the affection she had avowed for Mr. Berrington, whose many excellencies would have promised her every happiness; when such a feeling of regret and remorse suddenly assailed me, that I burst into an agony of tears, and continued weeping for some time. At length, rousing myself, I tried to feel cheerful, and walked towards home: but still the idea of my Lydia, made unhappy by me, pursued me every where, in spite of all my efforts to shake it off.

"A few days after this, Mr. Berrington returned, and called on me, but was cold and reserved, and left me without once mentioning Lydia. The next time I saw him, which was at a gentleman's house in the neighbourhood, he behaved much as usual, though appearing more than ordinarily serious. On this occasion, the character and opinions of a pious person who had lately died in the neighbourhood were brought forward; when several doctrines maintained by that person were called in question, of which the most prominent were these--the depravity of human nature; the need of an entire change; the utter inability of man to help himself; and redemption the exclusive work of the Divinity.

"A certain gentleman remarked, that it was a great absurdity in any one to say that man could not do well without divine assistance, and, moreover, exceedingly pernicious, as furnishing an argument for licentiousness; 'since,' added he, 'if a man cannot help sinning, where is the justice of condemning him for his sins?'

"'Sir,' said Mr. Berrington, 'should a man, shut up in a burning house from which he could not be rescued without the help of my ladder, obstinately refuse to avail himself of that ladder when freely offered to him; would you say that such a man was unjustly used, or even unfortunate, if he were burned to death?'

'Surely not,' said the gentleman; 'and if your simile held good throughout, I should acknowledge myself convinced. But your man in the burning house is not quite helpless; he can walk to your ladder, and choose and resolve either to accept your help or to be burned: he is, therefore, not totally helpless, which you say every man must be, with regard to his own salvation.'

'Sir,' said Mr. Berrington, 'when man attempts to lay down precisely the modes and forms of God's dealings with man, he is evidently meddling with those things which are too high for him. Many things we must receive from Scripture, though we do not understand them: and I think every man who looks seriously into his own heart, and consults his past experience, must be brought to the confession, that in his own strength he can do no one good thing; in consequence, he can take no step whatever towards his own salvation. Mr. Berrington then brought forward the Article on the subject of works done before justification.--'Works done before the grace of Christ, and the inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God, forasmuch as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ, neither do they make men meet to receive grace, or (as the School-Authors say) deserve grace of congruity: yea rather, for that they are not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin.' [13th Article of the Church of England.]

"After having examined this Article, which appeared to me extraordinary, though, as a good church-woman, I could not gainsay it, I replied, 'But, allowing this to be true, you certainly will admit, Mr. Berrington, that after people are regenerated, they may produce good works, and make themselves acceptable to God?'

"'When a person is regenerate, Madam,' said Mr. Berrington, 'that person is assuredly to be looked upon as justified and accepted; not however on his own account, or for his own works, but on account of the merits and death of Christ.'

"'Then I perceive,' I answered, 'that you entirely exclude good works, and count them as nothing in your scheme of salvation; and consequently, as my good friend here says, you open the door to all manner of licentiousness?'

"'By no means, Madam,' he replied; 'for the tree being known by its fruit, the individual who does not produce good works cannot be a regenerate person.'

"'And, on the contrary,' said I, exultingly, 'he who does produce good works must be a regenerate person; although he has never been made sensible of any especial or miraculous call to a divine life; and though he cannot speak the modern technical language of religion!--Do you allow this, Mr. Berrington?'

"'I cannot allow, Madam,' said Mr. Berrington, 'that any one can be a regenerate person who thinks well of himself: for the regenerate person feels himself to be a miserable sinner, and counts his righteousness to be filthy rags.'

"'Well,' said I, 'these things appear to me to be a collection of riddles. At one time, you say that we are to know a believer by his good actions; and at another time, you say that the best actions of the best men are but filthy rags!'

"'Because,' replied Mr. Berrington, 'every religious man is fully aware that all which is commendable in what he has been enabled to do, is the work of the Spirit; while every thought, word, and deed, which has sprung from himself alone, is only evil continually.'

"'Then I am to understand,' said I, 'that there are, in your opinion, only two sorts of persons in the world; viz, those that have been called unto salvation, and those who have not?'

'Yes,' said Mr. Berrington, 'I certainly think so.'

"I laughed, and turning to the lady of the house, said, 'I am afraid then, if Mr. Berrington's doctrine is true, that we commit a great blunder when we teach our children to thank their heavenly Father that he hath called them to a state of salvation; for if the good people will scarcely allow us considerate parents to be in that state, how much less our poor ignorant children!'

"'As there is a song spoken of in Scripture,' said Mr. Berrington, 'a new song, which the saints alone are said to learn and sing; so there are many passages in our Book of Common Prayer which none but persons of the same description can truly and sincerely repeat. And every parent who is aware of this, will anxiously endeavour to impress it upon his children's minds, that while it is easy for them to go through all the services of the Church with the lips only, none but the saints of God are capable of entering into them with the heart.'

"Although I had performed so ridiculous a part in the conversation which I have described, yet the conversation itself produced a considerable effect upon my mind. I thought of it much as I went home, and my doubts of myself gradually increased.

"It has been remarked, that if one single right idea upon the subject of religion can be brought with power to the mind, further light will gradually break in, making new and important discoveries from time to time. The question had occurred to me--Have I a right, as a regenerate person, to use the Liturgy of the Church of England? or am I to be counted among those of its members who worship only with their lips? And this idea, having once entered, returned upon me on every occasion of public worship, destroyed my self-complacency, and silenced my tongue: so that a short-sighted observer might have supposed that I had almost ceased to pray, even at the very moment when I had, in fact, only begun to pray.

"About this time, our vicar was removed; when having no longer any jealousy of Mr. Berrington respecting Lydia, I procured the benefice for him: after which, whether from gratitude, or whether from seeing something more serious in me than formerly, he came oftener to see me, and oftener entered into conversation with me.

"In the mean time, I heard frequently from my daughter. For some weeks, she dated her letters from Paris; then from Switzerland; from Rome; and finally from Naples; in which last place, she said the duke had determined to remain some time, having met with an old acquaintance there. In these letters, my Lydia gave me some lively descriptions of what she had seen, though she seldom mentioned her husband: but I was sorry, after a while, to perceive the animation of her descriptions becoming less, and an increased restraint stealing over all her correspondence. I did not dare, at present, to make any remarks in my answers signifying that I had observed this; much less could I put any searching question to her. My uneasiness, however, continued to increase, though I could not define its cause; and, in consequence, I felt considerable relief, when, at the end of more than eighteen months, I was informed by my daughter, that she expected to be in England almost as soon as her letter, and begging me to hasten to one of the duke's seats, which I shall call Bellevue, to which place they intended to repair immediately on their landing; the duke having sent orders that preparations should there be made for their reception.

"I waited only till a second letter informed me that the family was actually in England, before I set out for Bellevue; where, after a tedious journey, I arrived on the third day, about three o'clock in the afternoon, full of anxious and tender expectation. It was a moment of exultation, when my eye first beheld the plantations clothing almost one entire side of the horizon, and caught a remote view of the turrets of the magnificent family mansion. As I passed the park lodge, I enquired of the porter if the duchess was well; and being told that he had seen her the day before in an open carriage in the park, I was satisfied. We drove up to the house through a long extent of woodland prospect, which served but to heighten my expectations of the more cultivated scenery which surrounded the house.

"The Castle of Bellevue had been built in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and retained all the magnificence of those times. It stood on an elevated spot in the centre of a lawn inclosed by woods. We drove up to the front door of the mansion, and ascending an immense flight of steps, I was ushered into a hall, illuminated by a skylight, and encircled with a gallery supported by pillars of marble, intermingled with statues as large as life erected on elegant pedestals. This hall opened into another, which extended to the opposite front of the house; and through the doors, which were then open, I caught a view of an extensive sheet of water, pouring down from a high ground covered with woods till it fell dashing and foaming into a lake which spread itself out between the house and the hill. On each side of the first hall were doors leading into various long suites of apartments, some of which being open, displayed as much magnificence as my ambitious mind could have coveted. On each side of the hall was also a superb flight of stairs winding round to the corridor, and being of fine old oak with carved ornaments, conveyed an idea of ancient grandeur, very pleasing at that moment to my imagination.

"Being known to be the mother of the lady of the mansion, I was received with the utmost deference by the servants in waiting, who led me up stairs, through many handsome apartments, into an elegant dressing-room, where I presently found myself in the arms of my daughter. The approach to this room was through an antechamber, filled with beautiful exotic plants in pots, which scattered a rich perfume through both apartments. The dressing-room itself was furnished with the utmost elegance; but the windows being shaded with rose-coloured muslin, which threw a glow upon all within the apartment, prevented me, at first, from observing the extreme paleness of my daughter's countenance. I was, however, considerably surprised by the excessive agitation which she betrayed during this first interview; insomuch that, being terrified, I ran to one of the windows, drew aside the curtain, and thus threw the full light of day upon her face. Her very dejected appearance added to my terror, and returning to her, I put my arms round her, and pressed her to my bosom. 'My Lydia! my child! my daughter!' I said, 'are you ill? or are you unhappy? Beloved one, speak, and free me from this intolerable uncertainty.'

"She answered only by a renewal of her tears, and by laying her head upon my bosom.

"Being now convinced that all was not as it should be, my heart instantly reproached me as being the cause of her affliction. But looking for some one on whom to throw a part of the blame, I mentioned her husband, asking if he was kind to her, and expressing high resentment on the supposition that he could be otherwise.

"On hearing this question, she seemed to make an effort to recover herself: but without precisely answering my question, she assured me that she enjoyed many many blessings, and that her agitation was to be attributed only to the sight of a parent from whom she had been so long parted.

"I endeavoured to be satisfied with this explanation, and anxiously waited to see some return of colour in her cheeks: for her paleness was alarming, and I earnestly wished to attribute her agitation to the suddenness of our meeting.

"I sat with my daughter during the remainder of the morning, when, among other subjects, she communicated the agreeable news, that she had some hopes of giving her husband an heir. She also entertained me with several accounts of what she had seen abroad; by which she succeeded, in some degree, in allaying those fears for her happiness, which her extreme agitation on first seeing me had excited.

"There were at this time many visitors at Bellevue, all of whom were that morning engaged with the duke in some party of pleasure abroad. We were therefore left in perfect tranquillity till about five o'clock; when the sound of carriages apprized us of their return: shortly after which my son-in-law entered the room where we were, and having addressed me with politeness, though I thought with some degree of coldness, he abruptly proceeded to tell my daughter, that Madame de Bleville had unfortunately fallen from her horse, but he hoped without receiving any serious injury.

"To this remark, Lydia only replied, 'I am glad that she is not much hurt;' and then speaking of something else, I asked my son in-law who this Madame de Bleville was, adding, 'You did not mention her name, my Lydia, when you enumerated your guests.'

"My daughter made no reply to this remark; but her husband, I thought, looked at her in a manner which said much, and taking up my question, he answered with vivacity, 'Madame de Bleville is one of the most charming French women I ever saw; and this is saying very very much, as any one may know who is acquainted with the delightful vivacity of the females on the Continent.'

"'Vivacity!' I replied: 'we will not contest with them the palm of wit and animation: they certainly may excel us in these points, being strangers to those restraints of propriety which English women count superior to all the glitter and eclat of foreign levity.'

"To this remark my son-in-law made no answer; but turning round on his heel, and looking at his watch, he left the room; when I should certainly have questioned my daughter further upon the history of Madame de Bleville, had she not warned me that I had little time to lose in preparing for dinner, and affectionately offered to lead me to my apartments.

"While dressing for dinner, many thoughts occurred of no very agreeable nature; but I was scarcely ready when my sweet daughter knocked at the door, and begged to be permitted to lead me down and introduce me to the company then assembled in the house.

"I shall never forget the charming appearance which my Lydia made when she presented herself before me. Always lovely and beautiful as she had been from her earliest years, there was now a touching softness, a finished elegance, in her whole manner, seldom seen but in those who frequent the highest circles; together with an appearance of deep humility, which altogether rendered her, at least in my eyes, the most accomplished example of loveliness any where to be found: in addition to which the extreme paleness and fairness of her complexion seemed to add a new charm as it conveyed that idea of perishableness which adds a pathetic interest to every lovely and attractive object. 'You have a noble house, my dear!' I said, while she was leading me along a vast gallery, enriched at one end by a brilliant painted window, and at the other, finished by the superb staircase before mentioned.

"She looked at me as I spoke, and replied, 'I have many blessings: but happiness'--and here she stopped.

"'What, my dear?' I asked.

"'Happiness,' she replied, forcing a smile, 'does not depend on the size or magnificence of a house.'

"'I hope, however, my Lydia,' I said, 'that the magnificence of a house does not impair the happiness of its owner.'

"'It affects it neither way, my dear Madam,' she replied; and hastened forward to the door of a superb drawing-room, which we approached by a large antechamber.

"This drawing-room was very full of company, each individual of which rose as we entered, and remained standing till my daughter had properly introduced me: after which the party separated into different groups; of which some were standing, some sitting, and others lounging in an easy and careless way against the chairs and sofas of those who were seated. Several of the persons who were scattered about the room began immediately to gather round my daughter; and I was much struck with the calm politeness and ease of her manner, wherein a becoming dignity was as remarkable as the most perfect humility; while the sparkling intelligence she discovered was mingled with an evident desire to keep as much in the background as her elevated rank and situation in the family could justify.

"The individuals who were gathered immediately round my daughter appeared to be persons of the first breeding, and I was pleased with the unfeigned respect which they paid her. The size of the room allowed them to converse apart without whispering or interfering with the rest, and the topics they chose would have done credit to any society. But I was not so entirely engaged by these persons as not to observe what was passing at the other end of the room, where a gay group, among whom was my son-in-law, were gathered round a lady who, being dressed in a most laboured and somewhat outré style, and highly rouged, was talking with a volubility and vivacity which caused frequent smiles, and sometimes faint attempts at laughter.

"'Madame is very brilliant to-day,' said one of our party, 'notwithstanding her unfortunate accident this morning.'

"Every one smiled on hearing this remark, excepting my daughter, who gravely said, 'I hope Madame was not hurt. To what was her accident owing?'

"'Only a fall from her horse,' replied an elderly gentleman; 'but, as your Grace may easily believe by her present vivacity, she was not materially injured.'

"I thought I perceived a faint colour pass over the cheek of my daughter on hearing this; but in no other way did her countenance vary. At length, Madame de Bleville arose, and crossing the room with a kind of tripping girlish step, she addressed my daughter with playful fondness, and shewed a bruise on her arm received in her fall: 'but, perhaps,' added she in French, 'you have not yet heard of my accident, or how it happened.' So saying, she sat down on an embroidered stool at the feet of Lydia, and in a manner not ungraceful made out a long history of her misadventure; the sum of which was, that her horse having taken fright, had thrown her, but that she had escaped from all injury by the care of the duke, who was at hand to support her as she fell, and to break her fall.

"My daughter, whose every glance I read with the utmost anxiety, dreading to discover what I already but too deeply suspected, that I had made her miserable by forcing her into this splendid marriage, acted on this occasion with such perfection of self-command, that it was not easy to perceive what were her real feelings with respect to this lady, though I was assured that she could entertain no esteem for such a character. I observed, however, that she permitted her to finish her story without interruption, and then remarked, that in cases of escapes of this kind there was the greatest reason for thankfulness to Providence, inasmuch as many have been deprived of life on less threatening occasions.

"The calm dignity of Lydia's manner seemed to operate as a check on the impertinent volubility of her guest, and Madame accordingly remained for an instant silent, at the same time seeming occupied in clasping a bracelet which she had probably unfastened for the very purpose; till seeing my son-in-law approach, she recovered herself, and calling upon him to assist, she was by him lifted up and placed upon a sofa by his wife: while he, leaning on the arm of the sofa close by her, seemed to listen with rapture to her discourse, which being partly in French, and partly in Italian, was but imperfectly intelligible to me.

"At length, on her addressing my daughter as follows, I was made to understand that Madame de Bleville had been boasting of the advantage of rouge, and expressing a wish that the duchess would be persuaded to use it--'Your Grace does not know,' said she in English, 'how charming a little colour would make you look. So sweetly fair, you want only a little of the rose to render you perfectly beautiful; and I appeal to his Grace to corroborate my assertion.'

"On being thus appealed to, my son-in-law looked at his wife with an expression which I greatly disliked, and said, 'The duchess knows my opinion on this subject already: it is needless now to repeat it. I have often told her how very much better she would appear in my eyes if she would use a little art to enliven the extreme paleness of her complexion.'

"In reply to this, my daughter smiled, with an expression which I thought would have touched the hardest heart; and placing her hand on his arm, ' Would you persuade your wife to use art?' she said. ''Tis a lesson which may easily be taught; but perhaps not so easily forgotten.'

"Before the duke could answer, dinner was announced, and we were led into a superb dining-room, where the repast was served up in a style so pleasing to my eager desires after grandeur, that for a while I forgot the late scene in the drawing-room. My daughter, I thought, did the honours of her table with so much ease and politeness, that I was perfectly charmed, and could not help complimenting her apart on the extraordinary improvement of her manner.

"She gave me a look upon this which, though mild, seemed almost to say, 'Yes; but I have paid dearly for this fine polish.' She immediately afterwards, however, recovered her usual soft expression.

"After being a little familiarized with the splendid scene around me, I had leisure to observe my son-in-law, who being seated at the lower end of the table, seemed almost entirely devoted to Madame de Bleville, who by her animated conversation had formed around her a little audience, which she kept in a constant state of excitement; the very servants who stood behind their masters appearing to be scarcely able to withdraw their attention sufficiently from her to enable them to perform their respective duties. I was too far off to hear much of what she said; but her manner offended me, and that of the duke much more: so that when the ladies withdrew, after dinner, I could not refrain from observing to an old lady of distinguished rank, near whom I found myself in the drawing-room, that I did not at all admire Madame de Bleville, nor the style of manners which she had found means to introduce. The old lady shrugged up her shoulders, and gave me to understand, that her sentiments on this point coincided with mine, adding, that she much regretted the influence which this French woman seemed to have acquired over the duke. Finding the old lady inclined to be communicative, we entered further into this subject; when several circumstances relative to it being told me, of which I had before no idea, I resolved, very improperly, to speak upon it to my daughter as soon as an opportunity should serve. And this opportunity presented itself the very next morning, on my daughter sending to request my company to breakfast with her in her dressing-room.

"Having been seated a few minutes, I opened the subject which lay nearest my heart; and beginning by some remarks on Madame de Bleville, I asked her how she approved the intimacy which seemed to subsist between that lady and her husband.'

"A slight colour rose in her cheek when I spoke. Then endeavouring to smile, 'My dear mother,' she said, 'I have no fault to find with my husband: he is exceedingly indulgent to me: and I should be ungrateful in the extreme if I were not sensible of these indulgences.'

" I looked at her with an expression which seemed to say, 'You are not speaking what you think.'

"She took no notice of this enquiring look, but added, 'I wished, my dear Madam, particularly for your company this morning, in order to be assisted by your advice and experience. Through the bounty of my husband, I have a large sum of money to expend among the poor in our neighbourhood: but I as yet neither know their exact situations nor their chief wants. Will it not be a pleasant employment for us to explore the neighbourhood in our carriage, and to make such enquiries as may enable us to spend our money to the greatest advantage of the indigent around us; that thus, with the divine help, we may make the blessings of a bountiful Providence, poured thus largely upon us, to redound to the glory of the great Giver?'

"'Lydia,' I said, 'you are a sweet creature!--an angel!'

"'I doubt not that I am such,' she added, 'in my mother's eyes;' at the same time taking my hand and kissing it: 'for I now begin to have some faint idea of what a parent's feelings are.'

"'No, Lydia,' I said, 'it is not because you are my child that I think you almost an angel: no; it is because I see in you such charity, such patience, such self-denial, such forbearance, that your character every moment rises upon me, and constrains me almost to blush while I call you my daughter.'

"She looked down, and the faint colour heightened in her cheek. 'My dear mother,' she said, 'forbear, I pray you. Remember that I am but a human being; an individual of a race in whom dwelleth no good thing; and that I dare not be guilty of the sacrilege of taking that praise to myself which is due only to the Divinity. I am not, by any means,' she added, looking up, 'all you think me to be; but supposing, for argument's sake, I were such, and more also; it is, and must be, so entirely the work of God, so much the effect of the daily supplies of the influence of the Holy Spirit, when an individual ceases in the smallest measure from sin, that there is nothing I so much dread for myself and my friends, as the application of that praise to the second cause, which is due only to the First Author and Cause of all good.'

"'My Lydia,' I said, 'you are warm.'

"'Am I' she answered, smiling. 'Excuse me, my dear mother. But let me entreat you, do not praise me in future: depend upon it, that I don't deserve praise; that I am nothing; and that, in myself, I never can be otherwise than nothing.'

"'I do not understand this, Lydia,' I answered.

"She seemed surprised, and said, 'My dear mother, how is this? Are you not aware of the views of religion which were given me by the tutor you placed over me?'

"I had never heard her mention Mr. Berrington's name, or allude to him, since the day when she had made the confession of her regard for him; but she now did it with so much ease, that I flattered myself she had ceased to think of him except as the instructor of her youth: whereupon I replied, 'I am not aware of your having acquired any principles but such as I entertain, and such as are generally taught by the Church; that is, if I understand the doctrines of our Church aright. However,' I added, 'this is very certain, that I do not understand why, when you allow yourself, for argument's sake, to be a good and pious person, you still say, that in yourself you are nothing, and that it is almost sacrilege to appropriate praise to yourself.'

"'Because,' she replied, 'that even granting myself to be one of the excellent of the earth, which, Heaven is my witness, I dare not presume to suppose, excepting for argument's sake, I still hold it unlawful to receive any sort of praise as my due; inasmuch as I am naturally altogether vile, lost, and undone; yea, and unable to help myself. Supposing myself then to be converted and assured of future glory, the whole work of my salvation is entirely of God: instead, therefore, of boasting what I am, and what I shall be, it becomes me rather to say, without my God's assistance I can do nothing well, but through his help I hope to perform his will--so that if I am indeed now regenerate, I do heartily thank our heavenly Father that he hath brought me into this state of salvation, and on his grace alone I depend, in order to my continuance in the same unto my life's end.'

"'But, Lydia,' I answered, 'if I understand you right, you make nothing of a man's good works and personal righteousness. You seem to say, that let a man be ever so good, he has nothing, and is as nothing before God.'

"'Certainly,' she replied; 'this is the doctrine of our Church, and must also be that of every Christian Church under heaven.'

"I now recollected the conversation I had engaged in on this very subject with Mr. Berrington, at a gentleman's house in my own neighbourhood--a conversation by which I had been considerably impressed for a time, but of which the effects had gradually become weaker and weaker, and probably would have been entirely lost, had not my daughter thus called my attention again to the same subject. In the midst of this conversation we finished our breakfast; when a servant coming to say that the carriage was at the door, I hastened to accompany my beloved daughter in her proposed charitable excursion.

"I spent two months with my beloved Lydia at this time; and many were the delightful airings we took together in the charming environs of Bellevue. On these occasions, my daughter carried with her a book, in which she drew a sketch of every cottage she visited on her husband's domain, finishing the little drawing at her leisure, and connecting with each drawing such a history of the cottage and its inhabitants, as might enable her to recognize them in time of need, or to miss them if either the parents did not appear at church, or the children at the Sunday-school. Innumerable were her plans of doing and diffusing good; and the quiet activity with which all these things were brought to pass, was particularly striking to me, who having been in the habit of supposing that my good works were to do great things for my soul, had acted as if I were afraid that they might not come into the reckoning, if done in too private a manner. In my charming daughter there was none of that bustling, patronizing, parading spirit, which we sometimes see in great ladies who have some inclination to do good--no sentimental hovering over a sick child or a death-bed--no desire to shew herself in scenes where the condescension of her Grace might be supposed to make a charming picture--but all she did seemed so to flow from a humble and converted heart, that every action seemed, as it were, impressed with the stamp of eternal truth and divine rectitude. Such was her character and deportment in private: while in public, and in her husband's presence, she was calm, attentive, and polite.

"While I remained at Bellevue, there was a constant succession of visitors, and many gaieties going forward; insomuch that the scene and the society were continually changing, Madame de Bleville being the only person whom I found and left at the castle. Lydia, however, though polite to all, did not appear to attach herself to a single individual among the visitors. And when I once mentioned this circumstance to her, she gave me an answer that surprised me, but which I afterwards too well understood.--'I have much to do, my dear mother,' she said, 'and only a very little time for executing my purposes. The persons who are here could not assist me in my work; and I must not let them hinder me.'

"During my visit at his house, I had seen very little of my son-in-law, excepting in public, and could not but greatly disapprove of what I had opportunity of observing. I felt assured that there could be no tender fellowship between him and my daughter: and though she studiously avoided touching on the subject, it might easily be perceived that she was not happy.

"My conscience now began to reproach me severely for having promoted this marriage; and as the idea of Mr. Berrington could not but present itself to my mind on such occasions, I thought how happy my Lydia would have been with him, especially as she had enough to support her family in affluence and even splendour. These thoughts would sometimes insinuate themselves even in the midst of scenes of the utmost magnificence, and embitter all the satisfaction which I fancied I might otherwise have felt in seeing my daughter surrounded by appearances which would not have disgraced a princess. In such circumstances, and while entertaining these thoughts, I felt an increasing displeasure against the duke, who appeared to me to be the person employed by Heaven to inflict the punishment due to my ambition. He had hitherto treated me with distant politeness, and it should have been my object, for my daughter's sake, to appear contented with this state of things. But I had not sufficient grace to exercise this forbearance; and, on seeing some gross neglect of my daughter, I one day flamed out--and having spoken my mind far too plainly to be any longer endured under the duke's roof, it was politely intimated that my presence might be dispensed with.

"My daughter had often before this accident supplicated me with many tender looks to use all possible forbearance with respect to her husband: it was therefore a bitter affliction to her when she found that we were to be immediately separated. At the moment of my departure, she hung upon my bosom with inexpressible anguish; and pressed her sweet pale cheek close to mine. 'Oh, my Lydia!' I said, 'and must I leave you, at such a time too? and with such a man? But I take all the blame to myself. Had I been content to see you in a humble situation with the man you preferred, all would have been well!'

"Here she stopped me, placing her lovely hand upon my lips. 'It is all right now, my dear mother,' she said: 'I do not regret what has happened: I have lately seen the reason of it. The way is smoother, is easier than it would otherwise have been. One thing only I regret, but that will, no-doubt, be arranged in a manner I cannot foresee.'

"I urged my daughter to explain these dark sentences. But weeping and pressing me to her heart, she could say no more; and my son-in-law coming to hand me to my carriage, I was obliged to depart.

"I returned home full of grief and anxiety; and as soon as I arrived at my own house, I sent for Mr. Berrington, to whom I opened my mind, both with respect to my daughter's present situation, and the unhandsome manner in which I had been treated by her husband.

"He seemed very greatly agitated during the recital, and sighed very deeply while I was speaking. 'These circumstances are to teach you, Madam,' he then replied, 'how little, how very little, we ought to desire any one earthly thing.'

"I answered hastily, and endeavouring to sift his thoughts--'What! Mr. Berringtoin,' I said, 'did you desire this marriage for your pupil?'

'I, Madam?' he replied, shrinking back as I put the question--'I, Madam? I heard of it with grief, with horror, and with amazement; and should surely have expostulated, had it not been hurried to a conclusion during my absence.'

"'And wherefore,' I said, 'why did you feel so great a dislike to this marriage? Did you imagine that my poor daughter was attached to any other person?'

"'By no means, Madam,' he answered; 'and if I might presume to speak, I imagine that she would have desired no other, at her tender age, than to have remained under your roof, pursuing her employments as formerly for some years to come.'

"I could make no reply to this remark, but bursting into tears, loudly lamented the fate of my Lydia. At the same time, with the inconsistency natural to a sinful being, I felt something like consolation at the idea of her unhappiness being of a splendid nature--that the beautiful duchess was still an object of envy to many, and of admiration to all who beheld her. Neither was the thought that I might have a grandson of almost princely rank without its alleviating sweetness to my unregenerate mind.

"The time so anxiously desired by me, when I hoped to see the noble little stranger, at length arrived, but brought with it a subject of affliction, for which I was not prepared. While daily awaiting tidings from Bellevue, where my daughter, by her own desire, was to be confined, I was one morning awakened by a special messenger who, travelling night and day, brought me a letter from my son-in-law, informing me that my Lydia had a son, but was extremely ill, and did not appear likely to recover so soon as might be hoped. He added, that she expressed a great desire to see me; and concluded by requesting me to lose no time in undertaking the journey.

"I will not trouble my reader with an account of my feelings on this occasion. Suffice it to say, that, using all possible expedition, I arrived at Bellevue within twenty-four hours after the receipt of the melancholy summons. But with what new and different feelings did I enter the duke's magnificent mansion this second time! As I approached the place, it was in a state of agony which I cannot describe, every moment dreading to meet some visible token of my Lydia's death; so that it is not to be imagined, what comfort I gathered from the circumstance of no hatchment appearing over the great door. I, however, augured no good from the countenance of the porter at the lodge, nor from that of the servants who received me in the hall. Nevertheless, forbearing to question them, I was led up stairs into the anteroom of my beloved Lydia's apartment, where Mrs. Short, her chief female attendant, coming up to me, attempted to speak, but burst into tears. I took her hand, for I knew that she was faithful to my daughter; and there are moments when all distinctions of rank are forgotten. However, before she could command herself sufficiently to speak, the duchess dowager appeared, from whom I learned that my daughter was indeed alive, but that little hope was entertained of her recovery. At the same moment, the old lady led me into the room, telling me, that as my daughter was asleep, I might now see her, if I could so far command my feelings as not to disturb her. There was a coldness and formality on this occasion, in the manner of my old friend, which I failed not to observe; though this feeling was presently swallowed up in others infinitely more interesting.

"The room into which I was led was a most magnificent apartment. At the further end of it were two large windows descending to the ground, the curtains of which were let down, and, being of crimson, cast a fine glow over the apartment. Near these windows stood a cradle, and by it sat two well-dressed women, one of whom was rocking it. On a superb bed, not far from the entrance-door, lay my daughter in a disturbed sleep, during which she frequently started, when a slight convulsion agitated her features and passed instantly away. Her illness having been short, her features were not much altered, and how pale she was, how very pale, did not appear from the glow thrown upon her from the curtains. There was however a something in her appearance which so plainly marked the approach of death, that, unable to resist my feelings, I drew hastily away, and walking I knew not whither, soon found myself standing near the nurses, arrested there by the sight of my daughter's baby in his satin cradle and rich rosette; his infant features having scarcely yet assumed a form sufficiently marked to allow of a conjecture of what they might be in future, and his little dimpled hand lying carelessly on his quilt.

"Such a variety of conflicting feelings arose in my mind on this occasion, that I should undoubtedly have fallen to the ground, had I not been supported by the two women who attended the cradle, by whom I was presently conveyed out of the room. I had scarcely recovered my senses, when I was informed that my daughter was awake, had been apprized of my arrival, and desired to see me.

"I hastened to her immediately, though it was with a mixture of emotions which no language can describe. She received me with a burst of tears; but instantly becoming calm, and begging me to sit down by her bed, she added, in a tone of the most inexpressible sweetness, 'My beloved mother, you will not mourn for me: I am now going to enjoy that happiness which I have long, very long looked forward to.' Then as it were checking herself, she paused a moment, but resumed--'And yet, if it had pleased God, for the sake of my dear husband, and my lovely baby'--She would have proceeded, but her tears prevented her: then seeming to look earnestly towards that end of the room where the infant lay, she gave way for a few minutes to such a gush of sorrow as seemed to tear in pieces her dying frame.

"On this occasion, her husband's mother, the physician, and several others who stood round her bed, gently reasoned with her: on which she recollected herself, wiped away her tears, and lifting up those lovely eyes whose expression is fixed for ever on my memory, 'A few more struggles,' she said; 'a few more contests between nature and grace; between faith and unbelief; and all will be over,--over for ever.' She then added, in a lower voice, 'And then will come glory!--unmixed glory! and we shall be comforted together in Zion!'

"After this, followed either a slight fainting or a deathlike sleep, but it was probably the former; for the physician thought it necessary to rub her temples with hartshorn, and to put a cordial to her lips.

"In the mean time, the duke entered the room. Deep concern sat on his countenance, but he seemed determined not to give way to any expression of his feelings. He bowed to me, and stood for a while on the other side of the bed, having his eyes fixed upon his lovely wife. And while he still remained in that posture, she revived, looked at him, knew him, and putting out her hand to him, addressed him with such affection and piety, thanking him for all the kindness he had shewn her, and pointing out to him the source of her present comfort in terms so impressive, that he was no longer able to preserve his haughty coldness; but falling on his knees, he pressed his lips upon her dying hand, and remained for some moments audibly sobbing. During this time, she recommended her baby to him, and particularly besought him, if the beloved infant should live, to allow him the privilege of being trained under a pious tutor. She then spoke of her comfort at that solemn moment, and the sources of that comfort, with such a degree of fervency, pressing him to seek a like consolation for himself at a like trying hour, that he evidently became considerably affected; when hastily pressing her hand to his lips, he arose and rushed out of the room. She followed him with her eyes, and uttered a very deep sigh as he disappeared.

"After this scene, being overcome with weakness, she lay long silent. In the mean time, the shades of evening approached; and some of the party leaving the room, I still sat by her, accompanied only by her maid and nurse. We hoped she was sleeping; and indeed she remained so long quiet, that we trusted she might awake refreshed. I desired to remain with her all night; and as she appeared decidedly better about ten o'clock, the physician, who had not slept for several nights, consented to take some rest, as did the duchess dowager and her son. I was thus left alone with my daughter, her maid and her nurse, other persons being within call.

"When my Lydia found herself almost alone with me, she seemed to be comforted, and said, 'Beloved mother, this is pleasant!' She then asked if I had seen her baby; begged he might be brought to her bedside, and laid on my lap; and several times she tried to raise herself up to look at him.

"It is a well known custom of very little infants, to sleep all day, and begin to use their new faculty of sight when the candles are lighted. Accordingly, the infant was then wide awake, and lay quietly on my lap. 'He has eyes like you, my Lydia,' I said, 'a dark and bright blue.'

"She sighed. 'Ah! little precious one,' she said, 'of how little avail is external form, or outward perfection, or hereditary honour! O my mother! use your influence, if he lives, that he may have a religious education. Perhaps Mr. Berrington might be persuaded to take charge of him. I have signified my wish on this subject; nevertheless, I am free from anxiety, being persuaded, that whether living or dying, my baby will be blessed. I have long felt that I should not live to rear him myself; and am well contented with the secret assurance that he will be happy.'

"At this moment, the nurse came to remove him. 'No, no,' she said; 'leave him; it may not be long. I see his little head; I hear his gentle breathing: it cannot be long!'

"A considerable interval of silence followed this; and as my Lydia's eyes were closed, I hoped she was again in a refreshing sleep.

"The nurse, who supplied the baby with nourishment, had sat down on a stool at my feet. All was still, excepting that there was a low and hollow murmur of the wind from without doors: such a sound as seems to tell of days which are past, and to inspire sad forebodings of the future. In this interval, which was extended to some hours, my mind was occupied upon many subjects. Looking on my daughter's child, many scenes of her own babyhood and early youth recurred to my remembrance--her smiling infancy, her gentle childhood, her lovely youth--till the tears rushed into my eyes. I recollected also her sparkling sad charming figure at court; together with the scene that passed between me and herself wherein I had contended with her wishes, and enforced an entire submission to my own. The questions then occurred, Should I have thus lost her, as I am now likely to do, had she married Mr. Berrington? What have I gained by my ambition? I sighed, while my tears began to flow more abundantly. For a long time I remained involved in the most painful reflections; till, at length, my thoughts insensibly took another turn, and, contemplating the baby who had fallen asleep on my lap, somewhat of the sentiment so sweetly expressed by a modern poet was excited in my mind--

'O! hark thee, my baby, thy sire is a knight,
Thy mother a lady so lovely and bright;
The hills and the dales, from yon towers that I see,
They all shall belong, my sweet baby, to thee.'

Indulging this idea, I presently imagined to myself the infant now sleeping on my lap suddenly become a youth, noble in his demeanour, courteous, graceful, animated in his deportment, and possessing all the beauty of his mother in a more manly form. I fancied I could see him in the senate, with the brilliant star blazing on his breast; or in the royal presence, where he might be pointed out by those of the last age, as the son of the Late Duchess of--, the beautiful Lydia Howard. I imagined myself, in my old age, visiting this my grandson, and being treated by him with a respect and distinction which his father never condescended to shew me. I remained a long while lost in these reflections; my thoughts, from the feverish condition of my frame and the high wrought state of my sensibility, assuming that kind of body and consistency, if I may so employ these terms, which render them almost as lively and influential to the feelings as those ideas which are actually conveyed to them by the senses.

"While thus mentally engaged, my dying Lydia awoke; and by speaking roused me to my present painful situation. At first, she seemed confused, spoke hurriedly, asked where she was, desiring to be dressed, and taken down stairs: but presently recovering herself upon receiving some cordial, she said, 'Is my dear mother here? O! that is pleasant! I have much to say to you. Come to me, my mother: come close to me: lay my head against your breast: and now hear what I have to say.'

I prepared to obey her with trembling limbs; and having laid her baby on the lap of his nurse, I reclined myself on the bed, and placed my sweet daughter's head on my bosom.

"'And now, my mother,' she said, 'now I would tell you many things: but perhaps I may hot have time. I wish you however to know that I have long felt assured that I should not live to be old: but this assurance, so far from making me unhappy, has produced the contrary effect of enabling me to pass through this world in comfort. You early provided, my dear parent, for my being piously educated; but it was not till my tutor entered into certain serious discourses with me, previous to my confirmation, that I obtained a just view of the depravity of my own nature, my need of a Saviour, and the great importance of those internal and spiritual operations, which we denominate justification, regeneration, and sanctification. I remember that, previous to his instructions, I never entertained a doubt about my being in the right way; appropriating to myself, without fear or hesitation, every Scriptural promise, together with every offer of mercy, comfort, and salvation held out to the children of God. At that time, however, I was first led to doubt my qualifications as a Christian, and to ask myself if I had ever experienced any thing like a real change of heart. In this manner I was carried on from one reflection to another, till I was gradually brought out of a state of darkness into the marvellous light of a divine and glorious day; the tutor you provided me being employed by my heavenly Father in this blessed work. And now, my dear mother, the more I was led to look into myself, the more convinced I became of my own depravity, being filled with amazement from day to day, at the horrible workings and risings of sin in my heart, connected with my utter inability of doing any thing towards saving myself. But at the same time that I was humbled by these depressing reflections, I was lifted up and supported by clear views of the infinite mercy and power of the Redeemer, together with the wonderful co-operation of all the persons of the Trinity in effecting man's salvation. Thus I was, at once, humbled and strengthened; deprived of all self-confidence, yet filled with faith and confidence in God. And thus have I been led from step to step, till I now behold His near approach, whose presence will render me for ever happy, and whose hand will wipe away every tear from my eyes. Such is my present state, and in these circumstances he enables me to say with the heart as well as with my lips, I heartily thank my heavenly Father that he hath called me to this state of salvation, through Jesus Christ my Saviour; and that he hath given me grace to continue in the same unto this awful hour, thus making his strength perfect in my weakness.'

