promised to take her a drive; and we have had a nice one to-day. Tell mamma where you were, love!" and a peculiar smile lurked in the corners of her mouth. "At Mrs. Woodville's," answered the child; " and I have been running about the lawn with Ellen." The mother started and turned pale;-"Surely, Mrs. Villars, you did not take my Emma there! You knew that small-pox had been in the family." "Nonsense, my dear creature; the children are nearly recovered; we saw the whole of them excepting Edwin; there can be no danger now." "But this is the most dangerous time for infection, and you could not but be aware of it." "Ridiculous!—you alarm yourself needlessly!-but bless me!" taking out her watch, "it is nearly four o'clock! Good afternoon." The forebodings of Mrs. Aldrige were too truly realised; in a few days, the cherished object of her affections was seized with that most virulent disorder; and ere another week had expired, the disconsolate father had laid the little head of his child in its last earthly resting-place.

To describe the feelings of the parents, would be impracticable; both entertained their own secret imaginings, but each strove to conceal them from the other. For the sake of her husband, Mrs. Aldrige tried to bear up; yet the image of her darling suffering and dying, was ever before her; but she knew in whom she believed, and struggled to be resigned.

To the author of her sorrow, she bore no resentment; her she forgave, but could see her no more. Mrs. Villars called once, but was refused admittance; and she never after attempted to meet with one whom she had so cruelly injured.

Three years had exactly elapsed since the preceding occurrence, when Mr. Villars, from his own misconduct, and the boundless extravagance of his wife, was plunged in irremediable misfortunes. All those friends and sycophants who had fluttered round them in prosperity, now kept aloof. When they could no longer contribute to their false pleasures and enjoyments, not one of their former acquaintances would see them; even Mrs. Harman refused to acknowledge the woman whom she had once styled her friend; and Mrs. Villars felt that poverty was not her only evil. To crown her sufferings, her husband

was hurried to prison, where he shortly terminated a profitless existence. For a long time, his wife was neither seen nor heard of; at length Mrs. Aldrige learned that she lay dangerously ill, and deserted by every one, in obscure lodgings in the city.

Recollecting her former intimacy with Mrs. Harman, Mrs. Aldrige endeavoured to prevail on that lady to visit the afflicted one; but she might as well have addressed a stone::-"Could the latter imagine that she would degrade herself by countenancing such a woman,-a woman whom report whispered had been found almost in the very act of theft!" "It would be no degradation," returned the former mildly; "and she never injured you." "That is nothing to the purpose; I am not to render myself conspicuous to the whole world; besides, I have a prayermeeting to attend this evening."

"But you would serve God best by being useful to his creature. I am informed also she is dying; and if she ever loved any person, it was yourself." Argument was however useless; Mrs. Harman remained inflexible. Other applications were equally unsuccessful. Only one course remained to be pursued; she must either go herself, or leave the poor woman to expire in want and misery. Nor was it immediately that she could reconcile her mind to meeting with one who had so deeply wronged her; but Christianity had taught her to love even her enemies. "I think I had better order the carriage just now, my dear," said her husband; "the evening is the quietest time; you had as well also let your maid accompany you." Mrs. Aldrige was ready in a moment. At a mean-looking house, situated in a dark alley in the very heart of the city, this exemplary woman at length alighted. A cold chill ran through her veins, and she almost started back aghast as she ascended the gloomy staircase, and groped her way across the dark narrow passage that led to the apartment of the once beautiful Mrs. Villars. "And is it possible," she continued, in mental interrogation, to ask herself, "that this can be the abode of her who had every luxury and elegance at her command-who was the gay, the courted, the admired, the observed of all observers'! Poor creature! of what avail is fashion now?" She softly opened the door. At the farther corner of the

