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fittings up, and ornaments, and decorations of the sanctuarythe decencies and proprieties of worship as she called them.

"Your church, my dear Emma,” said her uncle, “is in this, as in many other things, most inconsistent. At Easter, as you know, your altars are denuded, stripped of all ornaments, and left bare, or covered only with a plain black cloth. And why? "To prevent,' as you, yourselves admit, all interruption in devotion.' Your aids, therefore, on your own shewing, are interruptions, leading away from, and not towards, the only proper object of worship. They are distractions, and lets and hindrances, in your religious services, and lamentably calculated to divide or draw off those affections which belong exclusively to the Altogether Lovely."

The deep silence which followed these remarks, rendered audible the ticking of the time-piece upon the console-table near which Mr. Enderby was seated, and naturally induced him to turn round. It was near midnight. As he rose to take his leave, he said,

“Emma, my dear child, I need not tell you how deeply pained Tam by your disclosures. You have seen it, and have felt with me, and for me. Of course you cannot remain here ; I shall at once make arrangements for your removal, and in the mean time I would affectionately remind you that all the distressing anxiety you have caused me is due to one error only—a great one It must be confessed; but still an error, that if once rightly understood, may by God's grace be yet repented of and renounced. This awful mistake cannot be better set before you than in the Words of Inspiration— Cursed is the man that trusteth in man.' A deference to human authority is the rock on which you have split. 'If God be God, follow him, but if man be God, then follow him.' The door once opened, the citadel must fall.”

We need not describe the parting scene. Her uncle was no sooner gone, than Emma rushing to her own room, again gave vent to her feelings in a copious flood of tears. Overcome by the struggle which her mind had that evening passed through, she soon retired for the night, but it was some time before she could obtain that rest in sleep she so much needed.

Mr. Singleton walked thoughtfully towards the town ; his heart, no less than that of his niece, had been overtasked, and he

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was meditating what arrangements he must make for her removal from the house where she had been so treacherously betrayed into the errors of a false creed and practice, when he heard the clatter of hoofs in the direction whither he was going. Looking up, he saw some hundred yards before him, though faintly through the cold haze, the form of a small low vehicle with four or five figures in it. The most conspicuous of these were two seated in the front, and trolling out some low tune. As the pony-chaise, for such it proved to be, drew nearer, the party acting as coachman leaned forward, and flourishing his whip, called out impertinently, in a feigned, querulous voice, to Mr. Singleton.

The night sees many things that the day would be ashamed of. The facetious coachman was no other than the Reverend Silenus Glossenfane, returning from the ball! And yet this conscientious clergyman would repair on the morrow “ duly at clink of bell to morning prayer;” that day being sacred to the memory of St. Simeon Stylites.

H. R. E. (To be continued.)

To H. R. E.

(See page 110.)
Your poor gipsy tramper a Sinner was born,

Like Bunyan, and all of his race,
To an heritage wretched, and poor, and forlorn-

Our glory and pride to abase.
But Bunyan, a Saviour most graciously found,

And we trust that your story will prove,
Like grace in the poor gipsy boy may abound,

Thro' a dying Redeemer's rich love.
Yet perhaps 'tis unfair, till the sequel I hear,

To risk giving cause of complaint-
Though your “Three Words” to me it would plainly appear,

Are Sinner, and Saviour, and Saint.*
Saffron Walden.

T. P.

* Our correspondent must either “guess again,” or “ give it up.”

H. R. E.


"I am looking for my geography book,” said Jane Grant, with a sigh, as she was rapidly inspecting the contents of a book-stand in her grandmamma's drawing room ; “not that it is at all likely to be here, but I must look everywhere, I suppose, till I find it.”

The search was unsuccessful, and Jane left the room ; but in a few minutes she returned, with a gleam of hope on her features, as addressing me, she said ; “Do you think, Miss Smith, that I need mind about my geography book? perhaps I shall not require it at Oaklands : do you know if Mrs. Walters is particular about geography; because I have learnt through mine again and again ?"

My reply was, that I knew Mrs. Walters wished Jane and her sister to take all the books with them that they had been accustomed to use, though of course I could not answer for her desiring them to continue to learn out of the same: but as to geography itself, I could assure her that there were few branches of education to which Mrs. Walters attached greater importance, and I knew very well that her acquaintance with the subject was far too limited to admit of her indulging a hope of being allowed to discontinue it for a long time to come.