"While speaking these last words, which, with all the foregoing expressions, she appeared to utter with much ease to herself, she became slightly convulsed, and desired to be raised on her pillow. I instantly sprang from the bed, elevated her head, and enquired if she were more easy in that posture. She looked rather wildly at me; and calling for her baby, it was quickly brought to her. She kissed it once or twice, then raised her eyes as if in prayer, kissed it again, and heaving a very deep sigh, fell back, and became speechless. From that moment my Lydia never spoke again, and at the end of twelve hours she expired. Thus I lost a daughter, who was surely one of the most perfect and beautiful examples ever beheld, or conceived, of the power of divine grace as displayed in a vessel of clay.

"I remained at Bellevue till after her funeral, in a state which admitted of no consolation. And when the dear remains of my precious daughter were committed to the earth, I humbly requested permission of my son-in-law to take charge of the child; but being somewhat harshly refused, I returned home, where a violent fit of illness confined me to my bed for a considerable time.

"During this period, I was frequently visited by Mr. Berrington, but was never able to discover whether he had the slightest idea of my beloved daughter Lydia's distinguishing regard for him. Of this, however, no doubt could be entertained; that he was exceedingly affected at the news of her death, and was long before he recovered his usual cheerfulness. While my illness and convalescence continued, he visited me daily, and used every means in his power to communicate those encouraging views which alone can satisfy the soul. I remember many beautiful hints which he gave me, at that time, upon religious subjects, but which I, being busy in supplying my own mind with consolations of a very different description, was neither willing nor able to receive. The truth of the case was this; that my daughter being removed, my ambitious views soon began to centre in her child, whom I hoped to see growing up as an ornament to his country and a pillar of the state. I had a particular delight in hearing of the little marquis, in thinking of his early honours, and in speaking of him as my grandson. Nevertheless, at this very time, the eye of a superficial observer might perhaps have noted in me some symptoms of a converted character; since I was become externally, not only serious, but even devout, talking fluently upon religion, delighting to speak of my daughter's blessed death, repeating her pious sentiments, and describing her deep resignation. So far however was my mind from being really in a good state, that on the one hand it was secretly inflated with ambition, while on the other it was inflamed with resentment against the duke, whose grief for the loss of my daughter I did not think sufficiently marked, and who had so ungraciously refused me the charge of my grandson.

"At length, my health began to improve; when hearing that the duke was gone abroad, and that my grandson still remained at Bellevue, I began to contemplate a visit to him, and with this view ordered suitable preparations to be made. But while meditating this scheme, I received a letter from the confidential servant above mentioned, who had been left in charge of the child, informing me that the dear infant had been suddenly taken ill, though he was then rather better: adding, however, that she wished I could see him, and give my opinion concerning him, since he was certainly a very delicate infant. On receiving this letter, I demurred not a moment, but requesting Mr. Berrington to accompany me, we hastened to Bellevue. At the porter's lodge I was told that the little marquis was better; that he had been seen abroad the day before, and looked very well. Pleased with this information, I was driven speedily to the house, at the door of which I got out, and was admitted into the hall. It was a very fine day in the autumn, and many of the doors and windows being open to air the house, the place, though deserted, looked gay and beautiful. As I entered the great hall, enquiring eagerly after my grandson, the old servant who had opened the doors directed me to look up towards the corridor, or gallery, which I described before as running round the upper part of the hall; and there I saw the little heir of the vast domains which surrounded me, then about ten months old, for so long it was since his beloved mother's death, in his nurse's arms, holding in his hand a slender stick, which he was drawing along the rails of the gallery, and laughing with the utmost vivacity at the noise it produced. He was dressed in white, having a sash of black love, and a small straw hat on his head with a plume of ostrich feathers. The two women who were with him, were his nurse and Mrs. Short. At sight of this little darling, I hastily ascended the stairs, and meeting the women at the head of them, I had there a full view of the lovely child; and though I saw in him all the beauty I could desire, I observed something about him at the same time which caused me to tremble for the life of its frail possessor.

"My little George, for such was the name of this lovely baby, was somewhat taller than infants commonly are at that age; his limbs were remarkably finely formed, particularly his chest and shoulders; his features were without fault; his brow open and serene; his eyes of deep yet sparkling blue; and his light hair appeared bursting forth in many lovely ringlets from a cap of the richest lace. His hat, had been taken off, and he was presented to me quivering and sparkling with vivacity, while he permitted me to kiss his little open mouth, enriched with two, and only two, teeth white as pearls.

"While I still caressed him with feelings of love which I cannot describe--pure maternal love, in which ambition itself seemed for a moment to be wholly swallowed up, Mr. Berrington, who had been detained a moment behind with the carriage, joined me. As he looked on the child, he changed colour; and I thought I heard him repeat my daughter's name, but could not be certain of it. However, he seemed more agitated than I had ever seen him before.

"We were led by Mrs. Short into the rooms occupied by the child: where an account was given us of his late seizure, as well as of his general state of health, which was not so good as the letters I had been in the habit of receiving might have led me to expect. But this false statement appeared to be rather the effect of misjudgement than of any attempt to deceive. I was however inexpressibly affected when I perceived that this lovely little creature, who had thus powerfully laid claim to every affectionate feeling of my heart--this little creature on whom I built all my hopes of future consequence in the world--this little creature, who was heir to the vast estates and distinguished honours of his father--possessed such a state of health as rendered his continuance on earth for any length of time a matter of the greatest doubt. I felt moreover, that, setting aside all his advantages of birth and fortune, I could not reconcile myself to part with this sweet child, who in every look, in every glance, in every motion, reminded me of his mother during the days of her infancy. Upon the whole, my feelings were such, that bursting into an agony of tears, and turning to Mr. Berrington, I said, 'Oh! who can tell what the apprehensions of a parent are, except such as bear the name of parent! Mr. Berrington, if I lose this baby, I shall never be able to survive the loss!'

"The nurse and Mrs. Short melted into tears at hearing this, and Mrs. Short said, 'Dearest Madam, do not speak of losing the dear child: he is at present very well, and God we hope will avert all future danger.'

"I spent the remainder of the day in endeavouring to persuade myself that my fears for the child had little foundation, while I took every gentle method of increasing my acquaintance with him, and conciliating his affections. After remaining till a late hour at Bellevue, I went with Mr. Berrington to an inn in the neighbourhood, where I was treated with the most flattering attention imaginable.

"The next day I repeated my visit to Bellevue, and at length found myself so incapable of enduring a separation from my little grandson, that I took a lodging in a farm-house near the castle, whence I continued to visit him daily for a few weeks.

"During this interval, the child, though lively, betrayed certain symptoms of the complaint which had before attacked him, which ought to have been sufficient to prepare me for the impending evil: but I had by this time so far reasoned myself into a kind of persuasion that he would be spared to me, that I could scarcely fancy it possible that there was to befal me a calamity so dreadful as the loss of this child. At length, however, the time arrived for the threatening blow to descend. It was necessary for my sake that it should take place, and for the dear infant it was most desirable. I coveted earthly honours and distinctions for my darling grandchild, most ardently desiring that he should live to fill up the superior station in society which fortune seemed to have allotted him. But his heavenly Father had other views for him. He deprived him of the ducal coronet, intending to invest him with a heavenly crown; he stripped him of his earthly possessions only to bestow him a dwelling made without hands, eternal in the heavens; he removed him from earth because he loved him; and he removed him in infancy because he was willing to secure his happiness without delay.

"The last time I saw my child in seeming health, was in the arms of his nurse, in the great hall at Bellevue. I was departing for the evening, and turned back to kiss him. He had begun to love me; and as I prepared to go, he followed me with such a tender glance, as seemed to say, 'Why do you leave me?'

"The next morning, early, I was called to him, and found him under the influence of an inflammatory complaint attended with much fever, in the arms of his nurse. I watched him for several days; during which I experienced all the agitation that could flow from the alternate influence of hope and fear, till at the end of the tenth day I saw him expire. With him perished all my proud prospects of earthly consequence, and all my long cherished views of family aggrandizement: and, praised be God, at the same moment, by the divine blessing on my affliction, I was cast down to the ground, self-abased, self-convicted, and self-abhorred--cast down, in order to my future exaltation. I hardly recollect what followed the death of this lovely baby, though I remember his sweet pale face as he lay in his coffin, which was lined, as his cradle had been, with the finest white satin. His little image is still before me now just as I last beheld him; and I still recollect the agony which I experienced as I imprinted upon his cold lips my farewell kiss. But I leave the description of these scenes, in order to describe the effect they produced upon me.

"The kind Mr. Berrington was at hand to convey me home, where I was again seized with a severe illness, from which I did not recover for a great length of time. But during this illness, such a view of the nonimportance of earthly concerns, together with the infinite value of the soul in comparison with all besides, was vouchsafed me, that I rose from my bed as it were a new creature; at least, every thing around me seemed to have acquired a new aspect, and to bear as it were a new relation to me.

"I at this time appeared to acquire such a variety of new faculties, or rather such a number of new ideas were excited in my mind, that, though hardly aware of the real state of the case, I was made sensible of this at least--that whereas I had been blind, I now began to see: in consequence of which, many things which I had once loved and coveted, appeared not only worthless but despicable in my eyes. My thoughts of sin, of myself, of my Saviour, and of the world, had undergone so extraordinary a change, that whereas I once had desired nothing so much as the earthly exaltation of my offspring, I was now enabled to rejoice in those providences by which a better inheritance was secured to them for ever. An overwhelming depression of spirits, however, took place soon after I had experienced these first views of better things; during which I had so deep a conviction of my own depravity, as led me almost to despair of ever being rendered fit for the divine presence. Nevertheless, during this interval of darkness, I still rejoiced in my Lydia's and her baby's happiness; in addition to which it was observable, that I became extremely solicitous for the spiritual good of all about me. At length, though not until after the lapse of some years, these clouds entirely passed away, and spiritual peace became my portion,--such a peace as passeth all understanding.

"Since that period, many summers and winters are gone by: but while my mortal frame is gradually falling to decay, my spiritual hopes are becoming daily more and more bright and lively. Mr. Berrington still lives near me, and visits me daily. He is to me as a very dear son, but never mentions the name of Lydia; neither have I hitherto been able to discover whether he ever felt more for her than for a very dear child known and loved from infancy.

"The duke, my former son-in-law, mourned not for my daughter as she deserved, but, within two years of her death, married Madame de Bleville; and his children by that lady are at this time the most brilliant stars in the hemisphere of fashion. But although the report of his daughters' beauty, and the rumour of the dashing eclat of his sons, may sometimes reach me in my solitary retreat, these things, by the divine blessing, awaken not the slightest feeling of jealously in my heart, nor even occasion the smallest degree of regret on account of the early death of my daughter and her lovely, lovely infant."

Here the lady of the manor closed her manuscript; and as the perusal of it had taken up much time, she requested her young people to join her immediately in prayer.

A Prayer for the Blessings of Justification and Sanctification.

"O BLESSED LORD GOD, we earnestly entreat thee to impress our minds with the solemn truth, that we of ourselves are incapable of performing any thing towards our own salvation, and that, if we are saved, the work of redemption from first to last must be thy work alone. Convince us, O heavenly Father, of the depravity of our nature, our gross darkness with respect to spiritual things, our enmity against thee, and our own utter helplessness; and then, in thine infinite mercy, open to our understandings the only means prepared for man's recovery.

"O Holy Father, draw us, and we will run after thee. Pardon us through thy blessed Son, justify us through Christ's righteousness, and make us thy children by adoption; sanctify us by the influences of thy Holy Spirit, and uphold us unto the end. We will trust in thee to do that for us which we cannot do for ourselves: we will repose in thee as an infant reposes on the breast of a tender mother. We renounce all our own merits, and cast them from us as filthy rags: we come unto thee wounded, sick, and loathsome: we fall at thy feet, and look humbly forward to a participation of thy mercy, because from thee we received the will to come; and because we are assured that thou wilt finish the work which thou hast begun.

"And now to God the Father, by whom those who shall finally be saved were chosen before the foundation of the world; to God the Son, through whom the elect are freely justified; and to God the Holy Ghost, by whom the sinner is regenerated, sanctified, and upheld to the end; be all glory and honour, for ever and ever. Amen."

THE HISTORY OF MRS. HOWARD

Q. Rehearse the Articles of thy Belief.

A. I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and Earth.

And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; he descended into Hell; the third Day he rose again from the Dead: he ascended into Heaven, and sitteth at the right Hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the Quick and the Dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy Catholic Church; the Communion of Saints; the Forgiveness of Sins; the Resurrection of the Body; and the Life everlasting. Amen.

Q. What dost thou chiefly learn in these Articles of thy Belief?

A. First, I learn to believe in God the Father, who hath made me, and all the world.

Secondly, in God the Son, who hath redeemed me, and all Mankind.

Thirdly, in God the Holy Ghost, who sanctifieth me, and all the elect People of God.

On the young ladies assembling again at the manor-house, they amused themselves for a while in making their comments on the story of Lydia Howard; when they all agreed in expressing their admiration of her character, and in reprobating the conduct of her husband.

"My dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "I rejoice that you are able to see the excellence of such Christian examples as I am enabled to set before you. What is particularly worthy of admiration in Lydia Howard, is her humility; and this excellent quality was the more estimable, as there appeared to be no weakness nor want of firmness in her mind. Where she saw her duty, she always pursued it, though perhaps on one occasion she might have done better, had she persisted in refusing the alliance proposed to her. But when a parent pleads in a case of this kind, it is hard for a daughter, and one so young especially, to resist."

In this manner the time passed, till the lady of the manor introduced the business of the day by requesting one of the youngest of the company to repeat the Apostles' Creed: which being done, she addressed the party to the following purpose.--"I have observed, my dear young friends, that you are always pleased when I propose to read a story to you. I do not blame the attachment you discover to agreeable and interesting narrative: but I should not wish you so far to indulge it as to lose your relish for drier discussions. The imagination is a noble quality of the mind, but it must not be indulged to the neglect of the reasoning powers. The Apostles' Creed must to-day form the subject of our consideration, as well as some other parts of the Church Catechism, which I fear it will be quite out of my power to elucidate by any narrative: nevertheless, I trust that what I have to say will obtain as much of your interest as the histories of Theodosia and Lydia Howard."

The young ladies smiled, and promised their attention. On which the lady of the manor proceeded to the explanation of the Creed, taking each article separately as she went on.

"A valuable old writer," said she, "thus speaks of the Apostles' Creed: 'This Creed, without controversy, is a brief comprehension of the objects of our Christian faith, and is generally taken to contain all things necessary to be believed.' And we may further add, that the articles of this Creed may be classed under three heads; viz, those which have respect to God the Father, those which relate to God the Son, and those which refer to God the Holy Ghost.

"There is one sentence only of this Creed," proceeded the lady, "and that is the first in order, which speaks of God the Father. This glorious Person of the Godhead is described in Scripture as the Father of all things; who created all things, and preserveth all things; the first Person of the Blessed Trinity; the Almighty or Omnipotent God; the Maker of heaven and earth, with all their varied furniture of things visible or invisible.

"On the nature and attributes of the Father, many volumes have been written, and an eternity might be well employed in the contemplation of them. But I am withheld from saying more on this subject at present, because I shall have, I trust, frequent occasions to speak upon it in our future conversations: when I shall hope to unfold to you certain points in the conduct of God the Father towards his children on earth, which are calculated, if rightly understood, to fill every heart with sentiments of love and gratitude; and to shew that no love was ever like His love, who gave up his only Son for the redemption of the world.

"Leaving therefore this important subject to a future occasion, I will proceed to explain to you those parts of the Apostles' Creed which have reference to the second Person of the Trinity, thus described in the second Article of our Church--'The Son, which is the Word of the Father, begotten from everlasting of the Father, the very and eternal God, and of one substance with the Father,' called by us Jesus or the Saviour, and Christ or the Anointed: this blessed Saviour was the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world; and his coming to redeem mankind was shewn forth by a continued succession of types and emblems, which formed, as it were, a track of light through the long ages of heathen darkness, and which, being visible only to the faithful, became more and more clear, and more and more resplendent, until the hour arrived in which the shepherds of Bethlehem received the good tidings of great joy, which were to be communicated to all people, even the tidings of that Saviour's birth, who is Christ the Lord--the Lord of angels, and the Lord of men--the Lord of glory from heaven--the King of kings and Lord of lords.

"This blessed Saviour, as our Creed informs us in conformity with the Scriptures of truth, was made of a Virgin, 'having no earthly father,' as a valuable old writer on these subjects expresses it; being formed by the Holy Spirit, and in his formation sanctified, and in his sanctification united to the world in such manner, that though perfect man as well as God, he was without sin.

"This sinless perfection is thus described in our fifteenth Article: 'Christ in the truth of our nature was made like unto us in all things, sin only except, from which he was clearly void, both in his flesh and in his spirit. He came to be the Lamb without spot, who by the sacrifice of himself once made, should take away the sins of the world: and sin (as Saint John saith) was not in him.'

"In this manner, God--the immortal, invisible, and eternal Lord God--' took man's nature in the womb of the blessed Virgin, of her substance; so that two whole and perfect natures, that is to say, the Godhead and manhood, were joined together in one Person, never to be divided, whereof is one Christ, very God and very man.' [2nd Article of time Church of England.) And in this nature which he took upon himself, even our nature, he suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried.

"Much," continued the lady of the manor, "has been said on each of these last Articles; but I will not detain your attention upon them at present, particularly as they appear to me to want little explanation. But the passages which follow next, are by no means equally plain, viz. 'He descended into hell; the third day he rose again.'

"That portion of this article which relates to the descent into hell, did not form so ancient a part of the Creed as the latter clause. It was first used in the Church of Aquileia, about four hundred years after the Christian era; after which, it came gradually to be acknowledged as a part of the Apostles' Creed: and the Church of England, at the Reformation, made this one of the Articles of Religion, which all who are admitted to holy orders must subscribe. 'As Christ died for us, and was buried; so also is it to be believed, that he went down into hell.' [3rd Article.]

"Now, my dear young people," said the lady, "were I to lay before you the various interpretations given at different times of this passage, I should only weary and perplex you: I shall therefore content myself with a simple statement of the sentiments of a certain valuable old writer, to whom I have already referred more than once during the course of our conversation this evening.

'By the descent of Christ into hell, all those who believe in him are secured from descending thither. He went into those regions of darkness, that our souls might never come into those torments which are there. Through death, he destroyed him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; and by his actual descent into the dominions of him so destroyed, secured all which have an interest in him of the same freedom which he had. Thus he underwent the condition of the souls of such as die; and inasmuch as he died in the similitude of a sinner, his soul went to the place where the souls of men are kept who die for their sins: and so did wholly undergo the law of death. But because there was no sin in him, God suffered not his Holy One to see corruption, neither did he leave his soul in hell. Accordingly, in three days he rose again, and, after a certain period, ascended into heaven; and there will remain until he return to judge the earth.'

"These last articles of the Creed, which relate to the second Person of the Blessed Trinity, are thus represented in the fourth Article of our Church: 'Christ did truly rise again from death, and took again his body, with flesh, bones, and all things appertaining to the perfection of man's nature; wherewith he ascended into heaven, and there sitteth until he return to judge all men at the last day.'

The lady of the manor here paused a moment, and then remarked, that she hoped on a future occasion to enter somewhat more largely into the subject of the Second Advent of our Lord, and his future reign of glory upon earth. She also remarked, that there was not a single article of the Creed on which volumes might not be written; but that she had said the less on each particular point, trusting that her young hearers would have equal pleasure and profit in filling up, during the future part of their lives, that general outline of Christian knowledge which she was now endeavouring to lay down for their use: and having thus spoken, she proceeded to that portion of the Apostles' Creed which refers to the third Person of the Holy Trinity.

"My dear young friends," said their excellent instructress, "I have so often explained to you in some degree the nature of the Trinity-in-Unity, that I can hardly think it necessary to repeat to you at this time, that the Lord the Spirit is one with the Father and the Son, or, as our fifth Article expresses it, 'The Holy Ghost, proceeding from the Father and the Son, is of one substance, majesty, and glory, with the Father and the Son, very and eternal God.' This Holy Spirit is, as we have before said, the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity--a Person not created, but a divine Person, properly and truly God. And inasmuch as in the work of man's salvation the Father took one part upon himself, and the Son another, so also the Holy Ghost has a peculiar office assigned him, which it is needful for every Christian to understand. This office, as I think I have before informed you, relates, first, to the calling of the sinner, whereby he is awakened from the death of sin, and brought to some apprehension of his perishing state; secondly, to his regeneration, or the renovation of his will, compared in Scripture to a new birth; thirdly, to his sanctification; and, finally, to his glorification. These are the operations of the Holy Spirit upon every individual who is to be finally saved. Moreover, it is this Holy Spirit which enables the regenerate person to persevere unto the end; and it is this Blessed Person of the Godhead who through all ages of the Church has endowed its ministers with those continued and fresh supplies of grace by which alone they were enabled to instruct and enlighten the people committed to their charge. And in proportion as this grace is still poured forth or withheld, the labours of the minister are fruitful or fruitless, as every faithful Christian pastor is ready to acknowledge. The principal emblems under which this Holy Spirit and its influences are described, are, first, the wind or air; as in St. John iii. 8.--The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit: secondly, oil; for which we have many Scripture authorities: and, thirdly, running brooks, fresh springs, rivers, and fountains; which last emblems I shall probably have it in my power to elucidate to you, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "on many occasions during our future discourses."

The lady then proceeded to say something on those parts of the Apostles' Creed which remained for explanation: viz. "I believe in the holy Catholic Church; the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting."

"Persons who are ignorant of the true nature of religion," continued the lady, "differ very widely respecting the first of these articles which I have just repeated, not being able to come to any satisfactory conclusion concerning the real character of the Church; supposing either that there are many Churches, or that the true Church is only found in that peculiar congregation or connected with that particular mode of worship which they themselves have adopted. But leaving these fallible directors, and taking the New Testament for our guide, I will endeavour to give you what I suppose to be the real meaning of the expression: for which purpose it will be necessary to take notice, that our Saviour, when first speaking of the Church, mentioned it as a thing which was not then, but which was to be--Thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my Church. [Matt. xvi. 18.] And afterwards, when Peter had converted three thousand souls, it was said, And the Lord added to the Church daily such as should be saved. [Acts ii. 47.] From these texts, and from considering the circumstances of the followers of our Lord at that time, we may understand what is the true nature of the Church, such as it was when first established, and such as it now is, after the lapse of nearly two thousand years: namely, that its character is wholly spiritual; that it was at first composed of a certain number of men, of whom some were apostles, and some disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ; as well as of others who repented, believed, and were baptized, continuing to hear the Word preached, receiving the sacraments, and joining in the public prayers offered unto God, being all of one heart and one soul.

"This," continued the lady of the manor, "is the first description given in Scripture of the Church. And although the sacred writers, when speaking of any country into which the Gospel had been carried, mention, by way of distinction, the Churches of that country--as, the Churches of Judea, Samaria, and Galilee--yet the Scriptures afford sufficient evidence that the several Churches or congregations of believers collected in great cities or extensive countries were considered as parts of one and the same Church, united under one head, and forming together one undivided congregation in the sight of God. If therefore the sacred writers considered all the separate congregations of one city as forming only one Church; then all the Churches of all the cities and countries under heaven may properly be comprehended under the same single denomination in relation to the one supreme Governor of them all: so that the Church of Christ includes all regenerate persons whatsoever, belonging to any congregation or assembly of Christians throughout the whole world. Thus it appears that the unity of the Church consists not in the observance of similar forms and ordinances, but in this circumstance, that, it hath no other foundation than that which is laid in the Scripture, even Jesus Christ. Whence it comes to pass that all such persons as are true members of the Christian Church, are also fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God; and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-stone; in whom all the building, fitly framed together, groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord. [Eph. ii. 19--21.] This stone was laid in Zion for a foundation, a tried stone, a precious corner-stone, a sure foundation.

"We find then, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "that the visible Church on earth is commensurate with the true invisible Church of Christ. In looking round upon the various denominations and congregations of Christians among us, although we may approve of the doctrines and usages of one more than those of another; although we may admire one minister and disapprove another; yet in every congregation so much corruption is to be observed, and so many things which might be improved, that when we hear men cry in the street, saying, Lo, here is Christ; or lo, there is Christ; we should not allow ourselves to be persuaded that the presence of our common Lord is or can be confined to this or that Christian society. God is no respecter of persons, and an extensive acquaintance with his Word can hardly fail to afford us the delightful conviction, that in every congregation where the Gospel of Christ is faithfully preached, and perhaps in some where the light of divine knowledge doth not so visibly shine, the Almighty has his hidden yet chosen ones; even as in idolatrous Israel he had his sincere and faithful thousands who had not bowed the knee to Baal.

"But having detained your attention, my dear young people," proceeded the lady of the manor, "a considerable time on this subject, I will go on to the next article, only previously remarking that the word Catholic means universal."

The lady of the manor then proceeded to the next clause in the Creed: viz. 'The communion of saints.'--"Now before this article can be rightly understood," said the lady, "we must consider who are properly called saints. In Exodus xxii. 31, they are described as holy men. But where are these men of holiness? Which of us can say, I am clean from my sin; I am holy and pure; for I have made myself clean? No man with propriety can adopt this kind of language. Are there therefore no saints upon earth? And if there are, where are they to be found, and what is their real description? I answer, They are such as are sanctified in Christ Jesus; they are those to whom sin is not imputed; those, in one word, who have washed their garments and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. These are they, who, being reconciled to God, and having received the spirit of adoption, are enabled to call him Father, and to hold communion with him as with a friend or a brother."

Here one of the young people ventured to remark, that she was entirely at a loss to conceive what was meant by this communion, and expressed a hope that her excellent teacher would not be offended if she requested a fuller explanation of this matter than that which had been already given.

The lady of the manor instantly complying with this request, proceeded to this effect--"When man first came from the hands of his Maker, he was pure and without spot or stain of sin. At that period, while be remained in his original state, which we have reason to think was but a very short time, he held constant and close communion with his Maker. But the exact nature of this communion is not to be ascertained, since we can form but very obscure conceptions of a perfectly pure and sinless state. For if, in every imaginable scene of earthly happiness there is such a mixture of sin and sorrow, that the most lively narrative of earthly pleasure which fancy can devise leaves us ready to ask this question--Is this all? and is there no more to be said or done, to be hoped or enjoyed?--it may well be imagined that in every description of the highest attainable state of piety, holy love will be so imperfect, and religious fear occasionally so predominant, as to render our views of divine communion very incomplete and unsatisfactory. The lovely bowers of Eden were however at one time uncontaminated by sin; and during that blessed season the roses grew there without thorns, our newly created progenitors lived there as children at home in the presence of their heavenly Father, and divine love shed its sacred influence over the whole face of nature. But no sooner had sin entered those blissful regions than all nature underwent a fearful change: sentence of death immediately passed upon every living creature; and man instantly became so alienated from his Creator as to seek a hiding-place from his presence, just as a son conscious of having committed an unpardonable offence shuns the presence of the most tender and virtuous parent. In consequence of some remains of this natural sense of guilt, the whole human race has from that time looked upon their Creator with fear and dread, instead of exercising towards him that love and confidence which are due from the creature to his Maker.

"All idolatrous forms of worship throughout the world,' continued the lady of the manor, "have been, and still are, built upon the unconquerable fear and dread of some avenging Being whom the terrified worshipper desires to propitiate. Hence the gloomy rites of paganism, with the horrible views of death and judgment given in the Koran. Thus it may be proved, by the representations which these idolaters and infidels have given of the Deity, that their ideas of him were the produce not of filial love, but of trembling terror. Neither has the unregenerate man in Christian countries any more inviting views of God than the Mussulmaun or idolater.

"Man," proceeded the lady of the manor, "naturally hates God. The carnal mind is enmity against God: it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. [Rom. viii. 7.] The unrenewed soul has a sufficient sense of its own impurity to make it look on its Creator rather as an avenging Judge than a tender Father. Every reflecting mind in such a country as this, has light enough to know that the Supreme Being, must necessarily be immaculately pure; every conscious sinner, therefore, feels that he has much to dread from him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity; neither can he, through the mere light of reason, discover a way to escape his avenging hand.

"Thus," continued the lady of the manor, "unhappy man has been separated from his heavenly Father, through the cruel devices of Satan; and no religion or system of morals on earth supplies the means of his restoration, but the religion revealed by Christ, who points himself out as the only way by which offending man can be restored to the divine favour--I am, saith he, the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh to the Father but by me. [John xiv. 6.]

"And this way," said the lady of the manor, "is not pointed out to us in a mere cold, dull, formal manner; but we are invited, we are entreated, we are pressed to enter upon this new and living way, in order to secure our final salvation. The Scripture saith, Him that cometh to me I will in nowise cast out. [John vi. 37.] Our blessed Saviour is a friend, who when he has sent out his invitations, will not easily be denied. How sweet, how affecting, how tender are his addresses to his people! Thus, through the blessed Saviour, miserable and lost creatures are brought back to their heavenly Father, and rendered meet to hold communion with him.

"If a king condescends to address a subject with affection and familiarity," added the lady of the manor, "how does that subject delight to make known to his friends and neighbours the honour conferred upon him! How accurately does he recollect all the gracious words of his sovereign, and with what satisfaction does he meditate upon their purport! How full he is of the praises of his king, and with what rapture does he speak of his comely appearance and his graceful demeanour! If then we consider it so high a privilege, in certain circumstances, to hold intercourse with one who is but a man of like passions with ourselves, and who in a short time must lay aside all his glory to become the food of worms; how much higher an honour should we count it to hold communion with the God of glory himself!"

Here the lady of the manor perceiving that one of her young pupils wished to speak, stopped a moment, and looked encouragingly at her. On which, the young lady ventured to say, that she still did not understand exactly what was meant by communion with God.

"Communion in general, my dear," replied the lady of the manor, "signifies any kind of intercourse maintained between two or more persons, either by word of mouth, or by letter, or by any other means: but the nature of the communion thus maintained, must of necessity be suited to the nature of the persons between whom it subsists. Our communion with any corporeal being must be through the medium of the senses; by the voice, by the hearing, by the sight, or by some other sense: but God being a Spirit, our communion with him must needs be of a spiritual kind, and wholly independent of the senses. Concerning the distinct nature of this communion, it is indeed utterly impossible for me to give you any satisfactory idea, because this knowledge is hid in Christ. When you become experimentally acquainted with Christ, you will then understand what it is to hold spiritual intercourse with your heavenly Father; but until that period arrive, which I trust is not very distant, it would be impossible to make this matter clear to you, since the nature of this communion is a secret which a stranger meddleth not with. However," proceeded the lady of the manor, "as I happen to he supplied with a narrative, in which the subject of divine communion is in some measure elucidated by facts of a very interesting nature, we will leave this point for the present, and hasten to conclude our consideration of the Apostles' Creed, deferring our story to our next happy meeting, if we should be again permitted to assemble in this place."

The lady then proceeded to the explanation of the next clause in the Creed, viz, the forgiveness of sins. " It is the less necessary," said she, "to enlarge on this article, my dear young friends, inasmuch as the whole scope and tendency of all I have said, and all I desire to say to you, is, to point out the means by which this forgiveness of sins may be obtained. I shall therefore now content myself with repeating to you the thirty-first Article of our Church on this point, which is to this purpose: 'The offering of Christ once made, is that perfect redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction for all the sins of the whole world, both original and actual; and there is none other satisfaction for sin but that alone. Wherefore the sacrifice of masses, in the which it was commonly said, that the priest did offer Christ for the quick and the dead, to have remission of pain or guilt, were blasphemous fables, and dangerous deceits.'"

The resurrection of the body was the next subject which came in course under the consideration of the young people; and the lady of the manor spoke upon it to this effect: "This article," said she, "was anciently, and is now, universally acknowledged by all Christians. We find, by daily and painful experience, that all men are mortal; we have all seen the effect of death on some of those most dear to us on earth; we have seen the work of corruption and dissolution commence on the persons of those whom we once counted the loveliest and fairest in the creation; and we know, with respect to these, that this dreadful work has been carried on in the dark grave, till dust has literally returned to dust, and ashes to ashes. Neither doth it require much reflection, to convince us that nothing less than the infinite power of Him who first formed man out of the dust of the earth, can collect together the various parts of his body, however scattered, and intimately connect them again with the very same spirit by which they were formerly animated.

"The wise men and philosophers of old, though they doubted not the immortality of the soul, had no idea of the resurrection of the body. We read of certain philosophers of the Epicureans and of the Stoicks, who encountered St. Paul; and when they heard of the resurrection, they mocked him, saying, that he seemed to be a setter forth of strange gods, because he preached unto them Jesus and the resurrection. [Acts xvii.] So far indeed the heathen philosophers judged rightly, that the raising up of the body from the dust of death is undoubtedly impossible to all created agents. But to God all things are possible; and since we are surrounded with so many wonderful evidences of his power, we have no reason to suppose that even this is above the reach of his omnipotent hand.

"More than this, we have innumerable assurances in Scripture of the resurrection of the body. The holy Job expressed his opinion on this subject in these remarkable verses--I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. [Job xix. 25, 26.] In the New Testament also we have many passages on this subject of a very striking nature.--For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. [1 Cor. xv. 22.]--Verily, verily, I say unto you, The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live. [John v. 25.]--And before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats. [Matt. xxv. 32.]--For we shall all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. [Rom. xiv. 10.]

"In addition to these," said the lady of the manor, "there are passages without end in Scripture to the same purpose, which, if I were to attempt to point out, the time would fail me. Nevertheless, before we leave this subject, I think it right to state to you a certain opinion concerning the resurrection, held by many excellent persons, and founded on some remarkable passages in Scripture. The opinion is this--that there will be two resurrections, viz, that of the just, and that of the wicked. The passage on which this opinion is chiefly grounded may be found in the twentieth chapter of the Revelations, the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses.--And I saw thrones, and they sat upon them, and judgment was given unto them: and I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus, and for the word of God, and which had not worshipped the beast, neither his image, neither had received his mark upon their foreheads, nor in their hands; and they lived and reigned with Christ a thousand years. But the rest of the dead lived not again until the thousand years were finished. This is the first resurrection. Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection.

"We have now," continued the lady of the manor, "only one article left, which is this--'The life everlasting.' As there will be a resurrection both of the just and of the unjust, so we must understand that each will partake of an everlasting existence; the one of endless happiness, and the other of endless misery; the one being emphatically called a state of everlasting life, and the other a state of eternal death.

"In speaking of these two states, we shall first treat of the case of the wicked. These miserable persons, after the day of judgment, will not be consumed or annihilated, but will remain alive in soul and body, to endure the torments to be inflicted upon them by the justice of God for all the sins committed in the body. The passages of Scripture expressive of the state of the wicked in the world to come are to this effect--

"First--That the wicked shall be banished from the presence of God--

"I tell you, I know you not whence ye are; depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out. [Luke xiii. 27, 28.]

"Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. [Matt. xxv. 41.]

"Who shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power. [2 Thess. i. 9.]

"Secondly--That they shall be thrust into a state of pure unmingled torment--

"The rich man also died, and was buried; and in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. [Luke xvi. 22--25.]

"Thirdly--That their punishment shall be without the most distant prospect of a period--

"Between us and you there is a great gulph fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us that would come from thence. [Luke xvi. 26.]

"It is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire; where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. [Mark ix. 47, 48.]

"But now," said the lady of the manor, "we will turn from this dreadful subject to one of infinite hope and joy, namely, the consideration of the eternal happiness of the redeemed. The bodies of the saints, after the resurrection, shall be transformed into spiritual and incorruptible bodies--The flesh is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. [1 Cor. xv. 42--44.]

"In this spiritual and incorruptible body, the saints shall awake up in the divine likeness, and be for ever with the Lord--

"Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory. [John xvii. 24.]

"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. [John xiv. 2, 3.]

"The saints in their glorified state shall mingle with the general assembly and Church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven; and who are thus described by the beloved apostle--

"I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands; and they cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb. [Rev vii. 9, 10.]

"Further, in this state of felicity the saints shall be privileged with an everlasting exemption from evils of every description--

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. [Rev. vii. 16, 17.]

"And now, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "having gone over each article of the Creed at some length, I shall only request you particularly to remember, that from these articles of our Creed we, 'First, learn to believe in God the Father, who hath made us, and all the world. Secondly, in God the Son, who hath redeemed us, and all mankind. Thirdly, in God the Holy Ghost, who sanctifieth us, (that is, if we are of the number of the regenerate,) and all the elect people of God.' I think it necessary, however, before I conclude, to recur to a certain remark introduced in the history of Lydia Howard; viz, that the whole of the Liturgy of the Church of England was composed on this supposition--that those who use it are converted persons; and thus the answers which are put in the mouth of the catechized person can only be properly employed by a true disciple of Christ, by one who has been chosen, regenerated, sanctified, and actually received among the people of God. But inasmuch as no human teacher is able to separate the wheat from the tares, the rulers of the Church are compelled to let them all grow together until the harvest, allowing the latter to enjoy all the privileges of cultivation and protection in common with the former. And since such is time ignorance, blindness, and incapacity of the spiritual husbandman, that he is incapable, in many instances, of distinguishing between the sincere Christian and the hypocritical professor, the compilers of our Liturgy, taking the side of charity, have determined that all who partake of the public ordinances of the visible Church, shall be supposed to form a part of the invisible Church."

Here the lady of the manor, presuming that she had already said as much or more than would be accurately understood by her young people, closed her discourse for the evening by calling upon them to join her in solemn prayer to God.

A Prayer for Light and Illumination on all Doctrinal Subjects.

"O THOU BLESSED LORD GOD, who hast given all Scripture for our instruction, grant us so to read thy Holy Word, that we may be enabled rightly to receive and comprehend those sacred truths, the knowledge of which is especially necessary to our salvation. We are well assured that thy Holy Word is a dead letter to such as are not endued with the gifts and graces of thy Holy Spirit, while it binds together the servants of the Lord with hands that cannot be broken. Be thou pleased therefore to send thy Spirit into our hearts, that He may be unto us a remembrancer of all holy things, enriching our understandings with all that is excellent, and enabling us to cast out all that is evil from our hearts and imaginations.