chamber, the whole appearance of which presented the most desolate poverty, on a wretched-looking couch, lay the dying woman; her daughter, a child about nine years of age, was alternately wetting her parched lips from the contents of a cup which she held in her hands, and wiping the clammy drops from her cold and colourless brow. Mrs. Aldrige approached the bed, and gently drawing aside the curtain, in a kind and tender accent, inquired of the invalid "how she felt herself, and if there was anything she could do for her?" Mrs. Villars half-raised her head from her pillow, faintly murmuring, "Charlotte Harman, is it you? I fancied you would never come." "It is I," said the sweet low voice of her visiter; "I have come to administer whatever comfort it is in my power to bestow." "Maria Aldrige!" she screamed in a tone of almost supernatural wildness,-" You here! you come to see me!" and she buried her face in the bedclothes as she more calmly added, "I never deserved this of you." The former could not reply; every recollection was absorbed in one sentiment, pity. "I thought," continued the invalid, after a pause of some length, "it had been Mrs. Harman; I sent Marianne for her several times; but I never dreamed that you would come. you know not how I wronged you. God Almighty forgive me." "We have all need of forgiveness," said the former; "but we sha'nt talk of the past. Only mention how I can serve you." "But I must speak of it; I must unburden my conscience; I must tell how I took your sweet child to the Woodvilles', purposely that she might be infected with" Here Mrs. Aldrige involuntarily shuddered; she had entertained her suspicions, but had condemned herself for harbouring for a moment such an idea. "You may well start; but I did not intend she should die. Oh no; I was not quite so wicked as that. I merely meant she should be disfigured; for I hated you, and was jealous that she was so much prettier than my Marianne. And now that I have confessed all, can you forgive me?" "I can," answered the other solemnly; "and I pray that Heaven may forgive you too." "There is no mercy for such a sinner as I am;" and she looked the very picture of despair. "You must make your peace with God," pursued the former, observing the dark

Oh,

and comfortless state of her mind;-" remember it is an awful thing to die."

Mrs. Aldrige knew that "a holy life is better than a penitent death;" but she likewise knew that God is love, and ever willing to welcome the really and practically penitent. Nor did her benevolence stop here: she got Mrs. Villars and her daughter conveyed to her own house, where she not only herself nursed her carefully and tenderly, but gradually led her mind to rest its trust on that only Rock which can administer peace and consolation, when every other hope and succour has failed. "Maria

Aldrige," said the dying penitent one evening, "that Being whom you serve so faithfully will reward you; I never can." Observing her daughter weeping, "My last earthly care!" she murmured, "what is to become of you? ?" "She will live with us," replied her kind friend, endeavouring to conceal her own emotion. "Let not the thought of her disturb the calmness of an hour like this." A faint smile of gratitude illumined her death-like features. She never spoke again; and feebly pressing Mrs. Aldrige's extended hand, in a few hours after she expired. And religiously did the former fulfil her promise; it was beautiful to witness the care she exercised over the little orphan, who indeed became unto her as a daughter.

Tears which she could not repress, coursed each other down the cheeks of Alice at the conclusion of Mr. Mornton's narrative; and turning to Minna, she said, her mild blue eyes sparkling with pious enthusiasm, "That was Christianity. Oh how completely did Mrs. Aldrige overcome evil with good, and heap coals of fire on the head of her enemy." The latter, too, appeared affected; but, as if ashamed to betray the feeling which was really her's, she indignantly dashed away a tear, and remarked that "Mrs. Aldrige's conduct was all very well; that nothing is more difficult than to know the motives from which we act; that she might have performed all that, and yet remained in an unconverted state; in fact, that it was highly dangerous to trust to works, however meritorious, for our final acceptance with Heaven."

Henry. "Minna, you are perfectly incorrigible. Charles, you have not uttered a syllable the whole evening; you

cannot defend her behaviour now." Mr. Herbert had been unusually silent; but the truth was, he had been so deeply grieved with the temper his cousin had displayed in the morning, so different from what he had ever before seen in her, that he could not compose his mind sufficiently, so as to allow him to engage in conversation; however, seeing that his abstraction was noticed, he quickly rallied himself, and, forcing a smile, answered, "We must have patience, Henry. I trust that your sister will come to see and acknowledge all her errors, in time.”

Mr. M. (turning to his daughter)" I shall make no comments, my poor misguided girl, upon the history I have just read. It speaks for itself. But, I must say, that I did expect a different reply. However, I shall never cease to pray for you. Although I have lost my child at present, I cannot forget what she once was to me. One thing, Minna, I would earnestly entreat. Put on kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering; above all things, put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness." Had she yielded to her feelings, she would have thrown herself on her father's neck, imploring him not to fancy she could love him less; and she was only restrained by Herbert's presence from obeying the natural impulse; however, as she walked to the window, she could not help saying, that she "trusted her dear papa would ever find her dutiful and affectionate, when neither interfered with her duty to her Maker." After a pause, she added, "I act purely from conscientious principles; and think not, because I engage in your religious conversations, it is from any edification to myself; no, but from the anxious hope that I may make at least some impression upon the whole of you. On that account, I shall always be ready to take a part in your discussions. Would that my brother was oftener with us! But it is melancholy to reflect, that he has not been even in the house of God for nearly four Sundays."

Mr. M. "You must be satisfied, my child, that that circumstance is anything but a matter of choice with Henry, and that the nature of his profession precludes him from attending on the public ordinances of religion as often as he could desire. Would you have him go to church and leave a fellow-creature suffering under bodily