“I never liked geography," was her reply; "and I never shall. There is nothing I dislike so much as learning long lists of places, and I am sure it is of no use."

“But when you find the places in a map, surely you do not find it so difficult to commit them to memory?"

"But I never do find them in a map, it is so troublesome; and Miss Turner used to say it was a much greater exercise of memory to learn them without.”

Poor Jane ! I thought,-no wonder that you do not like the thought of commencing a new course of geography! Then thinking aloud, I said, “Well Jane, by the time I come to Oaklands I have no doubt I shall find that you enjoy your geography lesson as much as any other; for Mrs. Walters exerts herself to make everything she teaches, interesting; and where there is any desire for improvement, I never knew her unsuccessful.”

I must now tell my young readers something about Jane Grant, as to many of them it will no doubt appear strange that she should have expressed such dislike to what is generally a favorite


Jane and Mary Grant were orphans; their parents had both been taken from them at so early an age, that they neither of them retained any distinct recollection of them. Mrs. Grant, their father's mother, had immediately sent for the children, and they had ever since remained with her, receiving the utmost kindness and the most unbounded indulgence from her. She had determined that, if possible, they should turn out two very accomplished young ladies, and as far as externals went, there was every probability that her wishes would be realized. They had now reached the respective ages of fourteen and fifteen, and in point of appearance and deportment they were unexceptionable. Mary had a fine musical taste which had been fostered as far as possible ; she had acquired a brilliant touch and a rapidity of execution that it almost made you breathless to listen to. Her voice was full and sweet, and her singing promised to be something quite above the average.

Jane's eye was more correct than her ear, therefore she had been early instructed in drawing; and certainly few girls of her age could copy a drawing with greater ease or fidelity, but of all that constitutes the difference between the work of the mind, and the mere execution of the hand, she was profoundly ignorant. She would have copied a defect as accurately as an excellence: she could give no reason why the light should fall on one particular object more than on another, except that so it was in the copy; and in fact, as far as habits of thought were concerned, the time of both might as well have been spent in play. What were called their lessons, that is, such things as geography, history, and English grammar, were considered by Mrs. Grant as of very secondary importance. A succession of incompetent governesses, failed either to give them much information, or to excite in their minds the desire to procure it for themselves. Their grandmamma's library was not extensive, and consisted principally of books which young girls would not have much desire to peruse : so that their reading was pretty much restricted to what they toiled through with their governesses; that is to say, to dry historical abridgements, in which there was little to interest, as all association of ideas was wanting. They heard few topics discussed by those who visited at Mrs. Grant's, except such as were purely local, so that it is not to be wondered at, if they were more deficient in general information, and more ignorant of even ordinary subjects of interest, than most girls of their age.

Their mother had been an early friend of my own, and happening to be visiting in the neighbourhood, I was received by Mrs. Grant with the utmost kindness. She was at this time perplexed as to what she should do with her granddaughters. She had resolved on parting with them for a few years, as she was willing to make a present sacrifice in losing their society, in order to secure their permanent advantage. She was, however, quite at a loss where to send them. A London finishing school was what her thoughts most tended to, but then the girls had always lived in the country, and she feared the change might be disadvantageous to their health. It was with a very faint hope of success that I named my friend Mrs. Walters, as one under whose charge it was particularly desirable to place young people. Perhaps it was the fact that she had also been the friend of Mrs. Charles Grant, her daughter-in-law, which decided the point. At any rate, Mrs. Grant, from the first mention of her name, seemed to abandon. all other plans for them, and empowered me to open a negotiation with Mrs. Walters, which was now happily brought to the conclusion which I most desired.

Mrs. Walters had been early left a widow with three little girls, and finding herself greatly dependant upon her own exertions, she had educated with these three or four other children, gene. rally of Indian birth, who were thus entrusted to her individual care for a series of years. She was a person of deep piety, combined with remarkable cheerfulness of manners, and a mind of great resources ; gentle, yet firm, she never failed to secure the respect as well as the love of her pupils. Her aim, she always said, was two-fold -so to prepare them for heaven as though she were assured that life was to be short; and so to fit them for the duties of life, as if certain that it was to be extended to the utmost possible limit. She used to say that she did not wish to train her girls exclusively for a drawing room life, but for a life in every room in the house; and she did not forget how many hours, one might say how many lives, are spent in a sick room. She was therefore anxious betimes to store their minds with resources which they might fall back upon when youth and health should fail.

Mary and Jane looked forward on the whole with much pleasure

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