"O Almighty God, too long have we lived in the indulgence of impure thoughts and unholy desires: assist us now, O Lord, to forsake and abhor them. Grant that the holy words which we have heard this day may sink deep into our hearts, and be as good seed received into good ground, bearing fruit an hundred fold. May our hearts become as the garden of the Lord, which being refreshed with the continual influences of the Holy Spirit, may become fragrant with all manner of spices, and well pleasing in thy sight.

"We lament and bewail, O heavenly Father, that ignorance and spiritual darkness in which we have hitherto continued: though from infancy accustomed to repeat the articles of our holy faith, we have closed our eyes and shut our hearts against the reception of their influence: in the midst of light, we have been lovers of darkness; and though daily hearing the words of life, we have continued to abide in a state of death.

"O blessed Father, have pity upon us: draw us, and we will run after thee. Prosper thy word unto our souls: let it be in us a well of water springing up unto everlasting life, softening our hard and stubborn hearts, and enabling us to produce the fruits of a holy and godly life. And as we have received thy Holy Word, grant that we may make it our study all the day long, until all its glorious mysteries are revealed, until all its consoling promises are fulfilled, and until faith and hope are lost in glory.

"Now to God the Father," &c.

SECOND CONVERSATION ON THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS

"When we last met, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, on finding herself again surrounded by her amiable little circle, "we made the Apostles' Creed the subject of our discourse, and I at that time promised you a narrative, in which the subject of divine communion is brought forward in a manner which I trust will both please and edify you."

On hearing this, the young ladies smiled, and drew their chairs closer round the table, previous to the commencement of the story.

"I have already, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, "brought you acquainted with my beloved father, and his dwelling in the same parish with the Earl of N--, whose beautiful parks and venerable woods overran the whole neighbourhood, supplying a variety of exquisite natural scenes, such as the finest landscape painter would have found it difficult to represent with any degree of truth.

"In the deepest recesses of these woods, near the spot where a pure stream of water rushed abruptly from the higher grounds into a deep dingle, stood an old timber-built cottage, near which was a wooden bridge thrown from one side to the other of the narrow dell, in order to facilitate the passage of the traveller over the stream. On the opposite side the wood thickened so much that another cottage, which was situated among the trees, was only discernible by those who looked up the dingle, from its chimney and a small portion of its thatched roof which peeped from beneath the shade.

"In the first of these cottages lived one Henry Hart, a very old man, when I was a little child, whose business was that of a wood-cutter. This man had in his youth been remarkably handsome; and when I first beheld him he exhibited the finest specimen I think I ever remember to have seen of comely and venerable old age. As he had from his youth been constantly exposed to the open air, every part of his face was ruddy, excepting that which had always been covered with his hat, which still retained the clear white of his natural complexion. His eyes, which were peculiarly fine, were so expressive that my father often confessed his astonishment at their being set in the head of a poor working man; and his regular features were set off by his milk-white locks, which hung in curls from his head. The old man was, however, so reserved in his manner, that my father had resided in the parish many years without ever being able to draw him out in conversation, although he had often tried to do so when meeting him by chance in the woods. Neither could any person in the parish boast of being better acquainted with him, for he lived in great solitude, his house being kept by a deaf old woman, with whom he seldom, as she said, entered into discourse, though he read the Holy Scriptures to her every night, and sometimes commented on them for her instruction. With other persons he never mixed, excepting on occasions of public service at the church, from which he seldom absented himself.

"My father, who much admired the appearance of this old man, and who could not but greatly regret his reserve, feeling, as he said, a strong persuasion that if the old man could but be induced to speak, he would be found more intelligent than persons in his situation commonly are, used to call him the Hermit of the Dale, and not seldom applied to him the words of the poet--

'Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew.'

But while we thought that my father was unreasonably ennobling a poor peasant by comparing him to the poet's hermit, we, in fact, by such comparison, fell far short of the real worth and dignity of this old man's character.

I do not exactly recollect my age at the time, but at any rate I know that I was old enough to reason on many things that passed, when Sunday-schools began to be first talked of. These were originally projected by a Mr. Raikes of Glocester; and my father no sooner heard of them than he resolved to establish one in his parish. Lord N-- very kindly supplied a room for the purpose; but we were at a loss for some time about procuring a teacher. I recollect that my father, with my little assistance, supplied the place for some Sundays; but he soon found the labour to much for him in addition to his other Sunday duties: and I was altogether too young for such an undertaking.

"While we were in this perplexity, and could meet with no one whom we thought fit to place in this responsible situation, Henry Hart, to our great surprise, the reserved old man whom we had considered as a secluded hermit, came into the school-room, and with great humility offered his poor services, as he called them.

I shall never forget his appearance on presenting himself before us. He wore a russet suit of clothes, his linen, though coarse, being clean and white: he had taken off his hat, and his grey hair was parted on his brow. He smiled while addressing my fathers and said, he never should have presumed to offer himself for such a service, had any other person come forward.

"'I think then,' said my father, 'if I am not much mistaken, we shall have reason to rejoice, Henry Hart, that no one else has come forward.'

"The old man bowed in reply, and lifted up his eyes as if in prayer, but said nothing.

"Henry Hart was immediately installed in his office as master of the little school. He was then sixty-five years of age, and he retained his situation ten years. My father was really astonished to find in this poor and retired old man such a depth of Christian knowledge and such a store of Christian experience as he had scarcely ever met with through the whole course of his life.

"In consequence of his situation as master of the Sunday-school, my father had an opportunity of frequent conversation with him; and the old man, as is commonly the case with persons of very silent and retired habits, when he became accustomed to my father, became also particularly open and unreserved. Neither was my father ashamed to acknowledge that he was often very much the better for his conversation. However, notwithstanding the frequent exchange of sentiments which passed between Henry Hart and my father, the latter never became acquainted with the real history of this old man, till a few months before his death, which happened in his seventy-sixth year, exactly ten years from the time of his first undertaking the charge of the Sunday-school--an office which he had discharged with great advantage to the parish, it having pleased God to bless his instructions to the everlasting benefit of many souls.

Henry Hart died at the latter end of the month of February, after having been confined to his house for several months, during which my father had been his constant visitor. It was in this interval, that my father induced him to give an account of his life; and finding that it abounded with circumstances of interest, he failed not to commit it to paper, for the edification and amusement of those into whose hands it might chance to fall."

The lady of the manor then opened a little manuscript, and read as follows.--

THE HISTORY OF HENRY HART; RELATED BY HIMSELF.

"My father," said Henry Hart, "was employed by the father and grandfather of the present Lord N--, as wood-cutter. There was not a man in all the country who was a better judge of timber than my father: he was moreover an upright man in all his dealings, and was accordingly much accounted of by his lord; insomuch, that a tree was seldom cut down for sale without his approval. For Lord N-- and those that went before him," said the old man, "jealous of the honour of their family, which had so long been served by my father and his father, have never resembled the improvident spendthrifts of the present day--who deprive the groves of their ancient glories, and cut off the hopes of rising forests, to satisfy the cravings of such as administer to their ruinous propensities. No, Sir," added the hoary headed peasant, addressing my father, and gathering animation as be proceeded, "not a tree has ever been cut down in these woods since the memory of man, till it has attained the perfection of its growth, and not even then, unless another was rising up by its side to fill its place. I can safely assert this, because, with the exception of our family, and by chance another or so under our direction, no man ever ventured to lift an axe in these forests. My father, as I have said, was accustomed almost all his lifetime to work alone, and not in company with others. And as his jobs, for the most part, lay in solitary and retired situations, where he heard no sound but that of the strokes of his own hatchet and their echo, he became, towards his old age especially, a man who thought more than he spoke; and from following the same mode of life, I myself fell very much into the same habit in this particular. But more of this hereafter.

"I was born in this cottage, where, to all appearance, I am like to die. My mother, who was as tender a parent as child ever had, died when I was about twelve years of age, leaving my father to take charge of me and a brother who was about two years older than myself. As we had been instructed in reading at the parish school, and were, for persons in our station, tolerably good scholars, after my mother's death my father took us entirely from school, when he put my brother apprentice to a miller, while he kept me with himself to assist him in his work in the woods.

"Now just over the stream, on the other side of the dingle, across the bridge, as you well know, Sir, stands a cottage, which, to appearance, is as old if not older than this, if one may judge by the wood-work round the fire-place, which is cut and carved in a strange manner; as well as by some panes of painted glass still remaining in the kitchen-window, which folks do not scruple to say, were taken from the windows of an old monastery when the Papists were driven out of the country, in the days of our Queen Elizabeth. However that be, the house is a very old one, not many such I believe being now to be seen.

"When I was a child, this cottage was occupied by one Robert Gray, by trade a thatcher, a very decent, quiet man. His wife, who was called in the parish Amy Gray, was a very hard-working clean woman, and remarkable for exercising such a degree of authority in her family, that is over her young people, as is seldom witnessed in these days.

"In this family," added the old man, repressing a sigh while he spoke, "lived two of the fairest damsels eye ever beheld. The one was Bessy Bell, the niece of Amy Gray, and the other Mary Gray, her daughter. I say, the sweetest damsels ever seen; for I never now certainly see any who are worthy to be named on the same day with what I can recollect of these: whether it is that I now view all earthly things with an eye freed from passion; or whether earthly love, being but the child of fancy, is not now helped forward by the retirement in which the good women kept their daughters in former days--so contrary to that we see at present, even among persons of distinction. But to leave these matters.

"Amy Gray was exceedingly careful of her young people, and would not suffer them to look out of their doors unless in her presence; and when compelled to go out on any business, she always left the door locked. If by chance I walked by at such times, I could never hear their voices, though I might distinguish the hum of their spinning-wheels. And as to seeing them through the window, the painted glass I have before spoken of would have prevented that, had I presumed to come so near to them. But these lovely and modest young women, though kept so strictly, never let it appear to any one that they felt the yoke; nay, they yielded most patiently and sweetly to all their careful parent and guardian required of them, though assuredly they could not then understand all the reasons she had for thus guarding and watching them.

"It was not to be supposed that two young boys, living near these fair damsels, should not discover their beauty and modesty. My brother fixed his heart on Bessy Bell, but the other pleased me most; and though I seldom interchanged a word with her, I cannot remember the time when I did not love Mary Gray.

"The keen-eyed mother was soon aware of the preference we gave these young people; on which account she took especial care that we should seldom see them: and so good a look-out did she keep, that it often happened that I never could get a glimpse of them from Sunday to Sunday again. But on that day, I always placed myself, in my best suit, upon the wooden bridge, over which they must needs pass to church: and, after I had enjoyed the pleasure of making my bow to them as they went by, I regularly followed them at a modest distance to and from church; for nearer I did not dare to approach.

"I still remember, for it is fixed upon my memory in a manner which cannot be worn out," proceeded the old man, "the figures of the father and mother in their Sunday dress, and that of the two beloved young women who followed. At that time they generally wore a dress of a kind of russet brown, short and full, with a white apron and handkerchief, a plaited cap, and a flat straw hat tied behind. Bessy Bell was exceedingly fair, with cheeks as red and blooming as a rose, and her laughing eyes of the finest blue. But Mary--my beloved Mary--had hair resembling threads of gold, while every feature was lovely beyond description. Her eyes were dark and brilliant, and when she bent them down, her long eyelashes cast a sweet and modest expression over her whole countenance, the like to which I never shall behold again.

"As she passed over the bridge on the occasions I speak of, I sometimes ventured to wish her a good morning, or to present her with a posy: upon which her mother seldom failed to call out, in a forbidding tone of voice, 'Come on, my girls; why do you linger behind? what are you standing to talk about?--I beg, young men, that you will not intrude yourselves upon us as often as we pass this way.'

"In this manner we were generally accosted, neither did we presume even by gesture or look to shew our discontent: for the age of insubordination was not then come, the period in which children openly deride the authority of their parents, and in which the daughters of respectable families make themselves cheap by breaking through all the restraints of modesty and decorum.

"But as I am not going, my good Sir, to trouble you with a long account of the early part of my time, I shall simply state, that my brother and I, when arrived at an age to speak of such matters, made our regard for these young damsels known to our father, who mentioned it to Robert Gray and his wife: upon which it was agreed among the old people, that my brother should wait for Bessy till he had served out his time; and that as I and Mary Gray were still younger than the other couple, we should wait seven years, during which I was to engage in service and endeavour to save a little money in order to set us up in the world.

Being well contented with this arrangement of matters, my father, by the kind help of my Lord's steward, got me a place in the house of a gentleman, where I acted as a footman. In this place I acquired some degree of mental improvement, though not in a religious way. My master observing that I was fond of reading, lent me many books, and gave me not a few; some of history, others of voyages and travels, and others works of fiction. I had also an opportunity of hearing much polished discourse while I waited at table; in addition to which I travelled into many distant countries with my master.

"In this manner the seven years passed away; at the end of which I returned home, true as the needle to the north, to seek the object of my life. I learned that my brother had been married two years or more to Bessy Bell, and I found my beloved Mary looking even more to my mind than when I had left her. At this time being allowed to talk to her, I was as much pleased with the sweetness of her disposition as with her beauty. I now had opportunity to perceive that she was truly pious; and I might also have understood that much of that sweetness in her which had so powerfully won my love, was the effect of her piety. But this discovery did not affect me as it ought: I knew but very little of religion, and therefore had very little sense of its value. As every thing that she did pleased me; so her piety was, I thought, a very becoming quality. But I had no more notion of learning my religion from her, than of being taught by her to card and spin.

Such were my loose and confused notions of religion and the value of my soul at that time. How my beloved Mary became acquainted with true religion I have often since considered; for her parents, though decent and respectable persons, were ignorant, I think, on this point. She must assuredly have been divinely taught. Her Bible had supplied her with the only visible means of instruction; and such was the simplicity and humility of her mind, that she was not aware of being in a more enlightened state than that of other persons about her who used the common forms of religion, and observed the common decencies of life. This view of her character," proceeded Henry Hart, "has been an after one. At the time I speak of, when I was first admitted to her society, I could neither feel nor talk rationally about her: she seemed to me the fairest and most delightful of human creatures, but why or wherefore I could not exactly say.

"I was made most happy in the possession of this beloved wife soon after my return from service, and settled with her in my father's house, who very kindly entertained us. Not long after this, many changes took place among our connexions. Robert Gray and his wife removed to some distance, in order to be near a son of the old man's by a former wife, who was able to afford them some assistance; and my poor father died after a very short illness. Thus, in a few months after our marriage, I was left alone with my young and lovely wife; all our old friends being by one means or other separated from us, and my brother's family removed to a little distance.

I followed my father's business, and my wife her usual occupation of spinning; and for two complete years I enjoyed a degree of happiness, which even now, at this distant period, I hardly dare to think upon. For there are indeed some few intervals, some little events, some passing scenes of my life, good Sir," said Henry Hart, "which I cannot recollect, although passed away and gone long ago, without experiencing such a sinking at heart, that I turn from them with a struggle, and endeavour to banish from my mind every recollection of them--still indulging a full assurance, that in the world to come it will be found that every distressing, every touching, every wounding, yea even the most acutely wounding dispensations, were all so arranged as to work together for my good.

My beloved wife, soon after our first married year was completed, informed me that she hoped to make me a father. This circumstance seemed to be all that was wanting to complete my happiness: and thus I blindly rejoiced in the prospect of that event which, when it took place, completely destroyed my earthly peace. But before I proceed to relate this sad catastrophe, I should say, that my wife, notwithstanding her amiable simplicity and ignorance of life in general, was not long married to me before she found out that I had not those views of religion which she possessed. How it came to pass that she did not discover this before, I can hardly say; unless that, without intending it, I had played the hypocrite with her, and, through the excess of my love, had fallen in with every thing she said, be the subject what it might. However, as soon as she made this discovery, she lost no time as much as in her lay to remedy the evil, but made haste to use all her gentle powers of persuasion in leading me to an attentive perusal of the Scriptures, to social prayer, to a strict attendance on divine worship, and to every other pious exercise which she judged would tend most to my conversion. I failed not to follow as she led, for love bore down all unwillingness before it; and I even half persuaded myself that I was become exceedingly pious, while I was in fact only accommodating myself to the pleasure of the wife I loved. During this time, however, I obtained much head-knowledge, which knowledge I afterwards found very serviceable to me.

"But I come now, though with a shuddering kind of reluctance, to that sad period of my life, on which even at this day I can hardly allow myself to dwell: but I will pass it over as quickly as possible.--The time when my wife expected to bless me with a child at length arrived; and I had the extreme happiness of seeing her laid in her bed, with a little son in her arms. We had been up during the whole night on account of my wife's illness, and at eight o'clock in the morning, being two hours later than usual, I went to my work, full of sweet hope and joy, and without any apprehension.

"As I went out of the door, I turned again for something I had forgotten; and as it lay in the room where my wife was, I lingered a while to look again on her I so tenderly loved, and the child she had so lately given me. The infant and its mother were both asleep, lying calm and easy; and while I gazed upon them I thought I never loved my wife so much. The nurse was in the room with them, and the nurse's daughter in the room below. As I left the house, I desired the young woman to call me if any thing should be wanting, pointing out the place in a coppice near at hand where I should be at work. O! with what a light heart did I go abroad that day; singing with careless glee as I stepped along! and how blithely moved the arm that lifted the hatchet! I spent that morning two such hours in the wood as I never knew again for many, many years; though my joy was not, I am well assured, of the right character. No: it wanted to be purified. The Lord knew this: he knew that it was not such as would work for my good, and therefore he deprived me of it.

About ten o'clock, I thought I heard a voice calling me from a distance; I threw down my hatchet, full of apprehension; I hurried on my coat; I listened, and heard the nurse's daughter calling me by name. I flew to meet her. She told me that my wife was taken suddenly ill, and begged me to run to the village for the doctor. I made all possible haste, but before I could bring the needful help she was dying. Her complaint was supposed to be some kind of cramp or spasm.

"Thus I lost the delight of my eyes at the moment when she was, if possible, become more dear to me than ever; and her precious infant, being deprived of a tender mother's care, had scarcely received the baptismal blessing, before it was laid in the same grave with her who had died in giving it being. Oh! my wife! my wife! my son! my son! With the extinction of life only shall I cease to feel, upon every reflection, a portion of the agonies which I endured at the loss of these beloved ones! I had then no vital religion to support me; I knew no Saviour, no heavenly Father, no Holy Spirit.

"Eighteen years or more passed from that time, before it pleased the Lord to open my mind on these subjects; and till that period, I knew no comfort, a deep gloom almost amounting to despair having taken entire possession of my mind. During that interval I would see none of my former friends, unless it became unavoidable. I shunned even my brother; for the sight of his happiness with his Bessy and her children, was as a dagger piercing through my heart. I was not aware of the great impiety of such a state of mind; for I was then dead in sin. They who have faith feel a constant assurance that all things work together for the good of those whom the Lord is training up to glory, honour, and immortality; whether it be affliction, whether it be temptation, whether it be reproach, whether it be prosperity, whether it be adversity, all--all unite together, under the influence of a gracious Providence, for perfecting the salvation of the chosen vessels of the Lord. But concerning these things I was in utter darkness.

"From the time of my child's funeral, which happened when I was in my twenty-sixth year, I continued in the same gloomy and miserable state of mind till I had attained the age of forty-four or forty-five. There belonged to my original character a kind of constancy or inflexibility which was not easily to be shaken. This appeared in the attachment I had formed in my youth, which suffered neither variation nor abatement through seven years' absence from its object; and it now again appeared in my long and sullen melancholy--a melancholy which was probably increased and fostered by my peculiar mode of life, which, as I before said, was that of a wood-cutter, and which for the most part obliged me to work alone in solitary situations, where for days together I never heard any sound but that which arose from the strokes of my own hatchet, and the shaking of the branches of those trees which were falling by my own hand. If in some situations these strokes were answered by an echo, this sound only added to my sense of loneliness and solitude. Front the time that the door closed on the coffins of my wife and child, I had never allowed another inmate to partake of my solitary dwelling; and I may say, that from thenceforward I had no comfort by my fireside but that which I got from reading.

"My master had given me several books, which I read over and over again by my fireside in the winter evenings; and when I had exhausted these, which were, for the most part, books of mere amusement, I applied to my lord's steward to lend me more, which he very kindly did, although not without bantering me upon my love of solitude, and advising me to take another wife--a piece of advice with which I felt myself greatly offended. I did not, however, venture to shew my displeasure to the steward, especially as he was so kind as to supply me with that sort of pastime which was most to my mind. The books which the steward was so kind as to lend me, were of various sorts, most probably such as came next to hand. But there were few of a religious nature, and those of a wrong sort; such as held up works in the place of faith--a doctrine which had at that period been brought much into fashion, both in books and sermons; owing, no doubt, to the misguided conduct of those who had brought faith into disgrace, by talking without doing, and who ornamented their priests' garments with the golden bells, while they omitted the pomegranates, whereas the Lord had given directions that both should be used, for the purpose of completing the glorious habit of those who were appointed to the ministry.

"In this manner I continued to read and fill my head with various kinds of knowledge not common to a poor man: and the hours which I spent in pursuing my solitary calling were constantly devoted to ruminating and reflecting on those things which experience had taught me, as well as on those which I had learned from books; and still the more I reflected, the more I wondered at that confusion of good and evil which I perceived to happen alike to all men, and for which I could by no means account by the exercise of my own reason. Thus I gradually became to all intents and purposes, though but a poor solitary wood-cutter, as finished an infidel as those men who nailed the Lord of All to the accursed tree, and who bribed the soldiers to deny that resurrection which they had witnessed with their own eyes.

"On these occasions, how often did I lament the death of my son; and how often was I constrained to cry out within the hearing of none but God, 'Alas, my child! my child! Had but my son survived, I should not have been thus wholly destitute and forlorn! I should have had at least one tie to the world remaining--one dear memorial of my Mary--one existing object of my love!' But I have since had abundant reason to see and feel the goodness of the Almighty in taking this little precious one from me in his early infancy. For, considering the state in which I remained for eighteen years after his birth, how corrupt a teacher would he have found in me! And when it pleased the Lord to open my eyes, as he did at the time and in the manner I am about to shew you, it might then have been beyond my power to lead him in the way which I myself had just been taught to discern. But leaving these reflections, which you, good Sir, may make more justly than I can, I return to my story.

"After entering my forty-fifth year, I was one day, about the season of Midsummer, sent by my lord's order to his estate in the next parish, where I was directed, among other jobs, to fell a tree which stood on the side of a brook which turned the very mill in which my brother was foreman. The tree stood, as it were, about a bow-shot below the mill, and my brother's cottage right over against the mill, and somewhere about the same distance from the spot upon which I was employed. The season of the year in which this happened I well remember by this token, that while I was preparing to work, a cuckoo sat upon a neighbouring tree, and continued her cry till disturbed by the noise I made with my hatchet, upon which she took fright right over my head.

"My sister, Bessy Hart, who proved a tender wife to my brother, had always shewn a great desire to be kind to me, not only for my wife's sake, whose memory she dearly loved, but for my own, as her husband's brother, and one whom she had known from a boy. Nevertheless, I never could be persuaded to come within her door, because the sight of her was calculated to renew my bitterest recollections. I have however since that time been made to see the impropriety of giving way to such feelings, inasmuch as they partake greatly of the nature of rebellion against the divine decrees, to which we owe the most implicit and cheerful submission, if from no higher principle, yet assuredly from the persuasion which we ought to have, that he who is our Father will not cast off for ever: but though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies. For he doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men. [Lam. iii. 31--33.] But I had no idea at that time of the covenant mercies of God. I saw the Deity in that point of view in which every natural man beholds him--in the light of an inexorable judge. I had the very feeling which constrained the first offenders to seek a hiding-place from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden: and, in compliance with that feeling, I habitually fled from the contemplation of God, encompassing myself with my own vain conceits and false opinions.

"As I had hitherto shunned my brother's family, I now hoped that I should be able to finish my work in that place without their knowledge; and with this view I hastened to accomplish it, though with many fears lest the noise of my hatchet might reach them, and bring me and my occupation to their minds. While I was thus engaged, a young man of a pleasing aspect, and dressed in a black coat, came down the bank, and passed by me with a book in his hand, on which he looked from time to time, as if committing its contents to memory. He saluted me very civilly as he passed, and then went on towards a neighbouring wood.

"After continuing my work till near dinner-time and seeing no one else, I hoped I might complete my task, for that day at least, unregarded. But just as I was preparing to take my bread and cheese out of my bag for my solitary dinner, my brother's eldest daughter, who was a little older than my son would have been had he lived, came down the side of the brook towards me, carrying her youngest brother, an infant of about two years old, in her arms. She came smiling up to me, and accosting me by the familiar appellation of uncle, invited me in her mother's name to come in and dine with them.

"This young girl was just in the bloom of beauty, and, though resembling her mother, was not altogether unlike my ever beloved Mary; her voice especially resembled my Mary's: and the child she held in her arms was exceedingly lovely. I looked at both with a degree of agony I could not suppress, and asked her roughly who told her I was there?

"'We heard your hatchet, uncle,' she replied. 'And my mother sent use out to seek for you.'

"'Go,' I answered, 'and tell your mother I cannot come into her house and see her surrounded with so many blessings, while mine are perished in the grave.'

"'Nay, but, uncle,' said the young girl, 'we cannot help that: and if you would let us, we would be your children, and our father and mother would be your comforters.'

"'Go, child,' I said, 'and tell your parents they cannot comfort me.'

"She looked at me for a moment, and then wiped away her tears with the corner of her apron.

"I could not bear this; but taking up my hatchet, which lay by my side, I dashed it from me, uttering an expression of lamentation and despair which I cannot now remember.

"The girl turned from me with fresh floods of tears, and walked slowly back to the cottage. And at the same minute, I heard myself accosted to this purpose.--'My good man, what has happened? You seem to be distressed. Can I give you any advice or assistance? If so, command me.'

"I looked round, and saw the person mentioned above as having passed by a short time before with a book in his hand. He now stood close to me with a small purse in his hand, out of which he was taking some money, evidently with the intention of offering it to me.

"'Money!' I said, 'money! what can money do for one like me? Tell me, Sir,' I added, 'will money bring the dead to life? If so, I shall thankfully receive it.'

He immediately put up his purse, and took his Bible out of his pocket, meekly answering, 'No, my good man, money assuredly cannot do this; but faith, which cometh by hearing the Word of God--faith can do more.'

"My attention was excited by this extraordinary address, and I listened silently as he proceeded.

'You are probably,' said he, 'under the pressure of some great affliction, and have no comforter. Perhaps you do not even know where to seek consolation, yet whatever your trials may be, there is assuredly suitable comfort prepared for you; and the Almighty, I trust, will make you willing to receive it.' He then quoted several texts to me, which I have often since looked out for myself, and which have often yielded me wonderful support:--This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me. [Psalm cxix. 50.] Whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope. [Rom. xv. 4.] The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek: he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn. [Isaiah lxi. 1, 2.]

"Having finished these verses," continued Henry Hart, "he proceeded to observe that the Lord of heaven and earth had provided consolation for the afflicted, and that he himself had undertaken to administer it with his own hand; adding that there was no affliction incident to man beyond the reach of his consolatory aid.

"It was perhaps with a feeling of curiosity, and a desire for the moment to be diverted by any thing from my own miserable sensations, that I was at first inclined to lend a listening ear to what this gentleman had to offer; for I soon distinguished that the person who addressed me was a gentleman, though his dress was threadbare and bespoke but slender means. As I listened, however, I became interested; and, after a while, it pleased the Lord so to touch my heart through his instrumentality, that I could not restrain my tears--a circumstance which had not happened to me before for years.

"Now, were I to repeat to you, my good Sir, all that this excellent person said to me, I should require days for that which I hope to complete in a very few hours. Suffice it to say, that he did not leave me that morning 'before he had excited within me a desire to seek for consolation from my Bible. He gave me such a view of the Lord Jehovah, the blessed Three in One, as I had never before received. He pointed out to me especially the love which had been shewn to all mankind, by God the Father, in sending his Son to die for them; by God the Son, in having undertaken to offer himself up a sacrifice for their sin; and by God the Holy Ghost, in his perpetual though invisible efforts for man's salvation in producing that change of heart without which no man can enter the kingdom of heaven.

"These things all appeared entirely new to me, and, with the divine blessing, effected a considerable change in the whole state of my feelings; and more especially so, when I was enabled to see in those sore afflictions, which I had hitherto considered as cruel dispensations, nothing more than the salutary and needful chastisement of a tender Father. I cannot tell you how many hours this pious gentleman sat conversing with me. Suffice it to say, that, before he departed, he informed me that he was minister of the parish in which I then was, and invited me not only to come every Sunday to his church, but to take my dinner at his house; promising to renew his discourse with me every evening upon these matters. I accepted the invitation, and during the space of ten years was a constant attendant on his ministry. And whereas it was far for me to go home on a winter's evening after the last service, I was constrained at that season of the year to take a bed in the good minister's house, which afforded me further opportunity of receiving instruction.

"This gentleman, though polished in his habits, was poor, having a very slender provision; and being only a curate, he lived always, as the old custom was for persons in his situation, in his neat kitchen, having an elderly decent person for his housekeeper. His time was divided between his private studies, his devotions, and his parochial duties. Even his ordinary meals were sanctified by the word of God and by prayer.

"I found exceeding great delight in the company of this holy young man, and had occasion indeed to love and value him highly, since he laid himself out very earnestly for my benefit, and my heavenly Father was pleased mightily to bless his instructions to my lasting good. He first began, when become a little better acquainted with me and with my history, by endeavouring, through the divine help, to convince me that I had hitherto lived altogether as an infidel, and just as a man would live if there were no God in the world: and at the same time he laboured to make me understand, that all which had hitherto befallen me, had been intended for my good, and the good of those I best loved. It is true, that on these points I for a long time resisted all conviction; till at length, under the influence of divine grace, my stubborn heart began to yield: upon which I was speedily brought to perceive the truth of all he asserted, and from that time was more easily instructed to comprehend the leading doctrines of our holy religion. Nevertheless, as I had led a very decent moral life since my dear wife's death, my kind instructor found much difficulty in bringing me to a thorough acquaintance with my real circumstance; insomuch that it was a considerable time before he could make me understand, that the gloomy and sullen state of mind, in which I had long indulged myself, was the effect of an evil and rebellious heart. But, after a while, it pleased the Lord to open my mind on this subject also. And no sooner was I led even into a moderate acquaintance with the plague of my own heart, than I began gradually to discover the need of all those afflictions which I had been called to endure. And thus, step by step, my bewildered mind was opened first upon one thing, and then upon another, till at last the whole system of the Lord's providences was made plain to me, that is, as far as it was necessary for me to know it.

"And now, that is, from the time in which I began to have some heart-knowledge of religion, may I begin to date my progress from deep sorrow to peace, nay to happiness: for after I had entertained religious thoughts and feelings for a short season, through the divine mercy my tears were insensibly dried up, and my sorrow converted into joy.

But although I describe this change in a few words, yet I would have you to understand, my dear Sir," continued the old man, " that it was by no means so speedily effected as that circumstance might lead you to suppose. It was a long while before I could make up my mind on any new point of doctrine, especially on the subject of man's depravity, and of my own in particular. There I stood a tedious time, trying to make out some righteousness of my own; and when it pleased the Almighty to give me conviction on this point, nearly as long a season was spent before I could embrace the offered Saviour, or apply the promises to my own case. And, more than this, when I was at length enabled to taste the consolations of the Gospel, my views of God the Father remained for a long time very unsatisfactory and perplexing. I felt that I could trust and love the Son; but the Father was still a stranger to me; and I could not help continually crying, with Philip, Lord, shew me the Father, and it will suffice me. [John xiv. 8.]

However, as I learned to know my Saviour more, this difficulty disappeared, and I found in Christ that knowledge of the Father which is hid in him and in him only: for he that seeth him, seeth the Father also.

"On being thus far advanced, my blessed and holy guide endeavoured to bring me better acquainted with the third Person of the Trinity: and this he did by pointing out how near this Holy Spirit is to us, and how great things he had done for me especially, inasmuch as without his assistance I should have remained in that deep spiritual darkness in which the greater part of my life had been spent, and from which no human power was sufficient to extricate me. For although a human agent had been employed as the visible means of my conversion, the efforts he had used were found totally inadequate to the end they were intended to bring about, and must have entirely failed, had they not been accompanied by the influences of the Spirit.

"As the influence of religion became more and more powerful upon my mind," continued the old man, "I gradually found peace. I cannot pretend to ascertain the day when I obtained perfect peace, as many undertake to point out the hour and moment of their conversion: for the change was, in fact, so slow, that I was myself hardly aware of its progress, or how my grief first began to soften down; though I am inclined to think that my true conversion took place about the time when I first began to look on God the Father through the medium of his Son, and to feel that all he had done proceeded not from anger but from love.

"After being enabled, through grace, to perceive and lament the depravity of my heart, I began to discover that my afflictions, instead of being greater, had been far less than I deserved; that my keenest distresses had been accompanied with many consoling circumstances; and that I had abundant cause to rejoice in the reasonable assurance that my wife and child were now rejoicing, through the merits of their Redeemer, in a state of perfect felicity.

"Thus was I imperceptibly led on, as it were, step by step, from sorrow to joy; till, after a while, when I looked for my troubles, behold they were passed away as the snow in harvest.

"And now, although I still loved solitude, and my manner of life rendered it in some measure necessary, I did not avoid the company of my relations; but I was more particularly delighted with the society of my friend the minister, as well as with that of certain poor godly people who frequented his house. And from this time, how sweet, how abundant in delights, did the whole face of the earth appear to me, and especially those wild yet quiet spots to which my business constantly carried me! All nature, which formerly seemed to frown upon me, now presented me every where with emblems of the divine love, and perpetually invited me to hold communion with the great Author of all.

"My spiritual pastor also, by whom I mean the pious and benevolent friend with whom I was every Sunday an inmate, used much earnestness in pressing upon me the duty of seeking this divine communion or spiritual intercourse with the Holy Persons of the Trinity. 'This duty and privilege,' said he, 'from which the captive in the dungeon cannot be excluded by his galling chains, is too often sought after with much indifference even by those whom we have reason to think regenerate; a circumstance that proves how very far man is fallen from that blessed state of innocence, in which he was originally created, when, no doubt, he considered it as the highest enjoyment of which he was capable, to commune with his Creator. Moreover, this very circumstance shews how entirely changed we must be before we are admitted into that blessed state, the supreme happiness of which consists in being one with Christ.

"'But this duty,' continued he, 'I particularly press upon you, Henry Hart, because your daily labour leads you into solitude; because you dwell alone; and because you have opportunities above most men of reading the book of nature, and consequently of lifting up your heart from the works of the Creator to the Creator himself.'

"He then explained to me the especial nature of this communion, as it related severally to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit; plainly discovering to me how communion with the Father is held in the faith, love, and obedience yielded unto him by the saints; with the Son, by election in him, by their kindred with his humanity, and by a participation of his Spirit; and with the Holy Ghost, through his secret influences on the heart, which every true Christian must necessarily feel, though he may not possess the power of describing them. 'For I believe,' said this pious and humble minister, 'it not seldom happens, that even when, through the divine help, comparatively correct ideas of spiritual things are excited in the believer's mind, the capacity of imparting them in any adequate degree to others, is denied; and that not only through the imperfection of language, which, being especially accommodated to our temporal concerns, is less fitted for the conveyance of heavenly notions; but also, perhaps, in order to humble the pride of man, and to make him feel his dependence upon that glorious Person who is the only effectual teacher of heavenly things.'

"This excellent man then proceeded to point out to me the manner in which the Holy Scriptures state the condition of man on earth.--'They describe him,' said he, 'as a creature originally formed in the image of Him who created him, but through the delusions of Satan unhappily fallen from his original perfection into a state of extreme depravity; insomuch that he cannot turn and prepare himself by his natural good works to faith. And not only is man thus utterly helpless, weak, and ignorant, but he has at the same time a natural enmity against God; so that the unregenerate man abhors his Creator, and flies from his presence as an offender flies from the face of a just and angry judge. He is also rebellious in his will, as well as dark in his mind, being as it were totally dead to his real interests, and especially to all the concerns of his soul. To man in this state redemption is proclaimed, as accomplished by God himself; a free redemption, a redemption unsought, yea undesired, a full, powerful, and mighty redemption, beyond the ability of any created being to procure. This redemption is all of grace, all of mercy, gratuitously bestowed without regard to merit, flowing freely forth from the fountain of eternal love.

"My spiritual and friendly teacher then directed me to the different parts and offices which the sacred Persons of the Trinity perform in the wonderful work of man's salvation; which necessarily carried us back to the subject of divine communion, and by the repeated consideration of which I was introduced to a state of happiness inconceivable to me before.

"By frequent conversations of this nature," continued the old man, "I found my heart insensibly drawn towards the meditation of heavenly things, and daily rendered more and more meet for that holy intercourse with God of which my friend spoke with so much warmth: insomuch that, after a while, my mind took this bent so strongly, as enabled me to spend whole days in the woods, uninterruptedly employed in divine contemplations. There were times, indeed, when my mind became comparatively dark, cold, and dead, unfitting me for those divine enjoyments with which I was favoured on other occasions. Nevertheless, vile and unworthy as I was, and once differing in no degree from the most hardened of infidels, I have spent some hours in these solitudes, and on my bed in this house, in which the glories of another world seemed rather to be the objects of sight than of faith. And on such occasions, I was not seldom made to feel the true meaning of that apostolic declaration:--Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. But God hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit: for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God. [I Cor. ii. 9, 10.] Thus, though a son of earth, a creature of unclean lips, the vilest of the vile, I was permitted to enjoy such intercourse with my Maker, to experience such a sense of the divine love, and to feel so full an assurance of the covenant mercies of Jehovah, that I would hot have exchanged my humble state for all the united glories of the present world; no, not even could they have been secured to me through all eternity.

"And now, my good Sir," proceeded the venerable man, " I began indeed to discover that all nature was filled with representations and symbols of holy things, and that characters of heavenly import were graven on every creature around me; insomuch that when I had studied awhile the sacred Scriptures, and the language of types and shadows there so frequently used, my eye could scarcely meet a beautiful object below in which I did not immediately recognize the pattern of something which I trust to enjoy above. In those balmy breezes which blew over the orchards and flowery pasture-grounds in the mornings of springtide, I seemed to feel the influences of the Holy Spirit; while in the voice of the ringdove I seemed to hear its sacred whisperings. The beautiful light of day, as well as the shadows of the night, involved also a mystical meaning: in the one I saw the emblem of death, not of that death which acknowledges no morning, but rather of that state of quiet safety for the saints, in which the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest; while in the purple light of dawning day I beheld the renovated hopes of the just, and anticipated the glories of the first resurrection. In the course of the sun through the heavens, I saw an illustrious type of the heavenly Bridegroom; while in the waxing and waning moon I beheld that of the Church, whose splendours are ever changing with her ever varying faith. I beheld too a beautiful emblem of the Trinity in the celestial bow, as it shed its mild lustre over the dark woods, through some gently falling shower. Neither did I think myself presumptuous in thus applying it, since we are told in Holy Writ, when the father of mankind had descended from the ark after the destruction of the old world by water, that the Lord established a covenant with him, and gave him the rainbow as a token of that covenant. Comparing this passage with another in Revelations, I found in the rainbow, a type of Christ, the angel of the new covenant. So far the eye of my mind was, I thought, plainly directed by Scripture to discover in the heavenly bow a figure of the second Person in the Blessed Trinity. It next occurred to me, that it might perhaps be possible to discover in the same beautiful natural object, latent emblems of the first and third Persons. I pondered on this a long time; till somewhere reading that the rainbow is the effect of the rays of light falling in a certain direction upon the descending drops of rain, I recollected that there were passages without end in Scripture wherein the graces and influences of the Holy Spirit are compared to gentle showers and distilling dews, which water the earth and soften the parched ground, as the influences of the Spirit soften the hard heart of man: and at the same time remembering the words of St. John, God is light, I was satisfied that I had discovered the probable meaning of this threefold emblem, and almost wondered how it could have escaped me so long.

"Thus," said Henry Hart, "have many of the latter days of my pilgrimage on earth been blessed; so that I seem to have been travelling a long time through the land of Beulah. I do not however build any merit on these happy frames, though I would fain lead my fellow-pilgrims to seek happiness in the same way, seeing that there is no presumption in seeking after this divine communion, because the Lord repeatedly invites his people to partake of it, as in John, [xiv. 18, 23, 26.]--I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.--Jesus answered and said, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.--The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.

But to leave these subjects, on which I could expatiate for ever with delight--

"I lost my beloved minister nearly ten years after I first became acquainted with him. He died of some lingering disease, which many say was brought upon him by hard study. This however I never believed; but rather thought, that being ripe for glory, the Lord in mercy removed him from this present evil world to that happier state after which he had so long and so ardently aspired. I had by his advice some time before renewed my intercourse with my brother's family, in which I found pious and affectionate friends, until they removed out of this neighbourhood to a more promising situation. And thus I was again left alone in the world, as to any earthly connexions; yet not alone with respect to my God, with whom I had long been enabled to hold such communion as I have now, in my simple manner, endeavoured to describe.

"At length, the sense of my happiness became such, that I could keep it no longer to myself. This feeling seemed quite to overcome my natural disposition, which was that of great reserve. I looked about for some to whom I might inpart my joy, but was several times checked by persons who appeared unable to comprehend the nature of it, and who treated me as one that from leading a solitary life had acquired certain wild and romantic notions which amounted to little less than absolute derangement. Finding that such was in general the opinion of my neighbours respecting me, I withdrew again into my former retirement, in which I continued to live till the Sunday-school opened to me an unexpected way of publicly evidencing my love for Him, whose presence had so long formed my secret happiness.

"About the same time," continued the old man, "finding myself getting infirm, I took a good old woman into my family, who has proved to me a quiet and inoffensive help-meet, though I never could by any means succeed in opening her eyes upon the subject of religion; for while she quietly assents to all I say, she remains, as far as I can perceive, in a state of spiritual ignorance. This was a source of peculiar trouble to me for a long season: but I have now committed her to the Lord, trusting that he will carry on his own blessed work upon her without my interference.

"And now, good Sir, I am come to the end of my history, having shewn you all that the Lord has done for me: the mighty sum of which I have not power to calculate, neither shall I through all eternity be able justly to conceive the height, the breadth, and depth, of that redeeming love, from which I derive my richest consolations."

Here the lady of the manor having finished the history of Henry Hart, called her young people to prayer; after which they withdrew for the evening.

A Prayer for a lively Communion with God.

"O ALMIGHTY FATHER, who in thine infinite mercy hast permitted thy redeemed ones to hold communion with thee in prayer, in meditation, and by a participation of all those blessings which thou hast promised to those that are in covenant with thee, pour down upon us, we beseech thee, those inestimable gifts of thy Holy Spirit, by which alone we can be enabled rightly to appreciate this glorious privilege, as well as to receive benefit and consolation from all our approaches to thy throne, and our contemplation of divine things. O Almighty Father, we are assured that thy saints have found such delight in these exercises as no earthly enjoyment is capable of imparting: nevertheless, we feel a backwardness to all communion with thee, which we cannot too deeply lament, nor too humbly acknowledge; since we feel a painful conviction that this reluctance arises from the depravity of our nature, and from that evil heart of unbelief in us which is ever prone to wander from God. We have hitherto considered prayer as a task, and almost every written work of man has been more acceptable to us than thy holy word, even after being convinced that no real happiness is reasonably to be expected but that which proceeds from a heart truly devoted to thee. We gladly admit any excuse by which we may absent ourselves from thy service; our thoughts are far from thee; we even associate gloomy ideas with the worship of the Creator of heaven and earth; and seek to divert ourselves with any trifle, rather than be occupied with the wonders of redeeming love. In what a total state of estrangement from thee have we hitherto lived! How alive are we to our worldly concerns! how dead and lifeless in all spiritual occupations! Though thou art ever near to us, we are generally far from thee. Our hearts are hard, our affections cold; and thus does our disinclination to divine things form a wall of separation between thee and us, even after we have had some experience of thy regenerating power and sanctifying grace. We beseech thee, O heavenly Father, have mercy upon us; cast us not away from thy presence; leave us not to ourselves, and to the power of our sins; but compel us to come unto thee, and rather deprive us of all earthly consolations than permit us to rest exclusively in them: for what should we be profited, were we to gain the whole world, and be separated for ever from thee? Whom have we in heaven, O our God, but thee? and there is none upon earth we should desire in comparison of thee. All that is excellent in thy saints, is but the faint and polluted image of thy glory. And all that is beautiful on earth, presents us with nothing more than an imperfect emblem of what thou hast prepared for thy redeemed ones in the world to come. Instruct us to look through all temporal things to those which are eternal. The heavens declare thy glory, O Lord, and the earth is full of the works of thy hand! Permit them not to exist in vain with regard to us: but enable us to discern in all these surrounding objects the evidence of things not seen; that, with the patriarchs and prophets of old, we may live by faith in the promises of God, and finally be numbered with those who through the exercise of that mighty grace subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, stopped the mouths of lions; and of whom the world was not worthy. And now, O blessed Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, though creatures of unclean lips, we earnestly supplicate thy mercy, in humble assurance that thou wilt hearken to our imperfect prayers, for the sake of him who condescended to visit us in our low estate, that he might raise us from the ruins of our fall, and finally present us before the throne of his grace without spot or blemish, being clothed with his own righteousness, and washed from our sin in his own blood, and thus rendered meet for that perfect communion with himself which will form the highest enjoyment of the saints through a blissful eternity."

Q. You said that your Godfathers and Godmothers did promise for you, that you should keep God's Commandments. Tell me how many there be?

A. Ten.

Q. Which be they?

A. The same which God spake in the twentieth Chapter of Exodus, saying, I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the Land of Egypt, out of the House of Bondage.

FIRST COMMANDMENT--THOU SHALT HAVE NONE OTHER GODS BUT ME

On the usual day of the week appointed for the assembling of the young people at the manor-house, the lady of the manor received them all in her wonted graceful and affectionate manner; neither were they sorry to observe a small manuscript lying upon her work-table, from which they promised themselves the pleasure of hearing some interesting and profitable narrative. However, the lady commenced the business of the evening without any reference to this manuscript, by putting several questions from the Church Catechism to Miss Sophia. The questions and answers were to this effect.--

"Q. You said that your Godfathers and Godmothers did promise for you, that you should keep Gods commandments. Tell me how many there be?

"A. Ten.

"Q. Which be they?

"A. The same which God spake in the twentieth chapter of Exodus, saying, I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage."

"It cannot be necessary, my dear young people, to remind you of the time and occasion when these commandments were delivered," said the lady of the manor.

I will not therefore expatiate on this part of our subject, but proceed to remark what perhaps some of you may already be acquainted with--that the ten commandments comprehend not the whole communication made at that time from Mount Sinai; but that there were many other laws and ordinances given on the same occasion for the observance of the people of God. The whole of these have always been classed under two heads; viz. the moral, and the ceremonial: the former of which are of eternal obligation, having been ratified by Christ, and being in their own nature essentially good; but the latter, consisting only of types and symbols, all of which received their completion in Christ, are now passed away, even as the shadow gives place to the substance. With respect to the moral law, it has been found, by the universal experience of every individual throughout all ages, that no man has ever been able to keep it undefiled in the smallest point. Hence St. Paul says, Therefore by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin. [Rom. iii.20.]

"Could a man perform every article of the moral law," continued the lady of the manor, "and were he so to do from his infancy unto his death, he would have undoubtedly such a claim on the divine justice, as to have nothing to apprehend, were the earth itself to be dissolved, and the elements to melt with fervent heat; for death could have no dominion over such a man, neither would he be subject in any degree to those pains and infirmities, which are the effects of sin in all our fallen race. But while it seems almost profane to fancy the existence of such a man, you will be surprised to hear me assert, that many persons, either through ignorance of themselves, or of the nature of the divine commandments, imagine themselves to be nearly without sin; presuming to speak and act as if eternal happiness was the merited reward of their good works. But in order, my dear young people, to convince you of the spiritual nature of the commandments, and to make you sensible of your incapacity of fulfilling the duties which they enjoin, we will consider these commandments one by one, beginning with the first."

The lady of the manor then requested one of the young people to repeat the first commandment; which being done to this effect, "Thou shalt have no other gods but me," she proceeded to make the following remarks.--"The Lord is our King, and therefore we owe him the duty of subjects. He is our Saviour, and therefore has a right to our utmost love and gratitude. His united glories and excellencies render him worthy of our adoration; but our praises and prayers must for ever fall short of his infinite perfections. In this enlightened country, my young friends, we are not tempted to that open breach of this commandment which we condemn in the heathen: nevertheless, I fear that, with respect to this commandment, we are all habitually and presumptuously guilty; and perhaps those persons who are of the household of faith, or are at least professing Christians, are more perversely blind in this respect even than the men of the world. The love of self is a species of idolatry of which I have often spoken to you. The idol self reigns in every unregenerate heart; and I wish I could say that it was dethroned and stripped of its dominion in the hearts of those of whom we might hope better things. But as I shall have much to say to you on this subject in our future discourses, I shall now only speak of that peculiar species of idolatry which seems to obtain so largely in the Christian world. I mean that excessive veneration which is shewn to ministers, preachers, writers, missionaries, and other persons whom the Almighty vouchsafes to employ in his service on earth, whereby their usefulness is frequently marred, the Saviour thrown into the background, the Spirit grieved, and the abomination of desolation set up in the holy place.

"But," continued the lady of the manor, "lest I should be tempted, perhaps, to speak too warmly upon this subject, the evil of which cannot be too strongly felt, I shall proceed to read a little narrative to you which is much to our purpose."

The lady of the manor then opened the little manuscript before mentioned, and read as follows.--

HUMAN PRAISE.

Mr. James Eliot, a young man of respectable though not of high family, went out to India, about forty years ago, as a free mariner; and having, during the stay of the ship to which he was attached, formed a friendship with a young man in a merchant's counting-house in Calcutta, he remained in the country when the vessel returned to England, and soon found a situation in a mercantile house in Calcutta, where after remaining a few years, and amassing a small sum, he left that city, and entered into the indigo business, in a part of the country about two hundred miles distant from the presidency, where he was entirely separated from European society.

The indigo business is one of peculiar hazard and uncertainty; some persons obtaining by it sudden and immense fortunes, while others as speedily prove bankrupts. It pleased the Lord, however, to bless the store of Mr. Eliot, so that in a short time he acquired a very considerable property, and was actually thinking of an immediate return to England for the peaceful enjoyment of his fortune, when, during a short visit to Calcutta, he fell into the society of some of those pious men who for a few years past have devoted themselves to the promotion of the Gospel among our native subjects in India.

Mr. James Eliot, who had lived for the last ten years in the jungles, where he had not acquired a single idea on the subject of religion, and had considered the conversion of the natives as a thing entirely out of the question, beholding with amazement the exertions then making in and near Calcutta, began to entertain a more advantageous idea of that religion which could induce persons brought up in civilized society to give up numerous pleasures and comforts, and to endure many considerable privations, in order to promote the spiritual welfare of the heathen. From that time, he became an enquirer after Christ, and was presently found of him whom he had been excited to seek. His time in Calcutta was short; but as soon as his eyes were in any degree opened, so rapid was the change produced in him by the light of the Gospel, that he returned to his jungles, as it were, a new creature; and even before he reached the end of his journey, he had resolved to give up all present thoughts of going back to England, determining thenceforward to devote all his leisure hours to the instruction of the poor natives by whom he was surrounded.

It is not my purpose in this place to enter into any particular account of the methods which he adopted for the promotion of this blessed undertaking. His plans were, probably, such as now, under various modifications, are adopted by holy men in different parts of the world for the conversion of the heathen. He established schools, and built a small place of worship, where, in default of a more duly qualified person, he read and expounded the Scripture himself in the native tongue: he provided readers to go forth into the neighbouring villages: he assisted the sick, the fatherless, the orphans, and the widows; employing every lawful means in his power to make himself acceptable to the untaught population around him. He found in this his blessed career many disappointments and some encouragements. And though he endured much fatigue, particularly from labouring in a climate so peculiarly relaxing as that of Bengal, yet he was favoured with great peace of mind, together with an entire freedom from that dejection of spirits to which he, in common with the greater part of the European inhabitants of Bengal, had formerly been very liable. It is true, that when he read the accounts of what his Christian brethren were doing in other parts of the world, especially of the great anniversaries of the Bible and Missionary Societies in England, where thronging multitudes, made up partly of the great and the noble among men, were assembled together to promote the work of their heavenly Father--he would sometimes look round from the solitary elevation where his house was situated, upon the villages with their bent roofs and bamboo porches, on the swampy plains, the topes of trees, and the vast meadows on which herds of buffaloes cropped the rank pasturage; and as he looked he would feel a momentary dejection of spirit at the thought of his entire separation from all Christian society. At these seasons he could not forbear crying out, "Had I but one friend, one Christian brother, to whom I might open my heart, to whom I might communicate my views, and make known my perplexities, what consolations and encouragements should I then experience!" But while the Almighty saw good to deny him this consolation, he gave him one which was as infinitely superior to it, as that which is heavenly is above that which is earthly. After God had permitted him for a while to sigh for these external satisfactions, he led him to feel that the Christian who seeks comfort or encouragement from a fellow-creature, rests his support on that which may break and pierce his hand; but that he who makes the Lord the Spirit his guide, his friend, his comforter, rests on that rock which is able to support him when all the host of heaven shall be dissolved, and the heavens themselves shall be rolled together as a scroll. [Isai. xxxiv. 4.]

By meditating long and in solitude on this subject, he was, at length, made fully sensible, that for him who had the privilege of having the Lord as his friend and his guide, it was absolutely sinful to desire any other, excepting in subordination and entire subservience to the will of the Almighty. He was moreover taught, that he who seeks and desires the approbation of man for any service which he has been enabled to perform towards the promotion of the kingdom of Christ on earth, is as truly and decidedly derogating from the honour and power of the Holy Spirit, as the man who denies his being and attributes. The more he meditated on this subject, and the more he considered the special office of the Spirit in the Church of Christ, the more he became convinced of the exceeding sinfulness of desiring the praise of men; as well as of the vanity of expecting any blessing to attend his labours, while he remained in any measure under the influence of this carnal and idolatrous temper. "The days are past," he would say to himself, "in which our kings, heroes, and great men, actually set themselves up as gods to be worshipped; we can see and condemn the blasphemous conduct of Cyrus and Alexander, when they allowed their subjects to pay them divine honours; and yet I myself am occasionally lamenting my solitary situation, because it excludes me from the notice and commendation of man."

Thus he was carried on from reflection to reflection, till, by the divine help and through the study of the Scriptures, he acquired such a view of the work of man's salvation, from first to last, and of the various parts taken in that mighty work by the three glorious Persons of the blessed Trinity, that he almost trembled with horror on perceiving the possibility, had he been associated with professing Christians, of his taking some praise to himself on account of the conversion of certain of the heathen in his little district--and so greatly did this thought affect him, that he was even, at length, brought to thank God for the retirement by which he had been preserved from receiving that incense of praise which is due only to the Almighty, but which blind and erring man is too frequently arrogating to himself.

After Mr. Eliot had been labouring for some years in his solitary situation with great faithfulness, he was visited by a gentleman who had much the same Christian views with himself. This gentleman was, of course, much pleased with all he saw and heard of Mr. Eliot's conduct; and on returning to his friends, he failed not, to give a relation, though with much Christian simplicity, of the blessed work which was going on in the jungles.

This relation was by far too interesting to be slightly passed over by those who take delight in such sacred reports; and, in consequence, it soon spread from one to another, till at length it reached the mother-country, where it offered a desirable article to many of the religious periodical papers of the day. In this manner, though unknown till a long time afterwards by the individual himself, the name of James Eliot became celebrated in the religious world: and he was particularly commended for his conduct at a time when his people were visited by a very severe and dangerous fever, during which he hazarded his own life by visiting the miserable huts of the sick, and administering to them that relief, both spiritual and temporal, which their situation required.

In the mean time, this pious man, while his character became more and more known and admired in the religious world, was daily growing in grace, and especially the grace of humility, in his retired jungle: the praise and blame of the world, the commendation or condemnation of his fellow-men, no longer occupied his thoughts, but had passed away from his mind among other fancies of his unconverted state. Through the infinite power of the Holy Spirit, he had been brought to consider the salvation of man's soul as the one only thing worthy of a moment's anxiety; and hence he was taught to esteem that as the only evil, which interfered with man's spiritual good.

It was the intention of Mr. James Eliot to have spent the remainder of his days, under the divine permission, with his little Church in the wilderness: but at the very time when he seemed to be most deeply engaged and interested in his blessed work, by one of those remarkable dispensations of Providence which we often see without being able to comprehend, he was cut off from further usefulness by a severe illness, which left him in such a state, that a voyage to his native country was thought to offer him the only remaining chance of prolonging his life.

Mr. James Eliot yielded to this appointment of Providence with Christian resignation, though not without much sorrow; while his separation from his schools and native congregation was as the tearing asunder of soul and body. He became, however, much reconciled to an immediate return to England, from being able, during a short stay in Calcutta, to make such arrangements as secured a Christian teacher for his congregation, together with proper supplies for his schools and other charitable establishments. And since he was himself in a state of high affluence, he would on no account allow the liberality of others to be solicited for such assistance as his own purse could abundantly supply.

Mr. Eliot's health was so greatly benefited during the voyage, that it would have been difficult to believe, at the end of it, that he had been in so very feeble a state at its commencement. He was, however, in the mean while convinced, notwithstanding these favourable appearances, that he must never again expose himself to that climate by which his life had been so greatly endangered. The old gentleman on this account believed it his duty to take up his abode in England, though his heart still remained with the poor heathen whom he had left behind him.

This being the case, as soon as he arrived in England he wrote to two single ladies, elderly persons, residing in a certain town in one of the inland counties, who were nearly related to him, and whom he recollected in early life; informing them of his arrival, and requesting them to procure him neat lodgings with some respectable pious family in their neighbourhood; adding, that he wished also to board in the same family, in order that he might be delivered from the cares of providing for himself.

Before Mr. James Eliot had been enabled to get his goods passed through the East-India House, he received an answer to this letter, expressed in terms of great regard and respect, and containing a proposal from the ladies in question of providing their cousin with apartments in their own house.

It happened, that Mrs. Anne and Mrs. Esther Clinton, the ladies just mentioned, were among the number of those self-tormented persons, who, during a life of considerable duration, are always labouring to keep up an appearance somewhat above that to which their rank and the smallness of their fortunes entitle them. Thus these ladies, who were daughters of a respectable farmer, had contrived to pass their days in a state of perpetual and painful effort; and although they had succeeded in forming some few connexions somewhat above them, they had been frequently exposed to petty mortifications.

During the earlier part of their lives, the pleasures of the world had formed the sole object of their pursuit; in connexion with which they always pretended to be exact judges of all matters of form and etiquette, as well as of all that was elegant and fashionable in dress and manners: they affected also a kind of instinctive horror of any thing low and vulgar; and, by frequently talking of the dignity of their own family, they had at length actually argued themselves into the belief, that it was superior to any other in the neighbourhood which was not decidedly noble. Within a few years past, a revolution--we will not say a reformation--had been effected in the minds of these ladies, by the general prevalence of religious profession in their town and neighbourhood; and especially by what had been called the conversion of a certain great lady in the vicinity, who had been many years the oracle of the Misses Clinton, being the only daughter of a nobleman with whom they had been very long acquainted.

This lady, the Honourable Mrs. Essington, had in her younger days been a beauty, and, in consequence, an object of great attention to the other sex. When time put an end to her pretensions of this kind, she suddenly became a wit, and kept the country alive by getting up amateur plays at the mansion-house, and presiding over certain mask-balls, puppet-shows, archery-meetings, and other conceits of the same nature; all of which she had the art of making as agreeable to her friends and neighbours as things of this kind are capable of being made; the town about that period of her life being a military station, and there being, in consequence, many smart officers in the neighbourhood who were glad of such a house as Essington-Hall wherein to spend an idle hour. But when, owing to some new regulations among those who had the management of these things, the military were removed from the town, these balls and other amusements lost their zest, and the restless spirit of Mrs. Essington took another direction. She suddenly became a very high religious professor; running from one place of worship to another, frequenting religious meetings, establishing schools, patronizing missions and missionaries, and going through all the usual routine and bustle of these matters: but whether with or without a proper feeling we do not presume to decide. It was, however, the general belief of those who knew this lady best, that, although her professions were loud and noisy, and her movements rapid and unsettled, yet that there were times and occasions when she gave evidence that somewhat of a real change of heart had commenced in her, and that the good seed had taken some root, although much choked by the weeds and rubbish of this world.

But, leaving these things to one who knows them better than we can do, certain it was, that this lady's religion made much noise in the town and country; and that the two Misses Clinton, soon after Mrs. Essington was said to have renounced the world, declared that they began to see things in a new light, spoke of their past lives as of a dream of folly, lamented the wickedness of their hearts, and gave notice that they should thenceforward give up dancing, and renounce whist; and, in accordance with these professions, they were observed to take the artificial roses from their bonnets.

In the mean time, those who wished them well in a spiritual way, looked in vain for any evidence of the world having lost its real hold of their hearts. They still retained the same anxiety as before to make a handsome figure in society; and as their little fortunes had, through some unforeseen accident, suffered certain deductions, they were actually at a loss in what way to augment their small income, when their cousin's letter very opportunely arriving, afforded them a reputable excuse for letting their drawing-room and best bed-chamber. Nevertheless these two good ladies, though delighted with the prospect of getting a little money in this way, took great pains to colour the matter over to their neighbours, as if their very acceptance in society depended upon its being supposed that it was extremely inconvenient to them to give up their drawing-room to their cousin, and that they were only induced to do so out of the purest motive of Christian charity. And in order to set this matter in a more exalted point of view, it was marvellous what pains they took to state the high character which Mr. James Eliot held in the missionary world; the great benefits he had rendered to the Church in India; his exalted piety; his exemplary labours; his severe sufferings; his extraordinary disinterestedness; together with the sacrifice he had made of health, of life, of property;--all these afforded them frequent subjects of discussion: and, to crown all, they took care to have the before-mentioned publication, relating to Mr. Eliot's exertions in India, always lying open on their parlour-table. By which means, and with the assistance of Mrs. Essington, whose energies were presently all excited upon the occasion, they raised such a commotion among the religious professors in the town, before Mr. James Eliot could arrive from London, that every window of the street through which he must pass might have been expected to overflow with young and old, had the hour of his arrival been exactly foreknown.

In the mean time, the good old gentleman, who was altogether, as we have before stated, a plain, unpresuming man, with as little pretensions as possibly could be to any thing in the heroic line or out of the common way, was travelling down from town in the inside of a heavy coach, dressed in a neat suit of blue cloth, with linen as white and delicate as an Indian dobee [A washerwoman] could make it; his mind all the while being occupied with certain schemes of usefulness, which he hoped, advanced as he was in years and unacquainted with English customs, he might be able to put in practice as soon as he found himself settled.

It was four in the afternoon when Mr. Eliot arriving at his cousin's house, was ushered into a back parlour, where the ladies were waiting dinner for him, having dressed themselves with a care and attention to fashion which not a little surprised him in persons of their age, and especially in persons so devoted to religion as certain passages in their answer to his letter represented them to be.

Nevertheless, though their appearance was not altogether answerable to his expectations, yet they received him with such cordiality, that he presently forgot the inauspicious circumstances which had struck him at his first entrance. So sitting down to partake of their dinner, they soon began to talk of days that were past, and persons who were now no more; from which subjects the old friends proceeded to speak of the present inhabitants of the town and neighbourhood, and more especially how they stood affected with respect to religion: when the old ladies failed not to give such a report as filled Mr. Eliot's mind with unfeigned pleasure; though indeed a question would occasionally arise even in the midst of their conversation somewhat tending to trouble this joy, which question was this--Do these good ladies, my cousins, know what they are talking of?

After dinner, the Misses Clinton proposed to introduce Mr. Eliot to his apartments above stairs, which consisted of a handsome drawing-room to the street, a large bed-chamber commanding a pleasant view towards the fields, and a light closet.

Mr. Eliot was ushered into these apartments with considerable parade on the part of the ladies, and more than once informed, that as the Misses Clinton saw much and very genteel company, no consideration should have induced them to give up their apartments but the great respect and affection which they felt for their cousin.

When this speech had been several times repeated under various forms and different modifications, it excited so much apprehension in the mind of Mr. Eliot, lest he should really be putting the old ladies to great inconvenience by taking up his dwelling under their roof, as to draw from him a reply of this sort, that nothing would distress him more than to become troublesome to his kind friends and cousins, and that he hoped they would not think of detaining him in their house longer than would be necessary for the purpose of providing himself with other apartments.

There was nothing further from the minds of the good ladies than to procure other lodgings for their cousin: but these respectable personages were of the number of those who always fetch an ample compass in order to reach home, although the most direct approach would be at once the most convenient and safe. Such persons do very well with those who move in the same indirect paths as themselves; but are often strangely disconcerted and put out of their way when they meet with plain straight-forward people, who give simple credence to all the statements of their friends. Such was the case of the Misses Clinton on the present occasion; and they found themselves put to their shifts and contrivances in order to place things on the same good footing with their cousin which they had occupied a few minutes before. In consequence of this, they were obliged to make a considerable expenditure of compliments and professions; all of which Mr. Eliot seemed as little able to comprehend as the disqualifying and disparaging sentences he had just before heard. He looked at his cousins with an enquiring eye, in answer to their polite speeches, and said, "Well, ladies, I am at your command; you will do with me as you please: and I hope it will not be found difficult to satisfy me with respect to any lodgings you may think fit to propose."

In reply to this, the old gentleman was overwhelmed with a torrent of professions and assurances, from which, after a while, he was enabled to gather this simple fact, that the good ladies wished him thenceforward to consider their house as his home--and in consequence, being now left alone by the ladies, he began to form arrangements in his own mind for his books, his papers, &c. &c.

Thus every thing being again smooth and settled, the ladies in a short time called Mr. Eliot to tea in their parlour, having set him an arm-chair between the tea-table and the window; an exceedingly agreeable situation in the summer, inasmuch as the window opened on a garden, which was always kept neatly dressed, and filled with a variety of sweet and beautiful flowers. Before the chair was placed a little stand, on which, beside the tea-cup, lay a new pamphlet.

When the old gentleman entered the parlour, the seat intended for him was pointed out by the ladies, with a significant glance at the pamphlet, which did not at first draw the eye of Mr. Eliot, whose attention was attracted by the charms of the flower-garden, the serene sky, and the air of comfort shed around.

After some discourse on unimportant subjects, the elder Miss Clinton, drawing herself up, and looking smilingly at her sister, said, "Cousin, you do not look at the book which lies before you."

"The book!" said the old gentleman; "what book do you mean, cousin? I have been regaling myself with a beautiful page of the book of nature to which I have just turned, and which cannot but have peculiar charms for one who has been for the last five months confined in the small cabin of an East-Indiaman; and indeed I scarcely know in what other book I may find a page which is likely to contain things more agreeable to me."

Another significant look passed between the sisters; when Miss Esther took up the pamphlet, which was a religious periodical publication, and presented it to him, pointing with her finger to a certain section, and then, as she delivered the book into his hand, drawing herself up with a certain peculiar shake of the head and pursing of the mouth: all of which appeared totally unintelligible to the good old gentleman.

In order, however, to obtain some clue to this mystery, Mr. Eliot turned to the open pamphlet, when to his great amazement he discovered that it contained a full, but what to him appeared a somewhat exaggerated account of all his labours in India. His name and place of abode were given in full length, and the whole statement was mingled with such extravagant praises of himself, his perseverance, his self-denial, his devotedness, his courage, and his piety, that being filled with shame and astonishment, blushing deeply, and laying down the book, he looked at one and the other of his cousins with an expression of wonder, which formed a curious contrast with the high self-satisfaction depictured in their countenances.

A silence of a few moments ensued, which was at length broken by Miss Esther Clinton, who said, "Well, cousin! well, Mr. Eliot! what do you think of the passage to which we wished to draw your attention?"

"Think!" said he, repeating her words, and turning over the pamphlet to look at its title; "think!--I do not know what to think."

"You are pleased, surely!" said Miss Clinton, not well knowing how to read his countenance.

"I should be pleased if all this was true," said Mr. Eliot, with an effort to appear less vexed than he really was.

"Why, surely you will not attempt to say that it is false!" returned the lady.

"Such praise as this," replied he gravely, "can be due to no man; much less is it due to me."

"What, Sir! will you say that you have not done the things stated in that book?" said Miss Esther.

"I will not say," returned Mr. Eliot, "that the bare facts in this statement are false, but I must assert, that the colouring given to them is extravagantly heightened; and those who speak of my perseverance, self-denial, courage, devotedness, and piety, are little aware how small a quantity of each of these was necessary for effecting those changes which I have been employed in bringing about. If praises like these," continued the old gentleman, "could ever with any propriety be bestowed upon any man, they are surely not applicable to persons who give of their abundance, not of their poverty, to those who want--nor yet to those who endeavour to honour their God by engaging in the labours of a missionary, not amid privations, and under fiery persecutions, but in the enjoyment of all the usual comforts and many of the luxuries of life. Let us read the list of St. Paul's trials," added the old gentleman, taking out his Pocket-Bible, "and let modern candidates for the praise of martyrdom blush and be silent.--In perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren; in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness. Besides those things that are without, that which cometh upon me daily, the care of all the Churches.

[2 Cor. xi. 26--28.] But, to come nearer to modern days," continued Mr. Eliot, "let us consider the privations and afflictions of the holy Brainerd in the wilds of Delaware. And let the extraordinary labours and sufferings of those he had in everlasting remembrance, who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. Women received their dead raised to life again: and others were tortured, not accepting deliverance; that they might obtain a better resurrection: and others had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea moreover, of bonds and imprisonment: they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword; they wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins: being destitute, afflicted, tormented: (of whom the world was not worthy.)" [Heb. xi. 33--38.]

"Well, well," said Miss Clinton, looking complacently, "we know that the saints of the Lord ought always to think meanly of themselves; and no doubt the excellent man you spoke of in the wilds of Delaware had no better opinion of himself, or of his labours, than you have, cousin James."

Mr. Eliot fidgeted in his seat; and had he not been restrained by Christian courtesy, he might perhaps have used some such expression as "Pish." But the language of contempt is not found in the vocabulary of a Christian. His expression of contempt being therefore choked in the utterance, he heaved an audible sigh, and said, "My good cousins, permit me, I pray you, to speak my mind once for all upon these subjects; and in order to speak on these matters with greater freedom, I will not allow myself to touch on the point, whether, compared with other men, I am worthy or otherwise. I will suppose that I have all the missionary merits of David Brainerd, of Swartz, of Vanderkemp, of any or of all the excellent of the earth united; this, for the sake of argument, I will grant: and yet I do assure you, that I will neither receive such praise, nor suffer myself to be spoken of in such terms of commendation as are found in this book.

"Praise may sometimes be considered as right and proper, and at other times it may be looked upon as even blasphemous, according to the application which is made of it. We cannot indeed wonder that the men of this world should compliment and praise each other; that they should agree to set up idols chosen from among themselves; and that they should, like the ancient heathen, serve their adopted gods upon the high mountains, and upon the hills, and under every green tree: [Deut. xii. 2.] but from those who profess to be followers of the Lamb, from those who know that every good and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights--I must confess that from men of such a description, I look for better things; and I certainly do greatly wonder, when I hear persons, who, I trust, are converted, bestowing upon one another that praise and honour which are due unto the Lord only.

"When we consider the scheme of man's salvation, taking it from beginning to end, we may well ask ourselves, what power has man to promote so mighty an undertaking? and what need has the Lord of his assistance in it? And though the great God may sometimes condescend to employ a human agent in this work, yet is it not evident that such condescension is a favour done to the individual so employed? and does it not follow, that if such individual takes the glory of so great a work to himself, he is in some sense guilty of blasphemously arrogating to himself the honour that belongs to God alone?

"It appears, both from reason and from Scripture, that before the creation of man, the Lord Jehovah foresaw that he would speedily fall, and, losing his original innocence, would render himself fit only for everlasting destruction from the presence of his Creator. Wherefore this was to be, we cannot say: nor are we able to reason satisfactorily upon the matter; not only because we probably have not faculties sufficient for grasping such a subject, but because we want the necessary knowledge of facts and circumstances. In order to comprehend these matters, it is perhaps necessary to know the history of the origin of evil--to know the history of millions of worlds, and the events which have taken place through the endless reach of all past eternity. It is to me almost evident, that the history of man is but a single link connected with one vast chain of events, too vast perhaps for the grasp of the intellectual faculties of any created being. Leaving therefore these deep things out of the question, let us simply consider that which we are permitted to know. Before God made man, as I have just now intimated, he knew that he would render himself fit for everlasting death: for the progress of man from his birth to hell is as sure and certain, without the divine interference, as that sparks fly upwards, and that water flows downwards. Foreseeing this, the Lord determined, before the foundation of the world, to rescue such as should be saved of the human race from everlasting destruction, rendering them monuments of mercy and divine love through all eternity, and to the whole universe. Whether these his redeemed ones are to be few or many, is not our present question; though we have reason to believe from Scripture, that they will be a multitude equal to the stars of the heaven and the sands of the sea. Those therefore which shall be saved, will owe their salvation neither to their own good works, nor to the ministry of any spiritual teacher, but to God only. Nevertheless, agreeable to the tendency of our seventeenth Article--being called according to God's purpose by his Spirit, they through grace will obey the call; being justified freely, they will be made the sons of God by adoption: and having walked religiously in good works, they will at length attain to everlasting felicity.

"This then being the state of the case," proceeded Mr. Eliot, "and man's conversion and sanctification being so wholly the work of God, it appears to me, that, when persons filling the offices of missionaries, spiritual teachers, or ministers of any kind whatever, presume to take any glory to themselves on account of the spiritual good produced in their respective spheres of labour, they are actually guilty of blasphemy; and, if they are aware of what they are doing, perhaps blasphemy of the most dreadful kind: while they who administer this undue praise to their teachers and spiritual pastors, are encouraging in themselves and others a carnal spirit, which will bring leanness and destruction into the Christian Church.

"As religion becomes more reputable and fashionable, it is to be feared that the temptation to set up religious teachers as idols will become greater and more universal; and if it does so, depend upon it the progress of the Gospel will be stayed in all those places where such a mode of conduct is adopted. Schisms will also break out in the Church; for these idolized men becoming more jealous of their own reputation than of the honour of the Lord, the influences of the Holy Spirit will undoubtedly be withheld: for the Lord will not be robbed of his honour, and he will make those who set themselves up as idols to know their own weakness and insufficiency, according to that which is written--He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal. If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will my Father honour." [John xii. 25, 26.]

Mr. Eliot had been carried on by the warmth and energy of his feelings to say thus much before he paused to consider whether the sentiments he was uttering were likely to be perfectly comprehensible to his two auditors. He was however soon made to understand by the looks which the sisters interchanged with each other, and by the answers which they made to his remarks when he ceased to speak, that he might have spared much of the pains he had taken to explain his sentiments to them.

"Well, cousin, well, cousin," said Miss Clinton, as soon as the pause in his discourse allowed her to put in a word, "we will henceforth spare your modesty; you shall hear no snore from us of the high opinion which the world entertains of your missionary exertions. Assuredly, humility is exceedingly becoming in a Christian: it gives a beautiful finish to a fine character, and resembles the shade in the background of a glowing portrait.--You shall hear no more of this from us." And so saying, she took up the book, and consigned it, with much seeming respect, to a place in her work bag.

Mr. Eliot followed the book with his eye till it was concealed from his sight; and then, agreeable to a train of thoughts which was passing through his mind, he asked his cousin if the publication in question was in wide circulation?

"No publication of the kind has so universal a sale," answered the lady with much self-complacency.

The old gentleman sighed; and, recollecting that his old Calcutta friend now resided in Scotland, it occurred to him, that, if he went to live near him, he should be out of the reach of the celebrity which threatened to annoy him. In consequence of this sudden thought, he said, "Is this publication disseminated in Scotland?"

"Yes, in Scotland and Ireland too," said Miss Clinton with apparent glee: "and Mrs. Essington, when she was on the Continent last summer, had the agreeable surprise of seeing it on the table of a gentleman in Paris, a person who knew you in India."

The old gentleman, on hearing this, scarcely seemed to know whether to laugh or cry at the unexpected distress which was come upon him. To find himself suddenly held forth as a Christian hero in England, Scotland, Ireland, and even on the Continent, at first irritated him, and then excited a feeling of painful mirth, to which he gave way by a sudden fit of laughter: when thinking it best to put the matter off slightly, since he feared seriousness would not serve him, at least with his cousins, he said, "Well, well, I will endeavour to bear my honours meekly; and, at any rate, I have this comfort--since the world is pleased with such petty wonders, I need not fear but others will speedily arise to draw its attention from me."

Thus ended the conversation: and before any other subject could be started, Mr. Eliot endeavoured to overcome the irritation which had been excited in his mind by the undue celebrity bestowed on him, and was even made to feel that the matter was not of the importance which he had at first supposed it to be. "For what," said he to himself, "what am I, or what is my father's house, that I should imagine that the attention of the professing world should be fixed for any time on me? The first man who comes among them with the smallest pretensions to any thing out of the common way, will assuredly put me and all my concerns out of their head."

Before supper Mr. Eliot proposed family prayers; and as he with one voice was requested to perform the part of chaplain, he made a point of endeavouring to discharge the duty of that office with seriousness and faithfulness.

It must here be mentioned, that a subject of considerable importance in the eyes of the two Misses Clinton, which had occupied a great part of their private thoughts ever since the arrival of Mr. James Eliot, supplied matter for a long discussion as soon as these ladies had withdrawn to their apartment. This was no other than the waistcoat of the old gentleman, which happened to be of blue cloth, of the same colour and texture with the rest of his dress; a circumstance which the elder Miss Clinton declared to be utterly and entirely improper, contrary to all the rules of fashion and decorum, and a thing which must not on any account be overlooked.

There are certain persons whose minds are utterly devoid of that which among artists is termed keeping. In the minds of these persons, every object, however minute and unimportant, is put in the same forcible point of view with those of the first consequence. With these persons, there is no perspective, no softening down of lesser matters; but their feelings and affections are as vehemently excited by the colour of a riband, or the shape of a hat, as by the death of a parent or the salvation of a soul. The minds of the two ladies in question were of the order here alluded to, as will appear from the perusal of the following dialogue.--"A complete blue suit of clothes!" said the elder Miss Clinton; "how could the good old gentleman, with such a handsome fortune too as we know him to possess, how could he think of such a thing?"

"A black silk handkerchief," said Miss Esther, "is only wanting, to make a complete sailor of him."

"The day after to-morrow is Sunday," said Miss Clinton; "surely he will not think of going to church in that waistcoat: the eyes of all the congregation will of course be upon him. I shall be ashamed to sit in the pew with him."

"But you will surely tell him of it, sister," said Miss Esther; "it would be unfriendly not to do so: and there will be quite time sufficient to-morrow to have another waistcoat made."

"Sister," said Miss Clinton, "we don't know his temper; perhaps he may be offended."

"His linen, to be sure, is fine and good," said Miss Esther, "and delicately washed; and he would look very well in a proper suit of clothes: we must bring this matter about, if possible, before he is seen abroad."

This important discussion was concluded by a somewhat warm altercation between the two sisters, respecting which of them should give the hint relative to the unfortunate waistcoat; which was at length happily settled according to the following arrangement: Miss Clinton was to open the subject by speaking of dress in general, and the duty incumbent upon Christians of conforming to the world in non-essentials, for the purpose of avoiding offence; after which Miss Esther was to follow up the matter at her discretion.

Now all this prelude and preparation undoubtedly made the affair more difficult and awkward: but the two good ladies were not aware of this, and would have been shocked at the idea of going straight forward to the point, and saying, "Good cousin James, do provide yourself with a waistcoat of another colour, the one you have not being of a kind that is customary among us." This would have been giving just as much importance to the matter as the thing deserved; that is, if it deserved any attention at all.

This difficult point being settled, the ladies went to sleep; but in the morning they awoke nervous and trembling from a sense of the difficulty they had before them.

At breakfast, Mr. James Eliot appeared in his blue suit, utterly unconscious of the extremely unfashionable appearance which he made; and after performing his part as chaplain with his usual seriousness, he sat down to breakfast with the ladies.

As soon as the tea was poured out, Miss Clinton began her manoeuvres, and worked round so successfully, as to arrive at the point of discussion before the second dish of tea was handed round: and having finished her part by speaking of the duty of Christians to conform to the world in all unimportant points, Miss Esther was commencing her part of the drama, when Mr. Eliot, though still unconscious of any attack upon himself, took up the subject, though with his usual gentleness, and pointed out the great danger of dwelling upon a sentiment of this kind, especially as it was difficult to say what were and what were not essentials; intimating, at the same time, that Christians in general seemed to carry their conformity to the world abundantly too far.

This remark threw the sisters a little out. Considering, however, that the point they had in view was of much too great importance to allow them to be easily diverted from it, they at length, with much circumlocution, and considerable fear and trembling, succeeded in making the old gentleman understand that the world would not approve the colour of his waistcoat.

As soon as this hint was given, Mr. Eliot took in at once the whole purport of the morning's conversation, and told them that, if they would take the trouble of sending for a tailor, he would not only have a new waistcoat, but a new suit of clothes, if they pleased. "But," added he, with a smile which concealed some painful feelings, "if I am so much admired by the world as you would yesterday have made me believe, what am I to think of that world, if it is ready even to quarrel with its idol about a matter of so little consequence as the colour of a waistcoat?"

The ladies were silent: upon which, the old gentleman, rising to go to his apartments for the purpose of completing the arrangement of his books and papers, said to himself, "O my country! my country! how little Christian simplicity do I see in thee! Thy ways, notwithstanding the temperature of thy pale azure skies, make me almost long to be in my choppered bungalow again, and among my native converts, where I might hear the moaning of the ringdoves in the high bamboo woods, mingling with the simple hymns of praise adapted to the ancient melodies of the Hindoos."

Occupied with these thoughts, a tear started in the eyes of the old man as he shut himself up in his apartment: but in the solitude of his chamber this simple Christian soon found comfort from many sweet promises of Scripture, and was speedily favoured in his own mind with the most satisfactory evidence, that the Lord bestows perfect peace on those who love and honour him, in whatever situation or circumstances they may be found on earth. The old gentleman was very busy during this day in arranging his little matters; and the next day being Sunday, he accompanied his cousins to the place of worship, where he enjoyed the ministry of a truly pious and devoted servant of the Lord. The intervals between divine service were spent by him in prayer, reading, and meditation; and he concluded the day by conducting the family devotions: so that upon the whole he was carried through the Sabbath with a considerable degree of comfort.

The next morning, an intimation was given him, not without much circumlocution, that as he had made his appearance at church the day before, he might expect several visitors during the course of the morning. These two things being put together, rather puzzled the old gentleman, who had entirely forgotten the English custom in this respect. However, he made no enquiries; but told the ladies that he was always ready to see any friend who might choose to honour him with their company. Accordingly, towards one o'clock, the ladies sent up their servant to see if the drawing-room was in exact order; and about a quarter of an hour afterwards, the younger Miss Clinton came up, ushering in the minister with whose discourses Mr. Eliot had been so greatly pleased the day before, together with a young gentleman of about twenty-one, by name George Phillips, a youth of extremely sweet and prepossessing manners, and one who was at this time under the tuition of Mr. Sandford, the minister above mentioned. With these gentlemen Mr. Eliot enjoyed an hour's truly pious and agreeable intercourse, and was led by them to some interesting conversation respecting the state of religion in India. But during this conversation, not one word of undue flattery or praise of Mr. Eliot fell from the mouth of either of these Christian gentlemen, though their manner towards the excellent Mr. Eliot, it must be acknowledged, was that of the most profound and sincere respect.

While the gentlemen were thus delightfully engaged, eagerly discoursing on what the Lord was doing for his poor people abroad, several shrill voices were heard upon the stairs, among which one was distinctly marked exclaiming, "And where is he? I am all agitation. Where is this dear old gentleman?" A moment after which, Mrs. Essington entered with an air all impatience, and without ceremony rushed forward with her hand extended to Mr. Eliot, at the same time pouring forth such a profusion of compliments, that the astonished old gentleman evidently drew back confounded, though he failed not to bow with his usually respectful and modest air. "Is there no one here," said Mrs. Essington, "to perform the ceremony of introduction? Miss Clinton, Miss Esther, how you forget yourselves," she added, turning to the ladies, "I am very angry at your slowness. You have compelled me, all impatient as I was, to shock this gentleman by my over forwardness in introducing myself. Come, come; since none of you will speak for me, I am under the necessity of introducing myself. My name is Essington; and for the two years last past, I have been dying, absolutely dying, to see Mr. Eliot. I should have been here on Saturday or Sunday, but these hard-hearted ladies would not suffer it; and now I am come, they leave me to say all for myself.

"Well but now," added she, sitting down, "now we are met, you must tell me, Mr. Eliot, indeed you must tell me, how you left all those dear good creatures in India, all the good people in the jungles! Ay, jungle; that is the word. O that delightful account in the magazine! Dear Mr. Eliot, do tell us all about it: how could you part with them? how could they part with you? Well, but it is a perpetual feast for you to think how you have laboured among the heathen, and how many are and will be the better for your exertions! Ah! what a privilege! What an honour to have been employed in such a work! You have lived to some purpose, Mr. Eliot; you are a happy man. What sweet reflections will you have on your death-bed! I absolutely envy you."

During this time, the old gentleman remained perfectly silent, but eyeing, with mixed wonder and curiosity, the fair, faded, fashionable creature, who thus addressed him with such a mixture of vanity, thoughtlessness, and good intention. Such, however, was her incessant and tiresome volubility, that no opportunity offered itself of turning aside this amazing torrent of folly and flattery; so that Mr. Eliot was compelled to sit quietly and hear it all, till the two gentlemen withdrew, and another party of visitors arrived, who added to the confusion of the good man's ideas by echoing and re-echoing all Mrs. Essington had said in his commendation, all which was only heightened and inflamed by the few disparaging sentences which he contrived to introduce as it were edgeways at certain momentary pauses.

But what astonished the old gentleman above all things, was, that these ladies interspersed their discourse with texts of Scripture, religious phrases, and allusions to the most important and awful doctrines of Christianity; and all with a rapidity, ease, and levity, which would not have been misplaced in a ball-room or a theatre.

After what Mr. Eliot considered as a very long time, these ladies arose and took their heave. Upon which the old gentleman, taking up his hat, and making his escape by a back-door, passed down a private street, and presently found himself in the skirts of the town; where though he was at this time surrounded only by mean houses and poor people, yet such was his dread of being again encountered by any of the fair flatterers from whom he had just made his escape, that he did not feel at ease till he perceived himself to be quite clear of every habitation of man.

He had entered upon a fine gravel road, bordered on one side with a paling, which, from its extent and the lofty trees which hung over it, conveyed the idea of its being the paling of a park belonging to some nobleman's seat; and on the other, by a deep dingle, thickly shaded with coppice. The dash of waterfalls distinctly met the ear from the depths of this dell.

In this road, thus shaded on the right and left, no sound of the human voice or step was to be heard; and nothing interrupted the deep silence of the place, except the murmur of the waterfall, the rustling of leaves as they were gently agitated by the light breeze, together with the song of the thrush and blackbird far away in the woods. The quiet and solemn beauty of this scene were particularly affecting at this moment to the mind of Mr. Eliot; insomuch that he could not help repeating with particular warmth and feeling the following stanzas of that beautiful hymn of Cowper:--

"Far from time world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far,
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

"The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.

"There if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,
O! with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

"There, like the nightingale, she pours
Her solitary lays,
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise."

When Mr. Eliot had pursued this road some little way, he arrived at a spot where a low stile in the hedge on the side of the dingle, and a ladder against the park-paling on the other side of the road, pointed out a pathway, probably from one village to another. He hesitated a moment between these; and then, turning to the side of the park, he mounted the ladder, and descending on the inside presently found himself beneath the shade of a grove of oak, chesnut, and beech, between whose stately shafts his eye reached many a sunny glade, in which deer and herds of black cattle were feeding in perfect repose. His feet being guided by a narrow pathway trodden in the grass, he went forward till he came to a more open part of the park, where, sitting down to rest himself on the root of an oak, which formed a convenient seat, he fell into a long and deep meditation.

There was much in the present prospect which reminded him of scenes to which he had been accustomed in India, and of one especially near his own habitation, where a wide and spacious lawn was richly adorned with groups and clusters of forest trees, under which herds of buffaloes were frequently seen reposing at noon-day. There wanted only, to render the illusion complete, some trees resembling that beautiful and peculiar family of vegetables with which the tropical forests are ever adorned--but an obelisk, or rather shaft of stone, fixed on a pedestal, tastefully placed in a situation where two groves approached each other, near the brow of a hill, supplied in some degree to the old gentleman the absence of a favourite palm tree, which occupied a somewhat similar situation in the well-remembered oriental scene to which he compared the one now presented to his view.

Mr. Eliot remained for a while quietly contemplating the surrounding objects, and then broke out almost unconsciously in words to the following effect: "O India! ever dear! O! scenes of tranquillity, which while I live I shall never cease to regret! O my poor people! my forsaken, neglected ones! why am I thus separated from you?" Here the old man wiped away a tear; and, yielding to his imagination, visited again, in thought, all those beloved scenes which he now never expected to behold in any other way.

At length, recollecting himself, he called his wandering fancy to order, and enquired of himself what it was which made him thus deeply to lament that he was never more to return to his former mode of life in India? "And what is it," asked he, "which, in this highly favoured and enlightened country, frequently renders me so extremely uneasy, that I am ready to separate myself from all my connexions, and escape to some place where my name and person are equally unknown?"

The answer to this question was--"It is surely the want of Christian simplicity."

"And what is Christian simplicity?" again enquired the venerable saint; "what but a determination to seek the Lord, and him only, and to renounce all earthly and secondary motives of action? Joshua had this Christian simplicity, when he thus addressed the people of Israel--And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom you will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served, that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. [Joshua xxiv. 15.] Abraham possessed this Christian simplicity, when he lifted up his hand to slay his only son upon the altar. The prophets of Israel possessed this Christian simplicity, when they rebuked the idolatrous kings and princes, and stood up alone in the face of infidel multitudes, to serve and adore the Lord Jehovah. These holy and blessed ones of the Lord had but one motive of conduct: neither have the archangels and celestial hierarchies of heaven any other. The glory of the Lord Jehovah is their supreme and only object: no other name but his enters into their sacred anthems. There is no idolatrous love of self, or exaltation of the creature, throughout the regions of eternal blessedness; but the song with which heaven resounds, and shall resound through all eternity, is, Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever." [Rev. vii. 12.]

Mr. Eliot then put this further enquiry to himself:

"But the region from which I now regret my absence, is not yet christianized; it is a heathen land, a very small number of whose immense multitudes are truly converted: how then happens it that I have found reason to regret my separation from the simplicity of that land?" He paused a moment, in consideration, and then mentally replied--"A real Christian in India lives among the heathen population as a race of men with whose opinions and customs he has nothing to do: their praise or dispraise is nothing to him: he has no concern with their unholy customs: he lives among them as a stranger and pilgrim on earth: he feels that he, and the few who think with him, must be wholly separated from the world: that he, and the little Church of whom he forms a part, must be as a garden inclosed, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. [Sol. Song iv. 12.] But in a country where all are nominal Christians, where the profession of piety is as honourable as it is general, where the children of the world assume the garb and affect the language of God's children, there the influence of mixed motives must needs be felt, there Christian simplicity will rarely be preserved, and human idols will be set up even in the courts of the sanctuary itself. But is it not the work of the Spirit to cleanse the sanctuary, to cast away the idols, and to purify the altar of incense?"

He then proceeded to meditate on the nature and offices of the Holy Spirit, and to consider his peculiar influences as exercised in emptying man of self, and in effecting a restoration of that Christian simplicity from which the Church departs whenever it ceases to give the glory on all occasions to God. The good old gentleman was thence led to reflect upon the circumstances of man's condition, with his utter inability either to promote his own salvation or to further that of others, in any degree beyond what the Lord appoints. He well knew that unconverted men are as dead and dry bones, upon which it is the office of the minister and teacher to call both in and out of season, commanding them to live and perform all the functions of life. But the minister can do no more for them; so that unless the divine and vivifying influences of the Spirit attend his labours, the dead will remain dead, and the dry bones will remain dry, to all eternity: Paul may plant, and Apollos may water; but it is God only who giveth the increase.

"Every minister therefore," said Mr. Eliot to himself, "and every teacher, should be content with his own reward in the good-will of his brethren; but let him not desire that praise which is due to God alone; and let him, above all things, beware of robbing the Holy Spirit of his due, in taking to himself the honour of man's conversion, which is as entirely and completely a divine work, as the first formation of man in an infant state, or the raising of the dead to life."

The old gentleman then went on to meditate upon the injury done to individuals in particular, and to Church in general, by the inordinate praise of man, which, like the smoke of this nether world, rises and obscures even the glories of meridian day. Mr. Eliot then took out his Pocket-Bible, and marked several texts which he thought particularly to his purpose.

While turning over his Bible in search of those passages which confirmed him in his opinion of the actual blasphemy of man in challenging for himself that praise and honour which can be due only to God, his thoughts were led by the perusal of a part of the sixty-seventh Psalm to such a wonderful and delightful view of what will be the glorious state of the earth when man shall cease from seeking the honour which cometh of man, and shall be led by the Spirit to devote his then sanctified powers to the glory of the Lord, that he remained for a considerable time silent and without motion, as one in a dream or vision.--Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee. O let the nations be glad, and sing for joy; for thou shalt judge the people righteously, and govern the nations upon earth. Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee. Then shall the earth yield her increase; and God, even our own God, shall bless us. God shall bless us; and all the ends of the earth shall fear him. [Psalm lxvii. 3-7.]

In this waking vision, all the blessedness of the Millennium arose before him--the external, as well as internal, glories of the kingdom of Christ. He saw with wonder and delight fresh fountains gushing forth in the barren wilderness, and, as in a second Eden, every tree which is good for food or pleasant to the sight, springing up from the earth now no longer accursed. He beheld, in imagination, the snows melting from the frozen poles, and verdant continents arising from the burning sands of the south. And whence this lovely change?--Because the people magnified the Lord; because every hill and every forest, every valley and every plain, resounded with the praises of the Lord Jehovah; and because the mountain of the Lord's house was lifted above the tops of the mountains; mankind confessing no other gods but the Lord Jehovah, and all human idols being cast unto the moles and the bats. The following verses, which he remembered to have heard in his younger days, came to his mind at this time; and he had just succeeded in recalling them all in their due order, when he was interrupted by a peasant, who came into the park to number the cattle and the deer. The verses remembered by Mr. Eliot were these--

"O days of bliss!--The lambs, behold,
Play with the wolf, or sleep devoid of fear;
With kids the leopards fill the fold,
And heifers gambol, though the lion's near.

"By babes the lion led in bands,
Disportive, licks their little hands;
Or, standing still in flowery meads,
By the patient oxen feeds;

"The suckling sees, without dismay,
The wreathing asp around him play;
And by the basilisk caress d,
Smiles at his fire-fed eyes, and strokes his glittering crest.

"In all my holy mountain, they
Shall hurt no more; no more shall they destroy:
For injury's heat shall die away,
And grief's cold creeping venom yield to joy."

Dr. Butt's Versification of Isaiah.

The old man who approached Mr. Eliot wore the dress of a common labourer, appearing hale and hearty, having a fresh and florid complexion. He entered the park by the same path which had brought Mr. Eliot there; and as Mr. Eliot had his back towards the stranger, he was close upon the old gentleman before his approach was perceived. The old man addressed Mr. Eliot in the half-familiar, half-respectful way which old people often use; when Mr. Eliot, in returning his compliment, perceived that, however fresh the old peasant appeared, he had symptoms of some violent humour in his eyes. As Mr. Eliot had often observed symptoms of the same kind among the natives of India, and had also been instructed to afford relief on such occasions, it occurred to him that by adopting the same mode of treatment in this case, he might probably do the old man a service: and with this view he entered into discourse with him.

The old man informed him that he had the charge of the cattle in that park; that his lord was a minor; that the mansion-house had been long vacant, and was to remain so during the minority--and when Mr. Eliot hinted, that he thought he might be useful to him with respect to the complaint in his eyes, the old man thanked him cordially, and invited him to his house, which, he said, was in the dingle on the other side the road.

Mr. Eliot waited till the old man, whose name was James Trowers, had inspected the cattle; and then he accompanied him to his cottage, which was a neat abode, on the side of the glen, and beautifully situated among weeping rills and shadowy bowers.

In this cottage Mr. Eliot found the whole of the old man's family, consisting of his wife, a daughter who was a widow, and two grandchildren. There was no appearance of the want of earthly goods in this family, but much evidence of the absence of heavenly knowledge: on which account Mr. Eliot resolved to improve his acquaintance with this little household, for the purpose, if possible, of finding an opportunity of ministering to their further acquaintance with divine things: with this view, therefore, he consented to accept of the old woman's invitation to partake of a dish of boiled bacon and potatoes, which was then ready to be served up.

Thus began an intercourse between Mr. Eliot and these peasants which seemed agreeable to both parties; for, upon his rising to take leave, and promising to come again as soon as he had prepared some salve and other medicines for the old man's disease in his eyes, great joy was expressed by all the inhabitants of the cottage.

When Mr. Eliot reached his lodgings, he found his cousins waiting tea for him in considerable perturbation of spirits; neither could they be satisfied, till assured by him that they had not done any thing calculated to give him the slightest offence.

"Cousin Clinton," he answered, "and cousin Esther, if I am to remain under your roof, you must understand, that I must go out and come in as I please; and I must have no waiting of dinner or keeping of meals for me. And one thing more I must say, that whenever you bring people into the house for the purpose of complimenting and praising me, I shall certainly take myself off: for I will not be aiding or abetting, or in any way partaking of, the heathenish custom which seems to prevail among you of setting up idols and worshipping them. I have some apprehension that you forget the commandment--'Thou shalt have none other gods but me.'"

"But, cousin, good cousin," said Miss Clinton, "if the world is impressed with an idea of your worth and extraordinary usefulness, how am I to prevent the expression of such conviction?"

"How?" said Mr. Eliot; "why, tell them that they are in an error; that I am one of the least in the kingdom of heaven, and altogether an unprofitable servant."

"Dear Mr. Eliot," said Miss Esther, "we cannot speak what we do not think."

"Then, for the love of Heaven, cousin Esther," said the old gentleman, somewhat peevishly, "do make haste, and endeavour to get more rational thoughts."

The elder Miss Clinton having discernment enough to see that the matter could not well be pressed any further at present, gave another turn to the conversation by asking the old gentleman if his tea was agreeable, and if he would choose another lump of sugar.

From that time, the Misses Clinton having, as they feared, run a considerable risk of offending their relation, whose generous payment they found exceedingly convenient, took more care how they forced company into his presence, or how they touched upon a point, on which they considered him if not altogether deranged, yet not entirely rational: in consequence of which, Mr. Eliot, being left more to himself, became more reconciled to his situation. He went out and came in when he chose, and employed his time to his own satisfaction. It was not long before he made himself acquainted with all the public charities in the town and neighbourhood, which he not only largely assisted, but in the management of which he took such a part as the former managers were desirous he should. He assisted the minister, for whom he began to feel a sincere friendship, in setting on foot one or two new plans for doing good; in addition to which he became exceedingly assiduous in visiting the poor from house to house, administering to their spiritual and bodily necessities. He was a constant visitor in James Trowers's family; and whenever he had a mind to enjoy the beauties of nature, and study the Book of God among the glorious works of the Creator, he would take his meals with this obscure family, never however quitting them without leaving behind him some mark of his bounty greatly above the expectations or wishes of those who had entertained him. His success in the treatment of the poor man's diseased eyes was so considerable, that the family attributed to him a much greater degree of skill in such matters than he possessed: and hence they were rendered more willing to take his judgment in matters of a different nature.

In these various employments passed Mr. Eliot's first autumn and winter in England, during which he offered many and many earnest prayers for the welfare of his little flock in India.

At length the summer arrived; and Mrs. Essington, calling one afternoon to drink tea with the Misses Clinton, brought much religious intelligence from Town, where she had been spending the last few months. Her accounts consisted of anecdotes of various anniversaries of religious meetings which she had attended; descriptions of the preachers most in fashion; sudden and wonderful conversions, which were to be attributed to this sermon, or to that conversation, of some eminent character; accounts of remarkable natives from the South Seas, from Africa, or from Tartary; with other matters to the same purport: all of which she mixed up with so many fashionable turns of speech, and so evident a desire to exalt self, as the person who had seen, heard, and experienced more than ever had been seen, heard, or experienced before, that Mr. Eliot sat very uneasily on his chair, inwardly praying that this female, who possessed such powers of elocution, and seemed to have so much knowledge, might cease to be as the bones which shake, and rattle, and produce uncertain sounds, and become, through the power of the Spirit, a truly regenerated creature.

While Mrs. Essington was thus holding forth concerning the wonders which she herself had lately heard and seen, Mr. Sandford came in to announce to Mr. Eliot, that he expected some eminent Christian characters from London in a few days, and that he should avail himself of their presence and assistance to celebrate the anniversary of a little Missionary Society, which had been established in the town about two wears, and which he described as being in so very languishing a condition, as to require all the aids which the friends of missions could give it.

Without waiting for Mr. Eliot's observations on this communication, Mrs. Essington laid her hand upon Mr. Sandford's arm: "And you are come, I know you are, Mr. Sandford," said she, "to ask Mr. Eliot's assistance on the platform? Yes, you may shake your head, Mr. Eliot," she added, laughing; "but you will not be let off. A speech we must and will have from you: it is what the whole town expects. We shall take no denial: we must hear something about that dear little flock in the wilderness, and about your poor converts, and what you did for them, and all that. It is of no use to refuse: I absolutely won't come to the meeting unless you speak. And, more than that, Mr. Sandford, I will fit up the old theatre, and will have a dilletante play, or concert, or some such thing, got up for the very day, and that out of pure spite; if you don't prevail on Mr. Eliot to speak. And so now you know what you have to trust to."

"Your threat does not alarm us at all, Mrs. Essington," said Mr. Sandford, good-humouredly; "for I cannot suppose that you would be able to persuade any body to attend your play, who would be likely to visit our meeting."

"Notwithstanding which," said Mrs. Essington, "I really do think you had better not try me. I can be very spiteful when I am offended--nobody more so. But now, my good Mr. Eliot, you will not refuse me; I am sure you will not. You will let us have your speech; I am sure you will. There's a good man: he does not refuse; he does not say a word against it. Put his name down, Mr. Sandford, in your list of speakers. You have your rough copy, your ebauche, in your pocket; and it runs thus--'Mr. Essington in the chair.' Of all people in the world, you always put Essington in the chair, though Heaven knows why: however, so it always has been. 'Augustus Essington, Esq. &c. &c. in the chair: business commenced by the Rev. Mr. Sandford: motion proposed by Mr. Anthony Beverly: seconded by the celebrated James Eliot, Esq. from Bengal: and so on." Then comes Mr. So and So, from London, and from New Zealand, and from no one knows where, or indeed much regards it, provided we can muster enough of talent, and peculiarity, and so forth. Well, I hope with all my heart you will have a full meeting; and if you don't make an enemy of me, I will crowd Essington House with visitors out of the four neighbouring counties, in order to fill your room with beauty and fashion."

"And pray," said Mr. Sandford, "what have beauty and fashion to do at missionary meetings?"

"I have no objection to see beauty in such places," remarked Mr. Eliot; "but we might dispense with the presence of fashion."

"O you Goth! you Vandal!" said Mrs. Essington. "Have fashionable people no souls? Are they to be excluded from all religious meetings? Why, Mr. Eliot, you have lived in the jungles till you are become a perfect savage.'

"I cannot think, Mrs. Essington," said Mr. Eliot, "that religious people ought to have any thing to do with fashion."

"An open attack upon me, I protest," said Mrs. Essington. "Miss Clinton, Miss Esther, do you sit by and allow this? O my spring fashions! What shall I do with them? Must I pack them up and send them back to town? Do decide for me, Mr. Sandford. Must a fashionable woman be a cast-away?"

"You have put a more serious question, Mrs. Essington, than you are aware of," said Mr. Sandford. "And you must permit me to answer it from Scripture--Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God." [Rom. xii. 2.]

Mrs. Essington sat fidgeting in her chair till Mr. Sandford had ceased speaking; after which, looking serious for a moment, she rallied her spirits, and recommenced her attack upon Mr. Eliot, insisting that he should speak at the missionary meeting.

"Mrs. Essington," said Mr. Eliot, calmly, "if my friend here thinks it an absolute duty that I should so do, I shall hope to be assisted in the performance of that duty; nevertheless, I have no hesitation in saying, that if it is not a duty I would rather be excused coming forward. And now, dear lady, after this simple explanation of my feelings and intentions, spare me, I pray you, the remainder of the evening."

"That I assuredly will," said Mrs. Essington, smiling, and adding with a sigh, "Oh, Mr. Eliot, what would I give for half your Christian simplicity!"

"Separate yourself from the world, dear lady," said Mr. Eliot, "and you will speedily find simplicity."

Here the conversation dropped; and other matters were brought forward, in which Mrs. Essington shewed herself to be fully acquainted at least with the commonly received doctrines of religion.

The day of the missionary anniversary arrived; when several respectable persons conscientiously active in the cause, and accustomed to speak, presented themselves on the occasion.

Mr. Eliot having been made to understand that it was the expectation of the friends of missions that he also would address the assembly, he appeared on the platform though modestly drawn somewhat into the background.

The meeting was opened by the appointed persons; and several very animated and appropriate speeches were made by gentlemen who were strangers in the town. At length Mr. Eliot was called, who came forward (to the surprise of his cousins) without perturbation, a circumstance which they considered as wholly irreconcilable with the general reservedness and unpresuming nature of his character; these good ladies not knowing that the very simplicity of his character, associated with a determination to reject all praise on his own account and claim it only for his Lord and Master, was the very thing calculated to support him when called upon by duty to speak and act in public. He was above the praise of man; he did not desire it; and therefore he had none of those tremors which the fear of losing it would have excited. There may be, and undoubtedly there is in many persons, a degree of nervous sensibility, which, without charging such persons with vanity or the fear of man, would make them tremulous on a public occasion of this kind; nevertheless, all other things being equal, it scarcely, I believe, admits of a doubt, that the humblest man will always possess a larger degree of self-command, on being called to a sudden and public appearance, than the vain or conceited man, or the man to whom human praise is an object of desire. But to leave these reflections.

Mr. Eliot made a speech of considerable length, in which he gave a simple, unadorned, yet highly interesting account of the people of the country in which he had resided so many years, partly respecting their heathen and unconverted state, and partly respecting the blessed effects which the Christian religion had produced upon those few natives whose conversion he had witnessed. And it was remarkable, that, throughout this speech, he never once alluded to himself, but simply and invariably gave the honour where it was due, even to him in whose hand are the hearts of all men.

Immediately before the platform sat Mrs. Essington, with her large and fashionable party; among whom were the Misses Clinton, who took conspicuous places that day, on the strength of having a near relation on the platform: and the moment the old gentleman ceased, they excited such a roar of applause, clapping their hands, and striking their feet against the ground, that the next person who arose, a young man, Mr. Anthony Beverly, an inhabitant of the town, was obliged to stand some minutes ready to speak, before he could obtain a hearing.

In the mean time, Mr. Eliot returning to his chair, and finding it occupied, was obliged to take a seat in a more prominent part of the platform. Whether he was distressed or pleased by the long and continued clapping, could not be discerned even by those who knew him best and watched his countenance. The real state of the case was, that he understood not the signification of the thing; so that having no acquaintance with this noisy mark of commendation, he actually failed to apply it to himself, and therefore sat wholly unconscious.

In the mean time, the noise ceasing, the young man began his harangue, which formed a remarkable contrast with all that had gone before.

He first, in a florid and elaborate, yet common-place style, complimented his country upon her missionary exertions and her indefatigable labours, her mighty works of self-denial, and the glorious pattern she exhibited before all nations. He spoke of her Bible societies, her school societies, and her missionary societies; he congratulated her on her valiant sons and her beautiful daughters, the greater part of whom, he said, were engaged in one mighty labour of love, viz, the conversion of the heathen, the spread of the Bible, and the relief of the afflicted.

He then passed some very well-turned compliments on his own town; and next he proceeded to utter a high panegyric on a certain individual, whom he did not name, but whom he described as having spent a long and laborious life devoted to missionary labours, in a voluntary banishment from his country, his home, his friends; subjecting himself to endless privations, excessive fatigue under the burning sun of a tropical climate, and exposed to every kind of indignity: and he called on his town, to receive and reward this Christian hero, with every testimony of love, of honour, and of approbation; and to hold him up as a bright and burning example for the imitation of their sons and daughters.

While the young orator was thus vehemently labouring his point, in a manner, and with an expression, to which I despair of doing justice, the Misses Clinton, as parties nearly and dearly allied to the person chiefly concerned, were hiding their blushes with their fans, while the good old gentleman himself, to the astonishment of Mrs. Essington and her party, sat perfectly unmoved, looking steadfastly at the speaker, without being in the least able to comprehend what he meant. At length, being struck with some very extraordinary expressions, of which he could make neither head nor tail, he turned to Mr. Sandford, who sat next to him, and, with a certain look of wonder which he had more than once found occasion to assume since his arrival in England, very simply asked him the name of the extraordinary person of whom the young gentleman was speaking.

Mr. Sandford smiled, and said, "Do you not know any man to whom this description answers?"

"In some points," said Mr. Eliot, "it might suit David Brainerd; but in others, no mere man can deserve such praise."

"But," said Mr. Sandford, "we must not go so far as Delaware, nor yet to so remote a period as the last century, for this man: we are told that we are to look for him in our own town, and in the present day."

"Well," said Mr. Eliot, "if only half what we hear of this man be true, we have a treasure in the town I was little aware of." So saying, the old gentleman settled himself in his chair, hemmed twice, took a pinch of snuff, and prepared himself to listen again with undisturbed curiosity.

In the mean time, the young panegyrist finished his harangue, and retired gracefully to his seat; while Mrs. Essington's party excited a second thunder of applause, which lasted long, bursting forth again and again, while every eye was fixed upon Mr. Eliot, who sat, as I before remarked, perfectly unmoved, excepting that on the clapping continuing somewhat too long, he turned to Mr. Sandford, and said, "Too much of the theatre in this business, Mr. Sandford! too much of the theatre! Are you not of this opinion, my good Sir?"

Mr. Sandford, who had some difficulty to preserve that gravity of countenance which his exposed situation and the solemnity of the occasion demanded, having answered Mr. Eliot as shortly as politeness would permit, endeavoured to fix his attention on the person then rising to address the company, in whose speech none of those impertinences appeared which had crept into the harangue of his predecessor.

The meeting being concluded, Mr. Eliot arose, on the whole much satisfied, for much had been said to the purpose, and was walking off the platform, when Mr. Essington coming behind him, said, "Well, my old friend, how are you? We shall see you, I hope, at dinner. But don't you return your thanks to Mr. Anthony Beverly?"

The old gentleman looked for an explanation; and in the mean time several gentlemen of the town and neighbourhood were gathered round Mr. Eliot, to whom Mr. Essington appealed, saying, "Gentlemen, do you not think that some kind of acknowledgment, be it ever so trifling, is due from Mr. Eliot to young Beverly?"

One of the gentlemen replied, "I do not know what to say, Essington: it is an awkward thing for a man to thank another for speaking well of him!"

"Thank him!" said Mr. Essington; "no, I would not have him go and thank him in so many words; but if a man has the smallest address, he may fall upon something by which he may make it known that he feels the compliment paid him."

Mr. Eliot, who was becoming every moment more and more perplexed, and more and more at a loss what to make of all he heard, now interrupted the company, saying, "I am quite at a loss, gentlemen; I do not comprehend one single syllable of what you are saying!"

How long these good gentlemen might have been before they came to a right understanding on this subject I cannot pretend to decide, had not Mr. Sandford stepped in, and explained to the astonished company that he was well assured Mr. Eliot had not applied one word of Anthony Beverly's panegyric to himself.

"To myself!" said Mr. Eliot. "You amaze me: it could not be. No man could surely be so absurd as to speak in such terms of me, or indeed of any man to his face!"

Mr. Sandford, observing Mr. Eliot's anger beginning to arise took him immediately by the arm, and led him out into the street, where he stated to him the duty of taking evil report and good report alike with a calm and humble spirit; and he had the pleasure to find his old friend willing to be convinced, and to be regulated by him. "I was nigh to falling, and you lifted me up, brother," said Mr. Eliot. "But as this matter has ruffled me more than I could wish, not only having excited some degree of anger in my breast, but also (what might seem almost irreconcilable with such a feeling) a kind of self-consequence, or sense of my own importance--I will, if you please, my dear brother, instead of dining at the public meeting, retire for the rest of the day into solitude, in order to preserve that peace which the world has well nigh destroyed." Having then charged Mr. Sandford with his excuses, and begged him to make such apology as he thought right, if apology there needed, for the rough manner in which he had spoken of Mr. Anthony Beverly's speech, he made the best of his way to his beloved retirement.

Just as he was about to turn from the high road into the park, he met old James Trowers, who insisted on his accompanying him to his cottage to take some refreshment. He accepted the invitation, and seated himself at the door; while the old woman set before him such things as the house afforded. But his manner was so far from its usual ease and cheerfulness, that the good dame more than once asked after his health; and remarked to her daughter, after his departure, that she feared the old gentleman had heard some bad news, for his look was not half so cheerful as it used to be.

When Mr. Eliot had partaken of such refreshment as the cottage could supply, he took his leave, and walked into the park; where seeking his favourite seat at the foot of the oak, he remained a while in deep meditation: and so fully was he taken up in this meditation, that he did not perceive that the declining sun was already beginning to dip behind the western grove. At length he was startled from his deep musings by the sound of an approaching step, and, a minute afterwards, he was respectfully addressed by George Phillips, who said, that he had presumed to follow him to his favourite haunts, in order that he might have the pleasure of walking home with him.

The modest, intelligent, and courteous address of this young man was always agreeable to Mr. Eliot, and he accordingly received him with a cordiality which immediately put Mr. Phillips entirely at his ease. As the evening was remarkably fine, Mr. Eliot proposed that they should return home by a somewhat circuitous course; and as their walk was thus prolonged, they had time for a long and very serious discourse.

The conversation naturally turned upon the events of the day. Mr. Eliot remarked, that he wished these kind of meetings, which he considered as sacred assemblies, could be conducted with less reference to second causes, and with a more decided view to the glory of God.

"But surely, Sir," said Mr. George Phillips, "when a fellow-creature has done well, you would not withhold from him the commendation he deserves?"

"In every case," said Mr. Eliot, "allowing the object to be as worthy as man can be, I not only disapprove of public compliments being made in the presence of the person complimented, but even in his absence, should he be a living man; and for this reason, because the praise of a living man may prove injurious to the welfare of his soul, and is assuredly the most probable means that can be taken to impede his usefulness: for the moment the minister or teacher ceases looking up to God, and begins to be occupied by self, that instant his usefulness in a great measure ceases; and though his zeal may seem for a while to flourish, yet, having no proper root, it will gradually wither and come to nought."

Mr. George Phillips then asked Mr. Eliot if he disallowed the praise of departed saints, as in such case there was no danger of injuring the individuals by the commendations bestowed upon them.

"They who are passed into another state of being," replied Mr. Eliot, "cannot, it is true, be injured by any expressions we may use in their favour. But though we cannot injure the dead by lifting the names of departed saints to the skies, and idolizing their ashes, yet the living may certainly be injured by indiscreet praise lavished on the dead. Is not the human race all of one family? God made of one blood all nations to dwell upon the face of the earth; and if it could be established as a fact, that this race had produced even one nearly perfect or highly excellent character during the course of the many ages during which man has inhabited the earth, this single fact would go very far towards raising the dignity of our nature; and we might then maintain with some reason that what has been before may be again But if we judge by that which we have an opportunity of actually seeing, we perceive little of what is in the smallest degree commendable in any natural character: judging, therefore, of that which we do not know from that which we do know, I take it for granted that all those fine tales they tell us of perfect characters among the dead, are utterly false; and I look on these tales, however confirmed by historical testimonies, as exceedingly deceitful and mischievous fictions, which have led thousands and tens of thousands into error."

"But, Sir," said Mr. George Phillips, "I perceive that you are speaking of unconverted characters; and every Christian must allow, that holding up such as examples to others, is highly dangerous. Nevertheless, to let these rest, permit me again to ask you, do you disapprove of our commending the departed saints? May we not give praise and honour to such men as these?"

"By a saint, I understand," said Mr. Eliot, "a man who was chosen before the foundation of the world from the rest of his sinful brethren, by the free grace of God, and not through any of his own works or deservings, to be called, sanctified, and finally glorified."

"Certainly," said Mr. George Phillips.

"You allow this definition of the saint?" said Mr. Eliot.

"I do," said Mr. George Phillips.

"You allow, that it was not for any good work or deservings of these persons that they were chosen, but that they were selected by the free choice and according to the everlasting purpose of the Almighty?"

"I do," said Mr. Phillips; "because Scripture, and the Articles of the Church into which I am about to enter, bear me out in so thinking."

"'You also believe," said Mr. Eliot, "that those who are chosen are also called, and that those who are called are also sanctified, and that those who are sanctified are also glorified--the work from beginning to end being that of the Lord Jehovah, without the smallest assistance from any creature. And now, Mr. Phillips, if you can point out any one occasion, or any one circumstance from beginning to end of this mighty work of man's salvation, in which the saint becomes entitled to praise from his fellow-men, why then let us give it him: if not, let us do as Moses did--that is, in writing and speaking of our fellow-creatures, let us simply record their actions, and give the glory to that God by whose gracious influence they were enabled to do what was good and acceptable in his sight."

"I have no doubt that you are right, perfectly right, Mr. Eliot," said George Phillips; "and yet, I candidly confess that I cannot quite receive your doctrine."

"It is not the question we are now discussing, whether you can receive my opinion or not, my dear Sir," said Mr. Eliot; "but whether it is just and according to Scripture?"

"Certainly, Mr. Eliot, your remark is just," said George Phillips. "If your sentiments on this subject are according to Scripture, they ought to be received, be they ever so contrary to flesh and blood. But there is something in the nature of these sentiments which so entirely subverts all the received opinions and customs even of the religious world, that I must hesitate to admit them till I have looked more closely into them, and examined more precisely their ground and tendency.

"What, I ask, Mr. Eliot," continued Mr. George Phillips, "what do you suppose would be the consequence among the different orders of mankind, if it was generally considered an act of impiety for man to receive high commendation from his fellow-creatures? and if the glory of every commendable action were to be immediately carried to God as the Author of all good?"

"One effect of this change of feeling in society," said Mr. Eliot, "would, I imagine, be, that men would lose the desire of performing many of those actions which are now highly praised in the world, but which it would be blasphemy to attribute to a divine influence; that which is called ambition would immediately disappear, and false glory under every form would become instantly disreputable."

"But religion," said Mr. George Phillips, "might still be used as a cloak; and a man might be as much flattered, by hearing it said of him, that he had been enabled to do well under such and such a trial, or in such and such circumstances, as the hero in the field of battle, by the unqualified panegyrics which are now bestowed upon him."

"And what does this prove," said Mr. Eliot, "but that we should refrain from speaking in terms of this kind concerning our Christian brethren in their hearing, knowing as we do the deceitfulness of man's heart. To a mind of any considerable refinement, gross flatteries are less dangerous than those of a more delicate kind and nothing can in my opinion preserve a man from the danger of insinuated praise, but a strong persuasion that in admitting it, he is in some degree guilty of the sin of arrogating to himself divine honours, particularly when the subject of that praise is any thing either real or supposed in his character, which ought to be ascribed to the influence of the Holy Spirit. For what good moral quality is there in the converted soul, which is not the immediate work of the Holy Spirit? since we are taught that the fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, 1ong-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." [Gal. v. 22, 23.]

"Your ideas startle me, Mr. Eliot," said George Phillips. "I begin to look on these things in a new point of view; and I tremble almost to think to what a height of blasphemy men may go in arrogating to themselves that which is due only to God, and to that Person in the Godhead especially of whom it is written--All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men, but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men." [Matt. xii. 31.]

"In what this sin against the Holy Ghost consists, is not easily understood," said Mr. Eliot; "but I should he inclined to suppose it to be opposing or arrogating the authority of the Holy Spirit, not through ignorance, but in order to set up or exalt self either in opposition to, or in place of this holy person. I therefore conceive, that every Church which sets up its own ordinances and rites as possessing a divine influence capable of effecting that which alone can be produced through the agency of the Holy Spirit, must in some sense be considered as guilty of this sin against the Holy Ghost: and though I would not condemn every member of such Church, yet I should not scruple to assert that such Church itself is anathema maranatha. In this point of view, the Roman Catholic Church, in my opinion, stands especially condemned, since, as a whole, it is assuredly chargeable with this great sin, inasmuch as it appropriates to itself powers which are expressly attributed to the Holy Spirit in the particular office which that divine person has undertaken in the grand concern of man's salvation.

"But," continued Mr. Eliot, "in this respect, the Church of England, speaking of it as a whole, stands clear and blameless; and if its ministers acted up to its Articles and doctrines in this great and important point, I am persuaded that it would become a bright and shining light in the world."

"Your remarks, Mr. Eliot," replied George Phillips, "appear to me to take every instant a more serious turn, and they will afford me many hours of deep meditation."

"I wish they may, my good young friend," said Mr. Eliot; "and nothing do I more earnestly desire for you than that your ministry may be altogether free from this spirit of self-seeking, and that you may go forth continually in the strength of the Lord, making mention of his righteousness only. For they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint." [Isaiah xl. 31.]

Mr. Eliot then proceeded to speak of the nature and work of the Spirit in general terms.--"There is an old saying," continued the old gentleman, "of some good man, I forget whom, to this effect--Let him who doubts the doctrine of the Trinity go to Jordan. Now at the baptism of Christ by John, the Spirit was seen descending like a dove, and lighting upon him. This is that Holy Spirit who, agreeable to his office in the economy of grace, and his character in the covenant made between God and man, accomplishes that change in the souls of the chosen of the Lord by which they become new creatures, and are rendered meet for everlasting happiness. The first act of this blessed Spirit, is to communicate a supernatural life to their souls, thus rendering them fit subjects of his divine influences. Before this life is imparted, man is described as being dead to every thing of a spiritual nature: and it is well known, that he who is dead must needs be incapable of receiving any impression from outward things. They therefore to whom this life is not imparted, are utterly incapable of receiving the things which are of God; and though they may have the form, and semblance, and exterior deportment of converted men, thus constituting a part of the visible Church on earth, yet, having eyes they see not, and having ears they hear not, neither can they understand. It is generally acknowledged, that the work of regeneration is momentary, while the succeeding operations of the Spirit are understood to be gradual. This blessed Spirit begins his work in the souls of the elect by communicating to them a new life, which it carries on by convincing them of sin, discovering to them how the Father has been reconciled to them through the Son, and how they are washed, sanctified, and justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God. [1 Cor. vi. II.] In this manner, by the power of the Spirit, the renewed soul is prepared for the reception of Christ, being made to apprehend his love and that of the Father, and as ardently to desire communion with both as the new born babe desires the milk which is provided for him in the breast of his mother.

"Thus, as I have before said," continued Mr. Eliot, "the work of man's conversion and sanctification is begun, carried on, and completed by the Lord the Spirit: and though the ministry of man may be sometimes used in this work, yet is such ministry so utterly inadequate to the end intended, and its insufficiency is so frequently made to appear, that there can be no room whatever, in my opinion, for the most successful writer, teacher, or preacher, to take any credit to himself; and I have little doubt but that the influences of the Spirit are generally withheld in all cases in which the arrogance of man thus endeavours to deprive the Lord Jehovah of the honours due unto his name, and by making other gods unto himself; for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God; [Exodus xxxiv. 14.] neither can we expect that he will patiently endure the idolatries of man."

By this time, the two gentlemen having arrived at the suburbs of the town, the busy hum of the place prevented all further conversation.

When Mr. Eliot entered his cousins' parlour, he found them preparing for supper; and supposing him to be just returned from the public party, they asked him how he liked his entertainment and his company, and were not a little surprised upon being informed where he had dined, and how he had spent the latter part of the day.

From that time, Mr. Eliot preserved the same simplicity of character, and the same fixed determination to reject all human praise, seeking that honour only which cometh of God. Many blamed him for this, though no one could be offended, because his reserve on this subject was by no means mixed with moroseness, nor with any offensiveness of manner; for his general deportment was that of extreme courtesy, his charities were large, and his labours for the spiritual good of the poor and ignorant regular and unremitting.

For a short time he afforded much matter of discourse in the town and neighbourhood, and his sentiments on these points were frequently discussed. Mrs. Essington talked largely and fluently about him in all companies for a season. "Dear old man!" she would say; "I do like him: he is a good creature. And I know not whether I do not like him the better because he won't receive our compliments. He is the first man, however, who ever refused to let me compliment him. I don't except you, Mr. Sandford, although you look so hard at me. I have not been so long in your neighbourhood without finding out your weak side. I know what will please you. I have had nothing to do but to mention some poor sinner converted under your ministry, and then I have been sure of your approbation."

"For shame, Mrs. Essington," said Mr. Sandford. "Where is your charity? If a minister may not rejoice over a lost sheep which is found, what, I pray, is a proper subject for joy?"

"Very true, Mr. Sandford," said the lady. "And I could add a great deal more in your favour, which you have not said for yourself, about the love of souls and paternal regard for your flock, and the tender feelings of a pastor, &c. &c.; but when I have said all I can for you, I shall think of you just as I did before; namely, that you are not so much above human praise as Mr. Eliot: for were I or any one to venture to speak to him about any good he may have been the means of doing to any poor soul either here or abroad, what would his answer be?--'Give God the glory, good Madam.' (I like to hear him say, 'Good Madam.') 'Give glory to the Lord. Do not speak of me. Remember the first commandment--"Thou shalt have no other gods but me.""

"And do I not speak to the same purpose, Mrs. Essington?" said Mr. Sandford, who appeared a little hurt by her remarks.

"O yes, yes; you say something like it. But then, in you it seems more a façon de parler. Somehow, you don't contrive to stop my flattering tongue as Mr. Eliot does. You don't make me feel that I dare not proceed; but, on the contrary, you rather draw me on to say more. But this saucy old man! this Bengalee! this Mr. James Eliot! he makes one feel that he thinks all we can say on these subjects is nought; that if he cannot have commendation from God and his own heart, he will have none; and having that, ours is not worth his notice. There is a grandeur and magnificence in this conduct, which raises him wonderfully in my esteem. I do like him, I own, though he has often made me hold my tongue when I have had a vast deal to say. But, Mr. Sandford, you look grave."

"I do, Madam," said the minister; "because you have touched me to the quick, and given me a view of myself which I fear is a just one. I am not hurt: but I think that I shall live to thank you for your reproof, and Mr. Eliot also for giving the occasion."

"Well, now," said Mrs. Essington, "I am not sure whether I don't like you as well for receiving my saucy reproofs (which by the bye were not intended) with so much candour, as I do Mr. Eliot for rejecting all my compliments."

"Beware how you compliment me now, Mrs. Essington," said Mr. Sandford. "You have made me jealous of myself on these points, and I trust, with the divine blessing, to keep a stricter guard on this my weak side in future."

In the mean time, while the opinions of the town were divided respecting the peculiarities observable in Mr. Eliot's character, and the Misses Clinton secretly regretted those extraordinary sentiments which they said prevented their cousin from becoming an eminent Christian character, and a shining light in the country, the Almighty decided the point, and proved to those who were inclined to see, that this his chosen one had done well in rejecting human praise, and pursuing with simplicity that course of life, in which he was best able to preserve the calmness of his mind and that state of heart in which a man would wish to be found at the approach of death.

At the beginning of the second winter of his residence in England, he was seized by an inflammatory complaint on the lungs, which terminated his life in a few days. He died in the arms of George Phillips, while Mr. Sandford was offering a prayer by his bed-side. "My father! my father!" said Mr. Sandford, as he closed the eyes of the departed saint; "my father! my father! O that a part of thy humble and holy spirit may rest upon me, and that henceforward I may be raised as high above the desire of human praise as thou wert." George Phillips earnestly united in this prayer on his own behalf.

The large property which had belonged to this gentleman, was appropriated, by a will made soon after his arrival in England, to the use of his flock in India, and the poor of the town and neighbourhood where he then resided; Mr. Sandford and Mr. George Phillips being appointed as trustees; with the reserve of such a sum for the use of the Misses Clinton, as rather more than compensated for the loss of that liberal allowance which he was accustomed to make for his lodging and boarding. It was supposed that he would have left them more, had he not been fearful of ministering thereby to that worldly spirit which he had so often combated in these his only remaining relations. James Trowers was the only poor person belonging to the neighbourhood mentioned by name in Mr. Eliot's will.

Mr. James Eliot is remembered with the tenderest affection to this day in the town in which he died; and the two ministers who were present at his death have given evidence that the pious conversation of this godly man, and the sweet simplicity of his spirit, were rendered peculiarly beneficial to them, the Holy Spirit having vouchsafed to make use of this Christian stranger for their improvement in grace, and especially for their more conscientious adherence to the commandment--"Thou shalt have no other gods but me."

The lady of the manor having finished this story, and finding that the allotted interval for these evening exercists had expired, called the young people to prayer; after which, they all returned to their respective homes, meditating and conversing by the way on that which they had heard.

A Prayer to be enabled to keep the First Commandment.

"O ALMIGHTY and BLESSED LORD GOD, who art the only Creator and Ruler of all things, and in whom we live, and move, and have our being, we beseech thee to give us such a view of the spiritual nature of the commandment, 'Thou shalt have no other gods but me,' that we may tremble at the idea of departing in the smallest degree from this holy rule, either by making gods of our fellow-creatures, or seeking that praise and honour for ourselves which are due only unto thee. Thou hast spoken of thyself, O Lord, as being jealous for thy holy name; and we know that thou only art worthy of praise; that thou art the first cause of all that is good, of all that is excellent, of all that is commendable on earth. We know also, that when one man is made to differ from another, it is through thy mercy and the blessed effect of superabounding grace; not according to his works or deservings, but according to thy free and sovereign pleasure. Nevertheless, we often blindly look to second causes, and lead others to do the same; sometimes setting up ourselves as idols for others, and sometimes making gods of our fellow-men. O Lord, we confess and bewail this our grievous offence, very earnestly entreating thee to give us grace henceforward, neither to covet for ourselves the commendations of our fellow-creatures, nor to mislead our brethren by the flatteries we offer them; since thou, O Lord, alone art worthy the praise and adoration of all thy creatures--for thou only art holy--thou only art just--thou only art good. Shed thy Holy Spirit abroad in our hearts, and we will shew forth thy praise. O Lord our God, other lords besides thee have had dominion over us; but by thee only will we make mention of thy name. Thou art the God who hast revealed thyself, through thy Son, the God of mercy, the one only and true God. In thee alone, therefore, will we place our trust, upon thee alone will we build our hope, and unto thee alone shall our tribute of homage and adoration be paid without ceasing.

"And now to God the Father," &c.

SECOND COMMANDMENT--THOU SHALT NOT MAKE TO THYSELF ANY GRAVEN IMAGE, nor the Likeness of any Thing that is in Heaven above, or in the Earth beneath, or in the Water under the Earth. Thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, and visit the Sins of the Fathers upon the Children, unto the third and fourth Generation of them that hate me, and show Mercy unto Thousands in them that love me, and keep my Commandments.

The lady of the manor opened the conversation this evening, by requesting one of the young people to repeat the second commandment, which was accordingly done.

"Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, nor the likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, and visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me, and shew mercy unto thousands in them that love me, and keep my commandments."

When the young lady had finished the repetition of this commandment, some person in company asked the lady of the manor to have the kindness to explain to her the precise distinction between the duties enforced by the first and the second commandment; adding, that it appeared to her that every obligation enjoined by the first commandment, seemed to be equally inculcated by the second; and those of the second in like manner inculcated by the first. The young lady apologized for making this request, and at the same time expressed her assurance that the Almighty would not have given two commandments where one was sufficient, although she could not satisfactorily discern the difference between them.

The lady of the manor answered, that the commandments of God would always be found so to hang together, that each involved duties enforced by some or all of the others, insomuch that no one commandment could ever be singly and solely broken; and that hence might be found another solution besides that which is commonly received of the following expression--Whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all. [James ii. 10.]

"There is a perfection and agreement," continued she, "in the commandments, which will appear more and more in proportion as we consider their several parts-- a holy harmony which admits not of the slightest discord; from whence arises the absurdity of supposing that any thing like an imperfect obedience can be acceptable to God. However, to answer your question, my dear young friend, and to state my opinion to you on this subject as accurately as possible, I must inform you, that, with respect to the commandments in question, it appears to me that the second may be considered as the first commandment assuming a more express and palpable form. The first commandment has respect to the feelings of the heart and its affections, forbidding the undue estimation of any created object; whereas the second commandment especially refers to every external form of idolatrous worship. This latter commandment prohibits the worship which is offered to idols, or false gods, whether celestial or terrestial, whether in heaven above or in the earth beneath. It also forbids the making or forming of any images, or likenesses, of the true God. It likewise forbids the introduction of all human inventions into the worship of the true God, requiring that we should keep ourselves free from all the contagious influences of heathen abominations, according to the solemn injunctions recorded in Deuteronomy xii. 30, 31, 32.--Take heed to thyself, that thou be not snared by following them, after that they be destroyed from before thee; and that thou enquire not after their gods, saying, How did these nations serve their gods? even so will I do likewise. Thou shalt not do so unto the Lord thy God: for every abomination to the Lord, which he hateth, have they done unto their gods; for even their sons and their daughters they have burnt in the fire to their gods. What thing soever I command you, observe to do it: thou shalt not add thereto, nor diminish from it. Finally, it forbids our adoption of heathen manners and customs, by no means allowing us to make their mythological writings our guides, teaching them to our little ones, extolling their beauties, or holding them up as standards of morality to the admiration of our friends and associates.

"The Almighty," continued the lady, "represents himself in the second commandment, and in many other parts of Scripture, as a jealous God, as one who will have no rival in the affections of his people. He compares himself in other passages of the Word to a husband, while the Church is represented as his bride, as one purchased and washed with his blood. And under this tender appellation of a husband he condescends to solicit the affections of his people; as in Isaiah liv. 5, 6, where we find the following words--For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of hosts is his name; and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel; The God of the whole earth shall he be called. For the Lord hath called thee as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth, when thou wast refused, saith thy God."

The lady of the manor then proceeded to observe, that as she had already pointed out to her young people how the first commandment was frequently violated in Christian societies, she should now go on to notice the various modes in which the second commandment was broken in the present day by persons calling themselves Christians, and even by such as are accustomed to consider themselves as the most enlightened and best instructed of the age.

"Idolatry," continued she, "has been the grand engine by which Satan has held the dominion of the world for the last four thousand years. It is not, however, my present object to ascertain precisely how large a portion of the habitable globe is still lying in absolute paganism. The horrors and enormities of open heathenism are evident enough to every observer: we can all of us see the follies and absurdities of Hindoos and Hottentots with a sufficient degree of clearness; and I trust that there are none of you, my dear young people, who are not zealously promoting the cause of missions, whose direct purpose is to evangelize these dark corners of the earth. But our present business is not with these remote evils: by looking continually towards them, we are perhaps in danger of drawing comparisons too favourable to ourselves, and by constantly gazing upon the mote in our brother's eye become insensible of the beam which is in our own eye.

"From the first day that I was honoured in being permitted to become your instructress, it has been my object to draw your attention as much as possible to your own spiritual concerns, and to guard you against those dangers which grow out of the present state of society in this country. Every age and every state of life have their peculiar trials and temptations, and dangers often arise in quarters whence they were least suspected.

"It is well known that there is much actual idolatry in the papal Church, in which the Virgin Mary and the saints are made the constant objects of divine honours: but the Roman Catholic religion has been losing ground and influence for some years in Europe. Neither is it from this quarter that the young people of England, and we may even add those of the Continent, have now most reason to fear.

"It is impossible, one should suppose, for a thoughtful person to visit the Continent, or to become acquainted with our places of public education in England, without perceiving that true religion has another enemy now existing more powerful than popery itself, and one indeed to which the continuance of the Roman Catholic religion on the Continent, and the very slow advancement of religious truth in England since the period of the Reformation, may be traced with a degree of certainty which in after ages will be as apparent as the influence of popery before the time of Luther.

"This enemy of true religion, my dear young people," added the lady of the manor, "is no other than the ancient heathen literature; and it might perhaps be very useful on the present occasion to enquire whether the dark shadows of paganism are so absolutely passed away from Christendom as is generally believed; and whether Satan has not been enabled, with a degree of art unrivalled in the annals of mankind, to keep up the influence of heathen morality with nearly undiminished force, and to preserve the fascinations of heathen profligacy upon the minds of our young people, under the mask of classic elegance and ancient wisdom, not only for ages after the light of true religion had shone on various parts of the earth, but even down to the present period--a period, in this country especially, of no small light and illumination in many other respects?"

In this place one of the young ladies interrupted the lady of the manor, to ask whether she comprehended aright what she had heard; and whether their kind instructress meant them to understand that she considered it a kind of heathenism to study the writings of idolaters in the manner in which they were studied by the learned in the present day?

"My dear young friend," replied the lady of the manor, "I am by no means such a barbarian as to wish the destruction of a single interesting vestige of ancient days; neither do I believe it to be any offence against the Almighty to study the writings of antiquity in order to throw light either upon history in general or upon the sacred volume in particular. But when I consider that the reading of these books is made the constant employment of our sons from early infancy until the period of education is supposed to be finished, to the almost total exclusion of all biblical learning;--when I consider that the countenance and authority of all we hold sacred, and all we hold dear, is given to these works which abound in mythological allusions of the most impure nature, and whose choicest passages are replete with such vain-glorious and worldly sentiments as a man must utterly renounce before he can enter the kingdom of heaven; --when we consider that a knowledge of the classics is counted indispensable to the character of a gentleman, while a very slender acquaintance with Scripture is required even from a minister of our Established Church;--we must acknowledge that, although we do not actually bow the knee to Jupiter and Saturn, the shadows of paganism have not yet passed away from our country; and if not from our country, how much less so from our continental neighbours!"

The lady of the manor then proceeded to inform her young people of the result of her observations on this subject in a visit made some years before to the Continent.

"I had expected," said she, "to have found our neighbours on the Continent, at least those who preserved the old order of things as it existed before the Revolution, quiet and simple papists, having their houses decorated with the images of their saints, and their walls perhaps enriched with representations of the Holy Family, of St. Agnace, and St. Ursula, &c. &c. How much then was I astonished to find that those pieces of sculpture and painting which had any reference to their religion were almost wholly confined to places of worship and burying-grounds; while nearly all the ornaments of their houses and gardens, whether produced by the pencil or the chisel, bore allusion to mythological and classical subjects. The inhabitants of the Continent are immoderately fond of paintings and statuary, insomuch that they frequently adorn their gardens and houses with them; the figures in each being large as life, and representing scenes from Ovid, and other ancient writers of the same description.

"I am rather inclined to think that our continental neighbours are not the deep scholars that we are, and probably do not for the most part enter so accurately into the niceties of language and criticism as we do; at least I believe our islanders wish to have it thought so. But be this as it may, their minds seem very deeply imbued with classical ideas, and not possessing the delicacy which we affect, they represent in colours and proportions which none can mistake, those unholy conceptions of the unregenerate imagination which are found in the above-mentioned authors--which very authors are made the study of our infant boys when scarcely weaned from the breast.

"The enlightened English tutor may perhaps reply to this--No: we select with care; choosing that which is likely to be profitable to our pupils, and casting the rest away. In return to which it may well he asked, How can good be selected from that in which no good exists? or how can we draw any thing that is profitable from that which is universally evil? There may indeed be found in heathen writers some beautiful descriptions of the works of God, and the glories of nature: but all that proceeds from the writer himself, is and must be corrupt; since every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart are declared, in the sacred volume, to be only evil continually. The carnal mind is enmity against God; it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be: every sentiment, therefore, of a heathen writer must needs be corrupt, and opposed to that which is right; neither can we wonder at any evil effect which is or may be produced by placing the sentiments, actions, and imaginations of the heathen world under the constant observation of our children. And I have seriously apprehended that much, very much of the depravity of the young people on the Continent may have proceeded from the constant recurrence of these unholy images, whether represented in sculpture, painting, or needlework; whether found in the original languages, or in translations; or merely re-modelled in the shape of epic poems, dramas, songs, or romances.

"But," proceeded the lady of the manor, "as I know your partiality, my dear young people, to any thing in the style of narrative, instead of detaining your attention any longer with my remarks on a subject which may be more interesting to you hereafter than it now is, I shall read a letter to you, which I received a short time ago from a lady, who is now the happy wife of an excellent man in exalted life, and the joyful mother of a beautiful and pious family."

The lady of the manor then rang her bell, and directed her servant to bring in a small casket which she had placed on her dressing-table.

During the absence of the servant, the young people ventured to put some enquiries respecting the lady in question.

In answer to all these enquiries, the lady of the manor referred them to the letter, which she said contained a little epitome of the lady's life, written with the express purpose of being shewn to a person who was a total stranger to any part of the author's history.

On the casket being put into the hands of the lady of the manor, she opened and drew from it a letter, together with a small painting representing a young and extremely lovely person dressed in the habit of a huntress. Her figure was singularly elegant and majestic; her golden hair was knotted with classic simplicity on the back of her head; health bloomed on her cheek; and genius sparkled in her eye. The back-ground of the little picture represented a wild wood, and two delicate Italian greyhounds occupied some part of the fore-ground. The execution of this little painting was as excellent as the design was beautiful.

When the young people had satisfied themselves with looking upon this picture, they laid it on one side, and the lady of the manor commenced the letter.

A LETTER FROM ELLEN TEMPLE RESPECTING THE EFFECT PRODUCED UPON THE YOUTHFUL MIND BY OUR USUAL CLASSICAL STUDIES.

"My grandfather, as you well know, my dear Madam, was the Earl of K--, and my father a younger son of that nobleman. My father was a remarkably handsome man; his personal accomplishments being of a kind which served as a letter of recommendation to him wherever he wished to be introduced. His figure was strikingly majestic, while his countenance expressed a peculiar sweetness mixed with an extraordinary degree of vivacity. After being educated in one of the first public schools in England, he was considered as one of the most elegant scholars of his time in the University of Oxford, through which he passed as a gentleman commoner.

"My father's private tutor at Oxford was a man of talent; and having, no doubt, in his situation as an instructor of youth, often suffered the penance of being obliged to bear with much dulness, he seemed to be particularly delighted with the rapid manner in which my father received ideas and adopted them as his own. And he was not a little gratified in the success of his pupil, who was acknowledged to be a man of the first genius and most elegant taste who had appeared at Oxford for some years.

"It was at that time predicted, by those who knew my father best, that he would become an author, and would distinguish himself by some superior literary productions: but these predictions have not been fulfilled. My father never produced any compositions of sufficient consequence to be brought before the public; though I found a few essays and some slight attempts at versification in his portfolio, which afforded sufficient proof that had he undertaken larger works it would not have been without a considerable share of success.

"It was always the intention of my grandfather, who was high in favour with the ministry, to bring my father forward in the diplomatic line; but as no situation of this kind immediately offered, upon my father's leaving the University, he was without employment for two years, during which time he indulged in some expences which his noble friends could not conveniently answer; for my paternal relations are not rich.

"In the meantime, hopes were held out to him of speedy advancement in the line he desired: but finding that his creditors would not receive promises in lieu of payment, he suffered himself to be persuaded to seek the improvement of his fortune by marriage; a mode of rising in the world which one should think was but ill suited to a man of my father's elegant taste and intellectual refinement. For he had often been in the habit of speaking of his future wife as of one who must possess the beauty of Helen and the graces of Calypso, together with the mental distinctions of the unfortunate Sappho: all of which imaginary perfections he was compelled to forego for the ordinary consideration of that large fortune which his various improvidences had rendered desirable.

"But, to speak in plain language, the young lady whom he selected as the object of his addresses was very rich, though she had few of those charms with which he used in imagination to endow his destined wife. She had, however, many excellent qualities; and, had her life been spared, she would, no doubt, have obtained and preserved the regard of her husband: she however lived only two years, and dying, left him one daughter.

"My father thus becoming a widower in early life, was not sorry to be relieved from the charge of his infant by her maternal grandmother, to whose care he consigned her after her mother's death, and never saw her more; though he ever retained a tender recollection of her, and seldom spoke of her without a certain expression of countenance which indicated that his feelings for her were more tender than he openly acknowledged.

"And now, in order that I may not hereafter break in upon other parts of my story, I shall here trace the simple outline of my sister's pathetic history. She was brought up by her respectable grandmother in much retirement, but not in ignorance. Her grandmother being aware of my father's love of literature, procured for her, when at a proper age, a learned tutor in the person of a middle-aged clergyman of the name of Gisborne, who, while the old lady herself undertook those branches of my sister's education which particularly belong to her sex, occupied himself in the cultivation of her mind and the improvement of her talents.

"As far as I could ever learn, my sister was never a brilliant character, nor in any way distinguished by personal beauty: she possessed, however, in a singular degree, that uniform gentleness and consistency which, when united, as in her case, with feeling and good sense, so peculiarly fit the female for all the duties of daughter, wife, and mother, and render her so especially a help meet for the nobler sex.

"My sister, being entitled to a large fortune, married very early, and as early became a widow, though not till she had first become a mother. Her only son, the little Alfred, was born when I, his aunt, was about ten years of age, and continued to live with his mother and grandmother, enjoying the instruction of his mother's venerable tutor till I had entered into my eighteenth year; at which time he was deprived of both parents within a few months, and consigned by the dying testimony of his mother to the guardianship of my father, with this stipulation, that he should not on any account be separated from Mr. Gisborne. Intending to mention in its proper place what more I may have to say respecting this little boy, I shall now proceed with the history of my father.

"He was very young when he first became a widower, and being thus freed from all domestic cares, he immediately entered upon that mode of life for which he had originally been designed, by accompanying his Excellency Lord--, the English ambassador to the capital of the French monarchy; and from that time he was continually engaged in public affairs in the different courts of Europe till I was thirteen years of age, although his second marriage did not take place till his daughter by his first wife was between ten and eleven years of age.

"It was in the duchy of Baden, at the town of Carlsruhe, that my father first saw my mother. Being at that time in easy and affluent circumstances, he was not led to this second marriage by the same motives which had formerly influenced him, for my mother was a very beautiful woman, and nearly allied to the first families in the principality. Her fortune was also small when she became my father's wife; though some years after their marriage, through the sudden death of an only brother, she became the heiress of a noble property, and entered into the possession of an almost princely domain.

"Thus, my dear Madam, having given you the simple statement of the situation of my family before my birth, I shall proceed to those matters which relate more nearly to myself.

"I was born in the grand duchy of Baden, and was called Ellen, after my mother; but I left the place of my nativity so early, that I should have had no knowledge of it had I not seen it again at a later period. Soon after my birth, my parents went to France, and settled in Paris, having a country-house at Versailles, where I chiefly resided with my governess; although I enjoyed much of the presence of my parents, who were seldom long absent from me, and who regarded me with a degree of tenderness which formed not only their happiness but mine also. I was naturally a very lively child; and I lived among very animated people. The scenes amid which I resided were calculated to excite the fancy in a more than ordinary degree. It was precisely that point of time in the last age, in which Versailles might be said to have reached its highest glory, when the beautiful and unfortunate Marie Antoinette, the star of Austria, had just commenced that career of vanity, the end of which was so peculiarly disastrous as to excite the commiseration of all Europe, and will continue so to do as long as any records shall remain of the horrors of that time.

"Though very young when I first saw that princess, I shall never forget the expression of her beautiful countenance as I one day met her, when walking with my governess in the gardens of Versailles. She was dressed in a simple robe of dimity, with a straw hat, in which was a single bunch of artificial flowers. Her attendants were few; and there was in her countenance an almost infantine expression of ease and sweetness, which formed a painful contrast with the portraits taken of this unhappy princess in later life, when the world had finished that work of corruption which we are well informed was too successfully begun in the court of her ambitious mother; when the caprices of fashion had destroyed her native simplicity; and after her mind had been inflamed with passion and harassed by fatigue.

"About three years ago, when again visiting Versailles in order to weep over the wreck of former magnificence, I saw a portrait of the little Dauphiness on her first arrival in France; it was inclosed in a shabby frame, and had been thrown aside with other old lumber, in an underground apartment of the palace. In this portrait, the same infantine tenderness was visible; and though the features seemed scarcely yet to have obtained their due proportion, yet there was an air of harmlessness and sweet inexperience cast over the whole figure, which made my heart bleed at every pore, and led me to the indulgence of as encouraging persuasion, that the tragic end of this ill-fated princess was probably preceded by such convictions of the vanity of human life, as might happily fit her for a better world. But to pass from these touching reflections, and to descend into more ordinary life, though still somewhat allied to the pomp of courts.

"Many of my early years, as I before said, were passed at Versailles, where my father had a country-house. Though I have myself been a great traveller on the Continent, I never saw a palace which conveyed to my mind such an idea of regal pomp as that of Versailles. I doubt whether it may be asserted that the building is in a good taste; I believe that it is not generally allowed to be so: nevertheless the eye is struck with its magnificent extent, the profusion of sculpture with which it is enriched, the magnitude of its columns, porticoes, terraces, balustrades, and other architectural ornaments; all of which may be more easily conceived than described. The old-fashioned gardens, too, are not without their imposing effect; the various long walks, some straight, some winding, are separated one from another by little coppices or groves, (for we have not a word in English to describe the ornamented bosquet of the French,) in which grottoes charm and fountains play, and where all the caprices of the heathen mythology are represented in groups of marble or of bronze; the various lakes and basons of clear water, each adorned with its triton or water-nymph, its dolphin or its mermaid; the gardens of orange trees; the avenues of tilleul; the groves of myrtle; the stairs of stone, descending from terrace to terrace, ornamented with balustrades; the marble effigies of kings and heroes of other times;-- all present in one point of view so much to amuse the fancy, and to confound all sense of ordinary life and the real state of man on earth, that the youthful individual must be cold indeed, or raised in no ordinary degree above earthly things, who can live at Versailles without receiving many corrupt impressions and entertaining many erroneous ideas.

"There is to be found, for the most part, about the courts of kings, a spirit of intrigue or gossip, which requires all the circumstance of splendour attending such places to preserve it in any degree from the low character which never ceases to accompany it in every other modification of life. This spirit is equally blended, in general, with flattery and detraction, and few minds are found sufficiently exalted to rise wholly above it. Hence the characters about every court are commonly of the most ordinary kind, agitated by the lowest passions, and excited by the meanest motives. Nor indeed is it possible that the immediate attendants and companions of earthly kings should ever be enabled to triumph completely over the low feelings of envy and ambition, until they are actuated by the fear of Him who is King of kings and Lord of lords.

"But it was not in the court of Louis the Sixteenth that characters remarkable for piety were to be looked for; since, among those persons who formed this society, there were few distinguished above the rest by any ideas which were not of the commonest order. There were, indeed, a few literary men--some individuals who read and thought--and among this number was my father. But, as he has since said of himself, his intellectual pleasures had no reference whatever to religion; and though by no means an avowed infidel, or an open enemy of his God, it never once occurred to him, that the word of God could be made of the slightest use in enlightening and clearing the intellect, or improving the taste: and as to its power, under the divine blessing, of correcting the heart and controlling the passions, it was an idea which never could have suggested itself to his mind in the state in which he then was; for the natural man receiveth not these things.

"My father, however, read much; and, pursuing the bent given him at the University, he particularly devoted himself to the classics, together with all such books as are in any way connected with that study. And if he gained no other advantage from this plan of reading, it served to pass his time in a less hurtful way, in some respects, than it might otherwise have been employed in: it kept him at home; it led him to associate with those of the court who were not entirely sunk into modern frivolities; and it preserved him from entering into that very low style of conversation which I have described as prevailing in the habitations of kings. The society also which frequented his house was of a literary description, men of wit and quickness; yet probably shallow, though I am not authorized to say thus much; and it is highly probable that, had they not been recommended to him by their intellectual endowments, their society would have had few charms for my father.

"Though my mother was never accustomed to speak much, yet she laid little restraint on me: and I can well remember, when I was about eight years of age, that I used to steal into the saloon, where my father was entertaining his friends, and actually to make my way through the circle to his knees. Situated in this my place of safety, from which I knew that no one would dare to force me, I used to listen to much that passed; and once in particular I ventured to make such remarks, that a certain abbé, a friend, or rather frequent companion, of my father's, expressed in my presence his regret that a child of such talents, as he was pleased to say I possessed, should be brought up under an ordinary governess.--'Give your daughter,' said he, 'a classical education; cultivate her taste by presenting the finest models of composition to her examination; enrich her fancy with the beauties of ancient authors; allow her not to read any modern writers which are not of the same school; and be assured that your daughter will, one day or other, surpass the most celebrated females of her age.'

"I do not pretend that I should have recollected the whole of this speech from the first hearing of it, and that at so early an age as my ninth year, had it not often been repeated by my father; although we are very ready, even in our most tender years, to receive and understand that which we think redounds to our own honour.

"But notwithstanding the good abbé, in the plenitude of his politeness, had thought proper to invest me with such extraordinary talents, I am not aware that any such really existed. I know not that there was any thing out of the common way in me, excepting that I undoubtedly inherit in some degree that vivid imagination which always enabled my father to seize, and as it were to make his own, all such poetical images as were presented to him through the medium of words, of sculpture, of painting, or of scenic representation; although the power of combining these afresh, and arranging them in new and striking forms, (which power we honour with the name of invention,) was not equally bestowed upon him. But however this might be, my beloved father, being encouraged by the abbé, and finding that much leisure remained to him after discharging the various functions of his office in the suite of the ambassador of the English court, resolved to employ himself in the cultivation of my mind, excusing himself for not having provided the same means of instruction for his elder daughter, who was still with her grandmother, upon the plea that her countenance, though mild and amiable, exhibited in infancy no promising symptoms of genius.

"Thus having quieted his feelings of duty towards his firstborn, my dear father lost no time in procuring for me such a tutor as should bring me through the drudgery of Latin and Greek. This tutor was to ground me well in grammar, and while he led me gently forward through this stony road, my father never omitted any occasion of opening my mind to the beauties of the classics; the more elegant passages of the heathen mythology; the fabulous histories of ancient heroes, kings, and demi-gods; as well as the brilliant actions and heroic sentiments of the most celebrated personages of those periods of ancient history which are not concealed beneath the cloak of fable or the mists of doubt.

"Many of these lessons were given me so the highly decorated environs of Versailles, or in those parts of the palace into which we had admittance--in the halls of the Louvre--in the gardens of the Thuilleries and the Luxemburg--in the pleasure-grounds of Marly-- and other places in the neighbourhood of Paris; and assuredly had I been born at Rome itself, before the name of Jesus had extended beyond the precincts of his native land, I could not have enjoyed (if such a word be not ill used in this place) better opportunities of studying the figures, attributes, and characters of the heathen divinities, than those which I possessed in and near the capital of His Most Christian Majesty.

"I was at that time too young to be introduced into company, and there was no enjoyment which I could conceive to be greater than walking with my parents in the gardens of Versailles, and listening to my father's conversation, for his lessons were at that time always given through the medium of conversation, and generally taken from the objects which presented themselves; and there can be no doubt but that lessons thus given and thus brought before the eye, are not easily forgotten. Is it possible for me to forget the outlines of the history of the son of Jupiter and Latona, when that history was given me as I stood in the very presence as it were of the demi-god himself, in that beautiful grove of Versailles where three exquisite groups are placed in a grotto formed out of an enormous rock, the entrance of which represents the palace of Thetis?--in the centre is the celestial hero himself, accompanied by six nymphs, the two other groups representing tritons watering the horses of the sun. These last figures are reckoned chef-d'œuvres of the art of sculpture, and seem to be inhaling with fiery nostrils the waters which on days of high festivity gush in torrents from the rock. Or could I lose the recollection of the various adventures of Bacchus, Diana, or Mars, when every perfection of painting and tapestry had been employed to fix them in my imagination? And though my father, no doubt, endeavoured, with all the delicacy that parental affection could adopt, to keep all that was decidedly vicious in these histories as much as possible in the background, yet their effect, when purified as much as they were capable of being purified, was every thing but good; for the imagination of unregenerate youth is ever ready to add that which is wanting, when such aliment only is supplied as carries not with it a strong corrective to evil, just as a disordered stomach turns all to poison, which is not an actual antidote to its distempered state. Thus the imagination of children being always in a vitiated state, some such corrective as the word of God supplies should be constantly administered to them, for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds; casting down imaginations, and every high timing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. [2 Cor. x. 4, 5.]

"I was not more than twelve years of age when my parents left Versailles, at which time also I quitted my tutor, who had already carried me through the first seven books of Virgil, together with a part of Ovid's Metamorphoses, and had begun to initiate me in the mysteries of Homer and all his original beauties. Young however as I then was, the various recollections and impressions I carried away with me of mythological subjects, the sentiments I had acquired from the heathen writers, and the strong bent which had been given to my taste, were such, that I am persuaded no means which could have been used under any system of education, would have effaced those impressions, or changed that bent.

"Now it may be asserted that no school-boy in England, while obtaining the rudiments of classical literature, can ever be precisely in the circumstances in which I received my education; for our more enlightened land abounds not with that multitude of images and symbols of a polluted polytheism, with which various parts of the Continent are overspread. Nevertheless, do we not convey to our sons, and even our daughters, the same images, through the medium of books? And though the cold colouring of words undoubtedly makes not its way so speedily to the heart of a child, as the warmer tints of painting and the more palpable forms of sculpture; nevertheless, the solemnity and gravity which accompany our classical lectures, and the importance we affix to them, are perhaps as likely to give them influence over the minds of our young people, as the lighter mode in which these lessons are conveyed on the Continent. However, to leave those to judge of this subject who may understand it better than I do, I hesitate not to say, that I have no doubt but that the prevalence of classical and heathen imagery among the more refined of our continental neighbours, is one grand source of their corruption, one great cause of their darkness with respect to religion, and that which has upheld the influence of popery, where otherwise it must have fallen from its own inherent absurdity. Of this prevalence none can have an idea who have not quitted the shores of England: nor am I able to understand how this circumstance can have been so long overlooked by the many excellent men who have visited our continental neighbours, unless perhaps that they are deluded with the opinion so commonly enforced among us, that the ancient heathenism of Greece and Rome is an enemy so entirely overthrown, so utterly mortified and subdued, as to be no longer an object of fear; while the papal power, though in a declining state, is waiting only a fair opportunity to rise again and obtain fresh triumphs.

"The occasion of our heaving Versailles was the sudden death of my mother's only brother, by which a very large property devolved to her in the duchy of Baden. I remember little accurately respecting my journey, or of the various events which took place, until my father, having disengaged himself from all his affairs in the diplomatic line, settled himself in a habitation belonging to him in right of his wife, not very distant from Carlsruhe, the modern capital of Baden, and among the mountains of the Schwartzwald or Black Forest.

"These mountains extend from the borders of Switzerland to Sforzheim, from which last place the chain which branches off to the north assumes another name. This region, being inclosed towards the west by the Rhine and the Neckar, and by the mountains on the east, is one of the most beautiful parts of Germany; the whole country rising gradually from the rivers to the mountains, and presenting to the traveller one continued garden enriched with fruit-trees bending down in summer with the weight of their fruit.

"The Hartzwald, which are nearer the Rhine than the Schwartzwald, and are sometimes blended with them in one line of view, are not however so bold in their aspect as the mountains of Switzerland, while they have a more smiling and less sullen appearance than the heights of the Black Forest, being frequently enriched with varieties of beautiful forest trees, while their more savage neighbours are for the most part covered with pine, and some of their higher points capped with almost perpetual snow. This range of hills abounds with innumerable torrents, which pouring down from the heights discharge themselves into the Rhine; while the ruins of many ancient towers and castles frowning from amidst these mountain forests, carry the imagination back to those lawless ages when the old Teutonic race disputed the possession of that country with the Roman legions then stationed along the banks of the Rhine.

"It was not however one of these ancient towers, but a handsome modern chateau, with a well cultivated garden, of which my father took possession on his arrival in Germany; neither was it so deeply inclosed by the mountains as to render it an inconvenient habitation, though sufficiently so for every purpose of romantic beauty. The highroad from Manheim to Rastadt was not very distant from us, and as the whole of the intermediate ground was occupied by oak and beech woods, the drive through the forest from the highroad to the chateau was exceedingly beautiful, acquiring new charms as it approached the foot of the mountains, and penetrated more deeply into the haunts of the deer.

"Some time before my father had relinquished public life, he had begun to express his weariness of it, and since he had conceived the idea of devoting his time to my education, he seemed to have expressed more than his former disgust at the manner in which he was compelled to pass his days in the suite of an ambassador: but now, being suddenly raised to a very distinguished situation in his wife's country, and finding himself in possession of a very ample property, he resolved to indulge himself in that mode of life for which he had long secretly sighed; namely, an elegant and classical retirement, where, with his books, his daughter, (for he was excessively fond of me,) and a few friends, he might bring together all that he conceived really desirable in the present life.

"My father had lived many years with foreigners, and could speak German and French with perfect ease; it was not therefore necessary to his comfort that his literary companions should be Englishmen: but such was his predilection for the classics, that he never considered any man a real gentleman who was not well versed in these studies.

"With such plans of future enjoyment, my father lost no time in adding such decorations to his house and grounds as he judged they were best capable of receiving. It was not a gothic castle, but a classic villa, which my father wished to possess; and although the Apennines might have afforded a more suitable situation than the Schwartzwald for a Roman villa, yet my father was not sorry to have such beauties of nature at his command, as those which the Schwartzwald presented at so remote a distance from Rome as the banks of the Rhine.

"The house which I am here describing stood in the centre of a large and rich domain. It was situated on the side of a hill, in the centre of a lawn, wholly inclosed by woods; those in our neighbourhood being composed of chesnut, beech, oak, and the silver-shafted birch, while those which were more remote presented only one mighty mass of dark fir trees.

"From these woods arose, in one vast range, and stretching from north to south further than the eye could reach, innumerable summits of mountains; some bare and rocky, some entirely covered with wood, and others frequently clothed in mantles of snow; some forming prominent features in the landscape, while others appeared to withdraw from the eye in colours almost as faint as the blue ether of the higher latitudes. The house was surrounded by a park, abounding with deer, and containing within a moderate compass every possible variety of hill and dale, waterfall and rock, cool grotto, breezy lawn, and shadowy glad;--scenes of endless variety, and such as were calculated to give inconceivable delight to one already perhaps too much devoted to the pleasures of fancy.

"The inhabitants of that part of Germany concerning which I am here speaking, are not behind their more western neighbours in their taste for statuary; and great encouragement is given to the arts of painting and sculpture in the principality of Baden. It was not, therefore, difficult for my father to find artists of sufficient eminence to execute all his plans of this kind; and since a better and purer taste has marked his character, through the divine mercy, he has often smiled at the recollection of his persevering activity and the diligence he used in converting his house and pleasure-grounds into a kind of pantheon. This trifling taste is undoubtedly not so common now in England as it formerly was; but it is impossible to take the air in a nobleman's garden on the Continent without coming into contact with gods and goddesses, fauns and satyrs, wood-nymphs and water-nymphs, in marble or bronze, ill or well executed, suitably or unsuitably accompanied. Scarcely a fishpond can be found on the Continent, in the centre of which there is not a frowning Neptune with his trident; nor a summer-house which is not set forth with the loves of the Graces. There is hardly a little inn throughout all Germany whose walls are not adorned with the representation of some classical story; and I have frequently seen the greater part of the metamorphoses of Ovid represented on coarse paper, with a coarser pencil, and employed as a substitute for tapestry, in houses where it was almost doubtful whether a single person could read.

"These things are absurd; but if they were only absurd, we might pass them by without wishing them otherwise. But they are worse than absurd; for their influence is decidedly corrupting; and every one who thinks at all must feel them so to be. And although, as I before remarked, the worthy people of England have in some degree renounced their taste for leaden gods and marble goddesses, (a taste which probably never prevailed in our island in the degree it has abroad,) yet it must be allowed, that ideas are the same, however conveyed, whether by words or symbols, their nature and influence not undergoing the least alteration by the medium through which they are brought to the mind.

"It may perhaps be pleaded, that the ancient authors are not read on account of their mythological allusions; that no person now living believes in the existence of these ancient demi-gods, and that no one receives them with more faith than they do the tales of Riquet a la Houppe, and Petit Poucet. For the sake of argument, we will grant all this, and that the shocking narratives of the degrading conduct of these fabled personages produce no effect on the youthful mind: yet let it be remembered, that when the fountain itself is corrupt, the waters which spring from it must necessarily be equally corrupt. The ancient heathen authors were either entirely without religion, or the religion they professed was of the most polluting description: hence the poison of infidelity, or the abominations of a vicious polytheism, were distilled into their hearts, and flowed abroad through their writings; and these writings, thus polluted and replenished with poison, are delivered to our children, yea, and pressed upon them with every argument which parental authority can adopt with any chance of success. The child who neglects these studies is threatened with correction; and the youth who declines them is told of the shame which must accompany him through the whole of life.

"But without saying too much in this place on a subject to which I must again call your attention in a further part of my letter--I must request you, my dear Madam, to represent me to yourself at the age of fourteen, settled with my parents in the chateau of Warenheim, among the most beautiful and least rugged environs of the Schwartzwald. The house we occupied stood upon the site of an ancient castle; which having fallen into complete decay, had risen again in the form of an excellent modern house, possessing many of the interior and exterior beauties of ancient Grecian architecture. On each side of this building towards the east and west were colonnades of polished granate. These colonnades were composed of coupled columns of the Corinthian order, and the interior peristyles with their ceilings were richly decorated with foliage and interlacements carefully executed. Above the door-ways which led from the peristyle into the interior of the house were many classic groups, executed in low relief of excellent workmanship; while a variety of beautiful figures, after the antique, ornamented different parts of the house and pleasure-grounds.

"The prospects from the two fronts of the house, namely, towards the Rhine on one side, and the mountains on the other, were equally beautiful and striking; the forepart being filled up by the ornamented pleasure-grounds, which formed a most striking contrast with the more wild scenery in the distance. This pleasure-ground, on our first arrival at the chateau, we found arranged with too much art: but my father soon contrived to destroy this stiffness, and to introduce the line of beauty and the ease of nature into regions, which the late possessor had laid out entirely by the rule and compass.

"There is something peculiarly wild and impressive in all the scenery of the Schwartzwald, a certain appropriate character, which when once seen cannot easily be forgotten. But it was necessary to pass the more ornamented grounds surrounding our habitation, in order to enjoy an unobstructed view of these more savage prospects, which derived an additional degree of grandeur from a comparison with the beautiful lawns and walks by which they were approached.

"There are nearly sixteen thousand inhabitants spread over these mountains, who have no other subsistence but what they derive from their cattle and the tillage of their fields. There are few towns and villages in these wilds: solitary cottages, scattered here and there, afford the only habitations of these mountaineers. These houses have many windows, and are surrounded with galleries of wood; the thatched roofs of which project so far on the back part of them as entirely to cover these galleries, and sometimes to touch the sloping sides of the hills on which these little tenements are built. These habitations afford not a single specimen of masonry, and their large black beams suggest the idea of deep gloom. Many of these buildings have small chapels, the little bells of which are daily heard calling to morning and evening prayers.

"The inhabitants of these mountains were, as may be supposed, so extremely ignorant, that it was impossible for my father to find a companion among them: he was therefore rendered more entirely dependent for society on those learned men who thought it worth their while to come from a distance to enjoy for a short season the charms of retired life and literary ease.

"In the mean time, my father found constant amusement in the decoration of his place, and in the cultivation of my intellect; wishing to effect that change in my character by polite literature and a refined taste, which can only be produced by the influences of the Holy Spirit working effectually on the heart.

"As my father was a man of real taste and rectified feeling, he could not but greatly admire the excellency of virtue. He had an exalted idea of female perfection. He seemed precisely to know what ought to be the result of a good education; but mistaking the means which were to produce that result, he lost himself and his daughter, for a time at least, in seeking among the rubbish of heathen writers those treasures which exist only in the word of God.

"It might perhaps fatigue my reader, were I to note down precisely the order in which my father brought me acquainted with the ancient classic writers. Suffice it to say, that I pursued much the same course as is generally followed by young men in England who receive a classical education, with this exception, that I was not required to write Latin. I was also made to study the Greek and Roman history, to write correctly in English and French, as well as to read and appreciate the best authors in these languages. My father was at no time an enemy to religion: so far from it, that when, in the course of these lectures, any religious sentiment or any notice of holy men or holy things came before his view, he would not only receive them favourably, but even speak of them in the warmest terms of approbation. These matters, however, took no hold of his mind; he would pass them over almost immediately, and scarcely give them a secondary weight when compared with the objects of his literary attention. Yet one thing I must remark, as happening to him, I believe, in common with many other well-meaning persons who are devoted to classical studies, that he would always speak of the Bible with respect, especially when it happened to be forced upon his attention, and would assert very coolly, and wholly without any appearance of doubt of his own sincerity, that it was in order to enable me to understand the Scriptures fully, that he had taught me the ancient languages; asserting that it was his intention at some future time to go through a regular course of Scriptural reading, taking with him all the helps which his knowledge of ancient languages and customs could supply; not considering that if he spent so much time in the vestibule of divine knowledge, little would be left for the study of its interior parts. But allowing that, which cannot be disputed, that the Latin and Greek classics might afford much assistance in explaining certain obscure passages of Scripture, in throwing light on ancient customs, and ascertaining the signification of the language and use of types and emblems; yet is it not to be feared that this end, for which no doubt the works of the ancient heathens have been preserved, by a wise Providence, is too often overlooked by the classical reader, and the study of the ancient writers carried on through life without the slightest reference to the connexion which they might be found to bear with sacred literature?

"But to hasten from this disputed ground, where I fear I shall bring down upon me the indignation of the wise and prudent of this world, I shall proceed to state the effect which the education I received had upon my mind, and to describe the kind of person I was in my seventeenth year.

"I must begin with saying, that I was naturally lively, and from the unrestrained liberty I enjoyed, in amusing myself among the various beautiful scenes which our large domain included, I was remarkably healthy and active.

"The education, however, which I was receiving, and the society with which I mixed, prevented this exuberance of health and spirits from degenerating into coarseness. I had been accustomed to all the more refined decencies of high life. I had been early acquainted with courts, and I knew that it was expected of me that I should appear to be every thing that was accounted amiable. Neither was I without pride, nor yet without a just sense of what is graceful and estimable in women: so that I had various motives for endeavouring to set myself off to the highest advantage. My passions, too, were not of that overpowering nature which demand their gratification at every risk. I therefore passed well in the eyes of all who knew me, and my poor parents, no doubt, rested content in their work. In the mean time, however, nothing but disorder reigned within my breast. I was alternately a prey to eager longings after pleasure, and strong risings of resentment against the lawful and necessary restraints of society. At one time my buoyant spirits would carry me to the very verge of discretion, and at another I became a prey to painful regrets: for there was not in fact one single rectified idea in my mind, nor one solid point through the whole wide region of my heart whereon reason might fix its stand to take just views of human life. And here permit me to remark, that reason itself, without the aid of revelation, can throw but little light on the present circumstances of man; being utterly unable to unravel the mysteries of fate, to account for the contradictions exhibited in the human character, or to conceive how such multiplied imperfections should exist in the works of an all-wise and omnipotent God.

"I believe it to be a very common thing for young people, and those especially whose imaginations are naturally lively, and whose intellects are highly cultivated, particularly when frequently alone, to become the prey of very disorderly thoughts. Many excellent persons being fully aware of this, strictly forbid their children the indiscriminate use of novels and romances, with such works of the English poets as are not the most correct of their kind; and in so doing it cannot be doubted that they fulfil an important duty. But I ask, do these parents act consistently by being thus guarded with respect to the authors of our own country, while they place the writings of the heathen in the hands of all their infant sons? or, is it possible that they should not perceive that there is scarcely a single novel of the present century which does not contain more pure sentiments and more proper rules of life than could have been extracted from the whole Alexandrian library, had its thousand volumes been consulted for this only purpose? We of course except the sacred volumes of the Jews. And may it not further be asked, are not the works of men who have made the classics their chief study, and derived their sentiments from those polluted sources, generally speaking, the worst productions of the English press? I speak not of books which never find their way into polished life.

"But not to digress from my point.--I speak from experience when I assert, that all the worst effects of novels, with respect to filling the youthful mind with ideas which should if possible never be admitted into it, are produced in a stronger degree, and in a much more dreadful form, by these celebrated works of the ancient heathen; and I am fully persuaded that more persons have been prepared for vice in after life by books of this description than by any other engine which Satan ever devised.

"The form in which the images presented to me in these writings first took hold of my mind was apparently more pleasing than dangerous. It was soon after my arrival at Warenheim, when I first found myself removed at some distance from the hurry and confusion of more public life, and in a situation to enjoy the beauties of nature, and to range at liberty through the wild scenery which surrounded my father's house--it was in these circumstances that I first began to combine and arrange in my own mind those ideas which had been instilled into me from infancy. The writings of the ancient heathen are replete with exquisite images and striking symbols, which render them unspeakably fascinating to youth, and thus enhance their danger; inasmuch as these elegancies of style are employed sometimes to set forth the most unworthy actions, and sometimes to conceal the most atrocious deeds.

"In early infancy the fable is often read, and the emblem committed to memory, with the same simple view as that under which the child considers the offering of Abel and the sacrifice of the paschal lamb. But as in one case the seeds of truth unfold themselves in after years, and shed their sacred influence over the heart; so in the other case the serpent, long concealed beneath the flowery emblem, after a while raises its threatening head, and poisons the whole soul in which it had long lain dormant.

"It was accordingly at that precise period of life in which a young person begins first to think and use those stores of knowledge, whether good or bad, which he has acquired in childhood, that my mind first began to make those classic images its own with which it had been so richly stored: and having every help that the most beautiful scenery could afford, together with the aid of solitude, it was then that I began to people my usual haunts with the creations of fancy. In the purple light of the morning, beaming over the sombre Schwartzwald, I failed not to represent to myself the daughter of Hyperion and Thia, who, as the poets pretend, opens with her rosy fingers the gates of the east, and pours the dew upon the tender grass, causing the flowers to unfold their enamelled cups, and shed their odours through the ambient air. I fancied that I could see her chariot rising above the fir-crowned heights, while darkness fled before her--the celestial bow, the arch of the covenant, the token of our better hopes, brought no other image to my unsanctified imagination than that of the fabled Iris with her variegated robe--and the sun in his meridian glory had not power to excite in my mind any ideas more exalted than those which the heathen poets supply, although I must even then have heard that wonderful description of this glorious body in the Psalms, which, in point of poetical beauty, as much exceeds all classical images, as the majesty of the human countenance surpasses in glory the physiognomy of the noblest of the brute creation.

"All this, however, may be considered as childish. I grant it. But what can reasonably be considered as more mean and puerile than the conceits of heathen authors? and what should be the object of a well-directed education, but to keep out of sight all childish fancies, and supply the mind with proper materials for meditation? I must be permitted to remark in this place, that where no counteracting means are used to rectify the disorders of a puerile imagination, the evil must necessarily increase with increasing years. A wicked child may be sometimes quieted with toys and sugar-plums; but the restless imagination of an unsanctified young person cannot be so easily satisfied. The study of the Book of God is the appointed means for correcting and purifying our thoughts, and few were ever persuaded to adopt this custom without finding the divine blessing.

"I have probably now said enough to lead you to conjecture that, as I advanced in years, my progress was rather from worse to worse than from better to better: and from this time till I reached my eighteenth year, though I grew in stature, and acquired some degree of important information, I deviated further and further from that straight and narrow way which leadeth unto life.

"About this time, it was necessary for my father (I do not precisely recollect on what occasion) to pay a visit to the court of our sovereign prince, the Duke of Baden, who was at that time at his palace at Swetzinghen. As certain princesses were also then residing at the palace, ladies to whom my mother was not only well known but distantly related, and as it was a season of public festivity in the court of Baden, my father was pleased to make my mother and myself the companions of his journey. This was a gratifying incident, and I proposed to myself great pleasure in being introduced to such scenes of princely grandeur and festivity as the occasion promised.

"Were it to my present purpose, I could say much about the satisfactions I enjoyed in this journey from my father's house on the Schwartzwald towards the higher provinces of the grand duke's dominions. We arrived at Swetzinghen on the third day from our leaving home; where my father having provided his family with the best apartments which so small a town could afford, he hastened to pay his duty to his sovereign, and was honoured with an invitation for my mother and myself to a gala to be celebrated that very evening at the palace.

"It was with no small delight that I saw myself arrayed in a magnificent dress for this my first appearance in a royal circle; and the sight of my own person in a large mirror, (for there are few houses of any respectability on the Continent which cannot boast a piece of furniture of this description,) blazing in the family jewels, and sweeping behind me a train of the richest silk, very powerfully assisted my imagination in anticipating the pleasures which I expected.

"It was after sunset, in a glorious evening in the early part of autumn, when we were conveyed to court in my father's coach, attended by such a train as the pomp of the occasion was thought by my mother to require: for the nobles of the German empire affect extraordinary appearances of pomp, though they are great contemners of what in England we call consistency. On reaching the palace, we were set down in a large court encompassed on three sides by buildings whose extensive and heavy architecture was any thing, as I thought, but magnificent; though their defects were in some degree shrouded by the dubious light. However, let the building be what it might, it was a palace, and the dwelling of a crowned head, and as such I entered it with trepidation, although it was far inferior in point of beauty to my father's habitation.

"I scarcely recollect the various halls and ante-chambers through which we passed before our introduction into the presence of his serene highness, who received us in an apartment blazing with all the circumstances of royal magnificence; neither shall I trouble you with the various ceremonies of presentation and introduction which took place before I found myself standing with a group of young ladies of my own rank, in one of the many apartments of the suite which communicated with the presence-chamber, and where I was associated on a footing of equality and apparent intimacy with some of the fairest and most noble of the principality.

"It is not in human nature to stand in a group of strangers, and to see for the first time a number of faces, without feeling a predilection for some and a distaste for others. There are persons, who, having had much experience of life, and possessing, moreover, a natural insight into character, are enabled at once to form a shrewd and almost an accurate idea of the state of mind and habits of all who come under their inspection. But it is seldom that young persons form a right judgment of others on a first appearance: while there are many, (and at that time I was one of these unfortunate individuals,) who really have not a correct idea of what is valuable in any character, and who possess neither taste nor principle sufficient to admire that which is excellent where it really exists. It cannot, therefore, be matter of wonder, if, amidst the splendid groups which surrounded me, I, who was, as I have before said, totally unsettled with regard to principle, should select from amid the specious crowd a companion who was perhaps the most unfit of the whole party to enjoy my confidence. This young lady was the daughter of a man of very high rank in Baden, and one who had often been employed as an ambassador in foreign courts. He was lately returned from France, where his daughter had been educated; and it was probably that easy and unblushing air, together with that caressing style of manners so usual among those with whom she had associated from infancy, which completed the fascination her countenance had begun. Her title was the Countess of Rheinswald; and she had an only brother, whom she introduced to me before our friendship had subsisted the short space of an hour.

"I had been introduced to this young lady in common with many others, shortly after my admission into the palace, and had endeavoured to improve my acquaintance by putting one or two questions to her on indifferent subjects.

"'You are a stranger to us all, then,' she said, in answer to my last question; 'and yet we all know you well, at least by report; and I can assure you that the rumour of your arrival excited no small sensation in the noble society here present.'

"'My arrival?' I replied; 'how can it be possible that the expectation of seeing a person of so little importance as myself should have affected a single individual in this company?'

'It affected all and every one,' she answered, 'at least among our younger people; for some desired, and others feared to see you: though I doubt not but that the hopes and fears of all have fallen infinitely short of the reality.'

"'You use enigmas,' I replied.

"'Perhaps I may,' she said; 'yet not of so dark a nature, but that you might readily understand them, did you only know your own advantages.'

"My wit was not so blunt, but that I then began to comprehend her meaning; and was no doubt better pleased with the compliments she paid me than if they had been expressed in less ambiguous terms.

"Her next manœuvre was to take me apart to a sofa at one end of the room, from whence we could see much of what was passing in the next apartment, where the duke himself was engaged with such of his visitors as were most distinguished either for their age, their weight in public affairs, or the rank they held in the principality.

"'Come,' said she, 'sit by me; and as you know few persons here, I will be your nomenclator.'

"I accepted her invitation, and, seated by her, was much amused, for the space of half an hour, with the lively pictures she drew of every individual then within her view. In every description she conveyed something of satire, but it was with a delicate and courtly touch; and every little piece of raillery seemed to escape her as it were without her own knowledge. Some, indeed, of the figures which swam before us, (for it must be recollected that all this passed in the presence of a crowned head, though not on an occasion of ceremony,) were laughable enough, and might have excited mirthful ideas in wiser heads than ours; for the countess was apparently little older than myself.

"The style of dress at that period was extremely ridiculous; the heads of the ladies being branched forth with an exuberance of powdered curls, feathers, and flowers, while the lower parts of their costume not a little resembled the decorations of a maypole. Mingled with these figures, which were by far the most numerous, were some who retained the fashions of former days certain old dowagers, and venerable heads of ancient families, who counted any deviation from the long waist, the stomachers, the mantuas, the doubled and trebled ruffles, the toupets, and lappets, of ancient days, as great an offence against propriety, and as decided a proof of the degeneracy of the age, as could be evidenced by fallen man.

"It must not, however, be supposed that we yielded to any visible expressions of merriment on this occasion. Had I been so disposed, I should have been warned to use a contrary behaviour by the guarded manner of my companion, who had been too much used to scenes of this kind to discover any departure from the most correct manners.

"While this conversation was passing, and while every moment increased my confidence in my new associate, a young gentleman entered the room, whom, from the strong resemblance, I instantly discovered to be the brother of any new friend, though he was undoubtedly much handsomer, and possessed a certain expression of countenance, which, when once seen, could not easily be forgotten; nevertheless, as I was then no deep physiognomist, I could not exactly ascertain what this expression signified. The young man was, however, the accomplished gentleman in his manner and deportment: and he had not been many minutes in the room, before my friend pointed him out to me, hoping, as she added, to have a speedy opportunity of introducing him to me, informing me, at the same time, that he had been educated in France, and had served in the army. Indeed, this last piece of information was unnecessary, since he actually wore a superb uniform, while his step and air were decidedly military.

"The young man had taken his station at the upper end of the room, among a group of young ladies, with whom he seemed to be perfectly familiar; but, on observing his sister, he advanced towards us: when having gone through the form of a regular introduction, he took a seat by me, and attached himself to me for the rest of the evening. While we remained in this situation, I recollect little that he said, which, on reflection, could either greatly please or displease. He spoke like a thousand others; and I remarked nothing in him but the peculiar change which took place in his countenance when he smiled; his natural expression being remarkably grave, and his handsome, though marked features, and dark eyes, with the fine contour of his head and well arranged hair, being precisely such as might have been expected beneath the visor or helmet of an Orlando or a Tancred. It may be asked what remarkable change this was? But I can by no means describe it, otherwise than by saying it was striking, and such as fixed the attention of the beholder, and induced the unguarded young creature who had seen it once to look for it again.

"Somewhat more than an hour had passed in the manner above described, when the commencement of the amusements proposed for the evening were announced. I had been previously informed, that a tragedy was to be presented in the rural theatre, which is still to be seen in the gardens of Swetzinghen. The hour being duly announced, the noble company began immediately to put themselves in motion; and as it was not supposed that there could be any danger in mixing with any part of such a society as this, my mother, being by this time deeply engaged with some old marchioness or princess of her former acquaintance, and my father not less occupied in immediate conversation with the duke himself, I was permitted to take the chance of the company, and to follow in the royal suit.

"How the elder and more ceremonious persons were conveyed to the place of amusement, which was in no very distant part of the extensive gardens of Swetzinghen, I cannot say; but I recollect that I myself was persuaded by the young Countess of Rheinswald and her brother, to linger somewhat behind the rest of the party, in order that we might better enjoy the beautiful gardens as seen by moonlight. It was, as I before remarked, a fine evening, in the early part of autumn, the air being perfectly dry, and scarcely a cloud visible in the heavens. It had been very hot in the crowded assembly within the palace: I therefore experienced a considerable degree of pleasure, when I stepped forth into the cool air embalmed as it was with the breath of flowers, for the parterres on each side of the grand walk which proceeded directly from the front of the palace to the more remote parts of the garden, were chiefly composed of beds of roses. Although seen only by moonlight, the first view of the gardens of Swetzinghen was very imposing, notwithstanding their being arranged in the old stiff fashion which we know in England only by report. To our right and left were majestic groves, forming a long but very wide avenue. Directly before us were three tanks, at regular distances from each other, and separated by green lawns. Beyond the most remote of these artificial pieces of water, and at the utmost extent of the two lines of trees which formed the avenue, appeared a range of hills not to be distinguished at that hour from clouds resting on the horizon, unless by their undeviating forms and unchanging outlines. The borders of the tanks, the groves, and the parterres, were intersected by many broad gravel walks or ranges of trellis work, and scarcely an angle was seen in this many-angled garden which had not its statue to boast; insomuch, that those silent, cold, and motionless figures seemed as it were to people the whole scene: for while I stood looking on them, all the living beings with whom but now I had been surrounded had passed out of sight under the grove to the right, with the exception of the centinels who were walking before the front of the palace, and the young Count and Countess of Rheinswald.

"It seems that my companions were anxious, for some reasons of their own, which afterwards appeared, to detain me as long as possible in their company; for the young lady holding me back as I was turning after the rest of the party, begged me to stand still awhile to contemplate the beautiful scene. 'You have the mountains of the Vosgues directly before you,' she said; 'and were it day, instead of night, you might see the Hartzwald beneath the arched way which runs under the palace, in a direct line with the opposite hills.'

"I stood still, and we remained motionless for a time, and in deep silence; the murmur of voices having died away in the distance, and no sound disturbing the silence of the night but the rushing waters of the fountains which were playing in the centre of the nearest tanks, and throwing up their crystal waves to the height of many feet, forming sparkling arches in the moonbeams.

"There is something peculiarly refreshing in the rush of waters, whether natural or artificial, in a hot climate; and upon my expressing some feeling of the kind, my young companions led me towards the first fountain, and we stood awhile on its banks.

"While remaining in this situation, the young count endeavoured to draw me into discourse by certain questions and remarks evidently intended to discern the depth of the natural talents and acquirements of the person he had to deal with. I wanted neither information on many subjects, nor quickness of wit, deplorably ignorant as I was of myself, my religion, and human nature in general; and I have no doubt that the count soon perceived that I was not a young person who had been brought up after the ordinary mode of the country in which we were; for he presently, though with great ease, and apparently without design, passed from more common to more refined topics, making several allusions to literary subjects, which proved that he had read largely, if not deeply.

"A distant sound of music at length reached our ears; on which we resumed our walk, in the direction whence it proceeded, amusing ourselves, as we passed, with a conversation of which I remember little, till, having made many circumvolutions in the perplexed labyrinths, of the extensive garden, and being sensible only of my approach to the place of amusement by the increasing sound of the music, we at length arrived at a part of the garden where, on a dripping rock, in a striking situation, from the neighbourhood of many clustered and deep shadowing trees, we beheld the god or demon Pan, larger than life, in white marble, and seated on the rock; his figure being the more prominent and striking from the shade in which every object around him was involved.

"Although I had always been familiar with these silent breathless figures, to which our good neighbours on the Continent are so greatly attached, and had certainly, during my walk in his serene highness's garden, seen as large an assemblage of them as I could possibly have expected in any other place, unless on paying a visit to the Pantheon at Rome; yet I was certainly somewhat startled to see the god of shepherds, the celebrated son of Dryope, thus appropriately placed and accurately represented, that is, according to the ideas I had always conceived of him; and I probably somewhat started back when first the large white figure flashed upon my eye. On which, my companions laughed; and the young count remarked, that certainly the ancient Grecians had the advantage over all other men, whether Hindoos, Chinese, Jews, or Christians, in the elegance and appropriateness of their mythological conceits. 'There are some things vastly entertaining,' he added, 'in some of the conceits of these Grecians, some things exceedingly ingenious and amusing.'

"'And others,' I added, not aware of the ground I was treading upon, 'exceedingly elegant and beautiful.'

"'Undoubtedly so,' he replied, in a graver manner; 'the mythology of the ancients is as much superior to our barbarous monkish conceptions of it, as the Iliad of Homer surpasses the Contes de Feés de Monsieur Perault. And,' added he, 'the characters, formed on the Grecian polytheistical religion, and the works inspired by the belief of it, are to this day the glory and wonder of the world, and will continue to be so as long as the earth endures.'

He then entered, as we walked along, into what I have since found to be quite a commonplace panegyric on the classical writers, and the Grecian and the Roman characters, particularly the latter; and finished the whole, as we approached the rural theatre, by hazarding a sentiment so decidedly contemptuous of the Christian religion, that I might have known what he was, and have learned thenceforward to shun him with unfeigned abhorrence, had he not chosen a moment for this declaration in which the new scene which opened upon me, by dividing my attention, prevented it from concentrating in one point.

"The rural theatre in the gardens of his royal highness at Swetzinghen is nearly encircled by trees, excepting in the back of that part which is laid out for the stage, where is a beautiful temple of Apollo built of polished stone, in the open portico of which is the figure of the demi-god himself, larger than life, and composed of white marble. Under the front of the temple, which is considerably elevated, are two naiads holding vases through which water flows perpetually into a marble bason placed between them. In the centre of this bason I had afterwards time to observe one of the most beautiful devices which I could have conceived to have been ever produced by the art of man. This was a water-lamp, the water being thrown up so curiously, and so arranged by art, as to form the same protection to the lamp as that commonly supplied by a crystal vase. How it was contrived I do not pretend to say; but such was the appearance it made to me. The whole scene was richly illuminated with lamps suspended from the trees, and upon the light lattice work with which the whole theatre was surrounded; and the audience, placed in a semicircular form, upon seats raised one above another, and composed of all that was gay, splendid, and magnificent, which the realm could afford, formed together a spectacle of no small interest to a young creature who had spent her few last years in retirement. A seat not very distant from my mother had been left for me and the young countess; behind which the count contrived to place himself, but so near to me, that he had only occasion to stoop forward a little to converse with me.

"As we entered the theatre, a most exquisite band of music were performing a piece which I thought delightful. Perhaps the scenery and circumstances in which I heard this music added to its charms; but we were in a country celebrated for its superior taste for harmony. The music, however, was not the less pleasing from the orchestra not being visible.

"All remained silent till the music had ceased; when a short pause ensuing, the young count addressed me by asking me if I did not think the whole arrangement of the theatre truly classical? 'And I am happy to say,' he added, 'that I trust the representation which we are about to witness will harmonize so well with the scenery, that the illusion will be heightened rather than diminished thereby. We are to have nothing barbarous, nothing modern, but the language.' He then broke forth into a warm panegyric upon the taste of the ancients; such a one as we may hear every day, and read every hour, from the mouths and pens of many good Christians, who continue to repeat the cry of, 'Great is Diana of the Ephesians, because their fathers and grandfathers did so before them; without considering that they are thereby re-echoing the watchword of infidelity, and strengthening the hands of the arch enemy of mankind himself.

"I do not precisely recollect the words of this panegyric; but its tendency was to exalt the heathen character, the heathen genius, the heathen taste, and even the heathen morals, above those of the Christian world. He represented their mythology as having something in it of an inspiring and animating nature; and, looking up to the temple of Apollo, whose polished columns were richly illuminated by the lights beneath, the figure of the god himself being made more prominent by the disposal of the lights, he added, with a kind of affected fire, 'And, in truth, if I must needs pay my adoration to blocks of wood and marble, I know not whether I should not be quite as well disposed to bestow them at yonder shrine, as to kneel before St. Antoine de la Barbé Sale, or le Bon St. Nicolas.'

'Hush!' said his sister at this bold speech: 'you are not required to make any choice among these different divinities.'

"In reply to this remark of his sister's, the count returned an answer by which, instead of retracting what he had before said, he ventured to implicate names infinitely more honourable and more dear to the real Christian than those before mentioned, yet with an ease and lightness of manner which might almost have led to the supposition that he spoke more from thoughtlessness than design.

"Had my education been wisely directed to the study of eternal truths, instead of those follies to which my thoughts were exclusively devoted, I should undoubtedly have shewn my displeasure at the first intimation of that contempt of religion which the Count of Rheinswald evidently entertained, and have sought at once to cut off all intercourse with a character from which nothing but profligacy and violence could be expected; I should have expressed my dissatisfaction in some short and emphatic manner, and have allowed him no more of my attention. But while I was hesitating what reply to make, or whether I should let his blasphemous remark pass as if I had not heard it, since it was not addressed particularly to me--the representation commenced, and my attention was wholly drawn towards the stage.

"The piece was a modern one, but composed after the manner of the ancients; and the scenes represented were such as might have been expected to have taken place in the vicinity of the temple of Apollo. The actors were good, or perhaps I was just in the disposition to think them so; and nothing was wanting, at least to my imagination, of appropriate robe or buskin, of choral song or solemn music, to render the illusion complete.

"During the interval which separated the acts, the Count of Rheinswald took occasion to express his pleasure, or to give his opinion; his remarks always running in favour of the ancients, and towards the depreciation of the moderns: from which he meant me to infer, as it afterwards appeared, that all taste and genius were lost on earth under the depressing influence of superstition, under which epithet he evidently meant to include the whole system of Christianity. 'Consider,' said he, with some pomposity, which I at that time thought exceedingly fine, 'the poor and low trash which we find in our modern comedies, and the tinselled ornaments of our stage. What are our lower orders to learn from the products of the present degenerate age, in which genius is cramped by priestcraft, and the human mind depressed by the horrors of superstition? But it was not so with the ancients: the unfettered mind of man was then left at liberty to soar to the highest summit of human perfection. Where do we now behold those heroic characters exhibited in the Agamemnon and the Eumenides of Æschylus? or the Antigone and the Electra of Sophocles? Where shall we find, among our modern authors, or where, indeed, among any authors except those of the ancient Greeks and Romans, that exquisite sense of the beautiful, those tender touches of the pathetic, that high estimation of human virtue, that harmony and perfection of versification, or that pure taste for the graceful and the sublime, which characterize their admirable performances?'

"Such were the remarks with which my new acquaintance filled up every interval of the representation; sometimes apologizing for entertaining me, as a female, with such subjects; and then, as the memorable Sir Philip Sydney would have expressed himself on a like occasion, chastising his own words, and apologizing for his apologies in not having continually borne in mind that I was no ordinary female, but one who united an understanding and an education which few men could boast, with all the natural charms of the softer sex.

"It would have been well for me on this occasion if some good friend could have whispered in my ear, that there might be other reasons for a young man wishing to please a lady besides her beauty or accomplishments, and reasons not altogether so flattering to her personal feelings. However, as no judicious friend was near me to suggest this idea, and as my own vanity was not likely to do so, the insinuating address of the count was left to produce all the effects of which it was capable. And although, as soon as the amusement of this classical evening was concluded, my parents took me between them, and brought me back to our apartments in the town, yet I thought of little else till I went to bed but the new acquaintances I had made; and if I dreamed that our villa in the Schwartzwald was converted into the court of the Thunderer on the summit of Olympus, there would be no great occasion for wonder, considering the fantastical nature of thought during those hours in which the heavier parts of our composition are enjoying their necessary repose.

"As I have here given a very circumstantial account of my first evening at Swetzinghen, I shall not trouble you, my friend, with any very particular detail of the few ensuing days which we passed at this place; all of which were devoted to such amusements as are usual in the vicinity of a princely establishment, and especially on occasions of festivity. Suffice it to say, that, whether walking, riding, dancing, singing, or what not, I was continually attended by the count, and that with so much assiduity, that my father, though by no means of a suspicious temper, yet having heard from report the infidel principles of the young man, began at length to take alarm: and as his own affairs at court were not yet terminated, he conceived the sudden resolution of sending me home with my mother.

"As my father did not at that time acquaint me with the real cause of this unexpected step, stating only that my mother was suffering much from the fatigue of too public a life, I could not possibly plead any motive for desiring to prolong my stay. I even fancied that my father had not observed the attentions of the count. I therefore obeyed in silence, but departed in an ill-humour, that evidently gained strength during the whole of our journey, which was made with considerable expedition.

"It may be asked, Had I become attached to the count? And I think I may reply that I had not: but he had rendered himself necessary to me by his unwearied attentions; he had soothed my vanity with his honeyed words; and I found a vacancy in my heart, when separated from him, which nothing but religion could have properly filled up: but, alas! I had no religion.

"I have no doubt that I behaved very ill during the whole of our progress: and immediately on our arrival at home, I hastened from the presence of my mother, in order to indulge my wayward sorrow in the solitude of my chamber. It was evening, and the last rays of the declining sun scarcely gilded the highest summits of the mountains, leaving their lower parts in a dusky shade. My imagination had wandered back to the gay scenes we had left, and my tears were flowing fast at the recollection of pleasures which I thought might never recur, when my mother entered my room in evident agitation, holding an open letter in her hand. I was alarmed; and on entreating to be told the contents of the letter, she informed me that it was from England, and contained an account of the sudden death of my sister, with the additional information that Mr. Gisborne, with the orphan, would probably be with us in a few weeks.

"There are perhaps few feelings which can be conceived more painful to a mind of any sensibility, than to be suddenly and violently awakened from the indulgence of imaginary and selfish sorrows by the occurrence of real afflictions. To this moment I retain a lively recollection of the agony and horror with which I received this intelligence. It seemed that death was brought home to me in the person of my sister, who was only eleven years older than myself. And the effect of this stroke was heightened by my mother's sad exclamations--'Oh! my poor husband! your poor father! what will he feel when he hears this news, for he loved his daughter, and often spoke not only of seeing her again, but of bringing her and her child home to his house, when her affairs should be properly arranged after the death of the old lady? How will he blame himself for delaying this so long! How will his tender heart be cut! Oh, Ellen! Ellen! how shall we break the news of this melancholy catastrophe to your dear father?'

"Wanting comfort myself, and being, therefore, in no condition to console my mother, I remained weeping, till she quitted the room, leaving me to my own sad reflections.

"While I had been conversing on this melancholy subject, the shades of evening were become deeper, leaving the outlines of the mountains scarcely visible on the horizon, and presenting a just emblem of the darkness which reigned throughout my benighted soul. I now found indeed the fallacy of all those false lights which had been placed before my mind. Whence was any consolation to be derived on the near contemplation of death? for death, as I before said, seemed to have drawn nigh to me in the person of my sister. How, I say, was any consolation to be derived, when the mind was drawn to the consideration of death, of eternity, of everlasting joy or sorrow, from all those studies which hitherto had wholly and solely occupied my attention? or from those images and sentiments which had hitherto mingled themselves with all my thoughts and actions? Whither were fled all those inspiring passages of ancient poetry which I used to hold up as the standard of real excellence? They seemed now to present to my mind only a dark and confused mass of ideas, not a little resembling the pompous images which sometimes present themselves to the mental eye of him who sleeps under the influence of fever. And not only did the more fanciful passages of the heathen writers assume at this time a perplexing appearance: but when I recalled the heroic and haughty virtues of their most excellent characters, their love of vengeance, their unbending pride, their insolence of speech and cruelty of action, my thoughts became even still more confused; insomuch that I could not help enquiring of myself, 'Are these the qualities which are suitable to a child of the dust? to a creature whose breath is in his nostrils? who is liable every moment to dissolution from a thousand accidents? and who after death must pass into an unknown state of endless happiness or misery?--a state, O! who can tell how awful! how full of terrors to him who has no acquaintance with the true God!'

"In such reflections as these, mingled with sad recollections of the pleasures of which I had so lately tasted, together with some painfully tender thoughts of my departed sister and her orphan son, I wasted several weary hours, till at length, worn with fatigue, I fell into a profound sleep; from which I awoke again only to waste the next day in wretched feelings and perplexing thoughts.

"In this manner several days passed, and passed like a dream of which I have little remembrance--when, at the period in which it was expected that we might look for my father's return, a courier arrived with all speed from Baden, whither my father had followed the court, to inform us that he had been engaged in a duel with the Count of Rheinswald, who had insulted him at a public table; and that he had received a wound which, although believed to be but slight, would probably confine him for some weeks to his bed.

"This second disastrous letter affected my poor mother so violently, as to render her incapable of using any means to soften to me this dreadful information; though there was reason enough to suppose that it would distress me beyond measure, as one whose folly had occasioned so terrible a calamity. I had undergone for some days past severe agitation of mind, and so overwhelming was the shock I received on the arrival of this last afflicting information, that I was seized with fever, became delirious, and remained for some time in such a condition as to know nothing of what passed around me, though my internal horrors were such as I cannot forget even to this day.

"Since that period, and especially on the recollection of what I then suffered, I have often thought that the parent or tutor who labours to awaken the intellect of his pupil, and to cultivate his talents and imagination, without giving them a proper direction, is doing the individual as great an injury as he could possibly devise. Such parents are engaged in rousing a sleeping lion, who may probably spend his fury without restraint on the surrounding world. It may confidently be enquired of every experienced teacher, whether, setting religion apart, he does not find his most intelligent pupils always the most difficult to be governed? The awakened intellect of unregenerate man becomes a restless principle, ever propelling its possessor to action; and a right feeling being wanting, the individual becomes the torment of himself, if not the pest of society. It is well known that the intellectual powers of the greater part of mankind remain from the cradle to the grave in a state of comparative inaction; and I can conceive nothing more dreadful than a mighty population alive in every faculty of the mind, acute, lively, instructed, and yet without grace. It is impossible to appreciate the evil which might proceed from such a state of society: yet I believe this to be the state in which many young men are now to be turned out of our schools and colleges; and if our religious labours do not keep pace with the march of intellect in our people, I fear that many such characters may be produced from our national schools and other inferior places of education. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.

"But to leave these reflections, which might carry me too far; I shall content myself with saying, that, during the illness of which I speak, my mental sufferings became so great, and my poor mother was so greatly alarmed on my account, that, instead of going in all speed to my father, as she had at first intended, she lingered by my bed till my father, whose wound being in the arm was not found to be so dangerous as was at first supposed, arrived at home to receive the melancholy tidings of the death of one child, and to find another extended on the bed of sickness.

"My father had been at home some days before I had so far recovered my recollection, as to recognize that dear parent, whose unhappy adventure had been the cause of my suffering. But never shall I forget that sweet moment, when, the crisis of my fever being past, I opened my eyes, after a deep sleep, and saw both my parents watching anxiously by my pillow, my father holding my hand, which I had unconsciously placed in his; his fine countenance expressive of the strongest feelings of parental tenderness, and his noble person, rather rendered more interesting than otherwise by a suit of deep mourning and the silk scarf in which his wounded arm was suspended. 'O my father!' I exclaimed, trying to lift myself up to him, but sinking again from weakness on my pillow--when I instantly felt the relief of a flood of tears, without which it was thought that I might have relapsed into my former confusion of intellect.

"'My child! my Ellen!' repeated this tender father: 'then I am not at once to be bereaved of both my daughters; our Ellen is restored to our prayers.'

"I cannot describe the scene which followed; it was such as no words can do justice to: and I well recollect, that, from this moment, through the gradual progress of my recovery, I was constantly attended by one or other of these beloved parents, who administered to all my wants, and continually supplied me with such amusements as I could best enjoy.

"I have said that my father was no infidel, that he had a respect for religion, and that he always looked to and spoke of some uncertain time when he intended to devote his mind to sacred subjects; steadily affirming that the knowledge of divine things should be the end and aim of all literary research, but still deferring that noblest of all studies to some indefinite time, which in the common course of things could never have come. On occasion, however, of my restoration and my sister's death, which was described in the letter as having been full of holy hope and divine confidence, the result, under the divine blessing, of a religious life, he expressed himself more than once in a very pious and touching manner, spoke of the necessity of being always prepared for death, talked of the uncertainty of earthly things, and the comfort of constantly looking to a better world. But as he became familiar with the idea of the death of his firstborn, and as he saw the rose of health blossoming afresh upon my cheek, his serious impressions seemed to wear away; so that in the short space of three months since our visit to Swetzinghen, every thing had returned to its usual course in the castle of Warenheim: and as the house was filled with visitors about the time of the Christmas festivities, my father's health as well as my own being entirely restored, a stranger would not have supposed, excepting from our sable habits, that our house had been so recently a house of mourning.

"But before I entirely dismiss the subject of our visit to Swetzinghen, I must account for the duel which had taken place between my father and the Count of Rheinswald. It seems that this young man had taken offence at my father's sending me from Swetzinghen at so short a notice, and before he could have had time to be apprised of my departure; and that having no doubt of my father's motives for so doing, he had taken occasion to remonstrate with him on the subject, and to solicit my hand by a decided declaration of regard. My father treated him with politeness, for he was incapable of rudeness, but declined the proposed connexion: soon after which the count took occasion to insult my father at a public table; when anger arose to such a height between them, that it was thought necessary by the company present, for the honour of my father, that the matter should be determined by a duel.

"My father, who was naturally a remarkably gentle character, was, however, capable of high irritation; and having no strong religious principles to restrain him, he allowed himself to be persuaded, from a sense of false honour, not only to endanger the life of a fellow-creature, but also to hazard his own. And he had reason, as he often afterwards declared, for the utmost gratitude to God, that a more sorrowful termination was not permitted to this affair than a slight wound in his own arm, without any injury whatever done to his adversary.

"Were it to my present purpose, I might here say much, very much, on this dreadful practice of duelling, so frequent on the Continent. But I refrain, in consideration that my history has already run to a considerable length, and that I believe there are now few persons in England who have not just and correct opinions on this subject.

"The winter passed away at Warenheim without being marked by any event worthy of notice; and when the spring arrived, it brought with it the hope of little Alfreds speedy arrival, together with his tutor the excellent Mr. Gisborne. No sooner were we informed that they were actually on the Continent, than my father proceeded to Cologne in order to meet them, as Mr. Gisborne had chosen the route through the Low Countries in order that he might visit an old friend who at that time resided at Bonn.

"When my father reached Cologne, he found that Mr. Gisborne's friend expressed so strong a desire to detain the old gentleman in his house for a few weeks, that he judged it best to yield to his solicitations; and accordingly, leaving one of his own servants to take care of the venerable traveller, and bring him forward in his own time, he hastened back to his family, accompanied by his little grandson.

"It may well be supposed that I was a little anxious to see this child, who was the only representative of a sister I had never known; and having been told that he was a pretty boy, I had already attributed to him all the external perfections with which the poets have adorned Hyacinthus, or Narcissus, or the youthful Ganymede; so that during my father's absence I was exceedingly impatient, and felt the wings of time to move with a very heavy pace. At length, a courier having announced the speedy approach of my father's carriage, I had scarcely time to run into the portico, before the little traveller, preceding his companion, sprang from the carriage, and was folded in my arms.

"'And whom do you resemble? and what are you like?' I said, as I drew back, and held him at a distance, while my keen and eager gaze brought blushes into his cheeks, and he struggled, though gently, to get from me. ' Alfred,' I said, 'you are not like what I expected, though you have golden hair and sparkling eyes; but I imagined you to be very different from what I now behold.'

"'And what might you have expected, my Ellen?' said my father, coming up to us at the moment. 'See you not how you perplex this little stranger? he has a tender spirit, and every thing in this country is new to him. Come, come, my boy,' he added, taking his hand, 'you want some refreshment, no doubt:' and, so saying, he led him before me into a saloon, where supper was prepared.

"It was impossible for me, as I sat at supper, to keep my eyes off the child; though my father hinted to me more than once, in German, that my close examination of him seemed to perplex him, for he coloured perpetually, the blood continually mounting in his delicate cheek, and the tears sometimes starting in his dark blue eyes. Still, though he was thus disconcerted, and though he verified not a single idea which I had formed of him, nor any description I had ever heard of him, yet there was a certain something about him, a dovelike softness in some expressions of his sparkling eye, a grace, courtesy, a humility, and a childlike innocence so remarkable in all he said, and all he did, that he a appeared to me like the creature of another and a sinless world; so that I could not help saying to my father, in German, 'This boy is charming, he is all that is lovely. But what is it which makes him to differ so entirely from every other child I ever saw?'

"My father looked at him with eyes beaming with love, and confessed the truth of my remark; but said, that, during the few days they had passed together, he had not been able to induce him to converse much, as he had appeared somewhat bewildered at the variety of new things which presented themselves to his observation, as well as dejected by his separation from his tutor.

"I knew that Mr. Gisborne had been left at Bonn, and I took occasion to ask my father what he was.

"'We know him to be a good man,' he said, 'and I have found him to be a polite and even an elegant man in his manners; a neat old gentleman,' added my father smiling, 'who would die rather than commit a breach of politeness. But I have conversed very little with him, and can give no account of his intellectual acquirements; yet I should hardly think they are very remarkable.'

"'But the child looks intelligent,' I said.

"'At any rate,' replied my father, parting the gold ringlets on the brow of the child, while the lovely boy raised his gentle eyes to his grandfather, as if to enquire what we were saying of him, 'this is no ordinary, no common, no vulgar countenance; and yet it is not the mere beauty of flesh and blood, of red and white, of shape and feature, that charms me; neither is it altogether an intellectual glory which beams from those eyes; for though there is sufficient fire, yet it is a fire so quenched by love, so shrouded by modest and tender feelings, that I hardly know what to say or what to think of it: but this I know, that Raphael himself could not have desired a fitter subject from whence to draw the features and expression of an infant Jesus.'

"Thus my father and I reasoned about the expression of this child's countenance, being incapable at that time, and for a long while afterwards, of appreciating his real character, which was that, I have every reason to think, of one truly converted to God, and bearing in heart and character the impression of his new birth; for, as old John Bunyan beautifully remarks in his Pilgrim's Progress--'The Lord setteth a seal upon the foreheads of those whom he hath washed in his blood, which maketh them look exceeding fair.'

"During the first few days after little Alfred's arrival, he seldom spoke, and seemed rather uneasy when particularly addressed. In the mean time, I often saw the tears tremble in his eyes, notwithstanding his efforts to suppress them. But, as the sorrows of childhood speedily pass away, so when the little boy became more accustomed to those about him, the pensiveness of his manner gradually disappeared, and he became more cheerful.

"At the end of a week, my father suggested, as it was not certain how soon Mr. Gisborne might arrive, or how long his absence might be protracted, that it would be well to supply the child with some employment. But before any thing of this sort could properly be done, it was necessary to ascertain what the child had already learned, and how far his mind had been cultivated: I accordingly undertook to investigate these matters without going through the awful process of a regular examination. It was now the time of year when nature, reviving from the stern influence of winter, begins to adorn the fields and groves with every variety of budding beauty, and when every breeze is filled with the odours of the new-born flowers. I invited my little nephew to walk out with me, and, by way of encouragement, promised to take him to a narrow valley not far distant from Warenheim, which it was said had been inhabited in former times by a water nymph, who used to entice unwary travellers into her place of residence, and there destroy them.

"'How,' said the little boy, as he stepped out with me upon the lawn in order to commence our walk, 'how did this water nymph persuade people to come to her?'

"'Through the sweetness of her voice,' I replied.

"'Ah, then,' replied he, with quickness, 'I know well of what substance she was made, and I doubt not but her voice is as sweet now as ever it was, unless some of the rocks or hills which surrounded her habitation are removed.'

"I was surprised at the acuteness of his reply, and said, 'I mistake, my little boy, if you have not studied the history of the unfortunate daughter of Tellus and Air: you have undoubtedly read the Metamorphoses of Ovid?'

"He made me repeat the question again; and then answered, 'I have never heard of Ovid.'

"'Then how,' I asked, 'came you to fancy the water nymph was only an echo?'

"'Because,' he answered, 'I know that there are no such things as water nymphs; but I have heard echoes many times in solitary places.'

"'But how do you know,' I said, 'that there are no such things as water nymphs? Perhaps you do not believe in fairies?'

"He looked up to me with a wonderfully sweet and intelligent smile, and said, 'O, aunt Ellen, I know very well what things we ought to believe, and what thing are only invented for entertainment.'

"While I was preparing to answer him, we were come to the brow of the hill on which our habitation was situated, and were approaching a temple erected in that place to the goddess of hunting, whose statue, as large as life, was set up within the temple, with her bow and quiver, and her feet covered with buskins. The ascent to this temple was by several marble steps, and I asked my little companion if he would sit down and take a view of the mountains which were seen from that spot to the greatest advantage: for a wilder or more magnificent scene than that which presented itself where we had taken our station, is perhaps not to be found throughout the Continent, unless it may be among the snowy regions of the mountains of Switzerland. Directly before us was a deep valley, through which poured a rapid mountain stream, dashing and foaming, and, as it were, fretting itself, as it made its way through numerous impediments of huge stones and rocks, which seemed to have fallen from the heights above. On the other side of the valley were hills tumbled upon hills in various forms of rude magnificence; some bare and rugged; some clothed with verdure, and affording many a fragrant sheep-walk and breezy down; while others were black with forests of pine, the growth of ages, dark, intertangled, and impenetrable, excepting to the wild beasts of the forest, or the most savage and lawless of the human race. Here and there a few thatched dwellings were scattered in groups, or single, and at considerable intervals, among the hills or within the valleys; and, from time to time, the tolling of a bell, or the striking of a clock, from the roof of some house, reminded us that there was something like civilization even among these desolated regions.

"I know not what passed in the mind of the child while he sat contemplating the view above described; but on hearing a bell, he turned to me, and said, 'Are these people Christians?'

"'What people?' I asked.

'The people who live in this country,' he added, 'are they Christians?'

"'Certainly,' I answered. 'What made you ask the question?'

"He rather hesitated, and slightly turned his eye towards the figure in the temple.

"I observed this motion of his eye, and said, 'You don't suppose, I imagine, that any one here worships these images? They are only put in these places for ornament.'

"'O!' said the little boy, seemingly satisfied with the explanation; but again returning to the charge--'is it not wicked, aunt Ellen, to make images?'

"'Wicked!' I answered, 'why should it be wicked?'

"'Because of the second commandment,' he answered. 'You know that the second commandment says-- "Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, nor the likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth."'

"'And is this the whole of the second commandment?' I asked.

"'No,' said the little boy: 'there is more--"Thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, and visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; and shew mercy unto thousands in them that love me and keep my commandments."'

"Strange to say, I found myself quite embarrassed with this child's questions, and began to feel myself a little uneasy in my situation. I therefore made no further reply to his enquiries respecting images, but referred him to his tutor, and, in pursuit of the object for which I had sought this tête-â-tête, I enquired of him what his studies had been before he heft England?

"At the name of England his colour heightened, and he hesitated a moment; but at length he informed me that he had been taught to read the Hebrew Bible and the Greek Testament, though he still knew only little of either of them. I then questioned him respecting the Greek; and was surprised to find that his knowledge of the language was by no means despicable, considering his tender age.

"I then proceeded to question him on the subject of history, and found that he was far from being ignorant on that point; though his knowledge was of a kind which in some degree confounded me, and left the game wholly in his own hands: notwithstanding which I found no great difficulty in concealing his triumph from him, so great was the amiable simplicity of his nature. I had commenced my enquiries by asking if he had ever learned history; and upon his replying in the affirmative, I enquired if he could give me the outline of any one history which he had studied. He immediately and without hesitation obeyed; and taking up the history of Assyria, he traced the whole story of that people from their forerunner, Ashur, son of Shem, down to the time of our Saviour.

"I was certainly amazed, and almost afraid to question him further, lest I should betray my own ignorance; however I ventured to put a few other questions to him, and was astonished to find him almost equally clear on many other branches of ancient history, insomuch that he was enabled to trace almost every leading family of mankind up to the Sons and grandsons of Noah, shewing a perfect acquaintance with the Scripture name of almost every nation which had existed before the Christian era, and how they were connected with each other in their great progenitors. Much of this he explained to me, not with the air of one who knows more than the person to whom he is speaking, but as believing me able to correct him if he made a mistake, and, indeed, as if half afraid of my censures in case of any error.

"Much as I was amazed and interested by his communications, and even puzzled to conceive by what luminous arrangement so young a creature could have been brought to receive, retain, and retail so much information, I was not sorry to quit this subject of history, where I might have been said to walk upon thorns, every moment dreading some home push which might compel me to betray my ignorance; and feeling at the same time that so constant a reference to Scripture, and this mode of treating the high and mighty nations of antiquity (the haughty Assyrians, the self-sufficient Grecians, and the Roman conquerors of the world) merely as so many families of wayward children, all under the immediate control and disposal of the Father of all men, produced an almost instantaneous and powerful effect in lowering my notions of human glory; I at length became so thoroughly disconcerted, as really for a moment to feel half offended at the innocent cause of my perplexity. Neither is it improbable, that I might have commenced some discussion with him upon this new mode of learning history, had I not been admonished of the folly of entering into the lists of disputation with such a champion, by his suddenly drawing his hand from mine, for the purpose of throwing himself head over heels down a little descent, which the delicate softness of the verdure and the very gradual slope of the hill pointed out as a very safe and proper theatre for such an exploit.

"The motion was so quick, that it seemed but a moment from the time of his withdrawing his hand out of mine before he appeared at the bottom of the slope, standing erect, and measuring with his eye the space of ground over which he had made his somerset, his whole face glowing with health and delight. Gay, however, as he appeared to be in the enjoyment of these feelings, he allowed me to take his hand when I came close to him, and made no objection to walk quietly by my side, answering such questions as I further chose to put to him. But it is probable, that I had not quite recovered my good humour when I renewed our discourse, for I perceived the little boy look very earnestly at me when I spoke.

"'I wonder,' I said, 'I am amazed, that your tutor does not teach you Latin, Alfred? It is the finest language that was ever written or spoken, and boasts some of the finest authors in the world.'

"'But, the Bible, aunt Ellen,' replied the child, 'no part of the Bible was first written in Latin.'

"A certain something, which I cannot now define, prevented me from uttering what was actually on my tongue--'The Bible! the Bible! what nothing but the Bible?'--and while I hesitated what reply to make, I looked at the child, who seemed quite to have forgotten the subject of our discourse, his eye being fixed on a golden eagle, which had perched on the pinnacle of a rocky point projecting from the nearest hill on the opposite side of the dingle. For a moment, the eagle kept his position; then suddenly rising and spreading his wings, he flew from us, directly in the face of the sun, taking his course over a mighty forest which formed one uninterrupted sweep towards the south.

"It was impossible to recover the attention of Alfred while the eagle was in view; but when he had almost disappeared, and his vast expanded wings shewed no larger than a mote in the sunbeam, I again addressed my little companion, and said, 'So, your tutor does not approve of your learning Latin, Alfred?'

"'I did not say so, aunt Ellen,' he answered, 'you must have mistaken me; for I have learned the Latin grammar for some time, and when I am better acquainted with the Bible, I am to study Latin: but it will be a long time before I have gone through all the Bible in the ancient languages.'

"'The Bible again, Alfred!' I answered, 'I hope you will thoroughly understand the Bible by the time your education is finished!'

"The child did not comprehend the irony of my retort, but answered me in simplicity, 'I hope I shall; but there is so much in the Bible, that it might be read for ever, Mr. Gisborne says, without a person's knowing every thing contained in it.'

"We were now descending into the depths of the dingle, where the mountain torrent before spoken of came pouring down from the higher grounds, which, after many windings occasioned by the irregularity of the ground, was lost to the eye beneath the shade of a thick wood of pine. On the side of the dingle from whence we came, the ground acknowledged its submission to the hand of man, by its fair and smooth appearance, its shaven lawns, and clustered exotics; while all on the other side was bold, abrupt, and rugged, the rocks and hills seeming to have been tumbled together, as if they had been hurled at each other during the fabled contests of the Titans. It was necessary for us to cross the stream, in order to reach the valley of the water nymph; and for this purpose we proceeded a little lower down the valley, to where a wooden bridge was thrown over the brook. The scenery from this bridge was so remarkably beautiful, that, though I had passed the place a thousand times, yet I always stopped in this place to contemplate the objects which there presented themselves above and below, the wild region above receiving an additional charm to my classical eye from the circumstance of a few columns of the Temple of Diana, together with a part of the ornamented cornice of the portico, being visible above the rough and shadowy objects with which it appeared to be surrounded; though it stood, in fact, on that side of the dingle which had been so pruned and smoothed by the hand of man as to partake entirely of a milder character.

"Immediately beneath the apparent site of this shrine of the hunter goddess, the brook burst suddenly forth from the deep shade of overhanging rocks and underwood, and falling many feet with considerable noise, pursued its way towards the bridge, underneath which it passed with a troubled and agitated motion, not having yet lost the impulse of its rapid descent. Beneath the bridge, such a region of rich and wild beauty presented itself as I dare not presume to describe, but which was not the less admirable from the contrast between its rough and various wonders, with the sullen, smooth, and majestic figures of certain heights of the Schwartzwald seen beyond, some of which seemed to penetrate the clouds, being rarely divested of the hoary mantle which winter seldom fails to throw over them.

"I had always been accustomed to view this scene with poetic eyes, and to associate every part of it with some classic image. My style of reading led me to this mode of embellishing natural objects with elegant conceits drawn from the books I had studied, or such at least as I thought elegant; and I prided myself not a little on this effect of what I considered as a very superior education: and I well remember, that as I stood on the bridge at this time, leaning against the parapet, I felt a strong desire to animate my little nephew with somewhat of my own classical feelings. For, notwithstanding the evident quickness and spirit of the child, and though I had lately suffered such a defeat in my conversation with this youthful student, yet I could not divest myself of the idea that his mind was in a coarse and inelegant state; for how could it be otherwise, seeing he had never read one single work of the many authors, whom I conceived to be the grand depositaries of all literary elegance and beauty? I had however experienced that some caution was necessary in dealing with my little companion, since there were points in which he was as much my superior, as I counted myself to be his superior in others. I therefore commenced my attack by asking him if he knew what poetry was; going on, no doubt with some pomposity, to state that poetry did not consist in mere versification, but in beautiful ideas, elegant symbols, fine imagery, &c. &c.: whence I proceeded to say, that I rejoiced to hear that he had learned Greek, and was soon to learn Latin, because there were certain authors in those languages who had produced works of genius which surpassed any thing that had ever fallen from other pens. I then expatiated largely on the taste of the Greeks and Romans, pointing out how those nations had excelled in statuary and in architecture, and with what exquisite tales and fables they had adorned their mythology.

"The boy, who had never been used to hear any thing but truth, and whose lessons, as I before remarked, had been for the most part drawn from the word of truth itself, looked at me with that innocent amazement which we sometimes see in amiable and unaffected children; but I could not discover exactly what he thought of my eloquent oration. At length he replied, 'I don't quite understand you, aunt Ellen: are you talking about the fable-book? I had a Pilpay's Fable-Book at home; and Mr. Gisborne said I might read it when I had done my lessons. I had also a fairy-tale book, about Blue Beard, and the Master Cat; but he said these were only books intended for the amusement of little children, and that grown-up people did not take much pleasure in them.'

"'Pilpay's Fables, and the Fairy Tales!' I repeated in high classic indignation; 'I was not talking of such nonsense as those books contain: I was speaking of the beautiful imagery and descriptions which are to be found in the poetical works of ancient Greece and Rome, and expressing my sorrow that you should be withheld from the study of them; because these are compositions by which the taste of young people is to be corrected, and by which their minds are to be raised from ordinary things to the contemplation of all that is beautiful both in art and nature.'

"The child still looked hard at me, as well he might; for, right or wrong, I was certainly got far above the reach of the intellects of one of his age: of which being presently aware, I changed my tone, and said, 'If good Mr. Gisborne would but let you read the ancient Grecian and Roman poets, you would find such sweet and beautiful things in them, as would delight you far more than Pilpay's Fables or the Fairy Tales. They contain such glorious descriptions of ancient kings, heroes, and demi-gods, as well as of the noble actions which they performed, that you would long to resemble them, and wish to think and act as they did: such studies, my dear boy, would exalt your mind, and teach you "to behave no longer like a child but like a man. I then repeated, in the English translation, some of the finest descriptions of the heroes of Homer, summing all up with the following stanzas:--

"'Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on,
Ajax the less, O?leus' valiant son;
Skill'd to direct the flying dart aright;
Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight.

"'The proud Mycenè arms her martial powers,
Cleonè, Corinth, with imperial towers;
Great Agamenmnon rules the numerous band,
And crowded nations wait his dread command.
Proud of his host, unrivall'd in his reign,
In silent pomp he moves along the main.

"'Next eighty barks the Cretan king commands,
Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna's bands,
These march'd, Idomeneus, beneath thy care,
And Merion, dreadful as the God of war.

"'From Practius' stream, Percoté's pasture lands,
And Sestos and Abydos' neighbouring strands,
From great Arisba's walls and Sellé's coast,
Asius Hyrtacides conducts his host:
High on his car he shakes the flowing reins,
His fiery coursers thunder o'er the plains.'

Pope's Homer's Iliad.

"He listened with considerable attention, and then replied, 'But Mr. Gisborne once said to dear mamma, before poor mamma went to heaven;' and then he sighed, and a brilliant flush rose in his cheeks, not unlike a rosy cloud passing over a fine landscape, 'that a certain chapter in the Hebrews contained a more noble list of great and glorious men than ever could be found in all the fine heathen writers together.'

'What chapter?' said I, startled at such a reply from my little auditor.

"'O!' said the little boy, 'that pretty chapter in the Hebrews.'

"I might have said, 'What do I know of the Hebrews?' but that would have been confessing my ignorance; I therefore contented myself with remarking, 'If the chapter is so admirable, I suppose you can repeat it?'

"'I think I can remember part of it,' said the little boy, 'for mamma made me learn it at the time.'

"'Part of it then,' I said, 'let me hear part of it, if it is so very fine.' You may be sure this was said in no good humour; for though I did not doubt the goodness of my own cause, yet I felt that my little adversary had more to say for himself than I had at first expected.

'And what shall I more say? for the time would fail me to tell of Gedeon, and of Barak, and of Samson, and of Jephthae; of David also, and Samuel, and of the prophets; who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. Women received their dead raised to life again: and others were tortured, not accepting deliverance; that they might obtain a better resurrection: and others had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonment: they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented; (of whom the world was not worthy:) they wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth. And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise: God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect.'--[Hebrews xi. 32-40.]

"It was impossible for me, after having heard this quotation from the Hebrews, this exquisitely simple and beautiful enumeration of the sufferings and triumphs of the holy men of old, not to feel that I had never read any thing in the classical writings of antiquity equally touching. Nevertheless, I was in no humour to give up the contest, because I had been baffled in a single instance: I therefore replied, that I thought the quotation very pleasing, but little to our present purpose; and the sun at that moment just darting his rays upon its from behind a cloud, I took occasion from thence to bring forward, in the translation of Dryden, that fine description of the sun, and his progress through the heavens, which is found in the first Georgic, again expressing my regret that may little companion, by his ignorance of Latin, should be rendered incapable of reading such choice passages in the original.

"'Through twelve bright signs Apollo guides
The year, and earth in several climes divides;
Five girdles bind the skies: the torrid zone
Glows with the passing and repassing sun;
Far on the right and left, the extremes of heaven,
To frosts and snows and bitter blasts are given;
Betwixt the midst and these, the gods assign'd
Two habitable seats for human kind,
And, 'cross their limits, cut a sloping way,
Which the twelve signs in beauteous order sway.
Two poles turn round the globe; one seen to rise
O'er Scythian hills, and one in Libyan skies;
The first sublime in heaven, the last is whirl'd
Below the regions of the nether world.
Around our pole the spiry Dragon glides,
And, like a winding stream, the Bears divides,
The less and greater, who by Fate's decree
Abhor to dive beneath the northern sea.'

"The child looked earnestly at me while I was repeating this quotation, and then said, 'By Apollo, aunt Ellen, do you mean the sun?'

"'Yes, I said. Do you not know that Apollo was said by the ancients to have been the charioteer of the sun, and to drive the sun in his course through the heavens every day?'

"He made me no answer for a minute, and then replied--'O! now I understand what is meant by the signs and the girdles.'

"'And do you not think, Alfred,' I asked, 'that these verses are very beautiful, and should you not like to read them in their original language?

'Yes,' he replied: 'but if I had not learned about the zones and the signs in the zodiac, and the poles, I should not have understood them.'

"'But you understand them now, Alfred?' I asked.

'Yes,' he said, 'some parts of them; but I can make out those verses in the Bible about the sun much better, and I like them much better.'

"'Indeed,' I said, 'and why so?'

"To this he made no reply, for he had stooped down to pick up some pebbles: but I was resolved to make him speak, and therefore desired him to repeat these same verses, which he thought so fine.

"'In Hebrew, aunt Ellen,' he replied, blushing at the same time in a very pretty manner, 'I cannot repeat them.'

"'Well,' I said, 'then let us have them in English. You know that I gave you my quotation in English.'

"He then without hesitation repeated the first part of the nineteenth Psalm; which, although so well known by those to whom this letter is addressed, I cannot deny myself the pleasure of giving at full length in this place.

"'The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handy-work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.'

"While the little boy was repeating this beautiful passage, I blushed, and was utterly confounded. To be so overcome by a babe was what I could not bear: I really felt indignant, and looked at the child to see if he were conscious of his victory; but, so far from that being the case, it seemed as if he had already forgotten the subject of our discourse, for having picked up some pebbles, he was now making ducks and drakes, as the children call them, in a smooth part of the brook, unmindful at the instant, not only of the sun himself, but of all things under him, excepting of the circles in the water made by his pebbles. So young, I thought, so truly childlike, and yet possessing a mind so clear, so luminous!--how is this? This child has been educated in no ordinary way. Was I his equal at his age? Am I even his equal now, although my education has been thus laboured? Can this be the effect of studying the Holy Word, simply and continually pursued from childhood? I knew not how to answer these questions, which had thus suggested themselves to my mind and excited many uneasy thoughts. I walked on, and took the way directly leading to the valley of the water nymph, and having conducted my little companion through a shadowy and intertangled copse on the bank of the rivulet, we passed between two small hills into a narrow valley, where the tender herbage, enamelled with a thousand flowers, and the high and rugged rocks on each side, forming natural grottoes, through whose cool recesses trickled several pellucid streams of extraordinary coldness, suggested I know not what ideas of calm repose and untroubled solitude:--

"'Here,' said I to the little boy, 'here formerly dwelt the Ondine of whom I before spoke; and if you were to ask the country people round about, they would tell you a thousand traditions of her having attracted various persons to this spot by the charms of her voice, and then betrayed them into unknown snares and perils.'

"The little boy smiled. 'Ah, aunt Ellen,' he said, 'you should not speak against fairy-tales and fables, for you love them very much: you have told me nothing else since we came out.'

"'And does your tutor never tell you fairy-tales or fables?' I replied.

"'He often talks to me, when we walk, about my Hebrew: he made me begin with the Psalms, and he tries to make me understand the types and emblems contained in the Bible.'

"'And pray what are these?' I said.

"He looked at me again with some curiosity, and then smiled; but without answering my question he asked, 'Shall I call the Ondine, and hear if she will answer me?' and, without waiting my reply, he exclaimed, in a loud voice, 'Lady of the woods or waters, whichever you be, you will surely answer me if you hear my voice,'

"